#and she wants to brush aside she was a little rude to her future husband

[arty-e]

Definitely not a case of love at first sight

[ceescedasticity]

Ficlet: 5 Children of Jin Guangshan Who Never Came To Carp Tower (+1 Who Will Probably Be Talked Into It Eventually)

This is missing all its italics, thanks loads tumblr, and will go up on AO3 after I give it a while longer to decide if I hate it.

(1)

Her mother was a rogue cultivator who met the Jin heir at a crowd hunt and accepted an invitation to have a few drinks with his party. She hadn't intended to do any more than that, but, well, probably the wine, right? No point dwelling on it. She left town quickly and avoided Jin sect in the future.

She realized she was pregnant in plenty of time to do something about it, but thought it over and decided against it in the end. Instead she saved up her money carefully, and sought out a sworn sister she'd wanted to see again anyway. She didn't say who the baby's father was, only that he wasn't going to be a factor. When they settle down in a river town (one with a negligent local sect and enough water ghouls to be grateful for resident cultivators), they claim she was widowed. There's gossip, but no one ever presses the issue.

Her daughter grows up with two mothers who love her, learning cultivation from both of them, never quite accepted as one of their own by the neighbors but nevertheless treated with respect as one of the only people who can do anything about the damn water ghouls. She wants to leave town when she grows up anyway, tired of being strange. Her mothers convince her to wait a little longer — until they've gotten her a proper sword of her own — then until she's eighteen — then until there's not a war going on—

But finally they send her off with the best of wishes, and advice not to drink in public and if possible avoid Lanling.

She lives as a rogue cultivator for a few years, but eventually joins the (still-underpopulated) Jiang sect as an outer disciple, and does very well there. She visits her mothers once or twice a year, and hunts water ghouls for old time's sake. The town which considered her strange is now proud that she's a disciple of a Great Sect, which could be annoying but usually she manages to laugh about it.

She never finds out who her father was. Sometimes she wonders — but never for very long.

(2)

His mother was a landowner's second wife, beaten and cast out for faithlessness hours after the Jin party left. No one asked if it had been consensual; no one much cared.

Very often during the first year she thought she was going to die — sometimes she thought she would rather die than drop even lower to survive — but she never did. Every morning she wondered what would kill her today, every night she wondered if she would never wake up, but it just kept not happening. For some reason she wanted to live. She learned to beg, she found a city, she met prostitutes who took it for granted she was one of them and didn't correct them — she just kept living.

It wasn't for the sake of the child. The child hadn't ruined her life — its father had done that all on his own — but it wasn't something she wanted.

Labor was excruciating, and when it was over and the women the other prostitutes called Older Sister offered her the baby to hold, she threw her arms over her face and begged her to take it away.

Older Sister asked once more, to be sure, and then carried the baby to the temple outside of town, set it down outside the door, knocked, and ran. She had never personally verified that the monks took care of foundlings, but they were said to rear up their fosterlings kindly, and it was easier on the conscience than leaving unwanted infants in ditches.

The boy is raised firmly but kindly — and entirely secularly; some in the temple do practice cultivation, but no one expects random foundlings to be able to join them and rubbing the difference in their faces would be unacceptably rude. He's taught to read and write, and if sometimes he still wonders what it would be like to fly on a sword he doesn't wonder what it would be like to fight monsters — at least he doesn't wonder past the age of thirteen or so.

He doesn't have a vocation, but that's all right. The temple helps him find a job as a clerk. He makes generous offerings.

It's hard to exercise proper filial piety when you have no idea who either of your parents are, just that you were abandoned. All he could do on the relevant holidays was thank them for giving him life, and thank them for leaving him somewhere safe, and give the rest of his attention to his fosterers.

(His mother never regrets abandoning him — she couldn't have built up a functional career as a prostitute with an infant in tow, and she still doesn't want anything of that man's — but she is… glad, a few years later, to learn he was taken in at the temple. She doesn't wish him ill. Just — far away from her.)

(3)

Her mother was a mundane noblewoman who visited Carp Tower — beautiful, bitter, and bored. Her husband, twice her age, tried to keep pace with cultivators in drinking and passed out early. She thought a suave, handsome cultivator might be more entertaining than the usual. She was mostly disappointed in the results. Her husband never suspects any infidelity. He can't imagine anyone would be so brazen as to have relations with his wife when he's in the same building.

If the child had been a boy, she might have felt a little guilty about passing it off as her husband's, but a girl would just be married off anyway — it didn't really matter. So the nobleman has a daughter.

She grows up in a luxurious but narrow world, reading everything she can get her hands on for a glimpse outside. Her mother is seldom demonstratively affectionate, but is deeply invested in her welfare and indulges her desire for books. She's beloved in the household — enough so that when it occurs to the oldest children of her father's second wife that she really looks nothing like either of her parents, they refrain from making open accusations for her sake.

She marries a man she's never met before. But he's kind, and doesn't object to her ever-expanding library, and comes to rely on her for the bookkeeping.

By that time she has her own suspicions, about who her father is — who her father is not, more — but  that's hardly something she can bring up.

(4)

His mother was a maid at a rural inn. The innkeeper did attempt to explain to Jin-zongzhu that this was not that kind of establishment, but Jin-zongzhu ordered him to send up his prettiest maid regardless, and raised the price he was offering, and the man crumpled.

He did feel bad enough about it the next day to give her maybe a quarter of the money.

She took that money, and the wages she was due, and the "tip" Jin-zongzhu tossed at her, and went back to the farm she was born on. It had been a successful, if small, farm until one of the battles of the Sunshot Campaign happened basically on top of it. Her father had been killed along with most of their livestock. The whole point of her work at the inn had been to contribute money to rebuild, and, well. Money was money.

Her sister-in-law was a shrewd bargainer, and Jin-zongzhu's stupid trinkets got them two pigs. The guilt money from the innkeeper put them over the edge to afford an ox. By the time they realized she was pregnant, they were secure enough that it wasn't a catastrophe.

The farm was out of the way enough that they didn't have much trouble turning her son into her nephew, and that was that.

He grows up working hard but still notably prettier than either of his parents — maybe even prettier than his aunt, who he's heard what passed for a local beauty at his age and who certainly didn't have any trouble finding suitors when she finally decided to marry after his grandmother died — but it mostly just means he gets more attention when he goes to the local villages for festivals or markets. He's a good boy, credit to his family, responsible with his little sisters and his cousins. He's got a mundane future, but a bright one.

Of course he knows who his father is? He's lived with him all his life.

(5)

His mother was a disciple of a minor sect, who might have been flattered and awed when the Chief Cultivator pulled her into his guest room, and was definitely pressured not to say anything indicating otherwise. They don't need trouble with Jin Sect. They won't make trouble with Jin Sect. Will they.

She was terrified she'd be thrown out when she told a senior sister she was pregnant, but instead there was a quick, quiet marriage to another disciple. On their wedding night she admitted she was pregnant; he admitted he'd been caught with another boy. The marriage was always a bit of a sham but the cultivation partnership turned real quickly. They worked well together, and built up a good joint reputation together, and three years later left together. (They weren't entirely ungrateful — many people in similar situations had been treated far worse — but the hurt lingered.) Their destination was another minor sect, one closer to where his parents lived, so the move could be explained away as filial devotion, saving face all around.

There's talk, sometimes, because they don't try very hard to hide the fact they seldom share a bed. It's usually brushed aside as probably a cultivational thing.

Their son grows up a promising young disciple. He doesn't have many close friends, has trouble really opening up to people, but he's always polite and hard-working and keeps his temper, and he's not bad at calming other people down, too, so he's liked enough. His parents are a little strange but they love him and love each other.

When he's thirteen the Jin Guangyao scandal becomes the talk of the cultivation world. His parents take a break from fussing over his half-dozen senior martial siblings still recovering from their imprisonment in the Burial Mounds to have a private conference, and that evening they pull him aside.

She never wanted to tell him this, she says. And maybe she should wait, but she might lose her nerve, and contrary to what she thought it seems like this is something he needs to know—

She cries. He cries. His father (definitely his father) cries.

He understands why they told him finally — they don't want him to end up like poor Lady Qin Su — but he wishes it wasn't necessary. He was happier not knowing. But if his mother can be all right after what happened to her, he can be all right after finding out about it, so he puts the knowledge away in a box and gets on with his life.

(+1)

Her mother was a prostitute who tried to be careful, who always tried to be careful, but nothing works all the time, and she got unlucky.

It was several weeks before she realized she'd been unlucky. By that time, Lanling was in full mourning for the sect leader and chief cultivator.

This was probably, she realized, probably the last bastard Jin Guangshan ever sired. Even the brothel proprietor agreed that had enough novelty value to make a pregnancy worthwhile.

It was suggested that, perhaps, she could go to the new sect leader. Everyone knew Jin Guangyao's background. Surely he would be welcoming.

She thought about what she'd seen of him, of the look in his eyes when he looked at the prostitutes, and found she wasn't sure at all.

She did not go to Carp Tower.

It turned out some non-cultivators would in fact pay money to listen to a woman tell salacious supposedly true stories about life in Carp Tower. (This was legitimate! She was the mother of Jin Guangshan's last bastard!) In fact, some of them would pay pretty well. Some of them paid quite well. She finished her pregnancy with less debt than she started. She spent the next few years saving carefully, and finally packed herself and her daughter off to a city.

A big city; a mediocre city. A city without much cultivator traffic, though of course they knew about cultivators there.

She got a job in an only somewhat disreputable teahouse, telling stories — some but not all of them dirty, some but not all of them supposedly true (and fewer of them actually true), some but not all of them using the names of real people (who would hopefully not be visiting such a large and mediocre city where they had no authority). …The teahouse proprietor turns out to be deeply involved in at least one information network, but that's not really her problem.

Her daughter grows up surrounded by musicians, entertainers, more than a few spies, and the nobility all the rest are feeding on. She learns reading, writing, coding and decoding, how to use a scandal to your advantage, five different musical instruments (although pipa is the only one she can be said to be good at), and poetry. Some of her poems are considered praiseworthy, although she's never quite sure if that's because they're actually good or because the pavilion could benefit from having a young, precocious, pretty, inherently scandalous poetess around. Hopefully it's both.

They more or less retired the 'Jin Guangshan's Last Bastard' gimmick when she was six or so, but then news arrives that the Jin Sect has done something even more mortifying, so it's back. She feels a little bad about it honestly. It sounds like the new sect leader isn't much older than her, and she still feels like she's in over her head just understanding what's going on in the teahouse.

Her nephew, isn't that a funny thought.

Her mother never has anything good to say about the cultivational world and she can't blame her, but this world can get tiring, too.

It doesn't matter, though. That family rejects bastards who are much less scandalous than her. She's sort of interested in that world, but not enough to try to push in when she's not wanted. It's fine.

(And somewhere not too terribly far away and yet in a different world, Ouyang Zizhen picks up a poetry booklet featuring a writer with the strangest pen name…)

[the-werdna]

Title : Robcina Week Day 3 - Children

Description: You’d think dealing with their older, time traveling children would have prepared Robin and Lucina for when they’d have children themselves. Turns out they were wrong. So very, very wrong. Turns out the twins as toddlers were so much harder to keep out of trouble than their older selves.

Notes: Written for Day 3 of Robcina Week 2020

“Hold still, dear,” Lucina said, trying her best to keep the squirming toddler before her to stand in place long enough to wipe the chocolate smudged around the girl’s lips. At last, despite her daughter’s resistance, Lucina succeeded in cleaning away the caked on food. “There, isn’t that better?” she asked, releasing her hand from the girl.

Morgan puffed out her cheeks, blowing a razzberry in her mother’s direction in what could only be a show of her immense displeasure and boundless annoyance at being restrained for even a moment. She crossed her arms, pouting as she stomped off, as if to show her mother just how annoyed she was. However, the girl managed to only keep this up for a few steps before, as entirely expected, her attention was grabbed by the pile of books and leatherbound tomes she’d been using as toy blocks, causing her to hurry over and resume playing as if forgetting the oh-so-very-rude interruption.

Lucina could only smile as she watched her daughter play. Rolling up the damp cleaning cloth she’d used, Lucina returned it to the basin of water stowed away at the corner of the room.

A loud crashing sound from somewhere behind her without warning caused Lucina to jump in surprise. Whirling around, she sprinted into the kitchen, skidding to a stop as she found Marc, standing completely unharmed, in the middle of every single pot and pan within the small kitchen strewn about the floor. Marc was wearing a colander on his head like an armored helm, having evidently caused devastation in his attempt to pull it from the shelves, waving around his toy sword in mock combat with foes only seen by him.

“Marc....” Lucina sighed, half in relief that he was unharmed, and half in exasperation.

Marc froze at her voice, then slowly turned guiltily to face her. “Opps,” he said in a delayed apology, almost as if attempting to pass off the fact he’d only then noticed the mess he’d caused.

“Lucina? What was that?” a voice called down from upstairs, concern evident in its voice.

“It's nothing, dear. Our Marc just made a mess in the kitchen,” Lucina answered, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth to better project her voice back upstairs to reach her husband.

“Oh. Do you need any help?” Robin asked.

“No, it is alright. I can--” Lucina’s reply was cut short as she turned around to find Marc nowhere to be seen. For such a young child, he certainly was adept at escaping anytime he was to be scolded. “On second thought, can you locate Marc on my behalf? He seems to have slipped out of sight the moment I looked away. Make sure he doesn’t get into any further mischief while I tidy this up”

“On it,” came Robin’s reply, followed by heavy footsteps coming down the stairs as Lucina’s husband sought after the fleeing toddler.

Those two… they certainly are a handful, Lucina mused, setting about picking up the scattered pots and pans. Even the opportunity to get used to raising the twins’ older, time-traveling selves had scarcely prepared Robin and herself for what it would be like to keep the two of them out of trouble on a daily basis.

Returning the last pan to its rightful place on the shelf, Lucina returned to the living room. “Morgan, how are you--” she called out, only to stop herself as she saw that her daughter was no longer where she’d left her. Only the two high stacks of books, so high that the toddler would have had to climb up the lower books to place those on top, indicated that she’d have been there for at least some time. Gods, where did she get off to now? Lucina wondered.

“Lucina? I have Marc, but…. we may have another problem,” Robin said, Lucina turning to find her husband standing before an open window overlooking their backyard. Sure enough he had Marc held in his arms, their son squirming in futile attempt to wriggle free down to the floor. However, Robin seemed to be paying little heed to Marc’s attempts, instead regarding the garden outside with a visible grimace.

“Oh no,” Lucina whispered, her shoulders slumping as she already dreaded the reply to her forthcoming question. “What is it this time?”

“Well… Morgan seems to have gotten outside somehow and is digging up one of the flower beds… again,” Robin answered. He lifted his free hands to his face, dragging it down over his skin as he looked so very, very tired. Certainly at least as exhausted as Lucina felt. “Do you want me to…”

“No, I’ll attend to it. Just, please, keep Marc from making any other messes in the meanwhile?” Lucina pleaded, already hurrying to the still locked front door. Pulling it aside and rounding the building, she was greeted with the sight of a mound of dirt piled along one of the paths through the garden. Uprooted flowers were strewn among the pile like so much debris, joined every few moments by another shovel full of dirt tossed up to the top.

Stepping over to the lip of the hole, Lucina found it already several feet deep. She briefly wondered how Morgan had excavated this much soil in such a short time, but then remembered this was Morgan she was talking about. Sure enough Morgan was right down at the bottom, covered head to toe in dirt, and shoveling away with a small garden spade.

Lucina cleared her throat loudly, placing her hands on her hips as she gazed down into the pit.

Morgan stopped digging, slowly turning up to look at her. She grinned, showing the few gaps near the backs where her last few baby teeth were still coming in. “Hi mommy!”

“What are you up to, Morgan?” Lucina asked, keeping her hands on her hips.

“Nuthin,” Morgan said unconvincingly, giggling as she tried to hide the shovel behind her back.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Lucina told her daughter. Reaching down, she picked up the girl from beneath her armpits, hauling her up out of the hole. “Now, do you want to tell me the truth?”

“I... “ Morgan giggled again, then nodded. “Diggin’ a pit-full trap! Like sis showed me!” she said, Lucina knowing well enough that she was referring to her older self.

Of course she did. She would need to talk to Morgan about teaching her younger self bad habits. Not that Lucina expected her to listen.

“Are you mad, Mommy?” Morgan asked, seeing her displeased expression.

“A little bit, but as long as you’re sorry, it's okay,” Lucina said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan quickly said, blinking at her with her big, round, blue eyes.

“Then I’m no longer mad,” Lucina said, trying to smile. Setting her daughter down, she brushed away some of the dirt from her tangled mop of blue hair, before taking her by her hand. “Now, let’s get you a bath. You’re quite filthy.”

“Aawwwww, but I dun wanna!” Morgan pouted, even as Lucina led her back into the house.

.  .  .  .  .

One bath later, followed by a change of clothes as the prior ones got completely soaked in the process due to Morgan seeing fit to splash her with water every few minutes, Lucina collapsed onto the sofa alongside her husband. Thankfully both Morgan and Marc were now asleep in Robin’s lap, her husband having seen fit to get them settled down for a nap while she’d changed into dry clothes. Compared to before, the twins looked peaceful now, smiling blissfully in their sleep.

“Some day, huh?” Robin asked, turning his head to regard her with a weary look.

“Yes… and it's barely an hour past noon,” Lucina replied. She leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder and draping an arm around his neck to trail her hand across his chest.

“Yeah, certainly we can’t count our blessings just yet.” Robin tilted his head down, planting a kiss upon her forehead. “We may have peace and quiet now, but they’ll be up and at it again soon enough, I fear.”

“They are a handful, I’ll give them that… sometimes I fear we are still terribly out of our depth when it comes to being parents, Robin,” Lucina confided.

“Without a doubt,” Robin laughed. Then, evidently seeing the quizzical look she aimed his way, asked. “What? Did you think I’d argue? I certainly have no idea what I’m doing.”

“No. Though I can’t say I expected you to admit it so readily.” Lucina chucked, shaking her head.

“Fair enough,” Robin conceded, leaning down to kiss her again. “That said, we have somehow managed fine so far. I think we’ll make it… even if we end up having no idea how we did,”

“Yes. Of that at least I have faith,” Lucina said, kissing him back. Then she glanced down, her gaze falling on her two sleeping children. Her heart always fluttered when she saw them like this: so peaceful and free of worry or fear. Having the chance to live the life she’d never had. To know that they’d be safe and happy in a future she and Robin had forged for themselves

“But, it's worth it. I wouldn’t give this up for anything,” Lucina said, smiling deeper.

“And neither would I.”

[xautunno]

Munto - King and Queen - Pt. 3

Colloquies 

.

Yumemi watched from her perch as the sky blended into a set of distant yellows, pinks, and overwhelming indigo. The grass did little to cushion her from the rocky ground, but she didn't bother to move. Not when in the far distance floated an unseeable land filled with possible snakes. A land her husband currently ventured through.

The night would be a long one.

Her bed empty upon her return for sleep, she felt the loneliness like a physical blow. Heart like a dead weight, she slipped beneath silk sheets and settled against the soft pillow.

Yumemi woke to the cool breeze of the night on several occasions. The first had her heart racing and a cold, sheen of sweat coated her from head to toe. She woke a few hours later, legs tangled in the sheets and tears stinging her eyes.

She had no choice but to rise from the bed just before sunrise. Sleep hung over her like a dense fog, but if the maids noticed, they never mentioned it. They helped her dress for breakfast where she ate for the first time in a long time, utterly alone.

"Highness?" A voice stopped her down the hall, the sound of rushed footsteps following. "What are we to do?"

The Queen furrowed her brow and turned to face the man in front of her. He outmatched her by at least a foot and wore the fitting robes of a military advisor.

"To do?" She felt sick.

Had she missed something?

"Y-yes, ma'am. Should King Munto not return and the negotiations end poorly… what should we have in place?" Munto had been undoubtedly sure of his success and left without hesitation.

"I hope you do not doubt our king…" Words coated in ice, she narrowed her eyes on him.

"Of course not!" His declaration a bit loud, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, "I am simply asking what would you have us prepare if war happened upon us by nightfall? A worst case scenario."

Yumemi thought of that herself. Her husband left no instruction but left everything in her hands.

"If my husband fails to return and the negotiations are called off by nightfall," the man audibly gulped at the venomous tone, "I would have every able body strengthening our defenses. I will not prepare for war until it is decided we are at war."

"Of course." He bowed to her prepared to depart, but she stopped him.

"If war is to come, I want every advisor to meet with me in the council room. We will discuss then our next steps." Yumemi's jaw uncharacteristically locked at she spit out the next few words, "we will avenge our fallen king and protect our homelands no matter the cost."

Standing a bit straighter, he curtly bowed and turned on his heel to leave.

In her many years here at the Magical Kingdom, there were those who still viewed her as Yumemi-hime. Their princess. Their savior. They were not wrong to so, however, her innocent nature shed by the time she finished college and made this kingdom her permanent home.

Yumemi spent most of her early adult life mingling with the courts Munto grew up in. She practiced her manners, learning delicate etiquette, and diplomacy. She could smile prettily at the lords and ladies, keeping her fangs hidden while her claws did most of the talking.

No one doubted her ability to be brutally honest and sincere since she turned twenty and single-handedly refuted three marriage proposals by publically shaming their indecency and ill-manners at a formal event rather than simply saying no. She made it clear that such rudeness under the king's invitation was undignified for their position especially when she hid nothing about her true relationship with the king.

She took to a no-nonsense attitude and would shut down any ill-thought or gossip she deemed inappropriate. It had been thought of as a horrible decision on her part since no one would share information with her. Gossip could hurt, especially gossip about her private life with the king.

Yumemi solved the issue when she first made regular trips to visit Munto during high school. The time it took for the servants of the palace to undoubtedly love and trust her was astonishing. They'd hear fleeting words here and there, lords and ladies letting things slip when they didn't notice the help around. Those same words finding their way to Yumemi during breakfast or when she strolled in the gardens. Occasionally, and only if urgent, they would interrupt her studies.

In return, they never doubted Yumemi's ability to handle a situation without Munto's aid. Should a guest be making inappropriate advances, their future Queen then would have no issue stopping her work to track down the offender and corner him into apologizing. Most likely in a public space where multiple witnesses were. If Munto didn't see it, he'd hear about it by the time she returned.

Not that he would dare interfere. Yumemi never gave a reason for him to doubt her loyalty to either his nation or himself. Her loyalty prevailed over the course of almost a decade without caution.

She defended not only himself personally, but advisors, staff, and in general, his people, should she find them deserving of it. She didn't care what others gossiped about or their opinion on her, to the point she disregarded her own safety to get her point across. About the only thing that ever really upset him.

Yumemi continued on her way to the gardens. Despite the tremendous weight on both her shoulders and heart, her back remained straight, hands closed together in front of her and chin held high. She kept her strides even and graceful, letting the soles of her feel skim across the cool floors like a dancer.

The crown, a heavy burden, gave her headaches the first month she wore it. Every few hours, a powerful and compelling urge to toss it aside plagued her. But then, she'd catch a glimpse of Munto in his formal robes, the crown framing a stern face while he walked with Rui. She couldn't toss it aside. Even if it would make her days easier to bear, even if she felt she could perform her duties appropriately without it, she never removed it. Merely, she endured.

Those same thoughts and feelings plagued her now. She wanted to toss it in the nearest garbage can she could find and let her hair out of the terribly tight braid. It had been fine this morning, but now it felt as if though a child climbed on her back to play with the golden strands and leave her scalp bruised.

Away from prying eyes, Yumemi plopped herself down on the nearest stone bench and tugged the band from her hair. She removed the diadem so she could brush her hair out.

The sun high in the sky, she relaxed under its warm rays. She could almost doze off.

She knew he wasn't there. His stomach didn't press against her back while he bent over to cup her cheek and gaze lovingly at her. Callose hands didn't smooth the wrinkles of worry from her forehead.

He didn't whisper, "my Queen has endured quite the hardship."

He didn't kiss her forehead, keeping her close while he murmured sweet nothings. Didn't wipe the stay tear from her cheek at the thought of him.

Yumemi couldn't bear to sleep alone. She had never been truely alone before. Family and friends surrounded her since she breathed the air of this world deep into her lungs with a cry.

Her bed had been occupied by one other for years now and during meals, she always had the same, redheaded, charming, and sweet companion who never failed to bring a smile to her face or a burst of joy from her heart at the sight of him. Never had he failed to please her or make her feel loved since the first moment they kissed. He slid that ring onto her finger, promising her forever, but he felt so far that the ring only served as a heavy reminder.

Swallowing her tears, Yumemi peeked open her eyes, partially surprised to find herself alone.

"Your highness." She closed her eyes, sighing at the call.

"Yes?" She made no effort to move. Not yet.

"The council wishes to speak with you. To prepare appropriately."

And like that, her sorrow vanished. Her heart hardened as she stood, brushing her hair back with a flick of her wrist and returned her crown to its rightful place.

With the regal appearance of Catherine the Great, she stalked down the hallway with the grace befitting royalty and with the eyes of a wild feline. Like Borte Ujin, when she entered the room, advisors stood in respect knowing the king valued her opinion above all others and entrusted the kingdom to her care.

Her hands held no callous of war but beneath her fair skin lied unimaginable power that many still feared. And the girl of destiny knew it. No restraint beyond moral reasoning kept her in check of those powers.

Reaching her chair at the head of the table, the seat her husband frequented recently the past few months, she twirled on the ball of her foot to address the room. She didn't speak as her eyes did most of the talking. Evaluating each and every member present.

Then, she seated herself and gestured for them to do the same.

"Tell me, what defenses can we have in place in the shortest amount of time?"

[breakingisabella]

carlisle + esme

the sound had scared her much more than the pain had

a sharp crack as she collided with the earth, the sky and the world hidden by leaves falling away from her

she had cried, she couldn’t help it

she was still too much of a baby, that’s what her siblings all said

“esme, stop sniffling. grow up. you’re a grown woman now.”

but she didn’t feel like a grown woman

a grown woman wouldn’t have run away from a boy when all he wanted to do was kiss her

not when he promised to treat her so nicely

a grown woman wouldn’t have been hiding in a tree playing the game from her childhood

she was pretending that the tree was her very own house 

when she was little she would drag her dolls up there too and make believe that they were her children

a copycat version of the lives her parents lived on the farm

a grown woman wouldn’t have been whispering her hopes and dreams for her future family 

and a baby wouldn’t have been so heavy that the branch snapped beneath her weight

her sister had found her and called their father to carry her back to the house

“i think it’s broken.” esme had whimpered as he lay her down on her bed

her mother looked on, her arms folded over her chest, her face suspicious and disapproving

“it’ll be sprained if anything. it’s barely swollen. what in god’s name were you doing up that damned tree anyway?”

“just thinking.” she mumbled in reply

her father sent for the doctor, to her mother’s annoyance

the doctor had moved to town little over a year before but her family had yet to meet him since their farm was too far out to make them run into him in town

he had replaced old dr. carter who had been looking after esme and her siblings since they were born and her mother didn’t trust the new doctor, no matter how good their friends and neighbours claimed he was

“these young ones waltz into towns like these with fancy degrees and claim to know everything about the people that live here. well i know my daughter and i know her leg isn’t broken.”

“it feels broken.” esme mumbled.


“you’re just being a baby, esme.” her younger brother jeered in the doorway to her bedroom. “you think everything hurts more than it actually does.”

it was her mother that showed the young doctor to esme’s bedroom

esme’s breath caught in her throat and, for a moment, the throbbing pain in her leg subsided

“it’s just a fracture. she’ll just need something for the pain.” her mother was babbling 

“she won’t shut up about it.” her brother added

“thank you.” cooed the doctor, smiling charmingly. “i’ll take a look at it, if you’ll allow me, miss platt?” 

he was talking to her now, acknowledging that she was the one in pain

esme nodded and the doctor lay his bag down and sat on the end of the bed as he opened it

“what’s your first name, miss platt?” he asked, obviously trying to distract her

“esme.” she replied then, before she could think about how rude it was to ask she said, “what’s yours?”

but the doctor just smiled, his perfect lips quirking up at the sides “carlisle. carlisle cullen.”

“pleasure to meet you.” esme rushes, her cheeks flushing red

“and you… so tell me esme, how did you do the damage? dancing all night with some young man?”

“i fell out of a tree.”

“why were you in a tree?” 

esme shrugged. “it’s a good place to think. when you’re up in the trees, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

a small crease formed between carlisle’s golden eyes. “is the world such a bad place to be?”

“no…” she conceded. “but it can be quite overwhelming, don’t you find?”

“good point. may i?” 

he examined her leg gently, his hands pleasantly cool against the throbbing heat of her knee and ankle

“you’re lucky it was only your leg and not your back.”

“i’m a good faller.” she smirked to reassure him. “i have a lot of practice.”

when he was finished with the examination he placed her leg gently back down on the bed

“well it’s broken alright, you must be in a lot of pain.”

“it’s not so bad… now.”

“you’re a very brave woman, esme.”

she shook her head, looking out of her bedroom window at the tree in the distance, “no i’m not. i’m a baby.”

“it can take a lot of strength to show your emotions. believe me, i wish i was capable of being as open and honest as you are.”

he visited three times after that to check on her progress, but each time ended up staying for longer than he should

he liked to listen to her talk, liked the way she looked at the world

he listened to her tell the story of how she had almost broken it again by trying to hobble to her window to let a bird with a broken wing inside

she was going to nurse it back to health

the third time he visited, he removed the splint and told her she could start walking on her leg again, carefully

then he told her that he was leaving town

“where are you going?”

“a little town out west.” he replied simply. then, against his better judgement he added, “i’ll be sorry to leave you, esme.”

“i’ll be sorry to see you go. but we’ll meet again one day, won’t we?”

“i don’t think that will be possible. my work keeps me very busy.”

esme smiled and shrugged, “never say never, doctor.”

she was sad to see him go, feeling, no matter how incorrectly, that she had made a friend in the doctor

she never forgot him, and thought of him frequently, but her life eventually moved on, dragging her along with it

she had planned to move out west to become a teacher, some small light of hope in the back of her mind telling her that she might see him out there 

but her parents told her that it would be better for everyone if she stayed close to home and got married

so that’s what she did

charles evenson had seemed perfect at first

it was only when they were alone that the arms that held her tight to keep her safe squeezed too hard and started to leave bruises

or the gentle brushing aside of her hair turned to pulling and dragging

she had begged her mother to let her leave charles and come home but her mother had brushed aside her complaining

“every man has his faults. it’s your job as a woman and as a wife to make him as content as possible.” she explained

but she was wrong, esme thought

because she had met a man with no faults once before

she must have been the only person in the world that was relieved when war broke out and charles came home to heroically declare that he had joined up

she pandered to him, singing his praises and telling him how proud she was to have such a brave husband

she breathed easy for the first time in two years when he left their house for the frontline

but charles came home and the war had ravaged his already cruel personality

when she discovered that she was pregnant, esme had no choice but to run away, adamant that she would protect the child that lived within her, the product of hate that she would raise with love

she would fix her mistakes and her baby would flourish

when charles found her, she fled again and finally became a schoolteacher out west

but she didn’t search the crowds for the doctor’s face anymore

she only had room in her head for her baby

when her son was born, esme was flooded with the kind of love she had only ever read about

the kind of love she had always hoped her parents had for her, but could never be completely sure

she cradled her son for three days before his skin became too hot to touch and his chest stopped moving up and down

and then she cradled him for three days more

when they found her and tore the babe from her arms, esme screeched and howled

she had always thought that things hurt more than they actually do, that’s what her brother had said

a broken heart, for example

some people might recover in a few weeks, months, maybe a year or two

but esme would never recover

“i’m a good faller.” she had promised the doctor

this time she broke the habit, ruined her years of practice and listened out for the sharp crack that would offer release from the aching in her chest

the sound came and the world disappeared and esme found herself sitting in her tree, cradling her baby, humming a lullaby to him

but the pain remained and the steady thrumming sound of her own heart

then the burning started

hotter than her son’s skin had been, hotter than anything she had ever felt

and then the cool hands were there, making it all better and all she saw was golden light 

and the pain wasn’t so bad after that

[janeofcakes]

Chapter 100

(As they follow Emmy into the tall wheat field, John can see what she meant by getting lost. The tops of the stalks are a good six inches over his head and just slightly over Sherlock’s, but he’d expected that. What hadn’t expected was how thick the wheat is. The three can see one another easily, but John has a feeling that if he let go of Emmy’s hand and she moved ahead another three feet, he would no longer be able to see her. Sherlock could likely jump up high enough to see the field’s edge if he was close enough to it, but not John. He squeezes Sherlock’s hand tightly and feels a little squeeze in return.

After a few minutes of walking, they can hear several voices. Soon they step into a clearing made for the tractor that was not visible from the field’s edge. Two men are poking around the bottoms of the wheat stalks with another on the other side. Emmy looks at them and puts her hands on her hips.)

ER: Where the ‘ell is ‘ee?!

(The three men stop working and turn toward them smiling. Just then, arms wrap around Emmy’s waist from behind and make to lift her off her feet. She gives a surprised yelp, but John’s hand is on the man’s shoulder in an instant. Suddenly free from the man’s arms, Emmy spins around to see him flat on his back with John’s hand at his throat in warning. Everyone is wide-eyed and even Sherlock is startled at John’s speed.)

ER: Oi, Watson! (arms outstretched toward John in an attempt to halt any further action) It’s okay! It’s Ben! It’s just Ben.

(John glances at Emmy and then rises. He extends a hand to help the dark-haired man to his feet. Once Ben Travers stands at his full height, John sees he is around Sherlock’s size. His shoulders are broader and his body is that of a man used to physical labor. Ben brushes remnants of wheat from his curls and smiles down at John, extending a hand.)

BT: Well done, mate. Glad I know not to get on your bad side. Ben Travers.

J: (shaking his hand and nodding to Sherlock) Sorry about that. Dr. John Watson. Sherlock Holmes.

BT: No trouble. No trouble at all.

(Ben shakes Sherlock’s hand warmly. John tilts his head sightly to the side as he watches the detective greet Ben. If he didn’t know better, he would think them brothers. The only outstanding difference being Ben’s natural tan and Sherlock’s pale skin.)

S: We are investigating the death of Braeden Fox. Is there somewhere we might speak to you?

BT: (shocked) Finn! He’s okay??

S: Yes, he is fine. This is about Mr. Fox only. May we?

BT: (relieved) Yeah, all right. Walk with me. (He gestures toward the tractor and turns back to the others.) You all take the tractor back, yeah? I’ll drive these two in the truck.

ER: You know where it is?

BT: (smirking) I’ll find it. I’ll be able to sniff out the smell of burnt rubber. (chuckling at Emmy’s narrowed eyes) See you later.

ER: Smartarse. (giving John an aside) Looks like I misjudged you, Watson. You’ll ‘ave to tell me where that comes from later.  

(They share a smile and John nods as he turns to walk with Sherlock and Ben through the cleared passage. The two tell Ben that Braeden had not merely died, but was murdered. They share the facts of the case, as well as ask him relevant questions. It all leads up to Giles’ involvement, at which point they stop walking and face the man. Sherlock opens his mouth, but pauses when they hear the tractor start. He waits a moment until the noise of it fades.)

S: I have identified Fox’s killer. We are here to apprehend him. Detective Inspector Lestrade and some other officers will be joining us.

BT: Braeden’s killer is here? In Cornwall?!

S: Indeed, yes. You are planning to have dinner with him tonight.

BT: Justin?? (He stops moving completely, staring at the detective and his blogger in disbelief.) You’ve got to be shittin’ me. We went to school together. Finn and Justin have been thick as thieves for years!

S: And Finn knew Justin would never approve of his bisexuality. He asked you to keep his secret.

BT: Justin wouldn’t kill someone for that. He wouldn’t kill someone at all!

(John holds up one hand as if to calm him.)

J: Finn wanted to marry Braeden.

(With that, Ben stops what looked like an angry advance on Sherlock and twists his head abruptly. He looks down at the small man, back at Sherlock, and down at John again.)

J: Justin must have found out somehow. He got close to Braeden’s secretary to learn his habits and poisoned him.

S: Now he intends to kill the one person who can provide evidence against him and that man is you.

BT: (with an unbelieving laugh) Me??

S: (stepping close) You, Mr. Travers. Now think, think! What do you know? What could you tell us that would incriminate him?

(Ben puts his tongue in his cheek and blows out a quick breath, shaking his head. His hands rest on his hips.)

BT: I have no idea.

S: Nothing? Nothing at all?

(Ben shrugs, looking quite troubled. Sherlock throws his hands up and huffs. He steps over into John’s personal space, his annoyed expression close to John’s face.)

S: Nothing!

J: Yeah, Sherlock, I heard. Just…

(Sherlock turns back to Ben and looks at him intensely.)

S: I intend to use your dinner plans to arrest Giles, so you have all afternoon to consider it. (looking at John) Lestrade texted. He’s been delayed, but will be here by then.

BT: I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes. I just can’t believe Justin would hurt anyone. Let alone me.

S: Be that as it may, he did befriend Fox’s secretary to learn about him and kill him. Officers are interviewing her about Giles specifically as we speak. Perhaps you will find her testimony more compelling.

BT: (dismissively) We’ll see. Can you two stay with me in the field without holding hands?

J: Lead the way.

(They follow as he guides them through the wheat. Sherlock mutters to himself all the way. John puts a hand to Sherlock’s chest to stop him at the edge of the wheat as Ben walks out and over to the pick-up.)

J: (in a low voice) Just cool it, right. You’re telling the man his version of Mike Stamford murdered his future brother-in-law. He’ll come around, especially once Greg gets here with hard evidence in that testimony.

S: (snapping back) I’ve given him hard evidence. I’ve explained the case in full.

J: Yeah, but he doesn’t know you. He knows the secretary. He knows Finn and Braeden’s friends. He trusts them. (Sherlock rolls his eyes and they hear a shout from Ben. John stands on his tip toes and gives Sherlock’s frown a quick peck.)

J: You’ll get Giles. (He turns to step out of the wheat, but stops Sherlock again.) Don’t be rude.

(Sherlock rolls his eyes again behind John’s back, but still watches his ass as he walks out of the field. Sherlock steps from the wheat with a smirk on his face.)

BT: There you are. (heading for them) I thought you’d got lost.

(Minutes later and they’re driving to the large farm house. Ben explains the rest of his chores for the day at Sherlock’s request as they go. He laughs heartily when the detective informs him that he and John will stay with Ben, making a trip to the house unnecessary.)

BT: (still laughing) And what do you think you’ll be doing all afternoon?

S: Learning more about Giles’ past, determining more about his motive, and protecting you, of course, should he try to make contact before tonight.

BT: Protect me? Look, I may have thrown out my suspicions about your friend, but you? (He turns his head to where Sherlock sits in the passenger seat and chortles.) You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the fields. Not in that get-up.

(Ben glances at Sherlock’s dress shoes in particular and then back at the road as they bounce along. The detective stiffens and adopts a haughty expression.)

S: I am perfectly capable of handling myself.

BT: Sure, sure. But you won’t be talking to me or the lads, m’lud. We’ll be hard at work. Something you decidedly cannot do.

S: (narrowing his eyes) On the contrary, Mr. Travers.

J: (interrupting before Sherlock can say something rude) If you’ll forgive me, Travers.

BT: Ben

J: Ben. The accent here is very strong, but you don’t seem to have it.

BT: (shrugging) I didn’t grow up here and I’ve never been one for picking up accents.

J: Oh? Where did you grow up then?

BT: Hampshire. Farnham.

J: Farnham? Really? I grew up in Aldershot.

BT: (smiling) You’re having me on.

J: No! You’d never have known me. I have a good eight or nine years on you.

(The two men talk easily as Ben continues to drive, diverting from his route to the house. He takes a moment to phone Emmy. All the while, Sherlock watches and listens. Early on in the conversation, he rolls his eyes a great deal, but he eventually just observes and marvels at the man who is to be his husband. Relating to others and getting them to open up comes so easily to John. He is the perfect mix of friendly, social, and inquisitive. Never coming off as nosy or abrasive. It is a talent Sherlock knows he will never master or understand. Nor will he understand how a man like John Watson came to love him.

By the time Ben stops the pick-up in a pasture of sheep and makes his excuses, also telling them they’d best stay in the truck if they don’t want to step in shit, Sherlock is lost in thought. John watches Ben stride to some farmhands and begin his business before glancing at Sherlock. It’s the look in his detective’s eyes that catches his attention.)

J: Hey. You okay? (Sherlock’s eyes shift to John’s.) Visiting the mind palace?

(Sherlock clears his throat and shifts around in his seat so he can look at John.)

S: Actually…I was thinking about you.

(John gives him a genuine smile.)

J: Were you? Instead of the case?

S: Mmm. It’s becoming more difficult not to think of you. (He continues quickly before John can speak.) I don’t mind. Not at all.

J: Good. I’m glad you aren’t worried that I’ll dim your senses.

S: You do nothing but aid me, John. Whatever I feared before, I was wrong.

(As John smiles and touches Sherlock’s hand, the detective wants nothing more than to lean close to those lips and kiss them. To breathe in John’s scent mixed with fresh country air and, admittedly, sheep excrement. To hold him close to feel John’s warmth against Sherlock’s own body. But they are working and a working relationship they must maintain. However, Sherlock vows silently that he cannot be held responsible for his actions once the case is over and they are alone in a hotel room for the night.)

***

(Ben Travers calls it an early day around 6pm and drives John and Sherlock to the farm house. He goes to the loo for a shower as soon as they arrive. The detective and his blogger must wait before they can talk with Ben about his dinner plans, so John resolves to make some tea. He settles himself in the sitting room and brings some extra cups in case anyone should happen by.

Sitting peacefully and sipping his tea, John considers the plan he and Sherlock discussed over the course of the afternoon. It’s very simple as plans go. The duo and police are more or less going to lie in wait at the restaurant and arrest Giles as soon as he walks in the door. One could say Ben is the bait, but will be in no danger. Unless, of course, Giles has a gun and decides to shoot Ben upon realizing there’s no escape. John pointed this out to Sherlock throughout the day’s discussion, but the detective quickly shot him down each time.)

S: Don’t be absurd, John. The man hasn’t the stomach for blood or the ability to obtain a firearm. He chose poison for Fox in spite of having only a mediocre idea of how to use it, at best.

J: But men in desperate situations do things not normally in their character.

S: Again, no means of obtaining a firearm. He simply does not have the resources and Travers is his friend. He poisoned a man he doesn’t like. He’s not going to shoot a friend. What he’s most likely to do is poison the food on Travers’ plate the first time he leaves the table.

(Sherlock had made a compelling argument and, while he is probably right, John is still more comfortable with the plan knowing that his sig is tucked away on his person.

As John sips his tea, he finds himself thinking about Sherlock himself rather than the man in context of the case. After all they have been through together - case after case, nightmares, arguments, each nearly being killed more than a few times, Magnussen, Mary, Moriarty. His thoughts stop at that name. The apples at Tesco and the Yard return to his mind, consuming all other thoughts. Sherlock has not heard from Mycroft on the matter and they both assume he has found nothing. Is it even possible? No one was there to pull Moriarty from the water. Could he have still been conscious and gotten to shore? It’s impossible, John knows, but the apples… John scrubs his hands through his hair. It must all be coincidence. It has to be. Or maybe he’s just losing his mind. John sighs and drops his face down into his hands.)

S: John?

(The doctor’s head snaps up to see Sherlock walking into the room. He straightens up quickly and schools his expression, but not before worry shows in the detective’s features.)

J: Sherlock. You want some tea?

S: (brow furrowed) Yes, please.

(John clears his throat and pours a cup. Sherlock watches him mix in cream and sugar as he nears. John’s hand trembles ever so slightly as he taps the spoon on the cup’s edge and places it on the tea tray. Sherlock stands close, putting his hands on John’s shoulder before he can lift the cup and saucer to hand to him.)

S: John. (The doctor stills.) What’s wrong? Not the case.

J: (closing his eyes) No.  

(Sherlock takes John’s hands in his own and sits on the sofa facing him. He lifts one hand to John’s cheek and gently tilts his face up to meet his eyes.)

S: What is it, John? Won’t you tell me?

J: It’s Moriarty. I can’t shake it. The idea that he made it out of the water. (His eyes widen.) What about that man? The one Molly found evidence of in that flat across from ours? What if he followed you to the island, saw the two of you go over the edge, and went in after Moriarty?

S: It’s plausible. I mentioned the possibility to Mycroft. He is exploring it.

J: Or maybe it’s him. Mycroft said he’d worked with Moriarty more than once. Maybe he’s angry and wants revenge.

S: Possible, but unlikely. Whether working together once or repeatedly, all of Moriarty’s cohorts were paid for their work and can easily find more elsewhere. No motivation for vengeance.

J: I know. I just… (He pulls away from Sherlock and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.) God, I wish I could shake this.

(Sherlock puts his hands on John’s upper arms and gives them a squeeze. He ducks his chin down to meet John’s lowered eyes. John looks up a little timidly. Admitting this particular weakness always makes him feel so foolish.)

S: You will. And I will be with you. I will listen or talk or comfort - whatever you need. I want to be the best husband to you that I can be.

J: (smiling wistfully) You are amazing.

S: It is merely what husbands do, is it not? (They share a quiet chuckle.) John, I know how you feel about this. You hide it well, but your eyes always speak the truth.

J: (trying to stave away his emotions) Ha. So I’m an open book to everyone then. Great.

S: No. Not everyone.

J: (glancing away) Sherlock…

(Sherlock’s hands cup John’s cheeks and they lock eyes. The detective’s are soft and sensitive.)

S: Please don’t feel you have to hide anything from me. I will not judge. You are not weak or foolish. You are human. (with a little exhale and a quirk of his lips) You’re the bravest, strongest man I know.

(John blinks a few times, the feeling of tears prickling his eyes. He smiles affectionately.)

J: Sherlock Holmes, it’s always been you. You keep me right.

(The detective angles his eyes upward as if thinking.)

S: Mmm. I believe it’s the other way around, don’t you think? I’m fairly certain.

(John laughs and kisses Sherlock. His lips are so soft and full. By far, the most perfect lips in all of England. And oh, how he uses them. A kiss from Sherlock Holmes should be a felony.)

(John groans as Sherlock’s tongue sweeps over his lips and he can’t help but open them. It ventures in slowly and moves in a way John has never imagined. John feels like he’s floating. His hands are in dark curls, his mouth moving with Sherlock’s. God, that mouth.

John pulls back when he starts to feel dizzy. When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by big silver eyes and a pouting mouth. John would swear to god and all the angels that it is the sexist face he’s ever seen.)

J: If you want me to be any use at all during the arrest, (swallowing hard) we have to stop now.

S: (breathlessly) You see? Quite the opposite. You keep me right, John Watson.

(John descends into giggles and Sherlock soon follows. Once the chuckling has died down, the two men discuss the night’s plan again.)

J: Hold on. Greg isn’t here yet? We’re doing this in a little over an hour and Greg isn’t even here?

S: I know, it’s intolerable. When I spoke to Greg, he assured me he’d be here, though only just in time. He knows the restaurant and the plan. However, if he does not arrive…

J: (with a warning look) Sherlock.

S: I trust you have the sig?

(John gives him a steady nod and puts his empty tea cup on the tray.)

J: Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. (standing) Ben must be ready soon. I’ll just put all this in the kitchen.

S: Need any help?

J: No, I’ve got it. I’ll just rinse them and be right back.

(Sherlock watches him go, casting an appreciative eye to the doctor’s ass as he goes. He smiles to himself and stands. Looking at the countryside through the window, he decides to step out on the house’s large porch. It’s an unusual house in a way. Rather more like a southern plantation house in America than one in Cornwall, with a large front porch and pillars. The roof of the porch is a balcony for the second floor. The structure looks as though it was transplanted from another place and time.

Sherlock sighs and strolls across the porch, watching tractors driving slowly in the distance, farmhands working in and around the surrounding fields, and animals grazing. Such a peaceful life. So different from the noise and hurry of London. Sherlock loves London and all the exciting cases it has to offer. But if he was older and tired, would he enjoy the quiet leisure of the country?)

(Sherlock’s mind is suddenly filled with images of himself and John as retired men living in an airy country cottage. He would raise bees, of course. He and John would take long, slow walks. Maybe they would have a garden and plant peas, among other things. They could spend entire days together in the cottage without ever putting on a stitch of clothing. Sherlock’s eyes widen and brows raise. Why can’t they do that now?

So distracted is he by thoughts of a naked John Watson roaming through 221B with a ‘Come fuck me’ smile on his face that he doesn’t hear quiet footsteps on the porch until it is too late.)

(Without warning, Sherlock is struck with something heavy right at the base of his skull. His vision goes black in an instant and he falls to the floor painfully, not even attempting to break his fall. The side of his head pounds onto the porch and gives a little bounce when it hits. Sherlock’s brain registers a quiet voice as he slips into unconsciousness.)

JG: I’m sorry, Ben. I’m really am so sorry.

[otome-reviews]

My Wedding and 7 Rings: Asahi Route Review [SPOILERS]

Once upon a time, I naively thought that Eisuke’s route in Kissed by the Baddest Bidder was the worst I’d ever have the misfortune of reading. Well, my friends. I’m delighted (?) to inform you that we have a new winner, in the the form of Asahi and his blood pressure-raising route.

Let’s start from the top, shall we? MC works for Sanno Corp, a conglomerate run by an affable CEO (aka her unknown/secret grandfather), who passes away. In his final days, he arranges for MC’s future “happiness” on her behalf, by setting up a Marriage Program for MC to pick a husband and future CEO among six up-and-coming male employees (no women allowed??). Instead of, you know, giving MC leadership training while he was alive so she could try being CEO herself like a proper loving grandfather, or something...

Anyways, MC is conned into signing a contract agreeing to the Marriage Program, while being told it’s paperwork for the company’s MVP award, by the shady interim CEO. Long story short, if she fails to find a husband before a year is up, the company will be forced to dissolve without a CEO, and she’ll be forced to pay everyone’s severance pay. So... I don’t know what the rules and regulations surrounding contracts are in Japan, but I can’t imagine that this'd hold up in court? There was a whole auditorium’s worth of people who could testify that MC was pressured into signing, after all. And according to Google, severance pay isn’t required in Japan if a company can’t continue its business due to “unavoidable circumstances” -- such as, say, an asshat ex-CEO who set up a terrible program for his granddaughter instead of getting to know her like a normal person?!

Anyways, because there is something seriously wrong with MC, she picks Asahi, aka very obviously the rudest of the bunch, to be her first marriage candidate during a month-long trial period. Asahi is a rich, privileged, and entitled douchebag who doesn’t understand poor/middle class people. He thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind because he’s handsome. And although MC is the one who holds all the cards as, you know, the person who picks the next CEO, he doesn’t hesitate to order MC around constantly (“Don’t do anything without my say-so!”), insults her, and regularly compares her to a pet dog. Ugh.

Oh, and he tries to have nonconsensual sex with her. TWICE. His rationale, after MC manages to ward him off? “This is the first time a girl has rejected my advances!” ...That doesn’t excuse shit, you asshole. And to top it all off, unlike other characters under the douchey alpha male trope who stop insulting MC halfway through, Asahi doesn’t really ever quit (“Plain IS your specialty.” - Episode 10 out of 13).

( ^this would’ve been a lovely CG if it were consensual >( )

All that alone is already enough to make me hate Asahi, and his route, quite passionately. But it gets worse. Throughout the entire story, Asahi forces MC to help him with a project to revitalize a Japanese village by bringing European luxury brands into the village and turning it into a tourist destination (weird, but sure, let’s roll with it). MC is Asahi’s assistant, but in reality, she is the only reason why the project even manages to succeed:

When Asahi rudely rejects a petition containing the villagers’ concerns about the project, MC is the one who listens to their complaints. And then Asahi gets PISSED at her for acting independently, and rips up the petition (!!) (“You’ll understand someday. Money and power are all that matter”). Douche doesn’t even begin to cover it. Psychopath?!

After a deal with a French CEO falls through due to Asahi’s evil half-brother’s meddling, MC and Asahi encounter a lost crying kid. MC wants to help the kid, Asahi wants to get the police to deal with it and call it a day. He’s super rude about it. But surprise surprise, said kid turns out to be the French CEO’s son, and that is the only reason why the Frenchman even gives Sanno Corp a chance. Without MC’s kindness, the project would’ve failed. Utterly. Because Asahi is an incompetent little shit.

The townspeople are upset over traditions being thrown out the window, and because MC’s the only person who ever listened to their concerns, she’s the one who comes up with the idea of embracing these old traditions even as they introduce new Western elements to the town’s stores, and mixing old with new. There is no way entitled little rich kid Asahi would’ve been able to come up with this on his own.

So what happens at the end of the route, you ask? Surely MC gets rewarded professionally for her excellent people skills and business acumen? HAH...don’t make me laugh. Here’s what happens:

MC writes an excellent project proposal as a last ditch effort, which Asahi utterly ignores because he went off to do his own thing regarding the deal. He praises MC, but who gives a shit? Words are cheap. I want actual, tangible, career success for MC.

The Frenchman announces, in a news conference, that he’ll be making a deal with Sanno Corp, and demands to work, more specifically, with his good friend Asahi. Um, excuse me, but WTF?!?!? Who was the one who helped his kid, again? Who was the one who came up with the proposal in the first place? Way to devalue a woman’s work and let another man get all the credit, dude! This makes me so mad asdfhqkjdhqfqdjfsh

Most annoyingly, Asahi presumably gets to be the next CEO, since MC obviously chooses him. Despite the fact that he’s so bad with people it’s unfathomable how he even got to where he was before he met MC...

This whole saga, with MC’s efforts and kindness being brushed aside/unrecognized, and the useless Asahi reaping the rewards of all of MC’s hard work, really really boiled my blood. As a working woman with ambitions, the whole work subplot represents many of my greatest fears regarding sexism in the professional workplace. It was, in a way, even more infuriating than Asahi’s romantic shittiness, because despite being ridiculous and unrealistic, everything still felt allll too fucking real.

After my extended rant regarding Eisuke a while back, several people pointed out that Eisuke’s character evolution over the course of many stories is what makes him truly great. I’m a little dubious, to be very honest, but I can respect that. But as for Asahi? IMHO this little dipshit doesn’t deserve future character evolution. He’s already used MC for professional success! He doesn’t get to just waltz in and reap the rewards of “becoming a better man” due to MC’s hard work and effort. What does MC even get out of this whole deal?? A good, rich man who loves her!? Yeah, no thanks. She could’ve gotten that from one of the many other less douchey love interests, probably without all this wasted emotional labor.

At the end of the day, Asahi and his route embodies several tropes/fantasies that I understand are very popular (and maybe even more popular in Japan, I wouldn’t know), and I can’t blame Voltage for catering to their audience (and even, perhaps, to you, the reader). He’s rich, he’s an “alpha male,” yadda yadda...I get it. But it’s definitely not a trope for me, and even less so given that whole crappy work thing. So. To reiterate, this has been the single most infuriating route I’ve had the displeasure of reading, to date. And because I strongly believe Asahi does not deserve to improve at the cost of MC’s suffering and sacrifice, I have no plans to give any of his sequels a chance. >(

(If this review actually made you want to check out Asahi’s route, my apologies - the free promotion has long since ended. But you can still enjoy (?) the story on Voltage’s Love365 app using coins!)

Choice quotes: “Aren’t you going to say, ‘I’m leaving for work, master’ on your way out?” “I’m leaving for work... you naked fathead!” “If you’re waiting for the day I take orders from you, 100 years won’t be enough.”

Personality: 1/10 Asahi is a rude asshole who lacks empathy and doesn’t know his damn place. He is such a rich douchebag stereotype.

Appearance: 8/10. Unfortunately.

MC: 6/10. I liked MC’s sass and work ethic, but she has terrible taste in men and is way too happy about the tiny breadcrumbs of kindness Asahi occasionally throws at her.

Plot/Payoff: 0/10. Horrifying for a working woman. >(

Personal enjoyment: 0/10. No

Masterlist

[thekoshertribble]

“Oh, the sound of male ego. You travel halfway across the galaxy and it’s still the same song.” Women of Star Trek Blog Entry #3 “Mudd’s Women”: Eve McHuron

Hi everyone! I’m back. I’ve been looking forward to writing about this episode. Eve McHuron is a great character, and I have a lot to say about her. With that in mind, I’ve broken this blog into 4 parts. It might end up being the longest entry I make so please bear with me.

Part One: Hologram Brides

Ever heard of Picture Brides?

If you haven’t, here’s a quick history lesson: back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, men from China, Korea and Japan immigrated to Hawaii and California in search of work opportunities. Most engaged in hard manual labor, and couldn’t make enough money to go back home. Many of them wanted to marry women from their home countries, so they would have their photograph taken and sent to a matchmaker there. Local families would, with the matchmaker’s help, choose a man they liked and send one of their female relatives over as that man’s bride. These future brides, like their to-be husbands, often made the long journey to seek opportunities they could not find at home.

I know what you’re thinking: okay, great history lesson, but what does this have to do with Star Trek? Well, I’ll tell you. 

When Harry Mudd and his three female passengers are apprehended and taken aboard the Enterprise, Mudd explains they is bound for Ophiuchus III, and that he he “recruits wives for settlers.” Kirk is concerned the women did not come voluntarily, but Eve explains that they are personally motivated : “it’s the same story for all of us, Captain: no men! [My planet] was a farm planet with automated machines for company and two brothers to cook for, mend their clothes...we’ve got men willing to be our husbands waiting for us, and you’re taking us in the opposite direction!” Criminal background aside, Mudd granted these young women with an opportunity they could not turn up - the chance to have a husband, a home, a family of their own, to live a “Little House on the Planetoid” kind of life. Harry Mudd’s passengers, Eve, Ruth and Magda, are essentially like the picture brides of old, (albeit not ethnically.) Although, it might be more accurate to call them “hologram brides” instead.

Part 2: Magda, Ruth and Eve, the Daughters of Lear

English lesson time! Ever read/watched King Lear? Shakespeare’s classic play tells of a elderly mad King Lear and his 3 daughters, Goneril, Regan and Cordelia. The first two sisters are greedy, corrupt and power hungry, while Cordelia is kind, forgiving and loyal to her father. Her most notable trait is her honesty - she refuses to over exaggerate her love for her father, as her sisters do.

Now let’s look at Ruth, Magda and Eve. Ruth and Magda, while not necessarily bad people, are more willing to go along with Mudd’s schemes. At his instructions, they seduce various crew members to get information. They also take the Venus drug, which transforms them into beautiful women from their original “ugly” appearances. They are tempted by Mudd’s offers that he will marry them off to rich husbands: “Maggie, I’ll make you a countess. Ruth, I’ll make you a duchess.”

And then, there’s Eve. She immediately stands out for the audience because she is the first to speak. When Mudd and his passengers are escorted from the transporter room to Kirk by Spock, Mudd says some rude things to Spock in the turbolift. Spock, of course ignores it but Eve turns to him and says: “I apologize for what he said, sir. He’s so used to buying and selling people-“ but Mudd cuts her off before she can continue. 

Later, during Mudd’s hearing, Eve explains where she came from (see quote from part one) and why she wanted to leave. Mudd tries to patronizingly calm her down, saying, “fine, Evie, fine” but she cuts him off: “No, it’s NOT fine!” These moments tell us she is not afraid to speak her mind, and she does not accept being pushed aside.

Even more notable is her later (seduction?) scene with Kirk. Mudd sent her to Kirk’s quarters to get information from him. She does a fair job of charming him, and the two share some interesting dialogue too, reflecting some similarities in their characters. But just as Eve tries to kiss him (with Kirk seemingly reluctant to do so) she pulls away and the whole mood changes. She sighs: “Oh, no! Oh, I just can't do it. I don't care what Harry Mudd says. I do like you, but I just can't go through with it. I hate this whole thing!” And with that, she runs from the room, leaving a very confused Kirk behind her.

There’s a lot going on in this scene. (You should go back and watch it, I’m not going to get into it for sake of brevity). But what it tells us is this: Eve has a very strong moral compass. Yes, she likes Kirk, but she won’t seduce him because Mudd told her to.

After leaving Kirk’s quarters she goes to Mudd’s. She finds him there plotting with the Ruth and Magda. She glares at him: “I don’t like you! And I’m not very happy with myself either.” She hates the situation, Mudd for trying to manipulate her, and the part of herself that complied. You have to feel for her - she’s a young woman alone on the frontier, traveling with corrupt strangers to marry another stranger. Like the Picture Brides of old, she’s lonely, desperate, and trying to hold onto her identity. And she has yet to reach her lowest point.

When Kirk is forced to hand the women over to the miners in exchange for dilithium, Eve is the one who can’t adapt. Magda and Ruth practically throw themselves to the men, and are amused when they brawl over their attentions. Eve however, breaks down. Having nothing left to lose, she runs outside into a magnetic storm, practically a death sentence: “why don’t you just run a raffle and the loser gets me?”

Fortunately, Ben Childress, the head miner, finds her passed out and brings her back to his quarters. He puts her on his bed and goes to sleep on a bench. When he wakes he finds her up and about, cooking on his stove. “I ate some of your food so I paid with some chores,” she explains. Childress doesn’t like her food, or her working around the house and complains, but she calmly brushes it off. “Oh the sound of male ego. You travel halfway across the galaxy and it’s still the same song.”

DAMN she didn’t just serve him food, she served him too!

And she proves to be the smarter of the two as well. When Childress says he can’t properly clean the cooking pans without a decent water source, she suggests hanging the pans in the wind to let the sand blast them.

All of these scene snippets tell us what kind of person Eve is: honest, loyal, kind, and clever. Despite her trials she perseveres and refuses to be defeated.

Part 3: Drugs or confidence? (Or...Aliens)

This episode is a bit unusual in that it gives us an ambiguous ending regarding Mudd’s hologram brides, particularly Eve. The Enterprise crew is confused by how intriguing Mudd’s women are. (Seriously, some crew members act like they’ve never seen a woman before - it’s really funny. Spock is super amused.) We get a partial answer through the Venus drug, as we see Magda and Ruth take it and transform from ugly to beautiful.

But with Eve it’s a different story. Mudd gives her the drug, telling her to take it: “it’s not a cheat. It’s a miracle!” But we never actually see her take it. Later, on the mining colony when she is confronted by Kirk, Childress and Mudd, we see her take the drug and transform, but Kirk reveals it wasn’t the drug at all. It was just colored gelatin! Eve is confused, and Kirk simply explains: “there is only one kind of woman. You either believe in yourself or you don’t.”

Okay, so two things:

1. Nice little motivational speech, Kirk

2. But seriously, what just happened?

Right before she takes the “drug” Eve yells at Childress, challenging his idealistic expectations of women: “You don’t want wives! You want this!” She shows him the drug. “I hope you remember it and dream about it, because you can't have it. It's not real!” Then she takes the pill and transforms.

It’s implied that her sudden boost of confidence causes her transformation. Otherwise, she took the colored gelatin pill and experienced the greatest placebo effect in the history of placebo effects...

...but I just can’t quite buy it. Since when has feeling more confident in yourself made you look fantastic in less than 5 seconds? Have you ever woken up, gone to the bathroom and looked at your gross morning face in the mirror saying, “I feel great about myself today,” and BAM you’re all made up for the day? No, of course not! Because that’s not how life works!

The only other explanation I can come up with to explain this phenomenon within the bounds of Star Trek logic is this: Eve is not a human. This is totally possible, considering how many aliens in Star Trek look exactly like humans. So consider this: what if Eve is a humanoid who can control her appearance, consciously or unconsciously? We never actually get a confirmation that she is human, and when McCoy attempts to give her a medical exam, she refuses. So the question of Eve’s transformation still seems open to me. Is it just magical realism or aliens? I really don’t know. Let’s just move on.

Part 4: Final Thoughts

Its implied at the episode’s end that Eve will stay with Childress, or that he wants her to stay, despite his earlier rudeness. I hope that’s not what happened to her. I’ve never cared for Ben Childress, and he certainly doesn’t deserve someone like Eve. I want to imagine that she somehow got off planet and found a husband elsewhere, but with Mudd arrested I think that would be more difficult.

Eve’s character stands out to me because, unlike most of the characters I’ll be writing about in this series, she’s actually rather ordinary. She’s not an officer, a doctor or diplomat. She’s just frontier settler looking for a husband. She’s not trying to explore the final frontier, she’s just trying to live in it. And as this episode demonstrates, that’s not as easy as it sounds.

Thank you for reading! It took several days for me to gather my thoughts and write this so please like and share if you enjoyed it. I hope it provided some new perspective on this old episode and I look forward to doing this again.

Next entry: What are Little Girls Made Of?

-ftd

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Watch Out Below (Epilogue)

You smoothed your hands over the alabaster silk of the bodice taut around the tightly-laced corset which constricted your ribs. The scars which foretold of your wounds, jagged across your torso, were irritated by the rigid boning and the matching mark across the back of your hand caught your eyes. Turning it over to examine the blemish in the middle of your palm left by Azog’s sword, you forgot the discomfort of your attire.

“Dear?” Dis’ voice drew you back to the stone chamber; bigger than the one you had languished in during your recovery, this one lavishly decorated with silken canopy and finely woven tapestry, “Are you well?”

“Fine,” You lowered your hand evasively and turned to her, keeping your skirts from brushing against the sooty hearth, “Just…anxious,” You reached up and scratched your neck as you avoided her gaze, “Is all this really necessary?”

You glanced over to the deep purple brocade hanging on the front of your armoire, “A wedding and a coronation in one week? If I had known--”

“If you had known you would still be foolishly in love with my brother,” Dis interjected with a chuckle, “And yes, it is absolutely necessary. The people have returned to Erebor and even our cousins of the Iron Hills shall arrive on the morrow. The Mountain is reclaimed and alive once more.”

“How could I have ever forgotten that Thorin was a king?” You grumbled, “Are you sure it isn’t fashionable for tunic and trousers at banquets?”

“I am quite sure,” She shook her head and crossed her arms, “As misplaced as you are in this Mountain, you are the queen Thorin has chosen and you must act the part. And you’ll learn…eventually.”

Before you could react with outrage, a knock came at the door and you both looked to it expectantly. “Who is it?” Dis nearly sang as she crossed the room, pulling open the door an inch before stopping it staunchly with her foot, “Oh, it’s you.” She looked over her shoulder and waved to you, “Behind the screen, dear.”

Begrudgingly, you obeyed her and figured who the unexpected visitor was, giving an exasperated sigh as you hid behind the painted divider. “Come in,” You heard Dis intone and the footsteps which had become all too familiar in their decisiveness.

Thorin cleared his throat and you couldn’t help but grin from your hiding place, “Mahal’s sake, Dis, I cannot even lay eyes on my own betrothed.”

“Not while she’s in her wedding gown,” Dis reproached, “You’ve all the bad fortune as it is, you needn’t any more.”

“Why thank you, blessed sister,” Thorin huffed, “I can only imagine the torture you’re putting Y/N through.”

“No, you couldn’t,” You chimed with a giggle and the heat of Dis’ wrath could be felt through the thin screen.

“You two,” She muttered as she approached the screen and rounded it, motioning you to turn your back to her, “So, brother, why is it you have chosen to visit at such an inopportune time?”

“Must I a reason to visit my fiancée?” He countered as Dis untied the laces of your gown, carefully pushing it down your shoulders, “I’ve come because Dain has arrived and he wishes to meet our future queen before the festivities. The last he had a chance, she was not in the condition for introductions.”

“Dain,” You could hear the dread in Dis’ voice, “Mahal knows he’s our cousin but the dwarf is bawdy and entirely uncouth.” Thorin stifled a chuckle as you heard him pacing the chamber, “You best gird yourself, Y/N, and Thorin,” You stepped out of the dress as Dis continued, “You better not let him rile the girl.”

“Oh, Dis, you are the unforgiving sort, aren’t you?” Thorin chided as Dis handed you a dressing robe and you wrapped it around yourself, “Ever since he surprised you with that beetle under your pillow as a child…”

“His maturity has grown little since then,” Dis led you out from behind the screen, “And you know I make no exaggeration.”

“Yes, yes,” Thorin’s eyes caught yours and he smiled, holding a hand out for you to take, drawing you to him as he seemed to forget his sister, “Y/N,” He held you against him and laid a gentle kiss upon your forehead, “I pray my sister had not treated you so roughly.”

“Not at all,” You lied as the corset once more pinched your ribs, “There is however something I think we should discuss…” You looked over to Dis who was pretending to dust the mantle above the fireplace, “Alone.”

“Y/N,” Dis turned with a flourish, “You know our customs. This best not be a ploy-”

“You really think I’m a child, don’t you?” You released Thorin and put your hands on your hips sharply, “How am I to learn to be a queen if you treat me so? Now, I would like to speak privately with my future husband about an issue which, despite your suspicions, does not involve undressing.”

You could hear Thorin holding back laughter at your insinuations and even Dis appeared amused by your sudden act of resistance, bowing her head to your command. “Of course,” She swept past you, pausing by the door, “See? You will learn to be queen.”

She pulled open the door and disappeared into the corridor and you looked to Thorin who was visibly impressed by your defiance. You smiled with a tilt of your head before your mind returned to the gravity of your worries. You reached out to take Thorin’s hands in yours, steadying yourself, as you thought of how to broach the sensitive subject.

“Thorin, we need to talk…” You saw his face drain of colour and squeezed his hands reassuringly, “About Fili.”

“Fili,” He frowned; you knew he still felt guilty for how he had treated his own nephew, “Yes, I suppose we should,” He gulped and looked around, “Let’s sit then,” He guided you over to the chairs before the hearth, “I don’t think this shall be a conversation easily resolved.”

You lowered yourself stiffly into the chair, cursing the corset which restricted your comfort, and sighed as you readied your thoughts. “Look, I’m just worried about him. I don’t mean to sound so self-concerned but I feel horrid for breaking his heart, and I know you don’t want to think of that but…He’s been so unhappy and he won’t even look at me.” You rubbed your forehead as you reclined weakly against the back of the chair, “We were best friends back on the road. He was the first to be nice to me and he saved my life…And I hurt him.”

“Y/N, please, you can’t hate yourself for that, we do not control our own hearts, as much as we would like to,” He pulled his chair closer and set his hand on your knee kindly, “He’s hurt but he’s strong. He’ll be alright. He’ll find his One.”

“I know he will,” You placed your hand atop his, “Which is what I wanted to talk about. With all the dwarves returned and those from the Iron Hills to add to those numbers, is there not a chance that his One may just be within our corridors at this very moment?”

“Oh, Mahal, you’ve been spending too much time with Dis.”

“Please, Thorin, we must help him find his One,” You pleaded as you leaned forward, “It’s the only way.”

“And how would we do that?” Thorin wrinkled his brow doubtfully.

“Um, well, I’m not sure,” Your reached up and ran your fingers across your lips thoughtfully, Thorin’s hand squeezing your knee and you looked up to find him watching you intently.

“Don’t tease me,” He kidded and you pulled your hand from your lips, “I…might know of a way. It’s absurd and likely a fool’s game but dwarves are the superstitious type.”

“Oh?” You wondered hopefully, “What is it?”

“Well we need a few things but those will be easy enough to acquire,” His eye sparkled slyly, “It’s an old dwarven rite. Outdated and widely forgotten, but I’ve read of it in some dusty old book,” He removed his hand from your knee and leaned against the arm of his chair as he explained, “We have a cake baked and we place a single button in the batter. Traditionally, this button would belong to the one whom seeks to find their One but seeing as we are to do this without Fili’s knowing, we’ll use a pea.”

“Okay?” You were confused but listened on, hoping to find some sense in Thorin’s ploy.

“But we need something which marks the cake with Fili’s essence…so we take one of his knives and we make sure that the cake is sliced with his own blade, otherwise, it will not work.”

“It does not sound as if it will--”

“Y/N, I know it sounds ridiculous and I’m not saying it will work, but we’ve no other option, have we?” He sighed before he continued, “Now, because the will have been marked with Fili’s touch, the pea will be found in the slice of cake belonging to his One. And as long as that pea is not found by Dain himself, we can at least hope that it distracts Fili from his misery.”

“I don’t know, Thorin. Not to be rude, but you dwarves have some strange beliefs.”

“We do, but as I said, this is an old rite, not used since the time of my great grandfather, but it is how he met my great grandmother,” Thorin shrugged and have a hopeless smile, “I don’t know that it’ll work but what else do we have?”

“I guess,” You bit your lip and once more caught Thorin staring at the small gesture with longing, “We’ll give it a try.”

“Now, we just have to figure out how to get one of Fili’s knives,” Thorin scratched his beard, “You’re good at being sneaky, I think I’ll leave that part to you.”

“As always, I have to do all the grunt work,” You shook your head in remonstrance, “But I can’t trust you to do anything…it’ll be done.”

A silence overtook you as you began to conspire with yourself and Thorin seemed content to watch you squirm. As it was, the two of you were allowed little time to yourself and Dis would undoubtedly be knocking shortly to make sure there was nothing untowards going on. Setting aside thoughts of Fili, you smiled at Thorin, reaching over to take his hand once more. You would enjoy the chance to bask in his presence and worry about his nephew later.

Your wedding had finally arrived though Dis had been more eager for it than any. Thorin had decided that your nuptials would be the better opportunity to find his nephew his One. You were still skeptical of the whole ‘pea-in-a-cake’ plan but nonetheless, you had stolen one of Fili’s knives with the aid of his brother. Kili was uninformed of the reason why you needed the blade but was all too pilfer it as his brother had become dull company.

You had handed the stolen dagger off to Thorin as you would be spending your morning being strapped into your ivory wedding gown, one which you would not conceal the knife effectively.

Dis brushed out your hair, as soft of silk from the oil she had be applying to it for the last months. Your locks hung loose down your back, your off-the-shoulder gown leaving bear the flesh of your throat and a hint of your chest, amplified by the corset tight around your torso. You had never imagined yourself looking so…royal.

Gripping the skirts of your gown nervously, Dis swatted your hands away from the fragile silk and proceeded to bring a necklace of sapphire around your neck, admiring it in the mirror from behind you. “Thorin forged this himself,” She informed you, “He delivered it just last night.”

“Really?” You reached up and touched the teardrop gem, marveling at the delicate silver links which held onto it, “Should I have--”

“Don’t you worry yourself, dear, I took care of that for you,” She preened, “I know you’ve been overwhelmed so I had a pin crafted for him. He’ll be wearing it, a ruby, you’ll see. I told him you chose it yourself.”

“Dis, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I did,” She ran her fingers through your hair before turning you to face her, “Now, after the vows, you will kneel and Thorin will braid your hair and he will do the same in kind. Remember how I showed you. It is a very specific type of braid and you must do it correctly.”

“I know, I know,” You had been practicing the very weave she spoke of nightly at her insistence, “You’ve taught me well.”

“Well…” She brought her hand up to cradle your cheek as she considered your appearance, “I daresay you look a queen. And I know you will be a wonderful wife to my brother,” To your surprise, she pulled you forward into an embrace, “At the end of this day, you shall be my sister and I am proud at the title.”

“Dis, I--” Your breath caught in your throat, “Me, too.”

“Now,” She pulled away from you and smiled, “Go make my brother a happy man…and you keep him in line. It’s all up to you now.”

You had made it through the ceremony without misstep. Thorin’s hair was presentable though he had likely done a much better job on yours. You had complimented the ruby pin upon his silver brocade and he had admired the blue sapphire hanging over your neckline. So distracted were you by the nuptials and the hustle and bustle of moving from vows to feast, that when the cake was presented, you nearly exclaimed in recollection.

Thorin led you to the table were the cake was laid out and the hall went silent, thousands of eyes focused on the two of you. “Dwarves and dams of Erebor and the Iron Hills, I thank you for attending today’s celebrations. We are all overjoyed that the Mountain has been reclaimed and may it never be taken from our blood again,” Thorin smiled as he looked around the crowd, his eyes finally landing on you, “My wife and new queen, shall have the honour of cutting the cake this day, and in this rite, she marks rebirth of Erebor and of dwarven glory.”

Thorin reached into his overcoat and brought for the blade you had secreted from his nephew. He handed you the knife and you peeked up at Fili who did not seem to recognize it. You took it and steadied the shaking of your hand, sharing a knowing look with your husband. “I hope this works,” You whispered.

“Just cut the damn cake,” He gritted through a smile and you did as he said, sliding the silver into the spongy dessert.

You began to set out the thin pieces onto small silver plates and servants took them lithely, dispersing them among the guests. You kept your mind on the task of cutting the cake and when at last finished portioning the immaculate dessert, you set aside the knife and Thorin took your hand. “Now we wait,” He mumbled as he bowed his head to the guest who began to chatter and guided you to the royal dais where two slices of cake awaited you.

You sat alongside Thorin but could not even think of eating. You looked across the hall anxiously as other’s indulged and you felt a tugging at your sleeve. “Just relax,” Thorin chided, “And eat your cake.”

“You’re a rather demanding husband,” You squinted at him playfully, “We haven’t even reached our wedding night--”

“Soon enough,” A grin spread across his face and he shifted in his chair, “Which is what you should be worrying about and not my nephew,” He leaned in and his nose brushed across your cheek as his voice lowered to sultry tone, “I do hope your more graceful in bed than on your feet.”

“Hey,” You swatted his shoulder and chuckled bashfully, “It is still early enough for an annulment, dear husband.”

“Sure,” He kissed your cheek before leaning back in his chair, “Let’s not fight before our subjects, my love.”

You scoffed at his joke and dug your fork into your cake, looking out once more as your mind drifted back to the royal nephew. You found him along the table and he stared at his plate dully. You felt the pit in your stomach return and you couldn’t help but frown. You had lost your closest friend in this world and it was all your own fault. You leaned back and hung your head, Thorin touching your hand to draw your attention. He gave you a sympathetic smile and you tried to return the gesture, a sudden exclamation ringing out.

“Ew,” A dam with deep red hair held up a small orb and her friend giggled as she flicked it away, the following comments unheard. Thorin shared a conspiratorial look with you but you still had no clue how a pea would draw Fili to the dam.

“Just wait,” Thorin assured you, noticing your confused grimace, “And stop worrying so much.”

“I just don’t get it,” You dropped your fork, “You dwarves are crazy.”

“Hey, don’t say that so loud in a room full of dwarves,” He chuckled, “In a few minutes, the dancing will begin and you’ll see. Love has its ways. It brought us together, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose,” You thought of the preposterous odds which had seen you falling atop Thorin’s very head, “Though it didn’t exactly start out so well.”

“Don’t start,” He warned, “I already feel bad enough,” He took your hand and ran his thumb across the scar that rippled the skin, “For all the pain I caused you.”

“I was only saying,” You grinned, “Besides, I forgave you, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t all seem like it,” He grumbled and kissed the scar on your hand, “Not with the way you carry on about it.”

You giggled and a horn blast silenced the hall, the band striking up the first song of the night. Keeping your hand in his, Thorin rose and motioned you to follow. You did so reluctantly and guided you along the table and down the steps to the floor where a throng of eager dancers were gathering and the king turned you to face him.

“Thorin, no,” You cringed, “I can’t dance. Please, all those lessons I’ve been taking. I still can’t put one foot in front of the other.”

“I know, but I didn’t marry you for your grace,” He kidded and you growled at him in return, “Besides, I won’t let you fall. Not again. Just follow my lead.”

Thorin put his arm around you and helped you fall into step, your toes colliding with his as he patiently guided you. You laughed each time you stepped on his feet and he was just as amused by your lack of coordination. A few songs in and you had managed to gain a sense of rhythm and lost yourself in the ribaldry of the crowd.

“Y/N,” Thorin said as the music slowed and you leaned against him breathlessly, “Look.”

He directed your attention across the hall and you were stunned to see Fili with a smile on your face. In your distraction, you had forgotten about the royal nephew. He had not looked anything but forlorn since you had rejected him and so the joy which coloured his features surprised you. The dam with the curly red hair clung to him, sharing the same boisterous laughter, as they danced mocklingly to the downbeat music.

“Did it work?” You looked up at Thorin who beamed over at his nephew, “How?”

“I told you,” He smirked down at you, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your hair, “Love finds a way,” He pulled you closer so that your head was against his chest, “You showed me that, Y/N.”

You smiled as you let yourself melt into the warmth of Thorin’s body against yours, swaying with him to the music as you fell into a meditative state. All your worries floated away on the melody of the band’s song and you sighed blissfully against your husband. He was right, love always found away, even if it was throwing you off a cliff.

[cfthestars-blog]

character: mirrah’kai Chapter: disavowed ship: fem trooper/aric

“Havoc squad--”

For a moment, Mirrah’kai’s focus is lost. The commander, the head of the alliance is gone at the mention of her former group, her family. She's found some of them already, of course; Yuun is somewhere on base, after all, working with the Hutt doctor on some recent science project, and the last time she saw Vik, he was offering her cover fire as she attempted to save Asylum from Zakuul’s forces.

But they weren't Havoc Squad anymore. They were scattered pieces of some long passed puzzle, sometimes fitting together, other times bent beyond repair. Her ship sat in the hanger, empty of everything but its memories -- she'd been unable to step foot on it, since she read Jorgan's letter. When asked, she claimed it was too recognizable, which wasn't a lie, but she couldn't bring herself to walk through the halls and see the ghosts of who she used to be, before the emperor got into her head, when the biggest worry they had was taking out traitors. She didn't want to step into it and feel that emptiness.

She'd known they'd replace her; Havoc Squad was more than her, more than the fighters, more than the faces. It was a name, a legacy, a little bit of hope in a war torn time. Everyone had heard of it, even if the details were fogged over, and she could remember a time when the ensignia brought hope to people's faces as they greeted her, when they turned to her for protection.

Here, people looked to her too, but the alliance was different. Suddenly, her choices made more of a difference then whether or not someone was imprisoned or executed. She was no longer commanding a squad, she was commanding an army, and if she failed, there was nothing left for them but death. The fate of the universe, it weighed heavy on her shoulders, heavier than that ensignia ever had.

Brought back down by the clearing of Theron's throat, she raised an eyebrow. “I'm not entirely certain what you need me for,” she admitted, crossing her arms in a pose that so often mirrored his own -- they'd been spending far too much time together, and there was something in his expression that told her that he might not be telling her everything. In truth, she assumed it was Forex, waiting for her when she touched down, and though Theron explained his reasoning, it was lost to her as memories of her old team came back.

Prep was a bit of a blur; her motions were mechanic, automatic, and she could feel Lana and Theron watching her closely, worried -- they knew her best, after all. The flight out was silent, beyond Theron running details with Koth, and she stayed back, quietly taking it all in.

It never occurred to her that it would be him, until his voice floats into the open air. For a moment, she thinks she's hallucinating, or worse, that she's back in those nightmares, that the emperor is -- but no, it's his voice, and her chest is aching, her heart beating hard enough that --

“Aric, is that you?”

Certainly no one else would've called her “sir” with that amount of disbelief, but she still can't believe her eyes as her husband approaches, wearing different colour, but him just the same. Biting her lip, she, she took a step forward, ignoring Theron completely -- rude, considering there's been a tentative flirtation between the two, but Aric, he was alive, he'd stayed on, and--

He was greeting her rather stoically, for someone who had just gotten his wife back. Granted, she didn't blame him. He'd never been great at expressing emotions, but that was part of why she loved him.It was like the dam broke, and she was rushing forward before she'd thought to stop herself. In full view of his entire squad, and her own team, she threw herself at him, arms around his neck. Thankfully, he bent to meet her, strong arms curling around her the best they could, over her armor and gun.

“I'm your wife, not your CO,” she whispered, barely holding back her tears. She could feel him stiffen in her arms, only momentarily, but stars, did it sting. Did it feel like he was hugging a ghost?

“I've been a widower for five years,” he replied, just as quietly, just as rough, and she inhales, shakily. He was right; five years, he thought she was dead. Did be still feel the same? It had never crossed her mind that he might not still love her -- be lost, be dead, maybe, but not love her.

His arms tightened, just a bit, and her worries are relieved. Even as he pulls away, she can't help but smile, teary eyed and ready to talk, to kiss him, to --

Now she understood. The look on Theron's face, the hedging around why it was her who needed to go. He must've known her husband was here. He must've -- well, must've been worried about her reaction. She felt bad, she did. But Aric, he'd been her everything. Her family, her best friend, her husband

The whistle of the probe caught her attention, and she fell into line for the fight, just like old times -- standing next to Jorgan, hearing him shout out orders, hearing his little growls as the droids got a little too close, it was almost as if they were going against the Empire once more. It was easy, to fall into line and follow his orders, like they were back in Ord Mantell once more.

It was comforting, and as she reloaded, she watched him break everyone into groups. He'd falling into command easily, it was clear -- he'd always belongs there, she knew. She was proud of him, for continuing as he had, despite his loss.

“Come on, we'll provide cover for them,” he explained, turning to her with an expression she'd come to love, and to miss, and she can't help but grin, leaning forward slightly.

“It's been awhile since I've taken your orders, I might be rusty,” she joked, biting down on her bottom lip to hide a grin, her stomach fluttering when he did the same.

“Just don't let the new blood show you up,” he teased. “We've got a reputation to uphold.”

--

Fighting next to Jorgan was as easy as breathing, although she keeps glancing to make sure he's still there -- she caught him doing it too, at least. It seemed like neither could quite believe it, but they can't talk about that, really, though he does catch her up on the Republic.

He's just as passionate as she remembers, and she wants to go to him, wants to curl against his chest and cry for lost years and time apart. She can't do that, of course, not now, but at least he's got her back, as she moves to protect the civvies. For a moment she can pretend that they're pushing back against old enemies, that Garza's waiting for their reports, that they'll go back to their ship and their bed and discuss their future.

The camp is comfortable enough, and as the refugees get comfortable, and Aric gives out orders, Mir took a moment to just breathe. Her husband -- he was here, they were together, and of they only got this night, it was a night more than she'd thought they'd be allowed. There'll be no talk about the future tonight, she knows. There's too much of a chance they won't have a future, together or otherwise.

He approached, and she straightened, smiling weakly. He settled down in front of her, and she leant back against the wall, preparing herself.

“When they declared you KIA I tried to fight it. They said I couldn't let go, almost discharged me. Where have you been?”

There it is. There's five years to catch up on, after all, and he deserved an explanation, even though it's not a good one. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“I was locked up; Arcann imprisoned me in carbonite.”

At least she hadn't left him willingly; the Emperor's children had torn them apart, but she hadn't gone willingly. Still, his expression fell slightly, his response mumbled. “Guess I'm the only one who's had a hard time sleeping, huh?”

She shook her head, hands clenching at her side. “I had these nightmares--” There's no point in mentioning Valkorion, or the carbonite poisoning, not now, but she needs him to know this was painful for her, too. “I saw you dead. I saw everyone dead.”

“Well now you know they were just nightmares.”

His voice is soft, fond, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. He was right, they'd just been nightmares -- the proof if right in front of her, and suddenly she's wondering why she didn't make it clear just how much she missed him earlier.

Wetting her lips, she took a step forward, and was glad to see him stand to meet her. “I guess we'll both sleep better now,” she replied playfully, lifting her face towards him pointedly.

With their weapons set aside, it's much easier for him to curl his arms around her and reply with a cheeky “Eventually,” before their lips press together and she melts against him.

The camp is well guarded, and safe enough, and she feels no inhibitions as he leads her back to his bunk; she just wants to be close to him again. She'd missed him, and now she understood the hole that had been in her chest since she woke.

Hours later, she lifted her head lazily from his chest to look at him. In a couple more hours, they would have to go back to commander and captain, they'd have to figure out their plans and try to make a strike against Zakuul, but for now, they have each other. It's fairly quiet, and she can't help but wonder if the other people in the camp realize the importance of this moment.

“I love you,” she murmured, brushing her fingers absently over his fur. Her hair is down, and his rough fingers are carding through the blond curls; he'd always had an interest in it, she knew, but she never realized how comforting it'd been for her. Smiling, she dragged her nose over her collarbone.

“It's gotten longer,” he replied, as if he hadn't heard, as if he was still making sure she was there. She hummed, stretching to steal a kiss; everything's warm, safe, despite where they are, and she feels sore and lazily and satisfied. Ridiculous, they need to rest, not tired each other out before tomorrow, but if she had to keep her hands off of him -- well, she wouldn't be able to, that's certain.

“Five years will do that.” For a moment, she just looked down at him, rememorizing the lines and scars in his fur, some of which hadn't been there the last time she saw him. “Lana Beniko got me out. Her and Theron, they did all of this. They were looking for you, too -- or, at least, I asked them to. You and Elara. We found Yuun, and Vik, well, he was never going to come back. Stars, Aric -- I missed you. I really did. I'm so sorry you had to wait for me.”

“Hey.” He frowned, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “Cathar mate for life, remember?” It echoes her memories of his proposal, and she can't help but laugh, settling her head back down on his chest. “Aric Jorgan, are you asking me to be your life mate,” she teased, and he laughed, the sound filling her ears as she finally drifted off.

Tomorrow, she'll be the outlander, tomorrow, they'll go to war. But she'll have her husband watching her back, this time, and she couldn't feel safer.

[addictedtojohnandsherlock]

Chapter 45

(The bedroom is bright with sunlight pouring in the window. Even through the curtains, the light is startlingly vibrant. John blinks his eyes against it until they adjust. He yawns and scrubs a hand over his face. He sees the sunlight glint off the ring on his finger and freezes, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He straightens his spine and pulls his shoulders back, a satisfied look on his face. He is no longer Dr. John Watson. He is Dr. John Watson, fiance. Fiance to Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. The gorgeous, perfect asshole that is Sherlock. Holmes.

John’s deep blue eyes come to rest on the man who shares his bed. He looks peaceful and so innocent when he’s asleep. An errant curl dangles over his forehead close to an eye. His mouth is open just a skosh, allowing for a very quiet snoring sound every few breaths. John giggles to himself and brushes the curl from Sherlock’s forehead. This man belongs to him. He is going to marry Sherlock Holmes. John feels as though he has never loved anyone else, which is partly accurate. He has certainly not loved anyone like this.)

(John watches fondly as the same curl falls onto Sherlock’s forehead again. He reaches for it, but stops dead. His head snaps up to look at the bedroom door. There is a noise in the flat. If he had to guess, he’d say the kitchen. Someone is in the flat. Someone who is not Mrs. Hudson. She always calls out when she comes in. Not to mention that she has gone for a few days to visit her sister.

John rises, pulls on his pajama bottoms, and silently removes his gun from the bedside table drawer. He considers the possibility that Mycroft broke his way in again. Based upon the movements he can hear, John finds that unlikely. Plus, the bloody ponce has also taken to ringing one or both of their mobiles to wake them and pompously request their presence in the dining room.

With handgun at the ready, John opens the bedroom door quietly and steps through. He creeps carefully down the hall and stops against the wall next to the open kitchen doorway. He leaps into the room with cat-like speed and grace, yelling stop and taking aim with the gun held in both hands. The screaming reply he receives is shrill and almost enough to make him wish he’d just ignored the noises in favor of snuggling against Sherlock’s side, even if it had ended badly. 

John lets the gun barrel fall the moment he claps eyes on the “intruder”.)

J: (breathing out a frustrated sigh) Mrs. Hudson?! Jesus, I could’ve... What are you doing here?

Mrs. H: (pointing a finger at him with a frown) Don’t you scold me, John Watson. Your door was locked. I thought you were out.

(John’s shoulders sag with the rapidly decreasing adrenaline. His landlady stands by the counter, staring him down with a certain motherly anger, a bag of sugar in one hand and the other on her hip. He puts the safety on as he tucks the gun in the back of his waistband. Mrs. Hudson had clearly bought them some groceries and was putting them away when John so rudely interrupted. He glances at the clock above her head and realizes it is much later than he originally thought.)

(John takes a step forward and opens his mouth to apologize when his tall fiance rushes into the room. Sherlock clearly pulled on a dressing gown hurriedly. It hangs open to reveal a wrinkled pair of John’s boxer shorts. His wide silver eyes look from John to Mrs. Hudson.)

S: What is going on?

Mrs. H: (still in a scolding voice) Oh, it’s nothing, Sherlock.

(She resumes putting away the sugar. The detective looks to John, who scrubs both hands through his mussed hair and then gestures at their landlady with his dominant hand.)

J: I thought she was a burglar or a pissed off criminal or something.

S: (frowning) Mrs. Hudson always enters unannounced.

J: I didn’t think it was her. (turning to her, getting angry now) Aren’t you visiting your sister?

Mrs H: (exasperated) Yes! I leave tomorrow.

(John sighs, his shoulders hanging in defeat.) 

S: (tying the dressing gown closed as he speaks) She did remind us of this two days ago.

(John’s left hand covers his own forehead and he sighs again.)

J: I know, I know. I must have gotten the days mixed up and when I heard noises and thought it was still early...

(He sees Sherlock’s amused face once the hand comes off his eyes and forehead. John immediately turns on the detective and points a warning finger in that gorgeous face. Christ, he can’t not think that even when he’s angry. Sherlock raises his hands in mock defense.) 

J: Now you look, Holmes...

Mrs. H: (loudly) John Watson! (They both look at her, somewhat startled.) What is that on your finger?!

(Without moving their bodies, both pairs of wide eyes shift to John’s left hand, still pointing at Sherlock. Light briefly glints off the silver-colored ring. Mrs. Hudson rushes over and plucks his hand from the air. Holding his hand delicately, palm down, she beams at the ring and then at the two men. Tears gather in her eyes.)

Mrs. H: Oh, boys! It’s beautiful! It really is. (turning her eyes to Sherlock) It’s perfect, Sherlock. He’s...

(She releases John’s hand and pulls Sherlock into a tight hug, which he returns without hesitation. This would surprise John if it was anyone else, but Mrs. Hudson has been like a mother to Sherlock since long before his own mother died, and he is the son Mrs. Hudson never had. A tear slips from her eye.)

Mrs. H: Oh, Sherlock. I’m so happy for you.

S: (quietly) Thank you.

(They part and both look to John. Mrs. Hudson wraps her arms around the small man.)

Mrs. H: You too, John. (She pulls back to look at them both.) I’ve been hoping for the two of you for years, and then last year, and now... I couldn’t be happier for you both.

J: Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. We’re both very excited.

(She looks at them fondly. They grin back like idiots. She shakes her head slightly, silently marveling at the change the past year has brought “her boys”.)

Mrs. H: So, when did this happen? Last night?

J: Yes. (He answers quickly, suddenly realizing a trip to the loo must take place immediately, and ducks toward the door.) I’ll let Sherlock give you the details. Please excuse me.

(They hear the loo door closing shortly after he’s gone. Mrs. Hudson gives Sherlock a little giggle and he rolls his eyes.)

Mrs. H: (with a knowing look) So, you’re both up late this morning.

S: Don’t.

Mrs. H: Oh, Sherlock, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s good to have an exciting sex life.

S: I’m not ashamed. I would prefer not to discuss it.

Mrs. H: You know, sometimes I can hear...

S: MRS. HUDSON!

(She laughs outright at his appalled expression. Sherlock clears his throat and moves to the sink, filling the kettle for tea. She watches him with kind eyes and a little smile.)

Mrs. H: You really are like a son to me, Sherlock.

(His head snaps around. When he sees her face full of pride and love, he puts the kettle on the counter and steps back to her side. The two silently embrace, each thinking about all they have been for one another over the years. Even at his most careless, Sherlock has always held a special place for this woman in his heart.)

(By the time John returns, Mrs. Hudson has gone and Sherlock has just finished making them toast and tea.)

J: Mrs. Hudson?

S: She asked that I give you her love once more. She didn’t want to rush off, but hadn’t planned on staying. She’s meeting a friend for lunch. (John looks uneasy.) She is not bothered by what happened earlier, John. Don’t worry.

J: You’re sure.

S: Yes. Now, come with me. Would you bring the toast?

(Sherlock carries their teas into the dining area. John follows with the toast, as well as butter and marmalade. They silently put the spreads on their toast and begin eating.)

J: So, I guess we’re eating breakfast for lunch then.

S: Well, it is nearly noon.

J: (wiggling his eyebrows suggestively) I’m glad I don’t work today. We must have been really tired.

S: For god sake, John. You’re as bad as Mrs. Hudson.

(The detective rolls his eyes, but there is a sparkle in them. John pops the last of the toast in his mouth and rises. He saunters over to Sherlock and sits on his lap. Before he is able to say a word, John captures his fiance’s lips with his own. John sucks that delectable lower lip into his mouth. Sherlock’s arms fold around him, his hands gripping the t-shirt John put on while in the loo.

When their lips separate, John pulls back to look at the stunning man whose lap he is perched upon.)

J: Good morning, future husband.

(Sherlock smiles and kisses the point at the end of John’s adorable little nose.)

S: Good afternoon is more accurate.

J: As long as I wake up with you, it doesn’t matter what time it is.

(Sherlock has a look on his face that is somewhere between bemused and amused. He kisses John softly.)

J: (sighing happily) I need to run a couple of errands, but I’ll bring back a mid-afternoon lunch, yeah?

(Sherlock’s perfect lips turn down in a pout. John can’t help but giggle. The detective’s lips quirk up and he ruffles a hand through his doctor’s soft hair.)

S: I suppose that is acceptable.

*                      *                         *                          *                        *                   *

(John walks into Sainsbury’s and grabs a basket. He’s done with his other errands, groceries being the last stop on the list. Aside from lunch, of course. John starts to debate what sort of food to get as he walks down the produce isle. He pulls a plastic bag from a nearby dispenser and looks through the whole leaf lettuce. He pulls a nice bundle next to an apple and puts it in the bag.)

(Walking down the isle and crossing to the island in its middle, John pulls another bag and scoops up some cashews with a large spoon. As he ties the bag closed, he returns the smile of a woman standing across the island. Then he heads for the green beans. Glancing at the peas still in their pods, he grins to himself at the thought of making Sherlock shell them. A bowl resting on his tailored, black trousers and framed by a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Those long, pale fingers plucking out each pea. A disgruntled frown on that angular face. John giggles quietly and decides to use fresh peas in tonight’s dinner. He typically uses frozen because they both prefer it to canned, but he must see his vision of pea-shelling Sherlock play out.

The bags of cashews, green beans, lettuce, and peas tucked in his basket, John stops at the carrots. He selects a few and remembers he needs a red pepper before he leaves produce for crispy chow mien noodles and sunflower seeds. Everything else he needs is still in supply at the flat. The last carrot he picks sits next to a bright, red apple.

John ties the bag closed and walks to the peppers. Once he has one stowed in his basket, he leaves the section. Having grabbed sunflower seeds along the way, he turns and heads up an isle for the noodles. He is acting rather absentmindedly at this point, considering whether to get Indian or Greek food for lunch. He comes to a stop and reaches for the noodles. He freezes. A wave of cold creeps slowly in like a leak from a tiny crack in a dam. He blinks. John’s hand is resting on a can of noodles and next to it, is a bright, red apple.)

(The cold in his blood rises to his chest. He still can’t seem to move. He closes his eyes.)

SD: John.

(His eyes snap open and he turns to see Sally Donovan approaching. She is carrying her own basket. Shopping? But she doesn’t live in this area. 

John glances back at the shelves. His hand still grasps the noodle can, but its neighboring apple is gone. He takes in a deep breath, eyes a bit wide, and withdraws the can. He looks back at Sally, who now stands in front of him.)

SD: Getting some shopping done? (smile fading a little) Hey, are you okay?

J: (with a soft laugh and mild shrug) Yes. Yes, just losing my mind is all.

SD: (with a polite joking tone) With your boyfr...flatmate, I can understand that.

(John chuckles and Sally tentatively joins in. Her smile has broadened again.)

SD: To be honest, I wasn’t sure how you’d take that. I’ve said some pretty terrible things about Holmes before.

J: (with a nod) You have.

(She shifts her weight uncomfortably.)

SD: I’m sorry, John. I was... Look, I like you. (She bites her lip.) I am trying.

J: I know you are and I appreciate it. Sherlock... It may not seem like it, but he is too.

SD: (smiling) I know. Look, uh... (glances to her right) have you heard from Gr, Lestrade?

J: Not a word. I hope he’s getting the rest he needs.

SD: Yeah. (looking uneasy) What about that brother of Holmes’. Anything from him?

J: (slowly) No. He is keeping an eye on Greg, you know. I’m sure he’s fine.

SD: Yeah. I’m sure you’re right. I just...

J: You miss him, don’t you? (She looks at him and responds with an almost unnoticeable nod.) Well, you see him every day. You work together. (He pauses and watches her look everywhere, but at him.) You like him...don’t you?

(Sally locks eyes with him and whispers gravely.)

SD: Yeah, I like him. I like him too much.

(This time John shifts his weight uncomfortably. A part of him was hoping she’d get angry, slap him, and deny the whole thing. Sally was promoted, but Greg is still her superior. John rubs the back of his neck with one hand.)

J: Would you like to talk about it? (He watches as Sally’s eyes shift away and then back.) We could both finish up shopping and grab a coffee.

SD: (after a brief pause) Maybe another time. I really should be going.

J: (with a comfortable smile) Sure. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.

SD: Thanks.

(John nods. She returns it with a smile as she turns and then walks away. John watches for a moment and heads for checkout. It’s about time he was back home with his beloved.)