#someone fetch the smelling salts

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Saved this from @nicolethered because this picture deserves its own post - can we talk about the GRAYS please 😩

[pancakehouse]

gilbert blythe.

[musicprincess1990]

Lingering looks from across the room? *swoon*

hand touching? in my period drama? bitch i’m about a faint

[hensunrik]

We are really getting 2012 redux oh my days

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Demon Daddy really said "My body, my choice." LOL. Also, me being a huge LOTR fan, I literally hear the follow-up of those words "It is mine to give to whom I will, like my heart."

Even though the whole thing is a plot to mislead the Dragon Princess, ZYC means every single word he utters. He's being completely vulnerable and open; his feelings and sentiments are real and, in the end, WX and ZYZ get carried away by his heartfelt sincerity. He makes the lie real. Because, let's face it, eventually it will come down to it and ZYZ will do something like half-killing himself to help ZYZ, especially since it really looks like he wants to use the scale to save WX who might have really been poisoned.

The sword is his family heirloom, the one thing he truly connects with his older brother, and everyone wants that sword, but he would throw it away without any hesitation, if repairing it meant hurting ZYZ or him dying. Honestly, it almost looks like he is totally fine with it, getting rid of the possibility of him having to kill him with it one day.

He is so adamant about and steadfast in that he won't allow ZYZ to sacrifice himself for him, and in a way, he is actually picking him over BJ, or rather he could give up on BJ rather than save him at all costs.

Translation: "You are more precious to me than anything in the entire world." FETCH MY SMELLING SALTS!

ZYC's words shake ZYZ to his core, it floors him that someone would choose him, the most evil great demon, above everything, that he would even choose him over the adorable BJ.

Demon Daddy thought he would show an Oscar-worthy performance, but he ends up going through the most intense therapy session of his life. All these words are everything he needed to hear in those past 8 years so much, but didn't know it.

Look at him! How much it means to him! How much he drinks those words in! WX and ZYC are unbreaking ZYZ's heart that shattered to pieces a long time ago and putting it back together. The fact that ZYC would turn against his friends and fight for HIM of all people, defend him, protect him, without any weapon, just using his body!

[amethystarachnid]

Snowed In  – You and your chosen character are stuck in a cozy cabin together as a blizzard hits. Perfect for slow-burn romance or confessions by the fireplace!

WITH TONY AND FEM READER????? THIS IS SO HIM 😻

A BLIZZARD FOR TWO

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: You and Tony are preparing the mountain cabin for the team's arrival since you all will celebrate Christmas together but when a blizzard hits and the heating system stops working you are left with nothing to do but cuddle up hoping to warm each other up.

ᯓ★ TW(s): snow blizzard

ᯓ★ with this my first MARVEL Holiday season on this blog officially starts!! Hope you'll like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The faint hum of Tony's voice breaks the quiet of the cabin as he rummages through a box of decorations. "Tell me, Y/N, how did I get roped into this festive horror show again? Oh, that’s right—you batted your eyes and said please. My one weakness."

You roll your eyes, trying to untangle the knot of Christmas lights in your lap. "Because someone thought having a team Christmas would be 'good for morale.' Your words, Stark, not mine."

"Yes, but I pictured a swanky tower party with catered food, not being snowed in on a mountain like the setup for a bad Hallmark movie." He pulls out a garish reindeer ornament and holds it up, mock horror etched on his face. "Please tell me this doesn’t go on the tree."

You snatch it from his hand, laughing despite yourself. "It’s tradition! You’re not putting it back in the box. And don’t knock Hallmark movies—they have charm."

"Charm. Right. That’s what we’re calling terrible plots and questionable acting now." Tony smirks, but there’s warmth in his tone. You’re used to his quips by now; they’re practically his love language.

The two of you have been in this cabin for two days, preparing it for the Avengers to arrive for Christmas. It’s nestled high in the mountains, the perfect snowy escape—or so Tony had declared when he offered it up for the festivities. Secretly, you’d been excited at the prospect of spending some quiet time with him.

Now, though, the snowstorm raging outside the frosted windows is threatening to upend everything.

You glance at the window, concern creeping into your voice. "The forecast said light snow. This isn’t light snow."

Tony glances up from his task, his brow furrowing. "I’ll check the weather system." He strides to a sleek tablet propped on the counter, his confident air slipping into one of mild annoyance as he swipes at the screen. "Great. It’s official—we’re in a blizzard. Power grid’s holding, but the roads? Not so much. Guess we’re not getting a visit from the Ghosts of Christmas Avengers anytime soon."

"How bad is it?"

"Put it this way, unless one of them suddenly develops teleportation powers, we’re on our own for a while." He pauses, turning to you with a raised brow. "Hope you’re not sick of me yet, because we might be playing snowed-in buddy comedy for the foreseeable future."

You sigh, though you’re secretly thrilled to have more time with him. "Could be worse. At least we have power and food. And… each other?"

Tony smirks, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. "Was that a declaration of friendship, Y/N? Be still, my heart. Someone fetch the smelling salts."

"Don’t push it." You throw a tangle of lights at him, which he dodges with ease, grinning like a kid.

The hours pass in a cozy haze. You string up lights, bicker over where the tree should go, and argue about how to best arrange the stockings on the mantle. When you complain about the uneven hooks, Tony disappears into the workshop he’s rigged in the cabin’s basement and reemerges an hour later with custom-engineered ones.

"Ta-da. Now no one has to suffer the tragedy of crooked stockings."

"You’re insufferable," you say, but your smile betrays you.

Later, as the storm howls outside, the two of you settle on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate. The fire crackles in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow. Tony sits closer than he needs to, his shoulder brushing yours.

"Hey, Y/N," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "This isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas, you know. Being stuck here. With you."

Your heart does a little flip, and you laugh nervously to cover it. "Is that your way of saying you’re having fun?"

"Don’t ruin it. I’m trying to be heartfelt here." He nudges you, a teasing smile on his lips, but there’s something genuine in his eyes.

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to, and for a moment, the blizzard outside feels like it’s miles away.

You’re woken up by the cold. Not the cozy, crackling-fire type of cold you’ve come to associate with this mountain retreat, but the teeth-chattering, toes-numbing kind of chill that has you pulling your blanket tighter around you, to no avail.

The fire in the living room must’ve gone out. You glance at the clock on the bedside table, its faint glow illuminating the late hour. A shiver runs down your spine as you sit up, and your breath puffs visibly in the icy air.

This can’t be right.

You throw on a thick sweater over your pajamas and venture into the hallway, the wood floors frigid beneath your socks. Tony’s door is closed, but you can hear him stirring inside. The sound of a door creaking open confirms your suspicions��he’s awake, too.

“Don’t tell me,” his voice grumbles from the shadowy doorway, “you’re freezing your ass off, too.”

“No, I woke up because I missed your charming personality,” you deadpan, hugging yourself for warmth.

Tony steps into the hallway, looking far too alert for someone who’s just woken up. His sweatpants and hoodie combo is decidedly less polished than his usual suits, but somehow, the sight of him like this—a little disheveled, a little more human—makes your heart do a somersault.

He raises an eyebrow at your shivering form. “You look like a popsicle.”

“You’re one to talk. Your nose is red.”

“Touché.”

The two of you head to the thermostat in the living room. Tony fiddles with it for a few minutes, muttering under his breath about shoddy wiring and questionable designs. Finally, he steps back with a sigh, rubbing his hands together.

“Bad news,” he says, his tone as flat as his next quip. “The heating system is toast. And unless you know how to jury-rig a thermal reactor in the middle of the night, we’re stuck like this until morning.”

You groan, rubbing your arms. “Can’t you fix it now?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “I could, but it would involve tearing apart half the basement with tools I don’t have. Also, I’m not exactly thrilled about freezing to death in the process. I’ll handle it first thing tomorrow, promise.”

“Great,” you mutter, already dreading the long night ahead. “Guess I’ll just wear every piece of clothing I packed and hope for the best.”

Tony smirks, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Or,” he says, dragging out the word, “you could come sleep in my room. You know, for the sake of body heat and survival. I’ll even keep the innuendos to a minimum. Scout’s honor.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you’re quick to mask it with a skeptical look. “That’s your grand solution? Sharing a bed?”

He shrugs, his casual tone doing little to hide the faint awkwardness behind his suggestion. “Hey, I didn’t say it wouldn’t be weird. But it beats waking up as human icicles. Besides, I’m a gentleman.”

The idea of sharing a bed with Tony Stark—the man who drives you up the wall and makes your heart race in equal measure—feels both mortifying and strangely comforting. After a moment of hesitation, you sigh.

“Fine,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. “But if you hog the blankets, I’m kicking you out.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Deal.”

You don’t know why you thought it would be easier.

The bed in Tony’s room is plenty big, but it might as well be a shoebox for how self-conscious you feel. The two of you lie stiffly on opposite sides, a careful expanse of space between you.

“I can feel the awkwardness radiating off you,” Tony says after a few minutes, his voice low and teasing.

You turn your head to glare at him, though the dark hides most of your expression. “I’m not awkward. I’m cold. And trying to sleep.”

“Right. Because you’re the picture of relaxation right now.”

“Tony.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound sends an unexpected warmth through your chest. “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up. Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

At some point during the night, the distance between you disappears.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is warmth—a stark contrast to the freezing air that had plagued the cabin earlier. The second thing you notice is that the warmth is coming from Tony.

Your breath catches as you realize his arm is draped across your waist, his body pressed against your side. And then there’s his face, nestled comfortably against your chest, his soft, even breaths tickling your skin through your sweater.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to move.

You’d expected this to be awkward, sure, but you’d figured you’d be the one clinging to him in your sleep, not the other way around. Yet here he is, looking almost serene in his slumber, his usual sharp edges softened by the quiet vulnerability of sleep.

You’re torn between amusement and something far more dangerous—a deep, fluttering ache in your chest.

As carefully as you can, you shift slightly, trying to get a better look at his face without waking him. His features are relaxed, his lips slightly parted, and you realize with a pang that he looks younger like this.

“Morning,” comes his groggy voice, startling you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes snap to his, which are barely open but sparkling with something teasing. He doesn’t move, though, his head still resting against you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Tony,” you say, your voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, his tone sleep-roughened and shamelessly smug. “You make a surprisingly good pillow, by the way.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you’re too flustered to push him away. “You’re the one who—”

“Cuddled up to you in my sleep?” He finally lifts his head, though his arm stays firmly around your waist. “Can you blame me? You’re warm. And soft.”

“Tony!”

He chuckles, sitting up slightly and running a hand through his hair. “Relax, Y/N. No need to get all flustered. I’m just stating facts.”

Your glare has no real heat to it, especially when he flashes you that disarming grin of his. “You could’ve just stayed on your side of the bed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You groan, flopping back against the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are.” He stretches lazily, looking far too pleased with himself. “Tell you what—since I was the offending party, I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes sound good?”

“You’re bribing me with pancakes?”

“Is it working?”

You sigh, unable to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But they’d better be good.”

“Please. Have you met me?”

As Tony slides out of bed and heads for the kitchen, you can’t help but feel that, despite the cold, being stuck here with him might not be so bad after all.

The day begins innocently enough.

Tony, true to his word, makes breakfast. You’re surprised he even knows how to cook pancakes, let alone make them taste this good. He doesn’t hesitate to point this out repeatedly.

“See? Stark doesn’t just do genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. I also do chef extraordinaire,” he says, flipping a golden pancake onto a plate with a dramatic flourish.

You snort, reaching for the syrup. “Congratulations, Tony. You’ve mastered the art of boxed pancake mix.”

He winks, sliding into the chair across from you. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

It’s easy, the banter. Comfortable, even. But under the surface, there’s an unmistakable tension that wasn’t there before.

You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every glance. The way Tony’s hand brushes yours when he passes you a fork sends a jolt up your arm. The casual way he leans back in his chair, his hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at his hip, has your cheeks heating before you can stop yourself.

And then there’s the way he looks at you.

You catch him watching you a second too long when you’re licking syrup off your fork. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense, and it sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

“Something on my face?” you ask, trying to sound breezy.

“Just admiring the view,” he replies, so smoothly it feels like a challenge.

The tension only builds as the day goes on.

The blizzard outside continues its relentless assault on the cabin, trapping you in a snow-globe world of swirling white. The two of you decide to tackle the Christmas decorations to pass the time, but the close proximity and the shared task only seem to make things worse.

“Hold that steady,” you say, stretching to hook the garland onto a nail above the fireplace.

Tony stands behind you, one hand braced on the ladder you’re perched on, the other holding the trailing end of the garland. He’s close—too close. You can feel the heat of his body against your legs, his steadying grip firm but gentle.

“If I hold it any steadier, I’ll be up there with you,” he quips, but his voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges.

You glance down at him, your breath catching when you find him looking up at you. His gaze flickers over your face, your lips, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“You’re staring again,” you say softly, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

He doesn’t look away. “Maybe I like what I see.”

The words hang between you, heavy and electric.

You clear your throat, breaking the spell. “Help me down?”

Tony steps back just enough to give you space, his hands reaching for your waist as you climb off the ladder. The contact is brief but searing, his fingers warm and sure against your sides.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a small, almost teasing smile. But there’s something deeper in his eyes—something unspoken and magnetic that leaves you reeling.

Later, you find yourself in the kitchen, attempting to bake cookies while Tony works on fixing the heating system in the basement. The storm hasn’t let up, but you’ve managed to distract yourself with the comforting rhythm of measuring and mixing.

That is, until Tony walks in, covered in a fine layer of grease and looking far too good for someone who’s just crawled out from under a broken furnace.

“Good news,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “The heating should be up and running in about an hour. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Stark,” you reply, focusing on the dough in front of you. It’s safer than looking at him, with his tousled hair and smug grin.

He leans against the counter, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’s been wearing all day. “So, what are we making?”

“Cookies. If you’re nice, I’ll let you have one.”

He smirks, stepping closer—too close. His hand brushes yours as he reaches for a stray chocolate chip, and the simple touch sends your pulse racing.

“I’m always nice,” he says, popping the chip into his mouth.

You scoff, turning to glare at him, only to realize just how close he is. Close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Close enough that if you leaned in just a fraction—

The thought sends your heart into overdrive, and you step back hastily, almost knocking over the bowl of dough in the process.

“Careful, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, a little too quickly.

His grin widens, like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on you.

By the time evening rolls around, the tension has reached a boiling point.

The two of you sit by the fire, which is now roaring cheerfully thanks to Tony’s earlier handiwork. The heat is a welcome reprieve from the chill, but it does little to ease the restless energy between you.

Tony lounges on the couch, his arm draped over the backrest, his legs stretched out in a way that’s both casual and entirely too appealing. You sit on the opposite end, clutching a mug of hot chocolate like it’s a lifeline.

“So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Did today live up to your Christmas expectations?”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the part where the heating broke, or the part where we almost froze to death?”

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Come on, admit it. You had fun.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe a little.”

The smile he gives you in return is softer this time, almost disarming. He shifts slightly, turning to face you more fully.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

His tone is different now—serious, but not heavy.

“Sure,” you say, your heart pounding for reasons you don’t fully understand.

He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words. “Do you ever wonder… what this would be like? Us, I mean. If we weren’t—”

“Complicated?” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze locks with yours, and the intensity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe. “Yeah. Complicated.”

The air between you crackles with something unspoken, something that’s been simmering all day—or maybe longer.

Your pulse quickens, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might close the distance between you. But then he leans back, breaking the moment with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Never mind,” he says, his voice lighter now. “Forget I said anything.”

But you can’t forget. And judging by the way he looks at you—like he’s trying not to let himself hope—you don’t think he can, either.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of half-hearted conversation and stolen glances, the unspoken tension between you lingering like the warmth of the fire. You can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t feel it, too.

The fire crackles softly, its glow painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The storm outside is still raging, but in the warmth of the cabin, the rest of the world feels miles away.

You’re sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, a blanket draped over your legs and a mug of tea cooling in your hands. Tony sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours whenever he shifts. It’s a quiet moment, comfortable and calm, but your mind is anything but.

You can’t stop replaying his words from earlier, the way his voice had softened, the way his gaze had lingered.

“Do you ever wonder what this would be like?”

The question has been burning in the back of your mind all day, and you can’t let it go. Not when every glance, every touch, seems to hint at something unspoken between you.

You glance at him, taking in the way the firelight dances across his features. His usual sharpness is softened by the flickering glow, and the sight tugs at something deep inside you.

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out.

“Tony.”

He looks at you, his brow quirking in that familiar way. “What’s up, Y/N? You’ve got that look.”

You set your mug down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Earlier… when you asked me about ‘us.’ What did you mean by that?”

Tony freezes, his easy smile faltering for just a moment before he schools his expression into something more neutral. He leans back slightly, resting his arm on the hearth’s edge, and you can tell he’s stalling.

“Ah, so we’re revisiting that, huh?” he says, his tone light but not quite as casual as he wants it to be. “I was hoping we could just let that one slide into the ‘awkward but forgettable’ category.”

“Tony.” You give him a look, one that says you’re not letting him off the hook.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. You want the truth? I was trying to ask if… if you’ve ever thought about what it’d be like if things between us weren’t so, you know—”

“Complicated,” you finish for him, your voice softer this time.

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. Complicated.”

You wait, giving him the space to continue.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, his hand gesturing vaguely as he searches for the right words. “We’re friends, and that’s great. I mean, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m not exactly drowning in great people. But sometimes I wonder if maybe…”

He trails off, his voice fading into the quiet crackle of the fire. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something raw in his eyes, something unguarded that makes your heart ache.

“Maybe what?” you prompt, barely above a whisper.

He laughs softly, though there’s no humor in it. “Maybe I want more. But that’s crazy, right? Because you’re you, and I’m me, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure if your heart is pounding from his words or the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Tony…” you begin, but he cuts you off with a self-deprecating smile.

“Forget it. I’m rambling. You don’t have to—”

Before he can finish, you lean in and kiss him.

It’s sudden, impulsive, and entirely out of character for you, but you can’t stop yourself. Not when his words are still echoing in your ears, not when the thought of him doubting how much you care makes your chest ache.

For a split second, he freezes, his breath catching against your lips. And then he’s kissing you back, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

The world around you fades away—the fire, the storm, everything. All that exists is the press of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hand on your skin, the way he leans into you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other. His eyes search yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with awe. “So, uh… not crazy, then?”

You laugh, your hand brushing against his where it rests on your cheek. “Not crazy. Not even a little.”

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, and for the first time all day, the tension between you melts away, replaced by something deeper, something undeniable.

“Well,” he says, his tone shifting back to that familiar, teasing lilt, “if I’d known that’s what it would take to shut me up, I would’ve started rambling sooner.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t push your luck, Stark.”

“Too late,” he replies, his grin widening.

And as the fire crackles beside you and the storm rages on outside, you realize you’ve never felt warmer in your life.

Night settles over the cabin with a heavy quiet, the kind that amplifies the faint creaks of the wooden beams and the low howl of the wind outside. The fire in the hearth has burned down to embers, but it doesn’t matter much; the heating system is working again—or so Tony assures you.

You stand in the hallway, awkwardly lingering by your bedroom door while Tony scratches the back of his neck, his usual confidence somewhat muted. It’s strange to think how much has changed in a single day.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” he says, his tone teasing but his eyes searching yours.

You smile softly. “Yeah. We are.”

A small, crooked grin tugs at his lips, and for a moment, you think he’s about to say something else. But then he steps back, gesturing toward his room.

“Alright, then. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, his voice lighter now, though there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you reply, your heart squeezing as you watch him retreat down the hall.

Half an hour later, you’re shivering again.

The blankets piled on your bed offer little relief against the creeping chill seeping into the cabin. You groan, pulling the covers tighter around you, but it’s no use.

How is this possible? you think. The heating system was fine earlier. Tony said it was fine.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a soft knock sounds at your door.

“Y/N?” Tony’s voice comes through, low and hesitant.

You sit up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and Tony steps inside, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been lying down, but there’s an odd mix of sheepishness and mischief in his expression that immediately puts you on alert.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, though you already have a sinking suspicion.

He clears his throat, leaning casually against the doorframe. “So, uh… funny story. The heating system’s on the fritz again.”

You stare at him, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Totally busted. Must’ve been a loose wire or, uh, something technical,” he says, waving a hand vaguely.

You narrow your eyes. “Something technical, huh?”

His gaze shifts, landing on anything in the room that isn’t you. “Yeah. Technical stuff. Very complicated. I’d explain it, but you’d probably get bored.”

You don’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to start fidgeting. And that’s when it happens—his carefully crafted nonchalance slips.

“I mean, it’s not like I turned it off or anything,” he says quickly, then freezes, his eyes widening as if he can’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth.

You blink, processing his slip. “Wait. You turned it off?”

“No,” he says immediately, his voice rising a pitch. Then, realizing how unconvincing that sounds, he sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Yes. I turned it off. But I had a good reason!”

You cross your arms, the blanket slipping slightly from your shoulders. “This should be good. Let’s hear it.”

He hesitates, his usual quick wit seemingly failing him for once. “I just… Look, it’s freezing, okay? And I thought maybe—”

“You thought maybe you’d use the cold as an excuse to come sleep with me?” you finish for him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Tony’s cheeks flush, and he looks away, muttering, “It sounds worse when you say it like that.”

Despite the chill in the air, warmth blooms in your chest at the thought of him going to such ridiculous lengths just to be close to you.

“You know,” you say, stepping closer, “you didn’t need an excuse.”

His head snaps back to you, his expression shifting from embarrassed to surprised. “I didn’t?”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “No, Tony. You could’ve just said you didn’t want to sleep alone.”

His mouth opens, then closes, and for once, he seems genuinely at a loss for words.

“Come on,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bed. “If you’re going to sneak your way into my room, at least do it properly.”

He lets out a laugh—half-relieved, half-something else—and follows you without protest.

As soon as the two of you settle under the covers, the warmth is immediate and all-encompassing. It’s not just the shared body heat; it’s the presence of him beside you, the sense of safety and comfort that comes with it.

Tony lies on his back at first, staring up at the ceiling like he’s trying to play it cool. But it doesn’t last long.

Within moments, he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. Then he turns onto his side, facing you, his expression unusually soft.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

You nod, your heart fluttering. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

His lips curve into a small smile, and before you can say anything else, he moves again—settling himself with his head resting on your chest.

The action is so uncharacteristic, so unexpectedly vulnerable, that you’re momentarily stunned. But then he lets out a contented sigh, his breath warm against your sweater, and you realize how natural it feels.

“Comfy?” you ask, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Very,” he murmurs, his eyes already half-closed.

You chuckle softly, threading your fingers through his hair on instinct. His reaction is immediate; he leans into your touch, a quiet hum of approval escaping him.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice muffled against you. “You’ve got a real talent for this, Y/N.”

“For what? Letting you use me as a pillow?”

“Exactly. A-plus performance. Five stars. Would recommend.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. As ridiculous as he is, there’s something incredibly endearing about seeing him like this—unguarded, content, and completely at ease.

Minutes pass, the firelight casting soft shadows across the room. Your hand continues its slow, gentle movements through his hair, and you feel him relax further, his breathing evening out.

“Hey, Y/N?” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but sincere.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

He tilts his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “For letting me in. For this.”

Your chest tightens, and you brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Anytime, Tony.”

He smiles, the kind of smile that feels like it’s just for you, and you realize in that moment that you’ve never been more certain about anything in your life.

As his eyes drift shut and his breathing slows, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head, letting the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

Morning arrives quietly. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the room in gentle hues. The cabin is silent save for the occasional creak of wood adjusting to the temperature. It’s a peace you don’t often experience, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in it.

Then you become acutely aware of the weight pressing against you.

Tony’s face is buried against your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, his body molded to yours like he’s been glued there. He’s still asleep, his breathing deep and even, but every now and then, he nuzzles closer, a contented sigh escaping him.

You’re torn between laughing at how clingy he is and feeling ridiculously fond of the man currently using you as his personal pillow.

With a small smile, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb him too much. The screen lights up, and you blink against the brightness as you read the messages that came in during the night.

The blizzard is over.

The team is on their way, currently en route on a Quinjet and expected to arrive in a few hours. Relief washes over you; as much as you’ve enjoyed this unexpected time alone with Tony, you know everyone will be eager to celebrate Christmas together.

You glance down at him, his dark lashes resting against his cheek, his lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful, younger almost, like the weight of the world isn’t constantly pressing down on him.

“Tony,” you say softly, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He groans in response, burrowing further into you.

“Come on,” you coax, trying to suppress your amusement. “The others are on their way. We should get up and make sure the cabin’s ready for them.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your chest.

You laugh, nudging him gently. “Tony, come on. You’ll care when Steve gets here and starts giving you his disappointed dad look because we’re not ready.”

He shifts slightly, cracking one eye open to peer at you. “Let him look. I’m busy.”

“Busy?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Busy doing this.”

As if to prove his point, he tightens his hold on you and nuzzles his face even deeper against your chest, his breath warm against your skin. His arms are firm around your waist, and despite the fact that you’re trying to wake him up, there’s a traitorous part of you that doesn’t want him to let go.

“Tony,” you say, your voice firmer this time, though it’s hard to sound authoritative when he’s acting so endearing.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the fabric of your shirt as he speaks. “I’m comfortable. You’re comfortable. No reason to ruin a good thing.”

You roll your eyes, though the fond smile on your face betrays you. “The team is literally flying here right now. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Plenty of time,” he counters, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Tony,” you say again, but before you can finish, he tilts his head up slightly, meeting your gaze with a lopsided grin.

“What?” he asks innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though there’s no real heat in your words.

“And yet, here you are, cuddling me anyway,” he quips, looking far too pleased with himself.

Before you can come up with a retort, he leans back down, resting his head against your chest again. His voice is quieter now, almost shy as he adds, “I don’t wanna get up yet.”

Your heart softens at his admission, and you find yourself relenting.

“Fine,” you say, running a hand through his hair. “But only for a few more minutes. Then we really need to get moving.”

He hums in response, his eyes slipping shut once more as he leans into your touch. You feel his breathing even out again, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When you finally manage to coax Tony out of bed, it’s a slow, reluctant process.

He clings to you the entire time, draping an arm over your shoulder as you sit up, resting his chin on your head while you stretch. Even when you stand, he follows you, keeping one hand on your waist as though afraid you’ll suddenly disappear.

“Are you always this clingy in the morning?” you tease, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He grins, unrepentant. “Only when I’ve got something worth clinging to.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush at the compliment. “Come on, Romeo. We’ve got work to do.”

He groans but doesn’t let go as you make your way to the kitchen. You try to shoo him off, insisting you can handle things just fine on your own, but he refuses to budge, staying close as you start preparing breakfast.

“Tony,” you say, exasperated but laughing, “I need both hands to crack these eggs.”

“You’ve got two hands,” he replies, leaning against the counter with a smug smirk. “Mine are free. Put me to work.”

You shake your head, handing him a whisk. “Fine. You can whisk. But don’t make a mess.”

He salutes you dramatically. “Yes, ma’am.”

By the time the Quinjet lands outside, the cabin is spotless, breakfast is ready, and you’ve managed to coax Tony into releasing you—though not without a fair amount of grumbling on his part.

The team files in, shaking off snow and shedding coats as they greet you warmly.

Steve glances between you and Tony, his brows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay here? You guys managed alright during the storm?”

You exchange a glance with Tony, his expression betraying nothing but smug satisfaction.

“Oh, we managed,” you say, biting back a smile.

Steve eyes you both suspiciously, but before he can press further, Natasha strides in, sniffing the air.

“Did you guys actually cook breakfast?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Tony whisked,” you say, and he preens like it’s the highest praise he’s ever received.

“I whisked,” he repeats proudly.

Natasha snorts, muttering something under her breath about miracles, and the conversation shifts as the team settles in.

Throughout the morning, Tony stays close—always within arm’s reach, always finding some excuse to brush against you or nudge your shoulder. It’s subtle enough that no one seems to notice, but you’re keenly aware of it, and the warmth it brings stays with you long after the blizzard is nothing more than a memory.

It’s going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.

stop guys I love Christmas so much

[bts5sosempire]

the tyrant (vi); side one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,583

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, nothing major atm, mentions of infertility, etc.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  "you were the apple of Sukuna's eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you."

𝐚/𝐧: splitting this into two parts, leaving y’all on a cliffhanger. pls like, comment below for tagging, and reblogged. (edit: forgot there were "broken" links or something when clicking to find the chapters, those are also fixed too.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

In front of you were two boxes, one that was gunpowder with a bold black label written at the top of the crate, and the other was written in potassium chlorate. You notice that these two items share similar fates but different structures. "Handle with care," you instructed, snapping the fan in your hand shut. Walking off with shoulders squaring, your eyes trail around when you stop right in the center of the trading post. You finally owned a small port that allowed you to transport essential items from different countries. From using the money, the inn has accumulated over time.

All the time you've spent inside your room, stuck reading boring materials and trying to navigate into the world as a man, was brutal. You would never have the luxury and freedom as a woman, but you've become too accustomed to dressing up as a man. It doesn't mean you let yourself fall freely. This world wasn't built for women; you've always known that from the start, although that doesn't stop you from bending the rules to your will if you wish for it. The effects of reinforcing you into roles from everyone start to wear off when there isn't anyone keeping tabs.

And it feels liberating, you admit.

The first few steps you have taken for yourself without the help of anyone powerful give you a sense of clarity—something normal among the norms. You eye the small port, seeing the future play out in front of you. If you kept a steady trade of items from the small shops, you have gambled around the area for their compliance (you were hasty, something you ought to keep in check, too), then the port would grow big in no time. But quality wares is something you noted and took from the vendors you think would make it big if they produce what you're looking for. Owning important essential items or daily use objects was often sought out, and knowing what was going on in the market with the ledgers you kept, the vendors were happy to update it every week.

The smell of sea salt brushes against your nose when a spray mist of the ocean settles across your face like a thin veil. It brought you back from reality. The dark soft fur that clings around your neck tickles your jawline. It was a cape that had a lined coat inside for heat insulation. It was a gift to you from the seamstress. At first, you refuse such a gift as you weren't expecting anything in return but their devotion. The seamstress was an elderly lady named Rue with pure grey hair with specks of white, with milky pupils who ran the shop with her granddaughter, who was the age of fifteen. For someone blind, they have an impeccable sense of design, where to thread their needle, and even hand spin the silk threads with deer tail fur to tone down the bright arrogant colors.

Last but not least, you didn't bypass her as male.

You wonder how at first, Rue could tell, but you couldn't stop them from shoving their hands all over your face to see as further confirmation. It isn't until when you're alone that she sends her blushing granddaughter, who keeps gawking at you, to fetch warm jasmine tea from the kitchen. When she breathed out how the light footsteps and breathing differed from men, the soft scent of your natural smell under the musk of pinewood wasn't enough to fool her. Years of blindness hone her other senses.

To say you give a nervous smile even though Rue can't see, but she could sense it. You remember how she didn't ask questions about your true identity, but traces of understanding was written across her withering face. Rue was indeed an enigma and a master of changing the topic onto herself with woos of stories of her ambitious youth. You don't mind her rambling; as long as it's not you divulging into your life, then you're fine.

Readjusting the cape, you walk off the port onto the mainland, and before you can go any further, a woman who is a bit tad shorter than you bumps into you. They let out a yelp and seemed to trip over their heel as they braced for impact when falling back and shut their eyes. Based on reflexes, you grab their wrist to pull them upright, but all it does is wring their weight your way as they collide into your chest with a delicate sound of discontent.

"Hey! Watch where-" The words died on their lips when they opened their soft pomegranate-colored eyes. Their eyes almost remind you of someone. As if they couldn't utter a word after nearly insulting you, the shade of their face became gradually warmer, like the colors of their eyes. "I'm sorry!" They sputter out in nervousness. You only look down at her with your questioning piercing gaze that has her even weaker in your arms. Unknowingly. Ripping themself out of your hold, she set a space between you both.

"What are you sorry for? It was my fault for not seeing you." Simply reassuring her, the woman across from you became a more blubbering mess. You don't know what's going on in her head; the more you observe, it becomes a headache to decipher each passing second. Cutting her off, you notice the sky gradually getting darker and bid her farewell with a tilt of your head down.

It wasn't until that you were gone she allowed herself to bask in the memories of you. With both hands on her flaming cheeks, she gushes over her Prince Charming and starts to create scenarios in her head. "They were so cool!~" The aura around her was warm and pleasant, and even some bystanders who walked past her glanced at her—some young love.

"Lady Kiriko!" The young woman's handmaid finally reaches her as they huff and pant. They stop in front of her. Kiriko only clicked her tongue in distaste as she lost her sense of a heart-warming aura. "I finally found you! We have to go to the inn before it gets dark." The handmaid wheezes out.

Like a flip that has been switched, Kiriko activated her brat mode. "Why do you always have to ruin my fun?" She pinches the maid's arm harshly, and they cringe back. "I still have a bit more time left before sundown." Kiriko overlaps her arms, but her thoughts trail back to you, and then brat mode is switched off. She had a deluded smile on her face. Then again, it was back on instantly when she turned around to her maid. "By the way, did you see a handsome man on your way here? They walk where the way you came from."

The handmaid crinkles her brows in confusion.

Kiriko rolls her eyes, "You know about this tall?" She gestured to where your height would reach, which is a head taller. "They wore a cape in the color of brown, but it looked like gold with intricate design, and the neck had soft black fur surrounding it." Kiriko waited a few more seconds, "And they look adorable too."

The maid then snaps their eyes at the lady, "Ah yes! I saw them; they walked into a rented house near here!" Kiriko didn't waste time asking which house the handsome man rented, and the maid told her it was the Red Koi and sped away.

Eisha coughs as the weather gets colder and harsher. With the months flying by and winter coming, she tried to stifle another hack. "Where are the imported red coals?" She asked nearby maids, who gave each other a look, deciding who would break the news. They were a jittering mess and kept avoiding eye contact.

Eisha's lady-in-waiting ensured her Master was comfortable as she brought the finest furs and pillows to create a sturdy and warm nest. "Your Lady asked you a question, and you won't answer her?" The personal maid sternly made a face, and the lowly ranked servants quivered.

"The red coals that you requested were given to Lady (Name)," one spoke up, still refusing to make eye contact; they whispered the last part in a hush, "by Lord Sukuna's order."

As if what they said were whiplash to their Lady and the personal maid, Eisha's lady-in-waiting was about to blow a fuse for her Master. "All dismiss." She tried to say calmly. Although it was barely contained, all the servants could see how Eisha's handmaid eyes bled red with rage, and no one wasted a second to flee the room. If Hell existed, it would be this very castle.

Eisha's handmaid, Miyo, turns to their master. "Your Lady, even Lord Sukuna knows about your condition and that regular coals could suffocate your lungs and worsen it with the amount of smoke it emits." Miyo then curses you inside her mind; like everyone else, she couldn't understand why Lord Sukuna would put you above all else. Are you made of gold or something? Miyo was sure you were nothing; you hadn't made yourself worthy with a single childbirth. Something that everyone knew was important.

"Don't worry about it," Eisha's quiet demeanor made Miyo even more raucous, but she held it inside. "Go to the clothing department today and pick up my lined fur fleece and my daughter from her study." With the command, Miyo respectfully now to Eisha and left the room.

There was a quick and sudden announcement from Hanami about her niece visiting her from a different region of Japan in a week. So the Doom Mother (Motherzilla) had expected everything to be perfect and lavish. Even the concubines were putting on their best behavior as they discussed what to wear to welcome their mother-in-law's niece.

This was the first time the girl would make an official trip to visit Hanami alone. But that doesn't mean you haven't heard of her before; there were brief mentions of her throughout your marriage to Sukuna. Where Hanami had plotted the idea of her only son marrying a cousin with who he had no interest. Additionally, Sukuna only met her once when she was only eight. Even the age gap was a decade between them. In the faint memory of her ten years ago, Sukuna had said she was a spoilt brat to the brim and expected the world to bow down to her.

You could almost laugh at how ironic he was judging someone when he was the same way. Well, minus the spoilt parts, then it would be perfect.

"Lady (Name)," a lady you recognize was two years older than you, was part of Hanami's entourage, Ubi. Judging by her clothes, she was in the second rank, closely behind Hanami's vassal, Naiyu. This instantly made you put on an air of neutrality; you didn't know what to expect from her as you didn't know much about her. Out of all of Hanami's retainers, only Ubi and Naiyu were the ones you watch out for, as Ubi was specially trained under Naiyu, so their facade was perfect craftsmanship.

Since they both represent Hanami's strengths, they had to be fearless in what they do, and you suspect that much—being the blade for their master. Still, they have shown indifference toward you, but doubt lingers in your mind. You can be careful and wary of them, but that would invite your demise if you failed to see beyond, so you try to harden your eyes.

Ubi, who senses you putting up barriers, instantly tries to disarm it with a soft smile that is part of her service. "The Head Mother has requested your presence," and around you, the air of jealousy and envy from concubines rises through the roof and filters through the hallways. Whether it's deliberate or not, Ubi semblance never falters. She held onto that patience.

"Lead the way," you monotonously said, and she turned around for you to follow. Starting at her back, it's unsettling how you can't pick what's happening inside Ubi's head, unlike how you did with Sukuna. For them, it's a blank slate.

"Ugh, look at her acting like she's so important just because the Head Mother had called for her," Sena whispered with hidden jaundice around her little clique, and they all agreed. One rolls their eyes, and a few sniggers at the action. Her eyes trail close to where you left.

It took a few minutes to lead you to Hanami's residence.

"Head Mother, I have brought Lady (Name) as per your request," Ubi announces, and the door slides open. She side steps to the side to allow you in without looking up.

You enter the room with quiet steps and sit on the zabuton, and before you can bow as a greeting, she lifts a hand to stop you. "There's no need." Hanami tries to mask her displeasure at seeing you, and you weren't stupid to not see it. It's just you didn't bother to point it out. Since she has an important matter to discuss and it involves you, Hanami decides to make it quick so your face isn't a constant reminder of your Aunt.

Hanami: "You're going to take over on welcoming my niece."

You: "Pardon? Isn't that supposed to be Lady Eisha's role?"

"Yes, it is," Hanami spoke as a matter of fact, "due to her ailing health, this task might be arduous for her since the doctor has told her to stay warm, so Eisha is taking bed rest to recover. Thus I'm assigning this to you."

Well, this is news to you. Out of all the people she could've picked, she had chosen you for such a task. You would have thought she might select one of the lower concubines to do the job. With her blatant prejudice against you. "Wouldn't any other concubine be better for the job?"

"Are you shrinking your role as the second wife of my son?" Hanami blurts out in annoyance as her tone rises an octave high; she looks up and down at you repeatedly with quick eyes. Like, you have gone crazy for even suggesting that.

With lips service smile, you retort back politely, "Head Mother, you seem to be offended by my innocent question. I'm only asking since you seem to tolerate my presence barely, let alone we haven't spoken to one another within five years of being married to your son. The only time we spoke was, instead, very brief and short, two days after the wedding consummation." It was the first greeting for the mother as a new in-law from the wife or concubine as respect.

Hanami clenches her jaws tightly; your sharp tongue and dim-witted acting seem to prick her nerves. You and your Aunt are very much alike in some ways, unbearable and arrogant. "Are you going to refuse my order?"

"Ah no," you quickly reply, "that would bring shame if I didn't uphold my duty as the second wife of Sukuna and Lady Eisha's left hand too."

Hanami didn't know if what you said was pure mockery, but each passing second in this room with you got her blood pumping in anger. "Since you have understood, you're dismissed."

You courteously bow deliberately (on purpose) to bid farewell before standing up with grace. Hanami was sure you were playing with her; your ungenuine smile wasn't even hidden. She curses daily due to her son's favoritism of you; you're like a plague that never vacates. And have you grown uncouth that you don't even respect her?

"Lord Sukuna, Lady (Name) will be taking over Lady Eisha's task of welcoming your cousin in a few days," Uraume informed their master, who quirked a brow.

"Oh? So that brat of a cousin is visiting?" He asked no one in particular; it was more of saying it to himself out loud. "Mother has finally given her such an important task for once." The thought of his Mother warming up to you sounds so funny that he can't help but chuckle. His Mother barely tolerates the idea of you and loathes Sukuna himself for a self-evident reason sometimes. "Make sure my wife doesn't overwork herself and help her if necessary; I'll tend to her afterward."

Uraume silently left the room, and Sukuna mulled over his thought. He rests his temple against his knuckles and watches the candlelight flicker under a breeze. But in his spare hand was a familiar thick jewel; Sukuna toys around with a gold bangle with assorted gems in various sizes, colors, and labyrinth designs indented into the gold.

It was your bangle.

After the night he had spent with you, he took what's most precious to you, and it was what was given to you by your deceased parents. There were years of work on it, seeing how the inside of the jewel was fading away from constant use. Sukuna noticed how the clasps were loose, most of all when he kept twisting the bangle around to feel every rigidity and bump.

The more he looks at it, the more something seems off.

Sukuna barely saw small noticeable lines on the inside of the bracelet; it was in the shape of a square. A small hidden compartment; if his keen and trained eyes missed that tiny detail, he deserved to be killed on a battlefield for not seeing an enemy, ambush, or assassination. Still, Sukuna was curious and grabbed a small wooden toothpick to unlock the small door.

He was surprised when multiple seeds fell out of the bracelet when he shook them out onto the table. The color of the sources was rather old, seeing how raisin and dried they were. Something stirs in his chest, and he doesn't like it. Sukuna's fierce eyes were glaring at the jarring sight before him. Cold like Hell has washed over.

"Someone, go and fetch me the doctor. Right. Now." His voice was low, with his wrath was barely concealed through clenched teeth. "Now!" Sukuna repeats their voice bellows out from his room to outside when no one makes a move to move. One male servant scamps away to do what they're told out of fear.

You're crafty. He gives you credit for that; whatever you're hiding, he would sniff it out. Sukuna then set the jeweled bracelet down and ran a hand through his hair; he puffs out a shallow breath. He's barely an anxious man, but his opinions of you and your sensitive nature slowly etched their way into his mind as he started to pick them apart one by one in a logical sense.

When emotions run high, clouds of judgment obscure his views. Sukuna is a man led by ideals and a futuristic sense; scarcely emotions ever run by him. He knew deep down when he allowed himself to feel emotions, it would cause him trouble, and he was right. Few selected people could be worthy of his regard, but to him, it didn't change his output of you very much. He dislikes being blind by someone, even so, he fully lets himself be when it comes to you, but seeing differently from a different angle, Sukuna should know that you're not soft and malleable.

You're like glass, pretty in the light, but there are still sharp edges around it. You shouldn't be underestimated. When he thought he had you at the center of his palm, you find a way to slip away. The game of chase was a back-and-forth thing, with its up and down.

Sukuna took another breath and exhaled deeply, pushing away the negative introspections.

You were busy interacting and directing where everything should go the next few days. It almost felt like a routine when you were dressed up as your alibi, Seijuro Hajime. Your breath fogs up in front of you, and your nose itches when cold air brushes against it; turning your head to the side, you sneeze.

"You should dress up warmer for the occasion," a voice snuck up behind you, and you froze for a quick second when a heavy cape was draped around your shoulders. Sukuna had made his presence known, and the servants around you suddenly worked harder than before. You were about to shrug off his cape, but his hands were on your shoulders, "Keep it on."

Another moment of pregnant silence passed through; no servants bothered to be in your and Sukuna's line of sight. They make sure to steer clear away from the invisible bubble that was presented around their Lord of the House. Sukuna presses his broad front against your back; you can feel his heat seeping through, then he slides his hands down your shoulders until it reaches your cold hands. His callous palms envelopes your own, and there was a minor battle of you struggling to tug it away.

"Could you please let me do my job," you patronize Sukuna, who only takes it as amusement and doesn't move an inch.

"No, I came here to spend time with my lovely wife." He tunes out, and his voice is much lighter, much chirpy to your liking. "Do you want to know what I discovered today?"

"No," flatly refusing him, one of Sukuna's hands retracted for a second, and you felt something cold and heard a slight click on your wrist. You look down to see your bracelet that has gone missing adorned your wrist. Toring yourself away, you whirl around to meet his eyes; you accuse him with a quiet, burning, seething look, "So it was you who took it."

The corners of his lips quirk up. You have spent days looking for your precious bangle, even flipping your room upside down. You didn't think it was this menacing man in front of you swiping it right under your nose during that day he had forcefully bedded you. You even thought that you lost it during your outing to the castle and that anyone could pick it up and pawn it to set themselves up for life.

"It was a pretty little thing; I know it was a special gift to you from your parents. So I took it as an inspiration to see your taste, as you never wore what I gifted. " Sukuna explains while lazily giving you a nonchalant expression without losing his carefree nature. He lops his head to the side, "And here's the fun part, I fixed your little bracelet problems for you."

You clench your jaws and roll your eyes again with a deep breath, "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, no," Sukuna tuts out as if he's dealing with a lying child, "There is a problem with it. You, my lovely wife here, have been plotting something bigger against me this whole time." The light in his eyes darkened and was replaced with something entirely devious. Mentally preparing yourself, Sukuna brushes his knuckles against your cold, bitten, ample red cheeks. "There are many things I've been tolerating from you," Sukuna's tone reeks of hurt and betrayal, despite failing to mask it, "but not this."

The hand caressing your cheek was suddenly behind your nape; Sukuna grips, and for once, he didn't care how he made you look in front of his servants, who were surprised at his treatment. Many hold their breath and further avoid the personal bubble as they could see trouble brewing between you both. All we're opting the long way to complete their task.

"You know I always wanted a child with you, but seriously, basil seeds?" Sukuna let out a haughty laugh when he saw your expression crumble a bit from fear of realization that he knew. "Yes, I now know what has caused your infertility."

The smile he wore never seemed so big and scary in front of you. Your mind was repeatedly reeling that Sukuna knew. He. Knew. Now you're not safe, and you can no longer avoid his advances.

Sukuna could see the vulnerability displayed before him; this was what he was waiting for. You're so open for him to take and relish. "I admire the length you're willing to go, and honestly, I genuinely do." You don't know what will come out of his mouth anymore. "No one can save you from me now. Not even your precious bracelet."

[Days Ago]

Sukuna patiently waited for the physician to arrive at his headquarters while drumming his fingers against the dark red oak table. His eyes trail to your bracelet that sticks out like a sore thumb, along with the seeds. The doors to his room snap open as the physician enters. "Finally," Sukuna said out loud; he has patience, but not today.

The doctor stopped in front of Sukuna and greeted him with a bow. "Lord Sukuna, w-what seems to be the problem?"

The man smirked, "You always seem to tremble whenever you meet me, but never mind that," Sukuna motioned with his head where the bracelet and seeds lay, "Tell me what is on the table." The physician saw and quickly took action.

They took a seed and examined it before sniffing it, and a faint scent emitted. "My Lord, this is basil seed."

Sukuna: "Basil?"

"Yes, basil." They confirmed it.

"What's so special about it?" Sukuna asks with interest.

"Lord Sukuna, basil seeds are used for many things, and especially if consuming it, doing it in small quantities once in a while not to cause side effects. Too much may cause bloating and abdominal pain. This is also used to help... " The medic explains in tangent detail.

"Then explain why it was inside the bracelet." Sukuna cuts to the chase when asking about something the doctor does and tends to run their mouth sometimes.

"A-Ah, yes." He took the bracelet from the table, "May I ask who the bracelet belongs to?"

Sukuna: "(Name)."

The doctor should not be surprised it was you. They took a moment to examine the bracelet and saw the open compartment door and sniffed the inside of the bangle, and found traces of it. "My Lord, how long has Lady (Name) worn this bracelet?"

The sound of urgency in his voice caught Sukuna's interest. "For as long as I married her. It was from her parents. What's the problem?"

Since there was no time stamp on how long, the doctor could only conclude one thing, "If Lady (Name) has worn this for a long time, then the cause of her infertility could be this all along." The words are like a cold wake-up call from the doctor; Sukuna's eyelids droop low with fury. The thought of you, 'How dare you (Name).' The doctor nervously continues, "Long exposure to basil seeds entering the bloodstream could thin out the blood, affect her hormones, and even her menstrual cycles. This could also explain—"

Sukuna raised a hand for the medic to shut their mouth as he was complimented on how he should deal with you and what he had just learned today. At first, he took your bracelet to understand your personal preferences, then return it to you later, and now he doesn't regret stumbling onto your long secret by chance. The amount of time he had bed you and you failed to conceive a child was out.

"You're dismissed, and keep your mouth shut." Then he looks at the corner where Uraume resides, "Take the bracelet to get it modified from a nearby jeweler. Fix the clasps and seal the door."

•

Taglist: @sukunasobject @lilliansstuff @lucyrocks86 @ladywolf44005 @watyousayin @sandronebabyy​ @pinkrose1422 @skepticalleo @please-help-therapy-needed @whatsonthemirror @krispsprite @loser-alert @saturnknows @samdric @littlemochi @akigoat @mxghostbee @rose4958 @shadowywizardarcade @huicitawrites @baji-keisukes-wife @choso-wifey @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @sanderaen @peonnnny @tiredlattes @waytomanyhusbands @whatamidoing89 @utena-akashiya @outrofenty @welcometodemonschoolfan @im-a-killer-queen @loverisa @bubera974 @sashaphantomhive @chaoticstrawberryland @onetwo123three

[alice-after-dark]

The Red King and the Unicorn - Legends and Lore

Heavily inspired by The Last Unicorn, Howl's Moving Castle, and Beauty and the Beast.

Sorry it's been a while since I updated one of my AUs! Been busy with my current wip. Hope you guys enjoy!

They say the Red King is a fearsome thing, a being known across the land for his powerful magic and cruelty. Clothed completely in the color of blood and with the rotted antlers of a deer, they say he crawled from the depths of the abyss, a foul evil creature made of darkness and screams.

They say when the moon rises high and full he will hunt, devouring the souls of those unlucky enough to enter his path. Parents warn their children to never venture into the forest at night, for if they did the Red King will catch them and eat them bones and all. Or perhaps he will curse you with his terrible magic and leave you to suffer for all eternity. Those who live to tell the tale are often driven mad by the encounter, too frightened to even describe what they saw. They say he can change form, taking on the shape of whatever you fear most.

They say Red King lives in a castle made of dark stone. It sits high on a cliff's edge, its tall twisted towers overlooking the sea. Those who pass through its doors never return, eaten soul and all by sharp teeth meant to rend flesh from bone.

"Niffty, dear, hand me the salt, please?...thank you."

That's what they say.

Vox watches from his place on the couch, still wrapped in the throw blanket someone had laid across him, as this creature of darkness fusses about the small kitchen. He's making some kind of stew and it smells incredible. Niffty flutters around him, fetching ingredients and chattering happily. The Red King nods along as she babbles before finally interrupting her to request she fetch everyone for dinner.

The goblin woman nods eagerly and waves at Vox. "Pretty horse! Dinner is ready!" She skips away then, presumably to find Husk. Vox jumps when he suddenly finds the abyssal being beside him.

"Do you need assistance getting to the table?" The Red King asks. "It's my understanding you were having some difficulty this morning."

Vox blushes, remembering how he's nearly fallen down the stairs, and nods. He takes the hand offered to him with hesitation and he is instantly reminded of the night he was taken away from the carnival. He'd offered him his hand then too.

He can feel their bond through the contact and the unicorn stands on shaky legs, but the Red King holds him firm. "One step at a time, dear." He places his other hand on Vox's lower back to hold him steady. Vox nods and does as instructed, hobbling ungracefully over to the table. "You'll get better with practice," the king says, helping him into a chair. "It took Husker some time to learn how to walk on two legs as well. You'll adapt."

"Um...thank you," Vox says, voice barely above a whisper. It still feels strange to speak again, after being forcibly silenced for so long. The Red King places a bowl of stew in front of him and waves a hand.

"Eat. You're far too thin as it is. I'm sure the others won't mind if you start without them."

"O-okay."

It only takes him a couple tries to get a good grip on the...well, he doesn't know what this one is called, but there's no fork so Vox assumes this is what he is meant to be using for the meal. He's not quite sure he's doing it right, but his hold is firm enough that he's satisfied. His first try makes him realize the tool is upside-down and after a quick correction, his second attempt is much more successful, if not a little clumsy. Still, the food makes it into his mouth and he smiles.

"This is...really good." He takes another bite. He only gets silence in response and when he looks up, the Red King is watching him. He's still smiling, but there's something about his eyes that makes Vox feel like he's actually frowning. "Is...something wrong?" His heart begins to slam in his chest. Something unpleasant tingles through their bond.

To his shock, the Red King almost seems embarrassed at having been caught and he looks away abruptly. "Nothing is...technically wrong, no. I suppose I just...I usually add much more flavor to my cooking, but I toned it down some because I wasn't sure if it would be too much for you so soon. What have they been feeding you that has destroyed your palette so?"

Vox isn't sure he entirely understands. The food seems incredibly rich to him. But the being's last question has him sinking low in his chair. "Hay, mostly. Sometimes scraps of raw vegetables." He eyes the remnants still on the counter with disdain. The Red King follows his gaze and his eyes go sharp.

"Their prized catch, fed like a common mule? If you weren't immortal, you would have starved. It's no wonder you were so weak when we found you."

"Um...how did you find me? I've been trapped there for years and never once has anyone tried to rescue me."

The king waves his hand at the bowl. "Keep eating while we talk. Truth be told, we weren't looking for you. It was a rather happy accident that we stumbled across your imprisonment. We had thought everything at the show would be fake. Imagine our surprise to find the genuine article locked up in a tiny cage."

Vox curls in on himself a little as he takes another bite, the warm stew sharply contrasting the memory of the cold cramped space that had been his home for years. "I...thank you...for rescuing me anyways."

"Now, none of that. We've already made our bargain. No further sentiments are necessary."

Vox opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Husk and Niffty.

"Fuckin' mandrakes," Husk hisses as he stomps into the main room. His fur is matted with dirt. "Al, you mind?"

Al?

The Red King points in Husk's direction and a small whirlwind kicks up around him, gathering the dirt from his fur and carrying it back the way Husk had come. Husk's fur puffs up in a fashion that looks so ridiculous, Vox has to hide a snort behind his hand.

Husk grumbles. "Ha ha, very funny."

"I like to think I am," the king replies, chuckling as the manticore smooths down is fur.

"I'm funny, but looks aren't everything!" Niffty giggled. Vox doesn't understand the joke, but whatever it is, Husk and the Red King don't seem to enjoy it as they share a disapproving look between the two of them.

The king steeples his finger together. "Niffty, darling, what have I said about self-deprecation?"

"That I shouldn't do it, but it's fine. I know I'm ugly. Daddy used to tell me so all the time." The tiny woman has already helped herself to a bowl and is settling into her seat beside Vox.

"And what have I said about your father?"

"That he tasted like shit!"

Husk chokes on a laugh, the king sighs low, and Vox nearly drops his...stew eating tool.

Tasted?!

The Red King clears his throat. "Well, yes, but also I believe I have told you that he is, in fact, a wretched imbecile who couldn't tell his arse from his elbow. Why would you trust the word of a man with so few brain cells? You're a lovely woman and I won't hear otherwise."

Niffty giggles and digs into her stew happily. Husk starts talking to the king about the state of the garden, everyone seemingly oblivious to the dumbfounded unicorn at the end of the table.

TASTED?!

---

Husk being in charge of the garden was inspired by @hiemaldesirae's comments on a Hazbin poll about who would have a succulent garden.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

The crowd in the stadium held their breath as the prince-consort-to-be was unseated in the joust. His opponent dismounted their destrier, put up a hand to halt his aides from coming to his side.

Roche had removed his helmet by the time the unknown knight had swung over the tilt barrier in an uncommon show of agility for someone burdened with armor. Closer, he could see how the knight managed - they didn't wear every piece as intended and had opted only for mail wherever a vital organ didn't need protection from the lance.

A slight gauntlet reached out and working together they hefted the much heavier Roche to his boots.

"Thank you, good knight. I'm still unsure how you even managed to unseat me - "

The knight lifted their visor. Ciri grinned back at him around sweat and dirt tracks.

"I cheated with a bit of magic. Will you turn me in?"

Emotion constricted Roche's chest. The duels were apart of a series of events to commemorate right to the princess's hand - of course she would take to proving the only living soul that could determine such a thing.

"That depends. May I kiss you, Your Grace?"

Ciri's eyes widened with brief surprise that gave way to amusement. "I'll allow it."

The crowd gasped as the prince-consort-to-be tilted his face just so to kiss the helmed knight. The shock broke into cheers when CIri pushed her helmet off to deepen the kiss, revealing her well known ashen hair, grabbing hold of Roche's face and taking control.

In the emperor's viewing box, Mererid was being fetched his smelling salts.

My brief googling shows me you stole this one from @witch-and-her-witcher - at least, that appears to be the case? Sorry OP!

Did you send me a snippet that's kinda similar to the literal book i just published on purpose or is that just a happy accident lmao

[icehearts]

EXPERIMENTS.

The wooden door settles into its frame, iron lock clicking as the mechanism slides into place. Esca’s shoulders slump as she leans against the closed door, sighing. Gods, she’s tired. Relieved.

Confused.

Not once has she ever encountered a hired blade — no, anyone who would so stubbornly refuse extra gil. As if her coin were tainted somehow. Or was his loyalty already bought by whoever hired the Brass Blades — an informant, spying on her perhaps? No, that didn’t seem likely. Perplexing as it may be, Osric’s sincerity was, at least, undeniable.

So could it be that he truly meant what he said? But that would run counter to everything Esca has ever known about conducting business in Ul’dah. Not even offering to buy the silence of a hireling is considered impolite. Insulting, even, as it implies they don’t have any worthwhile connections within the city. It’s more than mere courtesy — it’s simply another cost of doing business. Especially if that business involves seizing property from Brass Blades.

Not that it was theirs to begin with.

She turns her attention to the earthy-smelling crate sitting on the countertop across the room. Its contents are uncomplicated: various botanical ingredients along with some simple medicinal concoctions meant for the refugees settled outside the city gates. Esca’s father understood that many of those displaced were slow to trust unfamiliar medicines offered by strangers, though they could still fashion their own curatives from the proper components. Ensuring that the most vulnerable could still care for themselves in their own ways was important to him. To think that someone would want to exploit that desire to help as a means to punish him—

Anger, blinding and numbing, was too much like a venom, and there's work to do. She can't afford to dwell on that for now.

Fetching and donning a pair of work gloves from a supply drawer, Esca rifles through the contents of the crate, organizing and separating each item by its intended application. Gnarled roots still dusted with soil, plant cuttings and twisted vines, vials of dried leaves, clinking bottles filled with translucent liquids and sticky oils, cork-stoppered jars of rock salt, bags of various elemental crystal shards. Too easily did this array of ingredients rearrange itself in her mind. Plants and reagents reduced to powders and alchemical compounds, recipes and ratios, dosages that could divide a cure from a casualty. For all his genius, that was the sort of thing Esca’s father wouldn’t understand. Or perhaps he chose not to understand. Refused to think of his life’s work as a potential weapon. Esca scoffs. Another frustratingly honest man.

Perhaps it’s her own reasoning that’s to blame. But if it was honesty — her father’s own refusal to be bought — that caused this mess, then perhaps dishonesty was needed to clean it up.

So there, she announces to an invisible audience, hands balled into defiant fists on her hips. Esca would stand by her decision, even if Osric took offense to it. He was right about at least one other thing, though. Esca has been in this city too long. But she can’t leave. Not yet. Not while the refugees are still at risk of whatever scheme is at play, not while her mother’s would-be assassin goes unmasked. The two must be connected somehow. They have to be. And if she could only find out how, then maybe the pain her father was feeling — maybe Esca’s pain, too — would transmute into something smaller. Something more manageable.

[ featuring @osric-giroux-ffxiv as a mention! ]

[beefrobeefcal]

IK I JUST TAGGED U IN THIS BUT IT NEEDS TO COME TO UR ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY! LOOK AT THE FUCKING TUMMY!!! WHAT ARE YOUR BEEFRO THOTS???

good fucking god, Wifey...

EX-FUCKIN-SCUSE ME MR THE PHOTOGRAPHER YOU HAVE THIS PIC IN A HIGHER RESOLUTION AND I AM NOT PRIVY TO IT?

SOMEONE FETCH ME MY SMELLING SALTS AND A RUN ME A HOT BATH. I HAVE TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE SEWERS AND PIPE UP THE BAND. HOW MANY HARMONICAS AND KAZOOS CAN WE MUSTER UP? IT'S TIME FOR A DUMPSTER FIRE SEWER PARADE.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

[itriedwritingandhereiam]

Was writing a pettynette fic after bingeing the entire available fic population for it and I ended up trying to comment on the characterisation of characters in salt fics in the a/n and it turned into an essay so I decided to post it here.

I understand Miraculous is a kids show. I do! But as someone who's been watching the damn thing since primary school, it's always frustrated me that the class was so gullible! Like, as someone who's lived through a class of 15-16 year olds, I can gaurantee that bullshit Lila spews ain't passing in a real classroom. Especially with teenage girls. Most of the time they can smell bullshit from a mile away.

But fiction is fiction I guess.

I've seen some amazing fics exploring the logic behind the character's decision int terms of the Lila situations and that's the only reason I let canon fly, it CAN be justified, with some effort and some far fetched but it still bothers me. I feel like making the lies a bit more subtle and toned down could greatly change the impact you know? When she's trying to isolate Marinette the class, do it slowly. Plant some seeds of doubt and water them. Don't go big, bold and accusatory with no preparation or build up.

Instead of "Why does she hate me? *sob* I can't believe she'd corner me in the bathroom and threaten me *sob*. How could she do this!"

why not,

"I just- I don't understand what it is about me she doesn't like you know? *gains a look of sympathy* I know she's your friend and she's really nice to you all but - did I do something to offend her? I don't understand," garnering sympathy points would get you everywhere.

At the same time,, Marinette could have handled that the situation a bit more gracefully. Yeah she was blinded by jealousy (At first) and that's what made it easy to just right off and dismiss what she was saying, because it was obvious she was feeling threatened. (Alya's reaction to Marinette revealing that Lila is a lying manipulator)

But even later, she kept acting rashly and throwing around the "She's lying!" thing and it was a hard to believe when they KNEW she had biases against Lila. Lila, who has a fantastical life, the 'attention' (notice the quote unquote) of Adrien and so many disabilities.

It's just so out of place for their oh-so considerate class president to just up and hate the girl.

(Although, that should have raised some suspicion, they were supposed to be smart), so I can't fault Marinette entirely.

It's just so interesting to see how fics combat the already canon events and even improve the happenings or deal with the fallout of either girl's actions.

Sometimes Lila wins (partially) and Marinette is ostracised, but usually the class gets their just desserts by the end. Sometimes the class gets corrupted and drive Marientte out(which I'd crazy but always entertaining, (I love Marientte transfers school-fics)) and everything gets the i-told-you-sos with some guilt tripping (maybe even repercussions) or not, depending on the tone of the plot. Sometimes they grow braincells and figure it out themselves. Always satisfying to see the guilt ( but sometimes they're portrayed as too proud to make amends and aton for behaviour)

One thing that always bothered me(but I eat it up anyway) is Adrien. Adrien's advice to Marinette comes from his own,fucked up little way of problem solving. He grew up in a household where he had no control or say in what happened in his own life, Hence the, "if I don't see the problem it doesn't exist/ ignore it long enough it'll go away" flavour of thinking. Now, funny enough I relate to this on a personal level which is why I feel attacked when Adrien is villainised for this poor piece of advice he gave. Yes, my boy is trying to keep the peace because he's not confrontational (ahem, selectively, I would like to note, theire is some hypocrisy in his actions later down though) and he has this unfortunate notion that since Marinette is strong enough to endure, she SHOULD endure. In canon, she runs with his advice, in fanon she (usually, not always) hates/dislikes him for it because it results in Lila getting away with her schemes and Marinette being painted as a jealous girl who feels threatened by Lila. Yes, it's wrong. Yes, people get hurt. But it's not entirely his fault. Unless his character is tweaked a bit. I'm talking about the fics that have him having his sunshine personality as a facade he uses for some semblance of normalcy. Or he's made into the toxic and possessive type. Then, shit on him all you want.

Yes, I absolutely love salt fics that follow that exact outline. But there is always a chance to enlighten the poor oblivious boy(if you're sticking with his canon, typically a bit brown nosed personality).

There was a fic a read that did this so masterfully, If I find a link, i'll drop it. She acknowledged that his advice was faulty, but she also considered that that was all he knew (see my previous statement) and found it in herself to forgive him for it (after he showed he was willing to atone/redeem himself)

I love salt fics though. No matter how much the characters are tweaked to fit the plot. That's the point of fan work, it's your own spin on the og plot so you have creative liberties.

[scyllas-revenge]

I've been encountering post comments of people flipping out over the Bridgerton S3 teaser clip where Anthony sneaks a kiss on Kate while dancing in front of the ton. It made me realize that Boromir was quite bold and brazen with the way he interacted with Reader (Aerdis) in "Breathe".

Getting so close and intimate, publicly, with a lady who was not his wife or even anything?? All the pearl clutching!! 👀😂

Real question, though: what are your thoughts, opinions, or headcanons about social protocols and restrictions in Gondor/Minas Tirith regarding interactions between unmarried men and women? Do you see it as a climate similar to the Regency Era, or something less restrictive? I guess it wasn't super conservative, considering the Farawyn public canoodling... unless that was a great scandal in itself. 😂

Oooh I love this question! (and I'm so excited for Bridgerton S3!!) Here are entirely too many of my thoughts XD

You know how much I love your Breathe fic, and I think acting a bit outside of social norms fits Boromir very well- he seems like the type to feel every emotion very intensely, and while he's very aware of social norms, he's not going to let them get in his way for long. (be still my heart, fetch me my smelling salts at once)

That being said I don't personally imagine Gondorian society to be quite as restrictive as regency-era England, just because the regency era was SO restrictive. There were SO many social taboos and particular ways you had to navigate social settings, and while I'm not an expert on them all, a lot of aspects of Jane Austen's books still stand out to me as just insane, like never referring to your spouse by their first name, even when you're just chilling at home with your kids. No hand touching if you're not wearing gloves, no dancing with someone more than twice in one setting (unless you're making your intentions VERY clear), etc. And alongside that, you get a lot of class restrictions too, like only certain pastimes being considered "proper," and everything from manners of speaking and sitting and chewing your food can mark you as uncouth and poor (I'm thinking of Emma here, and all the minute ways Emma has to teach Harriet to be an upstanding member of society. It's exhausting!).

I think some of these taboos would carry over to Gondor, like needing a chaperone to hang out with a person of the opposite sex before you're engaged, and minimal touching or displays of affection (and yes, I think the Farawyn kiss was VERY scandalous, people were probably gossiping about that one for ages lol). But some of the smaller more restrictive social norms of regency society probably don't apply (unless I want them to, for heightened drama).

Overall, I'm going to say that 1. social norms probably are bent out of whack a bit both during and a while after the war, just because people had more important things to worry about, and 2. Boromir and Faramir are a half-step away from royalty in Gondor, so their behavior probably gets a pass most of the time anyway.

As for the class restrictions, I think once again Boromir gets to bend a lot of rules here- he's probably very aware of how other nobles behave vs commoners, but I don't think he cares much and is probably a bit sick of all the hoops higher-class people have to jump through just to navigate a basic social situation. I also think that, because he's a soldier, he's more attuned to the rest of his citizens than other nobles might be. Plus he's had to cook his own meals, take care of his own horse, clean and sharpen his own weapons, mend his own clothes while on the road, etc. Nothing is beneath him by now. That was probably true for a lot of people during the war regardless of wealth or class, so I'm imagining a bit of the class division kind of dissolving, at least temporarily, after the war. Everyone emerged from it in different places with a different view of the world than when they started.

Finally, I personally really like the idea of some Ancient Roman influence on Gondor (they have aqueducts, I just know it! And I love the idea of Gondorian women wearing those Ancient Roman woven hairstyles) but unfortunately I haven't been able to find much on Ancient Roman societal norms online outside of how they approach meals (which we can tell from the books and films doesn't really apply anyway). So that idea might be a bit of a dead end.

Anyway, thanks for the ask!!! And sorry I wrote such a long rambling response, but you hit me with such an interesting question XD I couldn't help it!

[diminuel]

Made two phone calls today and sent one 2 sentence email.

No more excitement for the rest of the day or someone has to fetch the smelling salts to revive me from my stupor. X3

I'll do some homework and prep for tomorrow's lecture and maybe prepare clothes for tomorrow's apéro and if I'm still coherent afterwards I'll draw a bit.

[author-talla]

The Wyrder Speaks to the Traveler

The pilgrim rested her feet, sitting on a convenient fallen tree by the shores of the Folbek river. Above her, through the vast canopy of Ellowari’s second-largest forest, was an ever-darkening sky. Paelam had planned on sleeping in Gravenholt that night, but that ship appeared to have sailed, taking the suns with it. One might ask, why rest her feet if haste was her goal? But the truth was her haste was all but spent from a long week on the trails and roads of the Free Territories. So it was that Paelam decided to make camp for the night.

…

She’d just got the fire going, and turned to fetch the last of her salted pork for dinner when Paelam heard a quiet voice:

“This one races the suns.”

The statement was so plain, so simple, she very nearly ignored it, but as she whirled around, grasping for her knife, Paelam saw a figure sitting across from her, the fire between them. It’s a person in a mask, or so she told herself, because the alternative was that the half-human, half-deer skull on the figure’s face was its natural appearance, and that was a disturbing thought. The mask was bone white, with two small holes drilled for unseen eyes, and a sigil burned into its forehead as if by a brand. The rest of the figure was obscured beneath oversized grey robes. Around its neck hung an amulet with a seven-pointed star on it. In the figure’s let hand was a long pipe, intricately carved out of some sort of white wood or bone, with three channels at its end that let out their own thin whisps of sweet-smelling smoke.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Paelam rushed to her feet, her fatigue lost in a stew of adrenaline. Who could sneak up on her so quietly, and wear such a disturbing mask, if not a demon.

“No need for alarm. I am Talladar, a wyrder by trade. I wish only to share your fire and offer guidance on matters of prophecy.”

That voice… Eerily quiet, the mask unmoving, staring at her in the dim firelight. The figure lifted it’s gloved left hand in a placating gesture. Paelam sat once again, deciding the fire to be barrier enough to any approach from the strange figure.

“Well, Talladar, do you make a habit of sneaking up on lone travelers, or am I just lucky?”

“My apologies, traveler. Next tie I approach someone I shall make an effort to announce myself first. You are far from your home, tell me the purpose of your trip. “

Though she didn’t trust the creature before her, Paelam felt herself compelled to answer by those soft, quiet words.  “I’m from Kavekta, south of here, I’m on my Dae pilgrimage to Falthreach. I was supposed to stay the night in Gravenholt tonight, but clearly I overestimated my speed.”

“A pilgrimage? To Falthreach? What a peculiar purpose, for one of Humoro’s. Tell me, what Kavektan tradition do you follow that brings you so far from home?” Paelam raised an eyebrow, though she knew better than to divulge her business to a stranger such as this, she didn’t know who this “Humoro” was, Paelam answered,

“It is a test, of sorts, few fail, but if I can make it there and pray for a week before my return, I will earn my robes. Who is Humoro?” The Wyrder raised its head slightly, as if surprised by her inquiry.

“Ah, the first real answer, a question. Traveler, Humoro is more than we have time for me to explain to you tonight, but for our purposes, you are Humoro, your fellow Kavektans are Humoro, the people of Gravenholt are Humoro, even those boatfolk of Inksea are Humoro.” Talladar spoke of Humoro like a person and a group, and with an air of familiarity. The Wyrder took a long drag on its pipe, releasing more of the sweet-smelling smoke from the ends. The pipesmoke mixed with that of the fire between them, forming strange shapes in the cloud that rose from the small clearing. Talladar produced a small wooden bowl from inside its robes, and dropped a single black stone into it. “Paelam. You have travelled far to be denied. A disappointing end to your story would’ve transpired tonight, but we shall see.”

It shook the bowl, rattling the stone as if mixing a soup, then swirling it such that the stone skidded around the inside edge. At some point, Paelam’s eyes lost focus on the stone, and she noticed, with surprise, that a second, white stone had joined it.

“How did you do that?”

“Patience,” the stranger chided, “This is work you know.”

Talladar then upended the bowl, casting both stones into the fire. The white stone appeared to fall, joining the coals at the bottom of the fire, while the black stone caught fire, and burned away to nothing. The wyrder clutched its amulet for a moment, speaking four words in a vile, unknowable tongue that made Paelam’s scalp crawl, and her throat itch. Witchcraft permeated the air. With that, Talladar restored the bowl to its place within its robes, and stood abruptly.

Alarmed, Paelam called out, “Wait! Why did you come? Why are you here?”

Paelam felt suddenly very unsure of the darkness around her as the strange creature disappeared in the opposite direction.

…

In the morning, Paelam found Gravenholt. The buildings were smashed inward, their valuables looted, the beams blackened from a recent fire that had been quenched in the light morning rain. Something terrible had befallen Gravenholt.

[gleniferskydays]

you actually draw Callie as fat and for that I thank you, I’ve seen too much art of “canonically has a paunchy belly” Calliope Petrichor as rail thin and it enrages me. You are doing god’s work.

(predator handshakes you) thank you! It drives me insane both as a fat person and for gay reasons when people draw her like that! Like for me i hear "cute paunchy tummy" and strong arms/shoulders and I need someone to fetch the smelling salts but I guess it takes all kinds :/