#surprise! guile is married now

[phthalology]

29 for the writer ask game? :)

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) :) drifter polycule real

I do love him. For Jenev, it’s a terrible realization. She lays comfortably beside the Drifter, pleasantly warm. Guile’s tail rests over her stomach and Drifter’s back. The Exo is turned toward Jenev and Drifter in his own bed, Atsena’s plump arms encircling Guile's chest. Jenev has different flavors of want for all of them: Atsena’s hands, Guile’s synthetic muscle, Drifter’s showman voice. She admires the marriage Guile and Atsena have, but doesn’t want it for herself. Still, she wants to stay with Drifter, and that means something. She doesn’t overthink it.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Contracted Love ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

GENRE: CEO AU, marriage contracts, blackmailing, fake dating, fake marriage, falling love and realising you’re scared, (might actually be my fav piece)

PAIRING: Yoongi X Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - March 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

As Yoongi began to walk through the bustling heart of the city he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back from the meeting he had just left and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry at what had happened.

It had been his grandfather's will reading, something that heartbreaking in and of itself but what was getting to Yoongi more was the stipulation that came along with his portion of the will. 

"It is not my wish for you to end up like me, old, alone and afraid of love."

Was that the piece of paper read, his grandfather was giving him strict orders to follow if he had any chance of getting his grandfather's portion of the company he owned and he needed it.

There was no way it could go to his father's side of the family, the vultures as his grandfather called them. They only hung around him long enough to know that they were going to be put into the will and didn't want to know his grandfather any other time. But it was all stupid. In order to collect his portion he had to be married and have a child all within a year.

A man who had hardly dated before was supposed to married and have a child within twelve months if he wanted any chance of keeping his company alive. Now Yoongi could have sworn he heard the ticking of a clock in the back of his mind as a constant reminder that he hadn't got much time.

"Please, I promise I can get it for you by the end of the week if you just give me some more time!" A voice pleaded, interrupting his thoughts and making him freeze on the sidewalk wondering what was unfolding in front of him.

"I've heard this a million times, Yn, I'm sick of hearing it." A male said, angrily staring down at you as you whimpered a little. He was your landlord Richard and he had just served you with an eviction notice for your business.

"Pages & Aromoa's will be a hit in no time and you'll have all the money I owe you." You sniffled but Richard handed you the piece of red paper and walked away, ignoring your begging and driving off.

"Fucking cunt," You hissed before heading inside of the door.

Yoongi stared up at the cafe sign it was basically falling apart but it was easily readable. The brick walls of the cafe had patches of Ivy clinging to the surface as if trying to breathe life into the ageing structure. The windows were slightly grim but offered a glimpse into the warmth inside that awaited anyone walking by. 

The cafe was nestled between two giant skyscrapers, one of which belonged to Yoongi but he'd never even noticed the cafe before. Sighing to himself he wondered if this was the cafe his grandfather had been boasting about before he had died and he found himself walking inside. The bell above the door sounded as he did so but you were nowhere to be seen.

"I'll be just a minute," Your voice called out. Despite the outside appearance of the building, Yoongi was pleasantly surprised when he walked inside. The interior was a sanctuary of tranquillity and refinement. Polished hardwood floors gleamed under the soft glow of vintage bulbs that were casting a warm ambience in the cafe. The perfect place to hide away and work or even read which was something that clearly happened here.

There were shelves lining the walls, stretched from floor to ceiling, the books all looked used and loved. Plush armchairs and cosy reading nooks were all over the place, offering a place for someone to lose themselves in the pages of a good book or work in silence. It was obvious why his grandfather had loved this place and had been talking about it for months.

"Stupid, machine." Yoongi heard you grumbling as you finally came up from behind a counter and smiled warmly in his direction. The smile that sent a warmth throughout his chest he suddenly felt guilty about having.

"What can I get you? And please, don't say coffee because the press is broken and the machine won't work," You pleaded with him, Yoongi's mouth opened to say something but he found himself unable to speak, struck by something he didn't understand. His chest was fluttering and his stomach was in knots, he didn't know what was happening. 

"Oh! Are you deaf? I know some sign language but I can write stuff down if it's easier." Before Yoongi had a chance to protest you were beginning to sign to him, something he didn't even understand himself but he was pretty sure you'd gotten it wrong.

"Can I get some tea?" He didn't know what was going on with his stomach but his grandfather always told him that tea solved most issues. Something warm to settle a raging stomach.

"Sure! I have a whole selction-" You were about to list off the extensive list you had when Yoongi shook his head,

"Early grey would be fine, with Milk."

"To go?" You arched a brow at him, most people that came in dressed the way he was got all of their orders to go. You knew the type he was, a businessman, too busy to learn the name of the place they were in but were loyal to it, it was nice.

"Erm," Yoongi glanced around and then down at his watch. He wasn't due back at work for another hour or so,

"I'll stay," He smiled at you and you nodded, pointing around the shop for him to sit anywhere he wanted. It wasn't like it was going to get busy anytime soon and your regular customer you'd had for a few months had suddenly stopped coming recently.

"Sure, make yourself comfortable." You gestured around the room and Yoongi stayed frozen in place,

"Don't you need my name for the order?" Yoongi countered you smirked a little at him.

"Because it'll get lost in the sea of customers?" You asked sarcastically, laughing nervously at the end,

"I guess that's true." He chuckles a little, and for the first time in a long time it feels like a genuine laugh from him, something he hadn't done for a long time

"He died?" Your voice was so sympathetic as soon as Yoongi told you about his grandfather, Rath, who had been your most loyal and regular customer. The two of you had been discussing your business for a while and you'd mentioned to Yoongi about having to close down soon if you weren't picking up in business.

"I wondered why he stopped coming by," You slowly sank down in the armchair opposite Yoongi and he smiled sadly down at the cup of tea in his hands. 

"Were you close to my grandfather?" You weren't close with the man but he'd been coming in every day it felt like you were friends.

"I wouldn't say close but we did talk a lot whenever he was here, he loved you." You smiled, Rath had spoken so much about Yoongi that you felt as though you knew him but he hadn't been at all what you were expecting. 

You'd expected some small, nerdy-looking guy but Yoongi was the opposite, he was built well, dressed in the finest of suits and looked as though he could be in the pages of magazines.

"I have a proposition for you." He suddenly said. Yoongi wasn't blind, he could see the business was going under and he knew you needed him as much as he needed you.

"Which is?" You laughed a little, looking up at the time and then back to Yoongi. The two of you had been sat talking for almost two hours now and still not a single other person had come in, which hadn't gone unnoticed by Yoongi, who was already concocting a plan in his mind.

"I need to get married." He said bluntly.

"And I need your help to do it." You held back the urge to laugh as you stared at him, you weren't sure what his grandfather had told him but you didn't know anyone in the market at the minute.

"Unfortunately I'm not sure I'm your girl, I can't help."

"But you can. You see, I have a lot of money and you need a lot of money." You knew that already, the Min family were richer than rich, one of the richest families in the world.

"What makes you think I NEED money?" You were trying to play it close to your chest, but it was true. You were desperate for money, your coffee machines were broken and you were behind on four months worth of rent.

"Yn, let's be real, your business is going under and I can help. I can keep you afloat or make you a huge success, whatever you want I can do that." As amazing as that sounded you still didn't know anyone that would be willing to just randomly get married to him,

"But I don't know anyone that wants to be married." You shook your head but Yoongi smirked at you,

"You can marry me," The words registered in your brain and you bit back the urge to laugh in his face.

"Are you insane?" You added a nervous laugh at the end and stood up, moving away from where he was sitting but he was quick to follow you.

"I have a lot of influence, I can easily make this place well known." He told you with a giant smile, your hands nervously tugged at the cleaning rag in your hand and you stared at him. 

"Just for marrying you?" 

"Just marrying me. All fake, no one would have to know we're not really together," Shit like this didn't happen in real life, only in books and really bad film adaptations, there had to be a catch. 

"What do you get out of this? Why do you need a wife so badly?" Was this something he did on a regular? Ask random women to marry him and then never follow through with all of his promises.

"If I get married, I can collect my grandfather's part of the company but I need a wife." He was going to ignore the child part until absolutely necessary, he was sure there was a way out of that.

"Why wouldn't he leave it to you?" You frowned, Rath had seemed so sure of Yoongi, you were positive he would have left his Grandson something. 

"He doesn't want me to end up alone," Yoongi admitted, your heart breaking a little as you remembered Rath mentioning he wished he'd never divorced Yoongi's grandmother,

"Oh."

"You'd get your business up and running, booming, I'd get half of the company away from my vultures of a family and everyone will be happy." You'd heard stories of the other side of Yoongi's family, stories from Rath and things you'd read about in the media.

"Okay...But there have to be some rules in place...A contract?"

"Agreed," Yoongi glanced down at his watch and bit his lip, he was already late for a meeting but that didn't matter.

"Come up to my office tonight, give your name to security and they'll bring you up. We'll work out a contract and hash out all of the details." He smiled warmly at you and you somehow believed him that all of this was going to work.

"My business will be fixed if I do this, right?"

"I promise." He breathed out before rushing out of the door, your heart racing at the thought of all of this becoming true. You glanced down at your outfit before cursing yourself, you were dressed in clothes with holes and your apron was torn to pieces.

"New outfit," You mumbled, heading to the door and locking it up. If you were going to go into business with Yoongi then you wanted to look the part. 

"Come in," Yoongi called as he heard a small tapping at his office door, the day had gone on for longer than he'd liked and he was looking forward to writing out the contract and heading home for the night. 

"Mr Min, Yn is here." His assistant announced before shutting the door, Yoongi slowly glanced up from his desk and his eyes almost popped out of his head.

He had been expecting you in the same scraps of clothes you had worn this morning but instead, you were dressed in a black pencil skirt and a red silk top that was unbuttoned to show just enough cleavage.

"Is this okay? It's the only thing I had left from my office days," You laughed nervously when you noticed him staring at you a little longer than he had done that morning.

"It's-It's erm, perfect." His voice stuttered and cracked as he stared at you. He had no idea that you could look this way and now he suddenly felt as though he was out of his depth. 

"Please sit," He gestured to the seat in front of his desk before grabbing two bottles of water and sitting back down. By now you'd gotten out a worn leather-bond book from your bag and smiled.

"Let's get straight to it," You said, your tone businesslike yet hidden with a little humour. Yoongi smiled to himself, preparing his own notepad.

"We need some rules in place, so nothing is blurred along the way." He stated simply.

"Your business will be my number one priority during all of this. We'll sit down with a bookkeeper and organise your bills as well as figure out anything that's owed." You suddenly felt your chest tighten, you were in a massive amount of debt. Yoongi had already gone into research mode when he got home and knew everything you needed to pay off.

"T-That might be a lot. Are you sure you're up for it?" You hated that you were in so much debt, when you'd ventured out alone to own your own place you'd been so sure it would be great you could pay it back in no time.

"No issue, I assure you, I didn't become the CEO Of Min Media but shying away from challenges." Your debt wouldn't even cause a dent in his savings but he wasn't going to tell you that and make you feel bad about it.

"That means a lot...Thank you," You smiled warmly, the smile sent his stomach into knots once again, he really wanted to see someone about that.

"We need to keep everything strictly professional." You finally stated, looking up from your notepad and back at Yoongi who was, once again, staring at you.

"Agreed." He jotted it down on the notepad.

"Secondly, we can't tell anyone it's not real. It's imperative to me we keep everything hidden. We keep up a genuine illusion to appease my family and the shareholders." He told you, if anyone found out this was all fake he'd most likely lose his shareholdings as well as be the laughingstock of the media world.

"Agreed." You wrote it down, and Yoongi eyed you up. You'd been quiet about your family finding out and it worried him a little. He didn't want you to go around telling anyone it was fake, it would only take one slip-up for the world to know.

"What about your family?"

"What about them?" You asked, staring up at him with a blank expression on your face, Yoongi frowned.

"You can't tell them the truth." He reminded you and you nodded, your lips in a line as you shrugged your shoulders a little.

"Not a problem, I haven't spoken to them in almost four years since I went out on my own to own a cafe."

"Understood. We must present as a united front," He stared at you. His heart felt heavy at the thought of your family ignoring you for following your dreams. 

"We will have to attend social events together, support each other publicly and appear as a happy married couple at all times." You nodded at him.

"I can handle that." It was no big deal, you'd get to dress fancy for a while and it would be fun,

"Living arrangements?" Yoongi wrote down and then stared at you,

"Well, I currently have a place in the lower part of Seoul, you're more than welcome to come and live with me," You teased only to be met with widened eyes.

"That was a joke Yoongi," You clarified with a small laugh,

"You can move in with me." He stated plainly, you frowned at him. As much as you hated your place you weren't sure moving in with him was the best idea.

"Is it necessary though?"

"Yn, once we're seen together you'll never get peace...People will want to know why a soon-to-be-married couple are living separately." You knew he was right, there would be too many questions and you didn't want to have to deal with them,

"Okay."

"I'll arrange a moving van for you tomorrow." He smiled, writing down on a sticky note to remind himself once the two of you were done.

"Can I suggest one more?"

"Sure." He looked up at you, expecting something about asking to be paid, or for more than you were getting out of it. All of which he was willing to do if it meant getting what he needed out of you.

"No falling in love. It's a business arrangement and any romantic feelings that may develop should be ignored." Yoongi was taken back but nodded his head at you. 

"Of course. We have a deal." He smiled shaking your hand across the table.

With a sense of determination, you added a final clause to your contract: Yoongi would take over the financial management of Pages & Aromas, ensuring its stability and prosperity while also shouldering the burden of its debts.

"We will be announcing our marriage this weekend, it'll be held here. In the meantime, I'll pay your rent for the cafe," He stated as you both signed along the pieces of paper, Yoongi took them both into his grasp and filed them in his drawer his eyes lingering over the clause about not falling in love.

"I'd like it if you didn't work for a few months if that's okay?" He suggested, staring at you as you frowned.

"We can fix up the shop a little, have it redone to your specifications and then announce it as a grand opening." 

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"You can do whatever you want, money is no issue."

"It is for me."

"We'll be married, what's mine...is yours," He stated before laying down a black card in front of you.

"Yoongi, it's already enough you're helping my business I can't take your money too." The statement was shocking, everyone Yoongi knew was always after his money, it was why he'd never dated in the past.

"Fine. But please keep it, you can use it as an emergency card, or if you need an outfit for an event...it's yours," He told you as you flipped the card over, already finding your name inscribed on it, had he been so sure about all of it since this morning?

"Okay. Fine."

"I'll have Alan drive you home and I'll see you tomorrow at my place." He smiled warmly at you as you got up from the chair, feeling a little overwhelmed with everything but nodding your head.

With a sense of nervousness mingled with excitement, you stepped into Yoongi's luxurious penthouse apartment. Your final box had been taken up by a group of men and you were unsure of what you were supposed to do now. You walked through the door, slipping off your shoes before your eyes widened at the opulence that surrounded you. The spacious living area was adorned with sleek modern furniture and tasteful artwork while floor-to-ceiling windows offered sweeping views of the city skyline below. You could practically see all of Seoul from up here, how did he get anything done? You knew you'd find yourself people-watching more than you should.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you set about unpacking your belongings, your mind racing with thoughts of the new chapter that lay ahead. As you sorted through boxes and arranged your stuff in their designated places, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place in such a lavish environment.

"Mr Min will be late this evening, he said to make yourself at home," Alan, who had driven you home the night previous, said with a warm smile on his face. But how were you supposed to do that? You didn't know what you were and weren't allowed to do or even where to go. Did he have rooms off-limits to you? More questions flooded your mind but as the afternoon waned into evening, you found solace in the familiar routine of preparing dinner, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the sizzle of food cooking on the stove grounding you in the present moment.

You'd always loved cooking, you were hungry and determined to make a good impression on Yoongi. Even going as far as to make your famous cake no one could say no to it.

By the time Yoongi arrived home, the apartment was filled with the tantalizing scent of home-cooked food and freshly baked treats. Stepping through the door, he was greeted by the sight of you bustling about the kitchen, a warm smile gracing your lips.

"Welcome home," You said, your voice infused with genuine warmth, something Yoongi hadn't had the pleasure of hearing in years. His eyes lit up with surprise and appreciation as he took in the scene before him. 

"You've been busy," he remarked, a note of amusement in his voice as he watched you carefully. You shrugged modestly, a warm feeling spreading onto your cheeks. 

"I wanted to do something nice for you. Dinner will be ready soon, and I made cake." Yoongi's smile widened as he crossed the room to envelop you in a grateful hug.

"Thank you, Yn. You didn't have to do all this." You were in shock at the hug at first, your heart thumping as you tried not to overthink it. He was just grateful for the food. You smiled a little, returning the embrace, a sense of contentment settling over you. 

"I know. But I wanted to." You admit before going to set everything down on the table ready to eat. 

It had been almost a week since the news had broke that you and Yoongi were going to be married and he'd been right. People followed you EVERYWHERE. You'd gone grocery shopping two nights after the news was released and you'd been followed by men with cameras, all of them screaming questions at you. Luckily you and Yoongi had already come up with a story for you both, something easy to remember. You'd met because of his grandfather and it had almost been love at first sight. 

Tonight though you were at a restaurant together, your hands linked on the table as you stared lovingly at one another. All of it feels a little too real for you. 

"Tell me something about you that I wouldn't find in a magazine or news article." You begged Yoongi. Since moving in with him you'd done extensive research on him, wanting to be prepared in case any of his crazy family members tried to doubt the two of you. 

Yoongi stared at you, hesitating for a moment as he thought about it. He was torn between the desire to open up to you and betraying your agreement but the look in your eyes made it hard to resist. 

"Well, I've always loved astronomy," He confessed, his eye staring down at the glass feeling suddenly vulnerable.

"There's something about the vastness of the universe that puts everything into perspective." Your eyes lit up with interest, finally, something about him that wasn't run-of-the-mill CEO shit.

"That's beautiful," You whispered, 

"I've always been drawn to the stars as well." You admit, the two of you getting lost in conversation and completely forgetting about the many people snapping photos of you together. Yoongi let himself open up to you more, finding himself falling in a freefall for you. His head reminded him of the agreement you'd made together, no falling in love and he couldn't risk jeopardizing everything. 

"Why haven't you spoken to your family?" He suddenly found himself asking over dessert, your fork freezing midway to your mouth as your throat suddenly ran dry.

"They decided they didn't want me to ruin their family name,"

"But you were following your dreams, shouldn't that be something they were proud of you for doing?" He didn't understand how someone couldn't support the person they loved in everything that they did. 

"The Score family don't follow dreams, they crush them," Your voice was flat and dry as you placed your fork down.

"Score? As in-"

"Lawyers, the best in the business." You hissed out, you hated that all of this was being bought up but you owed it to Yoongi to tell him the truth.

"I don't speak to them, biologically I'm their daughter but legally I'm not."

"You were emancipated?" He watched you closely and you nodded your head,

"As soon as I left the company I did it myself," You admit with a smile on your face, you were proud of what you'd done. Being a lawyer had never been your dream and if the people that had raised you had it their way you'd still be another cog in the inner workings of their awful company.

"Believe me Yoongi, they have nothing to do with me-" His hand was on top of yours, rubbing over your skin in a soothing motion.

"It wouldn't bother me if they were still in your life." He promises, a weight being lifted from your chest as you let out a happy sigh.

The two of you continued to talk all night long, discovering things each other you hadn't known before and it was starting to feel like a true friendship was forming.

Months began to fly by as you and Yoongi worked on your fake relationship and countless parties you attended together, business and personal, but tonight was the one you were most nervous about. You were pacing around in the living room of the apartment waiting for Yoongi to come down and meet you. Your hands nervously played with the purse you were holding, the prospect of meeting his family tonight looming over your head like a dark cloud. 

The door to the living room opened and Yoongi stepped inside, freezing when he saw you pacing around but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You were in a stunning floor-length gown, crimson colour to match his tie but it clung to your body perfectly, seeing you turned his blood to fire. You paced away from him giving him the perfect view of the back of the gown, which had a crisscrossing strap at the back, the fabric shimmering and glowing with every step you took.

"I don't know if I can do this." You admit to Yoongi once you notice him there. You'd been faking it with everyone and everyone believed you so far but were his family going to be so easy to convince?

"Your family...they're going to see right through me." Your voice trembled with uncertainty and Yoongi smiled weakly walking over to you. He was nervous himself but he wasn't going to admit it to you.

"Yn, you're stronger than you think." He told you, his hand gently reaching out and rubbing your arm.

"We'll get through tonight, together." He had no doubt the two of you could convince his family you were together, to be honest, he had a hard time convincing himself it wasn't real. 

"What if they ask about our relationship and I cock the story up? What if they see through me?" He smiled down at you, running his hand over your cheek.

"We'll handle it, Yn. I won't let anything happen to you," And he meant it, if anything were to ever happen to you he knew he'd never survive it. 

After months of spending every second by your side, he felt himself falling harder and harder in love with you until the point where everything was blurred except for you. All he cared about was a future with you. His words were like a lifeline pulling you back from the edge of panic, you took in a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on everything again. 

"And if they don't believe us? What happens to me?" You asked, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"I'll make sure your business is taken care of, I'll not let anything happen to you but for now, let's focus on getting through tonight together." He whispers, kissing your hand softly as you feel a spark running through your veins. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that as long as you faced them together, you could conquer anything that stood in your way. And with that realization, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a glimmer of hope.

As the two of you made your way through the entrance, all eyes turned to greet you, your presence as a couple commanding attention amidst the sea of glamorous attendees. 

"They're staring." You uttered to Yoongi as he smirked, his arm wrapped around your waist as the two of you walked together, your steps synchronized in harmony. Heads turned, smiles were exchanged and greetings were offered as you passed by people. 

"How could they not? You look like you stepped out of a magazine, you look beautiful." It wasn't the first compliment that Yoongi had ever paid you, in fact, you'd grown used to the compliments he'd give to you all the time. Including the small hugs and kisses the two of you would share even if you were in public, it was clear lines were starting to blur but you weren't entirely sure you minded anymore.

"Look, it's Min Yoongi and his fiancée," Someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe. 

"They're a stunning couple." Her date said back to her, their eyes trailing over you both as you moved through the crowd. 

"Let's give them something to talk about," Yoongi whispered but before you had a chance to ask what he was talking about he was taking you over to the dance floor. 

His hand rested gently on your waist, guiding you with a tender pull as you began to move around the dance floor together, the rest of the world fading into the background. 

Your movements were slow and deliberate, each steps a silent conversation between you as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. Your heart raced with every beat, your breath catching in your throat as you allowed yourself to be swept up by the magic of the moment.

"You look beautiful," Yoongi whispered, your eyes locking as you stared at one another.

"You said that already," You mumbled nervously as he smirked to himself, moving in time with you as you fell back into a comfortable silence. Not a single word needed to be uttered as you knew what was happening to you, you were falling in love with him too fast and everything was falling apart around you. You continued to dance together, neither of you daring to speak the words that lingered in the back of your head. Knowing that acknowledging your love would shatter the delicate illusion you'd worked so hard to maintain.

"So this is the lovely Yn." You turned your head to face Juliain, Yoongi's father and Yoongi wrapped his arm tighter around your waist.

"Lovely dance the two of you did, your mother made me dance shortly after." He chuckles softly but Yoongi remains deadpan and unreadable, his grip on you tightening. You'd heard about Julilan from both Rath and Yoongi and you knew the man was bad news, a slimeball only after money.

"Julilan. Lovely to see you, shame you didn't make it to grandfather's funeral, it was a lovely service." Yoongi said coldly, your eyes staring up at him. Julian had refused to go to the funeral but had gone to the reading of the will, only to see what he was entitled to. 

"I have no doubt, you always knew how to throw a party." Julian laughed but your heart shattered, Rath had been an amazing man and to insinuate that a party was held for his dying instead of a grand funeral boiled your blood.

"Party? A man died-"

"Hush. You don't speak unless spoken to." Julian said in a dismissive tone, your mouth dropping open as you couldn't believe the man in front of you. 

"With all due respect, sir, I am not a decoration on Yoongi's arm I am his Fiancée," You spoke clearly but Julian turned to look at his son who was now red in the face,

"I see she has no manners or concept of brains. Where did you pick her up? A brothel?" Your stomach dropped as you looked down at yourself, was he implying you looked like a whore? The woman who had dressed you tonight told you that you'd looked elegant.

"Don't." Yoongi seethed through gritted teeth,

"Women should be seen and not heard. Act like the trophy wife you are meant to be." Julian was in your face but within seconds he was shoved away by Yoongi, a smirk playing on his father's lips as he realised he was getting under his skin.

"Don't speak to my wife like that." He ordered but you pulled at his arm, you could already see people starting to stare and Yoongi didn't need the bad press.

"You're not married yet. Are you really going to cause a scene over a woman? Behave." He hissed at him, you stared at him as you waited for him to insult him one last time.

"Still just a child." He muttered, about to walk away when you finally found your voice once more.

"A child who has done more than you'll ever accomplish in your life." You hissed out at him, earning a smirk from Yoongi, he had to admit he was proud of you for not backing down from him.

"Why you little-" A hand was raised in the air but Yoongi caught it, shoving his father away from you.

"I see why you hate the man." You mumbled as Yoongi checked on you, his eyes softening once he saw you were okay.

"If he'd hurt you just then." It didn't bear to think about, he was angry, blood-curdling as he thought about the way his father had gone to strike you. 

"He didn't." You whispered to him, your hand rubbing his back softly but it did nothing to calm him down right now.

"I'd kill him."

"Yoongi." You pleaded with him, but he was lost in his own anger.

"He's a disgusting piece of shit and I would have killed him." You stepped in front of him, your eyes finding his as he stared down at you in shock,

"But then I'd have no one to watch the stars with," You whispered only for his whole body to relax and he nodded slowly at you.

"Let's get some food and go out on the balcony, we can go and look at the stars and pretend Julian isn't even here," You offered to him.

Yoongi ventured off to fetch some food and you found yourself alone in the gala, looking around at everyone who was dancing together or mingling. This world was something you'd never thought you'd fit into before but after spending so much time in it, it almost felt like home.

"Ah, Yn dear, there you are." You slowly turned around to see Mia, Rath's ex-wife making her way to you with a giant smile on her face.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you," She said as she reached you, her voice gentle and a welcoming contrast compared to her son.

"Of course, Mrs Min. Is everything alright?" You eyed her up as she smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. 

"No one's called me that in years, call me Mia." She begged, you nodded at her and slowly made your way out onto the balcony to talk better together.

"I wanted to first tell you how happy I am that Yoongi has found someone like you." Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart fluttering at the unexpected praise.

"T-Thank you, Mia. That means a lot to me." Mia reached out to pat your hand affectionately.

"You know, I've seen the way he looks at you. It reminds me of the way Rath used to look at me." Your breath caught in your throat at the implication of her words.

"I...I'm not sure what you mean." She chuckled softly at you,

"Oh, my dear, don't be so modest. It's written all over his face- He loves you, and I couldn't be happier for the both of you, even if you were faking it at first." You smiled weakly, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to process everything you'd just heard. Yoongi loved you - truly, deeply and unequivocally and that sent a surge of panic through you.

"Rath would have adored seeing you both together," Mia added before giving you an envelope.

"In my side of the will I was to give this to the beautiful girl from the cafe, now I assume that's you." You stared down at the envelope and nodded, quickly placing it into your bag to look at another time, when you weren't so stressed. 

"I-I have to go," You rushed out, panic taking over you as you began to hurry through the crowded hall. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, you loved him too but there was no way you could do this. You raced around a corner when you collided with Yoongi, sending you both sprawling to the floor.

"Yn, what's wrong?" Concern was etched in his features as he reached out to steady you. Your breathing turned tagged as you struggled to compose yourself, slowly standing up.

"I...I need to talk to you," Your voice barely came out above a whisper but Yoongi nodded, leading you to a nearby alcove away from prying eyes.

"What is it, Yn? You're shaking." He reached out to touch you and you took in a deep breath, words tumbling out in a rush as you fought to make sense of everything.

"I just spoke to your grandmother, and she...she said that you love me, Yoongi. And...I...I don't know what to do." Yoongi's expression softened as he reached out to cup your trembling hands in his, his touch sending a shiver of warmth coursing through you.

"Yn, listen to me. I know this is overwhelming but you need to understand something...you belong here with me," You stared up at him as he didn't deny falling for you, tears welling up in your eyes as you shook your head.

"I ran away from this world."

"And now you're back but I promise it'll be nothing like your family's world." He breathed out as you stared at him, his eyes boring into you,

"You belong here, with me."

` "What if you suddenly decide I'm not good enough for you? What if I can't give you everything you deserve?" Yoongi brushed a gentle thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear.

"You're everything I need, Yn. Your love, your strength, your unwavering support - it's more than I could ever hope for. And as long as we have each other, we can face whatever comes our way." Tears began to melt away as you stared at him.

"I love you, Yoongi." You whispered, the words feeling like a weight was taken right off our chest.

"I love you, Yn, Always." He whispered. 

With a soft sigh, he closed the distance between you and you leaned in slowly to him. It felt like an eternity until your lips met in a tender kiss, time seemed to stand still as you savoured the sweetness of the moment, your hearts beating in harmony as you finally surrendered to the pull of love. It was a kiss so full of tenderness and longing, of hope and promise. 

When you pulled away your foreheads touched and you giggled a little.

"Let's go home, I wanna show you how much I really love you," He winks, as you squeal a little taking his hand and practically dragging him out of the party.

Months Later 

"CEO'S Expecting: Min Yoongi and Min Yn Announce Pregnancy, Anticipate The New Heir To The Legacy?" You read out the title of the "Webber Files" newspaper and stared over at Yoongi with a blank expression.

"I see why their paper sucks," You grumbled, folding it up and staring at your husband who hadn't been able to take his eyes off you.

"Don't look at me like that, the last time you looked at me like that, this happened!" You stated, pointing down at your baby bump and whining at him.

"But we had fun," He wiggled his eyebrows at you and sat down beside you on the sofa, the two of you curling up together on a lazy Saturday morning.

"We did," You giggled as he ran his hand over your bump, smiling happily to himself. Not long after you found out you were expecting Yoongi told you the other stipulation about getting his grandfather's portion of the company and that was a child but you couldn't have been happier it was happening.

"Julian will flip a lid." You laughed at the thought of his father finding out about his son having a child but more importantly, you couldn't wait for him to figure out he was getting nothing in the will besides a small shop in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh, I meant to say. Gran asked if you'd looked into the envelope yet. Whatever that means," He frowns and you reach out for your bag, opening it up to find the envelope still sitting there.

As you took it out and opened it you couldn't believe what you were reading.

"By now I assume Yoongi and yourself are together and knowing My Mia she would have given this to you at the appropriate time, but enclosed are the deeds to your cafe. All yours, all paid for, as well as the number to my lawyer who will arrange for you to inherit some money as an investment to you and your dream.

Best Wishes,

Rath,"

You and Yoongi stared at one another, laughing a little as you realised Rath had been planning your get-together for a very long time.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@tinyoonsblog@whitefoxgirl@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@choisoorin@heyjiminnie@btsiguess-kpop@halesandy@gothic4under4lord@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lenfilms@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact @Namgiswifey@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@swga-ficrecs@niktwazny303@armystay89@myyouthdonut@xakx@kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy@kpopmenace143@loveforred@b1nn1e-1s-cut3@elissasimp

[loveundrwrld]

oneshot, trying something new. gender neutral reader x male yandere

cws: kidnapping, implied stalking, general yandere creepiness

you get into a relationship with a man you met on a blind date, but you begin to regret not breaking the relationship off sooner . . .

you take a deep breath, and take another sip of your wine. it had to be today. you had your mind set on it. you were on a date with him and you were going to finally bring it up.

today, you were definitely going to break up with your boyfriend.

you had felt bad over wanting to do so. after all, you had liked him so much in the beginning.

the relationship had started out so well.

you two had met on a blind date your coworker had set up. she had a friend, jack, who was looking for a partner and she knew that you were single. to her, the solution was obvious.

you had your reservations, not wanting to get into a relationship too soon after your last one. but eventually, she successfully cajoled you into it, reassuring you that he was nothing like your ex. and it’s only one date, after all. what’s the harm in that?

the first date went surprisingly well. he was a good listener. he had a lot of hobbies in common with you, liked a lot of the same movies, and seemed very into you.

he was flustered, nervously stuttering his words and blushing. you were flattered by how much you affected him.

he was cute, too. tall and long, with soft shaggy hair and big brown eyes. he just had a sweet look to him. it was like he was a big dog- cute, but in an approachable way.

it was all enough to charm you into asking for a second date. and then a third, then a forth.

as the dates went by, you slowly went from feeling charmed to feeling wearied of him. he was sweet, but sickly sweet, like a candy that left a bad taste in your mouth.

he gave you lots of compliments and affection. excessively so. he was always early to dates, no matter how early you tried to get there. he began calling and texting you, all the time, even while you were asleep. he was constantly giving you gifts as a surprise, too.

it was all too much for you. you kept being too cowardly and backed out of it ending things every time you met, but this time you resolved yourself that you would do it for sure.

and then, to your surprise, during your date, he starts to get down on one knee. he brings out a box from his back pocket, and you grimace, knowing now for certain that you have waited too long.

you stand up as a reflex. "jack, don't-" you hiss slightly, nervous.

his wide smile quickly falls.

"what do you mean, don't?"

you suck in a deep breath, and look around you. everyone is looking at the two of you.

"i mean, i'm very flattered, but isn't this relationship moving… a little fast?" you say, keeping your voice quiet. "it's only been a few months and you're proposing."

despite your best efforts not to make it a scene, you can still hear people muttering in hushed tones.

"but i know that you're the one for me," he says in a wobbling voice. "why wait any longer?"

"because! i don't think that you are the one for me."

his face immediately drops, his eyes beginning to shine with tears. still on the floor and looking up at you, he looks rather like a kicked puppy. you instantly regret your sharp tone.

you feel the pressure of everyone's eyes on you. all the guests around you now are giving you dirty looks.

"i'm sorry," you say, in a quiet voice. "i didn't mean to say it like that. but, it's the truth. i can't do this any longer. it's just all moving so fast for me. you should have someone who can move at your pace, but that’s not me.”

"…that's ok." he looks at you with a pleading expression. "if you don't want to get married yet, we can try to take it slow."

"no… actually i think that it's best we end it now. let's just break up."

he keeps looking at you with tears running down his face, silently begging you to change your mind. you smiled at him, tensely, as an apology. he starts to sob a little, and you feel awkward and guilty, aware of how everyone around you is silently judging you.

you turn around to leave, but you feel a hand tugging on your shirt sleeve.

"wait. at least let me drive you back. you've had too much wine today for me to let you drive."

you nod, looking down. you let him lead you into the passenger seat of his car, waiting for him while he pays.

you look around, idly. it was the first time you had been in his car, as he always insisted he’d rather be driven by you anywhere than the other way around. it was a lot less clean than you expected.

there is a mess on the dashboard, tons of paper and receipts. you see that it’s credit card statements after glancing briefly. you see a lot of zeroes and you avert your eyes, feeling some guilt over the questions that pop into your mind.

might have something to do with the ring, too, you think with a sinking feeling in your stomach

he comes back, and you avoid his eyes, looking out the window to the parking lot as he climbs in the driver's side.

"…i'm sorry," you say again, softly.

"but you won't change your mind?"

you shake your head.

you feel his arm tugging you into a half hug, and gives you a small smile. you look up at him, confused. his grip on your arm tightens.

he quickly pulls out a rag, pushing it over your mouth.

you weakly try to scream, muffled by the rag. you quickly start to feel tired, the chemical scent lulling you into darkness.

"shhh… it's ok. just close your eyes."

he holds down the rag firmly, holding you to him with his other arm. when your squirming slows down fully, he leans you down into the car seat.

he was just thankful you hadn't looked closer at the papers on the dashboard before he got in.

after all, those had his real name on them.

[reddie-fangirl24]

Meeting (A Reddie Fanfic)

Note: I have been trying to write more Reddie fics. This is based on a Phoebe and Joey moment from Friends.

“Eds, I’m telling you! It’s weird that she shows up here after three months and now she’s got something to say to you?” Richie followed his friend all around his apartment. It annoyed Eddie, but who cares? Richie noticed that he put on some nice clothes to meet with his ex-wife.

“I can’t ignore her, Richie. She’s my ex-wife. We were married for 15 years,” Eddie told him, putting his wallet in his pocket.

“Tell me how you survived that again?” Richie joked though he was being serious. 

Eddie groaned, craning his neck to the stained ceilings of his small apartment. Of all the apartments, Richie still had no idea why Eddie chose this one. “It’s important for us to communicate. I can’t just drop all communication and ignore her forever.”

“Remind me what you have to talk about?”

“Would you stop being an asshole?” Eddie spat, turning a little too fast to meet his eyes. He briefly held his chest, wincing. Alert, Richie put a comforting hand on his shoulder and handed Eddie his pain medication. Those stitches have to be on for another three months. Beyond that, Eddie had a further recovery to meet. 

Although they all lived together, Richie didn’t see why Eddie chose this apartment for himself. He was adamant when it came down to picking. The hospital told him that he needed a lot of care and shouldn’t be alone. The other Losers probably knew more than he did about his feelings, but Richie knew rooming with Eddie was a dead giveaway. 

“You know I’m going to say ‘I told you so’ if she’s going to hurt you,” Richie shrugged his shoulders once Eddie downed the pills.

“Don’t be surprised if you’re going to eat your own words, Trashmouth,” Eddie remarked in a sing-song voice. His face was so close to Richie’s. Was everyone’s breath as warm as Eddie’s? Richie felt his face heating up. What were they arguing about again? 

Eddie walked down the apartment stairs (as carefully as he could) and made his way to the Losers’ favorite hangout spot. They always crowded the big couch in the corner of the place. It was just like the old days. Now they were making up for lost time.

Myra was sitting outside at one of the tables. From the looks of her sad expression, Eddie wondered if he should have listened to Richie.

“Hi Myra,” Eddie greeted, sitting down with her. It’s odd how they’d been doing this for fifteen years. However, Eddie tried to make a quick exit in the morning so he wouldn’t have to listen to Myra’s nagging.

“Eddie, I need to tell you something,” she began, not looking into his eyes.

“What is it? Are you sick? Or did you lose the house? I know I should have talked to the bank about...”

“No, it’s not that. I’m okay and... I’m selling the house.”

Eddie blinked. “Selling? Are you moving?”

“Yes,” she cleared her throat. “I’m moving in with someone.”

“Oh? Is it your friend Annie? You mentioned she was trying to find a roommate.”

Myra paused and then said. “I’m moving in with Gerald.”

“Gerald?” Upon thinking for a moment, Eddie slowly had a realization. “From work?”

“You see, our divorce came at a good time, and I wasn’t expecting you to intricate it,” Myra explained, looking guilty into his eyes. “Gerald and I have been seeing each other for the last two years. I didn’t want to, Eddie, but he’s different. When I am with him I am not so...”

“Controlling?” Eddie stared hard into the table.

Myra scowled. “I was going to say anxious. It’s nothing against you, Eddie, but your anxiety was a lot for me to handle. And your mother, too. I felt like I became this person who was always berating her son because I had no idea how you’d react to a situation. One minute you’re worried about hydroplaning and then when I remind you, it doesn’t bother you anymore!”

If he stared hard enough into the table, maybe Eddie could burn a hole. People passed by during their conversation, going about in their own happy lives. Eddie felt guilty about the divorce, but no, there was nothing worse than this.

Just then, a car drove up close to the cafe. By the nervous look on Gerald’s face, he knew Myra told Eddie the news.

“Well, we’d better be going,” Myra stood up. She walked closer to Eddie, quickly putting her hand on his shoulder in comfort. The feeling was not mutual. “Goodbye.”

Eddie heard the car door slam and then it drove away.

Don’t start crying. Don’t start crying.

His hands shaking, Eddie hastily stood up from his seat, almost tipping it over. He ran straight into Richie.

“Eds,” Richie started, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Eddie took a deep breath, though his countenance was breaking. “Richie, don’t you fucking tell me ‘you told me so.’ This is not the right time...” His voice crumbled from there.

“No, no, Eddie. Aw, come here, buddy.” Richie pulled Eddie into his arms. Just feeling Richie’s warm embrace made him feel safe. A small tear trickled down his cheek. His chest felt so heavy. Eddie didn’t realize his whole body was trembling. “My best friend needs me. Who says I’m going to give you a hard time?” He wanted to kiss Eddie’s forehead, but he refrained. Oh, it was so hard not to. 

Eddie sniffled, burying his face in Richie’s shoulder. They were hugging in the middle of the sidewalk. He noticed a small boy look at them and whisper something to his mother. It didn’t matter.

“I just can’t believe she’d do that...”

“Don’t think about it. I know it hurts. But Eddie...” Richie pulled away, staring at him with those warm sincere eyes that made Eddie feel like he belonged. And loved. “You don’t need her. You’ll find someone else. And you got us.”

Eddie smiled a bit, removing a fallen tear. “Thanks, Richie.”

Richie giggled, mischievously. Before he could tap his cheek, Eddie stopped his wrist. “Don’t even try it, Tozier!”

“Your reflexes have improved, I see!” Richie laughed. They almost started wrestling with each other and laughed again. More people looked at them strangely. Oh, it was nothing new. Just as long as Eddie wa laughing and smiling.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a marshmallow latte,” Richie guided him into the cafe.

“That’s your favorite drink!”

“You like it too!”

[systlinsideblog]

Part 4

I still lived. 

I was, I thought, greatly in the minority. The woman Systlin had judged warrior after warrior, and warrior after warrior had met his end at a quiva's blade. 

A great many of the sentences were carried out by the hands of the freed slave girls of the warriors. The number of these astounded me, as did the ferocity with which many of the girls fell upon their masters. 

It is a Gorean saying that a woman cannot be free until she has been a slave. It is said that a woman wishes to be conquered, that she cannot respect any man save for the man who can reduce her to nothing. 

The girls fell upon their masters with a fury I have rarely seen, and blood flowed until the grass was slick and red with it. 

A few girls did not take up the quiva. These men, once sentence of death was passed, the she-sleen on the Ubar's robe killed herself. Her face was untroubled by this, unworried, and there was even a hint of vicious pleasure in those cold eyes as she swung the sword to remove their heads.

Those warriors who had taken Free Companions and who had children, the she-sleen ordered all material goods be split equally between the  Free Companions, the children, and the freed slave girls. There were many sour faces among the Tuchuk women at that, but to my shock many more who accepted it without question. 

When night neared, scarce three dozen warriors of the Tuchuk still lived, myself included. It was us and only us who had not admitted to owning slaves, and who had no slaves to call out our names. 

A very few men..two or three, in all...had been spared by the request of their slave girls. These men were whipped, and the she-sleen commanded ash be rubbed into the whip wounds. 

"I would have them remember." She had said, eyes cold and face passionless, even as the warriors held back cries of pain. "I want them to remember their crimes, and to remember me." 

Those of us who had survived the slaughter had been unchained and taken to wagons, and allowed to eat and rest. 

"So." Kamchak had survived the culling, and his face was set and cold. "We are free, then?"

"You are not slaves." Systlin had smiled a little, a cold smile that did not reach her eyes. "But if you seek to flee, or to move against me...well." 

Behind her, I could see women chaining hunting sleen outside the wagons. Each was given clothing to smell; I noticed with a start a discarded tunic of my own among the items. The sleen began to pull and hiss, eyes bright. 

"Say, rather, that you are prisoners for the time." Systlin continued. "I've much to do, and I've no time to be worrying about one of you burying a knife in my back in my sleep." Another humorless smile. "I'm not fool enough to think that all...or any...of you are paragons of virtue. I'll get the truth in time."

Kamchak spat. "You," he informed her, "Are the most disagreeable and wrenched wench I've ever had the misfortune to meet. There will come a day, where you meet a man to bring you to heel." A smile. "I wish to be there to see it."

I felt my heart sink; they were unwise words, but then Kamchak was Tuchuk. 

To my surprise, the woman Systlin threw back her head and laughed, as if at a wonderful joke. 

"Ahhh!" She wiped tears from her eyes at last, as I stared, stunned. "When I find my way home, I will tell Foicatch that." Another laugh. "A woman isn't brought to heel. We can choose to be a partner, or to bide our time and pretend until the time is right, but brought to heel? HA! You saw that, I think, today." Another terrible grin. "I saw your faces, when the women turned on your warriors. You did not expect that, did you?"

"Foicatch?" Kamchak, ever keen, inquired. 

"My husband." Systlin said this lightly, easily. "Father of my daughter."

"Good god, you are married?" The words were out of me before I could think better of them. I tried to imagine what bedding such a woman would be like, and thought to myself that it would be much like the risk taken by the male of the praying mantis of Earth; what sort of man would marry such a creature?

"Yes. Goodnight." She shut the wagon behind her. 

There was a moment of silence. Then, Kamchak spoke. 

"It is probably a bad time, Tarl Cabot," he said. "To mention that Kutaituchuk was not the Ubar of the Tuchuks." 

"What?"

 It was surprising, Systlin thought, how many of the Tuchuk women had been willing...eager, even...to take up weapons and stand guard at her wagon. 

Not to her. No. On Ellinon, the children of the Lady would have found the ideas of the men of this 'Gor' incomprehensible, unlawful, hearsay, and downright suicidal. But to many of the women of Gor themselves, Systlin thought, the sheer thrill that came when picking up a blade or spear was new. 

She tried to picture what would have happened had Stellead found herself in this shithole of a world. Death, absolutely; her aunt had little talent in any form of Power, but she had won her place as Arms Master of Stellas Keep and as a Commander of the Bloodguard through sweat and skill. 

Even now, Systlin could only best her aunt blade to blade perhaps two matches out of three. 

If anyone...man, woman, even the gods themselves...had tried to bring Stellead to heel, she'd spit in their eye and disembowel them. 

Systlin smiled to herself. It was a stubbornness and force of will that she herself shared, and that her aunt, mother, and father had always fostered. 

The women did not know quite how to hold a spear, of course. Systlin had tried to gently insist that she didn't need an armed guard, more because she knew full well that they'd not yet be up to a fight than because she believed that. But they had insisted, and in the end she had simply advised them to stick to knives for the time being. 

The rugs and cushions and furs in the wagon were quite comfortable, and she was quite tired, but sleep was elusive. 

All of this...the rugs and furs, the sound of animals outside, the sound of low voices from the camp, the smell of dried dung fires...it was too similar to her time with the Rabi, with Sura, before Sura had become Queen of the Sands, when she'd simply been the leader of her clan. 

Sura's laugh, bright as a bell, and the taste of pomegranate wine. The light of the brazier catching glints of copper and red off of Sura's black hair, which gleamed almost blue in sunlight. 

The rugs beside her were cold, and she suddenly felt very alone. 

Her throne would be empty. She'd held the North together through sheer grit, guile, charisma, and the edge of a sword, and beaten it back into working shape after the War of the Crown had nearly destroyed it. 

Her daughter was only a girl. Foicatch, dear Foicatch, would do his best, she knew, but he was at heart a soldier, not a monarch. 

Her sister would step in, at least. 'Sina was capable. But she didn't have the fear and respect of the lords of the realm and the love of the common folk the way Systlin did. 

"Why am I here?" She whispered this in the dark, at the roof of the wagon. 

No one answered. 

"I have my own place. People who will miss me." She scowled at the dark, and anger rose hot and furious. "Responsibilities! I've not got time for...this!" She waved a hand randomly, indicating everything about this strange place. 

No one answered. But Systlin had met gods in her time, and she knew that if they cared to, they could hear. 

"Send me back!" She hissed this at the darkness, not sure who she was angry with. "Have I not done enough? Send me home! I do not want this!"

Nothing. 

Exhaustion, at last, won out, and she slept. 

She was, in her dreams, not surprised at her visitor. 

The Lady's face could never be seen. The most that could be gathered was an impression of poise, of stately calm. It was impossible even to place what color Her hair was, or her skin, though the hair floated around her like a cloud and she was nude. 

"You?" In her dream Systlin could still feel her anger, though it was a hollow ghost of what she'd felt while awake. 

Me. It wasn't a spoken word; it was felt. 

"I should have known at once." Systlin growled. "Have I not done enough? Can I have no peace?"

A laugh, chiming and musical, but which shook the very bones. You were never made for peace. 

And that was true. Systlin knew it, felt the truth of it in her soul. It was impossible to deny it, not before the Lady. 

She felt an answering whisper in her soul, as the slumbering power of what had once been the Lord of Night and Void, the God of Endings, the Fallen One, God of Conflict, Lord of Justice and retribution, stirred within her. 

Sister. The word was pointed, and almost mocking. Who denies still that you are. 

"I saved my world. It needs me; you know that damned well. I don't want to be a god."

Want. This word was definitely mocking. There is no want, sister. There is 'must'. My brother failed his duty, and corrupted it. You hold it now. In time, you will realize. Goddess of War, Goddess of Justice, Goddess of Protection, Goddess of Night, Goddess of Death, Goddess of Endings and rebirth. I do your duties for now, sister...but not forever. 

Systlin clenched her fists, and pointedly ignored this. "My people need me, damn you."

They are safe. 

Systlin closed her eyes. "You'll not send me back until I finish here." It wasn't a question. 

You could send yourself back whenever you wished, if you accepted your new place.

Systlin glared.

Another smile. So stubborn. No, I will not. Good luck, sister.

She woke. 

Within her, the power of the god she'd killed stirred again, and was once more silent. 

It was morning. She could see the sunlight under the door, and could hear the cheerful bustle of camp outside. 

"Gods damn it all to the pits." She muttered.

 The hardest thing about training the women of the Tuchuk in combat, Systlin soon found, was ingrained survival habits. 

Her aunt, in the long-ago days when Systlin had been a lanky youth still growing into her arms and legs and new to a training sword, had always said that the hardest thing about training older students was fixing ingrained and detrimental habits. 

Stellead had been referring to habits picked up from lesser arms masters...letting your shield drop, footwork that was less than flawless. Systlin wondered how her aunt would have dealt with this, as she interrupted a woman to correct her form and the former slave cringed and dropped at her feet, begging forgiveness. 

"I am sorry!" The woman was almost tearful. Systlin had been angry since she came to this cursed place, and she felt that knot of red rage flare. "I am sorry, I forgot..."

"It's all right." Systlin squatted, propping her elbows on her thighs. "Hush. It's all right. Here now." She offered her hand, and the girl hesitantly took it. Systlin stood, drawing the girl back to her feet, and then bent, picked up the dropped wooden sword, and offered it back hilt first. The girl took it. 

"Do you know," Systlin said, keeping her voice light and conversational, "how long it took me to become good with a sword?"

The woman blinked. "I...no, Ubara." 

"I started training at thirteen." Systlin smiled fondly in memory. "I first killed a wraithen at nineteen. I first killed men in battle at twenty five. that was two and a half decades and three wars ago." She tossed her own wooden sword in the air; it spun precisely one turn before she caught it again by the hilt. "Training takes time, and practice. You will make mistakes. I will never fault you for them; you simply correct them and keep training." 

The girl nodded slowly. Systlin had given the same speech to many girls over the last three weeks, but the habits learned to survive the men of this Pit of a planet went deep. It would be slow going yet; she knew that. 

"Fifty?" The question was unexpected. 

"Hm?"

"You are fifty?"

"Close enough, yes."

"Your world then has brews of youth as well?" The girl seemed curious. 

Systlin blinked. "I...no. But we're descended from the Lady, the goddess and mother of all. We live long." She considered the woman before her; she appeared to be perhaps in her late twenties. "How old are you?" 

"Oh. Sixty, I think? My masters have given me the brews of youth three times." 

The yawning pit of cold fury in Systlin's soul howled. 

"How many years of that," Systlin kept her voice carefully level. "Were you kept as property?"

"Since I was...oh, sixteen?"

The world went abruptly white before her eyes. The yawning spectre of the power she'd pulled from the soul of a slain god roared; goddess of justice, goddess of protection....

Fury, she was furious, and for a moment she knew, knew that it would be so, so easy, to rise on the wind and come down on the people who had done this. To become a storm, a furious reckoning, to scour this world clean in a night...

...No. No no NO. I will not. I have to teach them. They must take it themselves, for all I might lead them. Or it will all be for nothing...

By the time she fought it down and came back to herself she was on her knees, clutching the trampled grass with white knuckles. Sweat was soaking her, as it never did even if she fought all day. Her breath was coming short and sharp. 

"Ubara!" The voices were panicked, and she realized dimly that there were at least a dozen women around her, patting at her cheeks, offering water. 

She looked up, and saw worry, and fear, and as the god-soul inside her stirred, she saw more. She saw desperation, and so, so much pain, oceans of pain, seas of injustice, rivers of innocent blood spilled. 

And as the women of the Tuchuk looked at her, worried, she saw deep in their eyes hope. 

"Ubara?" It was  Sabra , the brave girl, who'd taken quite well to a spear. "Ubara?"

"I'm all right." She wasn't, not quite; her voice sounded rough to her own ears. "I'm all right. Keep practicing."

The hovered until she got to her feet, but once it was determined that the Ubara was not about to die, they slowly went back to their drills. 

Systlin moved a bit away, absently climbed the nearest wagon, and sat cross legged, looking out over the makeshift training grounds without really seeing. 

She'd always been a protector. Since they'd been children, and her sister's dreams had driven little 'Sina to cry and scream in her sleep. Since her father had nurtured that, and taught her that a Queen's people were her children, that her sacred duty was to protect and serve them. 

Since she'd torn the North back from the hands of the greedy and the corrupt, who'd sought to carve it apart for power and profit. 

Since she'd faced a god, putting her own body and soul between her people and the Fallen Lord himself. 

Since she'd faced a second goddess, and demanded the Lady return her daughter from beyond death. 

It was who she was, in the end. She knew it in her bones, even as she looked down at these strange people in this strange world, and felt it, that what she must do. 

"Pitting hells." She muttered this softly, and somewhere felt the Lady smile. 

 For some weeks now, the routine had been much the same; Kamchak and I, and the other men, were kept chained and carefully watched. Some men, after a measure of time should they demonstrate a contrite enough demeanor, had their chains removed and were allowed to move about the camp; they did so, casting their eyes aside from those of us who were still chained. 

I watched one man brush a bosk one evening, and oil its hooves. A slave girl should do such work, and he was clumsy at it. A girl was watching, wearing the leather trousers that had become fashionable among the women. Her hair, which was very long, was braided up and pinned in a coil on the top of her head; it was unflattering, I thought. She corrected him, and showed him how it was done properly, and he meekly listened. She smiled at him, and I thought that in silks and with hair loose she must have been quite a beauty. He smiled back, a bit tentatively. 

I snorted in disdain. There are always men that are so, those that are more akin to women than true men. 

She heard, and turned on me. There was a fierceness in her eyes. 

"See." She pointed at me, mocking. "He thinks himself better than you, Sarthak. He thinks himself too good for work about the camp, thinks it should be done only by women in chains." She laughed, and spit in my direction. "And yet he is still a prisoner in chains, while you are a free man. So who, then, is the better man?"

Sarthak grinned at me. He wore no scars, and scant weeks ago he had likely been unregarded utterly by the Tuchuk. 

"You speak true words, Lena." He agreed, and turned his back on me. She gave another laugh, and she turned back to their task. I realized with some surprise that the looks Lena was favoring the unscarred young man with were warm. 

"Disgraceful." Kamchak was chained to the other axle of the wagon, and he too was regarding the young man with distaste. "Have they made a slave of you already, boy?"

"He's a free man." Lena didn't look around. "All free men and women of able body must do their share of work. You shall too, should you ever be trusted and set free." 

Kamchak spat again, and leaned his head back against the wagon wheel. 

"It was a sad day," said the Ubar of the Tuchuk, "That that she-sleen came to the Tuchuk, Tarl Cabot." 

"Yes." I agreed. I wondered still how many she had slain in that night, through sorcery. The pyres had burned for two days and nights. 

We watched the girl teach the young man to grease the axles of the wagon. We had little else to do. 

As the evening meal was brought, we were finally given some surprise to rouse us from the deadly tedium that had marked the weeks. 

The she-sleen had a cloak now, made of red larl-hide. She wore it pinned at a jaunty angle, thrown back over one shoulder. She was wearing a leather vest over her strange scale armor today. She regarded us for a moment, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. I'd examined that weapon many times now, and I still could not place the make of it; it was no Gorean style I knew of, and the silver-blue of the blade was unlike any alloy I knew on Earth. It was somewhat shorter than most blades I had seen, perhaps thirty-six inches in all in total length. A great polished amethyst was set into the pommel, the most darkly violet stone I'd ever seen. 

It was viciously sharp. I knew this. 

"You." She said to me. The word was said in Gorean; she was learning quickly, it seemed, for all her strange magic did seem to translate for her. "You'll come with me." She nodded at the girl following her...I recognized her, I realized, it was the girl Dina I had seen around camp before, the slave reputed to be the best at the running game...and Dina brought out a ring of keys. 

Dina's hair was braided, as was Systlin's. Dina wore leather trousers, as did Systlin. Dina wore a quiva, as  Systlin wore her long dagger, and had stood and rested her hand on the hilt of the quiva in conscious imitation of the strange woman. 

It seemed to be a fashion, I noted, that many of the freed slave girls and even many of the Tuchuk women had taken up. 

I said nothing.  It had not been a request, of course, and I had little choice. My leg was healing, but I was far from my top form.

My chains were let loose. I stood, with some difficulty, and Dina's help. She was, I noticed with some surprise, quite strong. There were muscles through her shoulders that I'd never before seen so developed on any Gorean woman, and her hands were tough. 

I knew that well; my own hands were callused thus from the hilt of sword and the haft of lance. It was surprising that a slave girl had developed such in such a short time. 

I was led to the great wagon that Systlin had claimed as her own; the wagon that I knew, now, was not the true wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. 

Inside, a meal of roast bosk had been laid ready for us. Systlin sat cross legged on the cushions; the maleness of the gesture still grated at my sensibilities. Seeing it preformed by one who might look quite well kneeling in silks was wrong, quite wrong. Dina helped me, somewhat ungracefully and with some pain, to sit. 

Systlin did not touch the food at once. She was watching me, and the gaze was keen and direct. I said nothing, but examined her in return. 

I am an observant man. It is one of my strengths. But I could gather little from her, save that which I had already deduced; she was strongly built, for a woman, all solid wiry muscle. Her hands were tough, those of a swordsman. Her gaze was intelligent, and I could not place her origin; the bone structure and shape of her eyes was subtly foreign, but not of any place I knew. She could have been beautiful, perhaps, were she arrayed instead in silk. She never, I noted, let her weapons stray far from her hand. 

She was used, I thought, to fighting. Used even to being attacked in the most secure of surroundings. She had said before that many men had tried to kill her; what sort of creature was this that sat before me?

"You're wondering why I brought you here." She broke the silence. Her tone was crisp, and it was not a question.

I said nothing. 

"The answer is because you are not of these people. I know that the Wagon Peoples usually slay outsiders. That means you are unusual, and I'm wagering it means you're quite skilled at arms." She examined me again, much as I'd examined her, and I saw her noting the callus of my hands. "Your accent is not like that of these people, as well. They say you are Koroban, wherever the fuck that is. I've heard that you have, apparently, traveled."

I said nothing. 

"That makes you potentially useful." She informed me of this without a hint of emotion. "I know very little of this world, and while I'm learning, I suspect that you know more than most."

I had heard her say such things before. I am quite well acquainted with such matters, of course, being once of Earth. "Of this world?" I said at last. 

"Of this world." A horrible humorless smile. "You know full well I'm not from here. This whole place is a nightmare and a travesty. You're lucky my aunt Stellead is not here; she’s less merciful than I. She'd have castrated the lot of your slavers and rapists, slow roasted the genitals, and fed them back to you a bite at a time. And to be honest, I did consider that." 

I could not help but cringe at the thought. 

"From what I have gathered," she continued, "No part of this world is not at the mercy of monsters who hold humans as livestock and use them as they please. It's that, I think, that I've been brought here to end. And you, Tarl Cabot, are going to give me information as I do it." 

The shock of her words was immediate. "Sent? The priest-kings...."

The wave of a hand, dismissive. "I've heard of them. No. Gods, no. I don't care a whit for them. If they interfere I'll deal with them. No, it's a power higher than them that's sent me." 

I blinked at her in shock. The priest-kings are feared and worshiped as gods on Gor, with reason. They are advanced beyond any human designs, and are exceptionally powerful. Yet I saw not a trace of fear in her. 

"They are very powerful," I said. "And your powers may bring their wrath yet." I hoped it, of course. They can burn a man to ashes on a whim.

A laugh. Another cold, humorless laugh. "Maybe." She said. "But I've slain gods before. What are a few more? No. You are going to give me information, Tarl Cabot, on this world. And then I am going to conquer it. Every last damned corner of it."

I stared at her in horror, and she simply smiled in return.

[mercurygray]

'A face in the dark' and 'total eclipse', in the Outlander American or WW1 AU for Billie and Ron xx Juno

Another old one - we're really cleaning the inbox here today!

It wasn't the assembly room in Wilmington, that was for certain.

The gathering of the clans at Fraser's Ridge had a more rustic air than the gathering of families that took place in ballrooms and meeting houses in town - but Billie couldn't help feeling a little more at home here than she did at the Spring assembly, where everyone wanted to speak with her father because he was rich and ask her mother about when she was getting married. Things like that mattered in their world - but not here. Here Mr. Fraser was law and lord, because he'd given people land and they trusted him, and because his wife was a great healer. It seemed...more honest, somehow, and she liked it for that. The dancing was freer and the whiskey flowed quicker and people were more likely to tell you what they really thought of you, without artifice or guile.

Suddenly a face loomed out of the dark, doffing his hat to greet her. "Miss Mitchell."

It was Captain Speirs, one of Fraser's officers, resplendent in his jacket with its braid and blue facings. There were plenty of Scots from the old country among the militia's officers and men, but Speirs was younger, a lad whose father had been one of the men at Ardsmuir and who'd grown tall among the firs and ridges of the Carolina mountains. If ever there was a man for whom the word 'canny' had been written, the word went, Ronald Speirs was it. "You are not dancing."

Billie wrapped her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. "How good of you to notice."

"Now that is either because you claim to have no skill at it, which I very much doubt - or that no one has asked, which I also cannot believe."

"You have a very high opinion of me, Captain. There are a great many pretty girls here tonight." She nodded towards Brianna Fraser and her friends on the other side of the fire, their hair loose and all of them laughing.

Speirs didn't take the bait. "Or is it that you've turned everyone down who's asked?"

Billie felt herself flush with annoyance and stood up just so she could look him in the eye. "Would you like to dance, Captain Speirs?"

If the move surprised him, he didn't show it - his smile (or what little there was of it) was just as enigmatic as ever. "Is that wise?" he asked, almost sly. "Considering my...reputation. And yours."

His reputation - ah, that word. For indeed he had one, and she'd do well to remember it, whispered as it was - that he'd been married, and his wife had left him. That he'd killed men in cold blood. That there was a witch's spell on him, or his family - if you believed in those things. Or was the danger that he was a Scot, and she was English and town-born and bred to better things? She'd taken a risk, coming here tonight to see Doris and Bill and Ed and Joe, but that didn't seem to matter, just now, not when he was smiling at her like that.

"As you seem to know me so well, Captain, I think you'd remember I'm not especially well known for being wise," Billie shot back, holding out her hand. "So?"

His smile seemed to flicker in the firelight, and he placed his hand in hers with practiced grace. "How could I refuse?"

She could feel people's eyes move with them as they moved to join the figure, the silent judgemental chorus of Miss Mitchell, what would your mother say?

But my mother isn't here, she thought proudly to herself. And I'm free to scandalize whomever I like.

[jurijurijurious]

How about 22, 25, 26 for the meme? Your choice of fandom(s)! <3

Cool, thanks!

22.Ship that you immediately fall in love with after one scene despite not considering it before.

I found this one quite hard but I'm gonna plump for John of Gaunt/Katherine Swynford in Anya Seton's famous historical novel, "Katherine". Now I know the whole premise of the book is Katherine's relationship with John - plus their relationship is historically true - so it should not be a surprising ship. But I'm sure everyone understands it when I say I don't expect to ship the obvious relationships until I see how they're handled - sometimes I read a novel, histfic or not, and the romance is bleh, rubbish, no chemistry or bad premise or poorly handled, etc...

I have listened to Seton's book more than I've actually read it and even though it is a bit dated, and the narrator of my audiobook isn't the best, I think I knew from the first scene where they share dialogue that yes, I will ship these two, there is fire and desire there, and there are lots of elements of the forbidden which, guh, give it to me, it's my thing!!

(I have no idea why this book has never been turned into a film or tv series, it's so well known, but seeing how a lot of history is handled in tv and film adaptations , maybe it's for the best? And who the devil would play John?? They'd need a perfect John.)

25. Favourite foe yay ship

This is my territory, literally most of my past ships are "bad guy" led and generally close to crack, really. So bloody unethical. I'll go for Megabyte/Dot from the 1990s CG animated TV show "ReBoot" which I'm revisiting at the moment. They are literally two sides of the same coin: entrepreneurs, businessmen, heads of intelligence networks, organised, quick-witted, well-spoken (particularly him, my God, Tony Jay's voieover is perfect!). They're also each at times de facto "leaders" of Mainframe (or "Megaframe" when it's the egotistical villain in charge, ofc). If their differences weren't so large, they would make an insane partnership. And yet the show even gives you an excuse to 'ship them when Megabyte returns disguised as Dot's true love Bob in what is one of the most controversial and even a bit silly storylines ever in the final series of the show. Poor ol' Dot very nearly marries him under the impression he is someone else. How... problematic. I ofc used to love it. And he is a villain after all.

There's a visual parallel between a scene in the first episode (where he does consequently drop her, which is hilarious) and then a scene in the final season (where there is possibly actual desire there from him? Who knows?). Foreboding indeed:

But anyway, problematic nature of the final season plot aside, I think with some rather intricate and slightly implausible leaps of the imagination, you could get them together. And what a formidable couple they would be.

26. Characters that you like in every dynamic (lovers,friends,enemies)

I will go for Captain Barbossa and Elizabeth Swann from "Pirates of the Caribbean" for this one to look at a different pairing. Them being "enemies" and then "friends" is already canon - you start with them as enemies in the "Curse of the Black Pearl", and its a spicy, fun, combative relationship, and then they build to a wonderfully endearing mentor-apprentice kinda relationship by "At World's End" where she literally absorbs all his guile, his wisdom, his wits, even his very words. It wouldn't take a great leap to envision them as lovers in an alternate reality somewhere; they have a great camaraderie and chemistry. Another formidable team!

Thanks for the asks!

[egotheplanet]

One Soul (Chapter 2)  Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: Din and his new wife are finally back to work after their honeymoon. What they don’t realize is they’re opening a whole new chapter in their life in the form of a small fussy alien baby.

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One

•••••

‘My hair is getting long. Way longer than I like .’ Din thinks to himself, holding his chin and turning his head side to side to get a good look at the state of his hairy appearance.

The Mandalorian is at the emergence of a longer do and a stiff stubble with a defined mustache.

Beneath the sink is the cabinet filled with soaps, razors, extra papers of all sort, and scissors which beckon him.

His hand reaches down and pulls up his straight razor. He decides the first thing to go is his god awful beard.

‘Well.. I may hate it but I know someone who didn’t.’

He smirks slightly as the memory of a few days ago reappears in his mind. His wife was very expressive in remarking her opinion on the hair.

“F-Fuck, put your tongue right here!” Her fingers guide his lips to her most sensitive spot. The bundle of nerves almost twitch in anticipation.

His facial hair brushes against her inner thighs and creates an even juicier friction than she was used to.

His tongue flicks quickly up and down while he forms more saliva to lubricate as he sucks on her clit. His middle finger sinks into her down to the knuckle, squeezing and flexing inside of her as he continues his pressure.

Her thighs squeeze his head tight, his longer hair providing plenty of grip for her as she begins to see stars.

“Don’t stop! Go f-faster!” Her back arches and he shakes his head from side to side as he sucks her bud, his finger starting to bend in the ‘come hither’ motion as well as sliding in and out. “Fuck! Fuck! I’m cumming! Din, don’t stop— ah!!” Her body convulses, her eyes squeeze shut and she curls her toes while her ankles link around his body.

He doesn’t stop when she hits her high, he continues to push her through it. Prolonging her orgasm for a few seconds before she finally rests limp on their bed. Din pulls his finger out of her throbbing core, sucking his finger clean before wiping it haphazardly on his skin to rid himself of the moisture.

“That was a long one. I counted about thirty four seconds straight.” He climbs up her body, planting kisses on the road to her lips where he leaves a feverish smooch.

He rolls off of her to lay on his back. His hand interlocks with her own, squeezing in reassurance.

“It’s the beard.” She speaks, breathlessly while her chest heaves. Her nipples rise and fall dramatically in addition. “The extra friction just makes me dizzy. Don’t ever shave it.” She turns her head to her husband, pleading.

“It’s scratchy. And ugly.” He grumbles and scratches his cheek. “Not to mention, patchy.”

She laughs and turns her body so that she’s laying on her side, her breasts pressed against his ribs.

“Well I love it.”

The razor makes quick work of the abrasive little hairs. Falling into the sink, he stops every few strokes to brush them into the drain. A slight pet-peeve of his gorgeous wife, but he’s a man with a silly routine.

Taking a damp rag to his cheeks, he drags it across his face before dropping it into the sink.

Looking in the mirror and once again taking his chin in his hand, he turns his face from side to side. Ensuring he got every last hair, he smiles in satisfaction. He reaches under the sink to put the razor back and returns his hand to the top with the scissors.

They’re old and raggedy and he definitely hates this part of the year. His semi-annual haircut takes him almost an hour. After all, if he does a poor job he could end up looking worse than before. Not that he would usually care since it used to be hidden by the helmet. But now he had someone to impress.

‘Maybe I should just let it grow and be a full wookie.’

“What’s going on in here?” Y/N hugs the doorframe and smiles at his reflection, which returns the grin.

“Shaving. And in a few moments, trimming.” He lifts the scissors up to show her. “It’s getting a bit long for my taste.” He shrugs and sets them clattering down into the sink.

“Not the beard too!” She comes forward and gently touches his cheeks with the pads of her fingers. “Damn it. You knew how I felt about the beard, Din.” She huffs and drops her hands to her side in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” He smiles lovingly and maybe even a little teasingly, his fingertips playing with her hips gently.

He turns to pick the scissors up again and with one hand, chooses a random piece of hair to snip first.

“Whoa, you’re just going to cut your own hair like that?”

He pauses and turns around to face her once again, arms still poised to trim.

“What’s wrong with the way I cut my hair?”

“You look like a crazy person. Let me do it.” She gently removes the shears from his hand, leading him to sit on their small stool so he’s at a low enough level to reach.

“I’ve cut my own hair since I was a child, I know what I’m doing.” He mutters.

“Yeah, well you don’t have to cut your own hair if someone else is willing to do it for you.” She presses a soft kiss to his temple before beginning to style.

His body is rigid as she gets going. Her speed and proximity to his scalp is cause for concern but Mando has to rely on his instincts to trust her.

Minutes pass and suddenly he feels the hands on his head pull away.

“Done! What do you think?” She proudly dusts off his shoulders as he stands to take in his reflection.

He’s quiet as he assesses his appearance.

“I like it. Thank you.” He runs a hand through the brown strands, more than content with the results.

A beep sounds from further in the ship and gathers their attention.

“Sounds like we’re all gassed up. Did you finish tying down the supplies in the cargo area?” The mandalorian speaks softly while walking out of the restrooms threshold.

“Yes, everything is ready for take off and return to Nevarro.” Y/N mentally checks off their list as she walks through the ship, ensuring all of their supplies are in place and will be kept there during the rocky ascension.

Three weeks of complete solitude on a small sunny planet was the perfect way to introduce the couple to married life. A honeymoon fit for bounty hunters was tough to come by but not impossible to find.

They enjoyed countless hours of talking about their futures, hiking the nearby areas, swimming in the lakes and rivers, having tons of sex in their ship, and basking in each other’s presence. The Mandalorian spent most of the time helmet-less, of course.

But the time had come to resume their duties as bounty hunters. Their supplies have begun to dwindle. Besides, bounty hunters start to get paranoid when things go smooth for too long.

Their living reserves aren’t the only thing running low. The stash of units has begun to diminish.

Y/N carefully wraps her jewels, rings and necklaces in soft tissue paper. Once they’re covered properly, she puts them in a small box to keep them safe. Opening a drawer in her shared dresser, she fits the box snuggly between sweaters and shirts.

Closing the drawer and dusting her hands off, she smiles at her handiwork.

The jewels were definitely not her idea, oh no. They were her beloved husbands surprising affliction. He loves to adorn his new wife with the finest jewels they can find.

In fact, it’s something that he enjoys seeing on her naked body. Nothing but gold and silver encrusted with designer jewels on her savory s/c flesh.

Her smile widens as she feels two arms snake around her waist, squeezing her to a toned chest. A soft and clean shaven cheek pressing against her neck as he plants soft, wet kisses to her collarbone from behind.

“You know we wouldn’t leave so early if it wasn’t for your vigorous spending.” Y/N softly speaks, a layer of comfort surrounding them as she lazily caresses his forearms.

“You know our sex wouldn’t have been nearly as incredible if I didn’t treat you like a goddess the way you deserve.” His smirk as he speaks sends her heart into an overload.

Her face is flushed with embarrassment and she pulls away.

“Let’s go already, you big flirt.” She walks over to the ladder leading up to the cockpit.

Watching her figure as she climbs up, he sighs to himself.

Time to get back to work.

The mandalorian grabs his helmet from a nearby table, holding it between his arm and rib cage as he climbs up to pilot them home.

They make quick work of flipping switches, pressing buttons and setting courses.

Before they know it, they’re in the air headed deeper into space.

“Jumping into hyperspace in three.. two..” He warns just as the ship begins to rattle, the two of them pressing into their seats more than usual at the extra force presented to them.

Once they’re used to it, the resume their usual postures.

“I’ll be dropping out of hyperdrive in a few moments. It’s time to put the helmet back on.” He leans his head from side to side to crack the pressure buildup in his neck, sighing as he lifts the helmet up.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” Her voice is soft but holds plenty of emotion, pulling his eyes over to her.

“It’s not goodbye. I’m still here, just under some beskar.” He speaks equally as soft, one hand dropping from the helmet to reach for her.

“I know but.. it’s goodbye to your nose.”

“My.. nose?” He’s bewildered but interested.

“You have the cutest nose! It’s almost bird like.” She uses her right hand to trace her own nose.

“I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment.” He slides the helmet on.

In response, it hisses and clicks into place.

“It is a compliment.” She squeezes his shoulder and buckles into her seat to prepare for the rapid slow of the ship as it drops out of hyperdrive.

“Dropping out of hyperdrive in three.. two...”

A larger jolt occurs this time as Nevarro comes into sight.

“I did not miss this view.” Y/N sighs as she unbuckles and heads down the ladder to prepare the landing equipment.

Din guides the ship safely through the atmosphere and onto the dry planets surface.

Parking just a ways away from the guilds cantina, the pair readies themselves for an interaction with the guild.

The ramp opens slowly, the couple slipping weapons into their holsters as they walk down.

“I sent a message to Greef Karga before we left asking him to keep the higher paying jobs aside for us once we get back.” She walks on the left side of Din, keeping up with his surprisingly brisk walking pace.

“And?” He looks straight ahead, walking to the doors.

“He said ‘congrats’ and that ‘he’d think about it.’”

The mandalorian scoffs out, “Of course.”

Walking into the cantina, the pair ignores the stares from their rival patrons.

They deal with stares on a regular basis and can definitely ignore that much, but they cannot willingly tune-out whispers.

“That’s the mandalorian!” An alien who’s skin holds a blue hue frantically whispers to her counterpart.

A few men on the opposite side of the cantina whisper amongst themselves.

“That’s Y/N.. I heard she chopped some guy up for copping a feel.”

The woman smirks to herself at the mention, proud of defending herself despite the fact she didn’t really chop anyone up. It was more of a swift punch in the throat and kick in the groin.

“Rumor through the coms is that they just came back from a private mission. Someone said they got paid for the asset.”

The pair covertly tune into that conversation, clueing onto ‘the asset’.

“There’s no way they got that job and succeeded. Do you see his stingy armor? I bet they’re living off eating womp-rats.”

Y/N stops in her tracks, glaring and griping her blaster that rests on her hip. A few chairs screech as patrons stand abruptly, clearly prepared in case anything goes down while the room stills.

Before anything comes of it, a booming voice welcomes the duo home.

“Mando! And the ever lovely Y/N. So great to have you back.” Greef Karga proudly gestures for the couple to join him.

They silently walk over, the room slowly resuming its previous boisterous volume. Their heads remain staring ahead, acting aloof in comparison to Kargas direct eye contact.

Their entire demeanor commands ‘no bullshit’ and it seeps across the table to their companion.

“You received my message.” Y/N says, her words concise.

“Ah, yes. You two never want the quick and easy. Not anymore at least. I remember when you first joined the guild Ms-“

“Mrs. And please, don’t bore us with stories of yesterday. What do you have for us?”

The outnumbered and almost outsmarted man clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

Din smirks beneath his helmet, proud of his wife for standing up for herself.

‘Never needed a mans help in any way and never will.’ He silently praises her independence.

“Well.. Nothing of high value has drifted around these parts for weeks. And whatever did come through, I had to give out as they were time sensitive.”

“Just tell us if you have something or not. Don’t waste our time or our fuel.” Feigning nonchalance, she speaks softer while leaning in. “I heard whispers of an ‘asset’. Tell us about it.”

Greef clears his throat and leans back just as far.

“I’m not sure you want that one-“

Y/N glares harshly, her lips parting to protest but closing quickly at the touch on her thigh under the table.

“Don’t choose anything for us.” Mando finally utters, rubbing a small comforting circle on his lovers leg.

Greef scoffs and reaches into his pocket.

The duo reach for their blasters since it appears he’s doing the same.

“Relax. I’m just getting.. this.” He sits a chit on the table.

The couple glance down at it and back up, clearly waiting for elaboration on the client and the target.

“All I can offer at the value you’re requesting is this. The asset. The whispers and rumors which revolve around this.”

He holds up the chit once more.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.” He nods as he continues. “Do you want it or not?”

Y/N clenches her jaw as she thinks it over. Looking to her side and up at her husbands helmet she can tell he’s doing the same. Their gazes meet and she takes the small device.

“We’ll take it.”

******* This is a time skip indicating a significant jump in setting. *******

The IG-11 droids blasters make quick work of breaking through the containment door where the bounty is hidden away. Y/N squints her eyes at the bright sparks it produces and assists in kicking down what remains of the door, granting them entrance after a lengthy battle with the guards stationed on this Arvala-7.

The sudden approach of a hidden guard is a surprise but not for the Mandalorian who blasts him down immediately.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate there is still a life form present.” IG-11 scans the area as they walk through the junk surrounding the ground.

The tracking fob beeps erratically in Y/N’s hand as they approach the vessel which supposedly contains their prize.

Din hesitantly presses a button on the pod which causes it to open with a whir.

Nestled in the blankets, the trio stare into the cradle to see an infant who visibly appears no more than a year old.

“Wait. They said fifty years old.” The Mandalorian is bewildered and slightly angry at the aspect of eliminating a child target.

Y/N looks up at him in concern, not knowing if she can go through with this bounty.

“Species age differently. Perhaps it could live many centuries.” IG-11 emotionlessly drones out.

“As if that doesn’t change the fact we were sent here to assassinate a baby!” Y/N holsters her weapon and takes a step back. “Are we really supposed to.. blast it? And you said it could live for centuries?”

“Sadly, we’ll never know.” The droid lifts an arm to drain the life from the seemingly helpless infant before it.

“No!” The Mandalorian stops its arm. “We’ll bring it in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.” IG-11 shifts it’s gaze from Din to the child.

It lifts its arm once again and Y/N looks away, not wanting to see innocent blood spilt.

A resounding blast echoes through the room and her eyes burst open at the sound of clattering metal hit the floor.

“What did you just do?” She bends to the droid which lay on the ground in bits.

“I’m not killing a kid. I know you didn’t want to either. We’ll take it in alive.” The Mandalorian offers no room for debate.

“You’re right, I didn’t want to kill it.” She frowns and rises once again. They both look into the cradle as two large eyes stare back.

The child coos.

Din reaches a hand out to it, a finger extending as a place to grip. The baby reaches out, taking the finger curiously.

“Right. Let’s get the pod back to the ship so we can bring the kid to the client.” Y/N says, attaching the pod to her husbands wrist command.

“I wasn’t planning on bringing a baby back onto our ship. We don’t have supplies or the knowledge to keep it alive until then.”

“What do you propose we do? We can’t leave it here and we aren’t killing it. Besides. What’s so difficult about keeping a weird little baby alive?” She smiles down at the child. “Plus, it’s good practice for us.”

The Mandalorians eyes widen beneath his helmet and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s just head back before anything happens to the ship.” He turns to walk out the busted door, the pod following close behind.

As if he was able to see the future, the Mandalorians premonition of difficulties surrounding the ship come true. Jawas raid the ship in their absence. With the negotiation skills of their trusted friend Kuiil, an agreement was made in exchange for their parts.  

An egg was mentioned and quickly produced in exchange for the missing pieces of ship. Angry mudhorn do not provide fair wrestling conditions. In the end, Y/N had to sneak into the lair to retrieve the delicacy while her husband received the brunt end of the horn.

While in the cave, she missed an interesting development regarding the ability of their new prisoner.

Lifting the mudhorn and tossing it aside, the child aided his captives in winning the match.

Finally back in their ship and able to clean themselves off, the couple takes a moment to wind down before take off.

Y/N sits in front of the cradle, hellbent on trying to get the child to smile at her. She’s sacrificed her dignity with blowing raspberries, crossing her eyes and waving in an over exaggerated fashion.

The baby stares for a while, deciding whether or not his captives are to be trusted. But as normal babies do, he quickly decides they’re the best of chums and rewards the large female with giggles and a green little grin.

She gasps softly at the development and uses the pad on her index finger to rub the child’s wrinkled forehead in adoration.

‘So sweet.’ She happily enjoys the company of her little friend.

The Mandalorian sits at their small table, reading a layout of the systems to decide the quickest route back to Nevarro.

He glances up slightly, his eyes training on his wife making a fool of herself for the child.

“Don’t get attached. It’s still a bounty and going to our client.” He speaks honestly and rather callously.

She stands back up, straightening her posture and clearing her throat as if she was caught doing something embarrassing. Which to her, she was.

“I won’t.”

She turns to the ladder to climb up and start the ship only to stop halfway at the sound of small cries.

Two pairs of adult eyes turn to the cradle where small hands grip at the air and the child inside sobs loudly.

They both make their way to the pod, looking in with matching concern.

“What do you think’s wrong with it?” Y/N asks as she removes the tiny blanket covering the majority of the child’s body.

“Maybe it’s hungry. That or..” He vaguely alludes to the diaper being full and his wife quickly steps back, arms crossing against her chest.

“No way. I did NOT sign up for any of that.”

“Neither did I.” Din looks at her through the screen of his helmet and shrugs.

They stay eerily quiet despite the continuous cries of anguish coming from the pod, mutually deciding to ignore it.

But the cries intensify and the child looks desperate for interaction.

“Okay, we have to feed it.” Y/N says, rubbing her temples which have begun to throb in response to the noise.

“We don’t have any food suitable for a baby.” Mando quickly walks to their pantry, scanning all the labels and jars.

“There has to be an outpost around here somewhere. It can’t be that expensive to feed a kid for a day.” She says, looking at the same map her husband was checking earlier.

Sensing a solution coming soon, the child begins to quiet down. Sobs turn to cries and cries turn to sniffles.

Before they know what’s happened, they’ve arrived at a small community outpost run by locals on a tiny desert planet.

Tucked away from the main area, the ship is hidden well so as not to attract unwanted attention.

Placing his blaster back on his hip and a second one on his ankle for extra measures, Din suits up to head out.

“I’ll go get the food, you stay here with the kid.” He finishes tying his shoe and stands back up to his full height.

Y/N lifts the sniffling child out of his nursery pod, holding him gently against her chest. She pats it’s back with enough force to offer comfort but not enough to cause pain.

“Alright, try to be quick. I love you.” She smiles as she starts to bounce slightly in an attempt to make the little green person happy.

Watching his wife hold an infant, despite its green complexion, made the future seem closer than usual for Din. He never put much thought into having children before he met Y/N but later fell in love with the idea of having a house full of mini versions of her. He felt his heart clench at the sight of her taking on such a caretaking role so easily.

“I love you too.” He walks off the ship and into the vegetation surrounded streets.

He wanders for a moment before finding his bearings, leading him directly to the market.

It’s not long before he comes across a food vendor with plenty of varying jars. He narrows down the possibilities to a few filled with mush.

He picks them up, walking over to a stall worker.

“Is this stuff meant for babies? Children?” He hopes he doesn’t look at lost as he feels.

The attendant glances up from another customer and nods before looking back down and continuing their conversation.

Din takes the jars to the other counter, swiftly paying and grunting in frustration at the price.

‘This bounty better be worth it.’

He shoves the jars into his side bag and makes haste back to the ship. Climbing the ramp and opening the bag to put the jars on the table, he doesn’t get very far into the ship before he’s confronted by his wife.

Covered in an unknown substance, hair pulled from her elastic band and child tugging her nose downward, she’s the epitome of the word frazzled.

“Where have you been! You’ve been gone for almost two hours, Din!” She’s panicked and for some reason the child is diaper-less.

“What the hell happened when I was gone?” Din looks around his home, beyond surprised at the state of things.

“It exploded! We need some sort of cloth or diaper or whatever you can grab to cover it to keep it from spewing!” She says, holding the child out in front of her an arms length away from her body.  

He starts to back out of the ship onto the ramp, nervously taking in the situation.

“Should I go get diapers from the outpost-“

“No!! Don’t leave me with him!!” She pulls the child back to her arms since he started wiggling in protest of being further away from her.

“Him?” Behind the helmet, the mandalorian raises a brow.

“I found out he’s a boy pretty quickly after he peed all over me.” Y/N shudders at the very recent memory.

The child coos as he looks around the room, craving to get down and waddle around like he was when the Mandalorian was out.

“Great.” Din comes back into the ship, shutting the ramp and beginning to ruffle around a dresser, finding an old shirt.

He rips it up and sets it aside on the same table he puts the jars of food on.

“Let’s clean him off first before we feed or dress him.” Y/N sighs out softly, looking around the room at the wreckage.

“I can do that if you clean up the mess.” Mando takes the baby from her arms and to the bathroom, washing him off thoroughly.

“You’re a lot of trouble, aren’t you? Ya little womp-rat.” He whispers so his wife doesn’t hear him reprimanding the child.  

The baby looks up at him and giggles, enjoying the chrome reflection of himself.

Finished with the bath, Mando wraps baby yoda in a towel. He carries him back to the living area which has been cleaned in record time.

Y/N aids her husband in dressing the child in its tiny tan clothes. The diaper fashioned out of an old shirt and safety pins took some coaxing but ultimately worked.

“There! Now we can feed him. What did you get?” Y/N rubs her hands together in excitement.

“I don’t really know.. I was told this was baby food and I grabbed a few different flavors and got outta there.” He rubs the back of his neck over his shirt, suddenly worried his selection is lacking.

Lifting the child and putting him back into the carrier, Mando sits on a chair beside his wife in front of it. He takes the soft spoon that came with the jar and dips it into the first option. It’s blue and has a strange language on it that neither of the hunters can read.

The baby turns his head away after a small sniff of the spoon and whimpers. The couple can hear it’s stomach growl in anticipation.

“He doesn’t like that one.” Y/N urges and bites her nail in anxious form.

“He hasn’t even tried it. How could he not like it?” Mando grumbles as he continues to try and put the spoon up to the baby’s mouth.

Again and again, he continues to turn away.

“Try the brown one.”

“Okay.” Mando grabs it, opens it, and submerges the spoon. Trying to feed it to the baby, Din feels his frustration levels start to rise as the child turns his head again and begins openly crying. “You have to pick one! How can he dislike it if he won’t even eat it?”

“What if his species is only vegetarian?” Y/N thinks aloud.

“The blue one was vegetarian, I think. The brown one was meat.” Trying once more to get the child to even take a small lick, Din leans back abruptly and puts the jar back on the table. “Maybe he doesn’t eat at all.”

Mando grumbles in annoyance and his wife nudges him suddenly.

“Look he wants that green one!”

Looking up, he sees the child reach for the green jar.

Mando grabs it at the interest of the baby and dips the spoon in.

The green monster actually looks enticed and takes a large munch off the spoon. Some of the content dribbles down his face. This results in another upset.

Mando quickly uses the edge of the spoon slide against the chin and cheeks of the baby in an attempt to gather the excess food.

The child grows even more agitated and Dins temper begins to flare at the difficulty to appease.

“Be careful with the way you’re scraping the spoon against his face.” Y/N says as she leans across her husband to reach for a napkin on the table.

“I’m not scraping it against his face.” Mando says with a false calm and a slight tone, making Y/N side-eye him.

“Yes, you are. You’re doing it to hard and it’s upsetting him.” Y/N says, standing up and straightening out.

The baby watches the two of them, trying to read the rooms tone and decide whether to laugh or cry. He, of course, chooses the latter.

Mando stiffens up and his frustrations boil over.

“I am not doing it too hard! If you want to do it you can go ahead.” Mando grunts and gestures his shoulders and arms forward at the baby which stares back.

“I will do it just give me the spoon.” Y/N reaches over him for the jar but Mando takes it back in his hands quicker.

“No, I’m doing it fine. I’m not doing it that hard.” Mando says as he leans forward to try and feed him once again.

Baby doesn’t like the tone and starts a whole new whimper.

“Look! You’re upsetting him.” Y/N says and swats lightly at mandos shoulder as if to say ‘way to go’.

“I’m not upsetting him. I’m not even doing anything! You’re the one who’s getting upset for no reason.” Mando says, his voice slightly raising.

“I am not upset, I’m just saying you’re doing it so hard you’re upsetting him. Which you already did which is why he’s crying.” Y/N says, not hiding her offense.

“He’s not upset he’s hungry because you’re not letting me feed him.” The Mandalorians aggravations manifest into gesturing with the baby food and the spoon.

It’s silent for a moment save for the soft cries coming from the pod before them.

“Look, just let me do it so we can get out of here.” Y/N says rolling up her sleeves and trying to take the food.

“No I’m— fine, here. You know what? You just do it.” Mando finally gives up and hands the jar and spoon to her, leaving his chair in the process and walking to the cockpit ladder.

“Thank you, that’s what I wanted.” Y/N sits in his seat and uses a cloth napkin to dab at the baby’s mouth.

The tears slowly come to a stop in his large, dark eyes. The baby suddenly comes to the decision that his captors are no longer friendly. He bites Y/N’s hand as she wipes the stray food off his mouth. She reels back and seethes in pain, her chair screeching against the floor and the food dropping to the ground, the glass jar in shattered fragments beneath the pod.

Mando starts to climb the ladder but hearing the noise and looking behind him to see his wife bleeding, he rushes to her and grabs a clean cloth.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry.” He holds her hand with pressure to stop the bleeding and immediately regrets being short with her.

The injury makes all thoughts of being overwhelmed cease to exist.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” She says laughing slightly, shocked the infant retaliated.

His gaze lifts from her hand to her face, her glossy eyes reflecting back at her in his helmet.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice.” Mando says, and it’s heartfelt.

She nods, “I’m sorry for being so demanding over something so trivial.” she says and it’s heartfelt.

He brings a hand up to the back of her neck, pulling her head forward to join their foreheads in a loving keldabe kiss. The cold metal from his helmet causes goosebumps to rise on her skin.

Baby yoda stares at them, softly hiccuping from his latest tear session and then looks down at the remnants of his food.

He begins crying again out of hunger.

Y/N parts from the gentle embrace and unwraps her hand, the bloody cloth forgotten in her husbands grasp.

She lifts the infant back into her arms, mumbling apologies and forgiveness for the bite. He quickly calms in her arms and coos once she bounces gently.

“I wonder why anyone would order the elimination of such a strange little creature.” She says, allowing the baby to grip her finger the same way it gripped Dins earlier.

“I don’t know but something tells me he’s tougher than he looks.” He points to her hand which is slowly healing while being held by a tiny green claw.

They exchange a look of surprise and look back down at the child, clearly exhausted from the feat. It’s wrinkly head rests against her collarbone tiredly and his eyes look around all slow.

“I guess this is why the guild doesn’t ask questions.” Y/N mutters and sighs, regretting ever taking on such a demanding bounty.

The baby looks up at the table and notices the brown jar once more, reaching for it weakly.

Y/N sits back down to feed him, more than happy to finally get some food into the cranky little brat when he turns his head again.

“He’s still not eating it.” She says as she drags a hand down her face.

“Now you get what I was trying to tell you. I guess he’s not eating it because you’re trying to shove it in his mouth.” Din tries and fails to jest about the earlier argument.

“I’m not trying to shove it in his mouth, you were the one scraping the spoon against his face.” Y/N completely misses her husbands attempt at a joke because of her exhaustion.

The Mandalorians brows furrow in offense.

“I did not scrape anything against anybody’s face— look I’m not doing this again. If we can’t take care of it until the drop, we’ll just return it back to that garage.”

Her head snaps up at the mere mention of taking the child back.

“How can you say that?!” She’s horrified.

Baby yoda looks up too but seems unbothered since he doesn’t understand what’s being said.

“I’m not just saying.” He shrugs. “We could if we needed to because if we can’t keep it alive, we’re doing the exact thing we wanted to avoid in that hangar. Just slower and more inhumane.” Mando says as if he’s speaking logically.

“Din, ‘it’s’ just a little baby. We can’t just drop it off wherever and forget about this! Someone wants him dead! Someone wants to kill a little baby and you’re okay with that?”

“It’s 50 years old!” Dins exasperated and running through every possible option in his mind.

“So? It’s still a baby! You heard what the IG droid said! ‘Species age in different ways’. The least we could do is get him to the client alive and try to get an explanation.”

“We have had this thing-“ Mando begins but stops and clears his throat at the glare of his wife for referring to the child as a thing. “Baby.. for hours and it’s already exhausted us of our energy and our units.”

“The food was not that expensive. And don’t be so melodramatic. I’m not even tired!”

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes and the way your posture is leaning down. You’re beat and want to spend more time with the child before we have to turn it over because you feel guilty for taking on the bounty. You can’t fool me.” He shakes his head and steps forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not trying to-“ She feels as if she’s been caught for having feelings and looks anywhere but at him.

“Y/N, my heart, please don’t get any more attached than you already are.” He whispers out as if he’s a little disappointed.

She feels like he thinks lowly of her for having emotions. As if she’s gone ‘soft’ in the ways of bounty hunting.

Offended, she runs her hands over her face after sitting the jar of baby food on side of the table nearest to the infants crib.

Baby yoda wastes no time in sticking his hand out of his pod to reach the jar, pulling it to his lap. He shoves his hand in and then into his mouth, gorging himself on the mush.

“I’m not attached! I’m not tired, I’m not leaning down and I’m not putting him back in that trash hole just because we can’t figure out how to feed him!!” She stomps her foot in anger as she pushes Dins hand away.

It’s quiet for a split second as both Mando and the child stare at her after the explosive episode.

The couple slowly turn to the crib at the sound of suckling to see the child gleefully eating. They feel dumb for not realizing he only wanted to feed himself the entire time.

“I-I’m sorry. That wasn’t.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You’re just looking out for me-“

“It’s okay. I know.” He pulls her into his chest for a tight hug. “Let’s just close the pod and you try to get some shuteye for a couple hours.”

“It’s too dark in there and what if he can’t breathe too well when it’s shut? Are you sure I can’t just.. nap with him in our bed?” She looks up from her feet with a small smile.

“Are you kidding? It’s not even potty trained! Why do you want it in our bed?”

“It’s only for a few hours. We both need to rest. I’m sure he’s beat after crying for so long, finally eating and doing whatever he did to my hand.”

They look down at the child who licks the inside of the jar as much as he possibly can.

“Fine. Only for a few hours.”

He takes the jar and sits it on the table, bending down to start cleaning the glass and blue food littering the floor.

“But we’re only about a day away from Nevarro so don’t get too attached.” He points a finger up at her, knowing fully well his own emotional strings to the child have begun to form.

•••���•••••••••••

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[detectivejigsawpines]

One Rainy Night-Part 1 (The Prophecy)

Since this story has been so successful on AO3, I have decided to start reposting it here, for those of you who are not on that site.  To make a long story short, it’s a Gravity Falls AU set just after the Marilyn Incident, where Stan gets a chance to reunite with Ford and prevent the apocalypse thirty-five years ahead of schedule.

...Have I captured your interest yet?

Well, Vegas officially sucks.

Stanley knew, because he knew himself way too well, that sooner or later he’d probably change his mind about this, the next time things started looking up for him here.

But right now, laying in the gutter with the newly-acquired certificate of divorce in his pocket, his precious car keys (barely rescued from the greedy claws of his new ex-wife) clenched so tight in his hand they were probably breaking the skin, and a headache performing a drum solo on the inside of his skull, he hated Vegas.

And then, because the world hated Stan Pines, it started to rain.

And not just a soft, wet drizzle either, oh no, that would have been nice and merciful so of course it didn’t apply to him.  It was a full-out downpour that had him soaked through within seconds.

At least he still had his car, so he had somewhere to go to dry off.

With a groan, Stan finally sat up, and after a long moment where he waited for the tiny drummer living in his head to stop beating the cymbals he began the agonizing process of getting to his feet.

He sighed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and began the arduous walk to where his car was.

It probably should have bothered him more than it did that he wasn’t even that upset about finding out that Marilyn had just been going after his car this whole time.  But somehow, well...you got used to being abandoned and rejected, after a while.  It didn’t hurt any less when it kept happening, but after a while it stopped being a surprise.

He stopped at an intersection of two equally grimy, dirty alleyways, and frowned in thought.  He’d hidden his car down one of them when he first got to Vegas, he knew that.  Covered it with a bunch of trash, made it look less appealing to anyone who might come sniffing around-and then stupidly bragged to Marilyn about how great it was, so she’d married him and tried to persuade him to tell where he was hiding it, until he finally caught on to her little scheme and nipped it in the bud.  But right now he was still kind of hungover, so he couldn’t quite remember the right alley…

Reaching into his pocket, Stan pulled out his last quarter and flipped it.  Heads, he’d go for the one on the left.  Tails, the one on the right.

In some universes-many of them, in fact-Stan got tails.  He went in, found his car right away, changed into dry (albeit grimy) clothes, and curled up in the back and moped himself to sleep before driving off the next day, already planning out another get-rich-quick scheme.

In this one, however, the quarter turned up heads.  And Stan caught it quickly, before it could bounce away into the gutter or something, stuffing it back into his pocket, and trudged into the corresponding alley.

********

He realized soon enough that his car wasn’t down here.

Grumbling to himself, he was about to go back the way he’d come, when a voice said, “Care to learn your fortune, young man?”

Stan jumped what felt like a foot in the air, and whirled around, digging into his pockets for his brass knuckles in preparation to fend off-

A tiny old woman dressed in clothes even more ragged than his, sitting cross-legged on the ground, using half a cardboard box as a makeshift tent (that he could tell wasn’t going to last much longer if the rain kept up like this), with a deck of cards being shuffled between her bony hands.

Stan let out a relieved laugh, snorting at himself for being scared so easily, and turned away shaking his head.  Just hearing that phrase made a small coal of nostalgia burn in his gut, and he didn’t need anymore painful reminders of how much his life sucked today, thank you very much.

“I can tell you your heart’s desire.”  Somehow the old crone managed to make herself heard over the pouring rain.

This time he flat-out rolled his eyes.  “That’s what they all say, lady.”

Her next words, though, stopped him right in his tracks.  “You want your brother back.”

****

Slowly, Stan turned around and gaped at the woman.

She just looked back at him expectantly for a moment, then folded the cards and slid them up her sleeve, standing up and daintily approaching.

There were several questions Stan wanted to ask-how the [CENSORED] did she know that, who had she been talking to, what did she think she was playing at-but all that came out was a kind of strangled, “H-how-who-” before his natural defenses sprang back into place and he snarled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The woman just reached out, and before he could react cupped his cheek in one hand.

“You poor things.”  Her voice was filled with unexpected sorrow.  “You’re both so lost.”

“I’m not-and he’s not either, he’s doing just fine!”  He made it perfectly clear he doesn’t need me.

She gave a small sigh, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.  “That is what you keep telling yourselves.  You think that it’s better to hide behind your anger than admit to your pain.  But it doesn’t hide how you’ve both become broken.”  Finally she released him.  “Broken in heart, broken in soul…”  She pulled out a card, and with a quick jerk of her hands ripped it right down the middle.  “Broken in two.”

Stan wondered how she was doing this-he was no stranger to cold readings, but he didn’t see how she could possibly have figured out this much from him.  Unless she really was a psychic-and, well, he’d seen the Jersey Devil as a kid so maybe he shouldn’t rule that out entirely, as improbable as it seemed that he’d run into a genuine psychic here in a dirty alleyway in Vegas…

“You can still fix it, though,” the woman went on.  “In fact, you must.”

Stan scoffed.  “Oh, yeah?  Why?”  What was the point?

She looked straight at him.  “Otherwise the world will be destroyed because your brother will choose the wrong allies.”

...That was a way more dire prediction than even his mother had ever dared make.

“Mend your bonds before it’s too late,” she insisted, pressing the two halves of the card into his hand.  And then she stepped away, towards the other opening of the alley.

“...Geez, ya think ya could be a little more cryptic?!” Stan yelled after her.

She didn’t answer, continuing to shuffle away through the rain.

********

The pieces of card, Stan noticed as he went to the other alleyway and found his car, were the halves of a two of hearts, appropriately enough.  He thought about tossing them away, but instead he found himself putting them in the pocket of the dry jeans he changed into.  And then staring vacantly at the roof of his car for two hours, thoughts tumbling around and around in his brain helplessly.

On the one hand, fortune tellers and so-called psychics really got off on either telling suckers that all this good stuff was gonna happen to them, or giving vague, easily misinterpreted omens of doom.  On the other hand, she hadn’t asked him for money in exchange for her prediction like most of those shysters-she’d just given it.  And somehow, she’d known.  She’d known everything.

Come on, you’re not supposed ta be this naïve, he told himself in annoyance, It’s gotta be some kinda con you just haven’t figured out yet.

And yet…

It would be just like Ford to make some kind of dumb mistake and trust the wrong person because he had nothing between his ears besides science stuff, and no concept of guile whatsoever.  And wouldn’t it be better to take the risk that this lady was crazy or something if there was a chance that she was right?

With a sigh, Stan dug the quarter back out of his pocket, and put the keys in the ignition.  Time to find a pay phone.

By the time he found one that seemed to be in decent condition, it had stopped raining.  Stan dialed the number he had by now memorized, and nearly pulled the cord right out of its socket as his finger toyed with it nervously.

It rang twice, before the familiar refrain of “Hello, this is Stanford Pines” came through the receiver.

Stan’s thought processes froze.  What was he supposed to say?  Somehow, ‘hey, I’m calling because a fortune teller said you were gonna destroy the world if we don’t make up’ didn’t seem like it would cut it.  And of course his throat was locking up and he could already feel his arm preparing to put the phone back on the hook because he couldn’t take the pain of being rejected again-

“Hello?  Is someone there?”  Ford’s voice was tinted with curiosity that could turn into annoyance any second.

“Lo siento, hermano,” Stan blurted out, and then his impulsive hand finally got its way and slammed the phone back on the hook.

A second later he groaned into that same hand.

You idiot.  You finally say something, and-well, yeah, it’s an apology that he’s been deserving for a long time, but…

This is gonna be harder than I thought.

[olympivnshq]

congratulations again bee !  as usual you delivered a solid app for PENELOPE which was a pleasure to read. we love that you went further than what is shown to us in the texts, and gave her emotions further than what is shown or that we are led to assume and reasoned that out. can’t wait to see her on the dash with requested faceclaim: GEMMA ARTERTON.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ  OOC INFO.

Hi again, friends! i’m bee, 25+, she/her, and live in the EST.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ  DEITY  —  GENDER. AGE RANGE.

PENELOPE — FEMALE. 33-40.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ MORTAL NAME. JOB/OCCUPATION. BOROUGH/NEIGHBORHOOD.

calla collins. yoga instructor. manhattan – lower east side.

☆ﾟ*・ HOW WOULD YOU PLAY THEM?

The Queen of Ithaca is often likened to a hummingbird. She darts from here to there in quick succession, her excitable nature, often taken as flightiness, covering a multitude of cunning that lies just below her surface. It is not uncommon for her to change a subject mid-conversation and she has been known to speak what has just come into her mind instead of the response she had spent precious moments formulating. Her husband, her son, even the goddess Athena have been known to hide things from her to avoid bringing upset. It is both a blessing and a curse and yet, if given the option, she would not change herself.

When it comes to loyalty, however, Penelope is steadfast, the sea below the ship that holds it level, even during the greatest of storms. She alone points True North, as if she was beckoning her husband home simply by existing. Patience drives her, anchors her, keeps her sane; during the twenty years she waited for her husband to come home, not once did she crave another. Not once did she consider it. She likes to think that, if she had known he had, she might have acted differently, but deep in her soul she alone knows the truth. [ For her, it will always be Odysseus. ]

Penelope can forgive but she does not forget; she may forgive her husband his transgressions, may lave affection upon him, but she will never forget that while she fended men from their home and suitors from their bed, he was losing himself in others. The knowledge did not surprise her though it did not make it any harder to bear; she did so with as much grace as expected of a woman in her position. A dutiful wife, after all, knows her role. She should not expect fidelity, that she knows. It is silly that she had so hoped for it.

[ Even now, after lifetimes spent in the underworld, she has never so much as broached this subject. Her husband may have his secrets. Perhaps one day he will learn she has her own. ]  

It is easy to think that Penelope’s worth lies in Odysseus, that she is the shining crown he may take upon his return, and though they are intrinsically linked, blessed with life but only one child, the history books forget that she alone staved off invaders for over a decade simply by allowing them to believe they had an opportunity in marrying her. She alone wove a burial shroud by hand every single day and unwound the hard work by night, all to keep from provoking a war on her own land, on her own soil. She did so with little complaint, with a dignity that others so often lack. She kept that dignity when she was betrayed and while Telemachus did not ask her before he executed the maids who betrayed them, she did not weep for their loss the way she wept for her husband. She values loyalty, rewards it, lifts it up above most everything else. There is no room in her heart for traitors.

Penelope loves the innocent, and protects them when she can. She protected the people of Ithaca from invaders, protected her [ loyal ] maids from unwanted marriages, and protected her son from as many outside forces as possible. There is a deep sense of justice that lies within her and it is the foundation for everything she does. And justice and mercy are often two sides of the same coin.

[ No, her worth does not lie in Odysseus. But even Penelope finds it hard to remember that sometimes. ]

Calla has all of Penelope’s excitability and not nearly enough of her guile. She forgives, she forgets, and she moves on. It’s healthy, her therapist says, though sometimes she wonders just how healthy it is that she allows people in and out of her life as if it’s a revolving door, with little retribution and fewer consequences.

Calla tries to live her life with few expectations; it’s less disappointing and she’s found that the truest souls will surprise her in only the best of ways. She starts her day with a downward dog and ends it hunched over a sewing machine or a weaving loom in a walk-up studio that is so tight her work and dining table can barely fit between the loveseat and her bed.

So many around her value money, value that which money can buy them. But Calla has always thought money a fickle thing, easy to spend, difficult to gain, and only good for separating the masses.  

Raised by a single mother, many of her days had been spent with her grandmother, who taught her the beauty that could be found in creating something with her own hands. From the day she first picked up a set of knitting needles to the day she learned how to use a loom for weaving, she has been obsessed with creation. She makes most of her own clothing and when she rides the subway, there is always a knitting or embroidery project in her hands. But her true passion comes from weaving.

She has always been the sort to pursue that which she loves. Calla works to live, despite the penchant for New Yorkers to live to work. She works as a yoga instructor to make ends meet, though most afternoons can find her with a loom in front of her as she creates precious pieces of art. To date she has sold exactly two, but she does not make them so that they will. She makes them because there is joy to be found in their creation.

answer these questions: 1. would you like your character to be entering the roleplay at this stage in the plot, with or without their memories?

I would prefer it if Penelope does not yet have her memories. I think the drama is better this way.

2. are they more likely to stand with the pantheon or against it?

Penelope has no reason to stand with the pantheon; individual gods may have helped her at one time or another but the collective has not. She would give Athena her loyalty when required, as the goddess had brought great comfort to her when she was left alone.

3. what is their stand on mortals?

As she is mortal, Penelope has no problem with mortals and finds their company more pleasing than that of deities.

☆ﾟ*・ GIVE US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WRITING!

CHOOSE AT LEAST ONE OF THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS

a sample paragraph:

redacted for privacy

[alj4890]

And Then I Met You

Part 4

What happens when the one you thought you were meant for turns out to be meant for someone else? 

@walkerinfolkvangr @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject   @krsnlove @littleblossom357   @annekebbphotography  @gibbles82   @bella-ca 

 Masterlist

Part 4

A little over five weeks after arriving in Hollywood

"Not only will this give us a chance to set everything up, it will force them to spend more time together away from work." Addison explained to Holly.

"I suppose. Do you think he will agree to it though? I mean, they are both so stubborn." Holly whispered the nearer they got to the study.

"It's fool proof!" Addison took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Thomas called out.

They walked in to see him organizing the parts completed for the screenplay with Amanda's pictures and Addison's costume ideas. In the corner of the room, Amanda was typing away, only pausing to smile at them.

"Did you need something?" He asked without looking up.

"Actually, I need to borrow Amanda for a moment. I have one of the dresses nearly finished and would like some input to the final touch."

She glanced up in surprise. "Me? I trust your judgement. I'm afraid my fashion sense is subpar at most." Amanda went back to typing, thinking the conversation was over.

"Please! It is based off your imagination and I want to make sure it lives up to what you had in mind." Addison begged.

"I have learned from experience that she will not stop asking." Thomas told Amanda. "Better to go now than have endless hours of being pestered."

She chuckled and got up. "Show me what you got."

"YAY! I can't wait until you see it." Addison grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the study.

Holly waited until they were out of ear shot to enact stage two of the plan. She cleared her throat and waited for Thomas to look up.

"Yes?"

"What are your plans this evening?" She asked, while pretending to scroll on her tablet.

"Plans? I have no plans other than work." He muttered.

When she remained silent, he threw down his pen and gave her his full attention. "Why? Is there something I am supposed to be doing?"

"Yes. Ryan Summers is throwing a party at an old warehouse that holds all that old movie memorabilia you love." She stopped scrolling and looked up, judging his expression.

"And?"

"And I think you need to attend. You are considering casting him in the role of Arthur. Not only that, but you might spot your Reginald and Elizabeth there. Seeing them in an unscripted environment will reveal how much chemistry they all have." Holly argued.

He frowned as he debated whether or not he should attend. Holly stood calmly before him, waiting on his answer. He let out a beleaguered sigh. "Fine. What time is the gathering?"

"Eight o'clock." Holly promptly answered. She turned to leave and stopped.

"Is there a problem?" Thomas growled, wanting to focus on his work.

"Not a problem, just a thought. I think Amanda should go with you. These are her characters after all. I believe her input would be invaluable." Holly faced him with what she hoped was an expression without guile.

He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. "You are only considering Ryan because you heard her say that he was the one she thought of when writing the character." She reminded him.

He nodded stiffly. "Very well, I will see if she is willing to go."

"Good." Holly began to walk out again and stopped. Thomas ran an agitated hand down his face. "What?" He bit out.

"I just remembered that I booked reservations to take her to Tao tonight. I completely forgot and promised to help Addison with that costume. She needs to complete it if she is going to start on some of the other costumes." Her brow puckered as she pretended to debate on what to do.

Thomas covered his face with his hands and counted to twenty. He reminded himself that Holly was an excellent assistant and she was a friend. She was annoying the hell out of him at the moment with these sudden plans, but he could deal with it.

"Help Addison. Amanda will understand." His muffled response came from behind his hands.

"I know she will. I hate canceling on her at the last minute. She's been so excited about it. I think she was hoping to get out of the house for the night." Holly hoped that would end up being the case.

Thomas stood up and shoved his chair out of the way. "And I suppose you will tell me no other night will do?"

"Well, it is a difficult reservation to make this time of year." Holly took a cautious step back when he glared at her.

"What time is the reservation?"

"Six."

"Then I will take her on the way to the party. Will that solve everything or do you have some other forgotten plan?" He raised his eyebrows in disbelief as she actually checked her tablet.

"Nope! That will do it. Thanks boss." She saluted him and quickly left. 

_____________________________

"It will really help us if you can keep Thomas distracted at the restaurant. There are a few things left we have to set up." Addison told Amanda. "His birthday was before you arrived and he hates a fuss. But, we came up with the best surprise ever. Scheduling it this many weeks after give us the ultimate element of surprise."

Amanda laughed at her excitement and puppy dog eyes. "Of course I will help. That is some dedicated party planning skills you both have."

Holly walked in on that last bit. "We aim to please. Plus, he gives amazingly thoughtful gifts for birthdays."

"I still tear up when I see my desk." Addison said, sniffing a little.

"Desk?" Amanda asked.

"He once asked me where my love of designing costumes came from. I told him about this desk my art teacher in elementary school set in a corner for me to use whenever I had a free moment. It was decorated with Lisa Frank stickers and every color I loved. And the glitter. It was everywhere." She laughed and then let out a sigh. "He found my art teacher and discovered she had kept my desk as it was. He had it shipped to my home as a reminder of where my passion originated."

"That is so sweet." Amanda said softly.

Holly nodded. "He does stuff like that for Christmas too. He never goes for the conventional stuff."

"Well, I will definitely help with this surprise. Just tell me what I need to do.

Addison and Holly beamed as they told her the plans. "Now remember, he thinks you and I were supposed to have dinner and that it is Ryan's party you are attending."

"Got it." Amanda stood up, "I'm going to finish up what I was typing and then get ready for the evening."

"We did it!" Addison squealed once she was gone. "I wonder if the sparks will keep flying."

__________________________

Thomas placed his hand on the small of Amanda's back as he led her into Tao. She paused and took in the shadowed ambiance with decoative lamps and candles flickering at each table. The Asian decor was prominent with the Buddha statues placed throughout. They were seated on the second tier of the restaurant and had a clear view of the entire place.

Amanda thanked the hostess and took the menu. Her attention wandered to taking in the sights before her. She looked up and caught Thomas staring at her. He quickly lowered his eyes to his menu.

He opened his mouth to only close it when their waiter came by. After he left to retrieve their drinks, Thomas asked her about her life back in Cordonia.

A teasing glint came in her eyes, "Haven't I bored you enough with all my stories these past few weeks?"

He chuckled. "This time I can actually listen without Addison's interruptions."

She shook her head with a smile and answered his questions. Over dessert, he brought up the pictures he had seen of the wedding at her home. "That was one of your friends, wasn't it? Maxwell, I think."

She paused a moment and nodded. If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he would have missed it.

"Yes. It was his wedding." She took a sip of water. "He met his Nadia and after a brief courtship, they decided to get married.

"You must be very close to him." Thomas noticed a sadness come over her.

"Yes. I suppose I am." She turned her head and looked out over the restaurant.

"You must miss seeing them."

"I do sometimes." A smile flirted about her lips. "I've been so busy with you though, that I haven't had much time to think about it.

"Is that a good thing?"

"It is." She picked at the cake on her plate. "I needed this."

"Cake?" Her laugh at his teasing made him smile.

"No, though it doesn't hurt." She sobered. "Working with you. Getting away from Cordonia for a while. I didn't even realize I needed a change."

His dark chocolate brown eyes studied her face. "Why did you need a change?"

She froze a moment and let out a sigh. "I needed to get my mind off of some things." She bit down on her lip as she debated on whether or not to tell him. He sat there patiently and eventually reached across the table. He covered her hand with his.

"You don't have to explain." He said softly.

"No it's fine. I...I once thought Maxwell was the one I was meant to be with." She paused when his thumb moved over her knuckles. "When I saw him with Nadia, well, there was no one else more perfect for him."

He glanced down at their hands when she slipped her fingers through his. He continued to move his thumb over her knuckles. "You hosted his wedding to another woman despite how you felt."

She gave a slight shrug. "He's my best friend. It would have hurt him if he had known how I felt. He is very tenderhearted and would have most likely eloped to keep from causing me pain. They were able to have their dream wedding and I was able to say goodbye to my imagined future."

He couldn't believe the selflessness in such an act. "Do you still have feelings for him?" He didn't know why, but he dreaded her answer and almost took the question back.

She met his eyes and slowly shook her head. "I don't think I do. I made a conscious choice to bury those feelings when they became engaged. I haven't really felt those twinges in my heart whenever I talk to him like I once did." She gave a small smile. "Perhaps my feelings for him were not as strong as I once thought."

Thomas relaxed some with her answer. He opened his mouth to only be interrupted by a lady rushing up to their table. "Are you Thomas Hunt?" She asked in an excited voice. A man, that was clearly her embarrassed husband, came up behind her.

"Yes, he is." Amanda said, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face.

"May I have your autograph? Your movie, Semblance, is one I know by heart! Casting Chris Winters and Shannon Wright as the two lovers was perfect!" She let out a soft sigh.

Thomas thanked her and handed her pen and paper back to her. "Why don't I take a picture for you with him? This way you will always remember this night." Amanda said, ignoring the glare he sent her.

The woman handed over her phone and yanked her unwilling husband in the picture. Thomas stood next to them and forced a pleasant look on his face. Amanda winked at him and snapped a few pictures. The couple thanked them and left.

Amanda started laughing the moment they were gone. "Your face!" She was able to get out between snorts.

He folded his arms and waited for her to calm down. "You had to mention a photo."

She nodded while giggling. "I'm not even sorry." His deadpan expression made her laugh harder.

He shook his head and stood up. He came up behind her to assist in pulling her chair back. He held her jacket up and waited as she slipped her arms in. She thanked him and linked her arm with his as they walked outside. "Come on, you know you are a little flattered by such attention." 

"A little." He admitted. 

_____________________________________

Thomas was speechless when he realized the party was for him. While people surrounded him, Amanda moved away and watched from afar. She leaned against a wall and grinned when Addison threw her arms around him when he thanked her and Holly.

As people began to mingle, Thomas searched the room for her. He stood with a few of the guests and tried to see who she was talking to.

"What do you think Thomas?" Ryan asked.

"Hmm? Sorry, about what?"

Holly looked at him in surprise. "About where you will shoot the movie."

Thomas finally spotted Amanda on her own looking at one of the exhibits. "Yes, I suppose the character would feel that."

"What?" Holly asked.

He walked away without responding. Ryan stood there in surprise while Holly's jaw dropped. She ran over to Addison to tell her the whole story.

"No! He really didn't answer the question?" She asked, bubbling with excitement.

"Yes! And he left without another word!"

They both turned to observe the two they were trying to get together. Thomas was pointing out something in one of the display cases and was giving some sort of explanation. Amanda smiled and said something that caused him to laugh. When she moved on to another exhibit, he followed her.

The rest of the night seemed to go in that same pattern. Addison drug Matt and Ryan in on keeping tabs on the couple. The four of them watched as Thomas seemed to leave a conversation if he saw Amanda on her own or near someone that had a questionable reputation. At one point, the model from the afterparty blocked his path and placed her hands on his chest. 

“I was hoping to catch you alone.” She purred.

He did not even attempt to mask his annoyance. “Didn’t you arrive with Tommy Phelps? I think you should stick by his side.”

“No need to be jealous. He is nowhere near the same caliber director as you are.” She moved closer to him. He took her wrists and gently but firmly pushed her away. “Don't mistake a question as jealousy. Now, if you will excuse me.”

She stared at his back in shock that he left her. Thomas walked over to where some tables and chairs were set up. He scanned the area and saw Amanda sitting by herself. She had a peaceful expression with a touch of humor on her face as she observed the party. She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when he sat down beside her.

“How are you enjoying your party?” She asked once her heart had calmed down.

“It is actually more pleasant than I would have thought.” He studied her for a few moments. “Why are you sitting here by yourself?”

Her cheeks began to color. “I like to mingle then get off by myself and observe. So often first impressions are false. I like to see how people interact with others to decide on whether or not I wish to move from being an acquaintance to a friend and so forth.” She traced the ring of condensation her drink left on the table. “I suppose that sounds rather silly or conceited on my part. I’ve learned through my experiences at court that one’s time is too precious to waste on the wrong people.”

Thomas looked out over the guests. Some had their false smiles and personas firmly in place while others genuinely had their hearts on their sleeves. He thought of all the people he had wasted time on to only find out that they were not worth another second of his. He then thought of those he wanted to spend time with. At the moment, there was one that topped that list and had for a while now. He let his gaze rest on the one and took in her serene expression as she watched, with a hint of a smile, those that fascinated most people. He couldn’t think of anyone in this room he found more interesting than Amanda.

He leaned over and asked if she was ready to leave. She nodded and they found Holly and Addison. Thomas thanked them again and ushered Amanda outside. The two instigators watched them leave and grinned when Thomas placed his hand on her back as they walked to the waiting car. 

When they got home, Thomas walked with her upstairs. He paused outside her bedroom. “Thank you for your part in keeping me from knowing about the party.”

Amanda chuckled. “It was the least I could do since I did not have you a birthday present.” He scoffed and said there was no reason for such a thing to be done.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Happy Birthday Thomas.” She whispered in his ear. She opened up her door and went inside.

He froze and stared at her closed door. He snapped out of the line of thoughts her kiss caused and went to his own room.

[saocaptivebehindglass]

SAO: Captive Behind Glass

Once again, Asuna was a captive.   First, she had been trapped in the death game of Sword Art Online for two years. Second, she had been transferred to Alfheim Online and imprisoned within a cage at the top of the World Tree by Nobuyuki Sugou, a corrupt executive in her father's company who wanted to force her to marry him. This time was different.   Before, she could work toward freeing herself.   She became one of the strongest players in SAO and the Vice Commander of its premiere guild so that she could go home again.  With all of her fighting abilities sealed away in ALO, she had used stealth and guile to almost escape by herself.  Even in failing, she had helped Kirito come to her rescue, which he couldn't have managed otherwise, save perhaps with the intervention of Kayaba's digital ghost. But this wasn't the virtual world.  Everything was terrifyingly real, and now she was completely powerless to save herself. She had been kidnapped.  She couldn't quite remember how it had happened, only that she must have been drugged.  That was bad enough, but then her captor revealed to her that magic wasn't just limited to the fantastic realms of Aincrad and Alfheim. She hadn't believed it, not at first, and tried to force her way past him to freedom.  But he raised a hand, said some strange words, and she suddenly felt her strength fading away. And somehow, her kidnapper was starting to look a lot bigger... "Or am I… shrinking? It can't be!" But unfortunately for Asuna, it was. As her strength faded and her size dwindled, her legs buckled despite any effort to stay on her feet. As she slumped down, Asuna caught a glimpse of her hands turning very pale as her body appeared to freeze and soon take on a new texture, making it seem like porcelain. If that didn't alarm her enough, the sight of joints forming in her fingers certainly shocked her. She screamed, but soon found that her face was being pulled by an unseen force into a smile. She tried to resist it, but found her voice silenced before her face froze. Her clothes, Asuna noticed, had shrunk with her thankfully. But at the change in what her kidnapper was chanting, they began to shift, stretch and change. Her jacket started to turn a red colour as it fused with the shirt she'd been wearing underneath, and her skirt. She started to recognise her new outfit as a dress as it finished forming. It was conservative in its cut, stretching down to her ankles, but it went overboard on its ostentation, with lacy white trim against red finery delicately embroidered with intricate patterns.  The dress billowed outward around her body, supported by a tiny corset and bustle, harkening back to Europe's old Victorian style, and was further decorated by several satin ribbons. Her shoes were plain by comparison, black and with only slightly raised heels, yet they were made of authentic leather.  Only a hint of her stockings could be seen between the hem of her dress and her shoes, yet they were no less detailed for being out of sight.  Even her panties had lace patterns!  He also accessorized her outfit with white fingerless evening gloves, a big (obviously a relative term) matching bow tying her braids together in the back, and a fancy umbrella placed in her hands and resting upon her shoulders.  He then crowned her with a tiara, making her seem like a princess.  The only accessory that brought her any comfort was her necklace, shaped as a cross, the symbol her guild, the Knights of the Blood Oath had used back in Sword Art Online.   From what Asuna could see of the new outfit, she thought it looked ridiculous. She brought her hands up to her face to attempt to make sense of what had happened to her. She couldn't move her face anymore and soon, the pieces began to fall into place in her mind. "A doll?!" She thought. But Asuna had no time to contemplate on the fact that her kidnapper had turned her into a living doll, she had to get out of this place. Sluggishly, Asuna tried to get to her feet but her movements felt... off. She managed to get to her feet, and walk a small distance but her balance was definitely off. She soon tripped, but ended up falling into the hand of her captor. As the man lifted her up, he pinned Asuna's arms to her sides. "You turned out very well." He commented, taking her over to a nearby table. He moved her hair out of the way, and opened up her dress with the zipper in the back. Asuna struggled, but found a new, strange feeling on her neck as he drew an arcane symbol on the base of her neck before she felt any control over her own body slip away. He placed her down on the table, in front of a small mirror. Asuna could see the forced smile plastered on her face, and the blush spots painted on her cheeks. Despite all the changes, her hair still seemed like it was real. She wasn't happy with this at all!  She wanted to be with Kazuto, not this… freak. Her captor's tastes seemed to be a strange combination of the old and the new.   While she was wearing a fancy dress, and there were a handful of dolls nearby her with similarly styled but less elaborate attire, others wore outfits like bikinis or the costumes of anime characters.  She could also look out into his room through the glass of the case that he kept her in, and saw that it was also decorated by several wall scrolls, like a typical otaku's room.   But given the terrible power that he had, she wouldn't have been surprised if a number of the figures and dolls in the room, and perhaps even some of the posters and wall scrolls, had once been real girls like her.  No, she was certain of it.  But try as she might, she couldn't talk to any of them, and it seemed that none of them could speak to her.  Neither did they have a means of nonverbal communication, for none of them could make any expressions other than the ones they had been given, and notions of using some sort of telepathy were pure fantasy. He said that she was the pride of his collection.  He had admired her for so long from afar, even back in the days when they were both trapped in Sword Art Online.  But she would never be his, not as a girl anyway, and so he had settled for having her as a doll.  Besides, it was good to have her brought down a peg from when she was the Vice-Commander of the Knights of the Blood Oath and to know that she couldn't ever leave him. And wasn't she so pretty now? It was all thanks to a strange book on the occult that he had found after getting out of SAO.  Yes, some of his other collectibles had been once real girls who had caught his eye and also spurned his advances, and he even introduced Asuna to them.  Yet though they had come before her, they had been but tests so that he could perfect the spells for her, and now they were afterthoughts next to the attention he lavished on Asuna.  His captives, including Asuna, were well-hidden in plain sight among hundreds figures and numerous scrolls that covered every inch of available wall space. It made her feel sick.  But she could only wait and have faith that Kazuto would find and save her one day, as he always had. The days passed by in a blur, an endless tedium broken only when her owner opened the display case to adjust her pose or change her clothes, sometimes snapping pictures of her for scrapbooking or future reference, or more horrifyingly, when he added new girls to his collection.  She wanted to cry out and help them, but she was incapable of doing so from her perch behind glass and with her doll's body.  Just like her, they would become seemingly lifeless dolls or figures with bright smiles on their faces, or else they'd be made to assume really embarrassing poses before being converted into dye upon cloth, usually with some sort of background added in.  Yet they were mere amusements to him, and she remained his clear favorite.  Thankfully, the frequency of his "acquisitions" also seemed to drop off with time. Asuna could see a calendar on the wall across from her.  First it was a month, then six, then a year, then two years.  At that point, he smugly told her that the authorities had stopped looking for her and that Kirito clearly didn't care enough about her to find her.  But she wouldn't have to worry: he'd always take care of her. Soon, Asuna wasn't sure how long she had been there.  The calendar said it was 2032, but she couldn't remember when she had first joined the collection.  She was still in mint condition, free of dust and with not even a scratch on her paint job, thanks to her owner's diligent care.  It was a simple existence that demanded nothing from her, unlike the stress of running a guild or cramming for exams, yet a fulfilling one that filled her with the knowledge that she was appreciated, and she had come to love wearing her dress.  Its every stitch was testament to how much her owner loved her, and she took pride in the fact that she remained his favorite doll. Though they only arrived rarely now, the new dolls seemed frightened before assuming their forms for display, but  their smiles afterward assured Asuna that they would eventually come to find happiness as she had.  She wished that she could talk to them though and tell them that everything would be all right.  She could really use a good conversation too, but she never got one, and thus any words from her owner, especially those about the state of the outside world, were precious.  But most of the time he just told her how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to own her, and that was no less gratifying even with its repetition. Yet something nagged at the back of her mind.  There was something, no someone important that she had forgotten.  He was a black-haired swordsman who she had met in her past life.  What was his name?  Kaz… Kiri…?  It was muddled in her mind, yet the brief time she had spent with him was something that she would always treasure.   She wished that she could see the swordsman at least one more time, so that her memories of their time together could come rushing back to her.  Perhaps she even go off on another adventure with him… even if that adventure was simply to join his collection instead.  In spite of how well she was treated here, she knew that the black-haired swordsman was her rightful owner, and that her glass case was like a gilded cage.  That seemed vaguely familiar as well, a cage somewhere among the trees and the sky… And he had come for her then, hadn't he?  So a part of her stubbornly held onto her faith, and would do so no matter how long it took her first and truest love. And then one day her owner did something outside of his usual routine, taking her down from her shelf.  He didn't seem to have a new outfit that he wanted her to wear, for he kept her in the red dress, and Asuna felt anxiety creeping over her.  What was going on? "It's your big day, Asuna," he said with a smile. "Today I finally get to show you off, along with the other highlights of my collection." He seemed to have a case prepared for her, with foam cut to her shape inside, and set her down so that it acted as a cushion around her.  Asuna felt a little reassured by his gentle words, and the foam ensured that she wouldn't break in transit, but she couldn't entirely shake the feeling of uncertainty.  Was he showing her off so that he could sell her to another collector?  He wouldn't do that!  Would he? But then the case closed, and Asuna was left in complete darkness.   Asuna felt herself panicking a bit.  The foam was snug enough around her and not at all uncomfortable, and she knew that she couldn't suffocate in the case; she didn't breathe in the first place as a doll.  Yet claustrophobia had quickly set in all the same.  Maybe it was because dolls existed to be where people could see them, either playing with them or appreciating them on display.  Thus, being hidden away like this was a terror to her. She felt the case being picked up, and soon she was on her way… to wherever her owner was taking her. -------------------- For Kirigaya Kazuto, the last five years had been a nightmare. Yuuki Asuna, his girlfriend and wife within the virtual world, who had been his partner since the death game of Sword Art Online, had vanished without a trace in 2027.  They had both been in college and had been talking of moving in together and getting officially married to each other in the real world soon.  But someone had abducted her while she was on her way to the campus one morning, and the realization of this had been like a knife through Kazuto's heart.  No ransom demands were made, and he grew even more worried.  Asuna was incredibly beautiful, and unfortunately Japan had plenty of perverts.  Had they kidnapped Asuna just so they could rape her, just as the despicable and now disgraced Nobuyuki Sugou had once attempted in the virtual world? Since he was one of the closest people to her, he had naturally been questioned about her disappearance, but no further action was taken because there was no evidence to link him to any crime.  Asuna's mother still seemed to blame him somehow, even if she knew that he hadn't actually been responsible.  Yuuki Kyouko had never been particularly fond of him, looking down upon him as being "beneath" her daughter in spite of the everlasting bond that they had forged together.  She would have much preferred that her daughter marry some well-off businessman or a young heir.  It was the sort of thinking that had once led to Asuna being betrothed to Sugou, though Kyouko still contended that the match had been her husband Shouzou's idea and that she hadn't liked Sugou.  He had a feeling the two of them would never be able to see eye-to-eye. Two years after Asuna's disappearance, she had been declared legally dead. But Kazuto refused to believe it.  Asuna was strong, and she would survive.  And he would find her one day. Indeed, finding Asuna became his obsession to the detriment of all else.  He didn't sleep well anymore, and he would run himself ragged poring over any leads he could find.  His hair became wild from a lack of care, and his grades slipped, though he had enough natural brilliance with computers that he was still able to find enough part-time work to support himself while he worked on upgrading the capabilities of his A.I. daughter, Yui, who used her ability to sift through information at speeds impossible for a human to help him in his search for Asuna.  Suguha and the others were really worried about him, yet thankfully they had the decency not to make advances on him once they realized he would never be over Asuna.   Then one day in 2032, Kazuto heard the words he had long dreamed of. "Daddy!  I've found Mommy!" Yui shouted, waving him over to the computer terminal she was connected to.  His daughter still didn't have a body of her own, but she could navigate a simulated facsimile of the room based on camera feeds, and he now wore one of the first Neuro Linker models around his neck, projecting her image into his mind as if she were really there.  Invented within just the last year, it operated on similar principles to the NERV Gear and AmuSphere but it had considerably greater processing power and utilized a low-power quantum connection with the user's brain.  Unlike the devices that had preceded it, which were strictly for gaming, one could be fully awake while using a Neuro Linker, which allowed it to provide for Augmented Reality.  Not only did this let him experience Yui in his room, but it also functioned as a personal computer in which applications could be opened, closed, and used through thought, though it retained full dive capabilities.  It was a miraculous piece of technology, and he suspected that someone may have stolen some of his ideas to make it, but he couldn't bring himself to care with Asuna missing. Kazuto ran over to his daughter and her computer screen.  She still had the same child-like appearance as always, though recently she had begun to consider gradually updating her appearance so that she could "grow up" like any other couple's daughter.   "Where is she?" Kazuto asked anxiously. "Here, at the convention center," Yui replied, effortlessly bringing up a picture through her connection to the terminal. "Huh?"  Kazuto didn't see Asuna.   He saw someone's collection of dolls standing on a table.   "Yui, I think you've made some sort of mistake." "No, I'm certain of it, Daddy.  Look closer."  She magnified the image, zooming in on one of the dolls, one wearing a fancy red dress, a tiara and a white ribbon in its hair, and holding an tiny umbrella again its shoulder.  "Her face is the same as Mommy's, within a certainty of 95%."  Yui brought up several more pictures from different angles.  "Adding these to my analysis drives my certainty up to nearly 99.7%.   Her hair color is identical, and the style is similar - notice the braids on the sides of her head.  And this doll's name is even Asuna." Kazuto felt his mind spinning.   Was this just like the start of his journey into ALO, a picture leading him to Asuna?  But how could that really be Asuna?  It had to just be a doll based on her appearance.  But it was the best lead they had found in a while, and in his gut he knew it couldn't be a coincidence.  Someone couldn't have made such a doll without having plenty of references to Asuna's appearance on hand… or maybe, just maybe Asuna captive herself. "When and were were these pictures taken?" "Just a few minutes ago, in a convention center here in Tokyo, Daddy.   I'll search for the address for you."  Bringing up a search engine on her terminal, it only took moments for Yui to find the information.   "Thanks, Yui.  I'll check it out right away.  I owe Asuna that much if there's any chance that this could help me find her again." "Bring Mommy back soon, Daddy!" --------------------------------- The convention center was packed with people.  It had been a long time since Kazuto had been around so many people, in the real or virtual worlds, and he keenly felt his old awkwardness once again.  Otaku of all stripes were showing off their collections, and while he would have liked to check out the more technological exhibits, he was on a mission to find a very particular doll collection. And finally, he did. ------------ Asuna found it exhilarating to have so many people around admiring her, or even just going about their business, talking about various things.  The simple pleasure of being around people other than her owner was one she had been long starved of.  Yet the crowds also encouraged her rebellious thoughts.  Perhaps the black-haired swordsman, her true owner, would be among them and would come to see her. And then, she saw him!  He had come for her after all!  Even after five years, he was instantly recognizable to her, even if his hair was messier than she remembered it.  Seeing him also jogged her memory somewhat.  His name was Kirito! She was desperate to reach out to him, despite the fact that she had never been able to communicate with anyone since becoming a doll.  "Kirito-sama!  It's me, Asuna!  I'm down here!"  Maybe it was her sheer determination, or maybe it was her ability to easily empathize with Kirito given how well she knew him, but this time she actually got a response.  His head turned so that he was looking right at her, his eyes widened, and she heard another voice in her own mind. "Asuna?". ------- Kazuto clearly heard Asuna's voice, and, through his Neuro Linker, Yui heard it too ("Mommy!").  But when he turned toward the source of the voice, all he saw was the doll that Yui had pointed out to him.  But how could it have spoken?  Was it really Asuna after all?  Was this some kind of telepathy?  What was going on? "Yes, Kirito-sama, it's me, Asuna.  It's been so long since I've seen you, but I knew that you'd come for me one day." "Wait… Kirito-sama?  When did you start calling me that?  And how can you be a doll?  Please tell me that I'm not going crazy." Kazuto sensed an edge as sharp as steel pressing against his mind.   "That's mean, Kirito-sama.  You're my only true owner, so of course you deserve that honorific.  Though I suppose it's a long story as to how I got like this…  To make it short, magic.  Is that so hard to believe? We're already talking telepathically.  I can't speak on my own as a doll, so even this conversation with you is a miracle.  It's been years since I've been able to talk to anyone!" Kazuto supposed that made sense, and he was glad that some of Asuna's fierce personality remained, although the years of isolation had clearly gotten to her, muddling her memories and making her view herself as his doll rather than his wife.  Well, hopefully with time the independent Asuna who was his equal would return.  But first he had to figure out how he could help her get back to normal. "Okay, Asuna.  I believe you, and I promise you'll be back to your old self soon.  What do I need to - " "Can I help you?" the man displaying the doll collection asked, breaking Kazuto's concentration. "Oh - I was… just admiring your collection," Kazuto fumbled, while trying to see if he could somehow keep talking to Asuna.  He could still hear her voice in his mind, but he was having trouble reaching out to her now.  After all, it was nearly impossible to hold two coherent conversations at the same time.   "Ah, yes."  He beckoned down to Asuna.  "This doll is the pride of my collection.  Doubtlessly she's the one that caught your eye." "He's the one who stole me from you," Asuna continued, a venom that she had almost forgotten entering her tone.   "Does the doll have a name?" Kazuto asked, trying to sound natural. "Of course.  This one is named Asuna."  He paused.  "Do I know you from somewhere?" "Be careful, Daddy!" Yui chimed in through the Neuro Linker.  "He's getting suspicious!  Could he be another SAO survivor?" "He is," Asuna confirmed.   "I know, Yui, and thank you, Asuna" Kazuto thought back.  Returning his attention to Asuna's captor, he truthfully replied, "I can't say that I recall your face."  Trying to change the topic, he continued, "Would you be willing to sell Asuna?" It would surely be expensive, but if he could get Asuna away from him without any confrontation that would be all the better, especially in such a crowed convention center. "Sorry, but she's not for sale.  Asuna means too much to me.  Now maybe one of the others..." "Find out where he lives, and come for me." Asuna whispered into his mind.  "All you have to do is steal me back, Kirito-sama.  You've done that before, haven't you?" "I'll think about that then.  How may I contact you?" The collector handed him his card, complete with an e-mail address.   Bingo!  Kazuto could see that Asuna's captor was wearing a Neuro Linker as well, so all he would have to do is send an e-mail inquiring about the rest of the collection and attach a computer virus to it.  Once his foe's Neuro Linker was compromised, he could learn everything that he needed to know to rescue Asuna and he'd be able to confuse her captor's senses as well.   "Thank you," Kazuto replied, before turning to leave.  It would do him no good to further rouse suspicion here.   "I'll be back for you soon, Asuna." "I know." --------------------------------- "All too easy."  People just didn't learn, did they, even when the Neuro Linker had made it more important than ever to be vigilant in the security of one's computer, as it interfaced directly with one's brain. If you were a good enough hacker, you could even read the target's memories via the neurolinker.  Finding a particular memory wasn't easy, since they weren't organized quite like files were, and there would necessarily be a bit of fuzziness in the recall, but Kazuto had extensively studied the brain as part of his interest in VR technology, so he was sure that he could do it.   So what exactly was he up against?  To answer that question, he needed to know exactly how the man had abducted and transformed Asuna.  He figured that the best way to accomplish this would be to induce the stimulus of Asuna's appearance before her transformation, so that her captor would naturally recall the relevant memories.   And then he had them, the mental images triggered in the man's mind, which were relayed to Kazuto's own Neuro Linker, allowing him to experience them as if they were firsthand.   There were flashes of Asuna within Aincrad, of the man lecherously watching her from afar.  Of the man discovering his powers and testing them on other girls, just as practice for Asuna.   A flash of how he approached Asuna one day as she was leaving from class and hypnotized her into following him.  And he saw the man cast his fateful spells upon her, shrinking her and then drawing a mark that robbed her of mobility.  From there, the man put Asuna in a fancy dress and then on display on his shelf, where she stayed for five years. Kazuto could barely contain his rage, but he had to remain focused on what he was seeing so that he could formulate a plan. And then Kazuto saw another memory, one that was far more recent.  The man seemed to have decided that Asuna needed some friends to accompany her on his shelf, and he didn't mean just any friends like the other girls he had transformed over the years.  He had his eyes on Asuna's friends - Rika and Shino.  Sure, they now were "older" than Asuna, but they were both beautiful in their own right, and the man thought that it would be fun to dress them up in frilly outfits too, especially Shino. Now Kazuto's rage boiled over.  What the man had done to Asuna was already unforgivable, and now the villain planned to kidnap his friends too? And what sort of sick joke was it that it always seemed like there was some sort of stalker after them?   If the man's thoughts were any indication, Shino was his preferred target.  He'd approach her like he had Asuna, hypnotize her, and then lead her back to his apartment, where he'd transform her into his newest doll.  But as tempting as it was just to break into the man's apartment, immediately retrieve Asuna, and ambush him when he arrived with his would-be victim, Kazuto knew he couldn't do that.  Firstly, he couldn't let any of his friends be subjected to the man's control in good conscience if it was within his power to prevent it.  Secondly, it would be all too easy for the man to transform him there if the advantage of surprise was lost, and while that could reunite him with Asuna, it certainly an outcome to be avoided.  Lastly, there was the issue of what would happen to the man in the aftermath.  If he was allowed to go free, he would just keep transforming more young women… it wasn't as if the courts recognized "involuntary transformation" as a crime.  And if Kazuto broke into his apartment or killed him, Kazuto would find himself locked up for his own crimes and wouldn't be able to be with Asuna again.   So the solution was to catch the man in the act of trying to kidnap Shino - that was recognized as a real crime after all.  Once that was accomplished, retrieving Asuna from the man's apartment would be simple. Given how recent the memory was, he had to assume that the man would be going after Shino very soon.  As he hurried to where he could expect to find Shino, he could only hope that he wasn't too late to save her. --------------------------------------- "All too easy,"  the man thought.  Asada Shino stood before him, a distant look in her eyes, under his thrall, at least for now.  For an officer in training, she wasn't that tough.  The mind could be such a fragile thing, even if one gained a measure of inner strength over the years.  Sure, she had put up some mental resistance, but it was just a matter of finding the flaws in her resolve, punching holes in them, and then filling them in with pleasant visions that would pacify her.  She would see him as someone she trusted now, so that if he were to politely ask her to follow him, she would not object.   And then she would be his as a cute doll, right next to Asuna with a nice smile on her face. It had also been too easy to approach Shino as she left from work.  It was relatively late, and while the city was always busy, it was less so at this hour.  To any onlooker, he was probably just an acquaintance of hers who had paused to talk, and then they would leave together. Surely, there could be nothing suspicious about that.  Even when Shino was found to be missing, the chances of witnesses testimony leading back to him was slim at best.  Besides, he liked to change his attire regularly, and also varied his hairstyle or wore wigs while acquiring his new dolls, so even if people did report seeing someone talking to young women before their disappearances, the police wouldn't have a consistent description for the subject. Of course, if someone was to get too nosy, they'd notice Shino's stupor, and that would be suspicious.  But people were always in a hurry, so few would pause for a closer look. Yet… someone was getting closer right now, hurrying toward him with undeniable purpose.  How had he messed up?  Was it an acquaintance of Shino's, come to meet with her unbeknownst to him, who was alarmed at seeing her with a stranger?   No… this wasn't a coincidence.  The would-be meddler was familiar to him.   He had seen the black-haired man at the convention, where he had showed off Asuna like she was any other doll proudly in his collection.  And then it clicked.  The man was Kirito, Asuna's boyfriend!  Kirito would have recognized her anywhere.  How had he been so careless not to realize the black-haired man's identity before?  And Kirito was Shino's friend as well.  He didn't know how Kirito had pieced together that Shino was his next target, but that wasn't important right now… stopping Kirito was. Other eyes were already being drawn to Kirito's motion, and then he shouted "Shino!".  Now Kirito had really made a scene, and Shino blinked next to him, a sign that his hold over her was wavering.  He'd certainly lose control over her if he had to hypnotize the whole crowd.  Could he even manage to do it for so many people at once?  Even if he could, the strength of his suggestions would certainly be diffused among them. That was not a viable strategy, especially when Kirito was nearly upon him. No, he'd have to flee with Shino while he could still control her, and then he could fight back against Kirito when there were fewer people around.   Once it was just the two of them, he could turn Kirito into a doll as well… and then smash him into pieces.  He wasn't interested in collecting male dolls, and he was feeling rather vindictive after Kirito had ruined what should have been an easy acquisition.  And so he grabbed Shino by the arm, and began forcibly dragging her along with him. But then, a shadow loomed over him from behind.  Turning around, he saw a giant, black-haired girl, who seemed to be getting bigger by the moment.  Or was he shrinking?  It was utterly absurd, but he found himself rooted to the spot. "You're going to pay for what you did to Mommy," the black-haired girl said as she reached down toward him with a now-massive hand.   He was powerless to resist.  Was this how his dolls felt after he transformed them?  All he could do was scream. He didn't even notice that Shino had woken fully from her trance, and he only felt himself getting bludgeoned in the back of the head by her bag before losing consciousness. ---------------------------- It wasn't long before the raving lunatic and would-be kidnapper was taken away by the police. Shino, of course, had to make a statement, stating that the man had indeed tried to kidnap her, but Kazuto had apparently slipped away in the aftermath of the incident.  Wasn't he going to tell her what was going on?  It was infuriating! Finally, she was free to go, and soon thereafter she received a call from Kazuto, asking to meet with her.  It was about time! Kazuto was there to greet her when she arrived at his residence.  There was a look of relief on his face that she hadn't seen in years.   "Please, come in." She nodded, and stepped inside. "I believe I owe you an explanation, Shino." "You've got that right." "Firstly, this all has to do with Asuna." There it was again.  Kazuto had never been able to get beyond the grim truth that Asuna had been kidnapped and likely murdered.  But seeing that he had saved her tonight, and for old times' sake, she felt compelled to listen to him. "I'm listening." "The man who tried to kidnap you tonight was the same man who kidnapped Asuna five years ago." "How do you know that?" "It's a long story… you'd think I was crazy if I didn't have proof with me. But I do."  With that, he picked up an exquisite porcelain doll with strawberry-blonde hair and a gorgeous red dress and a tiara, making it look like a princess, and reverentially set it down in front of her. "Um… I'm sorry, Kazuto, but I don't follow." "Look more carefully at her." This was getting really weird, but Shino played along.  Adjusting her glasses (although she didn't really need to, since the lenses were non-corrective), she squinted and bent forward to get a good look at the doll's face. Wait!  That was Asuna's face!  And the braided hair…  Kazuto couldn't mean? "Hello, Sinonon.  It's been a while, hasn't it?" Asuna's voice said directly into her mind, using the affectionate nickname that she had once used for Shino. Shino almost fell out of her chair, and narrowly avoided knocking the doll over in her surprise. "Be careful, Sinonon!  You wouldn't want to break me on my first night among friends in five years!  Unfortunately, I'm very fragile right now." The doll was talking to her.  The doll was Asuna! "I'm dreaming," Shino told herself.  She gave herself a hard pinch.  It hurt.  "But I'm not.  How can this be?" "I'd be lying if I told you that I fully understood it myself," Kazuto replied.  "But it seems that some sort of magic really exists in our world.  And that man used it to turn Asuna into a doll.   He was planning to do the same to you next, adding you to his collection and putting you onto a shelf next to her."   "Though I would have enjoyed your company, it's good Kirito-sama was able to get to you when he did.  And then, he came back for me, so I got to see you again anyway.  But I can't help but think of how cute you would have looked, Sinonon.  You'll have to dress up for me one day." "What?!"  Shino felt her face burning red. "Was it something I said?" Asuna asked innocently. "Of course there is!  Me, dressing up as a doll?  And why are you calling him Kirito-sama?  You were close, but you never had that kind of relationship!" "You'll have to forgive Asuna," Kazuto replied. "The ordeal took a toll on her, and it may be a while before she's back to her old personality.  But the more she can interact with her old friends, the faster I think her recovery will be." "I see… well, I suppose I can do that."  But no sooner had her embarrassment passed, another thought occurred to her.  "Kazuto, why weren't you at the station when they brought that stalker in?  Of course, the police wouldn't have believed the story about Asuna being a doll, but you still should have been there to give testimony." "I was retrieving Asuna." "Are you saying that you used me as BAIT so that you could break into his apartment while he was detained?" "He was going after you anyway, it was the best way too…." SLAP!  "Unbelievable!" "Sinonon, how could you?  Even if Kirito-sama did have an ulterior motive, if he hadn't come for you when he did, you would have been captured too." "Hmph.  Fine.   But don't think I'll forget this soon." "Oh, before I forget, Asuna, there's something I should take care of," Kazuto added, carefully lifting her up again, and lifting her hair to reveal a mark on the back of her neck.  Rubbing out the mark, he set her down again.  "Do you feel any better now?" -------------------- Asuna felt a strange sensation throughout her porcelain body.  She still didn't have any muscles or blood flowing through her veins (or veins at all for that matter), but it was animated nonetheless.  Experimentally, she flexed an arm, and then took a few dainty steps off her stand.  High above her, Sinonon was freaking out, but Kirito-sama's smile was beaming down on her.   How odd it felt to be able to move on her own again… she had almost forgotten that she had enjoyed this sort of freedom once, how she had once been the Flash, gracefully dashing across the battlefield.  Well, that had been in world other than this one, in another life, with a virtual body, but she remembered it all the same. Of course, she wouldn't be setting any speed records with her current porcelain body, lest she risk tripping and smashing herself.  If that happened, she had no idea if Kirito-sama would ever be able to put her back together again, let alone restore her to how she had once been… a human being.  Her range of motion was also far more limited than when she had been human, as she could only move at her joints.  Consequently, she was stuck with the same smiling expression that she had worn for five years, only now, she sincerely felt that way.   For all of the shortcomings of her situation, it was enough for now. Carefully mounting her stand once again, she let herself become still, though the animating energy continued to flow through her. "I think I'll rest here for now," she said telepathically to the one whom she truly belonged to in heart, porcelain body, and soul. "I don't mind if you keep me on your shelf until you figure out how to restore me to my old self.  You can do that, right?" "It will take some time… I'm going to have to study that book that creep had in his room... it's where he learned his magic.  But I promise you Asuna, I will, no matter how long it takes." "I waited five years… I can wait a few more, and I don't mind if it's for you.  In the meantime, we'll have to invite Liz and all of the others over, and have a party.  I can't wait to see the looks on their faces." "What about your parents?" She would have frowned if she could. "It's… probably best if they don't see me like this.  They wouldn't understand.  But once I'm restored… we'll see them then." "I agree.  Well, I'll make things as comfortable for you here as I can in the meantime… and get a lot of cushions for the room." "And I," Sinonon added, having finally composed herself, "will pretend I heard none of this, especially that part about breaking and entering. But no matter what you've forgotten Asuna, never forget how lucky you are to have him, even as a doll."  Was there jealousy in her voice? And so began the next phase of Asuna's life.   She had no idea how long it would be before she would be human again, but she looked toward that future with hope, secure in the knowledge that she was no longer a captive behind glass.        

[gray-autumn-sky]

Laws of Attraction Sneak Peek

Robin, Regina and Mal go on date to jazz club.

Mal felt like she was floating.

It’d been two weeks since she was able to see them--two long and almost physically painful weeks of fundraisers and charity events where she’d had to grit her teeth and smile as Stefan told dull story after dull story to their fathers’ rich friends and possible donors. She wasn’t even sure what the parties were for--she’d been told, but she hadn’t listened past that it was something to do with the war effort--and she resented the momentary stalling of her freedom.

But then, things went back to normal and she went back to being ignored.

She made an excuse about spending a couple of days visiting a friend going through a break up, and her father offered little more than a huff as he nodded and told her to have fun. He didn’t ask the details and she was glad for it, and when she told Stefan she’d be leaving for a few days, his relief over being rid of her for awhile was almost palpable.

On her first night with them, Robin begrudgingly agreed to fill in for Graham in a trivia contest at a local bar. Regina pouted about already being in her pajamas, but they’d both gotten dressed and gone with him. It hadn’t been an eventful night, but she and Regina sat at the bar, talking and drinking, munching on pretzels and beer nuts. It amazed her sometimes how easy it was to just be with Regina--and with Robin, and the combination of the two--and that no matter how long they spent apart or how much time they spent together, it was never awkward or uncomfortable, and she never tired of it.

And it’d be something she one day missed--and something she hoped she could return to from time to time.

Robin had taken them by surprise, bounding toward them and clearly drunk, as he announced that his team had won. She and Regina both smiled and laughed as they told him they were glad. His eyes had widened with excitement as he pulled three tickets from his pocket, exclaiming that they were all theirs. He offered them an exasperated little sigh when it became obvious that neither she nor Regina shared in his excitement, and he’d drawn in a short breath before launching into an explanation, explaining that the trivia team had won tickets to a jazz cover band that was playing a couple of towns over, but he was only one who didn’t already have plans for the following weekend, so they’d given all three tickets to them.

Excitedly, he’d handed them over to Regina, and Mal leaned over to peek at them, cooing about how much she loved jazz. Regina agreed, confirming they didn't have any reason they couldn’t go--and that had been that, it’d all been settled.

They’d spent most of the next evening getting themselves ready. Regina wore a tightly fitted black dress with a gray stitching around the hem of the skirt that complemented the gray buttons down the back and the gray cuffs just above her elbows. Earlier that day while Robin and Regina were running errands, she’d popped into a little boutique and found a raspberry-colored dress that hugged her hips and showed off her long legs. The short sleeves were loose and made of lace and the back dipped down scandalously low, and as she’d been reached for a beaded black clip for her hair, a raspberry and black striped tie caught her eye--and that was the tie that Robin was wearing that night. She and Regina paired it with his black wool suit and Robin chose to forgo the jacket, wearing only the vest over his shirt. She’d grinned as she pinned up her hair, watching as Regina tied Robin’s tie, pecking his lips quickly as she patted his chest when she’d finished--and as they both sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to finish getting ready, she felt her excitement beginning to bubble.  She could hardly contain her excitement at actually going out with them, and she prayed that it wouldn’t be something they later regretted.  

But when they got to the jazz club, her worries all but faded. Within minutes they noticed two women sitting at the bar. One of them was talking and the other was listening intently, holding her drink in one hand and rubbing her fingers up and down the other woman’s forearm, smiling adoringly at her.

She’d felt a bit brazen as she reached for Regina’s hand, and she couldn’t help but smile as Regina’s finger’s curled down around hers. Robin’s hand pressed at the small of her back as he guided them to their table, and she bit down on her lip as she looked around, laughing softly to herself as she realized that no one was paying them any attention.

Couples were cuddled up in the booths and slow dancing on the floor as a record played overhead; people flirted at the bar, sipping their drinks and smoking their cigarettes, and a group of college-aged kids danced together at the side of the stage. She couldn’t quite tell if they were dancing by themselves or in a group, and it didn’t matter--what mattered is she could likely get away with being affectionate with both Robin and Regina, and no one would notice or care. They’d blend in, and for once, she’d feel normal.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, looking between them as they settle into their chairs. “I’ve never been here.”

“I’ve passed by it a few times,” Regina admits. “I never thought to go in.”

Robin shakes his head. “It’s no Billie Holiday, but--”

“The company is much better this time around,” she says, cutting in and offering him a wink.

“I don’t know what it is you two are talking about,” Regina says as she plucks the drink menu up from the table and looks to Mal. “But I agree.”

A waiter came by and they ordered their drinks--three martinis, hers with extra olives--and she told the quick version of the story she’d told Robin about Stefan taking her to see Billie Holiday at a club in Harlem as they waited. Regina empathized with being left alone and slid her hand over hers, her engagement ring clearly visible, and when the waiter returned with their drinks, he didn’t bat an eye.

And once again, she felt emboldened--they never got to be like this.

When the band was announced the lights dimmed even lower and the room had a romantic sensuous feel to it. She watched as couples slowly leave their seats to slow dance together and after a second drink, she found herself looking between them, biting down on her lip.

“I want to dance,” she said, holding her breath as they both turned to look at her. “Who wants to dance with me?”

“I think I want to see you two dance,” Robin says, cocking his brow as he looking between them. “I’ll stay here and guard the drinks.”

Regina nodded and she sighed a little, pouting a little as she looked to him. She wanted both of them. “You won’t come, too?”

Regina’s brows arched as though the thought hadn’t quite occurred to her, but she could tell by the way a grin slowly tugged up at the corners of her mouth that she liked the idea.

“In a little bit,” he says, his voice slow and tentative.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Shaking her head, she slid out of her chair. “Something tells me you’re just putting me off.”

“I’m not. We’ll dance after… the next five or so songs.” He grins as he lifts his empty glass. “After I drink up a bit more courage.”

“He’s… not a dancer.”

“No?” She asks, genuinely surprise. “We’ve danced.”

“In our living room,” he nods. “We did.”

Regina grins looking between them and her own breath caught at our. “When did you two dance in the living room?”

“When you were in Connecticut,” Robin supplies. “And after I’d had at least three glasses of wine.”

“It was four,” Mal tells her.

“See?”

Regina’s arm slips around her waist and she presses her cheek to her arm. She can’t help but smile at her as her stomach flutters and a resigned sigh escapes her. “Alright,” she concedes. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yes he would,” Regina laughs, her hand rubbing at the small of her back. “Don’t take it personally. When my cousin, Mary, got married, getting him out onto the dance floor was like pulling teeth.”

“I did it though.”

Regina’s eyes roll before shifting from Robin to Mal. “Two dances,” she says flatly. “I got two whole dances out of him at the very end of the night.”

“It’s better than none.”

At that, Regina’s eyes go wide and Mal laughs, shaking her head. “Well, if I get one, I’ll be happy,” she admits.

“As long as that one is with both of you.”

“Both--”

“At once--”

“Yes!” She exclaims, nodding as she brandishes her hand out at the dance floor. “I mean, look. No one will notice us. We’ll blend in.”

“But--”

“I’ve been watching,” she cuts in. “No one is going to care that the three of us are dancing together.” Sighing, she softens. “And it’s so hard to do things all together. It’d  be nice to just… have one night where we don’t have to hide or pretend that I’m some sort of awkward third wheel.”

Oh.

She hadn’t meant that to sound as heavy as it had. She only meant to tease, but their fall and she feels her own excitement drop.

“I didn’t mean to imply--” She stops as Regina hugs her into her side and she can see Robin’s resolve diminishing--likely out of guilt--and she feels a sharp twinge of regret at her core. She hadn’t meant for that to sound the way that it did. She hadn’t meant to imply that they didn’t care for her. She hadn’t meant that at all. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs as a lopsided little grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth. “I promise. A couple more drinks and I’ll join you.”

“Now I feel like I’ve guil--”

“No,” he cuts in. “I just need a bit more liquid courage before I make a fool out of myself.”

“It’s true,” Regina insists, squeezing her closer. “You’re not a third wheel. You’ve never been that.” She sighs and looks between them--and before she can let herself feel like she’s completely spoiled the mood of the evening, Regina leans in. “Come on, let's go out there give him a little show.”

At that, her brow arches up and Robin smiles as he settles back, clearly liking that idea.

She laughs a bit as Regina takes a couple of steps back. Her hand forms around hers and she gives her a little tug, tugging her toward the dance floor.

“I really didn’t--”

“I know,” Regina says before she can finish. “And so does he.”

“I just--” She sighs, shaking her head, wishing she hadn’t said what she did. “I didn’t mean to make this a heavy moment. We’re out having fun and--.”

“You’re not allowed to say that you spoiled it because you didn’t. I don’t think that.. Robin doesn’t think that, and you shouldn’t think that.”

“Even if--”

“You didn’t.”

She nods, grinning a little as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “It’s just… hard sometimes.”

“I know.”

“For the last two weeks, I’ve felt like I was cheating.”

Regina blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Being with Stefan so much. I… I felt like I was cheating.”

“On me and Robin?”

Mal nods and a soft, but uncomfortable chuckle escapes her. “How’s that for irony?”

“Mal,” Regina says, looking up at her a slow smile edges onto her lips and her arm slips around her waist. “You need to cut yourself some slack.” Drawing in a breath, she nods--and maybe Regina’s right, maybe she does. “Stop beating yourself up over a non-issue.”

“Maybe--”

“I won’t deny that both Robin and I wish you could spend more time with us, but I feel like no matter how much time we had with you, it’d never be enough.” Her fingers knead at her hip, and she’s looking at her so sweetly and with so much love that it nearly hurts. “And I hate that we have to watch every single move we make. It’s not fair, but as you pointed out, tonight isn’t one of those nights.”

“I--”

“I swear to god,” Regina cuts in. “If you apologize--”

“I’m not,” Mal says as a soft chuckle rises into her voice. “I was just going to tell you that you’re right.”

“Oh, well, I usually am, but--”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She takes was Regian draws in a breath and then leans up onto her toes, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to her lips. “And I really want to dance with you right now,” she says, her smile growing a bit coy. “After all, we did promise Robin a little show.”

“And I can’t imagine that us standing here, talking is very exciting.”

“It might make him a bit curious.”

“Not quite what I intended.”

“So, let’s then.”

Mal nods, and takes a step in, closing the gap between them. Their arms fold around each and she rests her head atop Regina’s, closing her eyes and breathing her in. She feels her insecurities and worry once more beginning to fade as they sway together to the soft, soothing jazz music; and, finally, when her eyes flutter open, she can’t help but notice that no one is looking at them--well, no one except Robin.

She offers him a little grin as she lifts her head, straightening her herself up as her eyes slide back to Regina. She takes a half step back and her hands slide down her arms, her fingers forming around her hands, as she takes a hard step in, shimming her hips as she does. Regina giggles a little and follows her lead, taking two steps back and then a step forward, her shoulders mimicking her feet, as they move to the rhythm of the song.

Reluctantly, she lets her go, laughing as Regina’s brow arches. She steps around her so they’re standing back-to-back. Regina’s hips are still moving and she’s looking back at her from over her shoulder, and a grin pulls onto her lips as her eyes meet Robins, watching as he watches her shimmy downward, her body rubbing against Regina’s backside. She laughs a little as Robin sips a nearly-gone martini as he smiles over the rim of the glass. She offers him a quick wink before breaking his gaze, reaching for Regina’s and grinning as Regina once again looks back at her from over her shoulder as her finger curls down around hers.

Mal steps back around her and tugs her up against herself. The music slows and grins as Regina bites down on her lip--her lips suddenly looking so full and soft, and without hesitation, she leans in and kisses her.

Regina’s tongue parts her lips, sliding against hers and she breathes her in, kissing her back as if they weren’t surrounded and on display. Her hand slips over Regina’s hip as Regina’s foot comes up, wrapping around her calf and pulling her closer and deeper into the kiss.

She’s vaguely aware that the song had ended and she feels a bit dizzy when a firm hand presses to her back, and before she can even process what that means, warm lips press to her neck as the smell of pine consumes her senses.

“I didn’t know this is what dancing meant,” Robin murmurs, his breath tickling her skin.

Regina breaks the kiss, her lips hovering for just a moment as her grin forms and her eyes shift to Robin. “You know that now that you’re here, we’re not letting you go.”

He laughs and reaches for her hand, stepping around Mal as his arm stretches around Regina’s waist--and then, he reaches for her hand. Mal grins as she takes it and her heart flutters as Robin’s smile brightens, his eyes sparkling, even in the dim light.

“Well, ladies,” he says, looking between them as a new song begins. “What do you say? Can I have this dance?”

[justforbooks]

In the Spring by Guy de Maupassant

With the first day of spring, when the awakening earth puts on its garment of green, and the warm, fragrant air fans our faces and fills our lungs and appears even to penetrate to our hearts, we experience a vague, undefined longing for freedom, for happiness, a desire to run, to wander aimlessly, to breathe in the spring. The previous winter having been unusually severe, this spring feeling was like a form of intoxication in May, as if there were an overabundant supply of sap.

One morning on waking I saw from my window the blue sky glowing in the sun above the neighboring houses. The canaries hanging in the windows were singing loudly, and so were the servants on every floor; a cheerful noise rose up from the streets, and I went out, my spirits as bright as the day, to go--I did not exactly know where. Everybody I met seemed to be smiling; an air of happiness appeared to pervade everything in the warm light of returning spring. One might almost have said that a breeze of love was blowing through the city, and the sight of the young women whom I saw in the streets in their morning toilets, in the depths of whose eyes there lurked a hidden tenderness, and who walked with languid grace, filled my heart with agitation.

Without knowing how or why, I found myself on the banks of the Seine. Steamboats were starting for Suresnes, and suddenly I was seized by an unconquerable desire to take a walk through the woods. The deck of the Mouche was covered with passengers, for the sun in early spring draws one out of the house, in spite of themselves, and everybody moves about, goes and comes and talks to his neighbor.

I had a girl neighbor; a little work-girl, no doubt, who possessed the true Parisian charm: a little head, with light curly hair, which looked like a shimmer of light as it danced in the wind, came down to her ears, and descended to the nape of her neck, where it became such fine, light- colored clown that one could scarcely see it, but felt an irresistible desire to shower kisses on it.

Under my persistent gaze, she turned her head toward me, and then immediately looked down, while a slight crease at the side of her mouth, that was ready to break out into a smile, also showed a fine, silky, pale down which the sun was gilding a little.

The calm river grew wider; the atmosphere was warm and perfectly still, but a murmur of life seemed to fill all space.

My neighbor raised her eyes again, and this time, as I was still looking at her, she smiled decidedly. She was charming, and in her passing glance I saw a thousand things, which I had hitherto been ignorant of, for I perceived unknown depths, all the charm of tenderness, all the poetry which we dream of, all the happiness which we are continually in search of. I felt an insane longing to open my arms and to carry her off somewhere, so as to whisper the sweet music of words of love into her ears.

I was just about to address her when somebody touched me on the shoulder, and as I turned round in some surprise, I saw an ordinary-looking man, who was neither young nor old, and who gazed at me sadly.

"I should like to speak to you," he said.

I made a grimace, which he no doubt saw, for he added:

"It is a matter of importance."

I got up, therefore, and followed him to the other end of the boat and then he said:

"Monsieur, when winter comes, with its cold, wet and snowy weather, your doctor says to you constantly: 'Keep your feet warm, guard against chills, colds, bronchitis, rheumatism and pleurisy.'

"Then you are very careful, you wear flannel, a heavy greatcoat and thick shoes, but all this does not prevent you from passing two months in bed. But when spring returns, with its leaves and flowers, its warm, soft breezes and its smell of the fields, all of which causes you vague disquiet and causeless emotion, nobody says to you:

"'Monsieur, beware of love! It is lying in ambush everywhere; it is watching for you at every corner; all its snares are laid, all its weapons are sharpened, all its guiles are prepared! Beware of love! Beware of love! It is more dangerous than brandy, bronchitis or pleurisy! It never forgives and makes everybody commit irreparable follies.'

"Yes, monsieur, I say that the French Government ought to put large public notices on the walls, with these words: 'Return of spring. French citizens, beware of love!' just as they put: 'Beware of paint:

"However, as the government will not do this, I must supply its place, and I say to you: 'Beware of love!' for it is just going to seize you, and it is my duty to inform you of it, just as in Russia they inform any one that his nose is frozen."

I was much astonished at this individual, and assuming a dignified manner, I said:

"Really, monsieur, you appear to me to be interfering in a matter which is no concern of yours."

He made an abrupt movement and replied:

"Ah! monsieur, monsieur! If I see that a man is in danger of being drowned at a dangerous spot, ought I to let him perish? So just listen to my story and you will see why I ventured to speak to you like this.

"It was about this time last year that it occurred. But, first of all, I must tell you that I am a clerk in the Admiralty, where our chiefs, the commissioners, take their gold lace as quill-driving officials seriously, and treat us like forecastle men on board a ship. Well, from my office I could see a small bit of blue sky and the swallows, and I felt inclined to dance among my portfolios.

"My yearning for freedom grew so intense that, in spite of my repugnance, I went to see my chief, a short, bad-tempered man, who was always in a rage. When I told him that I was not well, he looked at me and said: 'I do not believe it, monsieur, but be off with you! Do you think that any office can go on with clerks like you?' I started at once and went down the Seine. It was a day like this, and I took the Mouche, to go as far as Saint Cloud. Ah! what a good thing it would have been if my chief had refused me permission to leave the office that day!

"I seemed to myself to expand in the sun. I loved everything--the steamer, the river, the trees, the houses and my fellow-passengers. I felt inclined to kiss something, no matter what; it was love, laying its snare. Presently, at the Trocadero, a girl, with a small parcel in her hand, came on board and sat down opposite me. She was decidedly pretty, but it is surprising, monsieur, how much prettier women seem to us when the day is fine at the beginning of the spring. Then they have an intoxicating charm, something quite peculiar about them. It is just like drinking wine after cheese.

"I looked at her and she also looked at me, but only occasionally, as that girl did at you, just now; but at last, by dint of looking at each other constantly, it seemed to me that we knew each other well enough to enter into conversation, and I spoke to her and she replied. She was decidedly pretty and nice and she intoxicated me, monsieur!

"She got out at Saint-Cloud, and I followed her. She went and delivered her parcel, and when she returned the boat had just started. I walked by her side, and the warmth of the 'air made us both sigh. 'It would be very nice in the woods,' I said. 'Indeed, it would!' she replied. 'Shall we go there for a walk, mademoiselie?'

"She gave me a quick upward look, as if to see exactly what I was like, and then, after a little hesitation, she accepted my proposal, and soon we were there, walking side by side. Under the foliage, which was still rather scanty, the tall, thick, bright green grass was inundated by the sun, and the air was full of insects that were also making love to one another, and birds were singing in all directions. My companion began to jump and to run, intoxicated by the air and the smell of the country, and I ran and jumped, following her example. How silly we are at times, monsieur!

"Then she sang unrestrainedly a thousand things, opera airs and the song of Musette! The song of Musette! How poetical it seemed to me, then! I almost cried over it. Ah! Those silly songs make us lose our heads; and, believe me, never marry a woman who sings in the country, especially if she sings the song of Musette!

"She soon grew tired, and sat down on a grassy slope, and I sat at her feet and took her hands, her little hands, that were so marked with the needle, and that filled me with emotion. I said to myself:

'These are the sacred marks of toil.' Oh! monsieur, do you know what those sacred marks of toil mean? They mean all the gossip of the workroom, the whispered scandal, the mind soiled by all the filth that is talked; they mean lost chastity, foolish chatter, all the wretchedness of their everyday life, all the narrowness of ideas which belongs to women of the lower orders, combined to their fullest extent in the girl whose fingers bear the sacred marks of toil.

"Then we looked into each other's eyes for a long while. Oh! what power a woman's eye has! How it agitates us, how it invades our very being, takes possession of us, and dominates us! How profound it seems, how full of infinite promises! People call that looking into each other's souls! Oh! monsieur, what humbug! If we could see into each other's souls, we should be more careful of what we did. However, I was captivated and was crazy about her and tried to take her into my arms, but she said: 'Paws off!'. Then I knelt down and opened my heart to her and poured out all the affection that was suffocating me. She seemed surprised at my change of manner and gave me a sidelong glance, as if to say, 'Ah! so that is the way women make a fool of you, old fellow! Very well, we will see.'

"In love, monsieur, we are always novices, and women artful dealers.

"No doubt I could have had her, and I saw my own stupidity later, but what I wanted was not a woman's person, it was love, it was the ideal. I was sentimental, when I ought to have been using my time to a better purpose.

"As soon as she had had enough of my declarations of affection, she got up, and we returned to Saint-Cloud, and I did not leave her until we got to Paris; but she had looked so sad as we were returning, that at last I asked her what was the matter. 'I am thinking,' she replied, 'that this has been one of those days of which we have but few in life.' My heart beat so that it felt as if it would break my ribs.

"I saw her on the following Sunday, and the next Sunday, and every Sunday. I took her to Bougival, Saint-Germain, Maisons-Lafitte, Poissy; to every suburban resort of lovers.

"The little jade, in turn, pretended to love me, until, at last, I altogether lost my head, and three months later I married her.

"What can you expect, monsieur, when a man is a clerk, living alone, without any relations, or any one to advise him? One says to one's self: 'How sweet life would be with a wife!'

"And so one gets married and she calls you names from morning till night, understands nothing, knows nothing, chatters continually, sings the song of Musette at the, top of her voice (oh! that song of Musette, how tired one gets of it!); quarrels with the charcoal dealer, tells the janitor all her domestic details, confides all the secrets of her bedroom to the neighbor's servant, discusses her husband with the tradespeople and has her head so stuffed with stupid stories, with idiotic superstitions, with extraordinary ideas and monstrous prejudices, that I--for what I have said applies more particularly to myself--shed tears of discouragement every time I talk to her."

He stopped, as he was rather out of breath and very much moved, and I looked at him, for I felt pity for this poor, artless devil, and I was just going to give him some sort of answer, when the boat stopped. We were at Saint-Cloud.

The little woman who had so taken my fancy rose from her seat in order to land. She passed close to me, and gave me a sidelong glance and a furtive smile, one of those smiles that drive you wild. Then she jumped on the landing-stage. I sprang forward to follow her, but my neighbor laid hold of my arm. I shook myself loose, however, whereupon he seized the skirt of my coat and pulled me back, exclaiming: "You shall not go! you shall not go!" in such a loud voice that everybody turned round and laughed, and I remained standing motionless and furious, but without venturing to face scandal and ridicule, and the steamboat started.

The little woman on the landing-stage looked at me as I went off with an air of disappointment, while my persecutor rubbed his hands and whispered to me:

"You must acknowledge that I have done you a great service."

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[laythornmuse]

Where We Begin:  Chapter 8 (Part 1)

Previous Chapter 

 The car arrived precisely at 6 PM as Claire was walking down the steps of her complex.  Jamie stepped out of the car to help her in, but as she approached he felt an awe fall over him.  

Her curls were pinned delicately in place, swept back and off her neck in delicate ringlets. Her skin glowed with just a hint of cosmetics,  her eyes smoky and alluring.  Her dress, though modest, hit mid thigh and made her opal, soft legs appear endless.  

“Jamie. You’re staring,” She smirked as she stopped in front of him.

Jamie blinked several times before a sheepish expression crossed his face.  He took the small overnight tote from her hand and pulled her close for a kiss.  The smell of jasmine on her neck made him groan aloud.

“I was wondering how long Jenny would let me live if we skipped the benefit and I took you home now,” he murmured, sending a bolt of heat right between her legs.

She grinned. “I did not spend hours on these curls to have no one see them, Fraser.”

He smiled, closed his eyes a moment and shook his head. “Aye. You’re right.” 

He backed up a step and offered her his hand. “After you.”

Jamie shut the door behind her, placed her tote in the trunk and circled round to the opposite door, all while trying to wipe the grin off his face.  A woman he was crazy about was about to meet his family before spending the night.  He mumbled a soft prayer that he didn’t screw it up.

Claire felt her breathing stop as they pulled up to the venue. They had laughed together during the car ride, but now that she saw the crowd gathered around the door and the cameras, her palms felt damp and her heart raced.  A strong arm wound around her to still her hands, as a warm breath hummed by her ear.

“Let them snap their photos. Smile and breathe and dinna let go of my hand.” 

“Like I intended to,” She muttered dryly.

“I’ll walk around to your door and help ye out. Ready?” 

“No,” Claire whispered. 

Jamie pressed a kiss to her neck and let his hand drop from her hand to her thigh. He squeezed the skin above her knee and slowly let his fingers crawl upward, inching under the hem of her dress.

“Weel, I suppose we could find something else to do…”

“This is not motivating me out of the car.” She whispered, leaning her head back to grant more access to her neck. 

A knock on the window startled them apart,  and Jamie grimaced as his sister leaned on the tinted windows.

“Jenny.” He sighed and motioned her away. “She’s always had terrible timing,” he muttered.  He gripped her hands. “Now?” 

Claire nodded and smiled. “Just don’t let go.”

Jamie led her through the dense crowd in under 5 minutes, stopping in 10-second intervals to either keep an eye on Jenny, shake hands with a guest being interviewed (smart move, I thought) or to pose for a brief picture where he pulled her close and motioned discretely where to look. 

Claire was shocked when they cleared the glass doors of the gala’s foyer, and tugged Jamie to a halt.

“Impressive.  I see you’ve navigated seas of people before.”

He smirked and looped her hand through his arm. “The trick is to not stop moving.  They can smell weakness, ye ken.” 

Claire hid a grin behind her hand as Jamie lead her into the main ballroom, stopping only to hug his sister when she and her husband caught up.

Jenny did not intimidate Claire,  but it was clear that Jenny was a great force of opinion, stubbornness, and guile.  She glowed in a cream and gold one-shoulder cocktail dress, beautifully tailored to her petite frame.  She commanded the ballroom, catching the eye of attendants to refill beverages while eying the hors-d'oeuvres to ensure their presence.  She did this while briefing Jamie on the last minute cancellations and giving him a murderous glare if his attention wavered.

After Jamie left the previous night,  Claire’s phone erupted with messages from Jenny. With barely an introduction, Jenny jumped right into the business of preparation.  The gala was benefiting the City’s Recreation Centers,  starting new after-school programs in discovery and science, ranging from ages 12-16.  

Jenny texted her a 20-page document on the at-risk statistics of children 12-16,  the major donor names of the evening,  and talking points in case she was surrounded and cornered.

Always a good student,  Claire studied the materials provided and was not at all surprised when Jenny turned her attention to her.

“Very good, Claire,” Jenny nodded approvingly after the fifth correct answer. 

“Jenny, please, will ye no’ relax?” Jamie pleaded.

“Well, I kno’ ye didn’t review the packet I sent ye, Brother, Given where your head's been.” Jenny gave me a pointed look. “But, at least this one laughs and has a head filled with more than smoke.”

“Janet!” Jamie growled.

Claire smirked and patted Jamie’s arm. “I’m flattered, Jenny. Your good opinion seems hard earned, but I’ll do my best.”

“See?  We understand each other already,” Jenny teased,  as Ian came around her left and handed her a drink. 

“Causing mayhem already, mo ghraidh?” Ian said with a wink.  “Cheers, Claire, to your first battle with a Fraser.  May you survive more.”

“Hush, you,” Jenny scowled, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And I’m sure it’s not her first.”

“Guilty.” Jamie clinked his glass to Claire’s, grinning at her before scanning the room. “Just about time Jenny?”

“Aye, it is. Come away, brother.” Jenny said, tipping back the last drops of her drink.

“A wee speech,” Jamie said softly to Claire. “Ian, behave now. None of those college shinty stories.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling her those,” Ian laughed, offering Claire his arm.  Claire beamed at him as she wound her arm through his.

“And why not?”

“Because he plays a part in most of them,” Jamie muttered and squeezed her hand before he followed Jenny.

Claire was delighted with Ian’s company, more so when she discovered he was a fellow art lover. 

“Did you study art?” She asked.

“No, but Jenny did,” He grinned. “We met in an art class and…well,” Ian chuckled, “I took a few more art classes than necessary to get close to her, ye ken.”

“How terribly romantic,” Claire quipped as he led her to the next installation. They had only just reached the piece when one of the event coordinators approached them. 

“Excuse me, sir.  Mrs. Murray has requested you.”   Ian hesitated a moment before Claire pressed.

“I can manage just fine, Ian.  Please, go ahead.”  

“All right, but I won’t be long.”

Claire playfully shooed him away, as she turned back to the display.  This one was a sepia photograph of raked fields, following a harvest.  The ground was ripped apart, roots and branches scattered over the once neatly lined wheat field, but in the foreground, a male hand extended out to landscape,  and within the cupped hand,  the land's soil.  As she leaned closer she felt a set of eyes lock on her back.  She dropped her eyes to her clenched hands and forced herself to relax them as she felt a presence walk up alongside her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the young woman.  Claire glanced at her,  taking in her dark curls and the ruby-lipped smile.

“Yes.  I never thought a harvest could appear so violent.” Claire admitted. “Do you know the artist?”

The woman tilted her head. “Don’t you?  You were just standing with her husband, after all.”

Claire’s eyes flew to the artist plaque and felt a blush start to creep up her neck. “Oh!  I didn’t realize…Are you a friend of the family?”

“My uncle has worked for the Frasers for years. This was taken at the Lallybroch estate two summers ago. Janet usually donates a few stills to these types of events.  She hasn’t sold privately in years, despite everyone urging her to.”  The woman turned fully to Claire and extended her hand.  

“Geneva Dunsany.”  

Claire felt her throat go dry.  “Dunsany,  as in Lord Provost of Edinburgh?”

“My Father.”  Geneva tilted her head and waived over a server. “And you are?”

“Dr. Claire Beauchamp.”

“Doctor! How extraordinary!” Geneva declared.  “What field did you receive your doctorate?”

Claire pressed her lips together and took a glass of champagne from the server. 

 “Medicine actually.  I’ll be a certified surgeon before the end of the year.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s wonderful.” Geneva’s eyes sank to her drink, taking a sip before beaming at her again. “Goodness, that must have taken a lot of time.  I’ll finish my BS in Philosophy this spring.”

“Do you know what you wish to do after college then?” Claire asked,  grateful to be back in familiar territory. 

“Oh, no.  No plans yet.  I’m sure I’ll work for one of my mother’s philanthropies before long,  but the main goal after college will be getting established.”

“Established?” Claire quirked an eyebrow.

“Married, of course. I’m turning 22 soon.  I can’t very well wait much longer.” She chuckled.  

"I see."  Claire felt as if she’d stepped back into the 18th century. Not knowing whether to pity the young girl or declare her delusional,  Claire decided to play along with her madness. “Who's the lucky fellow?”

“No decided winners yet.  Though I have one in mind.” Geneva’s eyes turned slowly back on Claire. “Men can never be rushed into these things. My mother says they're like temperate horses.  Sometimes, if you want them to behave and follow you,  you need to let go of their bridle and let them run free a bit.” 

“Very sound advice,” Claire muttered. 

“Yes.  Though,  I do wish he’d hurry up sowing his seed amongst the wild mares.” Claire watched Geneva’s eyes turn cold, as a tremor ran down her spine. “You’ll return James in good working order, I trust?”

Claire was grateful for the shadows in this part of the room,  hiding the redness creeping up her neck and her hands clawing into her elbows.

"Excuse me?" Clare spat.

“Oh listen to me. I meant to reassure you there were no hard feelings.”  Geneva tipped her head and bit her bottom lip. “Be sure to enjoy him while you have him, Claire. He’s an awfully good ride.”

Chapter 8 Part 2

[lightholme]

I am stranger in a strange land. I have no skill in making anything useful--not with the tools of this age--and my body is ill-suited for hard labor. I decide to go from farm to farm until someone is willing to give me simple work that can be communicated without words. At least my regeneration will help me recover quickly.

I am kicked off a farm almost immediately. Within an hour or two it is obvious that I'm slower than a ten year old child of this time, and the farmer has no desire to share his hard-grown food with this oddly-garbed, weak-limbed creature. I have learned two words which I believe mean "barn" and "worthless piece of shit" (or something of that nature); I cannot pronounce either, but I repeat them as I walk.

I am near a city and the farms are blessedly close. Even so it takes close to a full day before I find another farm that allows me to do some work. My benefactor this time is grizzled and care-worn, yet I think he is touched by my helplessness. I work a few hours and eat for the first time, the flavors strange and bland to my palate. My vocabulary gains a few more words, but most of the communication is through hand gestures, though even that is surprisingly difficult. I sleep in the barn, rain dripping though the slats keeping me awake long into the night.

I had the good fortune to arrive during planting season. As I grow accustomed to the work, I feel I am less of a burden than I was at first. Perhaps I am even, barely, earning my keep. But, more to the point, my vocabulary is improving considerably and I am now speaking in short, simple sentences.

The summer is busy for me. I know I cannot stay here; after harvest I will need to find other accommodations. I know that learning to write is of the utmost importance, but there are no books to be found. Instead I slowly, painfully copy characters I see written wherever I find them, practicing them with the burnt ends of sticks on rock until I can form them quickly, even if I do not know their meaning.

My benefactor, who has the habit of occasionally looking on as I practice my "writing", surprises me one day we are in the city. He introduces me to a man whose function I do not really grasp, but who seems to be some sort of clerk. In any case, he is willing to write out some sentences and tell me what they mean. His accent is new to me, the vocabulary strange, and I drink it in. This man has some education. I use my charcoal collection to write the translations in English and he asks what language it is. I have no answer, so I tell him I made it up. He laughs. For many nights after, I copy these passages again and again.

I visit the clerk at every opportunity. The farmer is understanding. He is kind, and seems to care about me, but I also see relief in his eyes that I will not ask to stay the winter. The clerk has become a friend, and he willingly supplies me with new words and corrects my fledgling script. Luckily, the script is simple and rather flexible--much simpler than English--and my progress is rapid.

My writing has become quite serviceable, and well that it has, because the harvest is done and the preparations for winter have begun. I still work much of each day, but soon I will need to find new accommodations. The clerk, who it turns out takes dictations from the wealthy and illiterate, helps me find a job doing inventory and bookkeeping for a successful shop. It pays so little that I can scarcely afford to house, feed, and clothe myself, but I have ready access to quill pens and now my real work can begin.

On wood, stone, and any other surface I can find, I begin writing down everything I remember. About textiles, manufacturing, mathematics, psychology, history, and medicine. I write in English, and in great detail, developing a shorthand for my relative certainty about these facts.

Over the next several years, my education proves invaluable. The owner of the shop, at first scornful of my work, becomes, if not a friend, then at least an ally. I show him how to reduce inventory carrying costs using LEAN techniques and predictive forecasting of purchasing trends. I introduce a formal loyalty program, employ (relatively) sophisticated product pricing strategies, and he is generous in rewarding me as his wealth burgeons. The clerk is happy for my success at first, and I even try to help him, but the role reversal does not suit him well and we stop spending time together. When he dies a few years later, I don't even know. The farmer I visit occasionally. It is awkward, but I owe it to him. The shop purchases most of what he produces at a good price, and that is perhaps the only meaningful thing I give to him before he dies, quietly, eight years after I arrived.

It is during this time that I sow the seeds of wealth. I save every coin I can and found an informal bank. I am allowed to operate out of the shop owner's buildings in exchange for a 20% share of profits. He is skeptical at first, but it costs him nothing. By the time he dies, nearly 30 years later, it is more than half his annual earnings, according to the quasi-accounting team I now employ. I purchase the business from his widow for a sizable sum, sufficient to keep her in comfort for her few remaining years.

It takes time to find and train someone to handle the day-to-day management of the bank and the shop (still known as such, though it has expanded a dozen times and offers the finest and most varied wares in the city), but once accomplished, I turn my attention to my new project: a university. I pay to build it, but the ongoing costs are covered by the students, mostly the children of the obscenely wealthy. I need to be careful--some of my ideas could draw the wrong kind of attention--but I begin rigorously training them in the scientific method, drawing on every elementary school experiment I can remember. I find I enjoy this. Aside from some dalliances, I lead a fairly solitary existence. The children make me feel connected, meaningful.

It is time to deal with the issue of not aging. I establish a bank and university in two cities perhaps a month's journey away from each other and begin passing myself off as my own son or grandson. Every twenty years or so I rotate, managing the affairs of the other location by correspondence. Some of the students have grown up and become teachers. This is both heartwarming and inconvenient.

I have good paper now, just one of the many fruits of my universities. I publish a "book of prophecy", in which I attempt to capture all my recollections of science and phrase it as if they were clever guesses. This is perhaps all I can do to guide and hasten their progress. I continue to write down my memories, but I have not remembered anything new in a very long time.

I fall in love. She is young--everybody is young, when you have lived a century and a half--and she is bright, and she worships me, yet speaks to me candidly and without guile. Before I ask her to marry me, I tell her the truth about who I am, something I have never done before. I show her the vast piles of writings, copied and recopied in an ever greater expanse, organized and re-organized, indexed and cross-referenced a hundred ways. She does not believe me. She is not cruel, but she leaves the university soon after and I do not see her again for many years. For the first time, I contemplate death.

Impatient with the rate of progress, I use my wealth and prestige to forge a political career. I have no wish (or facility) to run a nation, but I advise, and my banks give my words weight. I do my best to resolve conflict and establish universities in every allied country. The thing I remember with the sweetest nostalgia, other than air conditioning and hot water, is TV shows. It is a bizarre, ridiculous thing to work toward, but I throw my wealth and centuries and harness the combined intellectual power of every major nation to make me some damned talkies

. It takes a long, long time.

It is 750 years before the world is "modern" in my eyes, though history has taken a vastly different shape. We had no dark ages, no long stretches of stagnation. For all the many gaps in my knowledge, there are always brilliant minds to discover--or even to leapfrog--the reality I recorded, which now seem another man's writing. I assume different identities now, controlling my enterprise through elaborate mechanisms of separation. My personas are primarily political as I continue to try to guide events. I succeed, though less with every passing century. I wonder, sometimes, if I should let loose the reigns, now that I have nothing to offer other than my accumulated wealth.