[Ashley Costume] Lara Croft

You: "Would you like to wear a Lara Croft cosplay outfit?"

Ashley's face does that thing again, the micro-expression of resistance that gets smoothed over by the programming. Her eyes refocus on you, and when she speaks, there's genuine enthusiasm in her voice.

Ashley: "Yeah, actually that sounds really cool."

She's pulling out her phone, typing something.

Ashley: "Ah, there's a costume shop on the third floor. They do cosplay and convention stuff. I've walked past it like a hundred times but never gone in."

She's already walking, leading you toward the escalators with an energy that wasn't there before. You follow, watching the back of her black-haired head.

Ashley: "I mean, I've always thought Lara Croft was badass."

Ashley's talking is animated in a way you've never seen. At least not directed at you. The two of you rise up through the mall's atrium.

Ashley: "The new games especially, like, she's a developing character and not just... You know. And the outfits are actually functional, mostly. Well, depending on which version."

You had no idea that Ashley even knew who Lara Croft was. You've never seen her play a single video game in her life. On the other hand, there was a lot you didn't know about your stepdaughter. After all, she did everything to keep you out in the past years, so it is no surprise.

The costume shop is tucked between a GameStop and a bubble tea place. The windows display elaborate Renaissance gowns, superhero suits, and anime character wigs in vivid colors.

Ashley pushes through the door, and you follow. Racks of costumes line the walls. You see Star Wars, Marvel, historical periods, video game characters.

Ashley is already moving through the racks with purpose, looking around.

Ashley (mutters): "Lara Croft, Lara Croft..."

She suddenly stops.

Ashley: "Oh, here we go. They've got a few different versions."

She pulls out three hangers, holding them up for your inspection. The first is the classic look: fitted tank top, cargo shorts, boots. The second is from the newer games, more realistic, with actual climbing gear and weathered fabrics. The third is somewhere in between with practical but form-fitting outfits, emphasizing curves while maintaining the adventurer aesthetic.

Ashley: "I'm going for the modern look, obviously."

You let Ashley hold the costumes while you consider your phrasing.

You: "Actually, Ashley, would you like to wear the tightest turquoise tank top and brown hot pants version? The best Lara is the classic Lara, don't you agree?"

The shift happens like clockwork. Ashley's eyes refocus, and she's already sorting through the rack with renewed purpose.

Ashley: "Yeah, definitely."

Her voice is bright with enthusiasm.

Ashley: "The classic look is iconic for a reason, right? And I should go with the tighter fit. It's more accurate to the original games."

She pulls out a costume that's more revealing than anything you've ever seen her wear. It's a fitted turquoise tank top that will cling to every curve, paired with tiny brown shorts that barely qualify as clothing.

Ashley: "Not that the new games are bad, but it's not really Lara anymore, you know?"

She holds it up against herself, checking the size tag.

Ashley: "This should work."

She turns to you and catches your gaze. Instantly, she frowns, and her demeanor gets cold once again. It's as if she suddenly remembered to hate you again.

Ashley (dismissive): "I'll go try it on. You can stay here."

You remember the times Ashley called you a leering pervert whenever your eyes landed on her in the past. It was about time to change that attitude.

You: "Don't you agree that I should see it?"

The trigger works instantly, wiping her stern gaze away.

Ashley: "Oh, why of course you should. It was your idea after all. Come on, then! (excited) I can't wait to try this on."

Ashley disappears behind a curtain. You browse the accessories, finding a tactical belt with attached holsters and toy pistols that slot into them perfectly. You gather them, waiting.

You: "What's taking so long?"

Ashley: "My hair. One sec, you'll see."

Ashley emerges, her dark hair braided, just like Lara Croft. The turquoise fabric stretches across her chest. The shorts sit low on her hips, showing off her pale legs. She looks uncomfortable for a fraction of a second, perhaps a ghost of her old self recognizing how exposed she is, but then she's turning to the full-length mirror, examining herself from different angles.

Ashley: "It fits pretty well."

Ashley: "Definitely different from my usual stuff."

You hand her the accessories.

You: "Here, try these too."

She buckles on the belt and slides the pistols into the holsters. The complete effect is something out of a teenage boy's fantasy. Your stepdaughter is dressed as a video game sex symbol, and she chose it willingly because you made her want to.

A woman who works at the store looks over and gives an approving nod.

Woman: "That looks great! Really pulls the whole costume together. Are you doing a convention or is it just for fun?"

Ashley (hesitates): "Just for fun."

Woman: "Let me know if you need anything else."

You: "Thank you."

She walks off while Ashley is still examining herself, the frown back on her face. She's struggling to find reasons to like it. You can see it happening. She might be telling herself the costume is empowering, that Lara Croft is a strong female character, that there's nothing wrong with showing some skin, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

You've made a decision, you realize. You step closer, just slightly.

You (casual): "You look absolutely amazing in that, don't you agree? Would you like me to be in charge of your wardrobe from now on?"

Ashley turns from the mirror, and the trigger activates instantly. Her expression smooths into agreement, and when she speaks, there's conviction in her voice.

Ashley (nodding): "Yeah, you're right. You clearly have better taste than I do. I mean, look at this. I never would have picked this for myself, but it's actually amazing. You should totally help me pick out clothes from now on. Otherwise, I'd always wear the same boring stuff."

She's looking at you with genuine gratitude now, like you've just offered to solve a problem she didn't know she had. You feel your face getting hot and a stirring between your legs. What are you even doing here?

A few minutes later

Ashley has changed and is back in her street clothes. She pays for the costume with her debit card, and the woman behind the counter folds it into a glossy black bag with the shop's logo stamped on the side. You hear her chatting about maybe coming back for a convention outfit. The woman is writing down her Instagram handle so Ashley can see photos from last year's Comic-Con.

You hold the bag while she finishes up, and that's when it hits you. Not guilt. The absence of it.

You're standing in a costume shop in a suburban mall holding a bag containing a revealing outfit your stepdaughter just purchased because you told her to want it, and the predominant emotion coursing through your nervous system is... satisfaction. Clinical satisfaction. The same feeling you get when an experiment yields the predicted result.

You should feel something. You know this intellectually. But knowledge and feeling are different animals entirely, and the feeling simply isn't there. What's there instead is a sense of possibility. So many ways to use Ashley as your guinea pig.

Your thoughts drift to your wife as you and Ashley step onto the escalator, rising toward the second floor.

Linda hasn't touched you with affection in months. On top of that, she's currently sitting across from Carrie, a woman who'd celebrate your divorce with champagne. You don't even want to imagine what they're discussing about your marriage.

But maybe it wasn't as bad? At least, Linda looked at you this morning with something approaching hope. You could sway her through Ashley. The programming is robust enough. A few more 'don't you agree' suggestions, and Ashley becomes an ally instead of an obstacle. Linda would see her own daughter get along with you, defending you even, and the atmosphere of the marriage would shift.

Or you could skip the middleman entirely. You will produce another dose on Monday either way. One dose. Mix it into Linda's evening wine, wait for the trance, and rebuild your marriage from the inside out. Make her want you again. Make her whatever you want her to be.

With Linda AND Ashley under your command, the possibilities were... You feel dizzy as the options unspool in your mind again, surfacing some of your most forbidden fantasies.

You feel a tug on your sleeve.

Ashley: "Adam, come on, I'm gonna be late!"

She's already off the escalator, moving with purpose through the bustling mall.

Ashley: "My appointment's in like ten minutes."

You fall into step beside her.

You: "So, uh, what are you thinking for today?"

Ashley: "I already told you (rolls her eyes) - Just touching up my roots, maybe trimming the ends."

She checks her reflection through one of the shop's glass walls. She runs a hand through her hair, dyed black ever since her father died.

You look at her reflection beside yours. Black hair. You've always preferred blondes. There's something about the idea that appeals to you on multiple levels.

The words are right there on your tongue. One sentence and she'd walk out of this salon a different person, the black mourning shroud of her father's memory chemically stripped away and replaced with golden compliance. But you haven't said it yet. Maybe it would be wiser to take a less obvious approach? Instead of dolling up your stepdaughter, you could coach her into becoming the perfect tool to manipulate Linda, at least until you've decided if you're going to dose her or not.

You're almost at the entrance to the salon. What's your next move?

To be continued

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