#Book Store Shopping script

[dollyzdaydreamz]

sam winchester x fem!reader

Sammy Stamp

description: your tattoo artist friend suggests doing a 'random' henna tattoo on your lower back out of boredom. when you return to the motel, your semi-permanent tramp stamp practically turns sams brain into mush.

reader has ‘sammy’ on her lower back aaa ::>_<:: warnings: no nsfw, but slightly suggestive, fluff. spn masterlist

You and the boys were on a hunt in your hometown, so you figured you’d give your childhood friend a visit. Sam and Dean were oblivious to the fact that she knew you were a hunter. The poor girl had been caught up in one too many of your half assed lies and near death experiences when creatures had decided to hunt you back; so naturally, the secret had to get out somehow.

Her tattoo studio was tucked between a shuttered record shop and pawn store on the edge of town, its windows fogged by condensation. It was dim, but cozy in its own way. The walls were a patchwork of old band posters, ink designs pinned like sketches in your hunter journal, and a few faded Polaroids of past clients who’d braved bolder choices.

You were curled up on a faded leather couch in the front room, a chipped mug of hot chocolate cooling in your hand.

She was finishing a walk-in tattoo, leaving you to your thoughts, until your phone buzzed quietly on your thigh.

Sammy (2:43 PM)

Just checking in. You doing okay?

You smiled and gave him a call, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam echoed on the other end, his voice soft and familiar. There was a quiet rustle. Paper maybe, or an old book, then a sigh. “Just wanted to make sure you got there alright.”

“I did. She’s finishing up a piece. I’m just chilling here waiting,” You reply. "It was snowing a little last time I checked. You keeping warm?" He asked. “Yeah. Hot chocolate’s questionable, but it’s hot.” you chuckled softly.

He huffed a short laugh, and you could picture him, probably hunched over an old lore book, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up.

“That’s good.” A pause. You could hear Dean faintly in the background, and the distant creak of motel floorboards. “I miss you.”

That pulled at something quiet inside you, making you smile, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” he murmured. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Bye Sammy.”

You ended the call just as your friend stepped back into the room, tugging off a pair of gloves. She eyed your expression with a grin.

“Sammy? That your guy again?”

You nodded. “Just checking in.”

She grinned, amused, “He’s the moose, right?”

You lifted a brow, “Moose?”

She smirked. “Tall, broad shoulders, hair like he lives in a forest?”

You paused, “Huh, I suppose he does look like a moose.”

She plopped down in the armchair across from you. “Yeah, I've see him and his brother around town. He seems good for you.”

You exhaled slowly, “He is. He’s smart and sweet. Sometimes it’s like he’s thinking five steps ahead but never makes you feel behind.”

“Bagged yourself a fellow nerd.”

“Yeah,” You sigh dreamily, “A cute nerd.”

She chuckled before leaning back, tapping her chin, “You bored?”

You shrugged, “A little. Why?”

“Wanna let me give you a henna tattoo?”

You hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Ah, why not?”

“Dealer’s choice?”

You nod, "Yeah. I mean I trust your artistic instinct." She perked up at that, "Let's do one on your lower back! Like a cute little tramp stamp?"

“Go ahead," You shrug. "Something small though.” 

You shifted to lie down on your stomach, pulling your blouse up just enough to give her space to work. The cool touch of henna paste startled you at first, but the process was slow and relaxing, the way she always was when she had a brush in hand.

She didn’t tell you what she was painting. Just chatted with you idly and occasionally adjusted your shirt. When it finally dried and she wiped off the excess, she handed you a mirror and let you see it.

A delicate bunny and moose, outlined with just enough detail to make them whimsical, sat in the small of your back. Above them, written in careful script: Sammy.

“You know what? This is the most wholesome tramp stamp I’ve ever seen.” You laughed quietly. “Why the rabbit?”

She grinned. “Hm, I guess you remind me of one. And like I said, that Sammy of yours is obviously a moose.”

You glanced back in the mirror, the figures sweet and strangely personal. “It’s adorable, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

By the time you two finished catching up it was getting late. 

As you gathered your things, your friend caught a peak of the tattoo and snickered,

“Something funny?” You sassed, slipping on your boots and looking back to her smug expression.

“Sammy's gonna love it,” She whispered as she pulled you into a hug. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, though you hugged her tighter anyway.

By the time you returned to the motel, the sky had dulled into twilight, the clouds washed in violet and gray. The scent of motel soap clung faintly in the air, and you could hear the bathroom fan running. Dean was probably washing up, taking advantage of the steam showers the receptionist was raving out. Sam was sat at the table, a book open in front of him, lamp light catching the edges of his hair.

He looked up as you came in. That quiet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey. Have fun?” He asked, voice soft, eyes already on you like you’d been gone longer than just a few hours.

You nodded, toeing off your boots. “Yeah. She just wanted to catch up for a bit.”

“Mm.” His eyes lingered on you, then dipped back to the book, fingers absently turning a page. “Can you grab that old journal from the top shelf? The leather one with the green spine.”

You crossed the room, lifting your arms to reach the shelf. The hem of your shirt rose slightly with the motion.

And that’s when you heard it.

A sharp inhale. The sound of paper crinkling under a suddenly too-tight grip.

You turned, journal in hand. Sam was staring, not in the way he meant to, more like his eyes had found something and were refusing to let go. His mouth parted slightly, brows drawn like he couldn’t quite process what he’d just seen.

“Sam? You alright?” you asked, beginning to worry that he’d seen some sort of vision. 

He blinked fast, dragging his eyes up to yours like he was trying to catch up. “What? Yeah—I’m fine,” he said, voice wavering. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the book like it could ground him. His leg had started bouncing.

You nodded, still unconvinced, but you didn’t wanna push it. You crossed the room to hand him that book he wanted, before getting ready for bed.

A few minutes later, you lay on his bed, facing him to get some shut eye, it was weird, but sometimes just watching work or do something quietly helped you fall asleep.

“Hey—did you...get a tattoo or somethin’?” he asked after a moment.

You glanced over your shoulder, then remembered, “Oh. Not a real one, it’s just henna,” you shrugged. “We were bored, so she gave me one.”

“Oh,” he nodded, lips pressed together like he didn’t trust them to say more. But his fingers fiddled with the corner of the page, restless.

So it was the tattoo that rattled him...

You felt a little grin tug at your lips, wanting to revel in the attention a little more. So you got up, padded toward him and lifted your sleep shirt just enough to show him the full thing, “Do you like it?”

Sam blinked, mouth opening, but nothing came out for a second. "Sammy?"

He cleared his throat when you turned back around, eyebrows quirked at his dazed expression.

“Yeah, it’s hot—or cute. If that’s—what you were going for…” He sputtered.

“Thanks,” you bit back a laugh. "So when are you gonna finish up?" You asked, sitting on his lap to push the brown locks out of his face, grinning at the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed, seemingly melting into your hands. "Mm, I don't know, soon," he murmured, face tilting to give your wrist a little kiss. "Could've gotten a real tattoo in all the time you've been sitting here," you chuckled. Sam's head was nearly lolling back, sleep beginning to overtake him as you continued to gently stroke his hair when you leaned into his ear to speak again, “I was never into tramp stamps but, I don't know, this one’s like my little Sammy stamp,” You whisper. His big brown eyes shot open. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to process what you just said. You weren’t sure if it was the nickname, the location of the tattoo, or the casualness in your voice, but something short-circuited in that big beautiful brain of his.

You leaned down, lips almost brushing his.

And then—

You pulled back with a soft yawn, blinking sleepily as you got up off his lap. “I think I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Sam stared up at you,

"Wha—Seriously?” his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

You stifled another yawn, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too obviously. “Yeah, it’s late and I’m tired.”

He gave you a flat, betrayed look, the corner of his mouth twitching in spite of himself. “You—” He scoffed, falling back against the chair back, “You planned that, didn’t you?” He was met with silence as you settled on the bed with your arms folded under your chin. The hem of your shirt rode up again, but you didn’t bother adjusting it, resting your cheek on your arm with a barely concealed smile and close your eyes. You let him stew in it, content in the knowledge that your little tattoo was doing exactly what your friend hoped.

Sam tried to read. Really, he did. But he kept tapping the same sentence with his pen. He felt his gaze drifting again, never quite landing, but never quite staying away either.

His thoughts were a mess.

Yeah, maybe it would fade, but it was his name. On your lower back. In a spot usually reserved for something…private.

And you looked so damn content. Like it didn’t even occur to you that it might be even the slightest bit suggestive.

…this ones like my little Sammy stamp

He groaned under his breath, before rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the page harder, “Sammy stamp...” he muttered with a huff, "Christ."

A few hours passed and Sam was finally calmed down. Dean had long since emerged and flopped onto the far bed, snoring within minutes. Sam finally shut the lore book, brain too fried to keep going.

Sam turned, and there you were. Curled into his bed, face smushed into the arm tucked under your cheek, the other draped loosely off the edge.

He moved quietly, slipping in behind you. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled in, his body curving gently against yours. His hand brushed your back lightly, the way that usually helped you stay asleep. Then his fingers dipped to trace the soft shapes adorning the small of your back.

He hadn’t really looked at the design earlier, been too busy short-circuiting over his name. But now, in the moonlight peeking through the curtains, he saw what was etched below his name: a little rabbit, leaning up to a moose. 

Sam's fingers gently pressed on the animals. He tilted his head, it sorta reminded him of the two of you. Then he huffed in amusement as the realization hit him, of course it was you and him.

He tucked his nose into your shoulder and closed his eyes, the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly pulling him under, falling asleep behind you with a little smile on his lips.

don't be shy, lmk what you think ! `(*>﹏<*)′ justice for tramp stamps frl, if i could get a tattoo, i'd get one there. they can be so dainty and cuttte. i'm still working on the fairy!reader fics for sam and dean + some requests i've gotten :)

[boorines]

bf!wonwoo thoughts

genre: fluff, suggestive

-

bf!wonwoo who thinks everything is better if he does it with you. playing games on his computer? wordlessly hands you a controller so you can play with him. reading a book? it’s much more enjoyable if you’re resting your head on his shoulder while he turns the pages for you. wonwoo who always has your favourite mug ready when he pours himself a cup of coffee. he refuses to leave bed in the morning if you’re still asleep, only willing to start his day when you start yours. he’ll trace patterns into the skin of your arm or run a finger along the curve of your cheek while you sleep, smiling sheepishly if your eyes blink open. wonwoo who says shopping for groceries is 100%, definitely, always a two person job. doesn’t matter if it’s only to pick up a carton of milk, he’s coming with you. says it’s for ‘moral support’ (he would superglue himself to you if he could).

bf!wonwoo who is so subtly flirty it drives you crazy. eye contact with frequent glances at your lips. sly smiles and once overs, then twice overs, when you try on a new dress. a hand darting out to wipe pasta sauce off the corner of your mouth. two hands wrapping a scarf securely around your neck. wonwoo who takes every opportunity to dote on you. in private or in public. slides your joint hands into his coat pocket as you walk together. opens his coat and pulls you flush against him when you’re not warm enough for his satisfaction. picks fluff out of your hair like it’s second nature. wonwoo who notes the way your cheeks flush pink and laughs, placing a kiss to your nose. wonwoo who follows up with a kiss to your lips when your ears bloom the same shade as your cheeks. “why so shy?” he whispers. but he knows.

bf!wonwoo who thinks the sound of your laughter is the prettiest he’s ever heard. so he does everything that he can to hear it. cheesy pick up lines when you fuss over the stove with him in the morning. stupid dad jokes that make you chuckle with a roll of your eyes. his eyes trained on you as a comedy film plays on tv, praying he catches your soft laughs at the scripted jokes. wonwoo who won’t hesitate to coax them out of you if he has to. soft pokes at your stomach, victorious when you splutter out a laugh. fingers tickling the soles of your feet as they rest on his lap, pulling whiny giggles from your throat. wonwoo who has a deep frown on his features when he sees your face wet with tears and your eyes bloodshot. wipes at your cheeks and places soft kisses to your hair, warm and soothing. relieved when you give him a watery smile. makes a mental note to never let you nip to the corner store alone, even if you relentlessly insist.

bf!wonwoo who gets a little jealous even if he pretends not to. wonwoo who simmers a little when you smile sweetly at the old friend you bump into in the frozen foods aisle. wonwoo who can’t help but let out a gruff sigh when you tell him how that friend had a penchant for cracking the silliest jokes. he mumbles under his breath when you question the change in his demeanour, getting sulkier the longer it takes for you to catch on. and when you do? the shy smirk you give him makes him short circuit. wonwoo who is quick to press his lips against yours the second the door closes behind you. wonwoo who mutters things like ‘mine’, ‘my baby’ and ‘no one but me’ into the crook of your neck. wonwoo who grins smugly when you nod feverishly, pressed against the door. wonwoo who peppers your skin with kisses, returning your need for him tenfold.

-

written with @waldau in mind! since wonwoo is ur ult <3 thank u for reading and enjoying my work, ur reblogs make my day!!

[ladyinsanity]

Preserving Your DHD Library

Dark Horse Digital is closing up shop and is ending support March 31st.

All purchases through DHD are on a "license the right to read" basis - we do not "own" the books. While they say we have until March 30 to download to our Bookshelf library, the ability to read on the website will only be available "at least through summer".

Well, that's awful.

If you want a way to preserve all your books, detailed instructions under the cut.

As a disclaimer, this may not be legal in all jurisdictions. Use your best judgment. Also, this method does not work for all titles, and has not been updated since 2017.

That said...

How to Download your DHD Library

Step 1: Install Tampermonkey extension via Chrome web store. (If other browser, check Step 1 here.)

Make sure to also enable "Developer mode" in extensions. On Brave you can access it through the Settings - Extensions - Manage Extensions. For Chrome, refer to this video to enable.

Step 2: Copy (CTRL+C) all the code from the Dark Horse Downloader script by oxguy3, under "Code" tab.

Step 3: Click the Tampermonkey extension in your browser and choose "Create a new script."

Delete the default code and Paste (CTRL+V) the script. Then, click File - Save.

Step 4: Log into Dark Horse Digital and go to your Bookshelf. Make sure "Stack by Series" is disabled. You should see something like this image - press "Download" for the title you want to keep.

Step 5: Download will start automatically. When it is done, it should pop up in your Downloads folder as a CBZ file.

CBZ files are basically an archive of all the images from the title. You can use an app like YACReader or CDisplayEx to view like a book.

If you want a more visual explanation, this video on how to bulk download Kindle titles has a similar method.

(And FYI, Amazon is also removing access to download Kindle titles after February 26. Isn't that a fun coincidence. /s)

Anywho, best of luck!

EDIT: I added a step in Step 1 to enable Developer Mode.

[puppys-tiny-space]

🧁Games to play with your plushies/sibbies/cg's🧁

This list is mainly focused on games I like to play and aren't focused on proper pretend play but more things that follow a script of sorts as I'm autistic and don't enjoy playing differently

🩹doctor office, I love playing doctors office, I even make little patient sheets for everyone, set up a proper office, and waiting room, this games is great because there is a clear structure to play with and focus on🩹

🍨ice cream shop, ice cream shop is such a fun game, I have a Play-Doh set to make ice cream with that's really fun to play with, I like to set up my plushies in a line and give them fake money and then arrange them in groups to eat that candy together🍨

🦴puppy pound, playing things like animal shelter can be lots of fun with your plushies, you can make little introduction cards for each of them and makeup backstories, then you can lead another plushie or imaginary person through your shelter and introduce the animals🦴

🍼tea party, now this one is a classic, having real or pretend tea and cakes or other snacks with your plushies, discussing funny gossip or plushie land political issues, maybe even giving good life advice to your furry friends all this and more can be super great for playing tea party🍼

🪽funeral, this might seem morbid for some but for me it's very fun as I want to become a mortician, you can craft a pretty casket for the plushie, make a flower bouquet with paper, write a eulogy and set everything up nice and pretty, don't forget to make sure it worn make you sad though🪽

🧴beauty salon, I adore this game, giving a silly makeover to your plushies or human friends is so much fun, you can put bows in their hair, pretend to wash it, put makeup on them, paint their nails, give them silly outfits and talk about their life's🧴

🍥grocery store, playing grocery store isn't for everyone and I have to admit it's not something I like too much but for some people it can still be lots of fun, I especially like the organizing part🍥

📖library, this is a game I adore, you can make little library cards for your plushies and friends, set up books in piles, read story times to the visitors, help everyone find thr books they would like and give your recommendations📖

🌸flower store, for this game you can draw and craft lots of pretty flowers to sell to your plushies, advice them on the perfect way to put together their bouquet, add beautiful ribbons and lave to the flowers ans write nice cards for them, I think especially flowers out of pipe cleaners are amazing for this🌸

🩰ballet, now this could either mean you out on a show for or with your plushies or even going to a ballet with them, either way you can dress up beautifully and either dance together or watch a ballet on YouTube and pretend you are in a theater, I really like the Russian ballet's 🩰

Fun fact of the day: a cloud weighs around a million tonnes

[aurorasgate]

101 ways to seduce a SOLDIER: prologue

sephiroth x fem!reader

series masterlist | series warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, angst & fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, explicit sexual content

chapter warnings: 3.8k+ words, more hurt than comfort for now, a bit of insecurties n worry

you love midgar at this time of day, right as the citizens begin to settle into their homes after another day of work and the sun is in the last few moments of setting; the few remaining rays of yellow light slowly being engulfed in the azure night. a cooling breeze accompanies the mako green hue of the street lights that have just begun to flicker on, illuminating the rest of your short walk to the bookstore.

it was one you knew by heart and muscle memory alone. when to leave on what days and what route to take in order to get there the hour before closing. each crack in the sidewalk familiar to your steps that always seem to avoid them just so, the closing of the other store fronts almost perfectly timed with your passing of them. 

perhaps it was the same muscle memory that brought you to look upwards at the tinkling of the bell as you open the bookstores creaky wooden door and feel the warmth from inside the building kissing your cheeks. sephiroth would normally have stood next to you, peering down at you with that sweet smile that was just for you while he held the door open for you before he spent a pretty piece of gil on books for you both.

or maybe it was just your longing, aching, heart hoping that he would be there like you wished him to be. your chest tightens when you are only met with the doors hinges that groan as it closes behind you and leaves you staring at the side of an old bookshelf. 

trying to leave the uncomfortableness in your chest at the door, you push forward with a shaky step and pull out your phone to read through your texts with sephiroth to confirm the title of the book you had offered to grab for him while he continued to work. it was mission after mission after mission lately and even when he did have a break or when he was only gone for the day, every moment at home was spent resting and getting ready for the next call that was surely not far off.

of course you both knew it could be like this at times, especially while the war with wutai continues on but it didn’t make it suck any less to not be able to be with him in so many ways. and it really fucking sucks.

you keep your phone held close to your chest with each step you take deeper into the bookstore, past the round cashiers desk in the middle of the small store where a familiar older woman sits and nods with a wrinkled smile as you pass by her. she had never said much to either you or sephiroth while you were here, outside of thanking you for your continued patronage and letting her know if she could special order anything for you. it was odd to not have someone fawning over him or asking for autographs or photos but for whatever reason she never had and it was one of the reasons you continued to come here.

you return her smile and hurry past her so you won’t take up too much of her time. no one else was in the shop besides the two of you and most nights when you came here with sephiroth, it was the same. comfortable, quiet and with an abundance of books from bedtime children's stories to rare collectables from wutai.

each bookshelf that lines every wall and splits the space into several smaller sections are made of different designs and woods, like each one had simply found itself here after no longer being needed in its previous home. in the extra spaces sit more mismatched tables that are stacked with books and advertising signs, hand written in a looping bold script and colorful ink.

right outside the historical section, one in particular catches your eye; a book with a deep purple cover and pink and gold lettering sitting on top of a square table with big leaf vines carved into the legs. the stack of books seemed to be missing quite a few, many already bought and these ones not far off. all that was left was a few scattered on the edges of the table and the stack of five or so laying one on top of the other in the middle of the table. sitting on the stack of them, a standing sign reads: 

‘ranked midgars #1 in women's reading! featured in women of shinra magazine & sworn to work by gold saucer actress ramona maroon selling fast, get your copy today!’

you take a step towards the table and tentatively reach for one of the books at the edge closest to you. it’s light, the cover smooth and untouched by wear and tear but it starts to feel like a live bomb in your hands as you read the title and the smaller normal script below it.

‘101 ways to seduce your partner

have you lost that intimate spark? is work taking up all of their time? need to recatch their attention? this book is for you! a fool proof way to getting close and intimate with your partner once again’

you snort at first. this is a best seller? are so many of the relationships of midgar really in such need? but there’s an undeniable ache in your body that reminds you yours is not faring much better at the moment. 

when was the last time you and sephiroth had been even close to intimate? outside of chaste kisses and embraces that were never long enough or outside of sleep, you can’t recall the last time you had felt his hands on you or when you had last caught his hungry gaze on you. you aren’t sure when you last saw his sculpted body outside of his uniform, got to feel him and love on him like he deserves.

surely it hadn’t come to this though.. you weren’t so desperate as to need a book's advice on how to get your boyfriend to look your way. does it even apply if your partner is a soldier? the circumstances are totally different. it’s not like either of you wanted this and it wasn’t because that spark was dead. 

it wasn’t.. right?

no.. stupid book. 

quickly, like it was burning your hands, you set it back down on the table and make your way deep into the historical section, ignoring the heat in your cheeks as you read down the book spines until you find the one sephiroth wanted and hug it against your chest like a shield when you have to walk past the table of purple books again to check out.

you don’t need a book to get yourself anxious over your relationship or to tell you how to fix it. there's nothing to even fix! you chide yourself. life had just been busy and tiring and you already knew you could catch sephiroths attention, that you could ignite that spark even when it had been untouched for longer than you could clearly handle.

you could and would do something about it, for both your sakes, without the help of a book for the housewives and husbands of midgar. surely he needed it too.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

when you had received sephiroths text a few days later letting you know he’d be returning back same day after having to leave you once again in the earliest parts of the morning, you knew exactly how you were going to welcome him home. 

with your shopping for supplies out of the way, which you did with a giddy smile you could hardly contain, you had spent the better half of the late afternoon and early evening getting ready. ensuring your hair and makeup was to your liking and trying on all of your lingerie sets until you settled on the little lacey black piece you knew sephiroth loved. it hugs your figure perfectly and sits along your hips comfortably while leaving your back exposed and the dip of the neckline goes past your navel. the fabric lays lightly over your breasts but a small tug one way or the other would expose the most intimate parts of you so easily.

after getting ready, you throw on a robe to keep warm and covered until it’s time to feel so very vulnerable and exposed once you are in the presence of your beloved. you weren’t quite sure when sephiroth would be back but as the sun dips below the walls of midgar, you’re opening a bottle of wine and lighting the candles you had purchased earlier and had set along the living area and open kitchen that shared the large space, eagerly waiting for his return.

warm melted wax begins to pool at the center of each candle until it spills over the edge and onto the surface you had placed under them the longer the night goes on without sephiroth coming home. you’ve hardly moved from the spot you had taken on the couch, couldn’t let go of the edge of the cushion or calm your anxious heart as you waited and checked your phone again and again but no text or call came through and the time on your homescreen only continued to get later.

with your heart in your throat and making your eyes water even though you swore you wouldn’t cry, you were about to give up, blow out the candles and get changed into one of his oversized shirts to get ready to fall asleep while you waited for him to get home when you hear the front door lock turning. your held back tears are still glistening on your lash line but your face breaks out into a bashful smile as relief washes over you. quickly you untie your robe and toss it to the corner of the couch, cursing yourself for not deciding during your waiting on how you would pose or greet him when he walked in.

should you go with a hushed ‘welcome home’ as you pull him down to kiss you and stand on your toes to meet him? lay on the couch and sit up to beckon him over once he sees you? perhaps no words were needed but rather a sultry walk and a needy gaze until you’re in his arms and he takes you right there in the entryway, against the wall?

goddess it didn’t matter as long as you got to feel his hands and lips on you.

smoothing out the lace along your body and taking a deep breath, you feel all of your worries and anxieties completely evaporate at the sight of sephiroths tall figure and shining silver hair coming through the door. you feel a bit shy dressed in so little when he’s in his full uniform, so small and helpless; a tiny crystal offering to a god among men. but you’re entranced by the soft metal clinking of his armor and accessories, the sway of hair, the hands that hold you so tenderly but never let you go. you know there’s no reason to worry and don’t let the small, vulnerable feeling pooling in your belly stop you from taking a quiet step in his direction.

“seph~” you coo quietly, your sultry smile evident in your voice even to yourself. 

but he doesn’t respond to your call. it’s as if he hadn’t noticed you or the flames flickering around him at all. like his body is on autopilot. his strides are long, quiet, and go straight past you, just out of arm's reach, and into the bedroom without taking in anything else around him or looking in your direction. in the shadows of the candle light and the length of his bangs covering his features, you can’t make out his expression or see his eyes but can feel his warmth and smell the last remnants of his floral shampoo as he passes by you.

you go to call his name again, try to grab his attention, maybe his hand, but there’s a lump in your throat keeping you from even breathing and a heaviness to your entire body that roots you in place when there's only his lingering scent to cling onto in the place you had expected him to take you into his arms. 

this was.. not what you were expecting or prepared for; was more than your heart could handle and as you stand here alone, it feels more fragile than you had last remembered it.

he’s not ignoring you. he’s not. and you haven’t lost that spark. you haven’t. he still wants you.. still wants to be with you.. he does.. 

you swallow your anxious, unwelcomed, thoughts: bitter and hard and settling at the bottom of your stomach like bricks. he must be exhausted. it just wasn’t a good night for this. that’s all.. 

once you’re able to force yourself to move, you’re quick to blow out the candles and hurry into the bedroom after sephiroth but in the time you had taken, he had shed his entire outfit, leaving it on the floor near his side of the bed in a neat pile and, in only his boxers, has quite literally fallen into bed. you hear the dull thumb of his body against the mattress as you enter the room, not even able to pull himself under the covers.

from your place near the bedroom door, you can’t help but think how normally he would look younger like this, spread out along the large mattress with his features soft in the realm between consciousness and sleep. but tonight he looks weathered, evident dark circles under his eyes in the moonlight, his breaths deep like they were the first real ones he had taken all day. when he reaches towards your side of the bed and is met with nothing, his brows knit, his lips turning downwards in deep expressive displeasure. boyish like you remember him to be and it makes your heart go through an ungodly amount and levels of emotions in a span of a few beats.

it aches and bursts with warmth all at once. joins the heaviness of your stomach but still provides life to the butterflies knocking against your rib cage. chokes you and provides you with hope and worry and reminds you not to just stand there when he’s finally within arms reach. while you still have him.

leaving your lingerie among the pile of his uniform on the floor near the bed, you quickly slip into one of sephiroths cotton training t-shirts and crawl into bed, unsuccessfully attempting to get the covers from underneath his large body so he can be properly tucked in because as soon as he feels you, his arms are around you, gathering you to his chest and pressing you tightly against him.

a soft, barely audible murmur of your name leaves his lips and seeps into your hair where he presses a slow, sleepy kiss. he’s so warm, his heartbeat steady in your ears, his arms unyielding in their hold on you and you don’t know what it is exactly that has you shedding a few tears against your will, the wetness of them lingering on your cheeks and his chest as you, more quickly than you expected and without warning, follow him into the sands of sleep.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

though days later and a few hours earlier than when you would normally come, the bookstore brought the same blanket of warmth as soon as you entered, the smell of parchment, ink and leather prominent in the air. you don’t look up expecting sephiroth to be beside you like you had before but instead take your time studying the labeled sections as you pass by them slowly and try to remind yourself sephiroth would be here with you again soon. 

his absence was something you had felt tenfold since he left for wutai the afternoon after your failed attempt at seducing him. you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the apology text you had woken up to or the neatly folded lingerie that was placed on top of the dresser by sephiroth before he had left for shinra hq in the early morning while you were still sleeping. 

you were quick to shove the lace in the back of your drawer and reply to sephiroths text with reassurance that it was alright and an emoticon you did not really relate to at that moment. he had asked you if you were sure you were alright when you met in the afternoon to say your farewells in person before he left for wutai but your smile felt a little more honest then as he held you, kissed you deeply, like he needed it - you - more than air in his lungs, and you promised him everything was okay despite your slightly defeated heart and that aching yearning that was starting to feel like a more permanent part of you.

it is okay, missing him is normal and he’s missing you too. you repeat the reassurance to yourself and attempt to focus on the bookshelves in front of you. a plastic stand holding a piece of paper with sparkling black and red ink that advertises the well stocked vampire romance novels below it tells you that you’ve wandered into the start of the adult section and with light steps you keep going, taking your time to see if any catch your eyes as you go from section to section. 

by the time you’ve made it a little more than halfway through the entire store, three books cradled in your arms and ready to come home with you, you find yourself facing the children's section, facing a self displaying mismatched used books and behind you sits an oversized shelf full of years worth of different prints of loveless. one of the childrens books catches your attention, a thick story book with a tan binding and colorfully painted dragons on the spine- a compilation of wutian children's stories.

laying the childrens book against the stack of the other books in your arms, you flip through a few pages, taking in the softly lined and colored lanterns, the little creatures, and the delicate lettering telling their story that flows along the pages. you’ve never read children's stories from wutai, don’t really remember any stories being told to you from your own childhood, but the pang you feel in your chest is for your beloved who more than likely had never had a story read to him in his whole life.

well, aside from genesis reading loveless over and over again.

adding the children's book to the stack of books coming home with you, holding tightly onto your wish to read it with sephiroth when he comes home, the weight now in your arms tells you it’s best to call it here. feeling the heaviness of them cradling in your arms, the crisp edges resting against your middle, you can’t help but think of sephiroth again. your mind wanders to the many memories you have in this one building alone, imagining the way he’d suddenly be behind you without having made a noise, the pads of his fingers finding the small of your back and a soft secret smile to his tone as he asks if he can carry the books for you like it would be his genuine pleasure to do so.

so many times he had done just that and you hold onto the fact that soon he’d be back, in your arms, in your bed, right behind you as you buy more books than your apartment could likely hold, like this little part of your life made it some kind of normal that you both longed for, together.

as if to taunt you right on queue, with your head so full of your beloved, being together with him - something you were severely lacking at the moment, there was that purple book only a few steps away from you as you turn to leave the children's section. you swallow thickly as you read the cover from a distance even though you recognized the pink lettering immediately but read it again just to be sure.

‘101 ways to seduce your partner

have you lost that intimate spark? is work taking up all of their time? need to recatch their attention? this book is for you! a fool proof way to getting close and intimate with your partner once again’

one single copy. misplaced on a side table it didn’t belong to but standing out against the pile of much less intimidating books surrounding it. you glance around the store, like someone might come to claim it as their own any second, apologizing for leaving it here while they went to look at something else but there only seemed to be you and the store owner in her usual place at the register.

you and her and this stupid, stupid book.

but maybe it wasn’t so stupid.. a small voice inside you whispers. you wanted his attention, didn’t you? soldier or not, sephiroth is a person with desires and feelings, wants and needs. no one in midgar was immune to that, not even the strongest of them. and maybe you could use something to cling onto. to give you a direction, hope to hold, to add to your spark - not letting yourself admit for a second that perhaps it was lost. and if nothing else, you could giggle over the more ridiculous suggestions.

your cheeks burn as you grab the copy of the book as you pass by it and hastily add it to the bottom of your pile, probably looking more like you were contemplating shoplifting it rather than embarrassed about purchasing it but there’s no knowing tells or side eyes by the shop owner as she adds together the price of each book and with care places them in the reusable bag you had brought with you and slides it across the counter with a thanking nod, without taking any gil from you.

before you can say anything, she explains with a small smile that crinkles the edges of her eyes, “mr. sephiroth came in a few days ago and filled a tab for you so you’re all set.” she looks down at her log book, scribbling down what you assume is the price of your haul today and when she meets your gaze again she adds, “will be for the next long while.”

you can feel the flame in your heart flickering in the wing beats of the butterflies swarming your chest and the giggle you can’t help but let out that sephiroth had set up a tab at a bookstore and had likely filled it with more money than you could possibly use while he was away. 

“thank you,” you reply with a smile of your own, gathering your bag but you hold it to your chest rather than by the handles, feeling the smaller purple book pressed against you the entire walk home.

↬ next: part one [coming soon..]

[orellazalonia]

Softly Bound

Summary: You run a quiet little candle shop, content in your solitude until Yelena Belova walks in; and slowly, without permission, she begins rewiring your entire life. By the time you realize she's isolated you from everyone and everything you knew, part of you already belongs to her... and she knows it. (Soft!Dark Yelena Belova x reader)

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: Based off of this request!

Main Masterlist

The world outside your shop moved fast. People rushed past with phones glued to their ears, lattes in one hand, and exhaustion in their bones. You could see it all from your little corner of the street, watching them blur past the front windows like life itself was one long sprint. But inside? Inside, everything slowed down.

You ran a small, almost-forgotten candle and herb shop nestled between a shuttered flower store and an always-busy bakery that smelled like cinnamon and burnt sugar.

Your storefront was modest, your name hand-painted in curling script on the door: Hearth & Hollow. It was the kind of place people stumbled into on accident or maybe fate. You liked that idea better. There was something sacred about quiet discovery.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass jars of dried lavender, crushed rose petals, and peppermint leaves. Candles you poured by hand, wax with wood wicks that crackled when they burned, were scattered throughout the room in every shape and scent imaginable. Vanilla, amber moss, eucalyptus, and more.

A soft, soothing warmth always hung in the air, a protective haze of scent and silence that made people speak softer when they stepped inside.

You were usually behind the counter, a book in your hands or your fingers stained with wax and oil from some half-finished project. You wore soft sweaters that were always a little oversized with sleeves pulled over your knuckles.

The world outside didn’t get to reach you here. Not with the slow music playing on the radio and the tea steaming beside you. Not with the door locked after closing, not when it was just you and the faint flicker of flames from candles you lit earlier.

Then everything began on the next Tuesday. It was around five in the evening, you were reading when the bell over the door chimed.

You looked up.

She stepped inside like she owned the space already. Like the moment her boots hit your floorboards, something in the room shifted to accommodate her.

She wore all-black with combat boots, a fitted jacket, and sharp lines that made her silhouette feel purposeful, dangerous even. Blonde hair tied in a high braid. Eyes like they were carved from ice and sharpened on steel.

She looked like someone who didn’t belong anywhere near something as delicate as beeswax and rose water.

Still, her gaze scanned the room; not with judgment, but curiosity. Almost interest. You watched her fingers trail along the edge of a shelf as she walked, pausing to lift a candle and smell it, then setting it back down with more gentleness than you expected.

You weren’t sure why your heart was beating faster. She wasn’t saying anything, just… looking. But it felt like you were being examined. Not the store or the products, you.

“Can I help you?” You asked softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Her eyes flicked to you. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then, “Maybe.”

That accent. Russian, maybe? It was heavy, but smooth. Something about it felt like velvet over the edge of a blade.

“I didn’t know this place was here,” She said, voice low but certain. She stepped closer to the counter, slow like a cat as her gaze never left yours.

“Most people don’t,” You shrugged slightly. “But I like it that way.”

“Hm.” Her lips curled slightly, the barest hint of a smirk. “It’s quiet, peaceful.”

“That’s the idea.”

She looked around again, then plucked a small cobalt jar from the shelf nearest the window. You recognized it immediately, it was your migraine balm. Peppermint, eucalyptus, lavender, and a few secret additions you never labeled. She brought it to the counter and set it down with a soft clink.

“This one,” She said.

You reached for it, fingers brushing the glass as you rang it up. “If it doesn’t work, I can always make a stronger one. I customize things sometimes.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowed. “You made this yourself?”

You nodded. “I make everything here. Candles, salves, oils. It’s just me.”

She hummed under her breath, thoughtful. Then, as you handed her the brown paper bag, she said something strange.

“I like this place.”

Your lips parted to say thank you, but her tone gave you pause. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t something people usually said after a ten-minute browse and a single purchase. There was something final in her voice. Something… chosen.

“I’m glad,” You replied carefully.

She lingered for a second longer, then offered the smallest smile before turning and walking out. You watched her through the window as she disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the fast-moving city.

You didn’t know her name. You didn’t know what she did, or why someone who looked like she belonged in a classified file had found your tiny shop. But you had a feeling this wasn’t the last time you’d see her.

And when she came back the next day, your gut was right.

You hadn’t expected that honestly. Most customers wandered in once, maybe twice. Bought a candle. Left a review online if they were feeling generous.

But she returned with the same silent confidence, her presence slipping through the door like smoke. No small talk. No preamble. She just walked in, examined a few shelves, and this time left with a bottle of oil for sleep.

You tried not to watch her too closely. Tried not to fixate on the way she moved, controlled, silent, and a little too graceful. You’d seen trained animals before. The ones that knew how to kill and be quiet. She reminded you of that, though you didn’t want to admit it. Not even to yourself.

Still, something about her felt… magnetic. Like she walked around with her own gravity.

She kept returning. Never the same time of day, never predictable. One week it was Monday morning, the next it was Friday at dusk. Sometimes she bought something like tea blends, bath soaks, a candle called Deep Woods that she tested for a solid thirty seconds before silently placing it in her basket. Other times, she didn’t buy anything at all. She’d linger, roam, or ask you how business was.

“Slow, but steady,” You’d reply, cautious but polite.

And always, she asked personal things, but never in a way that seemed intrusive. Just curious. Warm, even.

“Do you walk home?” “Do you live nearby?” “You don’t have help running this place?”

Each question seemed innocent enough, and you answered half of them without thinking. It wasn’t until later, when the sun had set and you were mopping the floors alone, that the pattern started to trouble you. Like she was assembling a map. Not just of your store, but of you.

You told yourself she was just being friendly. But she never offered much in return. You didn’t even know her name until your phone buzzed one night with an unfamiliar number and a message addressed to your name that read:

You forgot to lock the back door. Be careful, dove. – Yelena

You stared at the screen, blood turning cold. You hadn’t told her your number. You hadn’t told her your name, either. But somehow, she knew it.

Then odd things started occurring.

It started small. The first time you noticed something tangible was when your delivery invoice was mysteriously covered. The local supplier you’d used for years, an old man named Charles, had called you, baffled.

“Got a new sponsor for your shipments, apparently. Paid in advance. You must be moving up in the world.”

You hadn’t. You never would’ve asked anyone to do that.

The second time was when you mentioned, in passing, how the heater in the back storage room had broken again. That night, you went to close up and found a brand-new unit already installed. Sleek, quiet, and expensive.

No invoice. No note. Just… done.

You told yourself it was a coincidence. A fluke. Some benevolent spirit of capitalism looking out for a tired shop owner.

Until Yelena came in the next morning, her eyes darting briefly toward the back room. “Warm enough now?” she asked casually.

Your mouth went dry.

“You didn’t–”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She said softly. “I don’t like the idea of you being cold.”

It was a kind sentiment. Maybe even sweet. But the way she said it, it didn’t feel optional. It felt final. Like a decision had been made and your consent had never factored in.

And from then on, more changes followed.

You stopped seeing the man who used to linger behind the alley, the one who made you grip your keys tight between your fingers when you took out the trash. One day he was there, leering. The next, gone. You assumed he moved on.

Then the cops came by asking if you knew anything about an “altercation” down the street. You shook your head and said no. You never saw Yelena that week either.

When she finally returned, she had a few cuts on her knuckle. You didn’t ask.

She kept showing up. With small gifts now like coffee in your favorite blend (you never told her) or pastries from a bakery three blocks away (you didn’t even know they sold those).

One time, you caught her rearranging your displays when you weren’t looking.

“These catch more light,” She murmured, moving a tray of bath oils to a front window. “People will notice them.”

You never asked for her help, but you didn’t stop her, either.

Because part of you, buried deep in a place you didn’t touch, felt seen. Not just noticed, but watched over. And that part of you was tired. Grateful, even, in a guilty kind of way.

Until the texts began.

Unsigned this time and direct. Not daily, but enough to build unease.

“Don’t take 5th Avenue today.” “Stay inside tomorrow. Storm’s coming early.” “The man who bumped into you last week won’t be bothering you again.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t even know if you should. But once, just once, when you ignored a warning and walked the long way home despite the text, you spotted her across the street leaning against a brick wall like a shadow come to life.

She didn’t approach. Just watched until you disappeared into your apartment building.

That night, you checked to make sure your door was locked twice.

It was only when you opened the shop the next morning and found a small envelope on the front mat with no stamp, no name, just your favorite flower pressed between folds of paper, that you realized something terrifying.

You weren’t just being protected. You were being claimed. And the worst part? You didn’t know how much of you was still trying to resist it.

Still, you kept telling yourself it was still your life.

Your shop, your choices, and your daily routine. You still made the candles, still blended the herbs, still opened the store every morning and closed it every night.

But more and more, you started to notice how certain doors no longer led where they used to. How the shape of your world, once unpredictable and yours to fumble through, had slowly, carefully, and silently been reshaped.

And Yelena was always at the center.

She no longer felt like a customer or even a friend. She was just there. An inevitable presence. The kind of constant that you couldn’t explain to anyone because it sounded like madness when said out loud.

She came in the morning with coffee before you could finish brewing your own. She opened blinds you never used. Rearranged your shelves while you were counting the till.

She never asked, didn’t need to. Yelena moved through your shop like it belonged to her, like you belonged to her, and worse than that? You stopped fighting it.

Not because you agreed. But because resistance began to feel like something you weren’t allowed anymore.

Her control slowly started to escalate.

It started with the calendar.

You always kept a small one behind the counter for appointments, deliveries, errands, or the rare lunch break with a friend. One day, you glanced at it and noticed a date scratched out in firm ink. Tuesday. Lunch with Sasha. Gone. You stared at it for a long moment before looking around the shop, heart ticking faster.

When you confronted Yelena that afternoon, voice tentative, she tilted her head slightly.

“Sasha?” She repeated, like the name itself was foreign on her tongue. “She is the one who asks too many questions.”

“She’s my friend,” You said quietly. “I don’t need permission to see her.”

“No,” Yelena said smoothly, “But I worry she fills your head with things that make you unhappy.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at you with that calm, unblinking expression. The one that always made your thoughts feel smaller under its weight.

Then came the closed signs.

Twice, you arrived to open the shop and found the sign already flipped. Not just that, it was locked, bolted from the inside.

The third time, a note was taped to the door:

Rest. You looked pale yesterday. Your skin doesn’t like the cold. – Y.

You stood in the doorway for a long time, staring at your own business like it had been hijacked.

And it was only a matter of time before she touched your appearance.

She never said anything cruel nor did she ever criticize outright, but the comments started soft.

“That sweater makes your eyes look dull.” “Your hair looks better when you wear it down.” “You shouldn’t wear that apron when customers can see.”

At first, you laughed, shrugging it off. But you started noticing how she’d brush your hair from your face, her touch lingering. How she’d frown faintly when you wore the wrong thing and tilt her head, murmuring, “You’re too pretty to hide behind all this.”

You didn’t dress for yourself anymore. You started to look at yourself through her eyes. Did this look make you seem approachable? Would she like this color? Was it something she’d want to see waiting behind the counter when she walked through the door?

That was the scariest part, how you started to want her to be pleased.

And it all came to light when you tried to leave the shop early.

You hadn’t seen your friend Elias in months. He lived across town, worked strange hours, and sent you memes late at night with a sad sort of consistency. You made plans to meet him after lunch. Nothing big, just coffee and catching up.

You didn’t tell Yelena. Something inside you whispered not to. Just once, you wanted something untouched by her shadow.

But the moment you locked up the shop and turned to go, you saw her.

Across the street, arms folded, and watching.

Your stomach sank.

“You’re not going,” She stated. Not a question, not even a command. Just a fact spoken aloud.

You felt your throat go dry. “Excuse me?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but quiet assurance. “He doesn’t deserve your time. He isn’t careful with you.”

“You don’t know him– You’ve never even met him.”

She didn’t blink. “I don’t have to.”

Something bitter rose in your throat. “You don’t get to decide who I see.”

Her expression didn’t change as she stepped closer, voice calm. “I don’t want you around people who take your energy and leave you empty.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Was,” She said gently. “He was, but not anymore.”

You stared at her and something in your chest ached. It wasn’t exactly fear, but more so a terrible kind of realization.

You weren’t free. You hadn’t been for a while.

She’d carved out space in your life, your choices, your friendships, your routine. And she'd done it without ever raising her voice, without ever giving you permission to say no.

But the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you still wanted to. Because as much as your head screamed to run, to push her away, to scream–

There was another part of you that leaned into her presence like it was warmth on a bitter day. That found comfort in the way she watched you, protected you, and called you hers without needing your permission.

And she could see it. She saw it all over your face.

So she smiled. Slow, dark, and sweet as she murmured:

“Come, I’ll take you somewhere better.”

Taglist: @atieredcart

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Chapters

Where Harry stumbles into a book store and finds more than just his next read.

Fluff

It was a crisp autumn afternoon in London, the kind of day when the air smelled faintly of rain, and the chill in the breeze hinted that winter was not far off. Harry Styles pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck as he wandered down a narrow side street, his steps unhurried. He had no real destination in mind, just an aimless stroll through the city to clear his head. He’d been working on new music for weeks, and though he loved the creative process, it had left him feeling restless. He needed something to take his mind off things for a while.

As he walked, his gaze was drawn to a small, unassuming bookstore nestled between a café and a vintage clothing shop. The sign above the door read Chapters in faded gold lettering, and the large front window displayed a collection of books stacked haphazardly on wooden shelves, their worn covers promising hidden treasures within. Harry hesitated for a moment before deciding to step inside, the bell above the door chiming softly as he entered.

The shop was quiet, a refuge from the bustling city outside. The smell of old paper and the faint scent of coffee from the café next door mingled in the air. Shelves crammed with books of all kinds lined the walls, creating narrow aisles that beckoned him to explore. He wandered toward the back of the shop, running his fingers along the spines of books as he passed, the familiar texture grounding him in the moment.

In the Contemporary Fiction section, Harry paused. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but something caught his eye—a novel by an author he didn’t recognize. He reached for it, but before his fingers could close around the book, a voice interrupted him.

“You don’t want that one.”

Harry turned, slightly startled, and found himself face to face with a woman. She stood a few feet away, holding a paperback in one hand, a warm smile playing on her lips. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, her hair loosely tied up in a way that suggested she hadn’t thought too much about it. A pencil was tucked behind her ear, as though she had just come from jotting down notes or ideas. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of kindness and amusement.

He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “No?”

She shook her head, stepping closer. “No. That one’s overrated. It looks good, but the plot kind of falls apart halfway through. You’ll be disappointed.”

Harry looked back at the book, then at her, suppressing a smile. “And how do you know I won’t love it? Maybe disappointing plots are my thing.”

The woman laughed softly, a sound that fit perfectly in the cozy atmosphere of the bookstore. “I doubt it,” she said, holding out the paperback in her hand. “Try this one instead. It’s much better. Less flashy, more substance.”

Harry glanced at the book she was offering. The cover was simple, no bold colors or dramatic font, just a title in delicate script: The Quiet Fall. He hadn’t heard of it before, but something about the way she presented it made him curious. He took the book from her, his fingers brushing hers lightly in the exchange.

“And you’re sure this one’s better?” he asked, glancing at the back cover, scanning the synopsis.

“Positive,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the nearby shelf. “Trust me, I work in publishing. I know a good story when I see one.”

“Publishing?” Harry repeated, raising his gaze to meet hers again. “So, you’re an expert.”

She shrugged modestly. “I wouldn’t say expert. I just spend a lot of time with books.”

“I can see that,” Harry replied, gesturing to the pencil still tucked behind her ear. “Do you always carry a pencil, just in case?”

She reached up, surprised to find it still there, and pulled it out with a sheepish grin. “Old habit. I’m an editor, so I’m used to marking things up. I guess I never really stop working.”

Harry smiled, charmed by her easy demeanor. There was something refreshing about the way she spoke, completely unpretentious. She hadn’t recognized him, or if she had, she didn’t seem to care, and that alone made the conversation feel more genuine than any he’d had in a while.

“Harry,” he said, extending his hand.

“Isla,” she replied, shaking it with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too, Isla,” he said, liking the way her name sounded. “So, what’s so special about The Quiet Fall?”

Isla’s eyes lit up at the question, and she leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “It’s one of those books that sneaks up on you. It doesn’t try to impress you from the first page. Instead, it draws you in slowly, and by the time you’re halfway through, you’re completely invested in the characters. It’s the kind of story that stays with you long after you’ve finished it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, watching the way her face softened as she spoke about the book. She wasn’t just talking about it to make conversation—she genuinely loved the story, and it made him want to read it, if only to understand what she saw in it.

“Alright,” he said, tucking the book under his arm. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a try.”

Isla smiled, clearly pleased. “I hope you like it. If not, you can come back and tell me I was wrong.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in a grin. “Though I have a feeling you won’t be.”

They stood there for a moment, the conversation hovering between them, neither in a rush to end it. Harry felt an unexpected pull toward her, something about the way she spoke so confidently yet without pretense. He found himself wanting to know more about her, to spend more time in her company.

“Hey,” he said, almost surprising himself with the boldness of the next words, “would you like to grab dinner with me sometime? Maybe we can talk more about books—or whatever.”

Isla blinked, clearly taken aback by the offer. She hesitated, her eyes searching his face as if trying to figure out if he was serious. When she saw that he was, a slow smile spread across her lips.

“Dinner?” she repeated, her tone light and teasing. “Is that how you thank someone for a good book recommendation?”

“It’s one way,” Harry said, shrugging. “But really, I’d just like to keep talking. If you’re up for it.”

Isla studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright, sure. Dinner sounds nice.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Great. How about tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night works,” she said, reaching into her bag to pull out a small notebook. She scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Here. Just text me the details.”

He took the paper, folding it carefully and slipping it into his pocket. “I will.”

With that, Isla gave him a small wave and turned to leave, but not before casting one last glance over her shoulder, a smile still lingering on her lips. As she disappeared around the corner of the aisle, Harry stood there for a moment, the book she’d recommended still tucked under his arm, feeling lighter than he had in days.

He looked down at The Quiet Fall and smiled to himself. Perhaps the book wasn’t the only thing that had found him today.

The next evening, the autumn chill had settled deeper into the London air, and the city streets were aglow with the warm light of streetlamps and the muted glow of shopfronts. Harry stood outside a cozy little Italian restaurant called Bene, his breath misting in the cold air. The restaurant was tucked into a corner of a quieter part of the city, the type of place that had candles flickering on every table and the unmistakable scent of garlic and fresh herbs wafting through the door.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. He was a little early, and though he wasn’t usually one to get nervous, he found himself adjusting the collar of his coat, running a hand through his hair. It had been a long time since he’d asked someone out on such a whim, and something about Isla—the way she’d effortlessly engaged him in the bookstore—stirred a sense of anticipation that was unfamiliar and exciting.

As if on cue, he spotted her walking toward him from the end of the street. Isla was bundled up in a long wool coat, her hair down this time, catching the golden light from the streetlamps. She carried herself with an easy confidence, the same kind that had drawn him to her the day before. When she saw him, she smiled, and Harry’s nerves eased.

“You found it,” he said, returning the smile as she approached.

“I did,” she replied, glancing around at the restaurant. “It looks lovely. Very…understated.”

“Understated’s my specialty,” Harry joked, holding the door open for her as they walked in.

The restaurant was just as cozy inside as it had appeared from the street. Small tables were tucked into corners, with flickering candles casting soft light across red-checkered tablecloths. The smell of fresh pasta and baking bread filled the air, and soft Italian music played in the background.

The host led them to a table near the window, and as they sat down, Isla gave him an appreciative glance. “This is perfect. How did you find this place?”

“Someone recommended it to me a while ago,” Harry said, picking up his menu. “It’s one of those hidden gems. I’ve only been here once, but the food is great, and it’s quiet.”

“Quiet is good,” Isla agreed, her eyes scanning the menu. “Especially when you’re trying to avoid the crowds.”

Harry smiled at her comment, wondering if she still hadn’t quite put two and two together about who he was, or if she was simply being polite by not mentioning it. Either way, he appreciated it. It made things feel more normal, more real.

They ordered their meals—Isla opting for a simple pasta dish while Harry went for the chef’s special—and settled into easy conversation. They talked about books, naturally, and their favorite authors. Isla told him about her work as an editor, how she loved diving into manuscripts and helping authors shape their stories. Harry shared a bit about his songwriting process, how he often felt that writing music wasn’t so different from writing stories—it was all about connecting with emotions, about telling a truth.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, and the hours slipped by without either of them noticing. There was a natural chemistry between them, a comfort that made it feel like they’d known each other far longer than a day. They laughed about the quirks of living in London, talked about their favorite spots in the city, and traded recommendations for books and movies. Harry found himself fascinated by Isla’s thoughtful insights and her sharp, playful wit. And Isla, in turn, was drawn to Harry’s humility, his down-to-earth nature that belied his fame.

When dessert came—two small cups of rich tiramisu, perfect for sharing—they were leaning closer over the table, their conversation more intimate now, their words softer in the candlelight.

“This is nice,” Isla said, spooning a bit of the dessert. “Not just the food, but this. It’s been a while since I’ve had such an easy night.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he replied. “Yeah, it’s been a while for me too.”

He hesitated, then added, “You know, it’s funny. I wasn’t really planning on doing anything when I went into that bookstore yesterday. I was just wandering around. But I’m glad I did.”

Isla smiled, her gaze warm and steady. “Me too. It’s not every day you get dinner out of a book recommendation.”

They shared a quiet laugh, the space between them growing more comfortable with each passing moment. As the evening wound down and the other diners began to trickle out of the restaurant, the soft murmur of conversation fading, neither of them seemed eager to leave.

When the check came, Harry reached for it, and Isla gave him a playful frown. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he said simply, handing his card to the waiter.

Once they were outside, the cold air hit them again, and Isla instinctively pulled her coat tighter around her. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at her as they stood on the quiet street.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, his voice a little lower now.

“So did I,” Isla replied, looking up at him. “Thanks for the dinner—and the company.”

Harry hesitated, a thought swirling in his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake. There was a connection here, something undeniable, and though it was only their first real night together, he found himself not wanting it to end just yet.

His heart raced a little as he said, “I don’t know if this is too forward, but…would you like to come back to mine? It’s just up the street. We can keep talking, have a drink, whatever you feel like.”

Isla looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for a moment. He half-expected her to politely decline—they had, after all, only just met. But there was something in the way she lingered, something in the soft smile that touched her lips, that made him think she was considering it.

“Your place?” she repeated, her tone thoughtful rather than hesitant.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice steady but hopeful. “No pressure at all. Just…if you want to. We don’t have to call it a night yet.”

Isla’s lips curved into a smile, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the streetlamps. “Alright,” she said softly, her decision made. “Lead the way.”

Relief and excitement mingled in Harry’s chest as they began walking down the street, their steps in sync. The night air felt electric now, the quiet hum of the city around them fading as they turned toward a quieter part of the neighborhood.

When they reached Harry’s place, a modest but stylish flat tucked away behind a row of tall brick buildings, he unlocked the door and gestured for Isla to enter first. She stepped inside, glancing around with interest. The interior was warm and welcoming, a reflection of Harry’s eclectic tastes. There were books stacked on shelves and tables, a guitar leaning against the wall, and art on the walls that looked as though it had been carefully chosen rather than hastily bought.

“This is nice,” Isla said, slipping off her coat and hanging it by the door. “Very cozy.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, closing the door behind them. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine, tea?”

“Wine sounds good,” she said, following him into the living room.

Harry disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with two glasses of red wine. He handed one to Isla, and they sat on the sofa, the room bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. The atmosphere had shifted now, more intimate, the weight of the evening settling around them.

They continued talking, but their words grew slower, quieter. There was an unspoken tension in the air, the kind that hovered between two people who were drawn to each other but were still testing the boundaries. Isla’s knee brushed against Harry’s at one point, and she didn’t pull away. He took that as a sign to move a little closer, their faces now inches apart as they spoke in hushed tones.

Finally, after a lull in the conversation, Isla met his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”

Harry tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What does?”

“This,” she said softly, gesturing between them. “How easy it is. We’ve only just met, but it feels…different. Good different.”

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low. “It does.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the room silent save for the distant hum of the city outside. Then, almost instinctively, Harry leaned in, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed hers, soft and tentative, as if testing the waters. Isla responded immediately, her hand coming up to rest gently on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

It was slow at first, their lips exploring each other with the kind of unhurried tenderness that comes when two people are completely lost in the moment. Time seemed to stretch as they kissed, the world outside fading into nothingness. When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little dazed, Harry rested his forehead against hers.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice a soft plea. “Stay the night.”

Isla looked into his eyes, her thumb brushing his jawline as she smiled, her decision already made.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Happy New Year! (Yandere!Fortune Teller x GN!Reader)

A delighted squeal sharply cut through the quiet chatter of the line for the fortune teller. It was a small little illegal shop that popped up overnight and was all over (Reader's) feed. Their best friend, and the reason why they were outside in the cold so early, tugged on their coat sleeve.

"They must have gotten a good one." She smiled playfully, and still a little drunk.

The fortune teller was apparently incredibly accurate. Even skeptics had been posting all morning about how this guy was able to tell them full names of people in their lives and dates of events that already happened he shouldn't have been able to guess on the first try.

"Missy, it's cold as hell.." (Reader) whined, their head also hurting a tad bit from the amount their friend had them drink a few hours earlier to welcome the new year. ".. and I just want a burrito."

Missy clicked her long acrylics in front of (Reader's) face. "And I want a girlfriend. C'mon, just a few more minutes! Please! You don't even have to get your fortune done, just stay with me, emotional support!" She huffed and stamped her boots while dramatically letting her arms fall to her sides heavy enough to make a loud whump against her coat.

They knew their friend wasn't actually a brat, but it was a fun little "act" ; she enjoyed putting on, especially when she was all dolled up (as she called it). So, as what usually happens, (Reader) rolled their eyes theatrically in a show of pretending to give in. The woman with the pink and blonde fashion wig smiled wide and squeezed (Reader's) arm lovingly.

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, (Reader) thought that the man was a mannequin. A beautiful body propped up at a table, with a veil over the top of his head and silk clothes, but other than the fact that he was beautiful, there was something too basic about his features and too perfect about his skin to be human. Like a mall mannequin: with a dusty pale skin tone with zero blemishes or imperfections, his eyebrows looked so fine that they were maybe painted on, and the blonde hair under the veil was so light in color, (Reader) thought he was bald and that the lightly golden coloring was more silk.

Yes, he was beautiful, but looking at him was uncomfortable, like people describing the uncanny valley of robots.

He opened his eyes, revealing dull grey irises, that helped humanized him (at least, in (Reader's) opinion).

"Welcome, Miranda and (Reader)." His voice was also weirdly perfect, making (Reader's) skin crawl, but looking over at Missy they saw she didn't feel anything other than awe.

"Ohmygawd, how did you know our names?!"

He smiled very softly. "It's my job." A thin hand with long, delicate fingers motioned for the two friends to sit before him.

As the cards were laid out (Reader) allowed their mind to wander. Not only did the guy in front of them weird them out, but they believed that fortune tellers were scam artists. They knew it could be fun to just see what your future might look like, and wanted to be respectful for people who actually believed in tarot and stuff like that, but people setting up businesses promising to read your future and then just reading some generic script then charging you a hundred bucks is how you get vulnerable people to fork over their life savings. (Reader) only agreed to go because to make sure the "fortune teller" didn't try and change the price on Missy or sell her a bunch of unnecessary shit.

The man clapped loudly, startling (Reader) back into focus. "You will meet a woman this year.

You will meet her in two months, at the book store across from your job. The two of you will be searching for the same book, and it will feel like fate. Don't be afraid to ask her out for coffee, because she'd love to discuss the series with you."

Long nails scratch the back of (Reader's) hand as Missy impulsively grabs it. "Are you.. sure she's.. y'know..." she raised her eyebrows.

The man looked puzzled for a second before responding with, "The ending you always wanted for NaNa."

Missy nearly cracked her neck turning to (Reader) as quickly as she did, whining happily "Oh my god...." before burying her face in their chest. Then (Reader) felt the tears, and realized Missy was more drunk and exhausted than they realized.

"Uh, thanks, did she already pay, or?"

"Would you like your fortune read now?"

He seemed unfazed by Missy's minor meltdown.

"Ah, no thanks."

"I'll give it to you free. Call it a two for one deal."

Alarm bells were ringing in their head. "Why?"

He was silent for a second, like he was listening to something, just as he was when he told Missy she was going to be living out her headcannon fantasy. "Something's just telling me I should give you a fortune reading."

Missy wiped snot across (Reader's) chest before raising her head. "Oh, are you getting read too?"

"What? N-"

"Can we get burritos after this?"

They looked down at their best friend in the entire world, and sighed. "Yeah, if it's completely free."

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even compelling completely scrunched up in concentration, there was a concerning lack of wrinkles, leading (Reader) to the conclusion that if this man was in fact human, he most certainly had botox.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open wide. He looked up at (Reader), staring deep into them without blinking.

"What?"

He didn't answer. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. But his face began to change into an odd shade of pink.

The wig wearing woman loudly gasped "IS THEY DYING?!" while clutching (Reader's) arm in mock horror.

"I'm not dying!" (Reader) shoved their friend off, feeling overwhelmed by their current situation.

The fortune teller reached across the table, and without asking, grabbed one of (Reader's) hands, observing their palm intensely. But he could only do so for a second before they yanked their arm back and stood up.

"Missy, let's go, I told you this guy was a fucking scammer."

Like a switch had been flipped, Missy held up her middle finger and called the man a creep, apologetic for not trusting her best friend. "Why did he grab you like that? So gross!"

The two left. They would later get burritos and watch half a movie before passing out. This moment was creepy, but ultimately, nothing to them.

He had always been gifted.

But when they left the gifted medium on the floor, images of what he had just been shown were still fresh in his mind.

The tarot cards were a gimmick, just there because that's something people associate with being able to see the past, present, and future. Was he a scam artist? Maybe, to some. He never gave people the fortunes they didn't want to hear, and only reminded them of memories they liked. You don't get tipped if you tell someone their child is going to die. And we all need money.

Then (Reader) came into his pop up shop, another skeptic, and he figured if gave them a reading for free and made it really good they would be the type of person to tip him out of guilt. But for their future all he saw was... him.

Him?

He had never thought about himself. He was creepy and disgusting. His presence made people uncomfortable. If he focuses hard enough he can speak to the dead. No one wants to be friends with that. No one wants to love that.

No future is set in stone. There are hundreds of thousands of possibilities, and he can see them all. And while (Reader) sat in front of him, staring at him with their beautifully tired eyes, he searched through every single one.

It was.. exciting, he had to admit, seeing himself with someone. He didn't know this person at all, but it wasn't hard to feel some kind of affection for them seeing a future where they felt affection for Him.

He couldn't even remember the last time someone willing held his hand. Maybe when he had to cross the street with his mother? No, she required him to wear gloves.

While staring at his client, he couldn't help but watch their entire life. He was supposed to look through their memories briefly to get a sense of the "past", but like time didn't exist, he watched their entire life play out. They made him feel things.

Even when (Reader) called him a scammer, he still loved them. After all, he did kind of lie by omission to their best friend: Missy's new relationship would only last five months.

But it was okay if they thought he was creepy or a scam artist. Because he already saw the future.

And he knew every single correct step to take to make sure they were smiling at him like they were in that vision.

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Happy New Year everyone!!!!!!

Let's hope that this upcoming year is better than the last!

I'm a really pessimistic person, so I'm trying to be hopeful. I'm also trying to find ways to reduce stress since I can't afford to take care of my mental health (haha). I'm getting white hairs. White. Ain't that crazy? It's stressful trying to not stress out lol

Does anyone else play future telling games on New Year? As a kid my family would all play MASH to see what our future is going to be like hahaha and a lot of my younger coworkers this year were talking about eating grapes under tables? Very cute <3

I hope you all had a great new year, and didn't get too drunk, stay hydrated, and if you have and future telling game memories for me years tell me about it!

Let's make 2025 better than 2024!

[natbat666]

Scenarios from my DRs ☕️🪐:

Note: these are from both my stranger things dr and my hogwarts uni dr, and some are 18+!

Things from my DR that just make sense

straight from ye old script!

Stranger Things Related:

> Certain movies that have yet to come out are in my DR, such as Scream, and the Lord of the Rings movies

> In downtown Hawkins there is a really cool old bookstore, comic book store, witchy shop, and on the weekends there is a farmers market

> Steve throwing his annual Halloween party, dressing up and just having fun with the group

> Going to the mall with Nancy and Robin

> Eddie tries to desperately teach me to play DnD, but I just can’t really get the hang of it

> Going to the bookstore with Nancy, Dustin and Eddie. They come with us to go to the comic book store after, and complain the entire time Nancy and I shop around. Eddie mostly just messes around, trying to piss me off enough so that he can get his way and get to the comic store faster

> matching tattoos

> Eddie is a lurker okay?!? He likes to watch me and I will often just catch him staring, totally making a pervy face. I’ll snap him out of it and he gets sooo embarrassed but it’s funny. But also he will just sneak into my house?!? And suddenly I will wake up with a man in my bed?!

Hogwarts Related:

> In 7th year our dorms switch to either single dorms or up to rooms of four. They can be coed and they can be inter-house too

> The Yule Ball happens on December 22nd. Pansy and I go dress shopping beforehand and get ready together in the Slytherin Common rooms. The morning after the dance we all we load onto the train super tired and hungover and we just get all cozy in a bench seat room and sleep

> One time draco is trying to practice and keeps getting distracted knowing that I am there watching. This is before we start dating and Pansy says something like “you know he is so crazy for you right?”

> the portraits are literally gossip mongers, I heard one time that a Hufflepuff boy had to do a task for a portrait to get info from it?!

> it’s not abnormal for students to eat in their rooms or even in the library with a special pass. And they can have whatever they want for dinner or whatever meal

> Hermione and I go on girls trips!! The summer between 3rd and 4th we went to Germany!!

> While it does seem cliche, Draco is big on getting gifts as a form of affection and showing that he cares. But generally they are aggressively specific and curated. Idk how he sources his gifts sometimes. Like one time I was talking to Blaise about this Muggle tradition that I used to do with my friends in America ( bc I went to Illvermorny). Next thing I know there is a gorgeous dress on my bed and tickets to go see the Nutcracker in London. How he organized that I will never know bc we are literally in school, in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, with no contact with anything Muggle?!?

> Inappropriate uses of the signet ring to in fact happen, no I didn’t script this in tehehe

[maleyanderecafe]

The Script Shop of Dreams (Manhwa)

Created by: Ao Xiao Ze

Genre: Fantasy/Romance

Fun fact, I actually did do the translations for chapter 5 I believe of this manhwa for a friend before it got a full on official translation. As of current about 25 chapters are out. It has similar plot device as I want to be a Big Baddie where the female lead is jumping through different stories, though currently, she's only in the isekai/murder mystery story. I do like this kind of idea so I hope there will be more of them in the future.

The story starts with with Luo Meng, a rich girl who can have anything, except finding a man named Mu Han. She met Mu Han a year ago, and he became her tutor. After confessing to him, Mu Han suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace of his existence. Annoyed at this, she starts to look for him. In this world script games, games that allow you to live different stories and different lives, have become popular, and also was created by Mu Han. To look for him, Luo Meng goes into a store called the script shop of dreams, and opens one of the scripts after seeing Mu Han's name on the front, causing her to be absorbed into the book. She ends up going into a murder mystery type story as the female lead when she was a child and immediately finds that the butler that looks just like Mu Han. After talking to the system, she finds out her role- to prevent the murder from happening in the mansion in the first place. She first ends up acting haughtily towards her fiance, only for the butler to step in when he tries to slap her out of anger. She tries to force an interaction with her and the butler, but due to the script, he ends up avoiding her. Still, despite the fact that the system states that all appearances are based off her own memories, the butler seems to have had yandere tendencies, knowing exactly how long she grew her hair out amongst other things. At night, she ends up getting kidnapped, and is able to feign passing out until she's able to escape. When the kidnappers go after her, the butler comes and chops their heads off. When returning back home, we see that the butler has had an interest in the young girl since he was saved by her, promising to kill everyone before finally killing her. Luo Meng continues to reject her fiance, though has to break up a fight between him and the butler, ultimately siding with the butler and asking him to teach her how to dance. The fiance writes a letter to the female lead whom comes to visit. Luo Meng acts rudely towards her new guest, slapping the tea out of the maid's hands and causing a mess. Luo Meng ends up kicking the female lead out of the mansion, where the butler promptly murders and hides the body of the maid who helped her. Luo Meng interrupts a meeting with the fiance and the female lead, using this opportunity to break off their engagement and kick him out of the mansion. The female lead freaks out, trying to attack Luo Meng, only to be saved by the butler, when suddenly the tradition of "Finding the bunny" releases. It's basically a towns tradition similar to finding easter eggs except it's one bunny. Her and the butler go out to eat food and participate in the festival before going to a hotel to rest. Luo Meng goes to the bar area to listen to the story of the "Finding the bunny" tradition.

It seems that her character was a rich noble who was given everything when coming to the town, and ended up choosing a bunny from two twins. She gave the oldest twin a large sum of money, causing the younger twin to get jealous. Soon after, the bunny bit the miss, with the younger twin watching from a secret area. She ends up being blamed for drugging the bunny, ultimately leading the town to drive her to her death. Outside, two people aim to kidnap her, only for the butler to kill them. A mob of people start to gather outside of Luo Meng's inn, with the butler even throwing the fiance to the mob. Luo Meng is greeted by the female lead and the two of them go into the room where the younger twin hid before. Here, the fiance breaks in, trying to get them to escape as he's distracted the mob for a bit. When they escape, the female lead talks about her younger twin and what kind of person she was.

As I said before, I do like the concept of Script Shop of Dreams. It has the same system as I want to be a Big Baddie, but unlike in that story, Luo Meng is purposefully looking through each story to try to find Mu Han. In the latest chapter it is implied that she will likely jump into another story that is more sci-fi, which I'm all for. I really like the idea of going through a bunch of different genres since it gives different and more unique settings (that isn't just isekai number 1000, though this current script is set in a pretty isekai like setting) as well as different types of roles that the main character must play. There's just a lot of possibilities to it that can be explored. The artwork in this is also extremely pretty from the various colors and the poses of the characters (especially the butler). There's a lot of mystery as well, not just in the current script but also surrounding Mu Han as well. Is the butler actually a yandere for Luo Meng or just the character she's playing? Why does the butler want to kill Luo Meng so badly? What are his goals? Is he actually aware of what's going on in the script or is he following how the author has made the story? Where did Mu Han disappear to? There are a lot of things that have yet to be solved and the story has just begun. The current setting as I said still plays mostly like an isekai style story, but with the main focus of murder mystery, not even giving the other characters names. The murder mystery is slowly unveiling though, showing the effects of the main character that Luo Meng is playing with the twins as her character's actions were the creation of this new holiday. The murderer seems to be the butler, but why he's killing people is something that isn't fully understood yet.

The butler for certain is a yandere for the character Luo Meng is playing, even Luo Meng mentions it herself, but why he's killing everyone and wants to kill Luo Meng is yet to be fully understood. He seems to have been conspiring with the people who kidnapped Luo Meng but ultimately kills both of them, imagines killing the fiance when they're arguing (and probably would have if Luo Meng didn't interfere), kills the people trying to kidnap her again in the inn, seems to take great care in making sure her diet is maintained, watches how long her hair is, etc. As much as he obviously cares about and obsesses over Luo Meng, it does make me wonder what he's plotting. He still plays the role of a butler and still is trying to maintain his composure, but we don't really know why. It's clear that Luo Meng's character saved him when he was younger and there is a significance to the snake eyes that is associated with him as well, but we have yet to uncover what's going on with that. Even then, when Luo Meng eventually jumps into another script, will the character that looks like Mu Han still be a yandere? Is it a one time thing or is it a trait that carries over? There are a lot of questions, and it is rather exciting, despite all of that.

Overall, a very pretty manhwa with a fun premise. Compared to a lot of other manhwa I've read, the pacing is pretty good and makes sense for what's going in the story and the artwork is really pretty as well. I hope that we will be able to jump into other worlds soon and that Mu Han really is a yandere through and through.

[y3oubii]

Prettier in Pink - Pt. 3

shota aizawa x pink obsessed! fem reader

married life with shota aizawa means coffee in the mornings, sleepy cuddles between patrols, and the occasional compromise involving questionable home décor. lately, though, your heart’s been beating to a softer rhythm, one filled with little giggles, tiny socks, and dreams you didn’t know you were allowed to have. all it takes is a glimpse of a baby boutique across the street, and suddenly, everything shifts. aizawa never expected to find himself picking out a stuffed bunny for a baby that doesn’t exist yet. but then again, he never expected to love you this much either

CW: intense baby fever, emotional softness, discussion of pregnancy/future children, light crying, husband aizawa being extremely whipped, emotional vulnerability

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3 (you're here!)

the weather was warm enough to walk, the kind of late spring afternoon that clung softly to your skin like a cotton hug, sunlight filtered through pale clouds, and everything smelled like fresh rain and pavement heat.

you were walking hand in hand with aizawa, your glitter-coated nails laced through his calloused fingers, the breeze playing with the hem of your pale pink dress. he’d insisted on going to the grocery store with you, even though he claimed to hate “being seen in public holding a shopping list that includes ‘aesthetically shaped pasta.’”

but he always went. always.

you swayed his arm a little as you walked, humming a tune under your breath, cheeks already a bit flushed from the sun. aizawa glanced down at you with a subtle tug of his mouth, his version of a smile.

“we’re only getting what’s on the list,” he warned.

you blinked innocently up at him. “i don’t put the real things on the list.”

“you’re impossible.”

“you’re obsessed with me.”

he didn’t argue.

you had just finished picking the correct shade of strawberry milk and were halfway through comparing brands of biodegradable dish soap when you saw it.

a soft gasp left your lips. a slow stop in your tracks. aizawa barely had time to look up from the bag of rice he was scanning before your hand tightened in his and your body went rigid with excitement.

“shota.”

he followed your gaze through the wide glass storefront. across the street, nestled between a boutique flower shop and a stationery café, was a storefront you hadn’t noticed before.

the sign was handwritten script, painted on soft cream wood: petit coeur – baby & nursery.

pastel garments hung in the windows. a tiny display crib sat beneath soft golden lights. there were plush bears, tiny socks folded in baskets, and a shelf of picture books with embossed covers.

you pressed your hand to your chest.

“shota,” you whispered again, voice trembling like you’d seen a vision. “they have lace bassinet covers.”

“no,” he said immediately.

“but—”

“you’re crying again.”

“i’m not!” you insisted, wiping under your eyes. “i’m just having a really visual moment.”

a pause.

“we’re going in,” you added.

“you just wanted dish soap.”

“i want a legacy now.”

he followed you across the street like a man walking into battle, but the truth was… he already knew he’d lost.

the bell above the boutique door let out a delicate chime as you stepped inside. everything smelled like talc powder and vanilla lotion, soft and clean and new.

your heels clicked lightly against the pale wood floor as you slowly turned, taking it all in.

the lighting was warm and dappled, spilling through sheer curtains. racks of tiny dresses, knit rompers, soft pastel sweaters with animal ears. the crib in the corner looked like it belonged in a fairytale, whitewashed wood with floral carvings, a sheer pink canopy draped delicately overhead.

you touched everything like it might break. or maybe like you might.

aizawa stayed back, leaning against a bookshelf labeled “bedtime favorites,” watching silently as your fingers ghosted over a blanket with embroidered stars, your eyes wide and glossy with something too soft to speak out loud.

“look,” you whispered, holding up a pair of cream-colored baby booties no bigger than your palm. “they have lace trim. lace trim, shota. on the booties.”

“you’re spiraling.”

“i’m nesting for a baby we don’t even have. is that weird?”

“a little.”

you clutched the shoes to your chest. “but wouldn’t they be cute? wouldn’t our baby be cute in these?”

he stared at you for a long moment. then: “terrifying.”

you laughed wetly.

he walked toward you, slowly, quietly, until he was close enough to touch. and then, softer than you expected:

“i’ve never seen you like this.”

you looked up, blinking rapidly.

“like what?”

“like you’re already holding them.” his eyes dropped to your hands cradling the shoes. “like you’re seeing someone i can’t yet.”

you inhaled shakily.

“i don’t know when it happened,” you said quietly, brushing a hand over the sleeve of a pale pink cardigan. “but i started picturing it. you, sitting on the couch with a baby on your chest. me standing in the kitchen pouring two cups of coffee and heating up a bottle at the same time.”

he was quiet. listening.

“i thought it was just a weird fantasy. like, a girlish thing. but now i can’t stop.” you laughed under your breath. “i think i have… like. clinical baby fever.”

aizawa stepped closer. his hand found the small of your back, thumb rubbing gently.

“then we should start taking vitamins,” he murmured.

you froze.

your head turned. wide-eyed.

he wasn’t smirking. wasn’t teasing. just looking at you like you’d hung the moon.

“i want it too,” he said. “not just a maybe. not ‘someday.’ you. me. us. i want all of it.”

you pressed a trembling hand to your mouth.

“i can’t believe you just said that in front of the bunny socks.”

he gave you the faintest smile. “pretty sure they’re honored.”

you left the boutique with a pale pink bag, tied in satin ribbon. inside:

– one knitted baby sweater with pearl buttons

– a moon-and-stars rattle handmade from wool

– a cream muslin blanket embroidered with “baby aizawa”

you hadn’t even realized you said it out loud in the store. not until the woman behind the counter asked, “do you want me to personalize it?” and you said yes. just like that.

you were quiet the whole way home. your head resting on aizawa’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the couch, legs tangled, the baby bag resting on the coffee table like it belonged there.

like it always had.

aizawa’s voice broke the silence first.

“you think we’re ready?”

you turned to him.

“we weren’t ready for the haunted house. we weren’t ready for the pink convertible. we weren’t ready for my glitter wallpaper in the hallway.”

“we’re still not ready for the wallpaper.”

you smiled. leaned in.

“but i think we’d be perfect at being parents.”

he kissed you like he believed it.

i CRIED, this was so adorable my chest was clenching UGH. i think i have baby fever now.

got the idea from @sylum !! i hope this turned out how you imagineddd and thank yewww for reading!

masterlist

[marigoldsandbluebonnets]

Stuff I’ve Scripted About the World

There is a comprehensive railway network and service across the United States and all over the world that is clean, frequent, reliable, affordable, passenger rail

Railway stations are easy to traverse, accessible, and filled with restaurants and shopping centers as well as being located well in cities

All public transport is beautiful, clean, comfortable, spacious, reliable, frequent, safe, and affordable

There is little to no air, sound, light, or chemical pollution

Things are made better and out of higher quality materials without planned obsolescence

Things are built to last

There is more unique beautiful architecture, clothing, food, and culture in different places

Places have more unique strong cultural identities with food, architecture, fashion, etc

The world is safer and cleaner

There are lots of native trees and wildflowers around cities and suburbs

There are clean, free, well maintained, beautiful public restrooms everywhere in cities and suburbs

There are clean, free, well maintained, beautiful water fountains and bottled water fillers everywhere in cities and suburbs

There are lots of clean, free or affordable, well maintained, beautiful third spaces like libraries, cafes, restaurants, bars, theaters, rec centers, maker spaces, parks, museums, etc

There is less crime and danger overall

There is less retail theft and unruly behavior

People don’t litter and the environment is clean

New York is similar to Amsterdam in cycling infrastructure and how it tackles cars

Biking pathways are safe, well built, separate from cars, clean, well maintained, well lit and tree lined, and are comprehensive across the world

There are protected bike lanes that are well maintained and have access to public transportation

There are bike sharing programs available as well as workplace showers

There is comprehensive bike parking around different areas and in cities having bike parking garages

There is very little stealing of bikes and they are always returned to their owners

Within many workplaces there are well made, beautiful, clean, well maintained bathrooms with showers

Unions are common among many fields and professions

Climate change and global warming are not an issue and temperatures are naturally cooler by 10 degrees Fahrenheit and this only improves agricultural productivity, harvests, and the environment with animals

Agriculture has less monocultures and more variety

There are more trees and different types of trees

Deforestation isn’t an issue

There are more fruits, vegetables, algae, spices, herbs, edible flowers, grains, nuts, seeds, fungi, and proteins

There is more access to unique new fruits, vegetables, algae, spices, herbs, edible flowers, grains, nuts, seeds, fungi, and proteins

It is easier to cultivate many mushrooms and other crops that are usually only foraged

Grocery stores have more interesting types of foods especially local produce and varieties

There are more small local grocery stores that sell curated products from the local areas

There are more small specialty grocery shops like cheese mongers, butchers, fishmongers, ice creameries, dairy creameries, chocolate shops, sweets shops, bakeries, spice shops, delis, coffee shops, tea shops, mushroom shops, ferment & vinegar stores, and fruit or vegetable markets with vegan versions of these shops as well

There’s a drastic decrease in the number of natural disasters

There is less war

Homelessness is not an issue and the government has proper housing

Etsy, Ren fairs, and Festivals are filled with unique handmade goods from small businesses and there is no dropshipping

There are more small unique businesses and restaurants everywhere

Society uses land a lot more efficiently

Website and book bans aren’t an issue

There isn’t an issue with species going extinct

We can reuse and recycle all trash

There is better sorting for waste and recycling

We compost almost all food waste

There is almost no pollution

There is very little textile pollution

Things are much more circular in the economy

Rivers and springs are clean

Trash is properly restored, reused, and recycled

Almost everything that goes for recycling gets recycled or reused

We can properly recycle clothes and separate textiles with multiple fibers

More clothes are high quality and made from natural materials

Everything is higher quality

There is no planned obsolescence, things are made to last

We utilize clean energy

There are proper social safety nets

There are bike lanes everywhere

Periods don’t exist for human women

Pregnancies are even safer

Babies have less of a chance of being born disabled

There is less robbery

AI is not overtaking the internet

AI imagery doesn’t overtake social media platforms like Pinterest, instagram, Reddit, ao3, YouTube, TikTok, etc

Art is more appreciated

Britain never left the EU through Brexit

There are much better, healthier, delicious, affordable vegan alternatives and options in stores and restaurants

Vegan options are more affordable

It is much easier to accommodate dietary restrictions

People have less allergies

There are less unhealthy highly processed foods

Medical treatments are extremely affordable and advanced

Scar treatments are much better

Everything is more accessible

We are able to have nice things, people don’t destroy the world unnecessarily

Tipping is not a requirement at places

People are all paid fairly and a living wage

Universities are affordable, accessible, beautiful, provide independence, and teach extremely well all over the world

People all over the world have access to education that is well made, factually accurate, and clean

Pinterest is a better platform where it doesn’t focus so much on shopping items and it doesn’t have a bunch of ai images and scams

Private Equity doesn’t buy everything and ruin it all

Gay marriage is legal around the world

[whencyclopedia]

Oracle Bones

Oracle Bones (also known as Dragon's Bones) were the shoulder blades of oxen or plastrons of turtles (the flat underside of the turtle's shell) which were used in the Shang Dynasty of China (c. 1600-1046 BCE) for divination. The symbols carved on the bones eventually became words and a recognizable Chinese script developed from this practice.

A fortune-teller would carve (later, paint) symbols on the bones of the ox or the turtle shell, apply a hot poker or fire until the bone or shell cracked, and then interpret the direction of the crack through their drawing to predict the future. Most of the oracle bones discovered come from the Shang Dynasty but some are from the early Zhou Dynasty (1046-226 BCE). The practice of telling the future through oracle bones is known as scapulimancy (telling the future through the scapula, the shoulder bone, of an animal), plastromancy (using a turtle's plastron) or pyromancy (the use of fire). These methods all declined when the book known as the I-Ching (a fortune-telling manual which uses hexagrams and yarrow sticks) became more popular in the Zhou Dynasty.

Oracle bones continued to be used in later dynasties but not as regularly as during the Shang. These bones are important primary sources on the history of the Shang Dynasty and gave birth to Chinese script. Historian Harold M. Tanner writes, "oracle bones are the earliest written records of Chinese civilization. The inscriptions give us a highly selective picture of some of the concerns and events that were relevant to the Shang elite. The earliest of these records date to the reign of King Wu Ding in the late Shang (40)." Even though everyone was interested in what the future held, questions from the wealthier classes in China make up the majority of the inscriptions. This is probably because they could afford to consult the psychics more often than the poor.

Use of Oracle Bones

The desire to know the future has been a constant in human history and the people of China during the Shang Dynasty were no different along these lines than people today. Fortune-telling during the Shang Dynasty was considered an important resource in making decisions, and these 'psychics' were consulted by everyone from the farmer to the king. These fortune-tellers were thought to be in touch with the spirit world of the ancestors who lived with the gods and knew the future. These spirits would communicate with the psychics through the oracle bones. Each fortune-teller had his or her area of expertise (love, money, work, etc.) but could answer questions on any topic.

Fortune-tellers either got the bones and shells themselves (and prepared them) or bought them from a merchant who scraped and cleaned them. The bones/shells were then kept in the fortune-teller's shop. If someone wanted to know whether they should take their cattle to market, or go visit a friend on a certain date, they would visit a fortune-teller who could predict how well their plans would work out.

The person would ask the fortune-teller a question like "Should I bring my oxen to market next month?" and the fortune-teller would carve the symbols for the person, oxen, the next month, and maybe a later month on the turtle shell or bone. A hole would be drilled in the object and a hot poker would be applied, or the shell/bone placed near fire until it cracked. If the crack went one way it would mean the person should go to market with the animals, and if it went another way they should wait.

People relied on these fortune-tellers to help them make decisions about all kinds of choices in their lives from matchmaking to having children, to travel and financial decisions, and even to making war. People consulted fortune-tellers back then the same way they check their horoscopes in modern newspapers or the internet today to see what the day holds in store. There were symbols carved on the bones which meant 'good day' and 'bad day', and a person could consult a fortune-teller in the morning to see which kind of day they had in front of them. The oracle bones found thus far date from c. 1250-1046 BCE and give all kinds of important information about the Shang Dynasty.

Continue reading...

[itsravenbitch]

I'm done. I'm done with the struggle, I'm done being afraid of my own power. I'm getting in the void today and living the life of my dreams.

I scripted it already. I just want to slide right into my new life with ease. Investments have paid off. I have millions. My financial paperwork will be tucked in the safe in my closet along with some 10k stacks of USD, EUR, GBP, and CNY...30 gold bars and stacks of nicely stored Silver Coins. Throw in some Copper Couns and Titanium Bars for diversity. Self storage cause I'm a Dragon.

In this safe the paperwork will be for my equity portfolios in Blackrock and Fidelity as well as my automatic Treasury Bill portfolios which churn about $10million of liquid USD in interest generated income (currently 600k a year). I'll also have the check books for my 10 liquid cash bank accounts/money market accounts, which always have 250k in them each...my independent financial advisor in NYC makes sure of it...also my tax guy. I visit with them once a month and take a long weekend to enjoy NYC and New England.

I haven't bought any houses yet. Still shopping. Still wondering where I want my routines to be set. But I will be in the process of buying my Mother and Sister properties...also setting up some cash transfers for my friends...anonymously ofc. They'll know I'm good, but I'm keeping all my shit private.

I'm gonna be a dragon. One unified by light and dark. A witch. A curator. An explorer of the multiverse. I will spoil TF outta my family and friends. Live by example and inspire others. Explore all studies of this reality concept and make my life a masterful piece of art. I'm not a gaudy rich person, I'm intentional and tasteful. Luxury that is feng shui.

I've been here all along. And I'm now getting in the vehicle that will ground me into this reality.

ain’t gon lie you kinda lost me.. but i love to see ppl finally be done w the bullshit of the same cycle

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 6 - Genuine (Part 1)

Finally...finally the last chapter...

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

The kumotatewaku is a traditional Japanese pattern that resembles rising clouds. It is often used in the costumes of ancient nobles

The expression used here is 白羽の矢を立てる (literally: sticking a white feathered arrow), which is an idiom that means "selecting someone out of many people"

A chindonya is a kind of old-timey marching band that dressed in elaborate costumes to advertise for shops

Block style or kaisho style calligraphy is the regular script and the most commonly used. Every stroke is carefully executed

Previous | Next

In early June, the prefectural preliminaries for the National High School Kyudo Tournament, also known as the prefectural tournament, were held.

Kyudo supply stores and photo studios were set up around the venue, and the storefronts were lined with commemorative goods for the tournament. The wind was strong on this day, and the young archers were moving against it. The competition event was close-distance shooting, using thirty-six-centimeter kasumi targets with a shooting distance of twenty-eight meters.

For the boys’ individual competition on the first day, Fujiwara Shuu of Kirisaki High School once again won by landing all his arrows. Second place was Kabashima, also from Kirisaki, and third place went to Asahina from Haneina High School, showing the strength of the powerhouse schools. For the girls’ competition, Seo from Kazemai High School placed fifth.

On the second day, it was finally time for the team competition. The format was five-person teams and four shots in zasha. In the preliminaries, the time limit was eight minutes. Forty-two schools were participating in the boys’ competition, and the top eight teams with the highest number of hits in the two rounds would advance to the final tournament.

Tommy-sensei raised his voice. “Now it’s time for the team competition. Kazemai will show its true strength. Everyone, I wish you good luck!”

“Yes!”

After completing the registration process, Kaito, Kanbayashi, Seiya, Himuro, and Minato put their numbers on their right hips. Ryouhei and Nanao were reserve members.

Himuro was expressionless like he always was, but Kanbayashi gently stroked his number.

“Oh no, I might be really happy after all…”

Keyaki nudged Kanbayshi. “Don’t grin like that and get it together. I don’t wanna hear you whine.”

“Of course.”

Next to them, Ryouhei was tying his yellow-green headband.

“Today, my sister, Sae-chan, and Toujou-san are coming to support us. I’m psyched!”

“That’s great, Ryouhei,” Minato and Seiya said.

The Nanao Fan Club had updated its cheering goods and prepared fans with a frog wearing a crown. They also handed them out to support groups and parents, and when the bright green of them swayed, it looked like a chorus of frogs.

As they were about to pass through the noisy venue, people approached Minato and the others. A young prince, twins, a boy with a square face and thick eyebrows, a boy with pleasant features and a crew cut, and an antique doll.

They were Kirisaki’s Fujiwara Shuu, Sugawara Senichi and Manji, Kabashima Umetarou, Yushima Kaoru, and Kuon Takumi. The twins burst into laughter in front of so many of their rivals.

Shuu brought his face close to Minato’s right ear. Since their master Saionji’s left ear was bad, Shuu only showed this habit to Saionji and Shuu.

“Thanks for the birthday present the other day. I’ll treasure it.”

Shuu put his thumb on his yugake. A white underglove with a purple pattern could be seen beneath it.

“I’m glad I was able to give it to you on May 11th this year. I thought it would be perfect for you.”

“The kumotatewaku pattern is rare for undergloves. (1) ——See you in the finals.”

“Yeah, the finals.”

The two of them bumped yugake and returned to their teammates.

Shuu’s gaze drifted to Kuon. Kuon was in the starting lineup for the day, but he was standing separate from everyone else. Everyone could tell that he was isolated, and was not a proudly solitary existence like Shuu. A dissonant sound was wafting from Kirisaki High School.

Kuon, who didn’t care about other people’s concerns, had moved onward. In fact, he was frustrated because he didn’t do well in yesterday’s individual competition.

Manji rested his elbow on Senichi’s shoulder.

“Will we okay with Kuon? I’m more suited to be the starter.”

“It’s frustrating, but his hitting rate is usually high. The coach said there was no problem either.”

“Alright, everyone, let’s go!”

At President Kabashima’s order, Shuu and the others headed to the venue.

Meanwhile, Tommy-sensei and Masa-san were in the shade of a tree, away from the crowd.

Masa-san straightened his collar.

“Why did you remove Ryouhei and Nanao from the starting lineup? There was nothing to criticize about their results.”

“If we make it to the finals, each person would have to shoot twenty shots in total. Even if it’s difficult to shoot twenty shots and hit, how about twelve shots? The aim is to preserve stamina.”

“There’s one more thing I’d like to confirm before we get into the tournament. On the day of the entrance ceremony, I heard you say to Minato and the others, ‘I have given you white-feathered arrows.’ (2) I’m sure that you knew that saying originated from the custom of playing an arrow with white feathers in front of the house of a girl chosen as a sacrifice. Why did you purposely use it?”

“It’s to prepare them. Once a ship leaves the port, you can’t turn back even if you shout to get off.”

“Are you telling them to prepare to share the same fate? Even though those who are wounded might fail again?”

“Hohoho, I didn’t mean it in such a sad way. Youth is the greatest weapon, since they can just start over again and again. I just felt that they could make it to the new continent. The first fleet, the Kazemai High School’s boy’s kyudo team, started with six members. Takigawa-san, you’re the first-born son. When I was able to convince you, I was convinced that we had completed our mission.”

“That’s a bold opinion, typical of Tommy-sensei.”

“It’s true of all sports, but one cannot win by the strength of the athlete alone. Especially in kyudo, the character of the master comes out strongly. Everyone resembles your shooting, Takigawa-san.”

“…My shooting was said to be very similar to my grandfather’s.”

“It’s the spirit of archer that is passed on.”

“…Yes.”

Masa-san looked at the treetops swaying in the wind and laughed.

Following the opening ceremony, the yawatashi ceremony was held.

The boys’ division was called for the preliminaries, and they headed to the waiting area with Masa-san leading them. As always, the most stressful time was sitting in the chairs and waiting. When the team before them finished, the “stand up” signal was given, and they rose from their chairs and advanced to the honza. They bowed at the signal to “begin,” walked to their shooting positions and knelt down. They chose two arrows from the four they had.

First up was the oomae, Kaito. It was lovely how he never trembled when facing the target. The lovelier he became, the more stubborn he got, and he would end up saying things that were different from his true feelings. He would say, “I have no interest in you,” but would grab the other person’s arm and not let them go in the same breath. He lived and breathed kyudo. That was Kaito’s everyday. After his right hand flicked, shouts of “good” came from the stands.

The second, Kanbayashi, raised his bow. The midsummer sun encouraged growth. He absorbed more and more of what was told to him and expanded towards the blue sky. He had seniors who he admired and pursued the shooting he admired. His longing had a zeal that surpassed his anxiety. His arrow pierced the target with a grand hanare.

The third, Seiya, was quiet. Wearing a straw hat and an insect cage, he entered the forest, but stopped when he saw a field of flowers. The neat and trim flowers swayed. When he lay down and looked up at the rising clouds, he felt like he was about to float away. He heard a familiar voice and stopped returning to the sky—he hit.

It was the fourth, Himuro’s, turn. He took the bowstring with a bodhisattva’s hand and looked at the target with a bodhisattva’s eyes. His ability to make an uncurving douzukuri was probably something he was born with. It was his natural posture with no effort put into it. The frogs in the stands jumped when he hit.

The fifth was the ochi, Minato. The white-feathered arrow was proof that he had been allowed to come into contact with the gods. He didn’t resist, go against it, and accepted it as it was. His limbs, stretching vertically and horizontally, were incredibly supple. His body of sixteen, which couldn’t be wished once more after it had passed, embraced the earth, wide and endless.

The matooto sounded.

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo, sitting in the stands, held their breath.

“The boys are amazing.”

“I feel like they have become more and more refined.”

“I heard that Narumiya and Takehaya have also been going to Saionji-sensei. Their drive is different.”

For the second shot, everyone except for Kanbayashi hit.

For the third shot, Kaito, Seiya, and Minato hit.

Keyaki’s chest swelled at the success of his fellow first-years. “Kazemai, do your best!” Shuu’s younger sister Sae and their butler Toujou cheered in a small voice.

For the fourth shot, Kaito hit with all four of his arrows and left the shooting range to applause. After him, Kanbayashi, Seiya, Himuro, and Minato all hit the target. Their result was four, two, four, three, and four for seventeen hits out of twenty. It was a very good start.

Kirisaki was the sixth team to enter the shooting range. A wall of people filled the surrounding area to catch a glimpse of the champions’ shooting.

The oomae, Kabashima, released his arrow.

Senichi, Kuon, and Yushima all hit. The ochi was Shuu.

Wash your heart and turn it into incense; revere your body and turn it into flowers. Those were Kukai’s words, meaning that it was the duty of a virtuous person to serve others without any thought. Those who had a pure heart were fragrant. Shuu knew firsthand that this wasn’t a metaphor. The feeling of euphoria he felt when he brought his face close to the owner of that scent. He heard whispers of wanting to be intoxicated, of not minding sinking to the bottom of the lake if he could have it all to himself, but those were the words of a demon. He must not fall for the sweet words of someone who looked like him.

Shuu’s evil-expelling arrow dashed forward.

The results for the two rounds were announced.

For the boys’ division, Kazemai had thirty-four hits out of forty, Kirisaki had thirty-six, and Haneina had thirty-five.

The Kazemai girls had only twenty-eight hits, so unfortunately they didn’t pass the preliminaries.

Minato and his teammates got the ticket to go to the finals.

After lunch, the finals began. In the afternoon, the wind became stronger and their hakamas fluttered violently.

“It’s time to change the lineup. Yamanouchi-kun will be second, and Kisaragi-kun will be fourth. I’m counting on you,” Tommy-sensei said.

Ryouhei and Nanao received their numbers.

Minato adjusted the position of Ryouhei’s number.

“It looks like the five of us will be standing on that stage again. A year ago, you invited me to the information session for the kyudo club. That was the first time we five met face to face.”

“I wasn’t the only one who invited you. Everyone wanted to do kyudo with Minato.”

“Now, I can draw a bow. I’ve never been happier.”

Kaito brusquely held out his right hand, and the five boys looked at each other. Passionate feelings could be conveyed without words or skin contact.

Ryouhei, Nanao, Kaito, Seiya, and Minato bumped their yugakes together.

Kazemai’s opponent was Uyoshiro High School.

They were wearing bright red headbands. They lived in an area associated with military commanders who were famous during the Sengoku period, and when they went to a competition, they wore a certain armament. It was glasses. It might seem comical from the outside, but they did it very seriously.

The group stood in the first shajo. The oomae readied his bow and fixed his eyes on the target.

The bow maker, the yugake maker, and the arrow maker were the three gods of kyudo. The archer was the one who became intimate with these materialized gods. If there was a slight doubt or confusion, the string would make a muddy sound with those negative emotions. The twill brocade woven by the trinity of gods resembled battle attire. The flowers, birds, wind, and moon on the robe were the prayers of the samurai, and the butterflies (moths) represented the parents of the silkworm, production.

The flowers scattered. The flower battle was a warrior’s honor.

The oomae’s matooto resounded.

Kazemai’s oomae, Kaito, was undaunted. The wind beat mercilessly at his face, and his douzukuri felt like it was about to collapse under the wind, but he withstood it. Patience was his natural disposition. He might seem short-tempered, but he had the conviction to never give up. To not run away from the way of the bow. He was determined to cling to it for the rest of his life.

The nimato, Ryouhei, was listening to the news of the wind. Seeing the faces of his parents and sister in the stands, he felt strongly that he wasn’t alone in this fight. It seemed that people became stupid when they were angry and when they were happy. Their brain stopped working properly. The state in which one’s mind was clear and free from all distractions was called munen musou, and he learned from the path of the blade that you couldn’t fulfill your duties if you weren’t passionate.

The naka, Seiya, had found the answer to Minato’s question some time ago.

Why did humans shed their fur? It was to continue walking.

The ancestors of humans who left the forest for the grasslands learned to walk or run long distances in search of food. Body hair had a heat insulating effect and protected the skin from UV rays, but in order to prevent the body temperature from rising too high, they chose to abandon their fur and sweat instead. Humans had great endurance. The way one breathed was important in walking the long way of the bow.

The ochimae, Nanao, was thinking. Thinking was a linguistic activity.

There were two types of word formation. One was to give a name to something that had been hidden and make its existence manifest, and the other involved the intention of first creating a word and having the concept follow. When you learned a language, you not only acquired wisdom, culture, and thinking, but also the spell of words.

Letters and patterns were magical techniques that had their own power. If you looked down on them as just a means of communication, everything would be embodied and pour down upon them. There were no magic words; words were magic. A story was a kind of magic and truth. If you write it as tsurune, it would be called tsurune. A tsurune was the beautiful sound of a bowstring.

Nanao’s sharp hanare brought forth the next wind.

The ochi, Minato, held his bow.

Just how heavy was this shot?

Just how light was this shot?

“I” was the one who gave it meaning. The god of the bow didn’t smile at those who couldn’t love themselves or others. Because humans were incarnations of the gods.

Minato forgot that he was a human and turned into the matooto.

Uyoshiro had three, three, four, two, and four for a total of sixteen hits.

Kazemai had three, four, three, four, four for a total of eighteen hits.

Minato and his team made it through the first round without incident.

The second round began.

The stands were filled with people wearing blue and yellow-green headbands. The two waves struggled, almost swallowing each other up, almost to the point of spilling over onto the yamichi.

Kazemai’s opponent was Konoe High School.

Their blue arrow feathers and headbands were their trademarks.

Only those with kyudo experience would understand the exhilarating feeling of seeing the actions of five people overlap. There were rules even for movements such as taking a step forward, sitting, and nocking an arrow into a bow, and because there were rules, it was possible to match each other. Ikiai was the embodiment of the red droplets that circulated around the body.

They shot arrows every day. The faces were almost the same. The repeated daily routines were a series of miracles. They take up the bow, hoping to grow even just a millimeter better than they were yesterday. For most people, landing a hundred hits with a hundred arrows was just a dream, and it was precisely because they couldn’t do what they wanted to do that they got absorbed in it. The sound of the arrow hitting the target was pleasant, and they wished it would happen again, but the god of hitting was a contrarian. The moment you wished it, the chance escaped. Approaching something without wanting to approach it was nothing but a dilemma for humans, who had developed enlarged brains.

Don’t think, just feel, as a martial artist once said. How long would it take to reach that state? Even if it was achieved, would it be possible to maintain it? If you kept thinking like this, it seemed that you still had a long way to go.

Kazemai’s archers faced themselves in the form of the targets.

The aggressive Kaito, the lively Ryouhei, the intelligent Seiya, the sparkling Nanao, and the pure Minato.

They highlighted and polished their inherent colors.

Their inexperience became a weapon. Even though they were told that there was darkness an inch ahead, they wouldn’t be able to understand unless they looked into it, and they wouldn’t notice it unless they fell into it. Pain was something you only knew when you suffered it, and hate was something you feared only when you possessed it. The cry of the inner soul could only be learned through experience, and words were powerless there. No matter how many words you wrote, they would never be understood by those who never experienced it. Only an archer knew the heart of an archer.

A world of just two people, the bow and the human.

The bow caught the innocent body falling.

The ecstasy a bow gave you was different from that of humans. Skin with goosebumps and surging droplets. It was a ritual to bind the soul that was about to drift away to the body. There was no sound without a container. You couldn’t make a sound with an empty shell.

Minato and the others raised their bows, spread them wide, and released their arrows. Ashibumi, douzukuri, yugamae, uchiokoshi, hikiwake, kai, hanare. They followed these eight stages and headed towards the heights.

The results of the second round were as follows.

Konoe had three, four, four, three, four, for a total of eighteen hits.

Kazemai had four, three, four, four, four, for a total of nineteen hits.

Kazemai won by a difference of one hit.

Since there was some time until the finals, Minato went out to the front.

He wasn’t feeling bad. If anything, he was focusing on calming himself so he didn’t go too fast. A dull mind and a weak body. At first glance, it might seem like a state far removed from martial arts, but eliminating the “self” was the secret to being able to freely manipulate the body. As long as “I” resided in the body, the god of the bow would not descend upon you.

To become empty.

Even if it could be understood as a concept, it was extremely difficult to embody it.

An elderly man called out to Minato.

“It’s almost time for the finals. Just like last year, the match between Kirisaki and Kazemai is a must-see.”

“Thank you very much. But the match between Kirisaki and Haneina is about to begin.”

“No, no, the match is already decided before it even began, right? Did you see the head of those students from Haneina? A chicken’s cockscomb and a horse’s tail. The training clothes they wore in their Yotube streams looked like something from an old marching band. (3) You’re wearing a clean white kyudogi and your hair is neat. It’s praiseworthy. That’s what a Japanese boy should look like.”

“…I do have short hair, and I like white kyudogi. But, if someone is serious about kyudo, I will acknowledge them as an archer no matter what they wear.”

“What’s with that way of talking? Seems like I thought too highly of you.”

The man left. Minato went outside to focus his mind, but he ended up inviting needless interference.

His yellow-green headband was fluttering. It was something a master had prepared for his disciples.

Minato took a deep breath once more.

The card of Kirisaki versus Haneina in the second round got people excited.

Asahina raised the corner of his mouth.

“Nice. It looks great.”

Eddie tied an orange headband tightly.

“I am trembling at the prospect of a worthy opponent, that I am.”

Matsuda, who had poor eyesight, placed his hand on the shoulder of the poet Kanuma. Igarashi started walking while holding flowers. People naturally gave way to them. The existence of Haneina’s kyudo club was already dramatic in itself. The five of them walked leisurely down the flowery path.

The two schools began to enter the shajo, and the spectators held their breath as they watched.

In the first shajo, Eddie raised his bow. His blond ponytail swayed and sparkled in the sunlight. A stop, an upward turn, and a sweeping stroke. His shooting was like the block style of calligraphy. (4) A work of art that changed seven ways depending on the tools, brushstrokes, style, and word selection. His stance was to never prepare practice sheets, but always treat it as though it was the real thing. He quickly drew back his brush, and the arrow flew towards the target.

The second, Matsuda, hit.

The third, Kanuma, hit.

The fourth, Igarashi, hit.

The fifth, Asahina, begun to raise his bow. His red hair stood out against the green grass. His self-confidence and warm-hearted personality brought out the bright sun. When he drew his bow, his limbs stretched to infinity. The matooto resounded.

Kirisaki also matched their pace.

The oomae, Kabashima, hit.

The nimato, Senichi, hit.

The naka, Kuon, hit.

The ochimae, Yushima, hit.

When the ochi Shuu hit, the scoring board was lined with circle marks.

No one missed their second shot as well. The sound of the matooto and the cheers of the crowd made their bodies numb, and the elation made them desire more and more matooto. They became greedier and greedier.

Kuon was confident that he would never lose to the red-headed guy. If they went on to win, he would be placed in the same picture frame as the Young Prince, Fujiwara Shuu. What a beautiful picture it would be!

He melted into the world of images.

Now, let’s sneak in.

This was Tsujimine High School.

A boy with the hood of his white hoodie pulled deeply over his head walked over. A boy with streaked hair was standing a little further away. He stole the key from the staff room and hid it in his pocket.

Nikaidou and Fuwa were in the music room. They stood in front of the piano and gently opened the lid.

Along with Fuwa’s piano melody, Nikaidou played the drums using his hands and knees. He was very into music games and could even reach an uncanny level of fast drumming in games like Kotaiko no Tatsujin.

One day, after club activities, Nikaidou was tapping a rhythm on his knees on a whim when Fuwa correctly guessed the name of the song.

“Konahanasakuya-hime.”

“…Correct.”

Since then, the sneak-in sessions, not street piano, had continued.

Konohanasakuya-hime no Mikoto, the origin of the song’s title, was the name of the most beautiful goddess in the history of Japanese mythology. Her father was Ooyamatsumi no Mikoto, and her husband was Ninigi no Mikoto, grandson of Amaterasu Oomikami. Her husband accused her of infidelity, and in order to prove her innocence, she set fire to the delivery room and gave birth to three children in the flames.

When the two of them were babies, they had a scarlet seal stamped onto their faces at a festival called Hatsuyama to pray for their healthy growth. It felt creepy thinking that they might have passed by each other somewhere.

Fuwa began to play a song. As he proceeded at a walking pace, Nikaidou stood next to him.

A fearless smile—the start of a duet.

My fingertips hit the keyboard. The melody, chords, and bass line. Nikaidou sped up the main melody while adding improvisations. There was no way Fuwa wouldn’t take up this challenge.

“Nikaidou, can you keep to my speed?”

“Hah, there’s no way I’m following you.”

“Good grief.”

Fuwa ignored Nikaidou and decided to go fast. He was crafty with techniques such as giving someone glimpses and keeping them in suspense. Fuwa always kept his distance from others. Though he had purposely drawn a line telling them not to come over, those who crossed that line were, so to speak, prey. There was no need to hold back. He would shake them, shake them, shake them until they begged for forgiveness.

Nikaidou attended piano lessons when he was a child, but quit after learning “Turkish March” and had been studying on his own ever since. On the other hand, Fuwa’s mother was a piano teacher. Knowing the difference in their abilities, Nikaidou devised a plan. He tried to find rhythms that players might not be comfortable with, such as lowering the key by a semitone or changing chords.

Fuwa made full use of his techniques. Nikaidou clicked his tongue, then reached over Fuwa’s arm and hit a high key. It was more of a fierce battle than a fun session. Sound and breathing filled the room. The music room wasn’t air conditioned in order to prevent unauthorized use. If the sound leaked out, the shame would be unbearable. They played the whole song while sweating.

“It’s not fun at all playing with you,” Fuwa muttered.

“Same here.”

“Get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve always been an arrogant king, Koushirou.”

Nikaidou took off his white hoodie. His body was hot and he was breathing heavily. He reached into his bag to get something to wipe off his sweat and grabbed a towel and his phone.

The results of the prefectural tournament where Minato and the others were in were displayed on the screen.

“…Oh man. I think I’m gonna laugh.”

“You laughing by yourself isn’t a good thing. Alright, I’ll ask. What happened?”

“Kirisaki lost in the second round of the final tournament.”

“What!?”

Fuwa stared into Nikaidou’s large eyes.

“That’s a big upset. Who was their opponent?”

“It’s the school of the Yotubers Asahina and Eddie. Shuu-kun really is a lovely man. As expected, my special won’t let me down. I wonder if Minato-chan will entertain me as well.”

Nikaidou loosened the collar of his white shirt.

After the wind that had been blowing since the morning calmed down, an incredibly bright blue sky spread out above Shuu’s head.

Kirisaki had nineteen hits.

Haneina had twenty hits.

The powerhouse Kirisaki High School was defeated in the second round of the prefectural tournament.

Under the sunlight, the Kirisaki members calmly began cleaning up. “We all did well,” the president Kabashima exclaimed, and Yushima smiled and said, “It’s been a fulfilling three years. I’m grateful to everyone,” but Senichi and Manji couldn’t hide the heaviness of their steps. They endured the overwhelming mixture of feelings of inadequacy and jealousy toward those who had earned the smile of the goddess of victory.

There was only one person who missed in this team, and that was Kuon. Despite the weather having returned to calm, he looked as though he had inhaled a cloud of dust.

One could almost hear the crunching sound of it.

“Fujiwara-senpai, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But, still! Even if it’s to yell at me, please just say something to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Shuu left without saying any more.

Devastated, Kuon turned to face the person who appeared in the corner of his vision.

Minato, who was going to talk to Shuu, saw what happened.

“Kuon-kun, it’s usual for Shuu to not express his thoughts after a match. Don’t worry about it,” he told him, then immediately followed Shuu.

Kuon stared at Minato’s back and bit his lip.

Was he pitying me?

Who on earth were you talking to when you said “don’t worry about it?”

I can’t believe someone of the lower class is looking down on me!

Minato had no clue about Kuon’s delusions. He was running after someone he must not lose sight of.

He shouted the name of his brother disciple.

“Shuu!”

Shuu turned around and smiled. It was all he could to not drop his bow.

“I’m sorry, Minato. I wasn’t able to fulfill our promise to meet in the finals. It seems that I don’t have any luck with team matches.”

“That’s not true, Shuu. You’re my first bow friend—a genuine archer. We met at that kyudojo when we were little.”

“Minato.”

“Someday, we will definitely team up together.”

“…Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

What a cruel person.

You were the one who lit this fire under me.

God of the bow, please save me.

We are babies who don’t know anything. Although no ships nor people have arrived there, the sun is a red, blazing star that will someday turn to dust. We never witnessed the beginning and end of the story, and we believe in an empty dream that cannot be verified. Dreams are seen when one is asleep. People are still sleeping. A dream from which we can never wake. In the darkness, only my old friend knows what I did. Only you can burn me to ashes.

Shuu touched Minato’s forehead with his yugake-covered hand. His cold fingers were trembling.

He couldn’t let go of that unforgettable body warmth.

Previous | Next

[mountainashes]

Do you have any UD as adults hcs? (Like middle ageish)

Ooo hi!

Okay, again not rlly strict or clear ones, but I like to think about it. That being said, I'm mostly coming up with it as I go along. I'm just gonna answer this with every character as if nothing bad happened to them so I can include the Washingtons- I hope thats ok, if not I can do a post game one I'm sure all I think abt is this game.

Jess

I like to think she would become a model like she wants to be.

Also maybe an actress in some of Josh's films lol. I think she'd be good at it.

Honestly job wise I think she just does whatever she feels like, she's a very free and funloving person.

She visits Em at her work all the time, they have their lunch together.

She has a german shepard dog.

Ash

Ashley works on her books, which are mostly like crime-mystery type stories.

She often goes over Josh's scripts with him.

She works at a coffee shop in a mall because she just likes the vibe of sitting and writing in a café on her breaks.

She has pet ferrets.

Sam

She works at an animal shelter while also volunteering with conservation charities and stuff.

She's athletic and does runs and stuff for fundraising for charity.

She's hard to make plans with because she's always up to something, always busy. But she makes sure to be free for when the Washingtons host a get-together at the lodge :)

Em

She works assistant manager at a clothing store, and she is in her ELEMENT.

Crochets in her spare time.

Sometimes does hikes with Sam.

Always changing her hairstyle, she's definitely braver when it comes to her style and doing what she wants.

She has a cat.

Beth

Does soundtracks for things, she's very into her music. Often Josh will get her for his films.

She's a music teacher on top of that, just because I think it'd be funny.

She gets really into gardening, grows fruit + veg and uses it when she makes any meals.

That said she also gets into cooking and sometimes hosts dinners with family or friends.

Han

Still into her weird hobbies (bug keeping, doll collecting).

She works with Josh all the time and helps with concept art and stuff. (Shes artsy as well to me).

Spends a lot of time up at Blackwood, works there when it's open. She's a ski instructor.

She also collects bones and feathers and stuff up there.

She joins Sam on a lot of her hikes/runs as well.

Plans and hosts the Feburary lodge hangouts.

Josh

He does film writing/directing, much like his dad.

His movies are much more psychological horror whereas his dad's were more ur slasher-type horror.

He spends pretty much all his free time with his friends and family, his own home is basically abandoned 90% of the time.

Often helps Ashley go over her writing as well.

Him and Jess drive out into the woods at random times to walk and chat, usually trading updates on their friends' lives and stuff.

Mike

Sort of like Jess, he just does whatever.

I can see him working with dogs tbh, maybe with Sam at the shelter. He deals with the larger breeds specifically.

He has a collie dog he goes everywhere with pretty much.

He also likes to show up and bother Em at her work. Lol.

Matt

He becomes a P.E teacher at the same place Beth is a music teacher.

He often goes to Blackwood when Hannah's there and they ski and hike together.

He goes on roadtrips with Ashley and Josh, he's usually driving while they get pictures and stuff for inspiration. They have gotten lost a LOT.

Chris

He does app design, most of his work is from home.

He's often with Josh, and does help with any technical stuff for Josh.

Ashley and Josh like to drag him out into the sun every now and again, because otherwise he would likely happily sit behind a screen all day.

I think I'll leave this now, I hope its ok. Thanks for the ask :D