#& she was very polite about it & let the customers in line go ahead of her but like MAAM. COME ON

[theexorcistiii]

At work today (craft store) I saw a woman holding a tiny dog squint & frown at a folded up skeleton in a box & go what IS that….

[wherewisteriaends]

Watching GoT for the first time

I saw someone do this with Grey's Anatomy but I can't find it again so if someone knows, give them credit for the idea. Anyway I am finally watching Games of Thrones for the first time with only a vague idea of the plot so here comes my stream of consciousness while doing so.

Obviously some spoilers ahead. Let's start off with season :

-The first hand saw Cersei and Jaime , I can bet on that.

-Ned, you're right winter is coming and you're wrong the night watch didn't deserve to die. -Bran, my dear.

-Is killing Joffrey do-able ? 'cause he kinda is a jerck and gets on my nerves

-I don't think Jon Snow is really smart. Tyrion was right about telling him what kind of privileges is was granted.

-I'm going to be a Joffrey slander. Lady did not deserve that ! Neither Sansa and Arya and the ginger boy.

-Gosh there are too many names !

-The faith or religious dogme is not made clear. I haven't read the books and I don't exactly understand what is there place/customs/beliefs. But it's fine 'cause they don't seem to have any big importance or whatsoever.

-Joffrey and Viserys slander.

- I don't know how but I always end up shipping ships that are rare on the Internet. Baelish x Catelyn in my heart

-Baelish is not reliable. He's even cocky about that.

-What the hell of a shitty king is that ? Robert, you suck.

-Robbert doesn't look like an exciting character to me. I don't know, I think he is lacking energy and complexity. He just looks like the good firstborn, the dutiful heir. However Arya ... I will be rooting for her. And no Ned, clearly she won't be a lady wife.

-I like the storytelling of the Targaryen story. It's very well introduced.

-I don't get why Sansa wants Joffrey to like her. Joffrey was the shitty man here, not your father.

-Ned, you're lacking good senses into the viper nest.

-They're blaming Tyrion and it's clearly not Tyrion and poor Tyrion (who looked very frightened) ; but oh Catelyn that was a power move. (not a very smart one tho)

-Catelyn my girl you're so smart. But also no, you're not.

-"Why ? Am I starting to make sense ?" such a powerful line.

-Rodrick is going to die. Who are we to pretend.

-I fear Bran words about the Tully devise are foreshadowing something.

-Ned, take the warning and listen to it.

-Varys is for the Targaryen !

-oh boy I came 'cause I hear about it but now I am staying for the politic plot. I love a bit of manipulation and hunger for power. -Ned I think you should leave to wait an hour to speak to someone. -Lysa is mad. She is completely mad. The son too. -Okay, Robber, you're not such a fool after all. But you have anger issues. -Cersei seems like a broken woman. Jaime is shit. -The hair Ned ! The hair ! -The whores watching is a funny thing to me. -Okay Robbert slander now ! You don't hit your wife. -And Cersei lying is getting you nowhere. They were witnesses. -The scene where Daenerys eats an heart lacked introduction. Vyseris you little filth, if you touch her because of her son, I swear I am finding way to bring you into reality and then murder you.

-This scene of the heart holds such a power. - They never gave it to you whiny boy 'cause you don't deserve it. You don't deserve anything truly. -Lysa and her boy are shitty. And Catelyn why the hell are you standing unmoved ? -Robbert is king but it is a Lannister rule. -He had it coming. Viserys only had himself to blame. -Yup, Dany, you're the dragon. -Tirwyn piecing a stag is a good metaphor. -He is a complete fool to tell her. Telling her does not preserve his honour. - Baelish teaching about sex and prostitution is - well very smutty obvi but also very true ; I love that guy. - Ned is so dead. Baelish is going for his head. - Ser Lorah the traitor ! Who got a change of heart. -Ned you should to him and go to war. - I love Baelish's logic. Nothing moral in it. But that is amazing scheming.

-And then Dany got what she wanted. - I knew Ned would die, I didn't think it would come so fast. Well he is not dead yet but that is clearly the way the season ends.

-I truly don't want to guess what happened to Sansa. -Varys calling him out on his madness is so right. He should have kept his mouth shut. Don't play the hero, you don't want to be the hero. -Sansa truly just wants to do good. -Bowing instead of fighting isn't the right answer. -I thought there were 5 Starks ... where is the last one ? -The 6 year old boy is right. - You're a bit delusional Catelyn. Ned is already dead. -Robb is foolish and idealized his father. Plus if this Umel does not betray you, it will be a miracle. - I also get the feeling Baristan will betray. - Okay I now stan Baristan. -Baelish and the side-eye >>> -Ned is not seeing the greater good for the realm but he is also right about the Lannister. - Poor little girl. Lord Frey is disgusting. - I did not made the link so I am surprised he is Jorah's father. And yes I can't remember his name. - Apart from the ones who are already mothers, women are truly just object. TwT. That's why I love Arya. That just disappeared by the way. -"Love is the death of duty" is a powerful sentence. But Ned is probably not the right exemple for this one. -Aemon was such a plot twist. -I feel very sorry for Tyrion. And technically he was raped by his first wife. -Joffrey was a bastard for this ! At least Cersei was right about it being madness. -The choice of silence for Ned's execution was a very good cinematic choice. - The knight I don't know the name did right by Arya. - JOFFREY SLANDER ! KILL THAT BOY HE DESERVES HELL - Gosh this Northern man has an ego - I honestly forgot they had Jaime. I love how Jaime knows he has sinned. -Cersei also sleeps with her nephew ??? -I don't know how Joffrey calls himself a legitimate king when the Baratheon are at war against him too - I love how neither Tywin and Tyrion are no fools. But the rest of the Lannisters all have too much ego for it. -Dany was truly desperate. -The old guy from the council is completely out of it. - I love Varys and Baelish relationship. -Arya and Robert's bastard is a good mix. -Dany was bold (and kinda mad) for this. -What an end for a season !

I will obviously be coming back for more. Good night/day everyone

[greatbigbellies]

2023 PREGNANCY KINK ADVENT CALENDAR (DAY 1)

The Maternity Seamstress: 1st Trimester.

Reily did her due diligence opening up her shop. Unlocked the doors, flipped the sign, cashed in the till, all the usual stuff. It was a tuesday, which was typically the slowest day of the week, so she started off putting together a list of housekeeping tasks for herself. It was a one person shop, so while that meant she had to do everything, it also meant no one else could mess it up. She was very detail oriented, she had to be, being such an accomplished seamstress. She prided herself on her craftsmanship, and her portfolio of repeat customers spoke for itself. She could do it all, repairs, alterations, sewing whole dresses from scratch… if someone needed an article of clothing changed, she was the one to go to.

Reily had her list of maintenance tasks lined up. Not so long she had to rush, but not so short she’d spend the day sitting around. She liked to keep busy. She turned her back to the front door just to hear it open and the little bell hung above to ring. Instinctively, she spun on her heel, turning to greet the customer. “Hi, welcome to Pins and Needles!” she smiled. The lady who walked in smiled tiredly back, clearly making an effort to be polite despite how worn out she clearly was. “Hi…” she trailed off for a second, carrying a gorgeous sky blue dress with a mermaid cut, something clearly form fitting. She sighed as she approached, laying the dress on the counter. “I need some alterations made to this dress. Everyone I’ve talked to mentioned you by name, you’re Reily, right?” she asked. She smiled and nodded, “Yes! I’m glad you came in, what do you need changed?” The woman sighed again, a little more frustratedly. “I need this let out, specifically in the waist. Is that possible without ruining it?” she asked. Reily looked it over, flipping it to look at the back and checking the seams. “Reasonably, I think. How much extra width do you need?” she asked. The woman cut eye contact, and Reily noticed her blushing a little. “I… don’t know yet. I’m hoping just a few inches,” she said, a little hastily. Reily looked at her, a little confused. “Why are you letting it out if you don’t know…” she trailed off. The woman huffed, not really at Reily, more at her situation.

“Well, I need that dress to fit me for a special gala I’m attending in a couple of months. The trouble is… I just found out I’m pregnant, and am far enough along that I’ll have a noticeable bump by the time the event rolls around. I just need it to reasonably fit someone four months pregnant…” she explained. Reily smiled. “That should be very doabl-” “with triplets” she cut Reily off. Reily blinked. That’d be more of a challenge, in no small part because she didn’t know just how much of a size difference that would make.

Reily looked over the dress once more, and nodded. “I’ll make sure it fits, and looks just as good. If you have time to let me get a few measurements so I know where we’re starting, I can keep this well fitted for the coming months,” she said. The woman nodded, and moved to follow her back to her sewing room, bringing the dress with her. “I didn’t catch your name,” Reily finally asked, leading her back. “Hailie,” she replied, following her to an area normally reserved for just the owner herself.

Reily walked over to on of her work spaces, Scribbling Hailie’s name on a notepad, so she could document her measurements, before grabbing her measuring tape. “I promise this won’t take very long,” she reassured Hailie, before lining the tape up to measure her. Hailie nodded, setting the dress on a table, before lifting her arms and letting Reily pose her as she needed to. “I appreciate you working with me under such short notice, I didn’t even think about calling ahead… I’ve just been overwhelmed as of late,” Hailie confessed. Reilie smiled as she slid the tape long Hailie’s torso, getting the length. Hailie was quite tall, almost a full head taller then Reily, and according to these numbers, a fair bit of that height came from her legs. “Of course! You picked a good day to come in, no one else has come by yet. I’m honored you trust me with such a high quality dress,” she replied, glancing over at the sky blue gown that lay on her table.

“I’ve been excited to wear it, the gala is a family event, some of the more affluent members put it together as a fancy reunion. I just hope that it fits well come the day,” Hailie grimaced at the thought. “Triplets or not, four months is less than half way to the end… I probably won’t have to alter it as much as you think!” Reily reassured her. Hailie nodded before sighing again, “I just know that babies in my family run pretty big, and I still want the dress to look flattering. I guess I should be lucky the gala hasn’t been pushed back any further,” she said.

Reily took a moment to scribble some numbers on her note pad before replying. She look Hailie’s waist measurement and internally calculated how much she expected she’d need to add. “With your good looks, and a dress that nice? You’re worried over nothing,” Reily complimented. Hailie chuckled, “Is the pep talk included in the price of the alteration or does that run extra?” she joked. Reily just smiled, “Consider it a first time customer bonus! Now, based on the numbers and the materials I have in stock, should have everything as you’ll need it in about a week? Maybe sooner, but I’d rather aim later then risk not making a deadline,” she said. Hailie nodded, “Good news is, I don’t need it back urgently. Just take your time so it turns out nice,” she replied.

Reily nodded and lead her customer out to the store area, “Just jot your number down and I’ll call once it’s finished,” she grinned in her customer service voice. Hailie nodded and scribbled a phone number onto a sticky note on the counter before turning to leave. “Thank you Reily, I appreciate your expertise!” she said, turning to leave. “My pleasure!” Reily replied, watching her go. The bell dinged again, the door closed, and Reily was alone in her shop again. She slid back into her workspace, a new goal driving her.

[renee-writer]

The Irish Lass and the Scottish Lad Chapter 5

AO3

{ Hi Jamie. HRU?}

 

He wants to laugh with relief. She has replied.

 

{ Hi Claire. Good. Busy baking.}

 

Ian is grinning at the look at his mate’s face.  “She replied, eh?”

 

He nods, distracted by the beep that shows he has another message.

 

{ Baking?}

 

“I will be out front with Mary.” Jamie waves. He walks away chuckling.

 

{ I own and run Fraser’s Sweets.}

 

He cleans up as he waits. Will she think him a wimp, less then a man, because he is a baker? He won’t feel okay until she replies. It doesn’t take long.

 

{ Brilliant! Love the sweets. When do you close?}

 

He lets out a shaky breath. It is okay.

 

{ Noon.}

 

{ My mate and I have a break at ten. Will stop by for a morning pickup.}

 

He floats through the early morning rush. She is coming! To his place!

 

 

“And why must we go out of hospital?” Gel grouses as her mate drags her out.

 

“We need fresh air and I need a sweet.”

 

Fraser’s Sweets is just ten minutes away from the hospital. They pass one other sweet shop on the way.

 

“Look Claire, we are on our feet enough. Why am I walking during my break?”

 

“Come on you baby, we are almost there.”

 

When Geillis sees the sign, she understands.  “Ah, now I see.”  She is chuckling when they enter.

 

He waits behind the counter. They both smile at seeing each other.  There are several customers ahead of them. He is polite, as friendly as ever, even as he longs to rush them out. Her break can’t  be that long.

 

Finally.

 

“Why if it isn’t the dislocated shoulder.” Geillis greets him with a wink.

 

“Jamie Fraser meet Geillis Duncan. Geillis, my… ah Jamie.”

 

“It is very nice to meet you Jamie. Now I understand why Claire here had me walking over our break. I am going to have a seat now.” She does.

 

“Sorry about that Geillis. I will deliver next time.”

 

They stare at each other as the line grows behind her. Ian and Mary divert some of them.

 

“It is quite a lovely shop.”

 

“Thank you. My dream since I was a lad.” Geillis clears her throat and points at her watch. They don’t want to be late getting back.

 

“I wish I had more time.”

 

“Of course. What can I get for you ladies?”

 

“Chocolate donuts.” Geillis says.

 

He raises his eyes to her and she nods. Selecting the best two, he presents them to her. When she goes to pay, he shakes his head.

 

“On the house.”

 

“Thank you Jamie.”

 

“My pleasure, Claire.”

 

They walk out and she looks back, to find him watching her.

[ordinaryhorror]

I truly believe I should be allowed to kick a customer in the balls everyday and they don't know if I've used my Free Kick Pass or not so they have to behave. Just in case.

Had a customer so full of himself bc he works customer service in USA and he said he'd report me to my boss and the business department (or whatever it's called in english) bc according to him we're not doing things "properly" and we're going against the rules when:

1. No such rules exist in the entire country, probably only in his state bc from what my American customer service friends said it's not really a thing there either

2. I've worked here for 3 years and I'm actually the manager how're you gonna know the rules of this business better than me

3. He was mistaking this as a public museum when it's a private one and as such we're beholden to different authorities so even if he does fill the complaint they'll just go "??? Not here buddy"

He did end up buying the picture all while complaining about me and I had the very sweet moment of going "that's me" when he asked to talk with my manager and when I told my boss later she went "American, right? Ignore him" before I could even finish the story or tell her where he was from lmfao.

But seriously how are you gonna show up at a souvenir photo service and complain when they take your photo and when you're offered to either leave it or try again you start whining you want to take the pics yourself. Life fuck I'm giving you the equipment, you're holding up the line when we're short staffed and if you're being so embarrassing even your wife complained about you and went ahead maybe it's time to reconsider. Hopefully your entire personality.

Anyways I stayed polite though by the end of the conversation it was a struggle and did NOT tell him to go fuck himself even though it was a chant in my head. Even offered to help him fill out the complaint against me (out of the kindness of my heart bc I knew my bosses would see it and laugh so I wasn't worried) but Rude Dude just huffed and left while cussing me out. Props tho, he did not scream at me. Annoyingly when I tried to explain how things worked here he kept going "no it's not" (dude I LITERALLY wrote the protocols and manuals we work with and I'm the senior manager, I think I know what I'm talking about!!!). Like if you want to work here so badly let me know, I could use another cashier but I'll still have to teach you how shit actually works first.

Anyways I would've used my Free Kick Pass on him.

[alectology-archive]

sorry, I did want to comb over gawyn’s chapters once again before I responded (and no!! I absolutely love discussing stuff, long posts are fun to read) and I did like the little mind exercise of trying to viewing him more sympathetically (you got me there like 30% of the way there and that’s a Lot because I just really don’t care for him and feel there are a lot of secondary characters who probably could do with that attention instead) but I guess I do get why people like him a little now? but at the end of the day I still can’t really see myself sympathising with him much because he has very few POVs and no real explanation for his behaviour being offered. he also insists on transferring blame for his mistakes on other people while 90% of our other protagonists very much own up to them and work to do better so the contrast doesn’t sit well with me (although it’s fascinating that elayne is the only real trakand who turned out Right because gawyn and galad are... well).

I still feel galad is the better sibling, though, because he has a very clear arc about learning to outgrow flawed modes of judgement and decision making. young men are... very susceptible to the sort of things that the whitecloaks promise and it was good rj explored that, just like he explored the toxic masculinity thing with rand and lan. I think what frustrates me more is that I don't know where gawyn's arc was headed tbh... like with perrin. another character I notably don’t enjoy because he’s all over the place.

I’m going to go ahead and put the rest of the post under a cut because this is getting very long at this point

Some things I want do want to note are that:

I’ll still refer to the tower schism as a coup because 1. it’s convenient 2. the aes sedai do agree that it was barely legal 3. the black ajah fully played a major part in it with the intention of ousting siuan 4. a lot of blood was shed 5. the blues were ousted from the tower entirely and elaida proceeded to violate a lot of customs and institute draconian measures to ensure that she remained in power. she’s an extremist, and I think a politically trained noble... should have the sense to recognise that it’s dangerous to have that kind of a person in power. whether or not it’s Really a Coup is just a matter of semantics to me.

In the eye of the world, gawyn expresses a lot of disdain and distrust for elaida and doesn’t like that she advices his mother, so I’m not certain how he really hoped to gain anything by picking her over siuan during the coup. it woudn’t help him find elayne or egwene in any possible way. it’s a very extreme reaction to a very valid frustration that siuan had potentially put his loved ones in danger. he would’ve probably been more successful if he’d just tried to contact his mother and let her know that elayne was being endangered by the amyrlin to let her use political leverage to get answers from siuan (although ofc I’m not certain how that plot would have evolved since morgase was being controlled by rahvin by then). I think it’s very abundantly clear that siuan and elaida are very different kinds of people from the get-go, and elaida is very visibly uncompassionate and doesn’t care for any opinions that non-reds might have, much less young men.

RJ was exploring the mistakes that disillusioned young men enamoured by the idea of glory, honour and heroics committed with gawyn, the younglings, and galad, so I’m pretty certain that gawyn’s arc was definitely meant as a critique of him in the shadow rising just like galad’s pivot to the whitecloaks was in the fires of heaven.

RJ also treats the mentor-mentee relationship like it’s almost a sacred thing, if not a parental bond entirely, so to me it came across like gawyn was fully crossing a line that should never have been crossed, because those warders were very kind to him and galad (and it’s not that I don’t care to see those kinds of things explored! I love morally grey characters! again, gawyn just can’t commit to anything and constantly sulks for making mistakes that he consciously walked into and that just really... irks me, lol. he can’t blame the universe for things sucking when he has only himself to blame entirely for how things turn out).

I do fully believe gawyn and galad deserved better answers from siuan though, but I’m not sure that conversation would’ve ever gone down well. Aes sedai generally have a problem with communicating and it’s always come back to cause problems for them in the series. RJ is fully critiquing the flaws that most governing bodies are susceptible to with them. and of course, siuan’s arc is inevitably framed as a tragedy for a reason. She didn’t expect to be betrayed and toppled by somebody she never considered a real threat.

I do kind of disagree about elaida, though? I admittedly don’t have a very positive opinion about her because I read new spring before the shadow rising and it coloured how I approached her character. Elaida is very, very vehemently opposed to the idea of allying with the dragon reborn - she also did send a group of reds to gentle the asha’man in book 8 - and she specifically chose to act before siuan declared an attempt to ally with rand because she always preferred to use him as a tool / an object that would bestow her with the legitimity to rule as she pleased and approach dealing with the last battle only on her terms. 

I think he could’ve at least gotten a message to somebody who mattered about rand though ahhh, I really really don’t think him intervening would have been a good idea for him (or the younglings). but again, it always circles back to him just turning a blind eye to the sort of ugly treatment rand was subjected to. he does agonise a lot over a lot of his decisions but he never does anything to try to fix his mistakes or extricate himself from sticky situations.

I don’t even hate gawyn that much (he mostly annoys me) but I picked him anyway on that annoying men poll because um. gawyn did very much take part in a coup. he killed his own teachers when they sided against him. he can’t dedicate himself to any cause for more than 2 seconds. the fact that he can’t even commit is what really annoys me ok. he didn’t try to get more information first before proceeding to act impulsively. he did inardvetently cause 90% of the problems in the series, unlike galad who left a net positive impact although the whitecloak part was rancid and misguided. siuan was literally primed to form an alliance with rand. all of that was very much a thing. and he stuck with elaida just because he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. he constantly refuses to take advice and legit info from his own allies all the time and prefers to pick his emotions even when they’re completely baseless. remember when he took a peddler’s word over egwene’s? he also did promise egwene that he wouldn’t hurt rand, and I’m not even mad at him for not helping rand when he got kidnapped (although he certainly could have found a way to help him because goddamn no enemy deserves to be treated like an animal), but I’m mad that he violated her trust. gawyn when you tell him 1 +1 = 2 -> “in my heart it’s 3 and I’ll kill people over it 💖” he’s the modern equivalent of like a conspiracy theorist. or at least very easily fooled by them.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (arranged marriage Au)

Part 1 is here, finally! Title a reference to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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

Vesemir’s slap hit Geralt firmly on the back of the head. Two seconds previously Geralt had been complaining about his upcoming, politically motivated marriage to some nobleman’s son. 

“It’s a good thing, lad. Other witcher schools would kill for something like this,” he said. Geralt knew it was right, legal punishment for those who shortchanged or attacked witchers. It set a precedent, and apparently the earl was very influential. It could change things.

“And there isn’t a fidelity clause,” Eskel said. “It doesn’t have to be more than a sort of partnership.”

“No consummation requirement either,” sniggered Lambert from the other side of the campfire. “You don’t even have to fuck the bugger if he’s ugly.” This earned him a sharp elbow from Eskel. 

“What I don’t understand is what they get out of this,” Geralt said. It had been bugging him. 

“Ah,” Vesemir said, looking uneasy. “It seems that the payment is...taking the viscount off of the Earl’s hands, officially. It seems he’s something of an embarrassment.”

The unease in Vesemir’s voice was subtle, but after so many decades with their teacher, the wolves of Kaer Morhen knew the slight variations of tone and expression. His discomfort was twofold, first, the obvious implication that the Earl was sending his son to live a dangerous life alongside a witcher in order to...deal with him. A death sentence, from father to son. The second was that Geralt, already saddled with a political marriage, was also to be saddled with a nuisance of a husband. 

“But why me?” Geralt knew he was whining like a child, but he couldn’t help it. It was three days to Lettenhove, and then they’d be there at least a week for the wedding and he’d have to act courtly. 

He wasn’t good at courtly.

When he thought about it none of them were. 

“It couldn’t have been me,” Eskel said, a little shyly. He was right. Eskel believed his scars were horrible, made him unlovable and undesirable. Geralt didn’t buy it, but nobles could get a bit stroppy about appearances. And if they humiliated Eskel because of his scarring...no, Geralt wouldn’t let that happen.

“Couldn’t have been me,” Lambert said, mouth full and rather cheerfully. No. It couldn’t have been him either, no manners and no filter, they’d be at war with the entirety of Lettenhove within a day.

“And I’m an old man,” Vesemir said. He didn’t actually wink, but he might as well have. Older though he was, he was still three times the warrior of any young human man walking about these days. But from what Geralt had heard, and it hadn’t been much, the Viscount was young, not quite twenty, and it wouldn’t be kind to marry him to someone so much older than himself. Geralt reflected grimly that he was nearly four times the youth’s age.

Three days of riding passed far too quickly for Geralt’s liking.

Chateau de Lettenhove loomed. It was a fairytale castle built by a man expecting a siege. There were high, rising towers with huge windows and artful buttresses, but to the trained eye of the witchers, it was a fortress. The towers had carved, decorative arrow slits, the windows all had iron grates over them, wrought like lace, and the buttresses could be easily used as defensive positions. All in all, it was a castle that growled, albeit genteelly.

They were greeted first by a footman, and then a line of servants increasing in rank, until a very snobby servant, likely the head housekeeper from the way all the maids scuttled away from her, brought them to an anteroom. At this point courtesy dictated that she bade them sit down on one of the lavish sofas. She did not. She chose instead to turn up her nose and sweep away.

The four witchers remained standing, not looking at one another. Geralt could feel Lambert stewing about the obvious slight beside him. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and tweaked Lambert’s ear. 

This was about to result in much brotherly retribution and probably a brawl when the housekeeper returned, followed by another woman.

“His lordship the Earl of Lettenhove is attending to vital business,” the housekeeper said, tone of voice implying that the arrival of four witchers who were muddying her nice clean floor were certainly not vital. “I present, her ladyship, Countess Amaria Elizaveta de Lettenhove.” 

The countess curtsied, it was a polite little bob, and she smiled a little dazedly as the witchers all gave their best attempt at courtly bows. A small but significant part of Geralt’s brain was panicking, and it dealt with this new form of terror by imagining that the school of the wolf, seen from the outside plying their newly practiced bows, must look like a line of seagulls vying for a dropped crumb.

Vesemir stepped forward and, in a rather more suave gesture than Geralt had been expecting, took the Countess’ hand and bowed over it. Two bows seemed excessive to Geralt, but since it seemed to indicate that Vesemir would be taking over the speaking for now, he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Vesemir said, straightening and releasing her hand. “May I introduce the school of the wolf. Eskel is--”

The countess had waved a limp hand. “Plenty of time for that at the feast, deary,” she said, smiling dreamily. There was something in her eyes that was a little absent, possibly more than a little if her calling Vesemir ‘deary’ was anything to go by. Geralt looked the countess over. He had been given to understand through the brief letters from the Lettenhove estate, that this wasn’t the viscount-Julian, the letters said-’s mother, but rather his step mother. She was a petite lady with mousy hair and rather absent blue eyes. Her dress was obviously of very fine material, rose pink and probably silk, although Lambert would know better than him, but a simpler cut than Geralt had expected. 

His examination, done in a split second, decided that she wasn’t an immediate enemy, but probably not a terrible useful ally. 

“I’m to give you this courting gift,” here she proffered a small but beautifully carved wooden box. “And to show you to your quarters.” She smiled again, and it was warm, but still vapid.

“Custom usually dictates that the fiancé give the courting gift,” Vesemir said, cautiously taking the box.”

“My husband wanted someone else to present it,” she said. “But your grandson can give his gift in person when he meets Julian. Now what...” she trailed off, not even noticing Vesemir’s slight sputter at grandson. “Ah yes, your rooms, right this way please.”

She got lost on the way to their rooms and a shaking footman showed them up to a suite, then kindly took her by the hand and led her away.

They sat, silent, in the nice but not lavish quarters. Four beds in curtained alcoves off to the side, and in the middle a room with a table and chairs, and a sofa and more comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace. It was already blazing and the witchers stared into it for a minute.

“That was strange,” Eskel finally said, and the others just nodded.

“Should I have insisted on giving her our courting gift?” Geralt said after another pause. “I thought they were usually given in person.”

“I think you’re fine,” Vesemir said. “If they broke that tradition they can hardly fault you for doing the same.”

Lambert, sprawled across the sofa, said, “When’s dinner?”

“I think I’m supposed to meet Julian first,” Geralt said. “Someone will probably come get us. 

“When we meet Julian you mean,” Lambert said, sitting up. 

“No, I’ve been thinking about that and I want to meet him alone.”

Vesemir nodded, “Sensible, we don’t know how he will react to one witcher, let alone four.” Then he smirked, although not unkindly, at Lambert. “You will be introduced and have a chance to be nosy later. At dinner perhaps.”

They unpacked their belongings, potion bottles and swords looking out of place along the old but nicely carved furniture. After days of tension on the road as Geralt wound himself tighter and tighter with anxiety for his...wedding, yes his wedding, now this pause was jarring. Eskel tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look.

Geralt turned around to give Eskel room to work.

On the Path, witchers are rarely, if ever touched. Certainly not in a friendly way if the other isn’t being compensated. It wasn’t therefore, unusual for the wolves of Kaer Morhen to be tactile with one another. Not hugging and cuddling sweetly, but rough housing and wrestling ending in exhausted dog piles. But Eskel had a gift, he had magic hands, literally and figuratively, and he carefully oiled his hands while Geralt took off his travel stained shirt. 

Geralt sunk into himself, half meditating as Eskel dragged the tension from his shoulders and beat the knots from his muscles. It wasn’t a relaxing massage, but it always left him feeling like liquid, if slightly bruised. When it was over and the liquid feeling had left him, or at least subsided enough that his knees could hold him, he stood, clapping Eskel on the shoulder in thanks.

Then came the hard bit.

Geralt needed to be courtly. He scrubbed the bits he could with water and a cloth from a little washstand, but he hoped he could have a hot bath later. Afterwards Vesemir advanced on him and battled the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a stiff brush before attacking his hair with a comb. Geralt sat on the ground like a child, his brothers looking on in amusement as Vesemir sat behind him on the couch and teased the tangles from his hair. He was making faces, he knew, but Vesemir wasn’t gentle, and he hadn’t detangled his hair in some time.

Scrubbed raw, with his hair floating around his shoulders like a silver cloud, Lambert presented him with a doublet. 

It was black, which was good.

That was the only good thing about it. It was most likely a very nice, extremely fashionable doublet. Lambert might take delight in embarrassing Geralt, but he didn’t mess about with clothing. The issue was that it was attention grabbing, it was subtle in a way that seemed to play itself down while actually drawing every eye. It was black, in the same way a raven’s wing was black, every shimmering shade shifting as the fabric moved.

And he would be wearing it. 

He did wear it. 

His hands shook as he buttoned it up. 

He was just examining himself in a slightly tarnished hand mirror when there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman let himself in right after and bowed swiftly. 

“I am to escort the witchers of Kaer Morhen to meet Lord Julian.”

“Just the one witcher,” Geralt said. Vesemir pressed his courting gift, and the little carved boxed nestled on top, into his arms.

The footman didn’t seem to care and simply turned away, leading Geralt through hallways that all looked the same and down two very winding staicases, the second of which was so narrow his shoulders actually brushed the walls. They stopped outside a plain wooden door. The footman bowed and smiled. It looked, Geralt couldn’t help but feel, rather cruel. Then he left. Geralt knocked softly on the door, feeling very large in the narrow, low ceilinged hallway.

Eskel had told him once of a myth he had read, about a beast, half man half bull, hidden away in a maze. Geralt felt like such a beast, too large and rough and probably going to barge in and do everything wrong.

“Come in.” 

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door. 

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

Oooh I’m naughty for leaving it there, but it’s almost 2000 words already. @llamasdumpsterfire here it is at last, I hope it lives up to expectations.

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

Grandparents Day

Hi!!! Sorry for posting it then deleting it, I decided I didn’t want to post it now I want to! So sorry about that haha:) this is just the styles family going to the park and visiting the grandparents! I hope you enjoy 💕

Today Y/n and Harry are leaving their cozy cottage and scoundering out into the real world, leaving the home-y confines of their cottage and going to visit the grandparents for a late lunch.

They are having a picnic out at the park, Harry offered to host it at their cottage and have it out in their backyard- claiming the flowers and plants would make great scenery, But the family had denied. They said the four needed to get out and see more people than the customers at the farmers market.

The couple of course agreed, renting out a park pavilion for the day and packing up their contribution of the picnic foods. “Come on, my love, mummy made sun tea!” Harry coos, holding Violet's hand and hoisting her up into her booster seat.

“Yummy!” She cheers, letting Harry clip her in the seat securely. Harry buckles it right under her chest, making sure the big buckle is positioned correctly. “Comfy?” Harry questions, holding a thumb up for her. She smiles widely, showing her small baby teeth and sticking her tiny thumb up for him. “Good!” She cheers, Harry smiling and softly tickling her belly, kissing her cheek then brushing his hand from her hair to her cheek, softly giving it a pinch before he shoots her a wink, softly closing the door.

Y/n walks out, the picnic basket in her hand along with Forest laying in her arm. “I’ve got that, sunshine” Harry hums, pushing up his glasses and grabbing the picnic basket from her hands, the kids diaper bag balanced on top of it. He places it in the back, Y/n thanking him and buckling Forest into his bus seat.

**

“Come on, sweet pea. Let’s get you out of the bus!” Harry coos, pulling Violet out of the bus seat and resting her on his hip. He circles to the back of the bus, grabbing the diaper bag and the wooden picnic basket, heading toward the big pavilion entry. Y/n walks a couple steps ahead of him, guiding the way while he hauls the food behind her.

“Hello!” Harry’s mum greets, making the man look up with a smile. “Hi!” He sings, his wife offering her a polite smile while she deals with a slightly fussy Forest. Y/ns parents greet them, the styles family making their way over to the picnic table. “Go see nana!” Harry coos, letting Violet slip down from his hip and land on her feet, padding away on the concrete flooring to go visit her grandparent, getting her cheeks pinched and dollars slipped to her behind her parents backs.

They all finally greet each other, laughs and conversations laying over the other until they all settle down and take their seats on the old red chipping bench of the picnic tables. Harry pulls Violet on his lap, making sure she’s not running off and getting lost. (She likes to do that when they go off to the park- which isn’t often.) Harry slides her plate toward her, the girl's sippy cup full of sun tea, balanced between her chubby hands.

“It's time to eat, sunshine.” Harry announces to violet, pulling her next to him on the picnic table bench. She stretches her little neck to look at the array of food everyone had brought. She makes quick grabby hands for the fruit sandwiches Harry hand prepared for the outing. Harry catches her in the act and grabs her hand before she can shove a bite into her mouth, pulling her hand away and kissing the back of it, shoving an orange baby spoon in her hand instead. He puts a small portion of summer pasta on her plate, the girl forming a tight pout on her lips before she stabs the pasta and shoves it in her mouth angirly, mad her daddy didn't let her have dessert first.

“How is the farm?” Anne asks while she holds Forest, holding a sleepy baby in one arm and feeding herself with the other, something the youngest parents out of the group have mastered.

Y/n finishes her bite, wiping her mouth off on the floral printed napkin before answering annes question. “Everything is good. We sold a bunch at the farmers market a couple weeks ago.” Harry nods along, serving himself while everyone passes the bowls and plates of food around, complimenting each other on their dishes quietly. “We’re thinking of getting some bunnies. Violet would love it.” Harry adds, violet instantly snapping her head up at the mention of adding the fluffy white animal to the family farm. “Bunnies?!” she asks, making the group laugh.

“Yep,” Harry says, licking his thumb and rubbing red sauce from her face, the little girl's face scrunching up while she pushes his large hand away. “You're gonna eat them?” Y/n’s dad asks, the family shaking her head, violet getting visibly upset by the questions. They dont eat bunnies! Bunnies are for petting and loving. “No, just have them as pets. We dont eat meat, we haven't for a while.” Harry informs, violet being his little sidekick and nodding along to every word he has to say.

“So are you getting them?” Anne asks, Violet looking up at Harry with so much hope. She loves bunnies, she draws them all the time, it's just one big circle, a smaller one for the head, then four tiny ones for the feet and a happy face made with two dots and a curved line but it's a bunny to her and she loves it. “...yeah,” the father slowly nods. Y/n gives him sharp eyes. They were supposed to surprise Violet and Forest with the new addition to their farm, even though forest wouldn't be that enthusiastic, he's only four months old.

“What about preschool? Are you going to send her to preschool?” y/n’s mum barges into the conversation, always nagging at her daughter to get the kids out. They do get the kids out, just not often. They have playdates and go to the park to socialize with the other kids but they are usually inside and if they do leave they stay together, no disturbing the people around them.

“Were still deciding on whether to homeschool her or send her to Harry's old preschool.” Y/n answers her nons nagging questions. She would love for Violet to stay with them, it's not like she wants to go out and see all these kids, she's a very antisocial toddler. She is shy and nervous around new people, if it's not her mummy, daddy, and little brother she usually doesn't prefer to be around them for long periods of time.

“Just let the kid breathe! She probably wants to be with other kids ever not and then, you know.”

Y/n tries not to get frustrated but she doesn't need people telling her how to parent, especially when they dont know how her child feels being around people that arent her immediate family.

Y/n sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Violet doesn't like being around other people for a long time. I dont want to send her away for three hours a day to a place where she isn't comfortable. Especially when we are already teaching her stuff at home and she is doing great.” she argues back, harry pulls a hand on the small of her back and rubs softly. He knows she gets annoying about things like this, she is usually a very zen person.

Harry 100% backs her up on this. He knows how anxious his little one can get when she is around new people- or people who aren't her parents. Why would they send her off to a preschool when they can teach her ABC’s at home, how to write her name, counting, and even more that they teach at a preschool. They can have one on one time with their child when the teacher wouldn't be able to focus on just one child at a time. They even get to teach her more about the animals, show her what noises animals make and what colors they are up close and personal.

“I think it would just be nice for her to make some friends,”

Harry senses some trepidation, and he doesn't want Violet to watch her mumma and grandma to get into a disagreement. Not that it would get ugly, Harry just prefers his kids ears aren't around bad language, and when a disagreement happens the adults tend to get loose lips.

“Hey, are you done? Let's go play, you can eat this on the swings.” Harry grabs a fruit sandwich, picking the girl up and excusing them while he walks into the wood chip filled playground. Violet munches on her desert when she slides down bright yellow slides with Harry, sitting on his lap while they both sing out “weeeee!”

Y/n helps everyone pack up, throwing away paper cups and plates in the big rusty trash cans that they had in the pavilion. She watches Harry and Violet chase each other, watching them closely since Violet happens to be a very accident prone (almost) two year old. She keeps to herself while she stuffs drinks back in blue coolers, stuffing their tupperware back in their picnic basket and leaving the sun tea out because they had seemed to enjoy that.

While the rest of the crew cleans up Harry chases Violet around the playground, the black floors being filled with wood chips that were once stuck on little ones shoes, or maybe some naughty kids were bringing them up on the jungle gym to play around in them. “Hey, watch your step, pumpkin!” Harry yells before Violet misses her step and falls over a big black chunky step, falling right into the wood chips. Cries instantly fell from her mouth, she was just trying to run down the playground steps but her chubby legs couldn't keep up.

“Hey,” Harry pouts, sitting on the black step and pulling her onto his thighs. “Are you okay, sweet pea?” Harry asks, dusting off the debris on her knees and hands. She huffs as she cries, her bottom lip poking out while tears roll down her cheek, her nose and cheeks growing pink and hot from her crying. Harry gives her a big pout when he sees her knee bleeding, He hopes she doesnt have a splinter.

“Lets go get you clean your boo boo’s up” Harry mumbles, pulling her up to his chest and kissing all along her hair line, letting her cry in his neck. He walks back up to the pavilion in search of the diaper bag, they have a first aid kit stashed in there, it's a necessity when you have a bambi-like toddler.

y/n watches Harry set down a crying violet, fishing for a first aid kit. “What happened?” she sighs, handing the little girl her sippy cup. Harry glaces up at his wife for a second before looking back down at his toddler, preparing to clean her boo boo’s. “She fell,” he cleans her cuts up only making her cry more, her hands were only scraped, but she had a small cut on her knee. He adds some neosporin, patching on a baby shark bandaid before kissing over her cut.

“All better?” the girl huffs, wiping her tears. She looks at her knee, holding up two fingers like she's going to pinch something, Harry laughs. “Lets go sing baby shark somewhere else, your nana might give me a boo boo.”

Y/n laughs, Harry kissing her and Forest's head before they sit on the park bench together, their singing still heard.

The grandparents all swarm over the free child, watching him sleep peacefully. Y/n laughs awkwardly, hoping that Harry would be back soon to distract them or so Violet could play with them. “Are you putting this one in pre school?” Y/n scoffs at her mothers nagging, surprised it's only been an hour of hearing nagging about their kids.

“He's a real momma's boy. He's gonna be a heartbreaker.'' Robin laughs, making Y/n smile and laugh, her boy isn't dating because no one's ever gonna be good enough.

They decide to join the rest on the playground, the men playing with violet- or Harry pushing Violet on the swing while the men talk to him. Anne and Y/n’s mom join her on the park bench, the small boy finally waking up from his long nap. They talk about the farm and the kids while the sun sets, loud giggles from violet fill the park while Harry pushes her higher and higher. “It's beautiful out,” Anne says, looking up at the glowing sky, a painting of orange, purple, and blue framing the cloudy sky.

“It is,”

Hiii!! I hope you enjoyed reading part three!! I’m sorry for being a tease and posting it then deleting it. I was in my teasing era. Anyways, thank you for everything, you have all been so fucking amazing, like it shocks me how sweet and supportive you all are, thank you!!! It means so much!!! I love you all. My requests are open, I’m currently writing part four and then I will be putting out a blurb about when y/n was pregnant with Forest after part four is out. Thank you for everything!!!

[hualianff]

How To Piss Off Your Boss

Chef HC AU

A few months ago, by some miracle, Hai Ye successfully earned a position at Crimson Embers–a lavish dining establishment serving an array of traditional dishes from different regions. It has outstanding reviews praising the exquisite interior, seasonally rotating menu, and delicious food.

It’s been HY's goal since entering culinary school to work in a kitchen with other professionals who have the same visions as him when it comes to cooking. After completing his studies and working in a small restaurant in his hometown for five years, HY finally gets to pursue his dream in the big city.

Crimson Embers opens at 3 p.m. and closes at 10 p.m. Only seven hours of business, and yet, it’s one of the most popular upscale restaurants in the region. Reservations line up months ahead of time; walk-ins are still encouraged too because of how spacious the establishment is. Those seven hours are one of the most stressful shifts HY has had the experience of working in. He’s very proud of the work he does, as a cook and as a collective whole with the kitchen too.

On a regular Monday, everyone arrives for their shift three hours ahead of opening to prepare the fresh ingredients, sauces, meats, drinks, etc. The sight of the CEO of Crimson Embers, Hua Cheng, cleaning the already spotless counters greets them when they arrive in the kitchens. Apparently, HC has decided to not only visit this particular branch for the week but also take on the head chef’s duties and monitor the workers himself. 

All the cooks rush to throw on their aprons, tie back their hair, and wash their hands. HY follows his colleagues, blood pounding in his ears as his nerves threaten to get the best of him. Everyone naturally forms a line in front of the longest counter to stand at attention as HC waits expectantly at the front of the kitchen. 

“Everyone, it’s been a while since my last visit. I see some familiar faces-“ HC’s eye flickers down the line, landing on HY, whose posture is as straight as a rod. “-and some new faces. Regardless, I welcome you guys to another day of hard work, teamwork, and top-notch cooking. Every single one of you is here for a reason. This team may be smaller than others, however, you guys are just as capable of serving the best foods in the country and ensuring excellent customer service.”

HC shrugs off his maple-red long coat to reveal a chef’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. HY spots a hint of tattoos peeking underneath the sleeves, intrigued. HC doesn’t exactly portray the image of a CEO in the restaurant industry. He’s relatively young, long hair swept back into a braid, inked up, and with an eyepatch to top the look. HY has nothing but admiration for him.

“Let’s do a great job today. Let’s do our best,” HC says resolutely. He slams his palm down onto the counter with a loud thud! “Begin.”

“Understood!” Every cook shouts in unison, then scrambles to their stations to rapidly food prep for the night shift.

The hours leading up to the restaurant’s opening are a bit maddening. Everyone is on their best behavior, zoned in on their work under their CEO’s watchful gaze. As soon as customers start filtering in, the impending shitshow is set to begin. All the employees have arrived, including the servers who zip in and out of the kitchen doors like a hoard of worker bees. 

HC is very firm and direct with his orders. His voice, though not the loudest, holds the most power, which he wields as an experienced leader to run things smoothly. Unfortunately, when it gets extremely busy during the night, the head server requests HY to leave the kitchen to seat people because the other servers are busy, and HY has almost a decade of serving knowledge under his belt.

When HY walks to the entrance, there’s a man at the front of the line, dressed in plain black jeans and a white, long-sleeved turtleneck. His long hair is neatly tied back into a low ponytail, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His outfit is simple in style, but he pulls it off exquisitely. HY swallows nervously before asking if the man has a reservation.

“No, I don’t. Though I was hoping I could get a table for two?” The stranger asks with kind eyes. The glasses don’t do anything to obscure how vibrant they shine in the bold lighting of the restaurant. 

“O-of course. Right away, sir,” HY replies. The man in white smiles warmly and HY’s heart skips a beat. He gestures for the stranger to follow him, leading the guest to a quiet corner near the window. Luckily, since it’s only the man and whoever he’s dining with tonight, a small table was readily available. 

“Can I get you started with anything to drink?” HY politely asks. The handsome man quickly looks over the drinks menu. The strands of hair too short to be contained by the hairband fall to frame the man’s face. He quickly tucks them behind his ear, then points to one of the cheapest options. 

“I think the Makgeolli will do. It’s my partner’s favorite,” the man orders. HY enthusiastically nods. 

“I’ll have that out right away, sir.”

“By the way, is the owner free? Hua Cheng?” The man inquires. He crosses his legs in an elegant display that shows off their muscles and length, straining against the jeans’ fabric. HY tries not to stare as the man’s glasses slide down his nose a bit, to which he pushes them back up with a flick of his slender fingers.

“Hua Cheng is here, yes. But he's very busy,” HY informs apologetically. “I’m not sure he has time at the moment.”

The man tilts his head, looking slightly puzzled. For a brief second, he looks as if he’s analyzing HY’s appearance. After an understanding nod, the man relents his question.

“No worries. Thank you for seating me,” the man says, maintaining his mellow tone. HY bends at his waist in a half-bow, then heads back into the kitchens. He has to go back to his station to add the finishing seasonings on the meats–not before informing a server of a guest who requires Makgeolli.

“A full bottle,” HY adds. Just to be generous. No one thinks anything of it.

Ten minutes pass as the kitchen is bustling with bodies moving in all directions and the chopping of knives on cutting boards. That is, until the head server bursts through the doors with an ultra-panicked expression on her face.

“Why did nobody tell me Xie-xiansheng is here!?”

The chaos in the kitchen comes to a dead stop: mid-slice, mid-fry, mid-mix, mid-squeeze. Everyone stares blankly at the head server, who waves her arms towards the dining area with wild eyes.

“Xie-xiansheng is out there right now, sitting ALONE, and just ordered the special meal he and Hua Lao Ban always share,” she frantically rushes out. This snaps several workers out of their shock. 

“Oh shit-“

“Xie-xiansheng has been here the entire time and we didn’t know-!?”

“Someone get Hua Lao Ban-“

“NO! Don’t get him yet, otherwise he’ll skin our asses alive!”

“Fuck, put the special at the top of the list- go go GO!”

HY’s mind spins with the casual conversations he overheard about HC’s partner. He doesn't know much besides how many find HC’s husband to be exceptionally kind and beautiful. HY hasn’t even had the chance to look at a picture of XL, much less meet him since HY has started working at Crimson Embers.

Wait a damn minute.

Was that man he seated…HC’s husband?

HY feels like throwing up upon realizing he had unknowingly signed his death wish. 

“Why the hell is no one working? Do you not see the crowd of guests out there waiting for their food?” An authoritative voice barks, entering from the back of the kitchen, holding up three plates of exquisite, garnished roasted duck. HC walks through the kitchen with his shoulders set back in confidence, his tall height bearing over the other cooks. “Everyone, get back to work! NOW!”

Before anyone can stop him, HC exits through the kitchen doors to the dining lobby, serving the dishes to the guests himself. The employees look at each other with fearful expressions. Their hearts have nearly stopped beating in their chests, HY’s heart skipping a beat for a whole other reason now. 

They are so screwed.

《II》

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.2

Getting back to your little one story cottage, you can only manage to rush in and run about in a mad dash as you try to accomplish getting ready for work and getting something to eat. Running through choices in your head as you change and freshen up, nothing sounds good. There's not much time since your shift starts at nine and to make it to the store you need to leave by eight twenty. You got home at eight fifteen, and while Nate, your manager, has never seemed to give a fuck what you did at work you're still in your probationary period and would like to keep the easiest job you've ever had.

It's a really simple gig, seeing as the store you work at is actually a front for some illegal activity. The variety of crime you aren't sure of, but you are aware there's no way you guys do no business and yet they can afford to pay thirty dollars an hour. Thankfully just keeping your mouth shut and being nice to little Jo, the owner's daughter, is enough to keep you in the cushiest job in the world. The store's front is a regular old book store, all the books are real, the registers work, you're able to sell books and you've run to the bank to do the weekly deposits twice for Book & Nook. The front is very legitimate or it would be if the amount of customers ever equaled the sales made.

Again you don't ask questions, because for thirty dollars an hour you get to goof off for a couple hours a day, plus you get a bonus when you watch little Jo at the shop. She's a real sweet eleven year old, she's got tourettes and took a shine to you the first time she saw you tic. While you both might not suffer the same disorder she finds the common ground nice, like it's not just her. It's not even hard to watch her or enjoy her company, she'll come bouncing in with her excited chittering and hands clapping spilling all the latest gossip that comes with being in middle school. And boy is there a lot of gossip.

It's really nice seeing that Jo has friends at school and is even considered a “popular” kid. You remember how tough school was because no one understood you and teachers never cared enough about your personality to bring up the fact that it was clear to most faculty members that you had Autism. You excelled academically so what did it matter if you got picked on for oversharing information or for finishing assignments the minute they were handed to you. As bittersweet as the parallels are you're so glad Jo doesn't have to go through that. Never would have thought a southern school could be so accepting, much less a middle school at that.

Tearing through the kitchen you honestly can't find anything that you want to eat right now. And even after a long night of hiking/dissociating you don't think you're that peckish at all. Figuring it's best to at least take something to quell any future nausea you grab a Pedialyte Pop from the freezer. As fast as you entered your home you left, and not before ensuring twice that the door was locked and secured. While living on the outskirts of town saves you from many potential robberies, and worse salesmen, there's still the chance of some lunatic with an ax hiding out in a closet to murder you. Better safe now than sorry later.

Pulling into park behind the shop right at nine is a blessing. You run into the shop to clock in blurting out a quick 'Morning' to Nate, who was carrying a particularly large box, as you passed by him. In a flash you were back at your car retrieving your newly prized deer skull. Lungs burning a bit from the all out sprint you just did you took a little extra time to close the trunk and lock your car up to catch your breath, and avoid any light headiness you might get from the empty stomach workout. Eager to share the wonders of death with your best work friends, and by that you mean Nate your manager...and only other coworker, you rush back into the building.

The shop was quiet as usual as you made your way through the door though you were in the back room where only employees could roam you had the slightest suspicion that the front of shop was just the same. It's there you find Nate, now lugging a medium sized box around to a side table. He did this a lot you suspect some type of smuggling but hey plausible deniability and all those legal matters. The taller dark haired man sees you and just as he's about to wave you over, notices your prize with a raised brow.

“The fuck d'you bring in the store?” he doesn't seem amused by whatever it is he thinks you're up to. “Deer skull.” Lifting it up in one hand and pointing at it, “Found this guy on my hike last night...or rather this morning actually.”

“YN, we talked about this, you said you'd get some sleep last night. No adventures remember.” he's only two years older than you and yet he acts as if he's ten years. He must be an old soul, or enjoys the role of care giver...or you're making him go gray prematurely, anything's possible.

“Eh, I remember saying I'd 'try' and get sleep.” for someone who's body is running on fumes your cheekiness is astronomical, “operative word being 'try', remember.”

It's a long silence as Nate decides if he wants to deal with your bullshit at this moment. After a minute or so he concedes leaning back on the table behind him. “Let's hear it.” and you perk up immediately.

“Cool, so I was walking along the tree line and spotted him, tried to find more but seems there's only one piece. Judging by the size of his antlers I'd say he was nearly fully grown. Now my plan is to do whatever treatments taxidermists do to bones and,” you continue to word vomit at the tired twenty-six year old in front of you, about the joys and wonders of taxidermy and the likely hood of ever finding a skull so nicely preserved.

“I can do that in here right?” even though it's been phrased as a question, you aren't asking permission, you're just being polite and letting Nate know the storage room will house your creepy deer skull antics for today...maybe the week you need to find a taxidermist book to figure out what you need to do.

Nate gives up and leaves with his box of new books to let you have full run of the back to do your weird vulture culture shit. He figures he's just too old to understand the new obsessions with the macabre. He hopes his cousin won't take to shit like this, the kid's weird enough as it is, no need to put another target on her back. Nate sets off to take down the Harry Potter sets in favor of this new comic series little Jo wanted.

Already taking his silence as the go ahead you place your found skull on the table and rush off into the store front to find a book on taxidermy and hopefully more specifically about bones. The set up and organization of the store reminds you a lot of the scene in Brendan Fraser's The Mummy 1997 where Evie is on the ladder and somehow causes all the book shelves to fall like dominoes. So unsafe, yet all book stores and libraries seem to have this set up. With the tall shelves it makes it difficult to accurately get a read on the spines. You don't even know what section taxidermy actually falls under, education maybe?

“Nate, where do you think a book on taxidermy would be?” you called out as you passed by him.

“...hobby?” that didn't sound right but you'd give it a shot anyway.

This should be fun, the hobby section was so disorganized and it took up nearly half the store too, Book & Nook had everything from fishing, to crochet, cooking, the art of film making, hell even had a cryptid hunting book a book that you may have to look into a bit later. You closed your eyes and let your intuition guide you, when you looked up you saw a thin black...vine, no whisp? It undulates in less than rhythmic movements nearly like a snake but it has no head, and not unlike a tentacle but without suckers. It's another hallucination so you were keen to ignore it until it stretched past your head, giving you an added auditory hallucination where you swore you could hear wind rushing past your ears, it swirled around you until it flew to the shelf and tapped on a book. Cautiously you walked over to it, it's never good to play into these delusions. Once you got close enough the black shape was gone but on the shelf was a creme colored paper back titled “Manual of Taxidermy: Complete Guide of Preserving Birds and Mammals.”

Walking to Nate with the book in your hands you asked him to read it and make sure you weren't having an episode and making everything up right now. You'd have to try harder to go to sleep tonight if that were the case.

“Oh you found your book huh?” he said looking down at the title.

Well this is getting weird fast, but you nod nonetheless. Might as well thank the weird hallucination gift right. Leaving him to do whatever it is he plans on doing the rest of the day, you go to the back. And just as the book instructs you set to cleaning the skull by setting it in some water and changing it as many times as the water runs murky. The book is quiet helpful to a beginner like yourself but it does seem a bit outdated from the bits of information you know from taxidermists blogs and vulture culture posts on the internet. Reading it in between water changes is a great way to pass the time though, not like you guys get any real customers anyways.

The bell rings as the front door opens and closes alerting you to someone's arrival on your third water change. Needing a little bit of mental stimulation you walk out into the front where Big Jo and Little Jo are talking to Nate. Little Jo sees you and skitters away from her father to rush you, she stops about a foot away and holds her arms wide open. She's a hugger but upon meeting you had never even thought people could be touch adverse so keeping in mind that you might not want to be touched she's learned to invite you into hugs and it's your choice to allow it or not. Placing a hand on your bicep you give a squeeze, checking your tolerance you find the thought bearable. Placing your arms outstretched at your sides Jo rushes your torso for her hug.

After she nearly body slammed you into the wall, and  let her death grip go she was off on a tangent about so many things. Her excited rapid blinking tic, one she developed after meeting you, triggering your own.

“Ok so you remember how last week I told you that Jessie Kinsleton said that Micheal Saleisa told Gigi B, not Gigi S. that Meghan,” you had no clue the lives of eleven year olds had gotten so complex, from the gossip you heard from Jo it seemed that the school's sixth graders were plotting for a war with an ice cream parlor up the street. No clue why, maybe just to fuck the system, kids are weird, preteens are weirder...and angry.

But you nod to Jo listening to her every word, and trying to calm your eyelids so you could actually open your eyes. After being told the sequence of events that would happen in the Tween Armageddon, something to do with Marco Salvator ordering three dozen donuts and a flock of geese, your eyes finally gained their ability to see back. Black whisps, much like the one from earlier, wandered all around your vision, it looked like a  dark smoke had settled eye level within the shop and was snaking through the isles.

Catching the movement of your eyes Jo looked around the shop too. Seeing nothing she turned back to you concerned, “Hey it's okay, nothin's there.”

Hearing the drop in volume of the normally chatty tween, Big Jo and Nate pause their conversation to turn their attention to you and follow you're gaze.

“Kid, you ain't sleepin' again?” Big Jo can already gauge by the bags under your eyes but he's a polite man so he feels the need to ask rather than state his assumptions.

“Day 6.” You answer simply, ever since you've started at Book & Nook the whole Cowell family became acutely aware of many of your disorders. By their record your longest time spent awake was ten days, you however adamantly say that you were an hour's mark away from ten full days so the longest you've been up is nine days in a row. And those are just the cases they know of since you've moved to Kepler.

Big Jo shook his head as a stern father would, which he is, “I have half the mind to send you home to rest.”

“That won't work.” you really don't mean to sound so coarse but it's so irritating having to go over this at least once a week.

“What about those gummy things Dia got you?”

“Long term that kind of stuff has no effect, sure it'll make me drowsie for an hour or two but even if it made me sleep one night I can't use it all the time. And before you ask the same questions again, caffeine has no real effect on me so limiting my intake will do nothing and weed doesn't do a thing for me either.” you state plainly, monotone as you present facts that everyone in the room already knows.

Looking at the stern face of Big Jo's and the exasperated face of Nate you continue, “I know it must be frustrating for you to not be able to help, but I'm content living like this. I like my late night adventures and when I do sleep it's really pleasant.”you threw in a smile for added comfort.

“Kid tha's not the point, there's somethin' wrong with you, medically I mean.” he's pinching the bridge of his nose, probably counting to ten to calm himself from raising his voice.

“Tons of people suffer from insomnia and there isn't anything a doctor could do for me except look for underlying conditions.” Big Jo's about to retort when you continue with, “Plus my dad and uncle both have insomnia as well so my case is due to the genetic lottery I lost.” You say with a hint of finality of your situation, you had to come to terms with this condition all the way back in high school. Having a decade to get used to your strange condition and the limitations it places on you from time to time. Whereas the Cowell family's only had two months to process this information, and you understand it'll take awhile before they stop being concerned. Same thing happened with you parents and friends back then too.

For now you're only met with more head shakes as if they were saying 'what are we going to do with you'. Leaving your medical issues aside Nate and Big Jo continue to talk shop, when the set up Nate just put on display catches Jo's eye.

Like lightening the tween was away from your side and by the new display shelf it looked like it held graphic novels. That's a first since you've been here, you walk over to join Jo knowing the second you do she'll start on about what's got her so excited. Most people might say you over indulge the child and coddle her but you actually just think it's really important to take interest in what makes kids happy. It helps them find their voices and also shows them that it's normal to get excited and like things.

“We got the TAZ graphic novels in?!” you hate rhetorical questions but smile and nod at her anyway.

“Have you read them? No, well you've listen to the podcast...what omg! Ok so there's these three brothers and their,” Jo begins regaling you with tales from the podcast known as The Adventure Zone and how fun they've made dungeons and dragons seem with their amazing story telling and funny characters.

You aren't sure if a show where the main group of heroes being called Tres Horny Bois is exactly age appropriate but when you look to Big Jo he kind of just shrugs it off. Turning you attention back to Jo who's now monologing about mongooses you just smile at the weird family you've found yourself in.

Let it be said that a tween with a slightly unhealthy fixation on something can find anyway to drag it back to that fixation. The day flew by with Jo explain the inner workings of dungeons and dragons, fifth edition, to you, her father, and her cousin after you mentioned why she didn't play. Apparently she'd love to but wanted a story fitting for her friend's to adventure. So being the good older cousin, father, and weird family friend you all were you came up with a story plot for her to use with her campaign.

The Jos had a lot of fun bonding over this little workshop and you guys even had food delivered so you and Nate could stay later. What was meant to just be a quick workshop turned into a mini family game night after you made several nearly impossible puzzles that wouldn't be used in Jo's campaign due to no one at the current table understanding how to solve it even after you showed them several times.

Overall it was fun and you think you might actually be tired enough to go to sleep tonight. You tried to stay and help clean up but Big Jo put his foot down and told you to go get some rest, he'd seen the way you occasionally look around the room as if something was moving behind them all. You may have started off as a cashier two months ago for him but his daughter has opened up a lot since meeting you and discovering that tics aren't so uncommon and there are people who wouldn't care or make a big deal out of them. Because of that you've earned your keep in his family, he already has you down on the list for Christmas cards.

Knowing you can't fight the six foot four man you roll your eyes and bid everyone good night, little Jo coming in to steal another hug from you and thank you for helping with her game. Checking on your skull you see the water's clear and dump it in the sink of the break room before leaving the skull to dry overnight, it's for sure gonna make Nate scream tomorrow, you can't help but chuckle at that.

Leaving through the back door and into the dusk colored parking lot you notice your trunk is popped open slightly. You definitely heard it shut earlier this morning. You blink before your head jerks to the right, unsettled by possibility of a break in and not risking it you head back inside.

“Hey, I think my car may have been broken into.” you stand awkwardly in the door way unsure of how to proceed.

Big Jo and Nate are out of the door as fast as they can. They find your car unlocked with the trunk popped, you know they weren't trying to brush you off when they asked several times if you did in fact lock your car this morning. After hearing your affirmative response each time, they began to inspect your car checking to make sure all wires are properly secured under the hood, Nate even retrieved the jack out of his own car to take a look under the car, ensuring the brakes hadn't been messed with. They started the car up just fine and it didn't appear tampered with. Even though nothing looked out of place and Nate's car, sitting in the same parking lot, hadn't been touched you appreciated them checking to make sure you were alright.

Knowing you're perceived as a woman by most, even outside of this small town, makes you uneasy when it comes to terms of abductions and violence. You know the chances and hear the stories whether it's from the victim's mouth or a podcaster's telling the story the dead can't. Nate offered to follow you home and make sure you were ok but you declined and said you'd call them both when you got home. Big Jo said to just call his home phone because Nate would be coming over tonight anyway, and if they didn't make it there before you called Dia was already at home and would pass the message along. You'll probably still try and give the shop a call if Dia answers, it wouldn't sit right with you if you wound everyone up just to not and at least try to settle their nerves.

With one final check of you car, the men even going so far as to lift seats up and feel under them, they sent you off. You drove carefully on the road tonight, ready to pull off into the shoulder at the slightest hint that something was wrong. Not even the radio was on something that you really didn't like driving without, but if there was the chance for you to catch a shift in tone of the machine you wanted to. Eventually you did end up making it home in one piece and you had called the Cowell family home, from the safety of your car, and got a spazztic eleven year old asking if you'd made it home alright. It took a little bit of coaxing but Little Jo calmed down and shouted to her parents that you were on the phone and alright.

“Kid,” looks like Big Jo took the phone away from Little Jo, “Everything ok on the drive.” Big Jo could hear the movement and shutting of your car door, he'd have to say he was relieved you waited until you were on the phone before exiting. He knew you lived out past the quiet zone in Old Lydia's house. A fact that did little for the unease he felt when he thought you were being watched.

“Oh, yea drive was fine, too quiet but fine.” you said simply as you began circling the cottage. Nothing seemed out of place on the outside, even looking above eye level where people tended to get sloppy in stalking or home invasion cases, everything seemed fine.

“Hope you don't mind if I keep you for a bit.” You had just unlocked your door and stepped in.

“Nah, kid 's fine.” you give a hum of acknowledgment as you look through the kitchen in cabinets, under cupboards, and even under the table.

“You're a smart kid.” he's taken that fatherly overtone that makes you roll your eyes. You understand the sentiment of parents and parental figures having pride in their child or ward but it's always been so weird to you when they feel the need to bring it up. Especially when they bring it up in situations that are dangerous, like can you not make it sound like someone's about to die.

Finding nothing in the living room, hall closet or bathroom you make sure all the windows are locked and dowels are in place to keep them from opening. And you double check that both the back and front doors are secured. You can hear the hushed whispers on the other end of the line, Dia must have just found out about your car, as you rustle through your kitchen utensil drawers taking out two forks before you make your way to your bedroom.

Once in your room you checked your closet and under your bed. Finding nothing you  went to the window in your room, the one right by your bed, you checked the lock, secured it in place with two dowels, and then covered it throwing a thick blanket over the curtain rod to ensure no one would be viewing you in your sleep or the precautions you were about to do. Turing around and locking your bedroom door you then jam one fork into the closed door crease, right below the locking mechanism, and jammed the other fork perpendicular through the prongs. You attempted to open the door with all your weight but only could get an inch in before the forks would stop more movement.

“Kid you alright over there?” it's rushed, he probably heard the commotion with your make shift lock.

“Yea, just had to add another lock to the door.” you trust the Cowell's but you understand how stupid it'd be to let them know exactly how you were defending yourself. Even if it wasn't them there's no telling if the person who broke into your car was outside and just good at hiding. You could also be too jumpy from your true crime shows but you figure it's better to be safe.

“I think everything's good Big Jo.” taking a final glance around your room eye's landing on the bed, “Think I'm even ready to go to sleep tonight too.” a small half laugh leaves your mouth.

“Alright kid, you call if you need anything got it.” it's an order not a request.

“Got it, good night.” Big Jo might think that'd been rude coming from anyone else but from you he can only roll his eyes at the brevity and the dial tone he's met with. He has his own sweep to do, if they were targeting his employee there was a reason. He hasn't had any problems since coming to Kepler but someone always eventually comes along who can't take a hint.

Even combing through your home with Big Jo on the line you didn't feel safe having your bed by the window anymore and moved it away and in front of the closet door. You'd rearrange your room later but for tonight this would have to do. By some grace of god you were actually able to shut your brain down tonight and rest. Maybe it was the excitement and merriment from hanging out with the Cowells or more likely the situation you find yourself in of perhaps being a target for something insidious.

Whatever the case may be you are off to the land of dreams before you know it. And unbeknownst to you the same eyes from this morning watch your home. They may not have seen what you did in there but they'd be sure to catch you when you come out. They'll wait all night to catch you if they have to.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (ii)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fem!oc, alcohol consumption, cursing

series masterpost: here

a/n: part two baby! thanks for all the love on part one, it means the absolute world. i have so much love for this story and i hope people are enjoying it :))

Life is settling into a comfortable rhythm.

After spending a good chunk of her young adult life being incredibly studious, Magdalene can finally have the social life of someone in their mid-twenties. Though she’s still spending a fair amount of time by herself in the basements of the University of Denver’s library, Bette convinces her to go out more. Magdalene tries to fight, citing extra work or a good book as an excuse to stay home, but it doesn’t work very often. The pleas of her friend are how Magdalene finds herself currently lounging poolside at Erik Johnson’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

“How’s the new career treating you?” Tyson asks. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in a while.”

Magdalene laughs. “I’ve seen Bette plenty,” she says, “She thinks I won’t take a lunch break unless she shows up.”

“Would you?” the blonde girl questions with a quirked brow.

“Probably not.”

“I rest my case.”

A small crowd gathers around as Magdalene begins to detail the specifics of her job, but she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as she once would have. In the month or so since graduating school she’s found herself slowly being incorporated into the Avalanche family. It’s almost certainly because Bette and Tyson championed her case, explaining that she doesn’t have much of a support system beyond the two of them, but she doesn’t mind. A few of the guys ask her questions about her work, curious as to why someone would want to spend their life combing through piles of old things. Everyone stays engaged in the conversation until there’s a shout from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Magdalene shuffles in line behind André, filling her plate with various pasta salads and a hamburger. Once situated with enough food for two meals she returns to the pool deck, sitting on the edge and dipping her toes into the cool water. Bette comes and finds her a minute later and the two of them begin to eat.

She’s still relatively new to the group’s dynamic, but Magdalene can’t help but notice that Ryan is never around. In fact, Magdalene hasn’t seen him since her graduation party. Taking a casual sip of her wine cooler, she asks her friend about the man’s absence.

“Why is Ryan never at these sorts of things?”

Bette shrugs. “Isn’t a huge one for parties. He was supposed to come today, but I guess something came up.”

“I’m not huge on parties,” Magdalene huffs, “But that doesn’t stop you from dragging me to every single one.”

“Unlike you, Gravy gets enough regular social interaction that his absence is permissible. If Tyson and I didn’t take you out you’d talk to your cat more than normal.”

She wants to fight back, but knows it’s pointless. Bette has a point – if it weren’t for her the only people Magdalene would interact with are her boss and her cat. Instead, she grumbles under her breath and changes the subject to the trip Bette is in the middle of planning. It’s coming up in a few weeks, and Magdalene wants to hear a bit more about it before she commits. Despite what she thought about taking time off so close to starting work, it was encouraged by June, but she's refraining from telling Bette that. If it doesn’t sound like she'll enjoy it, Magdalene is banking on being able to use the excuse.

Bette explains that she’s renting a large lake house that is perfect for a relaxing week away from adult responsibilities. The property has kayaks and a hot tub, which pretty much ensures that Magdalene will want to be in attendance. She’ll hold onto that information for a little while longer though, if for no other reason to make Bette squirm a little. At some point Tyson comes to sweep his girlfriend away and leaves Magdalene at the party alone. She makes polite conversation with some other players for a while before heading home herself. Ryan never shows up, despite how much Magdalene hopes he will. At the very least she wants to properly thank him for doing her a favour, though her hoping to see him is much more selfish. He intrigues her and she wants to know more about the tall man with the dazzling smile and a proclivity for wearing all black.

☼☼☼☼

Barn Owl Book Company is filled to the brim when Magdalene approaches the store from the side street it annexes. She should’ve expected it – it’s the first of the month and their newest books are hitting the shelves. However, Magdalene doesn’t exactly have time to wait in line. June gave her only fifteen minutes to run and grab them coffee before they continue the massive task of digitizing a private collection that has just been donated to the university. She estimates it will take almost a month of extended hours to get everything done, and Magdalene believes it. There’s so much to wade through but she knows the end result will be satisfying.

Luckily the café line is fairly short, and Magdalene reaches the counter in a timely manner. “Hey,” she greets the barista warmly, “Could I just grab two medium iced cappuccinos?”

“Anything else?”

“No, that's everything. It’ll be on debit,” she smiles. Magdalene reaches into her backpack to grab her wallet only to find that it’s missing. Shit. The barista has already left to make the drinks, completely unaware that her customer is unable to pay.

Magdalene hears a voice from behind her say, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” She turns around to find Ryan Graves standing there with a book tucked under his right arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she mumbles appreciatively. “I don’t know how my boss would take it if I showed up empty handed.”

Ryan laughs shyly as he pulls his card away from the machine. “I get it, everyone needs a little caffeine this time of year.” The barista comes back with Magdalene’s drinks, which she takes with a smile and a wish for a good day. The two of them head towards the exit, and Ryan pauses once they’re on the sidewalk. “Which way are you headed?”

“Back to work,” Magdalene says, nodding her head in the direction of campus. “I’ve got approximately five minutes to get there before June rips me a new one.”

“June?”

“She’s my boss,” she explains.

Ryan nods in understanding. “I’ll see you around Magdalene,” he smiles, turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction.

In a moment of bravery, Magdalene yells at his retreating figure. “Will you? We never seem to cross paths.”

“I’ll be at Bette and Tyson’s this weekend, and I’m counting on your company.”

Magdalene finds it incredibly hard to focus the rest of the afternoon. She keeps thinking about what Ryan said, which makes her a rather lousy archivist. June sends her home just after seven even though they had plans to stay until ten, citing the fact that she’s scanned the same photo three times before noticing. Caligula’s meowing for pets when she gets home isn’t even enough to distract her from the comment. The absentmindedness continues for another day or so, and it’s becoming so bad Magdalene is worried that June is going to fire her for incompetence.

It’s only when Bette calls to invite her over for dinner and drinks that her mind levels out. “I was wondering when I was going to get the call,” she chuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” is the response Magdalene receives.

“Well,” she explains, “I ran into Ryan at Barn Owl the other day and he paid for my drinks because I left my wallet on the table at work, and he said he expected to see me at your place this weekend. So if you never invited me I was just going to show up.”

Bette is smiling, that much Magdalene can infer by the lull in conversation. “I haven’t got the time to call you yet,” she concedes, “But consider this the official invitation to our house for a small party.”

“Anything we’re celebrating?”

“Nope. Have you ever needed a reason to party?”

Magdalene laughs. “Yes. Need one almost every time actually.”

The rest of the week passes fairly quickly. To make up for her blundering earlier in the week Magdalene offers to work a full day on Saturday, by herself, to get the project back on track. June accepts the proposition eagerly, and Magdalene lets Bette know she’ll be coming directly from work. Saturday rolls around and she spends most of her time getting lost in the past lives of the artefacts she’s dealing with. If someone were to ask Magdalene what her favourite part of archiving is, that’s the answer she’d give. There’s nothing more satisfying to her than holding a piece of history in her hands and imagining all the stories it would be able to tell if it could speak.

By the time she’s put in a full work day and finishes locking up the basement floor her department occupies, Magdalene is pretty sure they’re ahead of schedule on the project. She genuinely feels terrible about her misperformance and hopes June will be able to forgive her. On the way to Bette and Tyson’s Magdalene listens to the Leonard Cohen greatest hits cd that came with her car. The previous owner was presumably a big fan, and over the years Magdalene has come to appreciate the folk singer. She never got to see him in concert before his death but turns to his music when she needs to relax. Right now is the perfect time to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ on repeat because she’s seriously freaking out about the idea of spending the night talking to Ryan. Though she still wants to properly thank him and possibly become friends, something about him makes Magdalene nervous.

There’s no way for her to tell if Ryan is there when she parks in front of the house. She doesn’t know what kind of car he drives, or if he caught a ride with someone. Magdalene debates texting Bette to see if he’s there already but decides against it, knowing she’s an adult who is more than capable of pushing down nerves.

She doesn’t bother knocking and just steps into the respectably sized home. The music is loud enough that no one would have heard her anyways. It’s much more of a party than Magdalene was expecting – Bette invited her for dinner and drinks, not a gathering that could pass as a frat party. There are bodies everywhere, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever catch a glimpse of her friend.

“You seem to be dressed for the wrong kind of party,” a voice chuckles from behind her.

Magdalene turns to see Ryan leaning against the wall, eyeing her business casual attire. “I came from work,” she explains, “And didn’t know it was this kind of party to begin with. I would’ve at least brought a change of clothes.”

“You look terribly out of place,” he agrees. “Can I grab you a drink? The hosts are too busy playing beer pong to, you know, be hosts.”

A giggle escapes Magdalene’s lips at the comment. Ryan seems to have a similar sense of humor to her, which will be beneficial for passing the time if Bette is already on her way to being wasted. “A glass of red wine would be nice.”

Ryan pushes off from his perch and heads towards the kitchen. The crowd parts for the six-foot-five hockey player, and Magdalene follows in his wake quite easily. Knowing the space as well as her, Ryan grabs a wine glass from the cupboard Bette keeps them in and pours the dark red liquid into it. He waits until Magdalene has situated herself on the island before handing her the cup. She takes it with an appreciative hum and waits until he’s grabbed a beer for himself before raising her glass in toast. Ryan does the same, and their glasses clink before each of them take a sip.

“What exactly is it that you do? I bet it’s something super cool and studious, but I seriously don’t know what the hell being an archivist means.”

Magdalene explains her job to Ryan, who is extremely interested. He asks nearly a hundred follow-up questions that she answers sincerely, throwing in a few jokes that luckily crack him up. Conversation moves to his career and then life. Magdalene learns that he’s from Nova Scotia, though he stays around Denver these days, and that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he’d like to have a career in publishing. Ryan doesn’t press too hard when Magdalene refuses to open up about her family, which she appreciates. It’s a delicate subject that she keeps guarded close to her chest, and a friend’s kitchen in the middle of a party isn’t the place for her to divulge her deepest secrets.

The two of them get refills before exiting the room. Even more people seemed to arrive since Magdalene walked through the door, and the kitchen is no longer an empty safe haven. The music is so loud she can feel the bass thumping in her chest, giving the living room a club-like atmosphere, and it’s too much. Magdalene tugs at the hem of Ryan’s sweater to catch his attention. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”

“I doubt there is such a place,” he yells over the crowd going crazy over some early 2000s hip-hop track.

“Follow me,” she says with a smile, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the second floor.

It takes a minute for them to wade through the throngs of people, but it goes much faster once Ryan takes Magdalene’s hand and splits the crowd. A few boys, who don’t look older than twenty-one and almost certainly snuck into the party, notice where the pair are going and shout congratulations. Ryan shoots them a glare so sharp it could cut stone but doesn’t drop Magdalene’s hand. Once safely on the much quieter second floor, Magdalene makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“Are you coming or what?” she asks when there doesn’t seem to be footsteps following her.

Ryan hesitates. “I, uh, can just wait out here while you’re in there,” he stammers.

Magdalene’s laugh rings out through the empty hallway. “I’m not going to the bathroom. We’re going out the window.”

He isn’t sure how that’s any better, but Ryan follows the brown-haired girl into the room. It takes considerably more work for him to fit through the frame, but after some directions from Magdalene he makes it onto the roof. She sits down and pats the space beside her, encouraging Ryan to do the same. They stay out there, discussing anything that comes to their heads, until the party’s numbers dwindle drastically. Magdalene makes sure to properly thank him for both attending her graduation and spotting her coffee money, and she thinks Ryan might blush a little when she offers to get the next round. He asks about her love of The West Wing, and they launch into a long conversation about the show and cast. The sun fades to black and the cold sets in, and Magdalene finds herself wrapped in Ryan’s sweater without asking. It’s only when she notices it’s approaching midnight that Magdalene clues into how tired she is.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she yawns. Ryan nods in agreement and holds the window open for her to slip in through. Once downstairs, Magdalene goes to lift the sweater from her frame but Ryan stops her.

“Keep it for drive home. I’ll get it back next time we see each other.”

Still feeling bold from the alcohol that left her system hours ago, she reaches out to poke him in the chest. “And when will that be, hm? You seem to enjoy leaving our meetings up to chance.”

It’s Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Think you can swing an extended lunch break on Wednesday? I’ll be at Barn Owl all afternoon. Maybe you can join me for a coffee.”

Magdalene likes the sound of that and agrees. She leaves without seeing Bette or Tyson once, but she doesn’t mind. They’d be happy for her blooming friendship – or at least she’s pretty sure they will be once she calls to fill them in on the details.

☼☼☼☼

Wednesday rolls around without incident, and Magdalene is given a full hour to eat instead of thirty minutes. Walking time has to be accounted for, of course, but she should have nearly forty-five minutes to spend with Ryan if she plays her cards right. There’s no crowd this time, and it’s incredibly easy to spot Ryan sitting in the window she loves to claim as her own.

“Hey,” Magdalene greets, “Did Bette tell you to sit here?”

He shakes his head, perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“It’s just my favourite seat in the store, that’s all. I thought she told you how to gain some extra brownie points.”

“Should I be concerned about the amount of points I have?” Ryan teases, sliding a cup and pastry bag across the table and into her hands.

Magdalene shakes her head, smiling widely. “You’re doing alright so far. Keep up the good work.”

They eat at a comfortable pace, taking breaks to engage in interesting topics of conversation or take sips of their drinks. Ryan insists his life is boring, but Magdalene is enthralled by the stories he tells. It’s completely different from hers and she feels as though she can live vicariously through the tales of walking through the historic downs of the east coast and swimming in the Pacific Ocean on days off in California. After squeezing every story possible from the man Magdalene shifts gears slightly.

“So, are you going on the trip in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s looking that way,” Ryan shrugs with relative indifference, “Nate doesn’t think he’ll be able to come back, something about a development camp he’s running having the dates switched. He’s asked me to take his spot.”

His neutral mood confuses her. When Bette mentioned his probable attendance months ago, it sounded like he was enthusiastic about spending a week with friends doing nothing to swimming and drinking. “You don’t want to go?” Magdalene probes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes the group parties a little harder than I like to,” he sighs, raising a hand and running it through his hair. That’s something she understands completely, having spent a few too many nights being the sober one out.

“I’ll be there.” It’s Magdalene’s turn to shrug, but the comment holds an incredible amount of hope.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

Was Ryan flirting with her? She spends the rest of lunch thinking about the possibility, and truthfully, it occupies her brain for the rest of the day. However, she keeps her focus and June is none the wiser to the butterflies in her stomach. Work finishes without much fanfare, and her dinner is silent save for the few meows of conversation Caligula offers. It’s late by the time Magdalene falls into bed, cat snuggled into the pillow beside her. On a whim she decides to check Instagram and sees a message request from none other than the man who’s smile has been replaying in her mind. A follow request accompanies it.

Thought that maybe we could quit leaving our meetings to chance and plan something next time :)

He has to be flirting. There’s no other explanation for the witty banter they’ve shared this week, or why he’s reaching out to her on social media. The butterflies in her stomach multiply tenfold as Magdalene types out a reply.

I don’t know, it’s kind of fun being shrouded in mystery. However, I now have the opportunity to stalk your profile ;)

Before she can overthink her use of the emoji, Magdalene shoves her phone in the drawer of her nightstand and rolls over. A slight smile can’t help but appear on her features as she falls asleep, already curious about what his reply will be.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds (add yourself to the taglist!)

[shatouto]

YOUR BABY VADER IS SO GOOD I NEED TO GIVE HIM ALL THE HUGS. please tell me he gets like. a weighted blanket or soft clothes. or! or! or! anakin and obi-wan go to the market because nobody knows that anakin was vader, and anakin gets some nice clothes in pretty colors and theyre very soft and he gets some ingredients for cooking and droid parts to play with and everything is nice and good for him

GOSH thank you!!! aww i love that idea sO MUCH just reading your prompt makes me feel warm fuzzy inside. im not sure which baby vader you’re referring to (because there are so many of them in my wips and i love it) but i’ll assume this is the au ive been writing with @obiwanobi. so pls enjoy this near 2k of tooth-rotting fluff; i took some liberties

who likes sweet things

The clinic smells like bacta, as clinics do. But instead of sterile durasteel walls, the floors are carpeted and the walls are painted and the windows are curtained and everything is multicolored and joyful. Across from Anakin sits a healer - a kindly woman, very small in stature, with large, gentle eyes, wispy hair and pointed ears. She chats happily with Obi-Wan while working in tandem with the medical droid to secure the prosthetic to Anakin’s elbow.

“...disheartening, isn’t it?” She chirps, her three-fingered hands deftly fastening bolts around the cap and manipulating the droid to screw down the simple plating. “I can’t count the number of innocent civilians who have come here to fit a new limb. Just last week, I constructed an entire exoskeleton for this young lady. Poor girl, so young.”

“That is so good of you. I am glad for the young lady to find you. She came to the right place.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Those of us who have some sense all know Healer Saada’s prostheses are of the highest quality in all of Coruscant.”

“Ah, young man. Flattery gets you nowhere. Have you learned nothing as a youngling?” Saada shakes her head at the Jedi, then turns her great eyes to Anakin, ears perking. “And you. You’re a rather quiet boy, aren’t you?”

Anakin presses his lips into a tight, blanched line. This woman may not be a Jedi any longer, but she is not Force-blind. He glances to Obi-Wan, breaths bated.

Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “He’s quite shy, Healer Saada. Please do not worry.”

“Oh, poor thing.” The healer hops onto a moving droid. It rolls towards the counter, where she sorts out some bottles while asking, seemingly in an absent-minded manner, “Where did he come from?”

Anakin catches his gaze the moment Obi-Wan looks at him. Obi-Wan parts his lips, as if ready to lie.

“Tatooine,” Anakin mutters.

Astonishment freezes across Obi-Wan’s face, and Anakin turns away. The admission isn’t for her, though he supposes he doesn’t mind her knowing. She’s just a person. She doesn’t even know his name, or what he has done, or what the dead Sith Lord has made Anakin do to earn his demise. Obi-Wan does.

“So far away!” the healer comments lightly, turning around with a soft smile. “What a great trip you must have made.”

“Indeed he did. He lives here now,” Obi-Wan clarifies. Anakin opens his hand, and the healer places a stretchy ball in it. She instructs him to practice squeezing it to get used to the new artificial limb, before sending them off.

They exit the clinic and out under a vast starlit sky. Gentle winds whirl overhead as they climb into their speeder, heading for the usual park where Anakin takes his walk. The night has gotten cold, yet the darkness is unusually diluted. As they pass by downtown, music wafts up alongside the scent of butter and frying oil. Anakin looks down to see a sea of lights over a town square, and colorful awnings draped over kiosks of all sorts. There seem to be many people there, eating, laughing, hand in hand. He eyes them closely, fingers tightening on the side door of the speeder.

“It’s a celebration, Anakin,” Obi-Wan supplies, as they come to a stoplight. Anakin turns around, and his heartbeat ratchets up when Obi-Wan reaches over to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“What are they celebrating?”

“Harvest season. It’s an old tradition, I’ll give you that. Coruscant barely has a greenhouse on it, let alone agricultural land.” Obi-Wan chuckles, then quiets down into a thoughtful smile. “Though I suppose the election result is as good of an occasion to celebrate as any.”

“Election?” Anakin asks, just as they pass by a great billboard with the face of a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in a night-purple cape. The speeder is going slow enough for him to decipher the words written beneath it. Obi-Wan keeps saying he’s a fast learner, so he tries to read at every turn. “Chancellor… A-Ame…” He frowns. “Amidala?”

“Very good, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle at him for a second before returning to the path ahead. “Padmé Amidala is the new Chancellor now. It was a rather close call. She is well-loved by many people, but not quite so in the Senate.”

Half of those words mean almost nothing to Anakin. “Why?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums. “One could say the Senate hasn’t been loving its people so much, in a while.”

Obi-Wan grows pensive, as he oft does. The faint, warm light from below and the cool starlight from beyond color him in an otherworldly tint. His profile is startlingly delicate, from the slope of his nose to the soft fluff of his whiskers and beard. Even the flutter of his lashes is graceful. Then Anakin remembers he shouldn’t stare. His eyes strays towards the bright lights and jovial music beneath.

“...But I am hardly brave enough for politics,” Obi-Wan muses, after a stretch of silence. When he looks Anakin’s way it is with some tiredness in his small smile. “Say, Anakin. How would you like to stop by the night market, for a change?”

They lower their altitude as soon as Anakin nods his agreement. Obi-Wan parks their speeder, draws up Anakin’s hood, and takes his right hand. Anakin’s synthetic nerves light up, even though it’s only enough transmission for him to feel touch and not warmth, it being a very standard model of prosthetic. His face warms up under the hood of his cloak. He’s glad Obi-Wan doesn’t notice.

They let themselves be carried by the stream of the crowd, of parents jogging after excitable children toddling about with sweetmeats in their hands, sugar on their cheeks; of young couples, one’s arm around the other’s waist, sharing bites of fluffy sweet bread or sips of mulled wine. Light shines golden and amber through bottles of syrup and jars of honey, glitters on the crystal sugar and drizzled glaze on heaps of candies in open boxes. The smell is divine whenever they pass by a warm stall with steam bannering overhead.

Anakin shivers lightly, even though the crowd blocks most of the winds. Obi-Wan tugs at his hand. “Let’s get you something warm.”

He follows Obi-Wan. A paper cup is pressed into his hand, ample and warm against his skin. The drink smells and tastes sweet with a note of toasted bitterness, the texture creamy and rich on his tongue. There are floating white chunks of some sort of confectionery in there.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Obi-Wan raises his identical cup and touches it to Anakin’s. “Do you like it?”

”Yes,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan’s smile warms his belly more than any hot drink.

They continue on their path, still a straight line from one end of the market to another. Anakin’s wide eyes travel from stand to stand: here a string of patchwork puppets, there a counter of carved wooden figures; and perfume vials, colorful figures (“It’s artisan soap, Anakin”), bouquets of everlasting tissue flowers tied in silk ribbons. There are clothes: soft robes in various colors, touted as “warm in winter and breezy in summer,” per the merchants; tunics with blossoming patterns embroidered at the collars or sleeve hems. There are kiosks of datatapes, illustrated by sparkling holograms of a High Republic castle, or a great speeder model, or even some holodrama character whose name Anakin can’t remember.

And then a booth takes his breath away. Glimmering under the light are shelves after shelves of mini household droids, custom-made transmitters, and a variety of artfully wired core processors. Replacement parts bathe in the blue glow of holograms depicting the corresponding droid models; and below all of this is a row of toolboxes of gleaming silver and shiny ivory, even iridescent inlays of mother-of-pearl. The booth seems to be one of a kind in the vast entirety of the market.

Anakin stands, transfixed. His fingers itch, and one of the tools begins to quiver and lift into the air, unbeknownst to the seller who has his back to it. He wants it. The thing will be his.

“Anakin? Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s hushed voice rustles by his ear, jolting him back to his senses.

The tool drops down with a small clang, barely audible in the noises of the festivity. Fear bursts coldly in Anakin’s chest - he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, his Master would be very unhappy if he found out his young foolish apprentice had tried to waste his time playing with droids again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, bowing his head, even as Obi-Wan squeezes his hand.

“Do you want that?” Obi-Wan asks, softly.

Anakin peeks up. The empty paper cup is still slightly warm in his hand, and he crushes it absentmindedly, tightening and loosening his fingers just to have something to do. “I, uh…”

Obi-Wan’s hand covers his own, gently prying the crushed paper cup out from the curl of his fingers. “I would love to get it for you, if you want it. It’s the toolbox on the bottom shelf, second from the left, isn’t it?”

The light on Obi-Wan’s smile is a honeyed gold, pooling stars into his eyes, and Anakin is transfixed again, not quite by the tinkering booth this time. He looks down as his face warms and his heart still pounds hard, and slowly he nods.

—

They come back to Obi-Wan’s quarters with a small armful: a new set of robes in muted, ashen pink; a box of tools with carved handles that are probably more fancy than they need to be, but still practical enough; a new array of spices and condiments; and a great tin of “absolutely decadent powder for drinking chocolate, Anakin, I can’t believe I let you persuade me into buying this.”

“You are the one who likes sweet things,” Anakin counters, arranging the new addition into their pantry. Obi-Wan laughs aloud by his side.

“Now how could you possibly know that?”

“I cook. I know that.” Anakin shrugs, and admits, “...and Ahsoka said so.”

Obi-Wan’s brows shoot up. He’s quiet for a few seconds, but the wide smile that follows only seems all the more brighter for it. “Best friends now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Anakin huffs and closes the pantry door. He doesn’t say more. Ahsoka gave him her old voicebook plug-in and lent him her comics; in exchange, he would pack her this spicy meat stew whenever she needed to leave for some time. They struck a fair deal, is all.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say more, either. They settle on the couch, Anakin almost rushing to fish out the toolbox from its paper bag. Finally having two hands to work with again, he examines it with zeal. It’s a good set of tools, he knows it; he hasn’t been allowed to touch these things for years, but he still knows. It’s in his blood. He can still wire standard circuit boards for protocol droids (the slightly outdated type) with his eyes closed; can definitely assemble a cleaning-type mouse droid from scratch if he’s allowed to scavenge for parts. He smiles down at the lacquered handles and the durasteel glint, picking up and balancing each microscrew, each hexagonal wrench, each tiny plier.

“...I hope it was enjoyable for you,” Obi-Wan speaks up, all of a sudden.

Anakin turns to him, not bothering to wipe off his smile. “It was.” He chews on the inside of his cheeks. “I’ve never had so many things. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan studies him for a long moment, more intent than he ever did. By the look on his face, Anakin expects him to say many things, but he doesn’t. He just pats Anakin’s elbow, where the prosthetic is joined, and murmurs, “You’re welcome.” His eyes have a moist sheen to them, smiling though he is.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Exhibition Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

NOTE: @redqueen-hypothesis​​ did the translation for this! All I did was proofread and format! It’s on my blog because Red says so and I have to comply :<

[ This date was released in CN on 7 December 2020 ]

MC: According to the map, it should be… right ahead!

Victor: ...you don’t need to look at the map. Just watch where you’re going.

Victor: Turn at this corner and we’ll be there. There’s no need to keep looking at your phone.

A few days ago, when I was agonising over what television program to produce for the theme ‘Heart’s Whisper While Going into the New Year’, a notification about an exhibition popped up on my phone.

The exhibition hall next to New Light Mall was going to hold a ‘Speak Up’ exhibition. I saw a few recommendations for the exhibit, and thought that it was meaningful, and also felt that it was in line with the New Year atmosphere.

Since the opportunity presented itself, I quickly booked Victor’s Sunday afternoon.

MC: CEO Victor’s rare time off has been taken over by me to do overtime - do you have any complaints?

After hearing what I’ve said, Victor raises an eyebrow, a slight laugh escaping him.

Victor: What if I do?

MC: If that’s the case…

MC: Since I don’t think I could afford your overtime wages, how about I treat you to a cup of coffee later? I’ll look for the nearest cafe in the area…

When I lower my head to look at my phone, searching for a list of cafes in the vicinity, Victor lets out a sigh and grabs my hand, pulling me to turn a right at the corner.

MC: Ahh, the nearest cafe is located right outside the exhibition hall!

MC: Online reviews say that their croissants taste good. From the pictures they’ve posted… it seems to be true.

Victor: And here I was, thinking that you’d really come with the intention of figuring out the plan for your television program.

MC: I do intend to! But right now, I’m missing the… spark of inspiration.

MC: If the afternoon turns out to be fruitless, I’ll simply treat it as a day out! It’s not too bad.

MC: Besides, don’t you think the two of us have very few opportunities to look at these sorts of exhibitions together?

Victor: … yes, it’s my fault for being too busy.

MC: That’s not true. You already take out so much time to accompany me, and I always drag you to all sorts of noisy places.

MC: It’s time to let art nurture my soul, and help me attain a gentler disposition.

Victor’s hand, which had been holding mine earlier, slides down my palm, warm fingertips stroking the back of my hand gently, before lacing his fingers with mine.

Victor: Then, let’s go.

-

Cafe owner: So the both of you haven’t planned the overall route to view the exhibition?

The cafe is located right at the entrance. After securing the tickets to the exhibition, I pull Victor to the cafe first.

However, today’s exhibition hall seems a little deserted, and the cafe has very few customers.

The bespectacled middle-aged owner seems refined and gentle and is a good host. Before long, he’s already started a conversation with the two of us.

MC: Is the exhibition very big?

Cafe owner: There are three floors in total. If you browse every exhibit once, it should take quite a while.

Cafe owner: This is why many visitors choose a single floor to focus their attention on, and give less time to the other two.

When Victor takes his coffee, he nods politely at the cafe owner.

Victor: Do you have any recommendations?

Cafe owner: Haha, if you’re talking about recommendations, I’d suggest the second floor. It’s most popular with visitors, since the main theme of the floor is ‘Love’.

As the cafe owner says this, he places both hands on the bar counter and chuckles at the two of us.

Cafe owner: Stories on the second floor and those related to the exhibits are real. So instead of saying that you’re looking at the exhibits, it’s more of you looking at authentic stories.

I steal a glance at Victor.

Victor: It’s your choice.

MC: Then let’s go to the second floor first!

MC: Coincidentally, most of the exhibits I’m interested in happen to be on the second floor as well.

Happily, I pick up my latte and tuck the exhibition brochure into my bag, determined to explore the second floor.

Victor is one step ahead of me and pushes open the door of the cafe for both of us, giving the cafe owner a slight nod before we leave.

When I turn back to look behind me, he has already taken my hand, pulling me towards the second floor.

After stepping up the last flight of stairs, the large exhibition hall appears before my eyes.

It’s not at all like what I had expected. There aren’t any mundane objects put on display here such as handwritten letters or small gifts. Instead, these are real pieces of artwork.

All sorts of beautiful sculptures, paintings, and musical instruments have been set up. Even the lighting is so beautiful that if I were to use exquisite words to praise it, it would still sound modest.

MC: It really is an art exhibition…

Victor: There are a few works from some of the best artists of their time. You should be careful not to miss any of them.

Even though the silence in this large exhibition hall is only broken by the sound of our footsteps, one lighter and one heavier, the interior decor of the exhibit is very cozy, lacking the coldness that keeps one at bay.

Pure white stone pillars, warm yellow lights, the lack of the usual glass coverings separating exhibits, and every placard for each exhibit seems as though it’s been handwritten by the person who contributed it.

Walking between the exhibits, the feeling I get is one of warmth, and the volume that I had been suppressing since I walked into the exhibition hall steadily grows.

MC: Victor, look at this!

I take out my phone and snap a picture of the oil painting hanging on a wall.

MC: The placard says that the artist’s girlfriend is known as ‘Mouse’. So in every piece of artwork, there’s an adorable mouse subtly hidden somewhere.

After pressing down on the shutter, I look up once again to search the artwork for a little mouse.

MC: Wow, he’s really creative! The mouse in every piece looks completely different!

MC: This chubby little one looks really cute, this one seems really sharp and intelligent… they all suit the theme of each artwork. If you don’t look very carefully, it’s difficult to notice them, and they don’t ruin the art at all.

With a hand stuffed into his pocket, Victor lifts his eyes to stare at these paintings, a look of contemplation surfacing on his face.

Victor: This exhibit is called “Marks”.

MC: Yeah… it’s a title which lets others easily understand what it’s about.

Victor turns around to give me a low chuckle.

Victor: If that’s the case, tell me what you understand from it.

MC: Are you testing me again?

I think about this for a moment, then rush to stop him before he can tell me the answer, shaking my head.

MC: I’ll tell you my answer later! But first, come with me to see another exhibit!

I pull Victor along with me to the walkway, deeper into the exhibition, following my memory of the exhibition brochure I had looked at earlier, and come to a stop in front of several thick diaries.

MC: This exhibit is called ‘Today’s Weather’. It’s the exhibit I wanted to center my program around.

MC: These are the diaries of a woman who wrote down everything about her life for a full ten years. In these diaries, she often mentions “Mr A”, the person she likes very much.

Victor nods, flipping open one of the books silently.

Victor: From what I can see of her personality from her writings, she seems to be quite similar to you.

MC: Do you know what’s written on the last page of her diary? ...‘Congratulations on your marriage’.

MC: The “Mr A” she liked so much rejected her confessions several times, and he later moved overseas, causing them to lose contact with each other. The next time she heard of him, it was an announcement of his marriage, and that’s where her diary stopped.

Victor’s hand pauses in flipping a page, his expression slightly dumbfounded.

Victor: So what was the point of her writing this diary?

I look at the yellowing pages of the diary, and think back to what the brochure had mentioned about it.

MC: There was no reason.

MC: She later said that this was her true life story - a simple and calm one. During these ten years, she studied hard and moved to the city, becoming a person in charge, a manager, and then a director… and never once gave up on herself.

MC: Although the entrance test she took back then was exceptionally difficult, she persevered with the thought that the school was rather close to the high school Mr A had once studied at.

MC: She felt that by attending a school near to his, she could bring their lives closer together.

MC: There were no waves of joy or anguish - only trivial sentiments.

Even though there were some incidents which made her feel sad, from the cute and excitable way she described everything in her diary, she lived rather well despite feeling some regret.

However, after saying so much, Victor doesn’t respond. I walk to his side and tug on his sleeve.

MC: We’ve finished looking at this exhibit. Do you want to leave?

Victor: Since this is the exhibit you wanted to use for your program, shouldn’t you take a few more photos before leaving?

MC: I planned to, but I thought you might find it pointless.

Under his questioning gaze, I answer honestly.

MC: I’m sure in CEO Victor’s mind, there are many more important things going on every day… you wouldn’t be interested in trivial things such as romantic sentiments. And even then, you’d be able to understand them easily.

Victor gives a small laugh.

Victor: If I weren’t interested in such things, why would I be accompanying you here over the weekend?

He glances back at the diaries, his expression one of deep contemplation.

Victor: In truth, the same emotions can be felt by different people. I can understand her feelings.

I never thought Victor would answer in such a manner.

MC: Do you think that it was a waste of her time to write these diaries?

Victor: No.

Victor’s gaze rests on a page.

Victor: The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.”

I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words.

When he looks at these exhibits, do we feel the same emotions?

I contemplate this for a moment, before looking at him once more.

Victor: What do you want to say?

MC: I was thinking about what you asked me earlier.

I take two steps towards him. Even though the distance between us is small, he doesn’t step backwards. Instead, he simply turns towards me.

MC: I think a love like this is very interesting. You meet a person and feel such emotions.

MC: From that day onwards, you’re never the same person again, and are completely changed. Like some sort of… mark.

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it.

Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows.

Victor: Such as?

The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously.

MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed.

MC: The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines... it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye!

Victor’s eyebrow quirks.

Victor: That’s all?

MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking…

Victor smiles slightly and shakes his head, taking my hand.

Victor: Come with me.

In the innermost room of the exhibition floor on the second floor is a display board. On it depicts the entire process of how the exhibition first began and how it expanded.

Above all the pictures of the people who’ve helped to plan this exhibition…

MC: It’s the cafe owner from earlier!

Victor: You made preparations before coming here, yet couldn’t recognise him?

MC: I was saying that he seemed very familiar!

MC: If that’s the case… the story of this exhibition - it should be his, isn’t it?

He fell in love with a girl’s literature and art secretly in his youth, yet didn’t know how to confess, and much time passed without progress. When he finally mustered up his courage to confess, the girl passed away from cancer.

Those are all the words written on a whiteboard, and they seem a little simple and stereotypical. But when I think about how a person experienced this, my heart can’t help but feel sad for him.

Victor: That’s why the name of this exhibition is ‘Speak Up’. The existence of these marks is how these feelings are being conveyed.

MC: No matter whether it’s from a tiny mouse hidden in each artwork, the longing written down in a diary, or a sculpture carved in the image of their lover - all of them bear their own longing in some way. Even this exhibition is a voice for the cafe owner to speak up about his past regrets.

All these fragments come together in my mind, moving my heart.

MC: Victor, even though this is a little old-fashioned… if I want to make a program about entering the New Year and about this ‘Speak Up’ exhibition, will you reject my proposal?

Victor’s gaze sweeps over me, his brows smoothening.

Victor: I’ll decide after I see the quality of the proposal.

After we finish viewing the exhibition, cold rain and freezing wind come the moment we step out of the exhibition hall. It was so sunny earlier… Why is it raining all of a sudden?

Victor: I’ll get Goldman to pick us up.

MC: Huh? That’s not needed-

I pull out the tickets for the exhibition in my bag.

MC: I remember that the complimentary gift with this exhibition is an umbrella! All we need to do is exchange the tickets at the counter.

Victor casually takes the tickets from my hand.

Victor: Wait here for me.

MC: Alright.

While waiting, I glance over at the cafe and happen to see the cafe owner closing up his cafe for the day. He turns the sign from OPEN to CLOSE, before locking the door and dropping the key into his pocket.

This seems to be his usual, everyday life.

He notices my gaze on him and gives me a quick wave in greeting, before heading into the exhibition hall.

This world has many people who can’t say what is most important to them… but I’m different.

When I snap out of my thoughts, Victor is already heading back to me, umbrella in hand. In the dark and gloomy night, the lights of the street lamps flicker, silhouetting him in light and shadow as he walks slowly towards me.

I see tiny droplets of water clinging to his hair, the hazy light shining in his eyes.

The marks that I have must be conveyed in the most direct way.

MC: Victor, do you hear the music being played in the exhibition hall?

Victor doesn’t catch the underlying meaning in my tone, and instead begins to explain it to me.

Victor: It’s to alert the people in the exhibition hall that it’s about to close.

I can’t help but give him another hint.

MC: That’s all you thought about? You don’t find the music somewhat familiar?

Victor falls silent, his brow furrowed, as if he’s really thinking hard about this.

Not giving him a second more to think, I run ahead of him with small steps, wearing a smile as I turn back to extend my hand to him.

MC: Would this gentleman honour me with a dance?

Victor’s eyes widen slightly.

MC: The first time you taught me dancing was to this song.

The world around us is silent, and all I can hear is the wild beating of my own heart, pounding with anticipation.

MC: This is how you’ve given me marks of my own… and changed me.

Warm fingers brush my palm. Before I can register what’s happening, he’s already pulled me into his embrace. Along with the violin’s melody, I move my feet to dance with Victor, and the two of us turn in a circle fluidly. Even though night is quickly falling, everything before me is filled with shining light.

Joy blooms in my heart with a thump, like a resplendent firework soaring into the night sky, exchanging greetings with the sky full of starlight.

There are no words to describe the happiness I feel in this moment.

MC: What about you?

Victor: Me?

MC: Don’t you have anything to say to me? After this afternoon of visiting the exhibition, I thought it would have left some sort of impression on you.

Victor pauses in his footsteps, holding me a little tighter. The light and hurried rain droplets are blown over by the gentle wind. He tilts the umbrella, blocking the drizzle completely.

Victor: Dummy.

Raindrops patter down on the umbrella, paired with the sound of his low voice; it’s as if all surrounding noises have faded away to nothing, and he’s the only one who exists in the world.

Victor: Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house.

Victor: Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?

[mylieutenant]

Can You Hear Me?

After the Promised Day, Team Mustang goes on a questionable mission in the rebuilt Ishval. Following Roy into Hell often feels too literal for Riza.

1.3k words | Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence, sexual innuendo (unrelated to each other) | Read on AO3

Originally written between 2016-2018.

---

“Slow night, Elizabeth?”

I’m going to ask something very difficult of you, Captain.

That’s how she was after an officer from Aerugo who was secretly working with the Ishvalan separatists. They had gotten orders from Central to handle this with maximum discretion. Which Roy had interpreted as, take him out as quickly as possible. Since Aerugo denied all current involvement with Ishval, they wouldn’t be able to explain such a case to the public.

That’s how Riza was in Ishval with her rifle once more.

Roy’s plan involved her, Breda, Fuery… and Scar of all people. Scar, everyone suspected, dreamed of an independent Ishval free from Amestrian rule just as much as any of the separatists. But Scar, Riza was almost certain, despised the separatists more than anyone. Creating tension, perpetuating prejudices, pushing for war. Hatred leading to hatred. Roy had thought the same, and their suspicions were confirmed when Scar begrudgingly agreed to be part of the mission. Scar became the spy they didn’t ask for, and it said a great deal about his reputation that the separatist leaders weren’t suspicious.

That’s how Scar was asked to cite the target in a designated spot during the night, to supposedly discuss his knowledge of Major Miles’s activities. The area was clear; Riza and Breda had scanned it hours earlier. She’d been keeping watch ever since, so unless they’d missed anything, the foreigner didn’t suspect anything.

Not a defenseless civilian, Riza reminded herself. My target is a spy from a different country, seeking to destroy our own from the inside.

“I cannot complain,” she said. “I was expecting it to be crowded, but it looks like we're going to be alone.”

“I could come over and keep you company.”

“Feeling lonely, Roy?” It was easy to be playful, when he was such an excellent lead. “I can assure that having me on the phone will do well enough to keep you company.”

That’s how they’d ended up connected to the civilian grid, which had taken three years and a massive effort to build. The line, still new in Ishval, rarely worked properly and it was being used mostly within the military. Fuery could even work it to their advantage, making the call nearly impossible to trace. It was more than enough. It was, in fact, still too dangerous. But Roy, feeling so inadequate, so dejected back in East City, had insisted on installing a line. At first Riza protested, but she had to admit that their banter was helping her focus.

“You can say you miss me, Elizabeth. It’s fine.” That was no lie.

“Wishful thinking, Roy Mustang. It suits you.”

“Well, a man can dream.”

Before she could think of an answer, a figure approached the meeting point from her right. Riza looked through the scope, but the insufficient light didn’t give her any useful information.

“Wait a minute, we have a customer. I think I know him. Kate, what do you think?”

Fuery, behind her with the equipment, spoke on a different line.

“Do we know this guy?”

Riza kept her eyes on the figure that approached Scar in the darkness, then looked through the scope as he slowed down. She had a clear shot, but she needed to wait for Breda’s confirmation as he carefully watched from a closer spot.

“It’s him,” Fuery told her.

“It’s him,” she repeated, then hesitated. Roy had planned carefully, down to the last detail, yet he hadn’t thought of giving Scar a codename. “Our new girl is greeting him.”

“Your new girl?”

“You’ve met her. Fairly pleasant. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Fuery snickered quietly, and then Roy’s ringing laughter soothing her enough to dispel all the tension she had accumulated in the last few minutes. That’s how she got the trust she was missing, that trust that always faltered, but never proved wrong.

“I must go and greet him properly. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Ah, Elizabeth. Always giving such good service to those who deserve it. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth settled in her chest. Roy was not only reminding her of the righteousness of their mission, but acknowledging the fact that this wasn’t easy for her.

Thank you, sir.

“You’re speaking nonsense, Roy Mustang,” she said. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Again?  Why, Elizabeth, I’m offen—”

The call fell. Fuery let out an exasperated sigh. She imitated him, more calmly. Breathe in, then out, holding that position as she made sure that the forehead of the target was right in the middle of her scope. That Scar couldn’t possibly get hurt.

And then, she pulled the trigger. The sound spread and echoed along the deserted streets. Her chest hurt. Blood splashed out and splattered on the ground as the target stumbled. And then, he fell. Riza closed her eyes. Yet another life taken by her hand. Another corpse without a tombstone. Another soul waiting for her in hell.

This is the enemy. This is what I’m here to do.

“I can’t get us back on. I fear we could’ve been intercepted,” Fuery informed her. “You got him, didn’t you?”

“I did.” And this meant they needed to leave. She remembered now, she had strict orders not to worry about the target. Leave it to Breda, now she should help Fuery dismantle the equipment. She ignored her rapid heartbeat, the breaking sweat, the inclement weather finally taking a toll on her senses. “We should go. We can communicate later as we—”

“Elizabeth!” The voice in her ear startled her. “Elizabeth, can you hear me? Please—”

The memories that crept up weren’t those from the Civil War, but memories of Roy blowing his cover so he could make sure he was safe. Roy’s anguished expression when she’d been bleeding out in front of him. Riza had sculpted it in every corner of her mind when she’d believed it to be the last thing she’d ever see. And it haunted her in dreams, it haunted her when sadness caught her off guard.

It was everywhere now. And Riza felt his fear, deep, devastating, as she knew he was feeling it. This was difficult for her, being back in the battlefield that had seen her become a murderer. But it was just as difficult for Roy, having her on the field when he was miles away. He knew this mission was of relative low risk. No one was after them; they were too many steps ahead from the enemy. And he still feared. He still grieved.

“I can hear you. I’m sorry. We’re having some issues with the line as of late.”

“Right.” Roy sounded defeated. “I knew that. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, I was too distracted by our customer to notice either way. I did an excellent job, if I say so myself. But it’s closing time now, so I'll have to leave you hanging.”

“Such a tease." And just like that, he was back. "Next time, then. The anticipation is killing me.”

Oh, if only she could reassure him, time and time again, that everyone was safe, that the mission had gone without a hitch and they should be back in East City by morning. If only he could acknowledge her state of mind, that he could remind her it was over, and she was doing this for the greater good.

“Always. Thanks for keeping me company,” was all she could muster.

She signaled Fuery to end the conversation he’d pretended not to hear. Fuery, with those big eyes behind round glasses, eyes that asked questions he was too polite to speak aloud. But Riza had no time to lose, no time to worry about discretion. It was over. East City, home, Roy waited for them.

“Let’s go.”

[btsslowburnfic]

-The Arrangement- Chapter 1

Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable add. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter summary: Let’s meet our lovely [Y/N]. Every good story starts somewhere. Buckle up for the next few months babes <3 

Chapter 1

“Nope, sorry, I have to get to my other job.” You politely declined getting after-work drinks with your colleagues like usual. It was nice of them to still invite you even though you never said yes. 

You excused yourself to the company restroom. Out with the office worker, in with the bartender. You switched shirts, put your hair up in a ponytail, and applied heavier make-up. You'd switch out your skirt when you got to the club. As dumb and gross as it was, you always made more money when you wore your questionably short shorts. Oh well, money is money. 

You sent a quick text to your brother to make sure he and your sister got to your aunt's apartment and then headed for the station. Ok. How much money do I need to make tonight? You asked yourself as you opened the banking app. You mentally calculate the amount needed to feed your siblings, pay for the bus, and utilities. Ugh Maybe Park Minho will let me stay for him tonight. He usually wanted to get out of work early to go hang out with his friends. You would be ok this week if you stopped taking the bus and ate more ramen and less real food. You sighed. You were so tired.

You walked through the black glass doors of Club Tokki. There were only a few customers right now and you immediately went to see if anyone had made coffee. Work coffee=free coffee. Luckily for you, Lisa, the woman who worked the day shift almost always needed an extra dose of afternoon caffeine and there was still enough for a cup.

“Hey doll!” Lisa greeted you. “Here, I brought some milk in as well,” she said as she poured the coffee for you.

“You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much.” You gratefully took the mug, warming your hands. 

“No problem, do you need me to do anything before I leave? I’m going to close out with those two groups first.” She asked as she rinsed off some pint glasses.

You assessed the bar looking to see what you might need over the next few hours. “Yeah, ask the bar-back to get two more bottles of Goose and a bottle of Crown. We usually go through those on Wednesdays. And maybe cut a few limes and lemons. Thanks.” You took the coffee with you to the small office and finished changing clothes. Lisa was a student so she shared your need for thrifty living, coffee, and work. You didn’t have many friends, but you knew you could count on Lisa for caffeine and getting the bar prepped. 

You walked back out to the bar, mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead. In a few minutes people like your office coworkers would stream in, treating each other to after work drinks, socializing, and networking. You used to wonder if your circumstances were different if you would be the type of person who went out after work and socialized with their colleagues. You had come to the realization that “no” you wouldn’t. You would probably go home and sleep. Maybe read. You sighed and shimmied behind the bar as Lisa started to count down the drawer. "Alright, I asked the barback for the alcohol and there's 2 cups of lines and lemons." 

"Thanks a lot babe. See you tomorrow." you waved at her and started to move stuff around to where you liked it. 

"Happy money making." she smiled and headed out. 

As predicted about half an hour later, office workers start to show up and the bar is slowly starting to fill up. Club Tokki is known for its laid back vibe so it's mostly beers and "and" drinks. Whisky and coke. Vodka and soda. Occasionally there were some younger girls here that ordered the more complicated drinks. But you got those out as well; this wasn't the first bar you'd ever worked at, just the latest incarnation. And just like that, the night starts to speed up. Minho arrives two hours into your shift for the after-dinner rush.

“Just in time dude,” you greeted him as he walked behind the bar.

“What do you need?” He asked as he clocks in for the night. 

“The bar is caught up if you want to go check section one. Shinhye has the rest of the floor.” You instructed him and used this opportunity to catch up on cleaning dishes. You caught one of the guys at the end of the bar staring at you. He was definitely good looking, and stood out with his expensive suit, silver hair, and strong facial features. Whatever. As long as he tips. You were not looking for a boyfriend. Or a hookup. You cringed at the thought of even trying to navigate dating between your work schedule and also living with your Aunt as a grown ass woman. You shook your head like it would get rid of the thought. Satisfied with the current state of the bar you took a minute to drink some water and scan the club. There were worse places you could work for sure. 

Minho came back to the bar and asked you to make some shots while he grabs some beers. Grape bombs? Is this 2012? You resisted the urge to gag, having gotten sick on them when you were younger. You placed the drinks on his tray and checked the bartop once again.

Mr. Expensive Suit dimple-face was nursing a Goose and soda. “You doing ok?” you asked him as you made your way down the bar. 

“I’m great. Thanks. What’s your name?”

“[Y/N]” you responded and started to move on to your next guest. 

“This is the part where you ask my name.” he said arrogantly. Suddenly you did not care for him as much.

“Is it? I’ve never talked to someone in a bar before. I didn't realize there was a script.” you responded sarcastically. You hated it when guys thought they could manipulate you. 

“Wow. Ok. Ok. Hard to get. I respect that. I’m Kim Namjoon.” 

“Ok Mr. Kim, is there anything else I can get for you right now?” you asked, oh so sweetly.

“No. I’m good for now.” he said, laughing to himself. He shook his head incredulously and sipped his drink.

Well maybe you weren’t going to get tipped after all. Oh well. 

The rest of the night was mostly a blur. The vodka special brought in quite a few people and you ended up going through four bottles of Goose. Mr. Kim Dimples remained, nursing only his second drink now and still staring at you even though he was trying hard to not look like he was staring. It was awkward. He was hot but sooo not your type. Which you thought you had made clear.

“Mr. Kim, are you sure you even like Goose and soda?” you teased him as you made another round checking on people. 

“You know, I am more of a beer drinker myself, but I can’t pass up a good vodka special.” he leaned to the side, getting out his wallet, and pulled out a business card.

“[Y/N], I’d like for you to take this.” he stuck it between his index and middle finger, holding it out for you to take.

“I am flattered, Mr. Kim, but I’m not interested in anything like that.” you smiled politely. 

He rolled his eyes at you.  “Believe me, I’m not asking you on a date. You are so not my type,” he said with an air of disgust. As though he was repulsed that you would have even thought he would consider asking you out. “This is a job opportunity. I work for a talent agency of sorts.”

Wow. What a dick. “Oh yeah? What talent do you see?” you gesture to yourself. “I do pour some stiff drinks and can usually tell rude guys to fuck off with a smile on my face.”

To your surprise he just laughed. “You are very funny. And I suppose some people would find you attractive. Just take the card. I think you’re the best candidate I’ve found yet.” he stood up and put on his suit jacket, sitting the business card down on the bartop.

“Rude.” you casually said, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it makes no difference to me if you accept or not. Regardless, there it is." He gestured to the card, and sat down way too much money on top of it. "Keep the change." He turned and left.  

You didn’t end up closing for Minho; the two of you both stayed since it remained steady through closing time. You were weirded out by the conversation with Mr. Kim, but having worked in a bar for the past 7 years, it wasn't the weirdest thing that had ever happened to you. You threw  the business card into your purse and forgot about it for the rest of your shift.

The remainder of the night passed without incident. As much as you disliked it, that weirdo's money helped make sure you could take the bus again the next few days. You stuffed your tips into your purse and walked home. Well. To your aunt's house. It didn't really feel like home. Just a temporary landing spot until you and your siblings could get your own place again. 

You entered quietly and washed your hands. You dutifully went through your siblings school bags, making sure their supplies and homework were where they should be. You packaged their lunches as much as you could and started a fresh batch of rice for tomorrow. All mostly in the dark so you didn't wake anyone up. Your brother was sleeping on the couch, which you hated, but he insisted on it. You were sharing the guest bedroom with your sister and your niece.

You grabbed your laptop and curled up in the corner of the kitchen to not bother anybody. I’m a 27 year old loser hiding on the floor of my Aunt’s apartment in the middle of the night. I have to wake up in 5 hours for my other job and instead I’m going to look up a website that some weird ass rude hot guy at a bar gave me. Why is this my life? You thought, and yet you pulled out the business card and entered the link. It took you to a black website with a white box asking for a code. You flipped the card over, and there it was, handwritten. You type it in and wait for the website to load, convinced it’s going to be some weird porn site with fisting or crush videos. You almost cover your eyes but to your pleasant surprise it’s a normal website. 

Seeking: a suitable adult woman for long-term companionship. Will be well compensated. Serious inquiries only. 

The text continued: If you are on this website, congratulations. You have already presented the basic level qualifications for this position. 

Ok. So maybe this was an escort service. Which I mean...if it paid better than both of your jobs and you didn’t have to have sex with people maybe you could. No. No. You talked yourself out of it and scrolled down to read more of the description,

Requirements:

Female between the ages of 20 and 40.

Flexibility in schedule

Desire to travel and attend events

Strong personality and interpersonal skills

Proficiency with Microsoft Excel and Word 

Punctuality, attention to detail, and strong organizational skills

Desired but not necessary

Non-smoker/drinks alcohol socially

Like animals 

Enjoy listening to music 

Compensation:

Position requires relocation to on-site premises and therefore covers room and board. 

Monthly stipend (click here for more information pertaining to taxes)

3 meals a day, beverages, and snacks included

Most escort services didn’t require proficiency in Microsoft Word or Excel...you were guessing. Maybe it was a legit job. Like an on-site event planner? You clicked the link contained in compensation and HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LOT OF MONEY. 

You bit your lip and pulled up your resume. It couldn’t hurt to submit it, right? You didn’t have much to update since you had just started your office job 3 months ago. You updated the resume to include that job and listed your address as Club Tokki’s in case this was actually a sex trafficking set up. You thought about it for a another minute and then uploaded the document, took a deep breath, and hit “send.” NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: @lidda​

[bellygunnr]

Blown Lightbulb

A commission piece for @poisonheadcrabsalesman featuring Thomas Lasky/Sarah Palmer. 

---

The house is cold. It hasn’t changed at all since you’ve last been here, some twenty odd years ago. You hadn’t been a kid then-- just a pilot, home on leave despite not really wanting to be. It had been tense then. It was the same now, even if your mother wasn’t even here, and you were laying bare the contents of your past to the two people you loved the most and considered the most important in your life. You hesitate to look at them, not quite fearful of what they’re thinking but definitely reluctant, like any of this is your fault and something to be ashamed of.

You know no one can really blame you for wanting some modicum of closure, but you’ve always been conscious of starting losing battles. Your mother isn’t even here, for one. A toneless holo-message is all she’s left you, detailing that an emergency at work brought her in and she’ll be back sometime in the evening. Maybe you and your colleagues could meet her at this location, even, and upon further investigation, that location is a startling high-profile restaurant of considerable Martian renown.

So much for flying close to the surface. You’d be in the air for all to see, just for a chance to reconcile with what little remains of your family. But that wasn’t for several hours yet, so you content yourself with poking around the giant empty house and listening to Sarah and Roland banter between each other.

“No offense, but this feels kind of like a museum exhibit,” Sarah says. “It’s not even dusty. I’d prefer it if it was.”

“You’d prefer it? There are stock photos of kids up here-- unless the Lasky family is way bigger than records suggest,” Roland answers.

You look at the picture frames Roland is pointing out. Amid the pictures of your brother Cadmon, there are photos of a foreign family, conspicuously only featuring a father figure. You run your fingers through your hair, nostrils flaring with a barely-restrained sigh.

“We didn’t take many family pictures,” you say, as if that explains anything. “I’m going to check out the upstairs.”

You tug on the back of your head, pulling at the recently shaved strands in a fit of anxiety. You don’t want to go upstairs. You’re afraid of what you’ll find there. Cadmon’s room was practically a shrine twenty years ago. The stairs don’t even creak as you step up them and you’re not sure why you expect them to. They look and feel and sound like wood, but you know them to be special composites that just didn’t degrade.

Your grip lingers on the railing as you take the final step. The door you know that leads to your mother’s room is closed. The keypad lock to it is bright red. You wonder if the keycode has changed at all, but testing it probably isn’t worth the risk. Across from her room is Cadmon’s, but that door is also, as you expected, closed.

And the one you recognize as your own is ajar. You let your hand find Sarah’s, squeezing it so tightly that she squeezes back, thumb rolling over your knuckles in a decidingly tender way.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Tom,” she says gently.

“But I want to,” you say. “I know I don’t need to.”

“Well, that’s something.”

It is. You offer her a braver smile than you feel and let her follow you to your room. There are more picture frames up here, covering the walls in even intervals. You can only ignore them because you know Roland is looking at them. You nudge open the door with your foot and, again, hesitate at the threshold.

Was everything in this house going to be difficult?

You shut your eyes and take in a shuddering breath. You can feel Sarah at your back, her presence radiating warmth. If you wobble, you feel her sturdy body against yours, so you let yourself lean into the partial embrace of her arms. She squeezes your shoulders, just as ice trickles down your spine.

Roland’s presence bleeds into your mind like condensation forming on the outside of a glass. It’s not enough for his thoughts or feelings to be tangible, but it’s so distinctly him that you smile and relax, easing the tension in your balled-up fists and opening your eyes. The room ahead is dark, but all you need to do is step inside for the lights to wake up and--

It’s not exactly the same as you left it, but it’s close. Your eyes roam the room, picking out all the various effects of teenaged you. There are posters on the wall, though some of the pixels have gone dark in their paper-thin construction, and models on the shelves, thick with dust. Your bed is perfectly made, the pillows hidden beneath a dark red blanket. Inevitably, your eyes roam over to a box bolted seamlessly into the wall, just above your nightstand. 

“Ah,” you breathe, staring at the box. “I see.”

“Is that…?” Sarah starts, but trails off, uncertain.

You can feel Roland’s curiosity curling up in the back of your mind. If you strain, you can even see his glittery-gold essence creeping out toward the box, but that gives you a migraine the harder you try.

You open your mouth to try and explain what it is, despite what it is being obvious. It’s a physical control panel for a domestic-grade Dumb AI. His name is still plainly depicted in the form of colorful stickers-- Admiral Hart. He hadn’t been active last time, but he hadn’t been gone either, so at least the sick hope flickering in your belly isn’t fully misplaced.

Still, is it worth trying to activate him?

“Roland,” you say, feeling quite outside yourself. “You can investigate it, if you want. Um, if he’s in there, could you…?”

“Of course, Captain,” Roland says.

Roland’s projection hovers in mid-air, thrown there by the custom commpad he was currently residing in. He smiles brilliantly at you and Sarah before bringing up what must be the digital counterpart of the control panel, his gestures as grandiose as ever, his expression just visible behind the transparent boxes. You hate it, but you distract yourself by leaning into Sarah’s space and kissing the bottom of her chin, staying there until Roland pipes up again.

“He’s in there, Captain. Says here he hasn’t been activated since… 2549. Very long service life, this one.”

Oh, that wasn’t too bad. Still, nearly ten years, completely shut down.

“...I don’t know if I’m ready to see him yet,” you say in one long rush of breath, the realization making you feel ill. “I do miss him, though.”

“There are also several other AI matrices in here,” Roland adds. “Why so many, if I may ask?”

“They were my teachers, when I was doing homeschooling. I’m surprised they’re still here.”

Dumb AI were very limited in their fixed personalities, but you swear they’re more sentient than they let on. One didn’t befriend several all at once and not experience some inexplicable variances, but dwelling on it was starting to make you feel hot behind the eyes. You shake your head, exasperated.

“Sorry, this is-- a lot more than I thought it’d be.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sarah says lightly. “Want to go back downstairs?”

“Mind if I hang out in your house’s network for a little while?” Roland asks. “I won’t touch anything.”

“Go for it,” you say with a smile.

Roland winks and smiles before gathering up the tendrils of himself, more visible now that he was letting his essence ooze out between commpad, neural interfaces, and nearby network ports. Smart AI were remarkably fluid, or even gaseous, automatically filling in the void spaces around them, not because they wanted to be big as possible-- they were just that big. Still, you rub the back of your neck the same time as Sarah does, acutely conscious of the absence.

“Downstairs, then,” Sarah says. “Think there’s anything in the fridge?”

“I have no idea. Are you hungry?”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday. To keep the motion sickness down, you know.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Her moving ahead of you prevents you from lingering too long upstairs, anxious as you are to keep up with her long strides. You have no idea where either of you are going to get clothes nice enough to go to a restaurant. Neither of you are dressed for it, let alone packed. Roland had suggested dressing as casually as possible to take the edge off, and well, maybe that was going to backfire. 

“I can feel you thinking too hard,” Sarah says.

She’s in your space the second you leave the stairs. But it’s gentle and unintrusive despite her taking up your whole line of sight. She’s teasing you, even as her brow is bent in concern.

“What am I thinking too hard about?” you ask.

“Hmmm. Something about your mom, like that stupid message she left us. Seriously, talk about a neutral location.” 

You laugh before you can stop yourself. 

“Got it in one,” you say. “I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“Guess poor mother Lasky is going to have to come home after all,” Sarah says. “Isn’t that sad?”

She bumps your hip with the back of her fist, a playful nudge that, surprisingly, doesn’t send you stumbling. You punch her shoulder in return, silently following her into the next room, where the kitchen is. You watch Sarah go for the fridge and open it, head disappearing inside to scope out the contents. She retreats a moment later to throw something green and limp into your arms.

You catch it more out of surprise than anything, but you feel nauseous just holding it.

“What the hell is this?”

“Nutritional smoothie paste!” Sarah says, like she’s struck gold. “Used to eat this shit when I was a baby Spartan. They put it in Mjolnir on long-haul ops.”

“And that’s…. Is it good?” You ask, instantly skeptical.

“Hell, no. But I’m too polite to eat the meal plan stuff she has in there. So, drink up.”

Well, you couldn’t fault her there. You set the plastic tube of paste down on the faux-granite countertop, deciding that you’d rather let Sarah just drink both of them. You can’t stifle a smile as she immediately scoops it up, tearing open both of them at once and drinking them down in a truly disgusting fashion. But she doesn’t spill a drop, so... 

“I see you’ve gotten better at that,” you say.

“Roland made me promise not to make a mess if I’m going to be carrying the commpad,” she admits, looking exasperated for all of a split-second. “So.”

She tosses the spent bags onto the countertop, despite the trash can being directly underhand. You shrug that off in favor of grabbing her by the collar of her tank top and pulling her down, kissing her flat on the mouth. Her answering hum is felt in your bones and you both relax into each other, your anxious tension sapped by her solid core. She curls an arm around your waist and holds you in place, like she’s been waiting to do that.

“Relax a little,” she murmurs. “We can worry about her when she gets here.”

Not you, we. You feel a little weak in the knees at the distinction and let yourself hang onto her arms, certain that you’re looking at her with a dopey smile.

“But we probably shouldn’t do this in the kitchen,” she adds.

Before you can pull away, Sarah effortlessly hauls you into her arms, supporting you by grabbing a fistful of your ass and waiting until you wrap your arms around her neck. She squeezes your rear a couple times before moving, gait so smooth that you don’t even feel it when she turns on her heel to dump you on the couch with a flourish. 

You sink into the couch cushions, but wrap your arms around hers so that you don’t disappear completely. Her face is so close to yours that you count each individual scar and freckles, including the faint lines of surgical augmentations that only show up in the right light. You snake your hand up to the back of her neck, mindful not to grab ahold of the enlarged neural implant.

“Anyone ever told you you’re handsome, Tom?” Sarah murmurs.

“Mmm, I can think of a few…”

Her laughter is felt on your skin as warm puffs. She kisses you, her lips rough with bitten and half-healed skin that you nip at, chasing them when she tries to pull away. The plasticine fabric squeaks as she carefully, carefully lowers her weight over yours and straddles you, her thighs big enough to keep you in place. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will,” you promise.

You want to say that you know she won’t, but she always looks so earnest when she asks that this time, you don’t. Because she has before-- there’s a biological differential between the two of you that you never stop thinking about. You work your hand further up to pull her hair out of its ponytail, working your fingers into the coarse locks and kissing her more intently, eyes fluttering shut. I love you, you want to say. I trust you, which is just as hard.

Her hands roam across your shirt and pluck open several buttons so that she can follow the edge of your collarbone and the slope of your shoulders. Her warm, slightly sweaty palms are a sharp contrast to the cool air, and the shock of physical contact has goosebumps lifting on your arms. You lick at her lips and fist some of her hair, mumbling indistinctly as you pull her down closer.

There’s no smart quip or knowing look to make light of your neediness. She finally lets her weight drop onto your lap completely and the kiss moves on, her teeth and lips tracking across the edge of your jaw to just underneath your ear. Instead of letting your hands hover, you start to follow the hard curves of her body, groping at the bunching muscles and admiring the power coiled there. 

Then she snaps into rigid attention, face turned toward the front door, her lips drawn back in a snarl. You vaguely notice that she has a chipped tooth before you hear the door opening and Sarah is still poised over you and she’s kissing you again, hard, and you kind of moan into it--

“Well, then,” an all-too-familiar voice says. “Thomas, care to… introduce me?”

Finally, Sarah climbs off of you, but not before buttoning your shirt and kissing your forehead. Your brain already hurts from the mental whiplash of the situation.

“Um, mother,” you start. “This is Sarah Palmer. My partner.”

Your mother is shorter than you remember. Her hair, once a brownish-black, is in faded tones and grey at the roots. A scar that wasn’t there twenty years ago lurks just by her eye and she looks exhausted. Stress and worry lines make canyons of her face, ones that twist your heart to look at.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sarah says stiffly.

She does not look amused. She doesn’t look much of anything except terribly stern and suspicious of the scene before her. You almost can’t blame her. Almost.

“You know, I was hoping you’d be here when we got here,” you say. “But it seems you’re still working.”

“Of course. Duty still calls, you know.”

You watch her as she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack in the anteroom. Both nothing and everything has changed about her and it makes something in your throat tighten.

“Oh, I know that more than anybody,” you breathe. “Yeah.”

“I do appreciate you coming home, Tom,” Audrey says, not looking at you. “It means a lot. I thought I’d have to see you when the Infinity opened her doors to the public. That is still happening-- right?”

“Sure, it’s happening,” Sarah says. “Look, Tom, do you want me to…?”

You shake your head.

“Yes, but I won’t be back on Mars until then. Working nonstop has its benefits-- like a lot of vacation time.”

“That sounds like a dream, to be able to use it,” Audrey replies calmly. “I need to know if we’re having dinner tonight.”

You and Sarah share a look.

“I was thinking we could share a bottle of wine and shoot the shit instead,” Sarah says. “Or some scotch, if you have it.”

At that, Audrey looks amused.

“I never took you for a scotch man, Tom,” Audrey chuckles.

You don’t say anything as she leaves the room, no doubt seeking out the desired glasses and alcohol. The sun is going down outside, plunging the room in a deep red. This was going better than expected. You want to break open the window and run. You want to do anything but sit back down and draw out the table and sit in a semi-circle and “shoot the shit.” But you’re already sitting down and the bottle is open and you haven’t ate anything-- neither has Sarah, even, but with her augmentations drinking on an empty stomach is probably beneficial and--

“Good news, everybody! I took the liberty of ordering us some, what do you humans call it? Party food? You know, for all the drinking we’re about to do. You’re welcome!”

You choke on your own spit and your mother nearly drops the glass she’s pouring. Sarah, for her part, is taking the bottle and stealing a sip directly, if only to conceal a smug smile.

Roland is hovering inches above the faux-wooden table, drawn up to his full height with chest puffed out and expression gleeful. He flicks one hand out in a casual salute toward Audrey before trotting aside and sitting down, legs crossed.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Hi, Roland,” Sarah greets.

You had completely forgotten about Roland. Oops.

“Thomas, I do hate to ask,” Audrey says, peering down at Roland with a pinched expression, “but why is there an AI?”

“Oh, you know,” you say vaguely, waving a hand. “It’s classified.”

“I’m Captain Lasky’s boss,” Roland says, grinning. “So I’m allowed to be here, you see.”

“Are you my boss, Roland?” Sarah asks.

“No, ma’am.”

Audrey’s eyebrows shoot up. She takes a sip from her glass, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

“Well, I’m Audrey Lasky,” she says finally. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night goes painfully.