#because his works were custom tailored to the times they were written. and not to be a broken record but wildrow wilson=/=barack obama

[winterbirb]

Like why is it specifically European-type leftists who have zero sense of pragmatism or... basic politics. Like okay great you can repeat all the right words etc but you're never gonna have more than 10% of the vote...

[bonefries]

Outlast Trials | Fanfiction | Mostly SFW + Depictions of gore / little bit of suggestive groping.

The Fox and the Hare | Franco Barbi x (Reagent OC) Sister Elizabeta

This picture is now the cover for this one shot I wrote about Eli and Franco! This is the story about the first time Eli reveals to Franco that she wants to cannibalize his heart. I've never really written a fic before so I gave it a try. (Please go easy on me. Writing is not my first skill.)

(Outlast Trials story, you have been warned.) Writing under the cut!

"5 AM in the Goddamn morning." Franco's voice rumbled from his bed at the less than pleasurable sound of the morning intercom. The crackling static of the Murkoff speaker as it popped on to inform him that he has 15 minutes to prepare before his first appearance of the day.

His blanket would shuffle as he struggled to slump himself forward, clearing the morning gunk from his throat and rubbing the dust from his eyes. Lifting his ring finger to his face, he delicately massaged the thin layer of his eyelid. In this gesture he would push away the pesky tears that pooled along his waterline.

"Marone." He would roll off his tongue in agitation. There are few individuals that opt to run his stage so early before sunrise.

This was, even for him, too goddamn early. However, it was all a part of the contract. On call at whatever moment of the day Murkoff desired. In exchange, Franco is given his milk and honey. The heroin operations intact, his clientele happy and paying, and his protection guaranteed from whomever senior Salvatore may still be trying to throw his way to disturb his little slice of heaven. Though, one did think about the audacity it took for him to be so inconvenienced by waking up early for work. He was, after all, complaining from his large and private bedroom that was custom fitted with all of his nice things. From his silky bed sheets to his hardwood armoire that held his finely tailored wardrobe. The things he can't help but want because of his upbringing in a luxury lifestyle. Back then, young Barbi could have whatever he wanted so long as it didn't require Daddy's love and affection. "Who the fuck wants to be in there at ass crack'a dawn." Franco would take a deep breath, the air hissing through him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The already irritated Barbi had no intentions of getting dressed this first time around as he searched his bed for his evening robe. As he sat on the edge of his sheets, he would run his fingers over the side of his head to feel how his wound was fairing. It was a regular issue that he has long since discarded serious care for. The chemicals Murkoff pumped into him at regular check ups somehow managed to keep the infection in line just enough every time. But, it was still a chronic pain. And of course, the dressings he had gone to sleep with were off once again. He could never manage to get them to stick as he would toss and turn throughout his appointed resting periods. At his bedside of course, sat his precious Lupara. He'd grab the gun with a haste most only saw in soldiers hurried to war.

"I'll be fucked if some spunky little cunt is really lookin for a fight this early in the mornin." He spat with a jagged scowl.

If it truly was some reagent with the balls to be so punctual, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him in his proper work attire. Hell, the only thing he truly bothered with were his socks and shoes. The small man had every intention of looking ridiculous for the poor sucker he was hoping to find. --------

"Good morning Mr. Barbi." Said the man behind the glass. Waiting for Franco at this gated entrance as always. "Up yours, scum pig." Franco would snarl, with no hesitation and no eye contact to spare. Never had he cared for the authority around him that Murkoff provided. This may be their set up, but this was his turf, as far as he was concerned. Once he was past the gate and through the doorway, he would be in the facility. With Lupara over his shoulder, he would stop to stare out into the distance of the Docks. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The morning silence was deafening. “So fuckin early even the rats ain’awake yet.”

Franco stated as he stepped along metal staircases and wooden hallways. The disgusting smell of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs. The fake simulated cries of seagulls and the moist sloshing of water and carnage against the cargo ship. He would make his way to the rising platform that laid beneath the hatch, expecting to find someone perhaps within the bridge. As his footsteps trebled against the metal panels of the floor, his predatory intuition made clear that his prey was not too far off. Something in the air changed, a presence, a frequency. A silent alarm, if any. And it made his trigger finger itch.

But his gut warned him to hold steady. And gently, Franco pushed open a door to the bridge control room. The red lighting in the room would make it rather easy for someone to sit still and eventually slide by quietly. Like a conniving little rat. But this wasn't the case, as the intruder made no real efforts to conceal themselves.

A figure hunched over a box of junk and trinkets. The sound of objects being picked up, inspected perhaps, and dropped back in. Though there was something odd about the way that they did, as there didn't appear to be much urgency in their gestures. At least not the kind that you would expect from most reagents.

"Who the fuck is that!?" Franco asserted. Aiming his Lupara with a ferocity that came quicker than the pull of the trigger.

It wasn't more than a second before the hunched figure rose to their full height, head turning slightly to capture a side eye view of Franco's threat posture. Their gaze presented with a very silent and eerie calmness despite the gun pointed to them.

"Thats an awful rude way to greet 'a girl so early in the morning, Mista' Bambino." A voice with a short fuse for patience spoke out to him. You could hear the small gasp that wormed it's way out of the mobster's lungs after being addressed. Franco would drop his hostile pose with Lupara still in his hand. Motioning his arms forward, he gestured the way one would when asking for a hug.

"Lizzy!" Shouted the Barbi.

The giantess gave Franco the quick up and down. Her eyes hung in a way that made them look so soft, but sad. The same way a Forget-Me-Not makes you feel by it's name.

"Doooon't you Lizzy me buster! Yous was just aimin'that goddamn Lupara at the backa' my head!" Her shoulders would jerk around, a small medicine bottle in one hand while the other put up a scolding finger.

Franco would note that she didn't look like her typical self. While she dawned her ever holy reagent bindings and gear, something was unkempt about her.

Her hair was frizzy and bedridden, her make up was fading and tacky along the features and creases of her face. Loosely fitted from her body was a hand made evening jumper. The material looked surprisingly close to the silk of his sheets back in his bedroom. Lastly her stockings were put on in a hurry. They were already full of tears and holes as they pulled against the shape of her legs. For her that had been good enough, and she had walked into the trial shuttle without any shoes.

The two would walk forward from their respective spots in the room, meeting each other half way.

"No, no, Lizzy! You know I'd never take a shot at ya! I-I ain't seen ya in a week I wasn't thinkin it was you!"

Franco's demeanor would shift ever so quickly to that of a begging pup as he put his hands together. Pleading with Lizzy that he was not out of line. That he did good hesitating before letting his trigger finger do the talking for him. "S-Sugar." He would stutter, his expression failing to show any real confidence in his display.

Lizzy would roll her eyes and shake her head. The finger that did the scolding now gently brushing through the front patch of Franco's hair.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much of a choice Barbi doll." She said.

Her nails gently pushed the strands of greasy hair into their signature swirl on his forehead. The gentleness of her motion reflected in the way it felt. A slight tickle on top of the skin, oh, it was something so minor that could make a man like Franco purr.

She could melt him like butter. His knees could turn to jelly on the spot as she stroked his hair. Like being praised for good behavior while he batted his eyelashes at her. Despite how disheveled she would consider herself in the moment, she was his Madonna. An icon he'd get on his knees to worship while he pleaded for her forgiveness and her blessings.

"One of tha'rookies in my cell block is havin a tough time with a nasty stab wound. I said I'd go get them somethin first thing in the mornin." She explained. The tone of her voice suggesting that she was, in fact, the one looking for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to wake ya up Frankie- Honest. But yous was the first in rotation today." Lizzy tried to assure him, her fingers clenching lightly to his chin. Making him look into her eyes while she tried to reason her actions to him.

Her hands were so soft, except for her pointer finger. He could feel the callused tip of it, making it stand out against the rest. The spot where she pricked too much from sewing without a thimble or machine guard, surely.

Smitten, his mouth would curl into a dotting smile. How he wished she would give him more than just this simple restraint. Though, the thought would quickly pass as his expression changed. Resembling that of a mean and feral tom cat. Scrunched together, like there was a bad taste past his tongue and teeth.

"Wait wait. You got up at this time for some....random newbie! Lizzy. C'mon what'dya get outta helpin these people!" Franco would argue. He was more upset on her behalf than she was.

In fact, she didn't seem to protest the task at all.

"These people ain't got nothin for you. You fuckin know that. Whats'tha sense in goin through.......through this kind of bullshit! Eh?" The little man would kick his leg limply as he let his fuse run without much thought to his outburst. Lizzy offered no real response other than a puff of air. Her red painted nail would lightly poke Bambino on his nose while she uttered something.

"Look Frankie. You might get a nice cozy spot all to ya'self but I share a parlor'wit a buncha other people. Some'a them need someone to look out for them alright?" The woman didn't say much else other than to point out that it was a simple act of kindness for a wounded stranger. "They're just taking advantage of'ya Liz." He grumbled and grabbed her free hand by the wrist. Holstering Lupara for the moment, a thing he rarely did when he was out and about.

"They ain't workin hard like you do, baby. They're just lookin to get what they can outta ya, and then suck you for every last drop you got." Franco's tone would once again reach a level of irritation. He hissed in a low volume and moved to hold her hand in his palms.

"You can't just go willy fuckin nilly doin shit for these people. They're gonna stab you in the back the second they get the goddamn chance."

The way Franco said it truly reflected how often he looked over his shoulder. One could imagine that he never meant a hand shake a day in his life, or that his fingers surely ached from how often they were crossed behind his back. It takes a rat to know a rat, and he has been both rodent and thief in his day.

"Frankie, you're ova'reactin. It's just a little medicine, sourpuss." Lizzy would puff her cheeks out, unbothered by the assumptions Franco was making. She calmly slid her hand away from his grasp to gesture as she spoke.

"Besides....Gave me a reason to come see ya'didn't it?" She giggled at the statement, her fingers running down the open lining of his evening robe. Adjusting the fabric slightly, Lizzy would cup the side of Franco's face. Feeling the heat from his cheeks that she couldn't see on him now.

Franco just stared at her. His thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked in confusion and bashfulness. He didn't want to admit he had gotten a little overworked about the situation, but he had to muster up an excuse of some sort, right?

"Y-yeah. So what if it did? I ain't gonna thank'em! And now I'm all fuckin worked up and out here in my fuckin pajamas!" The man whined. A wincing pitch to his voice that made one feel like they were fighting with a child.

"Fuckin...mothafucka.." Bambino growled to himself. Massaging his eyelids softly once again to push the waterworks away.

"Aw, my poor Bambino. Always cryin, never'sad." Lizzy would bend down to kiss his temple. A faint smear of red tint from her lipstick that she'd had on since the day before. It's darkness was only visible if you really looked for it under the red light of the bridge. Franco's sad moans would cease after this short reward, but only briefly.

For Franco, especially at this time, it still wasn't enough.

"Mother...May I?" He winced and groaned. The sound he made was pathetic to say the least. Like a pained beast, begging to be put out of it's misery. He ran his hands up the woman's sides, gripping them securely much like the way he would grip his precious Lupara.

Lizzy's eyebrows would raise in surprise by his assertiveness in this moment. She scoffed and shook her head. "You'know I ain't got time't fool around wit' you Frankie." She protested. Looking into those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Lizzy had a strong will, but sometimes the break line was thin. She sighed. "C'mere Barbi Doll. Give mama some sugar." She beckoned him with her finger. "Marone...." The mobster buried his face into her belly without a moment's notice. Whispering sweet nothings into the pit of her stomach. His sweating skin sticking to the cool silk that hung loose from her figure. Nosing at it like a desperate animal in heat. Breathing in her scent like it was the last thing he’d do. "Look at what ya'do t'me..." The words crawled out of his mouth like a bum from the gutter. Desperate and yearning.He could never have what he wanted most from her. No matter how many times she appeared on his stage. A dream that was far off, but he had played in his head one hundred times over. The idea of getting warm and close to Lizzy in such a manner made his heart skip and his head spin. He couldn't even catch his breath to properly word the excitement it brought him. So instead, he tried to show it through physical affections as he tugged Lizzy closer to himself. His hands cusped just under her wide and soft curvature. Lizzy's expression would go from soft to perky and surprised at the sudden affections. “What do I do to you, Barbi Doll?” She whispered the question into the air as the tension built itself up. The musk was thick from the stage’s fake salt and morning fog that poured from machines in the walls. "You make baby crazy, Liz…” He groveled as his legs failed to hold him up any longer. Holding on to her ankles for dear life as he looked up at her face. His palms rubbing past the holes in her stockings, occasionally slipping a finger under the fabric to circle her skin tenderly. He would heave slightly as he leaned forward to kiss at the shimmering fabric. The woman stared intently at his display of affection. At the vulnerable state he was willing to subject himself to so he could hear her affirmations. And all she could do was watch him as he kissed at her feet. His lips were dry and sticky as he peppered trails up each leg. One at a time. An alarm was going off somewhere inside her head. The way Franco appeared at the floor before her made her skin hot and her stomach warm. A smirk would creep at the corners of her face, only emphasized by the red lipstick colors that stained her mouth. “Bambino…” Lizzy said. Franco’s short breaths paused as he made eye contact with her upon his title being named. “You know what you make me want to do?” She questioned.

Franco's eyes would light up at the opportunity to ask her. What did he make her want to do. How did she feel? "Mother...Please...." His voice was eager and hurried, like it was being squeezed from him.

"W-what do I make you wanna do, Mother... Tell me. Please." Franco's head was almost on the ground as he bowed it to the question.

"Mother please." The man child begged.

"Heh.." The tall woman snickered and cleared her throat. The air hissing as it sucked in past her teeth that she bared. And if it hadn't been for the lighting one could swear that she had the grin of a predator. Sharp and wanting. Drooling. Itching to snap down on bone and flesh.

Franco's eyes darted back up as he stared from below. The silence getting heavier and heavier with every second that passed. Waiting for her answer.

Before he could gather the air to speak and cut through the quiet, he was hoisted into the air. Lizzy having put down the medicine bottle to give herself more control and range to handle Barbi.

"My Little Baby Barbi Doll." She sang. She pulled his small body close to her so they were nose to nose. Holding him as if he weighed nothing more than a toy to her. Her facial features formed what could only be described as an intoxicated expression.

"If I had it my way..." She giggle-whispered. Her high pitched tone jittering as though something was very funny to her.

"If I had it my way, Barbi Doll. I'd reach my hand right through that little barrel chest'a yours." Lizzy circled her finger nail lightly over the skin above Franco's heart.

"I'd push past your ribs...until I could feel'ya heart between my fingers. And yank it right outta ya. Tubes and all." As Lizzy detailed the viscera of the scene in her head, you could hear the peak of the pleasure she took in describing it. In some twisted way, it made her heart flutter and gave her butterflies in her gut.

Franco's jaw was nearly on the floor as she hushed her desires right into his ears. They locked eyes, and as his mouth was agape, Lizzy's grin was that of a hungry....wolf. No.

He was the wolf here. Lupara, echoed in Franco's head. He still had Lupara, but he dare not grab for it. He knows how much Lizzy hated when he handled the gun around her.

No not a wolf. A vixen. And right now, Franco was the hare. The foolish hare that laid it's head in the maw of the fox. At any moment she could snap her jaws right on his little neck and do him in.

"I would take a bite outta your heart like a fuckin fruit. Frankie." The woman's lips twitched into a sadistic and hungry little grin and she leaned in close to whisper into Franco's ear. "And I bet you taste sweet. Sugar-sweet. Like milk, and honey."

The sentiment was enough to make Franco's mind go over the edge between fear and arousal. He was speechless, short circuited. Not a clue this side of hell what to say to her.

She sighed a longing sigh, as if she had just been minorly inconvenienced. "A girl can dream..." Lizzy would cut off her thoughts quite abruptly.

Putting Bambino back on the ground, his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. Was she serious? Franco didn't actually know the answer, but his face was hot and flushed so much so that the sweat dripped from his skin. He took a deep breath and asked.

"Y-you wanna eat me?" He said with little behind the question. His teeth clenched from the anxiety. His mouth hollowed with confusion to Lizzy's true motives.

Their gazes would meet and there was a short pause. Lizzy wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her thumb and snickered softly.

"You heard me, Barbi Doll. I just wanna. Eat. You. Up."

She hunched over a bit, lowering herself to his level to place a deepened kiss on his lips. It caused Franco to moan lightly with relief as her touch was a comfort he had been missing for days. His temper was short because he felt ignored. Neglected even. But this was just the pick me up he needed, despite how he came about it.

But, the answer was still unclear. Although it wasn't something Franco saw any worth in dwelling over. Not after the heart skipping moment he just felt with Lizzy. Not right now.

A sickening bond that was ever growing between the two of them.

"One'a these days, Dollie. But not today,alright?" She grabbed his chin again and jerked his face lightly and playfully. His eyelashes fluttered at the motion.

"You gonna walk a little lady to the exit shuttle then?" Lizzy requested.

Franco whom already felt a lingering intimidation radiating from Ms.Lizzy, would hold no argument as he hooked his arm around her waist. He had no qualms with escorting her along with the medicine bottle she acquired.

After all he just wanted to get back to bed. He had thoughts to think over, and desires to dream of before the real trials of the day began.

-End

[sephirthoughts]

New Tseng Headcanons!!

Tseng being a smug villain about blowing up the Sector 7 support pillar and dooming thousands to death, but also holding on to Aerith's letters for Zack because he can't bear to throw them away, which would be tantamount to admitting Zack is really gone. He's complicated.

Tseng can see the Whispers but is gaslighting Rufus about it to amuse himself

this is because Tseng is all ice-cold badass on the surface (like it's a matter of legend that he may have ever smiled once) but he's an absolute menace and he's secretly clowning everyone

it was him who stuck gum on the bottom of all of Reno's shoes

it was him who replaced Elena's bullets with blanks that one time so she thought she was a terrible shot for a whole day

it was him who anonymously circulated those embarrassing photos of Rude when he had his MC Hammer phase as a teen (Rude was not embarrassed in the least and maintains that he looked cool in parachute pants, with a flat-top fade)

it was him who threw a red scarf in with Rufus' laundry when they were in Junon and it was the only suit he brought, so he had to do a press conference in bright pink

it was him who taught Darkstar to bark wildly whenever Scarlet says the word "boring" or Hojo says the word "fascinating"

Tseng actually laughs really easily and has a very childish sense of humor. a lot of the times that he's being all silent and stoic and mysterious, it's because he literally has to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing at some stupid shit, and he can't talk while he's doing that

no one but Tseng's mother has ever actually heard him laugh (like really laugh not the villain laugh he does when he's making a theatrical scene about some evil shit he's up to)

Tseng smokes when he's stressed. no one in the fucking world knows about it and they never will. there is never even a molecule of lingering scent on him ever. the lengths he has to go to in order to accomplish this are….excessive, since no one would give a shit if they knew he smoked. he just doesn't like anyone knowing anything about him

on that note, no one knows where he actually lives. he keeps multiple dummy addresses on file with Shinra to throw the HR people off. the other Turks can't even figure it out because he always spots them when they try to tail him. like from 200 yards that asshole is supernatural or something

he considered Zack his best friend because they had several missions together and exchanged multiple sentences outside of work, due to their both caring for Aerith. it destroyed him that he failed to save Zack and he became even more cold, detached, and emotionally unavailable because of it. no one ever noticed any of this because he's a goddamn pro

he still has the letters

he's a huge dorky ridiculous Vincent Valentine fangirl and the secret president of the (admittedly very small) fan club

the fan club is called the TV Club, as in Turk Valentine, because that makes it sound like boring nerd shit that no one would be curious about if it happened to come up somehow

most of the TV Club members are retired Shinra employees who had crushes on Vincent back in the day, before he disappeared. the conspiracy theories regarding him being alive rival those of the famous Elvis truthers, and some of them get weirdly close to the real facts (those ones ironically are the most laughed at and least believed theories)

there is some very well written but anonymous reader-insert Rookie Turk x Agent Valentine fanfic on their message board, but no one can prove who wrote it

Veld is also in the fan club

so is Sephiroth for reasons currently unknown

people say Tseng's Turk Valentine cosplay is absolutely stunning (mostly because he's also beautiful, black-haired, and Wutaian) but they have no idea how how very much painstakingly historically accurate detail is in it. he had the suit custom tailored from a vintage midnight-blue worsted wool fabric that he had to hunt down because it's not in production anymore

he actually checked Vincent's old service sidearm out of the Shinra armory on supposed official Turk business to go with the costume even though everyone thought it was a replica, because real weapons are not allowed at the convention center. he knew. that was enough.

he wore the costume for the office halloween party, one year, but everyone at work just thought he got a new suit. Reno almost had a brain aneurysm over even that much, though, so it's probably for the best that they didn't notice.

however, the fact that they didn't notice the very obvious blood-red contact lenses made him deeply worried for the future of the Turks. everyone was required to attend remedial espionage training the next week, much to their bitching and moaning

@soundcrusher tagging you cause you said that you wanted to see this silliness. you brought it upon yourself! 🖤

[sinematically]

Clark Kent and his Mystery Boyfriend

Audience: General Words: 2.5k Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, OC - Katie, Perry White. Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake make a lil appearance too Read it on AO3

Summary: Clark Kent had a long-time boyfriend that no one had ever met, so naturally they assumed that this "B" Clark spoke of didn't exist.

Clark Kent had a long-time boyfriend that no one had ever met, so naturally they assumed that this "B" Clark spoke of didn't exist. They’d been together for a long while, according to what Clark was saying. The timeline he hastily established almost made it look like Lois and he broke up because of this mysterious B. 

But, knowing Lois, and knowing the boy scout Kent, the office just assumed Clark made up a fake boyfriend so people wouldn't ask about the breakup with Lois. They always looked at him with pity, patting his shoulder when he would share stories of their frankly unbelievable dates, maybe passing a comment or two, knowing he would never hear them. 

Until maybe a year into the "relationship" there was a large bouquet on Clark's table with a note written in code. Clark seemed surprised when he spotted the roses. Clark smiled, neatly moving them onto a safer spot so he wouldn't accidentally knock them over and didn't address it. He didn't need to glance at the code more than once to read and decrypt what it meant. Lois, of course, did. She picked up the card and spent a good 4 hours decoding the message on it. When she finally got the last pieces of the puzzle she burst into laughter 

"Holy shit, Smallville, your boyfriend is batshit crazy!" she said and dissolved into another fit of giggles. 

The office got used to seeing random bouquets delivered to the office. Sometimes Lois got them too, but her bouquets were usually pink or white roses. Clark's were always deep red, long-stemmed roses nestled in a bunch of baby's-breath flowers. 

Yet, the assumption that he didn't exist, or at least if he did -- he wasn't all that Clark made him out to be, didn't go away.

3 years into the relationship, Lois was fed up with all the office gossip.

Really, the tipping point was when Steve started a betting pool. His theory? Clark was dating Metropolis’s very own Lex Luthor. Understandably, Lois was pissed. So, during one of Clark's off-world missions sick leaves, she gathered everyone in one of the conference rooms and told them they were allowed one question each. She could choose not to answer them, which would result in the person getting another question. 

"Who is he dating?" 

"I'm not telling you that, Cat" 

"Is he hot?" 

"...Yes. He is" 

When Clark was back at work, he noticed how there weren’t a lot of whispers, or nearly as many judgements being passed as he sat down. They even started asking questions. Clark knew Lois was behind this somehow but as long as they didn't know who Clark was dating, he was fine with the questions. He even answered them as honestly as he could. 

This is how the Planet found out that Clark was dating a single father. 

"Wait do they call you Pop?" Katie asked. She was new to the Planet and had only been at her job two weeks when Lois held the secret meeting. She was very intrigued by the whole thing. 

Clark flushed a deep red, "Oh, no, oh god no, no... uh, yeah no. I mean, I've known the kids since... yeah, I've known them as long as he has but no... They're adopted so, you know, they don't even call B dad, they wouldn't, yeah, no" 

Katie always asked the most questions. She was how the office found out that Clark spent a weekend in Paris, but she kept to herself that they went and watched a Broadway play the weekend after. She also clocked that Clark’s suit from the Christmas party was custom-tailored to fit him perfectly. She was very flustered when she realised Clark was packing a lot of muscle. 

Katie was also the first (outside of Lois, Jimmy and Perry White) to put two and two together. All the expensive dates, impromptu vacations, a secret man from perhaps… Gotham? She got transferred to the investigative journalism team afterwards.

Her stories were smaller, and she picked up a lot of sports and celebrity life pieces, but she worked out of a little spot next to Jimmy’s table, across from Lois and Clark’s. 

/|\^._.^/|\

It was nearing a decade into their relationship now, 7 years. Clark had been off-world, just re-entering the atmosphere when the explosion went off. He didn't hear Jason when he called out for him. It broke him.

Perry didn’t ask too many questions, just for an approximate time frame before approving Clark’s time off. When Clark, teary-eyed and at a loss for words, tried to explain himself Perry shook his head. “No father should have to go through that, both of you… go to Gotham, be with him” was all he said. 

But, following the fate of many couples who lost their child, Clark and B broke up. Only Lois, Jimmy, White and Katie knew.

The office caught on once the flowers stopped. The rumour mill began churning again, and it wasn't long before Clark snapped. But of course, Clark Kent snapping didn't look like a regular person snapping. 

Clark Kent snapping looked like a panic attack, running away from the bullpen and towards the roof of their building. Katie glared at the people near the water cooler who had been talking about how sad Clark looked. Lois and Jimmy had followed him up. 

Clark had been given the rest of the day off, while Perry held a meeting with the staff reminding everyone of workplace conduct. Lois was seething with rage, shooting glares at various people in the room. Katie sat next to Lois, furiously typing into her laptop. Jimmy flashed an apologetic smile but didn’t say anything. 

Clark came back to work the next day and did very little at his desk, he was later assigned a piece that required him to visit Central City for a few weeks. The gossiping had died down by the time he was back. Lois, Katie and Cat had taken it upon themselves to strike the fear of god into anyone caught gossiping, and the office had learnt their lesson.

Clark looked like a kicked puppy most of the day, till he slowly started feeling like himself again. Weeks passed, then months, before they had their usual Clark back. The office was starting to learn how much they missed their boy from Kansas.  

Then the Daily Planet was brought by Wayne Enterprises. Clark Kent put down his papers the day the deal went through. 

Most of the office was out, they’d been given a parent-company sponsored lunch as a welcome into Wayne Enterprises. Perry had stayed back to finalise some of the details over a call with Lucius Fox. Jimmy and Katie were sitting across from each other, franticly texting Lois who was on her way back from the airport. 

"Kent! Don't you dare walk away from m- KENT!" Perry's booming voice practically rattled the windows as Clark walked away, calmly, from the editor-in-chief's office. Perry waited, threw his hands into the air and then slammed the door to his office shut. He was back on the call almost immediately, apologising to Lucius for stepping away so abruptly. 

Clark calmly cleaned his desk out, while Jimmy leaned against the tall cabinets, chewing on his inner cheek. He was charged with stalling Clark, so Lois could talk him out of quitting. Katie was keeping a watchful eye, hoping she was subtle enough not to set Clark off again. 

"Maybe you should just talk to him" Jimmy offered.  Clark snorted, "Yeah, because I didn't try that, what... a thousand times?"  "Well, maybe then you should… respond? He’s been reaching out, this is him reaching out right?” Jimmy said, crossing his arms.

"And what? Wait for an apology? Or worse, hear him say he wasn't sorry at all? That I should just go back, be ok? You don't know him like I do... I'm- I'm not putting myself through all this again. I tried, I tried to be there for him but I can't keep giving and giving and giving if he doesn't want to take it" 

"He's trying too! Okay? This is him trying," Jimmy said, like a desolate child.

"He's not the only one who lost his kid, Jimmy" Clark said, loudly.

Jimmy didn’t think he could stop Clark as he walked towards the elevator. The doors shut silently.

Lois burst through the elevator doors forty seconds later, her heels clicked loudly as she marched towards the conference room. She had a phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, her left hand held her heels and her right hand her laptop. “You better have a good fucking reason to pull this shit” was the last thing Jimmy and Katie heard before the door slammed shut. 

Clark was back at work a week later, with a significant pay hike and a new laptop waiting for him from Wayne Tech’s latest line, “Made to be Indestructible” was the tagline. Lois had 3 bouquets of roses at her desk, lunch from her favourite sandwich shop around the corner and a new coffee machine was being installed in the office cafeteria. “For Lois Lane” read the note slapped onto the new coffee machine. 

No one knew what happened, they were just relieved there were flowers in the office again, and a new coffee machine.

It was this same year Wayne Enterprises sponsored a field trip for all Gotham Academy students to come visit the Daily Planet. One of the kids -- introduced himself to Lois and Clark as Tim -- had slipped a note into Clark’s pocket asking for a meeting. Tim had written that he had a message from the Gotham Bat. Clark, after reading the note, exhaled a slow deep breath. He asked the teenager to follow him into one of the conference rooms, and 25 minutes later the kid left the room smiling. 

Clark was back in Perry’s office, requesting more time off, saying he needed to sort out some family issues. Perry looked at the kid who was hovering around Lois, then at Clark, and then back at the kid who had moved on tinkering with Jimmy’s camera. 

“It’s Thursday now, and you’re not scheduled to come in on Saturday, are you?” Perry asked, but before Clark could reply, Perry continued “I’m giving you one day, and no pay. One day. If I don’t see you in your seat Monday morning, I don’t care who you’re with Kent, you’re out!”  

Clark came back to work looking visibly less stressed. He had a bounce in his step and if Katie’s surprised yelp was anything to go by, he had a poorly concealed hickey on his collarbone. 

Lois had yet again been sent a very nice lunch spread, and Katie’s table had a small bouquet of yellow roses. Jimmy was pouting, mumbling about how he had a lot to do with the change too. At lunch, Jimmy found a brand new camera and a new laptop from Wayne Tech at his workstation.

It was a day of celebration for the office when they finally saw a bouquet of deep red roses on Clark’s table. 

Clark, as usual, set them aside so he wouldn’t knock them over. 

/|\^._.^/|\

Many more years passed, and the office had gotten used to the stories. They also wanted, desperately, to meet Clark's B

Clark was spending the weekend at his mother's, and his boyfriend’s kids spent the weekend with him because B was caught up with work. Together, they’d baked enough pie for the whole office - Perry White was in a good mood for a whole afternoon after the cherry pie. Clark was telling Lois about how his last movie date ended with his boyfriend passing out on the couch, so Clark naturally carried him into their room and tucked him into bed, while they waited for Perry to assign their assignments in the morning.

Stories about Clark’s boyfriend were as normal as hearing Perry’s loud sigh of frustration, Lois’s heels clacking as she paced the bullpen floor, convincing a senator or governor to give her a name or a number. It was as routine at Cat Grant's gasp followed by whatever gossip was being announced to the pen. As common at Katie and Jimmy flirting, or as Kevin and Ben bickering, and Steve hitting on an intern. The flowers never stopped, and neither did the lunches. 

Once in a while, on a special occasion, the whole office was treated to Clark’s boyfriend's generosity. When Clark has gotten his first Pulitzer nomination, or for Lois’s second win. When Katie finally got her first investigative piece bringing down a big Pharma company went viral, or when Lois got engaged. 

Clark’s first and Lois’s third Pulitzer was for their piece on Cadmus’s illegal genetic cloning. It had been the biggest news story for months and got their paper a new set of eyes. As a congratulations, Perry had taken the whole team out of drinks. 

It was that night when the office first saw someone from Clark’s home life. 

A man in his mid-20s had snuck up on Clark in the middle of a conversation with Lois and loudly congratulated him. No one recognised the kid, so they didn’t pay too much attention. 

All except for Cat Grant, who had the pleasure of meeting Richard Grayson on multiple occasions. Most recently at Bruce Wayne’s charity gala. She connected the dots, but sadly the wrong ones. 

When Clark had gone to the bar to fetch Lois and Katie another drink, Cat went up to him. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you? Richard Grayson?” She asked. 

Clark almost dropped the drinks, looking bewildered. 

“Dickie? What? Cat, are you insane? Dick isn’t even…” Clark needed to take a second and let out a deep sigh “He was 13 when B and I got together. 13! And his name doesn’t start with B, for chrissake!” Clark shook his head, walking towards the booth where Dick, Katie, Jimmy and Lois were seated. 

Cat, disheartened she guessed it wrong didn’t rearrange the puzzle pieces to make it fit. She just got herself another glass of wine and joined their table, sighing loudly when Dick introduced himself to her. Lois looked at Clark, who shook his head mouthing “Don’t ask” 

A few moments later, Perry stood up and demanded Lois and Clark make a toast. Lois went first, while Clark tried to get out of it. He was in the process of being dragged onto his feet when the last guest for the night joined the party. 

“Oh hey, B, you made it!” Dick said loudly, bringing attention to the man dressed in a black suit, taking off his coat dusted with snow. He was dressed very fancy for a bordering-on dingy bar in Metropolis. He nodded at the bartender who seemed to recognise him, but that wouldn’t be fair because who wouldn’t recognise Bruce Wayne? 

The man’s face was plastered across a few magazines, many tabloids and a few billboards around the city. He was one of the richest men in the world, one of the most desirable bachelors in the country and he was smiling at Clark like he hung the moon in the sky. 

“B…” Clark trailed off and moved to hug him 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, CLARK IS FUCKING BRUCE WAYNE” Cat Grant gasped 

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

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[blackthornwren]

Hey, I'm looking for info on something specific and was wondering if you had any thoughts on where I could start. I'm trying to figure out a ritual to help alleviate the fatigue and if possible pain associated with chronic illnesses from a tradcraft perspective. Is there anything in particular that comes to mind? (Already on meds for the pain btw, but they don't do enough. I'm willing to try herbal remedies too, but that still won't help much with the fatigue and brain fog)

So, I don't have a specific pre-made ritual that comes to mind and I'm unable to share my own workings. I can recommend a few books, specifically look to the Carmina Gadelica, Vol. II - which can be found here - or if you're able to acquire it, Lecouteux's 'Traditional Magic Spells for Protection and Healing', or 'Healing Threads' by Mary Beith. The bad news is that when looking for healing folk charms is that you're likely never going to find one that is exactly tailored to your needs. The good news is that through process of experimentation, you may be able to tweak them to suit your needs or use the format and methods found in folk magic to craft your own charms, blessings, or rites based on your specific requirements. Folk charms in general (speaking through a Celtic regional lens here) tend to be an informative template for crafting your own workings. Specifically in healing charms there are recurring elements of repetition, storytelling narratives, transference, and the use of simple items such as cords, wax, rocks, etc. Repetition: For example, a charm might include a countdown - there's a spell to relieve a skin condition that goes "Tetter, tetter, thou has nine sisters, god bless the flesh and preserve thy bone, perish thee tetter in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost. Tetter, tetter, thou hast eight sisters..." This repeats, each time the number diminishing, until at last "thou hast no sisters". Storytelling: The best example of this is often found in folk magic involving Catholic Saints. The Charm of the Sprain in the Carmina runs as such - "Bride went out in the morning early, with a pair of horses; one broke his leg, with much ado, that was apart, she put bone to bone, she put flesh to flesh, she put sinew to sinew, she put vein to vein; as she healed that, may I heal this." Transference: Many folk charms for healing involve transferring the injury or illness to an inanimate object. This is found often in manuscripts, journals, texts about superstitions, folk customs, and popular antiquities. If an individual were ill or injured, the disease or the pain might be eased by perhaps tying a cord around the part of the body that was suffering (headache - a length of black silk tied round the head, sore throat - cord around the throat, etc) and used in conjunction with spoken prayers or charms. Rocks could be rubbed on the afflicted appendage or generally on the body to take the illness from the patient and place it into the stones which would then be disposed of in a stream. Food was also used for this - bread that had been marked with a cross or a written charm and/or prayed over. This method could be used to cure anything from dog bites to fever. Because you have stated that you are already on pain medication , I am unwilling to suggest any herbal remedies - the reason for this is that herbs can often interact with medications you are taking, including counteracting them, and they can create problems far worse than what you're currently experiencing. If you are still interested in trying herbal remedies, it would be best to discuss it with your doctor as they will be better able to predict how any herbal supplements will interact with your current medications and your medical history - age, weight, potential genetic health issues, pre-existing conditions; these are all major factors in determining how someone will react to new chemicals being introduced into their system. Thank you for your ask, I do hope this has been of some use to you and please make sure to take care of yourself.

[pearlsephoni]

Stitched Together

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: T

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Asanoya (Asahi/Nishinoya)

Characters: Asahi Azumane, Yu Nishinoya, Original dæmon characters

Word Count: 3,355

Summary: A late night misunderstanding becomes a chance at something sweet for tailor Asahi Azumane.

A/N: Originally written for @asanoyahqzine! Thank you so much to the mods for organizing this zine, it was a wonderful time! Further author’s notes can be read on AO3.

Asahi Azumane was just a normal tailor. He worked his normal job in his smaller-than-normal shop, and stayed up late to work towards his bigger-than-normal dream of one day designing his own clothing instead of mending others’.

He was just…a normal, completely unremarkable person, with a normal, completely unremarkable hare dæmon. He deserved to have a normal night after his normal day. And bursting out of his store with a cardboard tube as a weapon against a possible intruder was not what Asahi would consider a normal night.

“Holy shit— wait, wait!”

The panic pumping through Asahi made him process what he was seeing a little slower than usual: a young man with brown hair and a shock of blonde at the front was sprawled on the ground, brown eyes wide as he held a placating hand up. His other hand held some sort of scraper, with bits of paper stuck to the edge, paper that matched perfectly with the poster that had been pasted to the brick of Asahi’s shop. And next to the stranger was his dæmon, a red fox that was crouched and ready to attack with bared teeth. Asahi wasn’t sure how Miyu wasn’t quailing under the fox’s fierce eyes—his little soul was sitting straight and tall at his feet, the closest thing to threatening that a wild hare could be.

“What…?” Asahi began, eyes flickering from the stranger to his dæmon to the partially-scraped off poster on the wall. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to help,” the stranger scoffed, carefully pushing himself back into a normal seated position. “Unless you want competing stores to advertise on your shop?”

“Competing—?” Asahi squinted at the poster, and immediately felt his neck warm with annoyance. “Quick Stitch Fix!” the poster cheerfully advertised, “Buy and tailor your clothes in one easy stop!” The local department store had just opened a tailoring service three weeks ago, and Asahi was already starting to feel the effect of their large-scale, big-budget services on his little shop.

“Yeah,” the stranger agreed, pulling Asahi’s attention back to him. “Figured you didn’t want any customers to immediately see alternatives when they come here.”

“Well…I don’t.” Asahi frowned at the poster for an extra beat before turning his frown onto the stranger. “Wait, who are you? Why are you here so late? And why were you trying to remove it?” Why do you care?

“One at a time, man,” the stranger laughed. “My name’s Yu Nishinoya, today was a late day at work, and I was trying to remove it because…well, I just told you. Competition, advertising, all that. I also just…don’t like those guys. They keep trying to push the little guys out of business.” His dæmon was still watching Asahi with her fur on end, until Nishinoya laid a gentle hand on her back. Only then did she deflate, her tail still twitching against the ground.

“Nishinoya,” Asahi echoed with a nod. “Well…thank you, Nishinoya-san. Though maybe next time you could just…let me know. Instead of giving me a late-night heart attack.”

Nishinoya’s eyes watched him for a beat, his lips finally stretching into a smile when Asahi let a grin curve over his face. “Just Nishinoya’s fine, or hell, just Noya. Sorry about the scare, uh…”

“Oh! Asahi. Azumane. Um…you can just. Call me Asahi.” Something about that smile frazzled something in Asahi’s brain and suddenly made him incapable of normal…non-garbled human speech. Thankfully Miyu didn’t seem to be too badly affected—his soul was carefully hopping towards the fox dæmon, her nose twitching as she held herself close to the ground in a perfect picture of docility. With each hop she took, the fox slowly relaxed, until she was willing to touch noses with Miyu and murmur a few words.

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya hummed. “I like that!”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Well, Asahi-san, it’s been a pleasure.” Nishinoya pushed himself to his feet, only to freeze when he noticed the part of the poster that still clung to the wall. “Oh, uh…I should finish that.”

For the first time that night, Asahi felt a soft laugh bubble out of him. “Here, let me help.”

——————————————————————————————————

That was supposed to be it. Asahi really thought that would be it. He thought that Nishinoya would just go down in his memory as an odd but kind stranger who just so happened to drift through his life.

Instead, a week after they had worked together to take down the flier, Asahi looked up at the jingle of the entrance’s bell, ready to greet the new customer, who just so happened to be—

“Nishinoya?”

“Hey, Asahi-san!” His smile was wide and bright, like he was genuinely thrilled to see the random tailor he’d helped. He made an interesting contrast to his dæmon—Asahi remembered Miyu saying her name was Haru—hovering behind his leg. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Managing to stay afloat despite the new competition.” A shadow passed over Nishinoya’s face, and Asahi tried offering a sheepish grin to reassure him. “How can I help you today?”

“Oh, I’ve got these pants that I have to wear for work, and they’ve always been a little long for me.” Nishinoya brandished the pants, which were made of a pretty evergreen velvet with gold stitching down the sides. “But I can’t wear the next size down, because then they’re too tight. I’ve never been to a tailor to get them fixed, but then I met you and figured why not, you know?”

Asahi couldn’t stop staring at the pants, only distantly hearing what Nishinoya was saying. “Aren’t those part of the uniform at the Inazuma hotel?” he blurted as soon as Nishinoya finished talking.

His customer blinked. “Uh…yeah, they are. You recognize them?”

“You work there?!”

“Yeah! What, you thought I stole these?”

“I would.” Asahi didn’t realize what he’d said until he saw Nishinoya’s brows shoot up his forehead. “I mean! Not that I actually would, I just—”

His words were suddenly drowned out by Nishinoya’s laughter, and he fell silent as he watched him crack up, struck dumb by the bright notes and the way his head tilted back with the force of his own laughter. “Sorry, wow, that was funny,” Nishinoya finally choked out, wiping at his eyes.

Asahi’s cheeks felt like they could catch on fire, even as they were pushed up by his wide smile. “Um…let’s get those fitted.”

Usually Asahi dreaded this part, awkwardly making conversation with his customer as he hovered around their body and pinned their clothes for his future reference. The only reason they stayed somewhat relaxed was because of Miyu’s far greater success at making friendly conversation with the customer’s dæmon.

The opposite happened with Nishinoya. Asahi couldn’t remember the last time conversation flowed so easily, filled with laughter and warm cheeks and glinting eyes. Meanwhile, Miyu seemed to need a little extra time to get Haru to relax enough to really engage with her.

If it had been Miyu who was so nervous in a new place, Asahi simply would’ve stopped going. The same clearly wasn’t true for Nishinoya. Asahi was prepared, if a little saddened, to never see the spunky bellboy again after he handed off his newly-tailored pants.

But instead, Nishinoya just…kept coming. At least twice a month, if not more, he would pop in with another set of pants that needed to be hemmed, or, occasionally, a jacket with sleeves that needed to be loosened around his surprising muscles. If he was the only customer in the store, he would always linger after Asahi finished the initial fitting, hovering by the front counter and peering at Asahi as he started sewing at his work table that was just visible from the front of the store. By the second month, Asahi just invited him behind the counter, and soon Miyu wasn’t his only work companion.

“I don’t get it,” Asahi laughed as he worked on the fourth pair of pants Nishinoya had brought in, “how are all of your pants too long for you?”

“I guess these clothing companies never thought someone my height would have legs like these.” Nishinoya reclined in his chair and crossed his legs with a dramatic, goofy preen. Asahi’s laughter got stuck in his throat at the sight of those thighs straining just a bit in those pants. Nishinoya may have been kidding around, but he really did have nice legs. The observation made Asahi’s stomach drop just a bit.

“Y-yeah. Guess so.” His eyes drifted up, and he was horrified to be met with a wide, knowing smile. “Um!” he nearly squeaked, “So! You don’t have that problem with your shirts?”

“Nah, just my jackets sometimes.”

“Ah. Well, if you ever need any of them to be altered—”

“—then I’ll be happy for the excuse to come see you again!”

Nishinoya’s smile somehow grew even wider as Asahi’s cheeks somehow grew even warmer. There was a soft laugh badly disguised as a huff from his work table, and he blindly reached out to give a small tug at Miyu’s ear. Satisfaction smoothed away his embarrassment when he heard a soft squeak in response. “...I’ll be happy, too,” he answered in a steady tone that couldn’t quite conceal how terribly bashful he felt.

Asahi liked to think he knew colors well. It was a basic part of his work as both a tailor and a designer. But in all his years of working with clothes, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a color as pretty as the dusting of pink across Nishinoya’s cheeks.

Man. He had it bad.

——————————————————————————————————

“He likes you.”

The needle sank into Asahi’s thumb. “Ow, dammit— what?”

Miyu looked awfully pleased with herself, her ears up as straight as she sat. “You seem awfully surprised.”

“That’s not— Miyu, what do you mean?”

“I mean he likes you! As more than friends, in case you wanted to explain that away.”

“Miyu.”

“Asahi!”

He very carefully tied off his stitches, stuck his needle into his pincushion, and rewound his thread before staring down his dæmon. “Who told you this?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“His dæmon doesn’t even like me!”

“Only because you introduced us to them with a baseball bat!”

“It was an empty fabric roll!”

“Same difference!” Miyu hopped towards him from her usual perch on his work table, dodging the sprawl of his tools with practiced ease. “She’s also nervous because, and I quote, ‘he hasn’t felt this way about someone in a long time.’”

Hope was an intoxicating feeling, one Asahi didn’t usually like to indulge. But it was hard to resist when it came thanks to something his own soul said. “Why did she…trust you with all this?”

“It’s a little difficult to hold a grudge when your other half is feeling smitten. I would know.” Her ears flicked at the warmth rising to Asahi’s cheeks. “Asahi,” she crooned, coming close enough to nudge her soft nose against his hand. “I have a good feeling about him. And Haru. And I think I’ve convinced her to have a good feeling about you.”

“But what if we’re wrong?” Asahi murmured, fiddling at his fingers. “I…I do like him. But I’d rather just leave things as is instead of scaring him off and…not having him in our life at all.”

“You met him because he was scraping off your competition’s flier in order to support the business. And he’s come at least twice a month since, all because of some pants that are suddenly all too long for him.” She nudged at his wrist, reminding him to stop twisting at his fingers. “That doesn’t seem like the sort of person who’d be scared off by one little confession.”

“...Miyu?”

“Asahi?”

“If you’re wrong about this, you lose table privileges for the next month. At least.”

Miyu let out a delighted giggle, craning her neck up to bump his chin. “I like those chances.”

——————————————————————————————————

When Nishinoya next came to pick up his pants, Asahi felt like he might vibrate out of his skin from sheer nerves. His late-night conversation with Miyu seemed to echo around his brain, and he ended up falling into autopilot, treating Nishinoya with the same polite friendliness that he showed to other customers as he double-checked the fit of his pants.

He only snapped back to himself when he finished ringing Nishinoya up and handed him his freshly-folded pants. Nishinoya took them with a small furrow between his brows, and somehow that was enough to make Asahi remember himself and soften his smile from customer service-politeness to quiet friendliness. “Here you go.”

Just like that, the furrow disappeared, wiped away by a smile that almost looked relieved to Asahi as he received his payment. “Thanks as always, Asahi-san! These fit like a dream now.”

God, would his stomach ever stop flipping at the sight of that smile? “It’s my pleasure as always, Noya.”

With a last smile, Nishinoya began making his way to the door. Asahi turned back to the table, ready to start on his next order…and instead caught sight of Miyu tensed in a crouch on the counter, ears flicking this way and that. He followed her eye line, and found Haru looking just as agitated, fur standing on end and tail snapping back and forth. “Miyu?”

“It’s supposed to be today! You said you’d say something today!”

“Didja say something, Asahi-san?”

Asahi snapped up straight, heart rate soaring. It wasn’t a taboo to acknowledge conversations between a person and their dæmon, certainly not on the level of touching someone else’s dæmon. But it was a bit unusual, if only because it shook the perception of privacy that everyone was owed with their soul.

Nishinoya was a trusting person—he wore his heart on his sleeve, open and honest in a way that was refreshing. For him to interrupt a conversation between him and Miyu…well, Asahi was beginning to suspect their dæmons weren’t the only ones who had expected a certain conversation to be had today.

“Yeah, I did. Say something. Um.” Oh god…how did people do this? He didn’t know how to ask someone out, especially someone he liked so much.

Something soft covered his hand where it rested on the counter. He looked over to see Miyu resting her head on his hand, gazing up at him with wide, dark eyes. He knew that look—she’d given it to him their entire lives, whenever he nearly backed out of something because of nerves. It worked now, as it always did. He moved his hand to stroke her back, and as it moved, he felt himself calm down. When he looked up at Nishinoya again, his voice was steadier, despite the way his heart squeezed at the fond understanding in those warm, brown eyes.

“Um…I just wanted to say thank you, for all of your support. The way you removed the fliers from the storefront would’ve already been more than enough, but then you continued to trust me with your clothes, and I just…I really appreciate it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this nearly as well as you do.”

“Ah…thank you. I actually, uh…I was wondering if I could treat you to lunch or dinner sometime? To say thank you?”

Nishinoya was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as it flickered over Asahi’s nervous features. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he eventually answered. “Just wondering though…and whatever you say won’t change my answer…are you asking me on a date, Asahi-san?”

Oh, god. “Um! Well!” He felt Miyu’s soft nose nudge against his ankle. “Well…would you like it to be a date?”

“I asked first.”

God, he was stubborn. Asahi liked him so much. “Then…yeah. I’m asking you on a date. But…but it doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to be.” It was a battle to keep his voice from shaking, and his cheeks were only growing warmer, but they were also being pushed by a shy smile.

Nishinoya wasn’t helping his nerves, not when he was watching him with such quiet focus instead of his usual bright, welcoming energy. His dark eyes stayed steady on Asahi’s as he leaned on the counter and finally let a grin curve his lips. He was magnetic, making Asahi instinctively mirror Nishinoya’s posture on his side of the counter.

Then, and only then, did Nishinoya finally speak. “Yeah. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Oh.” Asahi hadn’t been expecting a rejection, necessarily, especially after everything he and Miyu had discussed. But the acceptance still made his stomach swoop with excitement, and he felt his smile broaden across his face. Something about that made Nishinoya bite his bottom lip, and the next thing Asahi knew, there were fingers curling into his collar and tugging him across the counter. “Wha—?”

His confusion died on his tongue when he felt soft lips pressing to his cheek. If he’d thought his cheeks were warm before, they were on fire now. He never really understood the phrase “starry-eyed,” but he could guess it was something like the way he felt watching Nishinoya pull away.

“I’m free Friday,” he was saying now, his bright voice cutting through Asahi’s daze. “If you wanted to get out of the store after closing, we could get dinner. There’s a really good curry place a few streets over, with a terrace that Haru likes.”

“You like it too, Yu.” Asahi felt something in the back of his neck twinge from how quickly he looked down, but it was secondary to the shock of hearing Haru speak out loud for the first time. The fox dæmon’s tail was curled around Nishinoya’s ankle, but her ears were perked up as she met Asahi’s gaze. “It’s all lit up with candles instead of the anbaric lamps. Very…atmospheric.” One of her ears twitched as she let out a soft huff that Asahi immediately recognized as a quiet laugh, and he felt his lips stretching into another smile, especially when Nishinoya muttered, “Real subtle, thanks.”

“I think we’re well past being subtle.”

“That sounds great,” Asahi said before Nishinoya could respond. Delight sparked through him when he saw the annoyance drain from Nishinoya’s face as his eyes jerked up to Asahi’s, glittering like the starriest sky with a smile to match.

“Oh! Wow. I mean, great! Great…wow.” Asahi had fallen for Nishinoya’s bright confidence and eager kindness, but he could just as easily fall for his shyness, too. The way he raked his fingers through his hair was all bashful fondness, and it made Asahi’s own fondness bubble through him like champagne. “I’ll come by around closing on Friday, then!”

“Oh, you can come 30 minutes later. I need time to ring up the cashier and clean up.”

“I can help. It’d be worth it for the extra time with you.”

“...Ah.” Well. There was that confidence, as magnetic and disarming as that smile. “Then…I’ll see you at closing.”

“Great! I’ll see you then, Asahi-san.”

The rest of the orders Asahi worked on seemed to pass in a blissful blur. And when he locked up the store that night, he was lost in daydreams of dark eyes, bright smiles, loud words, and soft lips…until he felt a gentle nip at his ankle. He yelped, just barely keeping his keys from leaping out of his hands before he frowned down at Miyu. “What was that for?”

“I told you so!”

He should’ve felt more annoyed at the clear smugness in Miyu’s quivering nose and perky ears, but all he could feel was excitement and grudging gratitude. “Yeah. You did.” He didn’t say anything else, but after he tucked away the keys, he knelt with open arms. Thank you.

Miyu didn’t hesitate to leap into them with a soft chirrup, and as he straightened up and began walking home, he could feel her nestle under his chin. You’re welcome. I’m proud of you.

[unhlnged]

closed starter for @inkedpxges

Rafe Cameron was made for events like this. No, he was actually born for these kind of events. Being a Cameron, he had always been at the center of Kildare’s elite. A born kook prince who had earned his place in society through hard work and ruthlessness – probably mainly through ruthlessness and being his father’s son. He had taken up the reins of the company his father had built from nothing and turned it into something even bigger, something he liked to believe his father would have been proud of.

A smug smile on his lips – he was certainly proud of himself – he leaned against one of the marble pillars of the large patio of the giant old colonial house, overlooking the garden in which the outdoor party took place. Wearing a custom-tailored suit, gold watch (unique family heirloom, not some fashionable accessory anyone with enough money could buy) on his wrist, holding up a drink to his lips, his eyes wandered over the crowd in front of him. Elegantly dressed people standing around, chatting about, sipping from their drinks, eating tiny snacks. He knew a lot of them. And all of them knew him. Soft classical music playing in the background. The musicians were probably members of some highly prestigious symphony orchestra from Europe, and here they played dinner music. The rich were celebrating themselves tonight and they didn’t care about the outside world. They didn’t care that only a couple of miles down south people still were out of power, unable to cool their food in fridges, while here there were ridiculous ice sculptures made by some popular artist standing about, having their own outdoor air-conditioning. For the people at this decadent garden party, the world beyond those hedges didn’t exist. For him that world did exist, but only as a nuisance.

Rafe drowned his drink, placed the empty glass on the tray of a waiter passing by, when he made his way to the decorated tables. The official part of the event – the big celebration – was about to begin. And, being one of the valued members of this community, he was to be honored for his achievements for the less fortunate – or some bullshit.

He found the place card with his name written on it: Rafe Cameron – CEO of Cameron Development.

Taking his seat, he looked at who was high-ranking enough in this community to be placed at the same table as him. The usual suspects. Except –

A frown appeared on Rafe’s forehead and his mouth slightly opened when he saw the red-haired woman sitting across from him. She stood out with her fiery red hair, her even redder lips. But she mostly stood out because she – though looking as expensive and elegant as any of them – wasn’t one of them. He knew that for a fact.

Flaming red hair entangled with his fingers, wrapped around his fist. Intense dark eyes gazing at him. Pupils dilating. Plump lips opening. Soft little moans. Restrained gasps. And the feel of heated skin under his touch…

***

The first time he was at the club with some business associates from Korea. He returned after that with other business partners. Maybe once a month or twice. Sometimes he was there with a business partner that looked very unlike the usual businessmen in their expensive suits. That man was quite the opposite of him, thuggish looking, with greasy black hair, rather short – well, almost anyone appeared short compared to him – wearing baggy clothes, gold chains and even a gold tooth with his ready smile. The two of them seemed way more familiar with each other than Rafe was with the other men. Sometimes Rafe came alone. He would order a drink, sit at his usual table and silently watch the show. Sometimes a smirk on his lips. Sometimes a brooding frown on his brow. He never asked for a private dance. Never, but once. And he hadn’t returned to the club after that one night, several weeks ago.

***

She turned her head. Dark eyes met his blue ones. One moment, he looked at her intently, solely focused on her and her alone. The next moment, it was like he was looking right through her, as if not even acknowledging her existence at all.

[applesandbannas747]

oh m a n this took me so long to find jsdkgfsa I stupidly did not save it to my drafts when I first saw it and thus shot myself in the foot. But I found it! and am forever in awe of you being interested in lore from my fics TT.TT <33

Seiji's clothes are obtained in a mix of ways:

When he traveled the world, he collected anything that caught his fancy, including already-made pieces (such as some of the more sculptural corsets), commissioning tailors and sewers whose work he was impressed with, and purchasing fabric to magic it into shit himself

He's essentially subscribed to a fashion box lmfao his measurements and aesthetic preferences are in a log with other witches' which ambitious sewers may reference in hopes of creating something that witch might like--or going through it looking for a witch that suits the design they want to make/have already made. Witches are fickle things though and though they'll pay handsomely for clothes they like, there's no guarantee that they'll like it. And of course the highest paying ones are also the most difficult--Seiji and Jesse won't review designs before seeing the garment on them themselves and deciding whether to keep it or not (which is where one would look for some other witch who would be easy to alter it for). It should be noted that Seiji has a specific 'delivery' room in his closet for new designs to be sent in by one of the moderators of the list, so bestie never leaves his house to try shit on. Seiji does have a fair number of pieces from this service--the more unique designs are always human-made, either from his travels or from commissions

Magic is the last way he gets his clothes, generally speaking. His house is set up to 'conjure' any material he might need, from oranges in the kitchen to fabric in his closet. This is essentially online shopping but without any middle bits. Open up the cupboard/drawer/whatever with the vision of what you're looking for, and you'll find it, plucked from any number of places around the world that subscribe to witchy fuckery, where shit disappears but money is left in its place (obviously, Seiji is Insanely wealthy to afford such fuckery without ever batting an eye. it's really his wealth that makes all the magic systems in his daily life seem infinite and absolute instead of a more moderated use of such portals that are kept careful track of). All this to say that Seiji can step into his closet with the idea of an outfit he wants, and conjure it up, pulling instantly and easily from any number of different shops for everything needed to make it. Creating straightforward things is easy, but the more elaborate you get, the stronger vision you need to have and the more specificities you need to know, which is why more elaborate and intricate and unique pieces come from people who craft clothes. Still, if he needs a long-sleeved black turtleneck with a boob window to tie together an outfit, magicking that up would be simple and easy

Bonus fun fact! Bobby is a sewer who designs for witches. He got his start using the logbook and gained some regular customers, which turned him into a shop taking commissions specifically instead of chasing down witches himself. He does well for himself, and Jesse has gotten several pieces from him himself

And I do in fact have a pinterest board of collected inspiration for Seiji's fashion, some of which are more heavily referenced than others. Some Jesse fashion snuck in there too, and because I hate pinterest, there's other shit there on accident too that were meant for other boards. i trust you to recognize the patterns to determine 'which ones do not belong' lmfao. anyway, here's a link

2. I say all this all the time but it's still true: the hardest part of writing Ribcage was being done with Nichoji's story--which is to say, not being able to write moments like this because we're not following Nick, and the details are irrelevant to the story we are following. That explained, I have not actually written the scene, and without having written it, I can't pinpoint exactly how things went, so I can't give a ton of detail on it at the moment either. What I currently imagine is that Seiji's parents would be very surprised, the dinner would be awkward as hell with some forced 'polite conversation' that lasts like three sentences total, and there'd be some (or,,, a lot) of worry from the Katayamas that Seiji's been pressured/threatened into things by Nick, which boils into Nick telling them off for sitting there assuming he's hurting Seiji when all they've done for the last ten years is make Seiji more scared and ruin a lot of lives to achieve it. Seiji gets Nick to calm down with a death grip on his thigh under the table and says that he actually feels like he's healing when he's with Nick, not just surviving. Not still running for his life. and dinner is finished as awkwardly as it started, but Nick's bade farewell with a sturdier handshake and a 'take care of Seiji' and a little less doubt.

Thanks so much for giving me an excuse to share useless lore 💜💜💜

Do you ever read a fic so interesting you want behind the scenes lore, ten pinterest moodboards and one of those fancy .gif edits but none of that exists bc it's a fanfic?

[shadowtechteller]

Unraveling the Essence of Us: My Deep Dive into the Human Genome

Buckle up, my friends, because I am about to take you on an astonishing expedition into the very blueprint of life itself – the human genome! If you're picturing a mysterious, spiraling ladder that seems to hold the secrets of our existence, well, you're not far off. Let's talk about this incredible journey of discovery, what the genome actually is, and the mind-blowing future that’s unfolding before our very eyes, including precision medicine and groundbreaking therapies.

From Mendel to Molecules: The Historical Pathway

Imagine my surprise when I learned that the road to deciphering the human genome started in a serene garden with a monk named Gregor Mendel and his pea plants. Who would've thought that peas could teach us about inheritance? Fast forward through microscopes and molecular models, past the iconic double helix discovery by Watson and Crick, and we arrive at the Human Genome Project. A Herculean effort that began in 1990 to map all the genes in the human genome and, oh boy, the stories those genes could tell!

What's a Genome, Anyway?

So, what is this genome thing? Simply put, it's the complete set of instructions for making you, you. Packed within those cells in our bodies, which – fun fact – if laid end to end, could stretch to the moon and back multiple times! Each human cell houses this cookbook written in a code of just four letters: A, T, C, and G – shorthand for the chemicals adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine.

I like to compare the genome to the most comprehensive cookbook yet, with 'recipes' that are genes responsible for everything from your eye color to how your body responds to medication. Imagine billions of these letters in sequences, folded and tucked away neatly into 23 pairs of chromosomes – that's some efficient packing!

Precision Medicine: The Future Knocking at Our Cells

And then there's precision medicine – talk about a game-changer! Before diving into this topic, I thought one-size-fits-all medicine was the only way. But boy, was I wrong! Precision medicine is the art (backed by solid science) of customizing health care, with decisions and treatments tailored to individual patients. It's like having a suit perfectly tailored to your measurements, but for your health.

Thanks to our understanding of the human genome, doctors no longer glance at a textbook to guess what might work; they're crafting therapies based on the genetic nuances of each person. Think of it as a GPS for health, where the journey toward wellness is mapped out with individual genetic landmarks.

I heard an anecdote about a woman with a rare form of lung cancer. She wasn't responding to conventional treatments, and things looked grim. But then, scientists sequenced her genome and found a targetable genetic mutation. They tailored a therapy just for her genetic makeup, and it was a turning point. She went from preparing for the end to planning her future. That's the power of precision medicine – it can turn the table on terminal diagnoses.

The Present and Beyond: Therapies and Possibilities

Right now, we're standing on the edge of a new frontier where gene editing tools like CRISPR are the scalpels. These molecular scissors can snip and edit the genes that contribute to inherited diseases. Imagine a world where conditions like cystic fibrosis or sickle cell anemia could be corrected before a baby is even born.

This isn't just future-speak; it's actually happening. The first trials of gene therapies are giving hope to people with conditions that were once thought untreatable. We’re talking about a new era where ‘genetic surgery’ could become as routine as getting your tonsils out.

And the possibilities? They're as vast as the genome itself. We're looking at the potential to prolong human life, to augment our bodies to better resist diseases or perhaps adapt to new environments – even space. We might be able to reprogram our biology to avoid aging the way we know it. It sounds like science fiction, but then again, decoding the human genome once did too.

Wrapping Up the DNA Double Helix

As I wrap up this genetic tapestry, I can't help but be in awe of how understanding our genome has become central to our lives. This knowledge shapes not just our health care but also our identities and our futures.

The genome is not just a story of life; it’s the autobiography of humanity, written in a language we're just beginning to fluently read. Each new discovery is a page turned, a chapter unfolded, a deeper understanding of the profound narrative we all share.

So, what's next on this genomic journey? I'll tell you this much: the future is bright, and it's personalized. With our genomic roadmap in hand, we're steering toward a horizon where medicine is tailored, treatments are precise , and the once incurable becomes curable. Hold onto your seats, because this is just the beginning, and I, for one, can’t wait to witness where we go from here—with every snippet of DNA, we're not just unlocking the secrets to our health, but also the untapped potential of humankind. The genome’s journey is far from over, and the next chapters promise to be nothing short of revolutionary!

[hungry-tum-stuff]

🍪 Special Delivery 🍪

*Context: This story takes place early on in Lumen’s relationship with their closest friend Jonah, and deals with him discovering that they’re a Wendigo. There is a good chunk of exposition as this is the first time I’ve written for either of these characters!

CW: Hunger kink, Mentions of cannibalism, effects of starvation, refusal to eat, hunger pangs, stomach growling, mention of stomachaches

Jonah Ellis ran on a tight schedule.

He got up with the sun, made breakfast for him and his daughter, and saw her off to school before opening up the bakery for the day. And there he’d stay for the rest of the afternoon, baking and rolling dough until his arms were sore and tending to customers until he’d sold his stock and closed up.

And as soon as he closed up shop and fixed up dinner, he worked overtime making deliveries around town.

Jonah hated seeing any of his baking go to waste, so anything he didn’t sell, he set aside for folks who needed food, or friends who had a particular hankering for his baked goods.

Lumen was one of those friends.

He’d formally met Lumen about a month ago. That being said, he’d known about the tailor who lived at the edge of town for years. Jonah had always heard whispers about them: He’d heard that they were impossibly tall, had horrifying fangs and huge antlers, and that they were the devil behind the town’s unexplained disappearances. So naturally, Jonah had kept his distance. But when his daughter hit a growth spurt and needed her clothes tailored, Lumen proved themself to be the most reliable person for the job. They’d mended her clothes and then some, offering to outfit both her and Jonah with one of their beautifully knit sweaters. And despite Jonah refusing and insisting they couldn’t pay for brand-new clothes, Lumen had two sweaters ready for them free of charge when he came in a week later to have his apron adjusted. Working in a bakery didn’t help you keep off any extra weight, after all.

It had been a small blessing; the sweaters were perfect for the incoming autumn. So from that point on Jonah was intent on returning the favor.

Lumen looked almost exactly how the other townsfolk had described them: They were tall and gangly, they had antlers and cloven feet and their gentle smile was fang-toothed. But the most intimidating thing about them seemed to be their appearance, because they were hardly the devil he’d heard stories about. Lumen made a point to put on a kettle of tea whenever Jonah came around, and they were pleasantly talkative. It seemed like they’d gone awhile without a good conversation.

Or a good meal, for that matter.

At the end of the day, the only real problem Jonah had with Lumen’s appearance was how thin they were. They were obviously hungry, that fact only being made more obvious by their grumbling stomach that could frequently be heard in their little shop. And while they brushed it off, Jonah wasn’t one to let somebody go hungry when he could do something about it.

So he’d simply made making deliveries to Lumen’s shop a part of his schedule.

He saw the guy every day, and while Lumen seemed pleased to have a consistent visitor and always invited him inside for tea, there wasn’t a day where he didn’t hear Lumen’s stomach pitching a fit during their conversations. Hell, he’d never actually seen Lumen eat any of the pastries he’d brought, and he’d brought him damn near everything in an attempt to find something they liked. Carrot cake, chocolate croissants, beignets: They all sat uneaten while they sipped their tea and talked about their goings-on, and Lumen did everything in their power to avoid even looking at the food Jonah brought.

And today, Jonah decided he’d had just about enough of avoiding the subject.

After closing up the bakery he’d wrapped up one of everything and headed straight to Lumen’s shop, where the tailor answered with their usual eagerness.

“Jonah! You’re early today, I was just in the middle of some embroidery, come in and I’ll put the kettle on.” They insisted, their fluffy little cottontail wagging as they led the man inside. Jonah obliged silently, setting his basket on Lumen’s rickety dining table and catching their wrist before they could retreat to the kitchen.

It was far too bony.

“Hold it, before you make any tea I need you to do something for me. And I ain’t leaving until you do it.” He said sternly. Lumen’s tail halted, and their golden eyes only looked at Jonah with a mixture of worry and confusion as he pulled the cloth from his basket to reveal a tantalizing arrangement of pastries.

“Eat something.”

Lumen broke eye contact to stare intently at the floor, and their fuzzy ears lowered to the point where they were hidden by that mop of wavy hair. “Well, I’m not really all that hungry right now…” And as if intending to prove them wrong, Lumen’s stomach growled ferociously in the brief pause in their conversation. Their face flushed and they wrapped their arms around their tummy as Jonah released their wrist and crossed his own arms.

“Bullshit. I hear your stomach growling like that every day when I come by, it ain’t exactly hard to notice. And I’ve never seen you eat anything I brought you. So either sit down and eat, or tell me what’s going on.”

Lumen frowned as their gaze stayed locked on the floorboards. They looked nervous; cornered. After a few painstaking moments of silence they shook their head, beginning to wring the fabric of their shirt anxiously. “You don’t want to know. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I already don’t like whatever situation you’re in. Look, obviously you’re hungry, and you don’t gotta give me the full story if you don’t want to. Even if it’s as simple as you don’t like eating around people or you’re short on coin and what I’m bringing you ain’t enough, I just need to know how to help you.” Both Lumen and Jonah grimaced as their stomach set loose a particularly hollow-sounding growl, and Lumen clutched the fabric of their shirt a little tighter in their clawed fingernails. “Because I can’t keep seeing you like this and just do fuckall about it.”

Lumen finally looked up and met Jonah’s eyes. They looked like they might cry: Their lower lip was trembling and their eyes were round and wet.

“Well, I don’t need to tell you that I’m not exactly human… Not fully, anyways. So I don’t eat like any regular person: Fruits and vegetables upset my tummy, and the things that don’t make me sick hardly keep me full…” Lumen began pacing back and forth in their cluttered living area in the midst of their explanation, their hooves clicking rhythmically against the hardwood. “So I’m hungry all the time. Or, a lot of the time… The only thing that really keeps me full is, uhm, people…” Lumen took a shuddering breath as Jonah’s eyes widened, and he nearly fell back into one of the dining room chairs as he took in what the other had just told him.

“People?”

“Yes, but I hardly ever do it, I swear!” Lumen stopped their pacing to look back at Jonah, seemingly to plead with him. “It’s- It’s a curse, and the more people I eat, the less human I become, so I don’t want to eat people, I really don’t. But I’m just so hungry all the time- And I’m sorry I gave your pastries to my neighbors, they looked really good but I was worried they’d make me sick, and if you’re mad at me or scared of me that’s fine, I promise I won’t hurt you, just please don’t put together a mob…” The tears that had been pricking at their eyes finally flowed freely as they rambled, and Lumen stood with their arms wrapped around themselves as Jonah stood up carefully, eyes fixed on Lumen.

“I’m not mad. I’m a little scared if I’m being honest, but only on your behalf… I can’t imagine having to worry about something like that.” Lumen sniffled and wiped their tears, but those big, sad doe eyes still watched Jonah cautiously. “You ain’t a bad person Lumen: You’re far from it. Heck, you’re nicer than most folks I know.” Jonah assured as Lumen’s expression started to shift into one of confusion.

“So… You’re not mad I didn’t eat your baking…?”

“God no, don’t even worry about that. And I meant what I said, I want to know how to help you.” Jonah paused. “In a way that other folks don’t get hurt.”

“You really mean that…?” Lumen’s ears slowly began to peek back out from beneath their hair, no longer pressed against their head.

“Of course I do.”

“Well… I can eat raw meat. It doesn’t keep me full for very long, but it helps me feel a little less hungry… And I can eat bread, and other things like milk and eggs, but they don’t fill me up at all. I’ve never actually tried anything sugary, that’s why I was worried that your pastries would give me a tummyache…” Lumen frowned, pressing a palm into their belly as it desperately whined again. Despite Lumen’s reluctance, their stomach seemed eager to try something new, even if it didn’t do a thing to satisfy their insatiable appetite.

“Well, I damn near brought you my bakery’s entire stock in case you feel like trying something new.” Jonah chuckled, looking through what he’d brought over. “I guess we can rule out carrot cake, rhubarb pie, blueberry muffins… How’s about a good old-fashioned chocolate chip cookie? That’s Mallory’s favorite.” He offered, trying to keep conversation somewhat casual as Lumen stepped closer to inspect the cookie.

“It’s your daughter’s favorite…? Well, I can’t exactly argue with her tastes.”

“No you can’t.” Jonah agreed with a proud papa-bear grin, handing over the cookie. Lumen held it like it was going to bite them, but instead they took a careful nibble. And immediately after they did, their eyes welled with tears again.

“Lumen? What’s wrong? Do you feel sick already?” Lumen quickly shook their head, swallowing carefully and cradling their concave stomach with one hand as if they were still expecting the worst. A moment passed, and Lumen stifled a sob.

“No, i-it’s really good…” Lumen took another bite, this time more eager. Jonah just cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry it’s just- There’s not a lot of regular food I can eat that doesn’t make me feel sick… It feels nice to eat something, even if it won’t fill my belly.” They smiled wryly, and Jonah just sighed with relief as they finished off the rest of the cookie, their tail slowly wagging back and forth.

“Well I’m glad you found something… I’ll have to experiment with more recipes to make things you can eat-“ Jonah was partially cut off as Lumen’s stomach grumbled hungrily, and they wrapped their arms around their noisy gut once again, sinking down into their old armchair and wincing slightly. The older man just frowned slightly and nudged his friend’s shoulder. “But for now I’ll start delivering you some meat from the butcher’s shop to help take care of that belly of yours. Sound good?” Lumen’s eyes widened, and they nodded gratefully.

“Of course, thank you so much Jonah, I-“ Lumen paused suddenly, their ears perking up again. “I forgot to put the kettle on! Oh dear, do you still want tea?” Lumen started to get up, but Jonah motioned for them to stay put as he made his way towards the kitchen instead.

“I’ll handle it this time, bud. You’ve got some cookies to finish: I wrapped up a batch of sugar cookies from this morning for ya too. You work on that, I’ll work on whatever fancy tea you’ve got in here.” He insisted, and Lumen nodded slowly, a little fang-toothed smile making its way onto their face.

And Jonah couldn’t help but smile back.

[jaskierswolf]

Hey Wolfie!!

For your Shifter AU, may I request an outsider POV of Jaskier's favourite tailor, who both loves him for the business he brings and hates him for the volume of work he asks for with little notice and a short delivery window

The idea struck me while reading instalment 10 on AO3 lol

It's been 8 months. I had plans to set this after the last installment of the Shifter!Jask AU (which is now 12 parts long! With another short one drafted already... Shifter!Jaskier my beloved), but i still haven't gotten round to the last installment because my long fic brain has left me.

So you're getting it now. It's still set after the last part... which isn't written yet so I guess it's a preview for what's to come?

Previous

_

The courier had turned up on their doorstep only two days prior with a sealed letter in hand. The blood red wax on the parchment had made them groan and pull at their hair. It was the bard... again. It was always the fucking bard. The idiot was lucky that he appeared to have coin to spare, the perk of a long life they supposed. The bard was well known in Morgan's family, generation after generation had served him. One of the first things they'd learned as a tailor was Jaskier's measurements, and how to make his preferred style of doublets and shirts quickly.

Doublets and shirts that had gone out of fashion decades ago, but the bard could not be swayed. Nor could that witcher of his. They were both stuck in the dark ages with their fashion, with everything really. Jaskier's style of ballads was both unique and progressive, and yet timeless. His older classics were now almost legend, and there were those who didn't believe Morgan when they told people the bard of old was the very same once trailing after Geralt of Rivia these days.

The man wasn't human - that much was clear.

There were all sorts of myths and legends surrounding the bard. One said that he had been cursed by one Yennefer of Vengerberg as a child, others said that he was bonded to his witcher and thus his lifespan had been increased by the witcher mutagens. Rumours of elven blood, dragon blood... even fae. There were so many theories, each more preposterous than the last.

But Morgan knew better.

They'd seen Jaskier shift, just as their father and mother had before them. It was a family secret.

One morning, when Morgan had been barely eight, Geralt of Rivia had turned up, the sorceress on one side, covered in blood and mud, and a large russet wolf on the other. Morgan had been absolutely terrified, despite their parent's reassurance that everything was fine. Wolves were fucking huge, and the witcher's duel swords were intimidating... not to mention the pure sense of power that Yennefer had radiated.

And then as their father had handed over the bundle of clothes, the wolf had turned back to a man, naked at the day he was born.

Over the years, Jaskier's demands for clothes had pretty much kept their little shop in business single-handedly, but gods, he was the most frustrating customer. Morgan had learned to have at least a poet's shirt in stock, but Jaskier's demands of colour and fabric changed with every order. It was a lot of work in a short period of time... but at least he paid well.

Fame and Fortune had treated the bard well.

Still, it wasn't easy, and Morgan was only just putting the finishing touches together on a fine emerald green, silk doublet, when a reddish looking bird of prey landed on their windowsill, pecking insistently at the glass.

"Jaskier?" they asked, just to be sure, but they'd never known a real bird to have such bright blue eyes.

The bird nodded and screeched loudly, flying into the room in a mess of feathers as soon as Morgan opened the window.

"No Geralt today?"

The crack of bones never failed to make Morgan flinch as the feathers morphed to pale skin, and Jaskier shook out his hair.

"Not today, our daughter is visiting."

"And what was it this time?" Morgan laughed as they gathered up the rest of Jaskier's order.

The shifter flushed a bright red, scratching absentmindedly at the scar on his neck. "Ah, umm... Ciri is very good at sneaking up on people, and I was a little bit drunk, well- I... maybe a lot drunk, and she just- well she popped out of nowhere."

"So you shifted?"

"I was scared!" Jaskier snapped, pointing at them with the other hand resting on their hip.

The one thing Morgan never got used to was Jaskier's complete lack of shame with his body. They had probably seen more of Jaskier than anyone else they'd met. Still, the naked bard in the middle of their living room, pouting like a petulant child was fucking hilarious and they couldn't help but laugh at the poor man.

He might keep them in business, but gods, he was a disaster.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[sxlver-sweet]

Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩

–🎴

I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE

i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk

also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.

faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.

tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.

wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.

leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.

mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk

knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma

werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.

half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.

dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?

executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.

knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.

jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.

pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest

apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.

ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.

adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed

sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle

spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning

doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had

knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing

steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged

steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room

cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing

masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date

masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.

samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.

potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)

gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room

servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.

necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive

vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is

half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.

farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.

jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.

achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀

soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”

victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.

barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter

archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.

ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU

potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.

town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.

shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.

[kenkaodoll]

Kamiya Dojo Monogatari Tales 52 (JUMP SQ 22/04)

About Kamiya Dojo Monogatari:

Tales of Kamiya dojo is written by Kaoru Kurosaki and published along with the “Rurouni Kenshin Hokkaido” arc in JUMPSQ. The tale involves the Rurouni Kenshin character in daily life that takes time between Kenshin and Kaoru marriage until the epilogue chapter in the original manga before the Hokkaido Arc. Until this month (June 2022) there are a total 55 chapters in Tales of Kamiya dojo. This is an unofficial translation. 

Previous Story: https://kenkaodoll.tumblr.com/post/685944099847716864/kamiya-dojo-monogatari-tales-51-jump-sq-2203

The Akabeko was more lively than usual when they prepared for the start of work.

“Today, I have the new uniform you have all been waiting for. Please pick it up when your name is called.”

The owner, Tae, said something that made everyone grow louder with excitement .

The year before last, Akabeko's old store collapsed due to various reasons. When it was time for a fresh start, the restaurant was enlarged and the number of employees was increased. Beef hot pot, which is said to be nourishing, has gradually become a household name over the past ten years since Akabeko's reopening, so the restaurant took the plunge and expanded its operations.

Striking the business strategy, it was decided that it would be important to create a fresh atmosphere at the restaurant, so the store's female waitresses were asked to wear uniforms.

This started with a maid's outfit that Sae, Tae's twin sister, made as a hobby, which was highly praised by the some customers. Sae was so pleased that she made a new one, which was even more popular, that she started sending new ones from Kyoto every once in a while.

“Tsubame-chan”

“… Yes.”

Tae called and handled the uniform. Tsubame was a bit relieved. The new uniform of Akabeko was a striped kimono.

She had once been made to wear a maid's outfit that Sae had made for them to try on. But that one. she didn't feel comfortable. It was not a bad experience for her to be allowed to wear an unusual outfit, but she felt like she was not herself.

“Next… Midori-chan”

“Yees!”

Cheerfully, the girl called Midori answered. She was about the same age as Tsubame. However, their personalities seemed to be opposite, and as soon as she received the kimono from Tae, she began to assert herself.

“Eh, it’s not western clothing?”

She sounded dissatisfied.

“I wanted to wear something like the maids uniform that Tsubame used to wear before, so I became an Akabeko waitress. But I don't want to wear a kimono.”

She protested with puffed up her cheeks.

“Oh, but this time, the uniforms are not just kimono.”

Tae smiled a little proudly.

“Along with the striped kimono, I gave you a white apron, didn't I?”

“Oh, yes. This is it?”

Midori unfolds the folded white cloth that is supposed to be the apron.

At that moment.

“Aaahh!”

She screamed very loud.

“Cute! So cute! Thank you, Tae-san. I've never met her, but Sae-san, God! Buddha! Bodhisattva! Kannon-sama ah! I can't turn my back on Kyoto.”

As soon as she said it, she started to worship with his hands toward the west.

The cloth that appeared to be an usual white apron had a large ruffle on the shoulder.

In the early Meiji era, the popular western style clothing was expensive and very unaffordable for the commoners.

At Akabeko, it was cheap because Sae tailored it as her hobby, but customers are unaware of this. Therefore, when many Akabeko waitresses wear matching maid's uniforms, it is perceived as an "expensive store," and it would keep the people away. This is not a good business strategy. However, Sae would like to incorporate a little bit of western style clothing as her hobby.

After much consideration, Sae came up with the idea of a uniform that blends the Japanese and Western styles, consisting of a kimono and apron.

・

Tae makes sure that the uniforms had been distributed to all the waitresses and explained.

“This time our uniforms are a blend of Japanese and Western. Please change in the antechamber room. It's okay if you want to modified a little, but please do so in a way that doesn't spoil the matching look.”

“Yees, ma’am!”

The apron has the name "Akabeko" dyed on it, so you can think of it as carrying the store's sign. When you are in uniform, please behave yourself."

“Yees, ma’am!”

The waitresses quickly began to get ready.

・

The well dressed staff were preparing the seating area and the kitchen had finished preparing the food for the daytime guests.

In front of the charcoal shed, Tsubame and Midori  were arguing.

“Eeh… I'll hold it for you.”

“No problem! No problem! I'm strong, I can handle it.” 

“But...”

They were holding the bag of charcoal and arguing with each other. And then Yahiko passed by.

“Oh, new uniforms today. Both Tae and Sae are doing well. So, what are you two arguing about?”

“We’re not arguing”

“If I must say, compromise”

“Why is that?”

Yahiko, not understanding what the two girls were saying, asked back.

“I was asked to carry the charcoal to the kitchen...”

“I said that I as a junior would carry the charcoal, but Tsubame-chan!”

“I told Midori-chan that I would hold the charcoal because it would stain her new uniform.”

Tsubame held the charcoal bag.

“I told you I'm fine.”

Midori took the bag back.

“But Midori-chan, you've always wanted to wear Akabeko’s uniform, haven't you? You were so happy to wear it, you don't want it to get dirty, do you? Since I'm used to it...”

Cutting Tsubame's stammering speech, Yahiko snatched the charcoal bag from Midori's hand and slung it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I'll take care of those things.”

“Ah.”

“Yahiko-kun…”

“I just bring it to the kitchen, right?”

He said and started walking quickly.

“… I’m sorry”

Tsubame apologized

In this case you say ‘Thank you’.”

“…Thank you”

Tsubame corrected hersels on Yahiko’s words.

“Thank you!”

Midori also thanked him.

“Are you a newcomer?”

“My name is Midori.”

She bowed slightly.

As he carried the charcoal to the kitchen, they heard a voice form Tae.

“Tsubame-chan, Midori-chan. Are your hands free right now?”

“Uh, yes.”

“I'm free.

“That was a relief. We seem to be running out of eggs. I want you to go and buy some just in case.”

“Tae handed Midori a basket to put the eggs in and Tsubame a purse with money in it.”

“We’re off!”

They took what was given to each of them and went out the store to buy eggs.

When they looked around, they saw a line of people waiting in front of Akabeko's store.

This must be the effect of the new uniforms. It seems that Tae and Sae's business strategy was right on target.

・

They bought the eggs they were asked to buy, put them in their baskets, and headed back the way they came.

“Tsubame-chan, this apron has a nice big ruffle on the shoulder, but the ribbon tie at the back is also very fluttery and cute. It's too bad I can't see my own backside.”

She said and spun around like a puppy chasing its own tail.

“Midori-chan”

Tsubame called out the restless Midori to warn her. But it was too late.

Midori, of all people, bumped into one of the group of ruffian looking men.

“Oops. I'm sorry."

Midori bowed her head.

“Oh? You guys are fucking kidding me!”

“No, I'm sorry for my careless bumping into you!”

She apologized again.

“Let's go.”

She grabbed Tsubame's arm and tried to walk away. She probably decided that it would be less troublesome if she did not stay there. Tsubame was dragged away from the place.

But…

“The sisters are dressed funny. Are you putting on a play?”

Three men followed and make fun of them.

Midori ignored them and walked quickly. Tsubame was dragged along by her. Of course, she couldn't think of anything to say to them.

“Say something, woman!”

She was persistent. Anyway, she silently strode toward Akabeko. If they ran into the kitchen through the back door, the men would not come after them.

“Tsk! You’re so arrogant!” 

Midori had been ignoring what they said to her, but perhaps she’s kinda relieved when she saw the Akabeko’s sign, she finally glared back at them.

“….!”

“You got a problem with me, woman? You're the one who bumped into me.”

“I got hit by you once, I'll hit you back once and we'll be even.”

The man then grabbed an egg from the basket and smashed it against Midori's forehead.

“Yes this makes us even!”

The men laughed loudly.

The egg cracked and sloshed out the content from Midori's forehead. The egg was sloppily draped over Midori's uniform apron.

“What did you do to me?”

The uniform of her dreams had been soiled. She shouted in anger.

“You're not going to get in my way.”

The man raised his hand to Midori. The customers and passersby in the  Akabeko gasped.

“Oh, no...”

Midori fell to the ground. She was covered with egg mixture, dirt and dust. She was already a soggy mess.

“Are you okay?”

Tsubame ran up to Midori. She was very scared, so she squeezed her eyes shut and covered them to protect herself, at least to prevent her from further violence.

“You thugs! Won't you leave them alone?”

A dignified boy's voice came out.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She gently opened her eyes to see the back figure of a boy in Western-style clothing wearing a protective device on his right hand, standing between the man and Tsubame.

“Are you injured? Unless you want to make it worse, you'd better stay out of it.”

“I'm injured, sure, but I don't intend to lose.”

The boy held the tip of his cane in his right hand against his opponent.

“You have a high spirit, good.”

The men pulled out their weapons at once, and they were ready to kill the boy.

“You idiot! Why are you playing it cool all by yourself!”

Yahiko intervened, shinai in hand.

“Long time no see, Yutaro.”

“We'll say hello later. Let's get rid of these guys for now, Yahiko.”

Yahiko strikes furiously with his shinai.

Yutaro used his cane as a sword and delivered a spectacular thrust.

“Kyaaa, that's so cool!”

Before they knew it, a crowd of onlookers had gathered around them. The cheers of "cool" were directed mainly at Yutaro.

・・・

.…..to be continue in chapter 53…… 

https://kenkaodoll.tumblr.com/post/686308962237349888/kamiya-dojo-monogatari-tales-53-jump-sq-2205

TLnote(1): translating Japanese is so hard because the sentence structure is very different compared with the English also the style of writing is different, plus there’s a lot of figurative, poetic language and things that sounds not making sense if it’s directly translated into english. So forgive me if this is very weird to read, and please tell me if you want give corrections. TLnote(2) I will provide the original Japanese text for correction if any of you who read have better knowledge of Japanese language. Just dm and I’ll send the file. TLnote(3) Dtninja had translated some earlier chapters in his website. You can go and check on there

Read the rest of the tales here.

[twistedtummies2]

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

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

Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for��um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ‘Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

 The End

[cspf-theory]

The Zodiac Killer: A Jungian and Typological Analysis #1

Introduction to The Zodiac Killer

The Zodiac Killer was a Californian serial killer who took the lives of a confirmed five victims and a speculated seven to thirty-seven victims from December 20th, 1968 to October 11th, 1969. To this day he remains unidentified.

Murder (December 20th, 1968 - Lake Herman Road): David Arthur Faraday and Betty Lou Jensen are both shot at 10:15pm. 

Murder (July 4th, 1969 - Blue Rock Springs Park Grounds): Darlene Ferrin and Michael Mageau are both shot with a 9mm luger. Mageau survives and later recalls the suspect as a short, heavyset male with short brownish-blonde hair and a round face.

Event (August 1st, 1969): The killer, now operating under the name “The Zodiac”, sends three letters written in code to the Vallejo Times, San Francisco Chronicle and the San Francisco Examiner. 

Murder (September 27, 1969 - Lake Berryessa): Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard are approached by The Zodiac who binds them with fishing line under the false pretense he was a recently escaped prison convict. Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard are then promptly stabbed a total of sixteen times before the perpetrator vanishes. Hartnell survives and later recalls the suspect as a heavyset man clad in a black, executioner style hood and cross-hair symbol drawn on his torso with greasy brown hair.

Murder (October 11th, 1969 - Geary Street): At 9:35 The Zodiac enters the cab of Paul Stine, directing him to drop him off at Cherry Street. At 9:55pm Paul Stine is shot and killed by Zodiac; at the same time the murder is witnessed by three teenagers. The teenagers and other witnesses later recall the suspect as a 35-45 year old male with reddish-brown crew-cut hair, a medium to heavy-build and who was wearing heavy rim glasses. This description is used as the basis for the police sketch.

Event (October 14th, 1969): Another letter is received by the Zodiac containing a portion of Paul Stine’s shirt and multiple threats.

Aftermath: More letters by The Zodiac were received by newspapers, most prominently the chronicle. Notable highlights of these letters include The Zodiac claiming to have taken the lives of up to 37 victims, a letter that supposedly had his name coded into it, a plan to use a technically plausible bomb, a letter claiming the murder of one Sgt. Radetich, a letter written entirely in cypher stating he believed his victims will work as his slaves in the afterlife, a custom made halloween card meant to be received by reporter Paul Avery and a letter that alluded to the idea he was the kidnapper of Kathleen Johns thus giving credence to the Lawrence Kane hypothesis. The Zodiac Killer has also been the main suspect in multiple other cases, such as Betsy Aardsma case where a college-aged girl was murdered by a stab wound to the torso.

Typological Analysis

Serial killers can usually be organized into six typologies each with their own unique incentive, ideas, thoughts and methods of killing. These types are the organized killer, the disorganized killer, the visionary killer, the mission-oriented killer, the hedonistic killer and the power-oriented killer. 

Typology of the Zodiac Killer

The Zodiac Killer is an example of a mixture between two types, mainly a visionary and hedonistic (thrill variety) killer. The visionary killer is driven not usually by thrill or enjoyment but rather by a break from reality. In some cases, this type of killer shows the unique trait of remorse. On the other hand, the hedonistic thrill killer is driven by the thrill of murder, this type is similar to the power-oriented killer as they both commit murder out of enjoyment, however, the hedonistic killer does not derive gratification from dominating the victim.

An example of his visionary side was displayed in one of his many letters sent to the San Francisco Chronicle where he gloated that he wasn’t afraid of the gas chamber as his murders have already secured him enough slaves for paradise. From this we can assume his dominant incentive for killing was the belief that he needs a certain amount of servants for the afterlife. However, his hedonistic thrill seeker side is usually what is focused on when psychologists or people interested in the case first point out when discussing his psychology. For example, in The Vallejo Times letter he stated that killing was the most thrilling experience and was, “better than getting your rocks off with a girl”, though reasserted his belief in paradise afterward. An interesting thing to note is the Zodiac’s connection between sex and murder.

The organized vs. disorganized concept is another system of criminal typology that uses crime scene analysis. Using this system we can use conjecture to determine certain personality traits (organized killers might have a higher IQ, for example). I’ll use this rating system to figure out his orientation on the O/U scale:

-Restraints: 1

-Victim known: 0

-Stranger targeted: 1

-Poisoned: 0 

-Chaotic scene: 1

-Controlled scene: 0 

-Weapon planned: 1 

-Weapon left: 0

-Body transported: 0

-Act focused: 0

From this ranking we can determine that the Zodiac Killer was directly in between a disorganized and organized killer. However, he matches 5/11 descriptor of a disorganized killer (minimal conversation, sloppy crime scene, minimal use of restraints, body left at crime scene, body left in open) and only 4/11 descriptors of the organized variety (planned offense, victim a stranger, aggressive acts prior to death, absent weapon).

For personality factors we can use the OCEAN model:

-Openness: High. Inquisitive and creative. Created his own suit, strapped a flashlight to his gun and sent coded letters.

-Consciousness: Low. Disorganized and spontaneous. Left victims alive, allowed his face to be seen multiple times and didn’t hide victims.

-Extraversion: Unknown. Likely low. Introversion is associated with disorganized killers.

-Agreeableness: Low. Uncooperative and hostile. Crime behavior and taunted police.

-Neuroticism: Mid to low. Moderately emotional and anxious. Was possibly anxious during the course of the Mageau attack, however was perceived as calm and monotone in other murders. 

Speculation, Comparisons to Other Killers, Psychological Profiles

We know that the Zodiac Killer could be profiled into both the visionary and hedonistic category based off motivation. However, what could possibly be the cause for these behaviors and what could be gleamed from these classifications? A good method for this type of speculation is by comparing him to other serial killers with similarities in already established psychology. So here are some related speculations. 

-It’s possible that the Zodiac Killer gleamed sexual gratification from murder. Yang Xinhai, another hedonistic killer, stated he felt sexual satisfaction after killing his victims. It’s possible his specific type of victim (teenage couples) gave him the most satisfaction.

-When considering the fact he didn’t assault the victims afterward, his teasing of the police and creation of different methods of murder it could be assumed the Zodiac Killer enjoyed not killing on its own but rather the game of murder. He could’ve been hedonistic in the sense he gleamed pleasure from committing a murder, perfecting it and then getting away with it while receiving ludicrous amounts of media attention.

-It’s possible the Zodiac Killer has some form of schizophrenia, psychosis or a Cluster A personality disorder. David “Son of Hope” Berkowitz was strikingly similar to the Zodiac. Berkowitz and the Zodiac both killed couples, both killed their victims while they were in their cars, both sent letters taunting the police, both used guns to murder their victims, both didn’t assault their victims after and both had aspects of the visionary type. Berkowitz was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Berkowitz also gained sexual gratification from the murders, supporting the previous comparison.

-The Zodiac Killer likely took great pride in his public appearance. In his letter about the attack of Michael Mageau he said that he calmly left the scene as to not attract attention to himself, despite Mageau asserting he had left quickly in a panic. At the Lake Berryessa attack the Zodiac wore a specialized suit complete with a symbol on the torso. Sure this is strange on its own but the stranger part is that there’d be no need to wear the suit if he was planning on killing both victims, which indicates that he wore it because he wanted to tailor his image to his persona. The Zodiac even admitted this himself when he complained that he didn’t believe he got as much media attention as he deserved. All of this culminates with the Zodiac’s statement saying he didn’t look like the police sketch made of him, which could be his attempt to draw the public’s attention away from who he is under the façade of the notorious, mysterious and inventive Zodiac Killer.

-Another comparison could be made to Dennis “BTK’ Radar. Radar and the Zodiac both sent letters and penned their own name. Radar was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder, this could very well coincide with the Zodiac’s need for admiration and recognition. 

-If he does fall in line with the “disorganized killer” typology it’s possible he did not travel far from his home to commit the crime, was secluded or asocial and generally worked in a field that didn’t require much talent.

-The female victims of the Zodiac Killer may look like a past girlfriend such as Ted Bundy or any woman associated with pain. 2/3 of his female victims were twenty-two years of age and Betty Lou Jensen and Darlene Ferrin have strikingly similar facial proportions (specifically the spacing between the nose, mouth and eyes and the size of those areas). This could also link to sexual satisfaction being taken from murder.

-He was more focused on killing women over men, evident from him failing to kill the male side of the couple in two murders. Possibly this the result of a damaged ego after rejection as if he’s trying to regain power over women. This could be a result of his introversion linked to unorganized killers. This could also possibly disprove the hedonistic killer theory in favor of the power-oriented killer theory.

From this we can assume three possible motivations: 

-Paranoid or odd beliefs

-Sexual gratification

-Misogyny 

Jungian Analysis

Carl Jung (born July 26th, 1871 - died June 6th, 1961) was an early Swiss psychoanalyst and apprentice of Freud. Many of the concepts he built upon and created are still in use today including the concepts of introversion/extraversion, archetypes, the subconscious, the unconscious and persona.

Use of Intuition 

Intuition, explained simply, is the unconscious process which allows the user to see into or perceive conditions that are not obvious through logical thought. It presents its conclusions as whole or complete in the mind of the user. It's the ability for one to perceive and expect possible motions without logical deliberation. For example, one may get a bad feeling about an apple because it subconsciously reminds them of an apple pie they hated. 

The Zodiac Killer represents the perfect picture of an extroverted intuitive killer. Instead of receding from the object to transpose his internalized view of abstracted images from the subconscious onto the environment around him, the Zodiac Killer’s intuition is in good relation to the object. He’s not oriented toward transposing his view of the abstracted image onto the object but rather interested in the object's pre-existing string of possibilities and abstracted images as if he was searching for chaos.  

We could also see use of intuition in the very concept of The Zodiac Killer. The perpetrator of these crimes comprises his self of the multiple abstracted characteristics of what the symbol of the Zodiac Killer is. He tries to inhabit a single symbol of multiple characteristics including strength, mysteriousness, intelligence, creativity, etc. Though he may or may not inhabit any of these characteristics. 

Archetypes

On the topic of personas or symbols of self, in this paragraph we’ll discuss his use of The Joker symbol. Throughout his violent escapades he takes on the form of someone rather unaffected by conventional morals, beliefs or attention to organization. He rather takes on the persona of someone humorous, who likes playing games and is free form all conventional forms of organization. It seems as if the main archetype he tries to inhabit is the Joker, even if subconsciously.

Outro

The last Zodiac Letter was received in 1974, the last murder was in 1969 and all likely suspects are now dead. Even after all that time the remaining notoriety of this case is staggering, and new suspects are still coming up today. Even more staggering yet, after all that the case is still likely to never be solved.

Sources:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/307819660_The_Traits_and_the_Thrill_of_Serial_Killers

https://www.zodiacciphers.com/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zodiac_Killer

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/son-of-sam-arrested

https://www.infjs.com/articles/jung-descriptions-of-each-dichotomy-i-e-n-s-f-t-j-p.37/

https://www.nbcnews.com/id/wbna8929452#:~:text=Serial%20killer%20personality,more%20severe%20psychopathic%20personality%20disorder.

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Carl-Jung

https://www.marshall.edu/forensics/files/Baber_Seminar2014_ODcsp.pdf

https://zodiackillerfacts.com/ https://www.zodiackiller.com/AllenFile.html

(Notice: I am not a psychologist, but just interested in criminology and versed in Jungian theory)