#with a level of warm spices like cinnamon

[skmhlml]

Hello, can you write a Nutmeg Tiger cookie x little sister reader ? Here's the story, back when Burning Spice had become a Beast and Nutmeg Tiger was following him, she find us on the street beat up by our own master because we were orphan... She saved us and took us in and after a moment, she introduced us to her great master and he actually accepted us in with no hesitation ! I love this girl !!

Date requested: 7/21/2025

Fandom: Cookie Run: kingdom

Type: one-shot

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie x Little Sister!Reader

The streets were cold even during the daytime. Heat shimmered off the sandstone walls, but it never reached you— not truly. Not with the bruises darkening your dough, or the cracked sugar crust along your arm, where your master had thrown you aside that morning like stale crumbs.

You curled into yourself, back against a broken stall where fruit once sold sweet scents to passersby. Now it was rotting wood and silence. Just like you.

You didn’t remember how long you’d sat there. You only knew that your arms ached, and you hadn’t cried—not because it didn’t hurt, but because crying was a weakness your master beat out of you early.

So when the shadow fell over you, you didn’t flinch right away. You were used to shadows, used to pain.

But this one was different.

The first thing you noticed was the scent— not sharp like anger, not metallic like blood. It was something earthy, warming, like crushed nutmeg in late autumn. The second thing was the soft swish of silk robes and the jingle of arm bangles. You looked up, cautiously.

A tall Cookie in striking, warm-toned garb stood before you, golden fur stripes running down her arms. Her expression was hard, eyes like burning cinnamon, but her voice…when she finally spoke—was a quiet whisper against the roaring silence.

“…Who did this to you?”

You blinked. She already knew.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came. No excuses, no pleas. Only silence. But she didn’t push. She just stepped forward and knelt down to your level, her arm braced lightly against her thigh, poised and ready like a tiger mid-stalk.

“My name is Nutmeg Tiger Cookie,” she said calmly. “And no one hurts someone like you—not while I’m here.”

You didn’t know what made you cry then. Maybe it was the promise, or the certainty in her voice. Or maybe it was just because someone had finally seen you.

⸻

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie didn’t ask questions the way others did. She didn’t pry. She didn’t pity.

She carried you back through the streets on her back, arms wrapped securely around her neck. You’d never felt strong arms like that. You’d never heard someone growl when strangers looked at you with too much curiosity. You’d never felt safe until that moment.

Her home wasn’t really a home— it was more like a temple carved from ancient spice-rocks, a place full of long silences and the occasional echo of wind chimes. She gave you a soft place to rest, cleaned your wounds without flinching at your winces, and made you tea. The herbs were bitter, but they helped the swelling go down.

“You’ll need strength if you want to stay,” she said one day, pouring a bowl of soup laced with crushed cloves and warming ginger.

“I’m not strong,” you muttered.

“You will be.”

⸻

Weeks passed, then months. Nutmeg Tiger Cookie rarely smiled, but you learned her tells. A slight upward twitch of her lip when you completed a kata without fumbling. A nod when you memorized a chant. A rare, quiet chuckle when you tried to mimic her moves and spun yourself into a pile of cushions.

She was strict, but never cruel. Her kindness was in the things she did: making sure you had second servings, wrapping a scarf around your shoulders when you dozed off, gently correcting your stance with a tap and a nod.

But the most unforgettable moment came the day she took you to meet him—her great master.

You’d heard of him in whispers. A Cookie whose presence was so immense, it made your knees weak just thinking about it. Nutmeg Tiger called him “the only one who ever truly believed in me.”

You were terrified.

The temple was vast, columns rising into the clouds. Spiced incense coiled around you like fog. But Nutmeg Tiger Cookie’s hand rested on your shoulder.

“You are my little sister now,” she said, voice unwavering. “He will accept you, because you are strong enough to walk with me.”

You nodded, heart racing.

Inside the chamber, the great master turned. His eyes were deep pools of quiet fire, his robes marked with symbols you didn’t recognize but felt, somehow, familiar. He looked at Nutmeg Tiger first. Then you.

He stepped down. Stared. Then smiled, slowly.

“I see your fire has found its twin.”

And that was it. No trial. No questioning. Just arms that pulled you gently forward, and warmth that chased away every cold night you’d ever known.

⸻

Now, you train alongside Nutmeg Tiger Cookie, your hands stronger, your heart steadier. The bruises from your old life have faded. The scars remain—but Nutmeg Tiger taught you that scars are signs of survival, not shame.

You run through the temple halls, laugh when she catches you with a single hand mid-sprint, and call her “Big Sis” with pride. When she calls you her “little sister,” it fills you with a quiet, powerful joy you never thought you’d deserve.

And on stormy nights, when fear tries to creep back in, you find yourself wrapped in her cloak, her voice whispering ancient chants to calm your restless mind.

You love her—not just because she saved you, but because she chose you.

And she would fight the world to keep you safe.

[girlnextvore]

Everyone take a step back and think, REALLY HARD

What does your VTM character's blood taste like to other vampires/ mortals they have ghouled. Like the answer is ofcourse blood but if you could assign "normal" flavor notes to it.

what would it be??

[sugarandspiceevol]

"Accidental Confessions" – LI Reactions to Hearing MC Say "I Love You" for the First Time 💖

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

🌙✨ "They hear MC say ‘I love you’ for the first time… but MC doesn’t realize they heard" – The inner turmoil and how they respond when MC eventually finds out. 💖

𓆩♡𓆪 Reactions 𓆩♡𓆪 SFW

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

「 ✦ Xavier ✦ 」

Winter in Lincoln is always your favorite time of year. When the snow clings to the ground and the streets grow quiet and cozy, you feel an added layer of happiness seeping through your bones.

Being outside makes it all the more wonderful, and spending an evening in the snow with your boyfriend completes the picture in ways you never thought possible.

“How is it?” Xavier asks as you taste the hot mulled wine that promises cinnamon and spiced flavors. As much as you’d wanted to like it, the bitter taste of the wine and the sweetness of the spices don’t mix very well. You smile despite this and nod, feeling mischievous in the cold weather.

“It’s delicious! Try it!” you say with a smile, handing over the paper cup. He takes it with a smile and sips, his face wincing as he gets a taste. Your laughter is muffled by the falling snow outside the winter market.

“You tricked me,” he says, though his words are accusing, his face is smiling.

“I had to get you back for that stunt you pulled last date night,” you say with a grin. He rolls his eyes — the look is cute on his face.

The rest of the evening slips away as you walk through the market and try new food together. When date night is over, you're back on the train. Xavier’s chronic sleepiness rears its head, and like always, he leans his head on your shoulder to sleep on the ride back home.

In the quiet of the car, you smooth his hair out of his face and whisper, “I love you,” trying the words out on your lips, your heart racing at how perfect and right they feel. Maybe, when the time is right, you’ll say it to him while he’s awake.

“I love you too,” he says softly, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest. He lifts his head up only slightly, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I—I thought you were asleep,” you say, stammering, your cheeks reddening.

“I was,” he says with a soft smile. “But I always wake up for things that are important. So… I love you too.”

Yes. Absolutely, winter is the best time.

「 ✦ Rafayel ✦ 」

The thing about paint is that it gets everywhere. You’re not sure how your boyfriend and artist, Rafayel, manages to always look so clean and pristine when he’s working with colors and paint. In spite of all this, you persist, trying to silence your harsh inner critic as you paint a pretty beach scene in your local arts and crafts class. This is your fourth freestyle class, which is perfect as you’re learning the basics and can borrow the paints and canvas that you don't own yourself.

Your instructor, a kind older woman, stops by your station and smiles. “What are you trying to say with your painting?” She’s been asking everyone that, and you hadn’t thought through your answer, so you say what’s on your mind.

“I want it to say… I love you,” you say, a faint blush coming to your cheeks.

“Really?” This voice belongs not to your instructor but to a very familiar voice that makes you almost jump out of your skin. You turn to face your boyfriend, who has a bag of purchased art supplies in his hand and a smile on his face brighter than the sun.

“You love me?”

“Raf!” you say, your voice up three octaves. “What are you doing here?”

He waves his hand. “I'm a painter. I came for paints. But never mind that. Say it again. I want to hear it.”

Your head spins around at the rest of your class, who have tuned into the conversation, and you want to be swallowed up by the floor. He steps forward and pokes your cheeks playfully.

“What was that?”

“I—” Your voice cracks under the emotional weight of how much you mean what you’re about to say. Your cheeks warm further. “I love you. Rafayel.”

He leans down until he’s at your eye level, and you almost have to look away at how beautiful he is.

“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “And I love your painting,” he whispers at the end.

Maybe messy paint fingers aren't all so bad.

「 ✦ Sylus ✦ 」

Digital planners are a fantastic creation that you recently discovered through your booked and busy boyfriend, Sylus. His schedule is often jam-packed, and he’d shared his calendar with you — a new level of trust you’d giggled and kicked your feet over — and showed you how to set up one of your own.

Occasionally, you’ll get a notification that he’s requesting to place something on your calendar, and occasionally, you’ll send one to him. You could just text or call, but this was cuter.

As you check your calendar this evening, there’s a scheduled date night sent by the busy man that stretches into the night. You’d been excited about it all week, talking nonstop at work about what he could have planned. You spent time getting your hair and nails done — even spent precious wanderer-hunting training time picking out the perfect outfit. And it was halfway through trying on dresses that the thought had almost knocked you over.

You love this man. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach at the thought, and you’d needed to sit down. At first, it was fun — this dating thing — and then it had grown more serious, and now… now you felt something so deep it could only mean one thing.

The day of the date, you were fooling around with your calendar at midnight when you created a new entry for yourself. “Tell Sylus I love him.” You titled it. Not that you needed the reminder. But still.

Moments after adding the private event to your calendar, your phone buzzed. Sylus.

You smiled and picked up. “I was just thinking about you,” you say, perhaps a little dreamily.

“Yes, I can see that,” he says, his deep voice tinged with amusement.

You look around, wondering if he could see you somehow. “You can?” you say, confused.

“Tell Sylus, I love him, at midnight.” He repeats, his voice definitely colored with amusement and affection. “You know, sweetie, I’ve got to teach you how to work the privacy settings on your calendar.”

You feel your heart skid to a stop. Oh no. Oh no!

“You— I— oh! Oh my gosh!” you stammer out, and there’s a chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Don’t worry. I’ll accept your invite. I can’t wait to hear it in person,” his voice says smoothly.

There’s a ping on your phone, and you look down at your notifications.

There’s a new calendar invite: “Tell Y/N that I love them back” at midnight.

「 ✦ Caleb ✦ 」

“See, it’s not so scary,” Caleb is saying as you watch a few of the Farspace Fleet team land safely, their parachutes helping them glide down gracefully.

When Caleb had first told you about what the fleet does “for fun,” you had (gently) bonked him on the head for doing something so dangerous for “fun.” And now, as you watched, there was absolutely no way you were letting him continue to do this. An emergency is one thing, but jumping out of planes thousands of miles in the air is another.

“Look, I’m so sure it’s perfectly safe that I think you should do it with me,” he says, that cute Caleb smile on his face. That… was pretty convincing. Your boyfriend is the most protective person you know, and he’d never actively put you in danger. Plus, you reasoned, his evol being gravity would help if he was ever actually in danger.

Somehow he’d gotten you to agree — get on a plane, get strapped to him in a parachute, and stand at the open door of a flying craft. And in the midst of all that, you’d realized you’d had the courage to do this but not the courage to tell him the three simple words you’d felt for him this entire time.

You could tell that he was giving you instructions, but you couldn’t hear what they were. The earpiece in your ear seemed to not be picking up what he was saying — perhaps you were on two different channels. But you got the gist of it from his hand motions. The roar of the air made his voice impossible to hear without the earpiece.

And when it was time, you got an idea. Maybe you could say it now — when he can’t hear you. And maybe it’ll help you be brave enough to say it when you land.

You watched his fingers count down, and as he hit one, you said it — your voice just above a whisper.

“I love you!”

And you were off, diving through the air, strapped to the man you loved most in the world. It was… fantastic. You understood almost immediately why he did this despite how scary it looked.

There are a few moments as he pulls on the parachute and guides you down gently. You can feel the pull of his evol making the landing even softer.

You unhook yourself, your hair wild and free, laughter bubbling up like joy in your throat.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss, your heart beating fast. “Wow!” you say with a smile as you pull back. “That was amazing!”

He smiles, stroking your cheek. “You’re amazing,” he says softly. “And I love you too.”

Your cheeks redden, but you feel… happy. Happier than ever. “You heard that, huh?”

He smooths your hair. “Yeah, but don’t worry. The feeling’s mutual.”

「 ✦ Zayne ✦ 」

You would be in awe of just how perfect it is to be dating a sweet doctor when you’re sick — if you weren’t feeling like actual crap. Moving from bed seems like a gigantic task with how weak and low-energy you are.

Zayne removes the temperature reader from your forehead with a tsk. “You definitely have a fever,” he murmurs softly.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, feeling guilt eat away at your insides. You were on vacation — two weeks' worth of it — and it was starting off with you sick as hell.

He raises an eyebrow at you, faint amusement in his eyes. “What are you sorry for? It’s not like you chose to have food poisoning.”

You can’t argue with that, but you still huff a sigh. “But still… sick in bed is hardly what I wanted for our time off.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, whether we’re in the Bahamas or just in bed at home, any time with you feels like a holiday.”

“You’re sweet.”

He chuckles. “Get some rest. I’m going to find a local store and get you some medicine.”

Sleep overtakes you then, and you feel the true definition of fever dreams as you sweat out whatever had poisoned your system. You dream of Zayne — taking care of you, feeding you gently, and cuddling you. You even giggle at the thought of him using his evol to cool off your body temperature. It’s a sweet dream.

“I love you, Zayne,” you blurt to dream Zayne, whose eyes go all soft around the edges, feeling so real.

“You love me?” he repeats, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. That feels really real too. These fever dreams are really immersive.

“I do,” you confirm, feeling safe and secure in your little dream world.

He chuckles softly. “You’re delirious from your fever.”

“Maybe so,” you say softly, eyes closed. “Doesn’t change the fact that I love you. And when I wake up… maybe… maybe I’ll say it to you then,” you say with a yawn.

Zayne smiles down sweetly at you as you actually doze back to sleep. “Yes, well, maybe I’ll say it back to you when you wake up.”

— Hours later, you wake in Zayne’s arms. The fever and slosh in your head seem to have calmed down quite a bit. As you blink awake, you feel heat creeping up your neck, cheeks, and forehead. Oh. Oh no.

You sit up, stirring a sleeping Zayne awake.

“How are you feeling?” he asks sleepily, putting his hand to your forehead to check your temperature. “Your fever broke. That’s good… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did I… did I, uh, say anything during my fever?” you ask.

He smiles. “No.”

You release a sigh of relief, and he grins wider. “Except this one part where you said that you loved me. And that you’d tell me when you woke up.”

Your blush is legendary. “Oh… so that did happen.”

He nods. “That did happen,” he confirms with a smile.

“Well… I also… remember you saying you’d say it back,” you respond, your voice soft and small and hopeful.

His eyes soften again, a hand coming to your cheek. “I’ll say it first if you like — though, I think that title belongs to you.”

He tilts his head just slightly, his eyes warm and affectionate. “I love you.” His voice is steady, sure.

You feel your heart doing several backflips at once.

…

“I love you too… Zayne.”

‧₊˚✧[end]✧˚₊‧

[eeriepromis]

POV: You're Hugging Your Favorite LI - Here's What He Smells Like

Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to hug your favorite Love Interest from LaDs and catch a hint of their unique scent? (No shame, we've all thought about it.) Well, I couldn't resist imagining exactly how Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, and Caleb might smell in real life. I matched each LI with a perfume that captures their personality, vibe, and overall aura - and let's just say, Caleb’s scent definitely involves apples.

But these are just my takes! I'd love to hear your thoughts too - did I nail their vibes, or do you picture them differently? Drop your own perfume ideas or scent headcanons in the comments! [Original Post on Reddit]

Xavier

Character & Scent Profile:

Gentle, soft-spoken, dreamy, and protective.

Hints of clean, comforting aromas, fresh linen, soft musk, and subtle floral notes that evoke nostalgia.

Light, airy, slightly sweet, and sophisticated.

By Commenters:- Vanilla- Ambroxan based enhancer, you’ll only smell his perfume if you go in and nuzzle him during a nap- Lavender & bergamot

Fitting Perfumes:

Maison Francis Kurkdjian – Aqua Universalis: Clean, subtle, airy; evokes the comforting feeling of freshly washed linens and gentle sunshine.

Byredo – Blanche: Pure, delicate, and soothing, with white rose, sandalwood, and a powdery finish - a perfect reflection of Xavier's softness and chivalry.

By Commenters: - Juliette’s Not - Replica Lazy Sunday Morning - Lake and Skye 11•11 - Clean Reserve Skin - Missing Person by Phlur - since his cards are unexpectedly very sensual, so I would like to highlight this cozy, yet sensual aspect of his personality - Taunt by Dedcool - Kinda musky and very evocative of being cozy in bed

Zayne

Character & Scent Profile:

Professional, composed, yet quietly affectionate. Reserved but with hidden warmth beneath his cold exterior.

Crisp, icy freshness mixed with warm undertones - like fresh snow, juniper berries, cedarwood, and subtle vanilla or amber notes.

By Commenters: - cinnamon- So ideal. So professional. I think he would wear something nondescript.- Subtle scent of soap or clean laundry. The subtlest musk, maybe. An Earl Gray tea scent also sounds appropriate.- Hand sanitizer or antiseptic. Bleach. With maybe a hint of fabric softener. He's a doctor, he's gonna smell like cleanliness.

Fitting Perfumes:

Creed – Silver Mountain Water: Clean, crisp, and icy with notes of bergamot, green tea, and blackcurrant; evokes mountain air and quiet strength.

Dior – Sauvage: Elegant, composed, and masculine, with notes of bergamot, vanilla, and cedar. Matches Zayne’s calm authority with a hint of hidden warmth.

By Commenters: - Diptyque’s Orphéon - It’s a comforting scent but can be most used during autumn or winters, since it’s has that level of spice and gourmand notes to it. It’s musky, sweet and it’s smexy, just like Zayne. - Quasar by Jesus del Pozo - Lait De Chocolat would suit him since it has chocolate notes and jasmine too. - Lush's Sticky Dates is as yummy as Zayne is. - Diptyque Do Son or Eau Minthe or Le Labo Thé Noir - Gentle Fluidity Silver or Gris Dior - Lush’s Flying Fox - honey and jasmine - Not a Perfume by Juliette Has a Gun - since he's a health professional, and that scent is the most subtle, inoffensive fragrance I've smelled. - Penguin by Zoologist - this does not have any of the notes that are deemed canon, but reading some of his lore makes me think this could work - Monday by Arielle Shoshana - Earl Gray tea scent. There is also a milk/caramel note, which his sweet tooth may appreciate.

Canon Scent (thanks to PootyBubTheDestroyer):

MC describes Zayne to smell like jasmine, lavender, and a unique Zayne scent in Everlasting Wish!

Rafayel

Character & Scent Profile:

Playful, mischievous, and artistic, with an underlying seductive, fiery intensity.

Sea salt, ocean air, citrusy brightness combined with exotic spices, smoked woods, and warm amber.

By Commenters:- beautiful, regal/dignified, and playful- sea salt- really in touch with nature and has such a deep respect for it & likes to bathe a lot- like soil after rain

Fitting Perfumes:

Jo Malone – Wood Sage & Sea Salt: Captures the fresh, salty breeze, artistic inspiration, and free spirit of the sea. Playful, invigorating, and effortlessly charming.

Maison Margiela Replica – By the Fireplace: Warm, spicy, smoky, comforting, and slightly sweet. Reflects Rafayel’s fiery passion, artistic nature, and depth beneath his teasing demeanor

By Commenters: - Acqua di Gio - It’s so bright and nautical that it fits his personality so well. The patchouli also harkens to the spice’s use in spiritual traditions, which is w nod towards his Sea God Memories. - CK’s Summer Collection that has that yummy coconut scent just for a fun tropical zing. - TF Soleil Blanc or D&G Light Blue Intense - Dior Bois d’Argent or Replica Sailing Day or Beach Walk - Gentle Fluidity Silver by MFK

Sylus

Character & Scent Profile:

Dark, enigmatic, elegant, charismatic, and slightly dangerous.

Mysterious, smoky oud, dark leather, tobacco, rare spices, deep patchouli, amber, and rich woods.

By Commenters:- I have always imagined Sylus smelling enigmatic and as rich as the night. Maybe some faint burnt petals, too, since his soul smells like flowers.- gunpowder, wine and elegance- mixture of mahogany and sandalwood

Fitting Perfumes:

Tom Ford – Oud Wood: Rich, sophisticated, and deeply charismatic, blending oud, rosewood, sandalwood, and vetiver; a scent perfectly embodying Sylus’s mysterious elegance.

Kilian – Black Phantom: Darkly alluring with rum, coffee, cacao, and dark woods, representing Sylus’s complexity, dark charm, and charismatic dominance.

By Commenters: - Tom Ford, Ombré Leather - it’s a blend of sweet and bitter/masculine. - Memento Mori by Seance or Frustration by Etat libre d'orange, those musky, woody rosey scents - Roja Aoud or MFK Grand Soir or Replica Jazz Club - Dior, Fahrenheit - Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford - something warm/sweet, spicy, and sensual - Bleu Lazuli by Armani Privé - spicy/sweet/warm scent with tobacco/leather notes - Chanel's Egoiste - Hypnotizing Fire by The Harmonist - smells like roses and matches

Canon Scent (thanks to Hidden--_Sanctuary):

In Ordinary Traces MC says Sylus smells like red wine and fireworks.

Caleb

Character & Scent Profile:

Protective yet obsessive, playful yet dominant, deeply layered emotionally, with a hint of forbidden allure.

Warm apples, cinnamon, tonka bean, vanilla, dark honey, leather, and subtle incense.

By Commenters:- Airplane cabin, oil & metal.

Fitting Perfumes:

Parfums de Marly – Layton: Warm, inviting, and sensual with apple, vanilla, cardamom, and woods, perfectly embodying Caleb's warmth, temptation, and dominant presence.

Yves Saint Laurent – La Nuit de l'Homme: Seductive, charismatic, spicy with cardamom, cedar, and tonka bean. Reflects Caleb’s charismatic, teasing, yet obsessive nature beneath his playful surface.

By Commenters: - Creed Aventus - With hints of apples, birch and musk, this fragrance just screams Caleb to me. Like I can totally imagine him spritzing this in before heading for work, and as the day wears on, it gets mellowed down to mix with metallic scent of some blood and smoke. - Diptyque Tam Dao - Not my recommendation but saw another Redditor stating this would be his go-to. Makes sense to me because the scent is so comforting. This is something he’d wear maybe during the evening, when he’s back home. - Noe’s Citrus Poetry or Armaf’s El Cielo could fit him well. Plus they have green apples in it, which reminds me of his cute apple hugging emoji. (Since he’s such a big fan of sour things. Something to balance the sweetness of apples, vanilla and the richness of wood and spices) - D&G Light Blue - YSL Y or Frederick Malle Promise - Axe body spray - Angel's Share by Kilian - The smell of cinnamon rolls is so delicious and comforting and evocative of simple, childhood delights, but you also get the undercurrent of cognac, which is so mature, addicting, and masculine, and also the perfume smells a bit sharp/refreshing. - Apple Brandy on the Rocks by Kilian - would be a more obvious choice, but I think Angel's Share is just a better, more tempting fragrance overall and fitting the apple representing temptation concept more. - PDM Greenley - Green scents suit him very much and it's also got an apple note - how I imagined he smelled like in Endless Summer. - Old Spice - would probably wear something like it because of how much a dork he is.

_________

Small Bonus: Lost Cherry by Tom Ford for MC?

According to Sylus MC smells like cherry wine. (by _RiverSong) According to Xavier MC smells like strawberries/cherries. (by cooliecoolie)

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 26. together

chapter tags/warnings: a very broken marriage. heavy angst. at least i am not gege. mai and maki and megumi as an iconic trio. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. corruption. 

word count: 4.8k

notes: thank you for the overwhelming reception from the last chapter! work has been consuming my life, sadly, which is why this chapter took longer than i anticipated. gr. in this upcoming piece, though, my main focuses are the character development in y/n as well as explanations from toji himself. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

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A large, warm hand massaged the delicate stretch between your thumb and forefinger. 

Gently. Leisurely. Daintily. 

Vanilla and cinnamon notes entered your lungs with every inhale, a velvetiness akin to everything you imagined clouds to be like if brushing against your cheek, the comforting sensations bringing back nostalgic memories from the carefree times your heart longed to return to. 

Was this Heaven? you wondered in this dark and dreamy daze.

You would not mind staying in this state eternally if that meant the promise of peace and quiet forever.

A voice, not from yourself, dispersed your thoughts.

“Suguru, what are the chances she won’t ever wake up?” 

Wake up?

Oh, so you were just asleep.

“Shut up, Sukuna,” another person quipped, this tone more leveled and coarser than the last. “Don’t say shit like that.”

The first person, who must be Sukuna then, chuckled lowly to himself. “Oh, who would’ve thought? Choso is having a soft spot?” he marveled with great interest, “Since when did you care so much about—”

But a third voice interrupted the banter. “She’s awake.”

After a long struggle, your eyes fluttered open to see a crowd gathered around you. Immediately beside you was Suguru Geto. He had been the one nestling your hand, but he practically didn’t look like himself with the concern etched into his brow, replacing the cheerfulness in his typical visage. Behind him stood Sukuna and Choso. The former grinned with fierce satisfaction, while the latter…scowled at you?

To be fair, Choso always scowled at you.

“Good evening, gorgeous.” Geto greeted with a melancholic smile, giving you another squeeze, firm and encouraging. Like a true gentleman, he helped you sit upright, his other hand reaching over your head to brush aside some stray strands by your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Exhaustion, meanwhile, rattled you to the bone.

You were weak, your movements fragile, almost like you were a fawn in her first hours of life. You blinked rapidly while taking in the new environment, only to quickly recognize the gray and cream colors in your surroundings. Back at Toji’s apartment was where you found yourself, with the familiar spiced floral scents from the flickering candle nearby confirming that this was the master bedroom. 

Given the dull throb by your temples, you frowned.

“What—?” your voice came out as a hoarse rasp. “What happened?”

The trio traded looks at each other with communicative eyes.

In the end, Choso tucked his hands into his front pocket and took the initiative to speak. 

“You were in the Zenin residence with Mai and Maki, remember?” No, not really.“Got into an argument with your husband. Started having a panic attack. Collapsed. Puked.”

Oh…

Recollections from your last conscious moments flooded your head like a tsunami: the screaming, the crying, and the fighting. Loud, angry, bitter fighting. 

Fighting for your dignity. Fighting for your heart. Fighting for your life. Goodness gracious. As much as the memories sucked all life from you, you instead felt completely…numb. 

After all, you had already been dead on the inside. You were too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to react. Everything that you had to go through since your wedding had brought you to your wit’s end, and this recent altercation with Naoya Zenin was truly the icing on the cake. 

When you caught sight of yourself in a nearby mirror, you could hardly recognize yourself. Your expression, glum. Your lips, chafed, Your face, pallor. Absent of any other color than an ashen hue. 

“How…did I get here?”

“Mai and Maki got worried and called Toji, who told them to bring you here,” Sukuna answered this time. “You’re lucky the girls reacted fast, else we would have sent you to an emergency room. Suguru even stopped his shift at his clinic to watch over you.”

“I—,” you sighed, lost for words and dropping your tired gaze to the floor. Dealing with inner turmoil to this degree was more than what any sane person could handle. All efforts towards your happiness were in vain anyway, as the cosmos conspired to make your existence one neverending nightmare. Everyone else had their ambitions and shit to deal with, but here you were as an absolute nuisance to the people who should not be otherwise pestered, and you were ashamed for the unnecessary trouble that you had caused. “Gosh, this is embarrassing.”

“We are so sorry!” 

Unexpectedly, the apology came from a girl’s voice, and you had to turn around to see three familiar teenagers by the bedroom door. 

Just last week, you would never have imagined ever seeing Mai, Maki, and Megumi together. Yet, here you were, watching the twins and their—technically speaking—nephew (cute) standing side-by-side, twiddling their thumbs in their nervous corner (also cute). 

Flustered and prepared for admonishment, Mai bowed her head at a slight angle as she hurriedly explained, “We don’t…We don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. We just didn’t know what to do. Maki and I were worried when you fell to the floor and started throwing up. We…We should’ve asked for your permission on who to call for help. But we didn’t know who else to phone, so we ended up dialing Toji. Now, we’ve put you in a weird spot and that is all our fault—”

“Do not apologize. That was the right thing to do.” The comment came from yet another person, and when Sukuna and Choso stepped to the side, who you saw at the room’s furthest end was none other than Toji Fushiguro himself. 

He had taken a seat all the way by the wall, with one leg thrust over the other in a relaxed but kingly sort of manner. With his sleeves rolled up, his forearms bled to his wrists with ink, and the emeralds in his sharp gaze gleamed as he stared pointedly in your direction. 

Of everyone in the room, his countenance appeared the most composed, but you could feelhim reading through the emotions present on your face. He inclined forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm. 

When he noticed the slightest shift in your posture too, the tiny scar by his lips flexed along with a smile.

“So, you’ve figured me out, hm?”

Easily, you could sense all seven pairs of eyes in the room (the four therapists plus the three teens) landing on you. The sudden attention rendered you nervous. Even if you chose silence as your response, the entire room, the entire planet, and perhaps even the entire galaxy could speculate your answer through your expression alone.

After a long while, you breathed out, “You didn’t tell me that you were a Zenin.”

The elephant in the room had to be addressed obviously, and you were not shy to confront the situation head-on.

While you did not intend to sound accusatory, your tone came off as such anyway. How could you not, when you had essentially been misled for weeks? Sure, Toji probably did not want to be badmouthing the Zenins to the very person (you) who had been recently married into the family. But, by withholding the fact that he and your husband were cousins, Toji had created much unnecessary anguish including the current limbo that your marriage was in right now. 

Meanwhile, that same man pressed his nails into his chin in contemplation. 

“I am not a Zenin, though,” he eventually corrected in a domineering voice, all austere in his throne. “At least, not any longer. I took my first wife’s last name years ago. I go by Fushiguro now.” Curt, direct, and pithy. Toji wasted not a syllable. “Everything worked out though, I guess. Naobito cut me off from the Zenin clan earlier this year. Gave me ten billion yen and told me to get lost, so I did.”

Toji always kept his private matters to himself, but with everything that he had gone through, you were struck by his poise, as if being expelled from such an influential household had been a high-school breakup he had gotten over long ago. 

Nonetheless, you wondered if he missed that other life, and you brought your knees toward your chest.

“So,” how should you put this, “you’re not upset?”

Toji scoffed immediately.

“Upset?” A bitter grin spread off his lips. “Why would I be upset? That household is a trash dump. All my life, there were no choices for me to make when my uncles and granduncles decided everything already,” and he began counting with his fingers, “my teachers, my classes, my extracurriculars, my friends. Everything. I was only a puppet to bring honor to the family name, bring in money for the company.”

Listening to his sonorous voice, you rested your cheek onto a knee.

"I see."

His story was depressing, and from conversations with in-laws such as Mai and Maki, you knew that he was not lying, either. Coming from nobility as well, you were also aware of the pressures that came with the people who boasted their 'old-money' statuses, but the Zenin household had always been notorious for being miserable. 

Toji had said so before in a prior discussion, how ‘family isn’t family for something like the Zenins’ because both politics and business took precedence.

Then, he went on.

“Some people would kill to have my problems, but I did not want that life, you know? Around the time I started college, I decided that I wanted to make judgments for myself and be my own distinct entity, but that made people upset. Privileged. Entitled. Ungrateful. Whatever. My family members called me many things as a young adult when they figured I did not want to be their pawn for my whole life, with the only person who understood me for many years being my best friend in university.”

Megumi’s mom.

Toji nearly appeared to be an altogether different person whenever he spoke about his first wife. The chartreuse in his eyes would stir with both sorrow and fond reminiscence as he thought about the Mrs. Fushiguro you would never get to meet, his closest confidant whom he lost to the cruel separation brought by life versus death. She must have been someone whom he valued a lot—a person who completely transformed him—as Toji had discarded his last name (which was Zenin, of all things) for hers.

‘He truly loved my mom,’ Megumi explained before. 'He had given up everything.’

Thus, fate could truly be unfair.

The loss and pain Toji must have endured, a topic Megumi had alluded to in his discussion with you before.

Not to mention, the expectations, frustration, and suffocation that came from the clan's elders, too. Experiencing the intense atmosphere in the Zenin household firsthand allowed you to empathize with him. Given the stark differences between him and your lawful husband, there was no wonder Toji did not wish to deal with his older relatives' high-strung conventions.

But, if he had been suffering so much… 

“Why did you care so much for what your family thought?” you asked, disregarding the look that the three teenagers by the door exchanged with each other. “Toji, you went to university in the United States. You had a wife and son at a young age. You went from a business background to a licensed therapist, so why did you not—”

“Leaving is difficult when you’re the family heir and the corporation’s CEO.” 

The expression that you then returned was blank.

Huh?

His words triggered something in your head, so you repeated after him.

“Leaving is difficult when,” and your voice trailed off, “when…you…are the heir and CEO.”

Heir. CEO.

Zenin.

Toji.

Naoya.

But Toji’s older.

‘Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.’

Sheer realization slapped you hard across your face. No way.

“Toji,” you began after letting the revelation sink into you a while later, but your voice barely eeked above a mumble, “so you were once the successor to the Zenin household and company?"

The man in question did not respond, but the silent affirmation from the six other onlookers was an answer in itself.

Yes.

In hindsight, you wanted to say you had always seen the possibility. Still, you never fully registered this until now: the thoughtfulness in his strategy, the sophistication in his speech, the charisma in his leadership. 

Previously, Toji had impressed you with how much he knew about the Zenin Corporation’s market share in the Asia-Pacific or the firm’s outsized influence on the international stage. Yet, most (including yourself) would not guess that someone like Toji Fushiguro—your tattooed and brawny sex therapist (plus single dad)—had once been heralded as the indisputable inheritor to the proud lineage and conglomerate. 

That had been your mistake. 

Toji was more than what people made him out to be, which reminded you to never assume anything superficially about someone—a remark he had once made. For good reason, because he had been referring to himself all along.

You could almost visualize Toji Fushiguro as the seasoned executive he had once been in light of this new information: his black strands slicked into a side part, his charcoal blazer freshly pressed, his leather oxfords newly polished. 

Maybe because he was more mature or maybe because he was simply older, but Toji appeared more fitting for the important roles in the Zenin household compared to the man presently poised for succession. 

Consequently, you must also ask, “Then, how did Naoya end up in your seat?”

Sukuna and Megumi shared a glance.

Choso grimaced, and Suguru kissed his teeth.

Meanwhile, Toji ran a lone finger down his jaw, following the lines from a tattoo. 

“Let me give you some context, sweetheart,” he offered, now brushing his chin as he spoke. “For the last—let’s say—few hundred years, the oldest male in each generation became the leader in the Zenin clan. Is the rule stupid? Yes. Should there be more criteria in evaluating a potential heir aside from birth order? Also yes. But nothing has stopped this before because the Zenins, as you know by now, are a family built on antiquity and tradition. So, when I was born as the oldest male in my generation and Naoya had come in second place...” 

Toji did not have to finish his sentence for you to figure out the rest.

Despite the demands that came along with being the next family head, Toji must have been esteemed as nothing short of a crown price among the Japanese elite, with seniors in the Zenin household utilizing all their resources to prepare the once young and starry-eyed boy for taking over such an influential role. Naturally, his enviable position would spark jealousy, even from those whom Toji deemed related to by birth.

Including his very own younger first cousin.

Toji frowned in exasperation.

“Your husband is one childish and jealous brat, but Naoya Zenin has been like that for as long as I have known him. To claim the heir and CEO titles, he acquired the trust from myself and my colleagues by working with us in sex therapy, only to stab us all in the back. He’s a liar. A total manipulator.” 

And, from personal experiences, you knew that those words could not be more true.

At this point, Toji sank his handsome face into his immense palm. 

“Well, now Naoya Zenin has everything he wants but is still an incompetent asshole. The whole enterprise is hanging by a thread. The entire clan cannot fucking stand him. What’s crazy is that his father Naobito is not doing anything about this, and I cannot tell if that is because the old man is giving his son free passes or because he has finally gotten senile. With Naoya's pettiness, though, the father-son duo have done everything to erase my name from the family, even going as far as to dismiss the executives that I brought onto the management team to undo my legacy.” 

When Toji glanced up to cast his gaze forward, you then suddenly understood that the three other men in the room were more than just his fellow board-licensed colleagues.

You recalled Toji’s words in the Teyvat meeting room.

‘I recruited these guys right when they completed their undergraduate degrees, around the time I just opened my therapy office,’ and the puzzle pieces clicked into place from the realization that sex therapy had not been the only thing that Toji had worked with them on—Sukuna, Choso, and Suguru had been executives at the Zenin Corporation reporting to Toji, too. ‘We’ve been working together since, for the past four years.’

Discerning these revelations from your expressions, Toji added in confirmation.

“I had selected these three to oversee the Zenin Corporation’s operations with me,” he said, and you remembered the same conversation in which the men discussed their University of Tokyo studies while Toji listed their previous roles. Sukuna, Economics. “Sukuna, Director of Investments and Real Estate.” Choso, Mechanical Engineering. “Choso, Chief Engineer and Supply Chain Manager.” Suguru, Biology. “Suguru, Healthcare and Innovation Administrator.”

Arguably the most consequential divisions in a conglomerate that spanned numerous sectors, with each department bringing in yen by the billions every year.

‘These guys have treated me like family more than my blood-related kin have.’

Learning this about the four therapists added to your fascination. 

For you, the discovery was like uncovering a hidden treasure trove. To imagine everything that the four—as one cohesive unit—had gone through together at the top of the corporate ladder: scrutiny from the media and stakeholders, impromptu meetings that demanded make-or-break decisions, and immediate responses to industry trends and regulations. 

Only for them to be cast aside by no one other than your husband.

In the end, this all made sense.

Now, you understood why the therapists were once incredibly demeaning and belligerent toward you. How could they possibly sympathize with the woman married to the man who had taken virtually everything from them? 

Heck, if you were in their shoes and had no further context, you would hate yourself, too.

Only now were you hearing their perspectives, and you were grateful that—compared to several weeks before—they trusted you enough to open up. 

At last, all you could do was sigh and mutter, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Sukuna shot back without hesitation, which stunned you given how he had been the one who mocked you the most. Yet, a scintilla of kindness flared in his fiery eyes, so you continued with your tone softer and quieter.

“I feel terrible.” Such vulnerability in front of so many people at once went beyond your comfort zone. “For the unfairness Naoya had brought upon you all, and how I…I can’t change anything. I can’t do anything. All I am is…useless.”

“No, you are powerful,” Suguru interjected this time. “Your husband relies on your public image to keep scrutiny off him. He needs you. He’s been demoralizing you for months because he knows the ball will always be in your court, and never his.”

His words made you stop.

“You truly think so?” you asked.

“Yes.” 

Choso, who replied, seemed honest. 

He was honest. 

He might throw you off from how aloof and stoic his attractive face would appear, but Choso was not a liar.

Bringing your feet off the bed, you slowly swung your feet. 

“I…am surprised you all even want to talk to me.” 

Toji tugged at his dress shirt’s collar and flashed his ink-covered muscles underneath. “What makes you think that?” 

His pointed question made you realize how much Naoya had been fucking with your mind, blaming and villainizing you at every chance, thus devolving you into a spineless worm feeling remorse for every little thing.

Shrugging, you tossed your gaze to the side. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “You could have avenged yourself by now. I am Naoya’s wife and Naobito’s daughter-in-law. There had been a thousand chances for you to do something horrible to me: to hurt me, blackmail me, spread dirty rumors about me, but…you haven’t.”  

“Why would I do that?” Toji replied instantly and candidly. Rather than appearing offended by your judgments, he started giving you that look again whenever he had his therapist hat on—the one where he would tilt his head at a slight angle to gauge the sentiments painted across your face. “I could have chosen to be bitter and vengeful for the rest of my life, but I am grateful for what I have. Why let a toxic bunch impact my life? I already told you how that household is an absolute fucking hell. I'm glad I have found an out. At the very least, my son would not have to deal with the crap from my young adult years because you know who is the oldest male in the generation after mine?”

Megumi. 

All gazes now fell upon the younger Fushiguro, who tried to casually shrug the attention off. 

Who cares if I was second-in-line to leading perhaps the most prestigious family in Japan? his nonchalance wanted to convey, but his ears turned pink anyway.  

Toji continued, “Then, of course, there are some people whom I care about a lot.” Using his head, he gestured to the twins. “These girls are the best aunts to my son that I, as a father, could ever ask for. They’re only one year older than Megumi, but Mai and Maki used to go on playdates with him on the weekends, walk him to school every morning, and cook him breakfasts over the holidays. The twins even helped my son take his first steps. There is this one photo we have in the library—I don’t know if you have gotten a chance before to see it. But there’s Mai and Maki, each holding one of Megumi’s little hands back in his chubby toddler days and—” 

“Dad!” a very flustered and irritated teenage boy finally had to say. “This is not the time to talk about that picture!” 

Next to him, a proud Mai and Maki coo and tease their grouchy nephew, poking at his puffed-up cheeks and ruffling his uncombed hair. 

“Aw, is someone a little embarrassed?”

Smiling at the little banter from the trio, Toji did not let them distract him from his conversation with you. “What I’m trying to get at is…life’s too short not to enjoy the happy sides of it,” but his eyes glazed with rue nevertheless, “Now is the perfect time to focus on your well-being. Take a look around this room. A lot of people want to see you leading a fulfilling life, Y/N. A fulfilling life for yourself, not for anyone else. Not for me, not for anyone in this room, and certainly not for your husband. Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—should hold you back from pursuing your health and happiness.” 

While you assumed that your best times were over, Toji reminded you those good days can be brought back with the right attitude. He had a point. Why should you allow your marriage to hinder you from connecting with people whom you care about, working towards the passions that brought you purpose, and feeling the love that you deserve? 

Instead, you should seek every sunrise and sunset as an opportunity to live better and without regrets.

As you ruminated on this different mindset, a sudden knock from the door cut your thoughts short.

Who…

Like you, most others looked around blankly, but Toji ordered from his seat, “Let him in.”

Mai, who stood closest to the entryway, obeyed. 

Once she unlocked the door, the room fell silent save for the footsteps of the man walking in, his soles creating soft echoes on the linoleum floor. Overhead, pale lights revealed the lines etched on his exhausted face, the worry that sat heavily on his chest. 

“Mister Daisuke,” someone eventually acknowledged out of respect.

Your father did not hear the greeting as he searched the room, his sullen gaze darting from face to face until he found you. His shoulders fell from his overwhelming relief. Still in a suit after a long workday, he stumbled forward feebly. 

“You’re alright,” he whispered between steps, scarcely audible. 

He crouched toward the floor once he approached you, and when Suguru transferred your hands into your father’s, you noticed the unstoppable quiver from the latter even as you gripped him tightly in an attempt to stop the tremor. 

His skin was tough, weathered by his additional decades in life. But, in his palms, you found the familiar tenderness that had comforted you since you were a little girl and, in his gaze, you noticed the sadness only found in the despair of a heartbroken parent.

“Thank goodness, you are okay,” and before everyone, tears slipped past his eyes, “I was terrified. I was so scared. When Toji called to tell me you had thrown up and collapsed, do you know how afraid I was?” 

You glanced over at the said therapist, reminding yourself that—if Toji had been the CEO before Naoya—he must have worked very closely with your COO father up until recently. For your father to know exactly where you were and walk in with this expression suggested that the former colleagues had had a lengthy conversation about your circumstances. A part of you wanted to be angry. Why drag your father into this worry? But a larger part of you had always wanted to reveal to him the wretched months that had gone by and longed for his support. 

And now, he was here.

The older man took a shuddering breath and brought his fingers to your cheek, holding and cradling you like he would never get to do this again. 

“I can’t lose you,” he lamented. “I have lost enough in my life already. I cannot lose you, too. I just can’t. Why have you not told me the truth? If you were not happy with Naoya, why have you not told me sooner? Did you think I would place my loyalty to the company over my own child? I feel so guilty and broken to hear about what you have been going through.”

Frankly, you felt just as broken, too. 

In fact, seeing and hearing your father weep like this shattered you. As devoted as your father was, his front never failed to be unwavering and strong. Even when your mother’s death left a significant hole in his heart, he bit back his grief. Scars from your mother’s untimely death scarred his heart, wounds that never healed and would stay with him until his last breath, but he rarely expressed his suppressed sorrow. 

All for your sake. Because you were his one and only daughter, his one and only child. 

So now, for him to see you in such a sorry state was crushing his whole world that had become you.

“Dad.” You helped him wipe his tears away, just like how he had always done for you. “I didn’t want to make you disappointed. I didn’t want to make you sad. I…I just wanted to protect you.”

“No,” he responded firmly. How could a loving father accept the possibility that his daughter would even think about placing him before herself? “Protect yourself first.”

You looked up when you sensed two more approaching individuals and found Mai and Maki with doleful smiles.

“We still have something to return to you, Y/N.”

In your left palm, each girl pressed one ring—the first which promised a future forever and the second which symbolized an infinite unity. 

You stared at the jewelry as your chest remembered the waves of happiness, excitement, hope, confusion, betrayal, and pain. 

So, so much pain.

Your father, who would not miss the solemn undertones in your gaze, squeezed your hands in his. 

“My dear daughter,” he started, and you could tell he could no longer bear to see you suffer any longer, “what are you planning to do?”

Your throat turned dry.

Any possibility seemed like a viable solution, a means for a desperate escape. 

For months, you should have prepared yourself for this very question, but now that you were confronted with this reality for the first time, you did not know what to say. 

You had clutched onto the false hope for your troubled marriage to be sorted out. Escaping your dreary matrimony had once been too far-fetched of an option given an impending cold war between your families, which you would never wish upon the stars to happen. Therefore, even as you found yourself stuck on a stifling dead end, you did not exactly prepare for the next steps for the occasion you found Naoya Zenin’s mistreatment too much to bear.

However, times have changed.

Your allies and enemies have changed.

Most of all, you have changed.

Therefore, with all the universe’s possibilities at your fingertips, one particular option stuck out. 

“I’m going to file for a divorce.”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: So many things. To see us freak out at the idea of a divorce during the beginning of the fic, up to now, where we suggested the option out of our volution. Also, the much-needed heart-to-heart conversation between Toji and us, and how that really shows a slow maturation in our relationship with him (and everyone else)! Let me know what you think, and see you next chapter!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[ghostlyshellofapuppet]

Jason Todd and Dick Grayson dealing with period cramps

I haven't written anything in a long time and I was never too good to begin with so may be not entirely on character so please bare with me please. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Jason Todd

° He always tries to help but at first he may be a bit clueless for your needs. Sure he knows what typically people want when they have their periods but what others want and what you may want may not be exact so he has to ask a lot of questions.

°Do you want a heating pad or something? Would a bath be better? How hot? Do you want chocolate? Can you eat chocolate? What type? Hot chocolate maybe? Pain pills? Massage? It can be a bit annoying to some but he honestly just wants to help since he cares about you.

°You want him to lay on you with his full 200-220 pound weight to crush you with his squishy muscle and warmth because you say it will apparently "fix you"?....how about a light crushing and a massage instead. He's hesitant to because he doesn't hurt you more but he does want you to feel better.

°Will try to keep what you need and want stocked in the house but will also go to the store for something if you really want/need it. He's more than likely already out and about as Red Hood, what's one little stop when he's trying to make you feel better.

° Doesn't mind the blood. He sees it every night and while he doesn't like blood coming from you he knows it's not from a activity bleeding wound so it better. Doesn't care about cleaning blood from clothes or sheets or anything, maybe a little grumpy from being woken up but not mad at you.

Dick Grayson

• He's had more experience with longer and more personal relationships with women so he has a better idea most times. He knows standard something warm, pain killers, he'll also bring you take out on his way home from work or patrol just to see you smile.

•Ordering whatever you want, delivery so he can stay with you to make you feel better. Also tries to make you drink more water and tea because it's "good for you" and "helps with cramps on a interior body level" or whatever he says when he's trying to coax you to drink some tea with honey, cinnamon and whatever spicy spice he used because he's done research for this and he did this for Barbara and it helped her so maybe it'll help you.

•will lay on you with only slightly supporting himself so he doesn't suffocate you fully. He doesn't get the urge to be crushed by someone like that but he'll indulge only because you asked so convincing(pitiful) laying there curled up from cramps. A heating pad squished between your bodies for the cramps and his arms keeping your head against his chest where you asked to be buried.

•also doesn't mind blood. Both these men see blood every night and it never fazes them. Won't be mad either if you bleed on the sheets, it happens and he's done it himself when he's sleeping and some stitches pop open. Cuddles you just as close when everything is cleaned up.

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

Hi, sorry if these weren't good or not descriptive enough or too descriptive or off character. If you have any notes on my writing I'd love to hear and if you did thanks for reading. Bye

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

There was something about today. Whether it was the traded looks you had exchanged all morning with Steve Harrington, or one of his trademark, side quirked smirks that accompanied his Ray Bans resting on the defined bridge of his perfect nose. Or maybe it was how the soil was damp with a light, faded rain, left over from sunrise, people now flocking outside to get started on mowing their lawns as temperatures brimmed the air with an enriching, yet delicate scent of light florals and winter’s last particles. But then, maybe it was that ice cold Coca Cola with two straws and those double cheeseburgers Steve treated you to on your favorite overlook spot in your neighborhood — quiet, rarely driven on street of middle class homes and your apartment building. He’d laid his coat out for you to sit on, watching cars go by on streets down the small embankment, a simple tree rooted into the hill to give shade, but still enough for you to watch the sun highlight how his biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt when his arms propped behind his head, ankles crossing over the other, jeans tightening (if that’s even possible) against his toned thighs, his silver chain tucked into his collar, shades still resting comfortably on his eyes.

Your breath had hitched, his beautiful skin already starting to tan. He knew it too, raising, pushing those signature glasses back through vastly overgrown tresses, his nose’s crook finding your cheekbone as he rested. You both inhaled at the same time, Steve smelling of burger grease, sweat, and apple cedarwood, your orbs also privy to observing how his pupils dilated to the sunlight, which gave you the perfect spotlight to the glittering beads of sweat littering the freckles and moles on his jaw. A beautiful amber, layered with the deepest, most intense green you’d ever seen - stare back at you.

~*~

He’d taken you home not long after your lips had met. Your apartment on the same street, one story up and stolen kisses on the stairwell. You immediately went to open your bedroom window and light that candle Steve had purchased for you recently. Spiced Pumpkin Patchouli; rich pumpkin, warm, crisp layers of that patchouli, and touches of cinnamon sugar. The very same one Steve kept in his own place. God were you two pathetic, always smelling like one another or each other’s humble abodes.

No one could tell the difference anymore.

Through thick lashes, his gaze didn’t waver, not even after you offered him a drink and he downed it slowly, your eyes roaming over his throat bobbing with every swallow. It took a few minutes and you were coming apart, scattering to the breeze that flooded your apartment.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Though it sounded muffled as he nursed his beer from your holographic wine glass, condensation-soaked fingertips tapping against the crystal, and oh how it looks as if it’s going to shatter in his massive palm, given a stark comparison.

“Don’t look at me that way…”

“Oh? I’m lookin’ at you, honey. What on earth are you gonna do to me now?” He was cocky, that small pudge of his stomach pressed slightly a top his belt buckle, his shirt rucked up.

You had unknowingly gravitated closer towards him, his new curls tickling your forehead, draped through your fingers as they found purchase in his locks, tugging.

“Yeah, s’ what I need. Good girl, honey. You want me, right?”

You’d whimpered into his mouth, practically pleading, eagerly confirming. He’d left his command clear, lips grazing yours as he panted the words across your mouth, “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

~*~

Your clothing came off quickly, rushed to get in the bed beneath your open window, but slow once Steve got you laid down beneath him. Chain tickling your chest, breasts smashed into the tufts of curls scattered to the winds across his sternum. You clung tightly, one hand leveling his backside into pushing him impossibly deeper, the other trading blows between grabbing at his back, his hand, or cradling his face and neck. The fresh Spring air, apple cedarwood, your candle, the coolness of your open window causing goosebumps to erupt over your sex-slick, bare flesh, combined with a panting Steve Harrington and your mattress squeaking as he works to get you both there, it tangles in with Steve as he finds your gaze once more, one tiny pearl of sweat between pinched brows, his focus, tongue licking at the roof of his mouth, his thumb pad caressing your jaw, to giving backhanded knuckle drags across the bone, his tone damp, hooked on rasp with his praises for you, and the way he’s looking at you as if you’re some priceless, explicit art exhibit. And then he’s saying these things;

“You know how wet you are? You know how hard it is to stay inside without slipping out again?”

“Could do this all day until it hurts you to walk.”

“Just let me refer to the list of things I wanna do to you.”

“Tell me it’s alright if I cum. I need you to say I can do it inside of you.”

“The way I always have to feed it to you slowly, so you don’t tap out on me. Fuck.”

“This is home to me, honey.”

~*~

Yeah, that’s probably when. There was definitely something about today.

[lou-struck]

A Filthy Pumpkin Drink

Izuku Midoriya x reader

Flufftober Day 1- Seasonal Drinks

WC: 1.3k

~Izuku has an awkward little slip of the tongue when he is ordering you a refill of your seasonal beverage.

~ BOO! Happy First Day of Flufftober (or whenever you choose to read this) you guys!!!

There aren't many things cozier than spending a rainy fall afternoon under the warm string lights of a. The heavenly smells of cinnamon and nutmeg dance through the air, helping numb the minds of those who object to the summer's end. 

Although the leaves of the cutie's well-maintained oak trees have long since changed to brilliant shades of carmine and amber, Izuku's brilliant green eyes still shine like springtime as he sits across from you with a tired smile. Having just gotten off of patrol, your pro-hero boyfriend's usually fluffy hair sits damp against his forehead, darkened from the rainfall as he warms himself in your presence.

As much as you adore him, it's a rarity for you to spend your lunches together. So today is a wonderful surprise. Since he managed to apprehend the villain he was tailing earlier, and got to slip away for an early lunch and meet you at your favorite café so you can try yet another one of the drinks from their locally famous seasonal drink menu. 

Today's drink of choice is a Dirty Pumpkin Pie chai. The sweet, pumpkin pie cold foam goes so well with the spiced chai that you find yourself considering getting another one. The added caffeine may give you enough sparkle to make it through the rest of your beige-colored workday.

"How is your drink, y/n?" your ever-curious boyfriend asks, eyeing your caramel-drizzled cup with interest.

You wipe a bit of cold foam from your lip with a little paper napkin and hold it out to him. "See for yourself, Zuku; it may be the best one yet."

He takes a sip carefully tasting each component of a drink. Can tell from the way his eyes light up that he's a fan. "Oh wow, it's not what I thought it would taste like at all. The tea itself isn't sweet, but when it layers with the foamy stuff, it's really good." 

"I know, right? I would definitely order it again once I try the other drinks on the menu," you smile, taking your cup back from him and enjoying another sip, only to realize that you accidentally brushed your hand against some caramel residue that dripped down the side of your cup.

"I'd like it too," he says, taking a gulp from his own drink, a blended protein shake that doesn't do much for his energy levels but will help his muscles recover from his grueling early morning patrol while he works through a mountain of paperwork. But when he spots another patron walk by your little table with a fresh, toasted sandwich from the display case, his eyes follow them out the door, filled with hungry longing.

"That looks really good," he mumbles quietly. His analytical gaze already dissecting the sandwich's components. You can tell he wants it, but he has always needed a little push to treat himself.

That's where you come in…

"You know, I think I'm going to get a refill to go." You say to the freckled man across from you; you rattle your nearly empty cup for effect. "Sit tight; I'll just head to the bathroom and order you a sandwich before you have to go back to work." 

Izuku, the king of acts of service, simply cannot stand by as you, the love of his life, go and buy himself another coffee when he hasn't gotten the chance to spoil you today. "Uhh, no worries, I'll take care of it." he pouts, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his Uravity sweatshirt so quickly, you swear he just activated his quirk.

"Are you sure?" you ask, sensing that Izuku isn't going to back down from this. But as you look down at the sticky patch on your hands, you realize that you are far more interested in washing them than fighting a losing battle.

"Of course," he nods determinedly, "What was the name of the drink that you ordered again?"

You shoot him a grin, knowing just how to fluster the man. "I got a dirty Pumpkin Pie Chai."

His eyes widen and he shyly shifts in his seat. "D-do I really have to order it like that?"

You coyly cock your head to the side. "Like what?"

"Say that it's, you know..." he looks around nervously and lowers his voice so only you can hear it. "dirty."

"I mean, that's what it is," you say gently; of course, there are other ways to order a shot of espresso in your drink, but it is so much more fun to lovingly tease him. "But if you are uncomfortable asking for a dirty little drink, I can just order it myself." you tease, watching as his features go from nervous to determined.

"No, I got it," he says, standing abruptly. Without another word, you watch as your sweet boyfriend marches over to the line, ready to order you your drink at the small cost of his dignity.

~

It only took you a minute or so to wash your hands, but you got distracted by the cafe's interesting bathroom wall decor. But when you come back, you see Izuku stepping up to the cash register to order your drink. Sneakily, you creep over to him, just in case he needs help remembering your order. 

"Hey there, what can I get for you?"  the barista with lemon-slice eyes and vine-like hair asks, greeting him with a practiced customer service smile.

"Hi there, may I please get that sandwich?" he asks, extending his scarred hand and pointing to the expertly wrapped katsu sandwich in the display case. 

"Is there anything else you would like?"

"Actually, yes." He says softly. His brows furrow as he glances up at the menu as if he is trying to remember what drink you want. He may not be able to see you from where he is standing, but he can certainly see the ever-growing line behind him. 

You can tell he is feeling the pressure; just as you are about to step in and help him out, he opens his mouth once again. "May I please get one of those… uhh, filthy pumpkin drinks, please?"

"I'm sorry?" the barista's eyes widen in shock and they look at your boyfriend like he has three heads. "Could you repeat that?"

"Oh, that wasn't quite right was it?"  he mumbles, his freckled face turning beet red as he tries to remember what the name of your drink was. 

You hold in your laughter and decide to come to his rescue. You come behind him and grab his arm with a soft smile. "That was a good try, Zuku, but I think I'll take it from here." He visibly relaxes as you give your order to the bewildered barista, who definitely does not get paid enough to have grown men asking for filthy pumpkin drinks.

"Ohh, so that's what you meant," she laughs as your boyfriend swipes his card." I really had no idea what you were talking about."

You put another bill in the tip jar and walk back over to your little table to wait for your order to be brought to you. Izuku sits embarrassedly in his seat and pulls his hood up a bit more to hide himself from the world. 

"I can't believe I did that," he sighs, toying with his empty smoothie cup. "I wanna curl up in a ball and die."

You look at the literal superhero across from you and comfortingly pat his arm. "Oh, don't be like that, Izuku; it really wasn't that bad. I'm sure it happens all the time to other people."

"R-really?" he asks. "Well, if you don't mind, could you not tell anyone? I'd hate to think of how Kacchan and the others would react if they found out about my slip-up today." 

"I promise," you say, leaning in to whisper into the shell of his ear. "Consider it our filthy little secret."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

hi, can you write a fluff about the Smiths' Christmas family tradition? like, do they watch 11th doctor's special for Christmas? or it is just one Christmas when Y/N is seized by a whim and wants to review one of Matt's film with kids on the Christmas eve and Matt's reaction to that... (hope that i fully deliver my message, my English isn't very good :)

Christmas Chaos

Matt Smith x reader

Fluff

————

The soft glow of Christmas lights painted the living room in a gentle warmth, flickering off tinsel and ornaments as the fire crackled low in the hearth. Snow drifted lazily outside the windows, blanketing the garden in white and muffling the world into quiet. The Doctor Who Christmas special played faintly on the TV, its familiar theme music weaving into the calm. Jack and Lily were curled up on the couch in matching reindeer pajamas, their small bodies tucked under a red throw blanket, eyes wide with concentration. Little Max, still too young to follow the plot, sat cross-legged on the rug, clutching an action figure that vaguely resembled the Doctor. His brow furrowed with deep, toddler-level focus as he occasionally looked between the screen and the toy in his hands.

In the kitchen, you rolled out cookie dough on the floured counter, sleeves pushed up, a streak of flour dusting your cheek. The warm scent of roast turkey drifted through the air, mixing with the sweet spice of cinnamon and nutmeg from the mulled wine simmering on the stove. It felt like every scent of the season was wrapped up in this one moment, the kitchen alive with the feeling of family. Matt stood nearby, trying to look helpful but making questionable progress. His apron hung almost comically long on his frame, emblazoned with the words Kiss the Cook in red. He was supposed to be tending to the cranberry sauce, but judging by the confused look on his face and the sugar container in his hand, you had your doubts.

“Matt, I need the butter,” you said, brushing your flour-covered fingers across your nose, leaving another white smudge behind.

He held up the box of herb condiment like it had personally offended him. “This isn’t butter?”

You gave him a look, trying not to laugh. “Middle shelf. Fridge.”

He opened the fridge and immediately began rooting through like it was some sort of treasure hunt. “You’ve hidden it, haven’t you?” he said, his voice filled with mock suspicion. “Trying to sabotage my cranberry masterpiece?”

“Yes, love,” you replied dryly, “because you’re such a culinary icon.”

He grinned and tossed the butter to you. You caught it with practiced ease, giving him a warning look. “Careful. If you knock me out with a stick of butter, you’re finishing the cookies solo.”

Matt leaned against the counter with exaggerated swagger, resting his chin on his hand like he was hosting a cooking show. “Living life on the edge is my specialty,” he said with a smirk.

You shook your head, though a smile curved on your lips. “Check on the kids before you burn down the kitchen with that so-called ‘masterpiece.’”

“I’ll have you know,” he called over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room, “this cranberry sauce is the stuff of legends!”

In the living room, Jack had taken over the commentary duties, bouncing slightly on the couch as he narrated the episode.

“And then the Doctor’s gonna swoop in and save everyone,” he declared with confidence.

Lily rolled her eyes, clearly unamused. “He always does, Jack. That’s what the show is.”

Max looked up at Matt as he entered, pointing at the screen with wide eyes. “Daddy, that you?”

Matt crouched down beside him, smiling. “That’s me, little man. Well, sort of. It’s just pretend.”

Max tilted his head thoughtfully before pointing again. “Why you have much hair there?”

Matt recoiled, hand to chest like he’d just been mortally wounded. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I don’t have muchhair now?”

Jack giggled from the couch, always ready to stir the pot. “You have less! You’re getting old, Daddy!”

“I am not old!” Matt cried dramatically, fluffing his still-unruly hair with both hands. “This is premium, luxurious hair! Iconic, even!”

Lily let out a laugh, and Max reached up to pat Matt’s head. “Yes. Fluffy Daddy.”

“Thank you, Max,” Matt sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear. “At least someone here respects the mane.”

You could hear the commotion from the kitchen and couldn’t help the amused smirk tugging at your mouth. “Matt, stop being so dramatic and bring the kids in here to help with the cookies!”

A few minutes later, the kitchen transformed from festive and tidy into what could only be described as controlled chaos. Jack grabbed tree-shaped cookie cutters, Lily demanded the star ones, and Max climbed onto a chair and declared he was making a snowman. The counter became a battlefield of flour, dough, and a growing mountain of cookie shapes.

“Mine looks perfect!” Lily beamed, holding up her star-shaped creation proudly.

“It’s a blob,” Jack muttered, poking it with a toothpick. “Look at it.”

“Yours looks like a sad mushroom,” Lily shot back, hands on her hips.

Meanwhile, Max had somehow gotten more frosting on himself than on the cookie. It smeared across his cheeks and the tip of his nose as he giggled, absolutely delighted with himself.

Matt bent down to gently wipe Max’s face. “Buddy, the frosting goes on the cookie. Not on your face.”

“But it tasty!” Max giggled, licking his finger with joy.

You turned just in time to see Jack try to sprinkle sugar on a tray—only for the entire container to spill sideways. Sparkling sugar blanketed the counter and several cookies like a snowstorm had erupted indoors.

“Oops,” Jack said, blinking innocently.

“Jack!” Lily gasped, torn between horror and laughter.

You and Matt locked eyes across the kitchen, barely able to hold back your laughter. There was flour in your hair, frosting on Max’s nose, and sugar on every surface—but it was perfect in its own messy, joyful way.

“Well,” you said, brushing sugar off your forearm, “these cookies are going to be… unique.”

“Artisanal,” Matt added, holding up what was supposed to be a tree but looked more like a lump. “Festive and abstract. Very cutting edge.”

Despite the disaster zone that had become your kitchen, the kids were glowing with pride as they placed their lopsided creations onto baking trays. While the cookies baked, the energy didn’t fade. Max tried to eat a ball of raw dough. Jack started a sprinkle war. Lily crowned herself the Frosting Queen and demanded that Matt kneel before her. It was loud, chaotic, and sticky—but it was Christmas. And more than that, it was your family. A little wild, a little sweet, and completely yours.

You wouldn’t have traded the moment for anything.

[moonjellyyyy]

CHAI!READER wears gingersnap lip balm

The studio smelled like warm vinyl and something faintly sweet—maybe the remnants of her coffee, or the faint idea of lemony chewing gum from an hour ago. The old speakers hummed low in the dim light, and the air was thick with quiet concentration, the only sounds the soft click of a keyboard and the faint crackle of an unfinished beat looping through the monitors.

Yoongi sat across from her, one hand propped against his jaw, the other scrolling lazily through their project file. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins peeking through the pale skin of his forearms. He was the picture of ease, as always—mellow, unshakable, perfectly composed.

She, on the other hand, was not.

She pressed her lips together, barely aware of the small, round tin in her hands. She unscrewed the lid, and the pad of her finger met the smooth, waxy balm inside. When she rubbed a light layer over her lips, more out of nervous habit than necessity, the scent of gingersnap curled warm in the air—cinnamon-sweet with the faintest bite of spice.

A shift. A glance. Then—

“What flavor?”

Yoongi's voice was quiet, easy, cutting through the hush like the low pull of a bassline. She startled slightly, looking up too fast to see that he was watching her—actually watching her, eyes flicking from her mouth to the small tin between her fingers.

She swallowed. “Gingersnap.”

Yoongi hummed, nodding a little. “Mm. I like gingersnap.”

Her brain short-circuited. The words were so simple, so casual, but the way he said them—soft, matter-of-fact, completely unbothered—sent something electric sparking down her spine. She blinked at him, gripping the tin a little too tightly between her fingers, suddenly unable to stop herself from thinking about—

No. She was reading too much into it. She had to be reading too much into it. He didn’t mean anything by it. She had a big fat crush and an overactive imagination, which made situations like this just... torturous.

Though she watched his face with wide eyes, Yoongi's expression didn’t shift, still loose and neutral, gaze flickering back to the screen as if he hadn’t just ruined her entire composure in under five seconds. His fingers tapped absently against the desk, nonchalant, detached.

Like he hadn’t just made her imagine the taste of gingersnap on his lips. What it would be like to lean in and taste the spiced ginger sweetness on his mouth or, better yet, what it would feel like to have him lean in softly to taste it on hers.

God. No matter how badly she wanted to shake her head like a dog—she exhaled, slow and controlled, fixing her eyes on the monitor with a level of forced determination that was probably laughable.

“Cool,” she said, voice only slightly strained.

Yoongi smirked. Just barely. Almost imperceptible.

But not quite.

[reyaint]

veylhera academy | special meals

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

date: july 28-29 2025. started: 11:44pm ended: 12:26am

i think i forgot to tag @lalalian in my last post WAAAAAA

@reverieshifts @aprilshiftz @starry-com

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✧˖*°࿐Veylhera Feast Days

held during leyline surges, lunar events, exams' end, or major cultural holidays. these meals blend tradition, flair, and aura-charged elements.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ main courses (students choose 1–2)

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › moonfire glazed roast (meat or tofu) infused with low-level lunar energy. subtly boosts aura clarity. smoky-sweet with hints of plum and star anise.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › silverroot stew a hearty, creamy stew with shimmering root vegetables (silverturnip, cloudcarrot), spiced with soulpepper. served in a bread bowl.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › spiced skygrain pilaf light but complex. fluffy grain with skyfruit (a sweet-tart aura-reactive berry), mint, and roasted nuts. aura-calming properties.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › tempest-fried lotusfish lightly battered, crackling with hints of static. aura-enhancing properties for air and water attuned students.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › glowing ember ramen broth is simmered with fire-leaves and dusk-garlic. noodles are made from aura-infused rice flour. comes with pickled eggs that shimmer faintly.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › leyline tarts (savory) flaky, golden tarts filled with eggs, mushrooms, and aura-reactive vegetables. often paired with protective spells baked into the crust.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ side dishes

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › lunaria greens lightly wilted luminous greens that enhance focus. served with lemon-mist vinaigrette.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › echo-crystal potatoes diced and roasted with crackling salt, bits of charged crystal giving them a mild zing. said to help with memory retention.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › aetherfronds crunchy, thin seaweed-like leaves seasoned with storm salt and thunder oil. used to calm pre-battle jitters.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › dreamgrain wafers puffed, spiced crisps that dissolve on the tongue with a delayed sweetness. often eaten during divination festivals.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ drinks

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › moonmilk a soft, glowing beverage made with enchanted nut milk, lavender, and a tiny dose of dreamleaf extract. helps soothe anxiety.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › solar cider sweet and tart with notes of cinnamon, blood apple, and sunfruit. Warm when served; energizes aura pathways.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › spiritbloom elixir lightly carbonated. made with spectral blossoms and mint. only available during certain lunar alignments. shifts color depending on the drinker's mood.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › runestone chai dense, spiced tea with a mineral undertone, rumored to help during runic exams. comes in charcoal-black or soft silver.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › frost nectar a chilled beverage that numbs the mouth and sharpens magical focus. used mostly by upper-years.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ desserts

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › adularescence crème conjure delicate custard shimmering with the moonstone sheen. creamy with undertones of rose and lychee. melts like stardust.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › echo-honey baklava thin pastry layers soaked in aura-charged honey gathered from spirit-fed bees. resonates slightly on the tongue.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › glimmerfruit gelée a wobbly layered dessert with fruits that glow faintly in the dark. berries suspended in transparent, aura-reactive jelly.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › celestial shortcakes star-shaped, dusted with aura sugar that crackles like stardust. often filled with spirit-whipped cream.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › temporal taffy can take on the flavor of a memory (exams, a kiss, your favorite soup). banned from common dining due to unpredictability—served only on chaos feast day.

✧˖*°࿐Festival Menus

✦ solstice of stars (midwinter)

a holiday of hope, memory, and light in darkness.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ signature dishes:

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › starroot fire stew thick and spicy, made with slow-burn emberroot and solanum starroot. Glows faintly in matching aura hues when stirred with intent. Shared communally as a symbol of warmth through hardship.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › sandlefruit slices a tender fruit that crystallizes at the edges when exposed to heat. served in aura-colored glazes, sometimes arranged in mandala shapes to honor the cycle of personal growth.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › lightwish lantern cakes hollow puff pastries filled with warm mistberry cream and edible paper scrolls inside. each guest writes a wish or intention before baking, and the paper is infused with a sigil that dissolves when consumed—symbolizing release into the aether.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › auracider a warm, herbal cider made with prism bark and sun-fennel, brewed to match the tone of the drinker’s aura. always served in transparent, rune-etched mugs to let the colors shine.

✦ prismveil week

a dazzling week of artistic legacy and aura unity.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ signature dishes:

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › fused-flame flatbreads multicolored flatbreads divided into aura-tone sections—flavored with infused oils (e.g., shadow-pepper, moonvine, emberleaf). baked in a ley-reactive kiln to swirl naturally. symbolizes unity through contrast.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › harmony skewers each skewer is a rotating pairing of ingredients that match different aura flavors—like silver plum + auraroot, tideleaf + smokemeat, or duskfig + lightmint. meant to be eaten blindfolded at storytelling contests to "guess the aura harmony."

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › glasspetal sorbet towers layered translucent sorbets, each infused with elemental essences. often eaten during evening parades or after exhibitions. popular combos: air-bloom + rainpeach, sun-cinder + frostpetal.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › artisan threadcake intricately woven sponge and aura-reactive ribbons of glaze; used in closing ceremonies. each region contributes a section, telling a story through flavor.

✦ waking colors (spring equinox)

celebration of growth, aura blooming, and rites of passage.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ signature dishes:

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › bloomroot crepes thin, spiral-colored crepes with flower-blossom fillings like moonflower nectar, ghost-honey, or glowstem marmalade. youth eat these before their aura evaluation rites.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › verdance bowls aura-reactive grain and sprout bowls topped with seasonal vegetables and ley-pickled roots. each young adult receiving their aura rite gets a bowl in colors corresponding to their lineage or expected tone shift.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › eitesugar wafers given by mentors to mentees. these hexagon-shaped wafers crumble like snow but carry crystallized aura energy. flavors change depending on who gives them—mentorship made edible.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › springdew cordials light, sparkling flower elixirs served in crystalline flutes. used in toasts welcoming aura bloomers into adulthood.

✦ the still bloom (midwinter)

a reflective, often silent festival for loss, grief, and internal renewal.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ signature dishes:

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › silent steep soup a mild, warm broth made of lightmoon mushrooms and aura-dampened herbs. consumed in silence. the broth shifts hue based on emotional aura, reflecting the heart state of the drinker.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › petalrice scrolls soft rice rolls wrapped in edible memorial petals (such as stillfern or duskblossom). often written on with food-safe ink to name or honor lost aura forms or people. burned or buried afterward in ley soil.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › twilight pudding a dusky purple or indigo custard layered with dreamroot and ghost-honey. eaten slowly with small, rune-marked spoons as a form of meditation.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › echofruit slices a rare fruit said to “echo” past aura frequencies—served to help connect with who one was before trauma or change.

✦ founding of the ley accord

the historical moment of political unity, balance, and power-sharing.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ signature dishes:

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › triune Roast a triple-layered roast symbolizing the military, magical, and civilian branches—each meat or main section seasoned uniquely. served with three dipping sauces based on leyline regions.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › balance boards platters split perfectly between three elements: bright, neutral, and dark. foods are chosen for their natural aura hue—e.g., dawncrust bread, dusk-vine figs, ley-soaked goatcheese. balance is literal and symbolic.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › ley accord bread rings braided rings of three loaves: one seasoned with dustroot (earth/military), one with moonpetal (magic), one with golden chive (civic/civilian). often baked with historical house sigils.

ꪆৎ 𓂃 › treatywine a ceremonial sparkling wine infused with deepberry, prismmint, and fireglow leaf. used in formal toasts, especially by senior officials, academy heads, and lawkeepers.

✧˖*°࿐Veylhera Cafe Specials

served in the two student cafés: "The Prism Cup" and "Wisterlight Roost."

*ೃ༄weekday special drinks

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ dreamweaver latte cloudy lilac foam, spiraled with vanilla and aura-infused espresso. Served with a moon sugar cube. popular with students like serai.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ midnight prism brew cold brew coffee that sparkles subtly under magical light. earthy, grounding, with a hint of lavender and cinnamon.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ velvethaze milkshake a mood-reactive thickshake that changes color depending on the drinker’s aura. flavor shifts gently as well—berries, vanilla, or citrus.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ spell-tonic spritzers fizzy potions in glass vials—one sip helps soothe headaches or mild magical exhaustion. popular during exam season.

*ೃ༄weekend night-only desserts

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ moonpetal mochi soft floral mochi filled with fruit creams or aura honey. served glowing faintly under café lighting.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ runic crème brûlée topped with burned glyphs that shift slowly as you eat. when cracked, they hum softly for a few seconds.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ echoflame pudding dark, rich pudding that flickers like a slow-burning candle. the caramelized surface tastes like roasted time-sugar (a rare magical sweet).

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ aura-drip macarons shells shimmer with slow-dropping color like an oil slick. Flavors range from starlight mint to glimmerberry jam.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ starseed cake bites bite-sized cakes that taste stronger the more magic you’ve used that day. vanilla base with rotating aura-reactive fillings.

[momsrecipe]

🥕 The Ultimate Homemade Carrot Cake Recipe! 🍰

There’s nothing quite like a homemade carrot cake—moist, flavorful, and topped with the most luscious cream cheese frosting. Whether you're baking for a birthday, a family gathering, or just because you love a good slice of cake, this recipe is a game-changer!

✨ What makes this carrot cake special? ✔️ Super moist and soft texture ✔️ Perfectly balanced warm spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, and more!) ✔️ Freshly grated carrots for natural sweetness ✔️ A creamy, dreamy frosting that melts in your mouth

💡 Pro Tip: Want to take it to the next level? Add chopped walnuts or raisins for extra texture and flavor!

Baking this cake is easier than you think, and I promise—your kitchen will smell absolutely heavenly! 🍂

📌 Get the full step-by-step recipe here: https://www.recipstory.com/carrot-cake-recipe/

💬 Have you ever baked carrot cake before? Share your experience in the comments! 👇

#CarrotCakeRecipe #HomemadeDesserts #BakingLover #MoistCake #SweetTreats

[dulcidyne]

Tibias and Toe Picks

DA:VG//Emmrich x Rook//SFW//Complete Read on AO3!

It is a cold Wintermarch day and the River Minanter frost fair is in full swing.  Emmrich frets, Rook improvises, and Manfred? Manfred skates, of course.

It was a cold Wintermarch day, and the Minanter was a shimmery silver ribbon unspooling a lopsided bow through the city before trailing off into the frost-flocked eastern foothills. Manfred pointed to the dark specks and rainbow flecks dotting busily over distant the frozen river with his most excited hiss.

“Skate!”

Rook, leaning into Emmrich for warmth, her arm wrapped round his, looked up with cold-flushed cheeks and incredulity. “Manfred can ice skate?”

Emmrich winced, folding his palm over the mittened fingertips curling against his forearm. “He...has been making some progress over the years. Last winter, he only fractured the one patella, which was a remarkable improvement.”

“Ahhh,” she said knowingly, then smiled, her eyes dancing as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Couldn’t stop him, could you?” she guessed as she drew back. Her breath was a faint, warm puff against his skin.

“I try every year,” Emmrich lamented. “To no avail. He simply will not be dissuaded. It’s all I can do to minimize the damage.”

“Well, don’t worry,” she said, unlooping her arm from his to clasp his hands in her wool-knit fingers and level him her most confident smile. “This year you have me. I can help.”

A ‘don’t worry’ from anyone who wasn’t Rook would’ve only earned them a displeased frown. On principle, Emmrich took exception to such advice from colleagues and friends. ‘Don’t worry so much’—the careless and willful ignorance of the perpetually blasé. The aggravating simplicity of rephrasing the impossible into the prosaic. Oh, just like that? Don’t worry? Why, what a fool he’d been all this time. Why hadn’t that occurred to him?! 

But Rook’s ‘don’t worry’s were never advice or condescensions—they were promises. And a promise from Rook was not a thing to take lightly. She had a knack for achieving the impossible. If anyone could keep Manfred’s patellae intact, it was her.

Comforted, Emmrich smiled down at her upturned face before loosening his hand from her grip to trace his thumb over the high curve of one cold-pinked cheek. He could still scarcely believe all this was real, that she was really there with him, after everything that had happened. Even after so many months, half of him expected to wake up any moment and find himself back at his desk in the Lighthouse, surrounded by scattered papers and thrown-open texts, the lyrium knife a gleaming taunt as their last words to each other resurfaced over and over in his mind. 

But she’d made him a promise, and she was not a woman to be gainsaid. Fade prisons and gods be damned. And so, here she was, whole and perfect, her face a striking geometry of cheekbone, brow, jaw, and chin softened by her smile and the blush of cold. Pale constellations of snowflakes freckled over the wind-tangled wisps slipping free from the midnight blue of her cloak’s hood. He watched, utterly entranced, as a few lacy flecks dusted over the ruddy tip of her nose like confectioner’s sugar. Unable to resist the temptation, he kissed it, half expecting her to taste as sweet as she looked. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, she only tasted of cold water. Until she canted her chin back and wound her fingers around the nape of his neck to reclaim the melted snow still on his lips. Emmrich sighed against the bold brush of her tongue, the warm, luxuriant glide faintly spiced with cinnamon and clove from the tea she’d downed like a shot right before they’d set out. 

The world unraveled around them, dissolving like the sugar cubes in her tea. There was only the press of her mouth against his, a slow, languid pull drawing him deeper into the soft, Rook-hazed eddies of spices and mingling sighs. It felt like stepping into a dream, the husky note curling at the base of her throat re-weaving reality with borrowed threads of the Fade. Everything was brighter. More beautiful. Colors coruscating in the dusk of his lidded eyes.

“Skate!” Manfred cried out again, befuddled and aggravated by their delay. “Not kiss.” 

Rook broke away with a stifled giggle. As yet, none of their explanations had managed to provide his erstwhile assistant with any real understanding of the concept of a ‘kiss’ or why  Rook and he had been…ah…rather preoccupied with the practice over the past several months.

“Sorry, Manfred,” she said, her smile crooking at a chiding angle as she leaned back against Emmrich’s hands fitted round her waist. “But this time, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m afraid it was, darling,” Emmrich argued, stealing one last kiss from her lips before drawing back and folding her arm around his in a single, smooth gesture. “It invariably is. Even when it isn’t.”

She settled against his side, fitting as snugly as if she were made for it. Or maybe the other way around—as if it had been made for her. Blasphemous as it was, he didn’t believe in the Maker’s will. Andrastrianism had abandoned him the moment he’d plucked his mother’s teacup from the rubble of their home. But in moments like these, he wondered if he should believe in something. In the divinity that existed between her shoulder and his side, a perfection of hollows and contours finding their respective matches. It was so small, but…he was more in awe of it than he’d ever been of any golden Chantry statue.

“Hardly seems fair,” she said with a playful sigh gusting up through a snowflake-studded curl.

“Dearest, imagine how I feel,” he replied, pulling her closer to his side as the snow crunched beneath their boots and Manfred ambled ahead.

As they drew closer to the riverbank, the smells of the frost fair food stalls curled beckoning fingers on every chill gust. Caramelized sugar and fried dough sprinkled with Rivaini cinnamon and nutmeg, roasted chestnuts and savory potato cakes laden with sage and rosemary. Beneath—the sharp, herbaceous whiff of balsam resin and juniper berries, clove-studded wheels of dried citron rinds fastened to garlands looped with diaphanous black crêpe to honor the ancestral dead as Nevarrans did in all celebrations.

Rook tipped her head to the side to nuzzle against his shoulder as she inhaled deeply. “When I was a child, I told myself one day I’d buy something from every single food stall at the frost fair.”

Emmrich chuckled, scanning the multicolored banners of the stall awnings garlanding the frozen riverbank in two opposing rainbows of oversized fabric pennants. He couldn’t even begin to count them all. As a child, his hopes had always been confined to a single pastry or a hot paper cone of chestnuts shared with his parents.

“You were always ambitious, then?”

“I don’t believe in doing things by halves,” she joked, cutting him a wry, sideways glance before her voice dropped into something softer. “It wasn’t so much about wanting the food as it was about wanting what the people with the food had. Seeing the parents and children and lovers and families huddling around the stalls, sharing and passing it around. To my mind, having neither, the food was the essential bit, so of course my dream was to get as much of that as possible.”

“Darling,” he uttered, pausing as they passed beneath one of the towering Van Markham statues lining the end of the boulevard.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, playfully misinterpreting his dismay. “With you and Manfred with me, I’m sure I’ll be just as happy only buying food from half the stalls.”

Once again, it was entirely her fault when he kissed her. And this time, she was the one sighing against his lips, her generous mouth parting, pliant. It only made him restless and greedy. His arms found their way around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he drew back into the shadow of the statue, away from any prying glances from the boulevard’s passers by. 

“Highly…improper,” she teased, words catching between kisses, her mittened fingertips knitting round his neck. 

“Your influence,” Emmrich whispered breathlessly. The full jut of her bottom lip was endlessly fascinating. Petulant and petal soft. He could devote himself to the study of it and nothing else for years. Write an entire thesis on it. With footnotes, he thought headily, arms full of her, his teeth grazing needy indents into her lip as he hauled her against him. The dip of her hip against his thigh—half divine, half dream.

“Skaaate!” Manfred cried out, dragging the word out as if he’d been mortally wounded and this was his dying moan. And then again and again. Until he was repeating one unending litany of, “Skateskateskateskate.”

“Manfred’s right,” Rook sighed, drawing her fallen hood back over her hair after they extricated themselves from the impassioned embrace with clumsy, wobbling limbs. “We’ll never make it to the fair before dusk at this rate.”

Emmrich cleared his throat and straightened his tie pin—her roaming hands always left it a little crooked. “Yes, but, nevertheless. Patience and discipline are qualities we must strive to embody, no matter the circumstance.”

Manfred did an impressive job of looking utterly betrayed, his emeralds glinting with an aggrieved sheen as he stared up at Emmrich with a slackened mandible.

Rook cocked her head and laughed. “Is this lecture for us or for Manfred?”

Well… that was fair. He was painting a very fine picture of a hypocrite at the moment. Emmrich’s already warm neck warmed hotter, and he coughed delicately. After all his lectures and lessons—to be so easily overcome by his own desires and feelings. Besotted, he’d ruefully called it once. But he no longer felt any regret over losing his head around her. Rook was a veritable bundle of impulses and improvisation wrapped up in a lovely bow. She kissed him in public, on the street, without a thought or a care who might be watching. Pulled him back into bed when he rose at dawn, distracted him from his books and research, waylaid his lectures and lessons. And he loved every minute of it. There was a charm to a life with a little less regimentation.  

Or maybe there was just charm to a life with Rook in it.

Either way, he’d come to realize since their relationship began that his much lauded virtue of ‘patience’ was highly contingent on the strength of his desires. He was not, as it turned out, actually all too patient a man where Rook was concerned.

“A fine point,” he conceded. “My apologies for all the delays, Manfred.”

With a hiss of forgiveness, Manfred accepted the apology, and they made their way down to the river without (much) incident, arriving well before dusk just as the band began to play. The atmosphere on the ice was as jubilant as the rich smells from the stalls, laughter and voices rising into the air with the cheery carnival sounds of strings and brass, a trilling piccolo cutting through the happy shrieks of a gaggle of children racing past on sleds. Manfred goggled at the sight, nearly taking off after them before Rook and Emmrich wrangled him over towards the quieter side of the river, away from the tents and stalls offering ale, mulled wine, and coffee and over towards one of the puppet plays re-enacting a famous Pentaghast dragon hunt for a group of younger children.

With Manfred momentarily distracted by puppets, Emmrich rifled through his pack and produced stacks of handsewn leather pads. 

“These go on the joints,” he told Rook. “And these on the long bones. Do try to tie them as tight as possible or they will slip off.”

He showed her how best to fasten the knots and left her to it, before returning to the pack for the quilted gambeson and chausses. Rook’s glance flicked up to the gambeson, and she blinked.

“Emmrich, that’s—” “Too thin, do you think?” he asked, holding it out for inspection. He’d had Manfred sew in an additional layer of padding after last year’s patella incident, and the garment was now about the thickness of Emmrich’s pinkie. 

“Thin is not the word I’d use,” Rook said, smiling as she tugged the last of the fastenings tight around an ulna. 

Together, they managed to stuff Manfred, who was now giddy and fidgeting with excitement, into the unwieldy gambeson. The chausses after. At last, Emmrich produced a pair of modified bone skates and skating poles.

“He does much better with the older skates and poles,” he informed Rook, fitting the first shearling-soled skate to Manfred’s nubbly calcaneus. “I shudder to think how much harm he’d come to with the metal blade alternative.”

Rook smiled indulgently, helping him fasten on the second skate to his other foot. 

And with that, at last, Manfred was ready. Rook stepped back and took one sweeping look from cranium to talus, before dissolving into fits of laughter so hard, she doubled over and clutched her midsection.

With the additional padding, the gambeson now had a rather…rotund appearance. Not so much as an inch of pale bone was visible beneath the swaddling quilt, knit, and shearling—just Manfred’s pair of glowing faceted emeralds. At a glance and from far away, instead of a skeleton, one might see a strangely proportioned but portly living man.

“Skate!” Manfred cackled in glee from beneath the padded skullcap and wool knit scarf wrapped thrice round his cervical vertebrae. 

Emmrich smiled as Rook wiped away her tears of mirth onto her mittens.

“You look very handsome, Manfred,” she said at last. “And most importantly, very safe,”

“Yes, well,” Emmrich said, retrieving the two pairs of iron and wood skating blades from the bottom of the mostly empty pack. “After you, my dear.”

Dropping to a crouch, he held his hands out for her boot so that he could assist her in fastening them on—a rather complicated process. She’d worn her oldest pair for some reason; the outsoles worn so smooth,  it was a miracle she hadn’t slipped on the icy cobbles on their way there.

Rook blinked down at him, confused for a moment before comprehension banished the tiny furrow between her brows. “Emmrich, I can’t skate with those,” she said. “I’ll sprain both ankles in the minute!”

Ah. It hadn’t occurred to him, but of course it should have—while there were a good number with metal skates like the ones he had in his hands, most of Nevarra City’s poor made do without, simply sliding across the ice in their own shoes. Iron was an expensive commodity, an exorbitant purchase for the handful of weeks in the year when the river froze solid enough for skating. Hadn’t he learned with just his own boots, all those years ago?

He also realized belatedly why she’d worn those particular boots. 

“It’s not very different, you see,” he explained, standing to fasten the blade contraption over his own boot. “The blades lie nearly flat on the outsole; the advantage is that the metal produces less friction.” Lacing it tight, he tested his weight to ensure the bindings were holding appropriately, then skimmed his heel against the ice in one short glide to show her.

Rook only looked skeptical. “Let’s deal with one novice at a time, shall we?” she suggested. “Or we’ll have four broken patellae on our hands.” There was certainly wisdom in that, so Emmrich finished fitting the second blade on his boot before returning her pair to Manfred’s pack. Standing, he took Manfred’s left side and Rook took his right. Manfred pushed off with the sticks in one faltering glide before immediately veering, then tipping over onto Rook. 

She might’ve withstood the sudden onslaught of skeletal limbs…if it weren’t for that gambeson. With the increased bulk came increased weight, and the pair of them collapsed onto the ice with a co-mingled shriek and hiss. 

Emmrich cried out their names in succession, leaning over them to grasp one of the flailing limbs. As Manfred struggled like an upturned turtle, Rook rolled onto her back, still half-pinned by him, and directed her peels of laughter up towards the sky. 

“He’s so heavy with this thing on Emmrich, I can barely breathe!” she gasped. “Gravity,” Manfred informed them cheerfully as Emmrich pulled him off her. He seemed no worse for wear, Rook having broken his fall.

“Yes, and remember, it can be very dangerous, Manfred” Emmrich warned, reaching next for the laughing puddle of splaying midnight wool and woman. “Are you injured?” 

“A little flatter maybe, but otherwise fine,” she said, letting him draw her up and pat her down for a more thorough inspection. He didn’t entirely trust Rook’s definition of fine. She applied it rather loosely.

“I wasn’t prepared,” she added, as he skimmed his palms over her forearms, gently manipulating her wrists and elbows for sprains or breaks. She let him, without complaint, indulging his concern with a fond glance. “I don’t actually know if he can move in that thing, Emmrich. Perhaps we should–”

“We can’t remove it,” Emmrich protested, bending her wrist one last time just to be sure, his thumbs rubbing circles into her skin beneath the cuff of wool. “It’s the only thing keeping him safe.”

The corners of her smile tucked in as if she were biting it back and her eyes danced with obvious affection before she gripped his hand in hers and squeezed.

“Alright, then…perhaps one of us could pull him?” She scanned the crowds before her eyes settled on a woman with her child, skating backwards in short, faltering glides as she bent over and held the girl’s hands as she followed. “Like that.”

She shifted back, letting her worn boots glide back over the ice, tugging him with her to demonstrate further. “And the other can follow behind, just in case.”

Emmrich blinked. Then laughed. All these years, he’d been instructing Manfred in proper technique and form and adding more and more padding when it failed to take as well as he’d hoped. But it’d somehow never occurred to him to teach him the way he’d learned with his mother and father.

“What an excellent idea, my love!” he declared, beaming at her and wanting very badly to kiss her again. He might have if Manfred wasn’t eying the both of them with a beseeching emerald glint.

“Skate?” he rasped.

And so that’s what they did. With the sheer weight of the bundled up Manfred, Emmrich was the only one who could pull him without immediately stopping again in short order. Rook did a fair job of keeping up in just her boots, stringing together staccato glides with the practiced grace of someone who’d spent many winters on the frozen Minanter. She helped push Manfred along, falling behind, then catching up just in time to give him another gentle nudge. Not needing the skate poles or to watch where he was going, Manfred was free to throw his head back in glee, his crackling hisses joining Rook’s breathless laughs and Emmrich’s encouragement. With this promising progress, Emmrich finally conceded to removing the bulky gambeson, much to Manfred and Rook’s delight. Without the weight of the padding, they were able to pick up more speed, tracing zig-zags over the ice in their trio processional, Manfred’s cheery red scarf flapping behind him like a colorful woolen tail as he chortled his delight.

And what a difference that made! Not a solitary wobble or stumble, Emmrich was beside himself with pride.

As the beginnings of sunset bloomed over the skyline, deepening it into a spill of pinks and golds the color of the wheels of fried dough slathered in apricot jam sold at his favorite stall, Manfred’s attention fixed on the group of screeching and scampering merchant children sledding gleefully down the gentle slope of the riverbank, popping up at the bottom and racing to the top to do it all over again. With their vivid red, blue, and yellow cloaks, they looked like oversized out of season songbirds fluttering up and down the riverbank in raucous trills and chirps.

“Gravity!” he said.“Sled.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Rook puffed as she caught up, her rapid breaths wisping white clouds into the cold. “I’m about to drop.” They skated over towards the shallow riverbank and Emmrich removed Manfred’s skates while Rook went over to a nearby merchant’s stall to haggle over the rental price of one of the simple wooden sledges.

By the time she returned, Manfred was skateless but once again clad in the gambeson. 

“There may still be hidden rocks,” Emmrich preempted, even though he needn’t defend himself. There’d been no critique in her smile, only fond exasperation.

“I know I worry–” he began.

“You care,” she corrected, handing over the sledge to Manfred’s outstretched mittens before wrapping her arm back round Emmrich’s so she could nudge his side with her elbow.

“Besides,” she added, as Manfred scampered up the modest incline, hurled the sled into the snow at the top only for it to descend immediately without him, resulting in his outraged cry and subsequent chase.

“I think it’s normal to worry after everything that’s happened. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. Like this is all a just dream and I’m—” She trailed off, clutching Emmrich’s arm tighter and flashing up a tremulous smile. “But then I take a look at that ridiculous gambeson and I realize there’s no way I could think up something like that on my own.”

Retrieving the sledge, Manfred trecked back up the hill, waddling back and forth to manage the weight of all the padding. They watched him ascend again, this time setting the sledge down carefully, and Emmrich sighed through the tightness in his chest. He’d already lost them once; he couldn’t bear experiencing such a thing again. It would destroy him.

“Sometimes I wish I could put you both in a box where no harm could ever come to you,” he admitted. “It’s…”

Overbearing. Neurotic. Highly impractical.

“A bit much, I know.” He winced down at the top of her head. Her hood had fallen back a bit again, exposing the part of her hair. Such a small thing, that neat little valley, and seeing it, he felt strangely bereft, as if he could still glimpse a world without it out of the corner of his eye.

“Gravity!” Manfred cackled as he cut a path down the slope.

“Don’t worry,” she said, resting her temple against his shoulder the way she always liked to do. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Manfred.”

Another promise. Weighter than before. Rook was impulsive in most things and speech was no exception; always starting sentences without knowing how she wanted to finish them. Always in a rush. Always in the moment. A woman in perpetual present tense. But this promise had all the gleam of the future, bright as gold, and it banished those shadows from the edges of his sight.

“Skate with me, darling,” he said, waving Manfred down before he could ascend the slope again and reaching into the pack for her skate blades.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her as he knelt down to lace them over her boots. He meant it the way she meant it: a promise he intended to keep. For as long as he was able. “I’ll be right beside you.”

“Manfred, stay in sight,” Emmrich instructed as he led Rook away from the bank towards the center of the ice, skating backwards and holding her hand so that he could brace her weight as she took her first hesitant steps.

Which shifted into hesitant strides once she found her balance again. Finally, she looked up from her scuffed-up boots to meet his gaze.

“It’s not so different at all,” she said, her grin radiant, eyes luminous with excitement and discovery.

More confident, her strides lengthened and the metal blades whispered against the surface, etching longer and longer criss-crosses of silver over the ice. With increased confidence, all her former grace returned, her hand lightening in his grip as her balance became effortless. She laughed, full and vibrant, and it joined the sound of bells and piccolo on the breeze flitting over the ice.

Emmrich shifted his weight, pulling her closer as their path shifted into a curve—an impossibility on anything but the metal skates.

“There are some differences,” he said, his grin matching hers.

Rook lit up, eyes gleaming with all the possibilities unfolding before her. The nippy Wintermarch air whipped around them as they picked up speed, etching out arcs and looping whorls. He loosened their clasp, a silent invitation, gliding to her side to guide her into a tighter turn. His hand slipped beneath her fluttering cloak, fitting against her waist to steady her as they spirographed across the ice, movements so fluid, they were almost instinctual.

Together, they spun a dizzying gavotte of intricate patterns, threading through a series of fleeting touches. His fingers brushing her waist, her arm, her back, and the playful whisper of her fingertips responded in kind as she spun away, only to return. The world became the rush of air, the crisp bite of frost, and the electric tingle of her ambient magic circling closer.

Distantly, he noticed they’d drifted too close to the bank. But before he could retreat to the safety of the river, as quick as a blink, a red woolen scarf and bundle of knit and shearling cleaved through the gap between them, Manfred chortling with joy and alarm.

Rook cut an impressive turn, neat as a pin, that sent her careening towards the near bank. In a flash of alarm, Emmrich realized he’d yet to show her how to stop on metal skates—something no one had to worry about skating on boot heels alone. He raced for her, grabbing her cloak and yanking her into his arms just as his skate caught on a rough patch of snowy ground and sent them both hurtling into the bank.

The crust of snow crunched beneath them, pillowing their fall and soft as a sigh. No hidden rocks or secret treacheries. Just snow. Still in his arms, Rook twisted to look at him, her hood thrown back askew and her tousled hair frosted all over in white.

“Emmrich—” she said, leaning over him to see if he was unharmed. But he was laughing breathlessly.

And then he was pulling her down into the snow and kissing her.

[hwang-inhos-fish]

Songbird Part 3 (... of 4...)

(I know, okay? 😅😂)

-_-_-

Il-nam was right. In-ho hates it when Il-nam is right.

Player 456 smells like dark amber honey and hot chai spices, warm candle wax and cinnamon, and all with a gentle burn behind it - like a bright golden wine or a hot buttered rum. Like a candle flame. A clean, sweet heat. Sweet, yes - but deep, strong, masculine. A well-loved brown leather jacket, butter-soft and bleached at the seams by time. Full of the cigarette-smoke-musk of countless days and nights spent at the elbows and tables of friends, in the open air, in the sunshine. The powdery yellow centers of dandelion blooms. Cheap bath soap, ginseng, ginger. Strong, dark, sugared tea.

In-ho entered the room to a snap of fear-scent, a quick reactive pop of startled tang. Not entirely unpleasant. Something reminiscent of petrichor, engine grease - rain on cold asphalt. But that spike of surprised-defensive scent only lasted for a moment, and by the time In-ho had closed the door behind him and taken a few steps across the glossy black marble floor, the Omega had already calmed a degree. Turning in place, cross-legged on the corner of the bed like a lost pup, leveling a suspicious glare in the Front Man’s direction.

Not nearly suspicious enough.

[kurov1864]

Scents of Babyls teachers + Opera (pt.3)

March: Faint whiff of blood, leather and smoke, earthy undertones, cumin and cloves. He would definitely have that metallic tang to his scent, from both his metal tools and... blood. Leather and smoke to sorta hint at that darker enthusiasm for the torture arts, since those are commonly associated with violence. The earthy notes is to reflect his (mostly) grounding and comforting aspect of his personality, with the spices emphasizing it more so. I contemplated putting in more flowery/lighter scents but in all honesty despite being easygoing and kind, I feel like his overall personality just doesn't fit it. He's more laid-back in the rational and grounded way, sorta like a big brother that cares for you and will (gently) call you out when you're pulling shit, rather than the happy cheerful laid-back kinda way yk? Ah but can't forget some caramel and butterscotch candy for his top notes, just to really show his sweeter side.

Ifrit: charred wood, coconut lotion, cigarette smoke and gunpowder. Similar to March, I decided to go for a more grounded scent but foregoed the more comforting aspects. Charred wood and cigarette smoke is pretty self-explanatory, he is a fire demon that loves to smoke after all, and it'll add a rustic and intense quality to his scent. The gunpowder would help to reflect his more competitive side because while he is mostly nonchalant and collected, whenever he gets excited his more brash and boastful traits would come out. Definitely would have some earthy and smoky undertones + metallic accents to have the more grounding yet fleeting aspect? I'm not sure how to describe it but I wanted to go for a sort of reliable warmth which can look flimsy and unpredictable at times but would always be there, just like his flames. It may flicker and almost die out sometimes, but it would always stay lighted up no matter what. The coconut lotion is just there, just because.

Murmur: Freshly baked bread, spicy cologne, sweet citrus and toffee. To me Murmur... leans to the warmer side. He has this sort of friendly and non-judgemental sorta vibe to him, like you can tell him your deepest insecurities and he would never judge or use it against you, just being more mindful of his behaviour and words around you. So of course to me this translates to those homey warm and slightly sweet foods like bread and toffee. Some sweet citrus notes like oranges and mandarin can also add some energy to his scent, to represent his easygoing and familiar attitude. Some spicy cologne just because I think he would, and finally some light woody undertones like sandalwood or cedar for a more grounding and comforting vibe.

Ipos: Pine trees, leather, cayenne pepper, warm amber. Couldn't find a good summary of his personality on the wiki so this would be directly from my viewpoint. Ipos seems like a pretty chill kinda guy, calm and level-headed, as well as knowledgable and experienced. So for these traits, I picked out pine trees, for it's fresh, cold and kinda tingly sharp scent, and leather for the experience. Despite this we also know that he has his own witty sense of humor and mischief, and that's represented by a subtle citrus - probably lemon - to add a touch of lively energy and zest to it. But I also wanted to show off his warmer side, so I also included some cayenne pepper and warm amber. And last but not least, some soft musk and earthy notes to just add some depth to him.

Opera: Sheet softener, cilantro and parsley, soft spices, amber. Sheet softener is a given, since they literally do all the laundry in the mansion. I would think that this also helps depict the way that they try to comfort those they treasure, literally wrapping them up in their blanket, cuddling them and feeding them until they feel better. Wanted to include some mild spice as well, to reflect their sassy and sarcastic attitude. Might have a dash of ginger and cinnamon as well, for their more playful and witty side. And for their base notes, of course we'll go for some soft musk to show their reserved and kuudere personality, as well as the inherent mystery in their character.

[kimbap-r0ll]

What each Dorm Leader would get at Starbucks

College = coffee (let me know what your go-to drink at starbs is!)

Let's say there was a starbucks somewhere in Twisted Wonderland, what would they get? Would they frequent their visits there or would it be a one-time thing?

Riddle

I feel like he has a sweet tooth, so I don't see him with black coffee. Something tells me he's more of a tea person too, so I give him either London Fog or Honey Citrus Mint

He also doesn't seem to be the guy to have his drinks cold, even during the summer

Likes the sweetness in both of them since it's not too overpowering, and it helps him sort of wind down

Leona

I really don't think he drinks coffee, even though he might want caffeine before running around he hits me with the person who goes to starbucks not for the coffee but everything else. Does he likes sweets? Maybe, but I don't think so

Might stick to a refresher, like pineapple passionfruit (suits the Savanaclaw colors too) but doesn't dare go to the pink drink

He will grab a black coffee if he really needs it, but rather than having caffeine to wake him up he argues he should just get more sleep

Azul

Coffee! This guy needs to stop ingesting so much of it. If anything, he probably has two cold brews before the afternoon

However, if he were to let himself indulge a little bit, I feel like he would grab a mocha

He might like his coffee hot, saying that it tastes better (he argues this with Vil). If anything though, it's probably because he knows he's getting more drink than ice

Kalim

He probably doesn't like things that are bitter, might be a frappe guy like he will take the caramel ribbon crunch

He might also just like teas as well, something like an iced tea like the passion tango one

Does not love hot drinks since his dorm tends to be on the warmer side, but during the winter I see him with a cup of hot cocoa

Vil

Drinks black coffee unsweetened tea he is a menace (like Jamil)

But he likes to get the occasional sweet drink, sometimes the seasonal ones like pumpkin spice. He usually opts for a cold brew with cinnamon caramel cream

He stands with the statement that iced coffee = best coffee.

Idia

Prefers energy drinks but will grab something warm for the winter when he wants to (or Ortho asks for something)

I feel like he's also a mocha kind of guy, but sometimes he likes the matcha lattes because it's slightly bitter but has a hint of sweetness

Probably doesn't like black coffee because it doesn't taste great but will complain about the caffeine levels not being enough

Malleus

He doesn't love sweet things because he has experience with eating whole cakes, but I feel like he would also like matcha lattes or something like a flat white

He likes the slight bitterness in both of them, but he will sometimes opt for just regular teas like Emperor's Mist or so. He likes things that make him warm inside (Diasomnia tends to get chilly)

Has tried a frappe for the fun of it but wouldn't order it again (it was a double chocolaty chip)