#mysterious vial of oil

[farnwedel]

Desired 10 & 11 & 12 - BILD am... Donnerstag

Kapitel 10

Blabla, Empfang, kreischende Fans, Paparazzi, Reporter und andere aufdringliche Personen, die Nathan nach „dem neuen Mann an seiner Seite“ fragen.

Samuel, der Produzent, rät ihnen, doch möglichst bald nach Hause zu fahren. Während sie auf Nathans Chauffeur warten, küssen sie sich und werden natürlich dabei fotografiert.

Kapitel 11

Sie fahren nach Lizard Creek statt zu Nathans Villa und schlafen miteinander. Es muss lobend erwähnt werden, dass sie auch jetzt wieder ein Kondom verwenden, allerdings auch „ein Fläschchen Öl“ und so, wie Jakes Haus beschrieben wurde, kann ich nur hoffen, dass es sich nicht um Motor- oder Maschinenöl handelt.

Dass Jake nicht weiß, wer George Clooney ist, kratzt schon hart an der suspension of disbelief, aber dass es in diesem Kaff kein Gleitgel gibt, finde ich noch unglaubwürdiger.

Der Kompass auf Jakes Arm ist übrigens eine Hommage an Captain Jack Sparrow. 😬

Kapitel 12

Jake wacht alleine auf und hört nur noch, wie Nathan mit der alten Harley vom Hof fährt. Irgendetwas muss passiert sein – und richtig: im tagesaktuellen Klatschblatt wird suggeriert, Jake, pardon, „Jacob Harrington“, habe sich Nathan nur geangelt, um wieder mit seinen Eltern gut zu werden. Jake ist wütend und besorgt zugleich, fährt Nathan hinterher, findet ihn am See, sie sprechen sich aus und Jake verspricht Nathan, dass er und ganz Lizard Creek ihn vor der Presse schützen werden und ihre Liebe das überstehen wird.

The End

[greenglowinspooks]

consider: danny son of Joker

All Sharp Angles

—

Danny had always known that he was adopted; far before his parents had actually up and told him, anyways.

He’d just never looked like his family.

Where his parents were soft curves, he was all hard angles. He was lean and slender, almost willowy once he got his growth spurt, where his parents were broader and thicker-built.

Where his father’s hair was a warm, light black, like a cup of coffee, his was dark and cold like an oil spill.

Even his eyes were wrong; sure, his father’s eyes were blue too, but his were far darker. Danny’s were as light and frigid as arctic ice; even before he had died, they had never reflected enough light to seem alive.

So, when his parents finally told him the truth once he turned 15, it was honestly more of a relief than anything else. He wasn’t uniquely strange, he just didn’t look like his parents because he wasn’t related to them.

Still, he couldn’t help but be curious as to where he had come from. Sure, he liked his parents’ stories about the Fenton family and their rich (probably false) history, but he had roots branching elsewhere, too.

So, with money he had earned from washing cars and mowing lawns, he had bought a DNA test for 50 dollars, and sent a vial of blood in to whatever shady company he had bought it from.

The results…

He stared at the letter in shock.

He had already crumpled to the ground; luckily, he had been standing on the plush carpet of his room rather than the kitchen tile when he had opened it.

Father - Unknown

Mother - Dr. Harleen Quinzel

Fuck. Fuck.

That couldn’t be right, could it?

He checked the reviews of the company with manic speed; not a single other person had been named as being related to a rogue.

Could it be a prank?

Surely, the actual Harley Quinn never had time to have a child. Or, if she did, she would’ve been made to keep it by the Joker.

He began to google in a daze.

…

After a few minutes, he had his answer.

The longest time that the Joker had ever been in Arkham was for a year and a month.

He had gone in roughly 9 months before Danny was born, which technically gave Harley the time to have a child, put it up for adoption, and lose some of the baby fat before the Joker came back, all without him ever knowing.

Harley had also been mysteriously inactive for most of that time, too, which only gave more credibility to his theory.

What was he supposed to do with this, though?

It’s not like he could tell anyone. It’s not like it really changed anything in his day to day life, aside from his entire worldview.

Obviously he told Sam and Tucker, as well as Jazz after a few days.

Obviously he didn’t tell his parents.

…

In the end, not much came of it.

It was just another fact of life, another thing eating away at Danny’s mind. Another fear to internalize.

He had gotten so good at ignoring it, in fact, that he didn’t even remember where he came from when he was accepted to Gotham U, and drove a whole day to the only university willing to give him a scholarship.

…Well, as long as he keeps his nose out of trouble, it won’t matter much anyways. After all, what are the odds he actually meets anyone who might be able to figure it out?

[oldfoxyaoi]

Aster regularly posts lifestyle influencer type home tour videos of his polycule mansion. one video per room and he goes into great detail about some of the design decisions and throws in cheeky sex jokes occasionally like "since we're usually hosting a lot of people I wanted a 70's style conversion pit in this room. now since it's custom made, I specifically selected a fabric that's stain resistant and easy to clean, you never know what might happen hehe~"

the only ones appearing in his video are himself, Morvay's back on occasions as Aster directs him to lift something, and Eiden's voice from behind the camera (Eiden also has to edit the videos). the other clan members are rarely mentioned and only ever referred to as "my boyfriend's boyfriend" and he starts with the regular common rooms so it seems like mostly normal rich people bullshit at first

until he teases that his next video might be somewhat unusual but that it's a room he's really proud of and he hopes people enjoy it. when the video drops it's titled something like "the most frequented room in the house" and it's like. a sex pantry but ridiculously elaborate. there's contraption hidden behind a panel at the back wall that lifts this thing up for easier access to the spigot (which is actually connected to a spigot in the panel because one on the crate is too ~ugly~) while still making it easy for the staff to exchange the crates. the aforementioned dash button is right there. next to it are shelves with different types of refillable bottles. one wall looks like a fancy drug store's condom aisle. just like with the pantry there are small shopping baskets at the entrance. the other wall houses well lit display cabinets with unopened sex toy boxes, and he takes the opportunity to talk about this week's sponsor, hello fresh an online sex toy retailer

the video is pretty well received and he starts showing off the clan members' rooms and some of the sex rooms and thanks to that he becomes a special guest consultant on how to build a sex room

nu carnival modern au where aster has an amazon dash button for this thing

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Hey, neighbor

Masterlist

Pairing: Jason Todd x (f) Reader

Tags: mystery, eventual smut, pwp, incorrect science (im so sorry to women in S.T.EM.), morally ambiguous Jason Todd, neighbors, nerdy reader, smoking

Chapter 1: Jason is assigned to investigate the cute grad student in the apartment below his.

Jason sat by the open window of his kitchen, two guns disassembled before him on a worn-out cloth, the room filled with the scent of oil and cigarette smoke. His shirt was long discarded on the chair beside the one on which he sat as the unreliable apartment AC sputtered and groaned, a constant reminder of the summer heat.

His fingers moved deftly to reassemble the weapon. ACDC blasting from his phone on the windowsill, the music helping him focus amidst the noise of the neighborhood. But the sounds of laughter and the thud of a soccer ball periodically interrupted his concentration. Some kids were playing a game on the street.

As he glanced at the game, a familiar figure caught his attention. The girl from 1B, the apartment below his, made her way up the street up to their building.

He took a drag from his cigarette and watched as you chatted away on the phone, oblivious to the looks you got in your preppy skirt and tucked in V that accentuated your figure and proudly showed your cleavage. Barbara may have given him a boring assignment, but you sure looked a whole lot of fun. At the very least, he could enjoy the view on his investigation.

"Yeah, it's a nightmare," he heard you complain to your phone when you were just at the entrance door to the building. "The subway's been shut down every day this week... I keep having to walk all the way home from the research center in thirty degree weather. Oh well, at least I'm getting my steps in."

Two of the kids abandoned the game and ran up to you before you could unlock the front door. Jason could hear as they bombarded you with questions about your experiments. You told the person on your call that youll text them before you hung up.

Then, you enthusiastically began explaining your work to the kids in an animated manner, mentioning elements and scientific terms, talking about chemical reactions as if you were narrating a bedtime story. The kids listened with rapt attention, nodding as if they understood every word.

Jason couldn't help but chuckle to himself, finding it amusing how you were explaining complex concepts to children, and they hung on to every word. The kids inquired eagerly if you had any samples for them.

You reached into your bag, extracted a vial, read the label, and then froze, right before hiding it out of the view of the kids.

Jason let out a puff of smoke and narrowed his eyes. That wasn't a usual reaction to a harmless substance.

You recovered quickly, informing the kids that the vial in your hand wasn't the "good" one. After a moment of rummaging through your container, you took out another vial, read the label, and then handed it to the kids, who cheered with delight.

"What does it do?" one of them asked.

"Pour some salt into it and see. Not too much though, a pinch is good." You winked.

"Awesome!" The second kid exclaimed.

You beamed at their enthusiasm. Jason found himself grinning, momentarily forgetting about his gun. But his amusement quickly died as he caught a glimpse of the symbol on the vial you clutched in your hand. Poison Ivy. Barbara's intel was right.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Exhausted from his patrol, Jason parked his motorcycle and climbed off, the engine's growl fading out. As he approached your building steps, his keen senses caught a low whisper drifting from the porch. You sat with your neighbor Melody, engaged in a hushed conversation. You often sat with her on the porch on the days when her husband worked the late shift. The two of you sipping wine from coffee cups in a fun tradition.

Jason's footsteps barely made a sound as he climbed up the steps, overhearing Melody’s animated voice praising his handsome features and enigmatic aura. You reciprocated, painting a vivid picture of his muscles, tattoos, and piercings. A grin tugged at the corner of Jason's pierced lips as he absorbed the words, silently revelling in the compliments.

He cleared his throat once he reached the steps you two were sat on.

Melody’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she quipped, "You're out past your bedtime, hun." She extended her cigarette to him.

He eyed it and then accepted. Tossing the stick in his mouth, before lowering himself towards her held up lighter, he gave her a glazing look, his blue eyes burning in the setting sun as he inhaled from the stick, then he stood back up and leaned against the railing.

As the smoke curled in the air, Jason turned his attention to you. “How's school going?”

You realized you'd been staring. Blinking and trying to recall his question, you felt as though it was off hearing his voice. Jason was nice enough, you guessed, if a bit of a tease at times, but he'd mostly kept to himself. At least, that was your perception of him since he moved into your run-down building on the outskirts of gotham a month ago. "... uhh pretty good. Thanks for asking.”

"Shame about those subway closures, though, huh.” He offered a charming grin when he tilted his head.

"Oh, tell me about it." You rolled your eyes at the reminder. "This city... i swear. Do the closures cause you much trouble?”

He shook his head and gestured to his bike. "Nah, got my bike to help with that shit."

You followed his gaze to the impressive vehicle leaning against the wall. "Cool," you said out loud without meaning to.

"Let me know if you ever need a ride."

That caught your attention, making you turn back to him. The thought of riding on his bike had your heart fluttering, and you caught your friend's gaze beside you as you bit your lip, turning back to Jason, whose brooding gaze zeroed in on your mouth. You tried not to let it distract you. "How about tomorrow? I got to present my thesis at 8 am. Can't be late, and it would help a ton."

Melody stood up. “Well I should go, you two have fun.” She winked at you over her shoulder.

You made a move to leave as well, but Jason's hand on yours halted you. His grip was firm as he leaned in, his tone low. "Meet me here tomorrow at seve forty five." he asked, his hooded eyes gazing into yours.

Your pulse quickened at his closeness, and his voice in your ear sent goosebumps along your skin.

You finally found your voice again. "T- the commute is usually around forty minutes." Refering to his propositioned meeting time.

The corner of his lips twitched, and his tongue brushed against his sharp canine. "You've never ridden a bike before, have you?"

Your cheeks turned red. "No."

"Tomorrow, I'll show you what real speed is."

You looked up at him and swallowed. The words sounding both threatening and exciting. "Okay,"

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

He was right about speed. As you held on to Jason, you felt the hum of the engine as he excelarated on the road, passing vehicles on his way. You were scared at first, breathing quickly under your helmet. You were pretty sure you gripped creases onto his jacket. But then that fear gave way to excitement.

Not only were you going one fifty within city limits, but you were doing so while sitting right behind Jason. He steered with such nonchalance, the smell of his ocean cologne invading your senses as his large frame steered in front of you. His confidence was so hot, you had to adjust yourself on the seat a couple times, regretting your decision to wear your checkered skirt as the only thing standing between the vibrating seat and your pussy were your thin panties.

You've finally reached the center, and he parked his bike, getting off first as you sat back, propping yourself by holding the seat behind you. He then reached for you, hads grabbing your waist, and lifted you with ease before placing you on the ground.

"Come on," he removed his helmet, revealing the perfectly messy hair and chiseled face under it. He removed yours next, slightly brushing your hair with his hands as well. "I'll walk you in."

When you scamned your card at the door, he put his hand on your hip, steering you inside, his fingers brushing you on the spot gently.

"Nice place," he commented pursing his lips in an impressed expression when you two were inside. Students and fsfukty were rushing around you, occasionally a curious eye looked Jason up and down. "Is that were you work? He gentured towards a large door at the end of the hall.

"No, im on the fourth floor." You explained.

"Hmm,"

"Thanks so much, Jason." You grinned at him once you were inside. "I owe you one."

He shook his head. "I'll think of a way you could make it up to me."

You swallowed as your mind filled with images of you doing just that. Mostly on your knees. You shook your head. "Well, I should go." You tightened your hold on the straps of your bag.

He winked at you. "Knock 'em dead."

You couldn't help the involuntary giggle. "I'll do my best."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Jason pulled up to the research center at midnight. He scanned your card against the sensor, and the entrance door let out a beep, letting him pull it and enter with ease.

He passed by the few working students and faculty and casually strode up to the fourth floor, checking every door to find the one he was looking for. The one belonging to you.

When he finally landed on the correct door and walked in, he heard his phone ring and tapped on his headphones to pick up as he studied your work desk.

"So, Jay," Roy Harper spoke in his ear, "About time we hit the streets again."

Standing amidst the small and tidy space of your desk, Jason surveyed the room, noting the orderliness that seemed to mirror the girl who inhabited it. His gaze roamed over lab tools and equipment, finally settling on the vial that he recognized from the other day. Memories of the haunted expression you held when you accidentally almost gave it to the neighborhood kids resurfaced.

Jason held up the vial to study its content and confirm his suspicions about the label. "Miss me already, Harper?"

As Roy went on, Jason recalled the articles and social media profiles that appeared on the screen when he looked you up. You were from the suburbs. Your parents were serving time for robberies in their county jail.

Framed pictures adorned your desk, capturing moments with friends and colleagues. Amidst the cheerful snapshots, there were no family pictures. Though that wasn't uncommon in offices. He continued his exploration, venturing into your desk cupboards, where medals, certificates, and awards adorned - accomplishments in science.

“What a smart girl," he cooed to himself, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Roy's voice interrupted his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. "Jason, are you even listening?"

Jason blinked, refocusing on the call. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here."

Roy chuckled. "You're doing it again, aren't you?” He sighed. “You, with your detective shit. I swear to god..."

Jason grinned sheepishly. His gaze fell upon a particular photo. You stood beside an older woman, likely your professor, holding an award. The picture looked recent, raising questions that echoed in his mind. He'd have to start with her.

Roy groaned, but there was no real irritation in his voice. "Listen, I'm sending you a rendezvous point in the city. Meet me there in an hour?"

Jason nodded, his phone pinging and the screen brightening with the address. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of you with your professor. "I'll be there."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

In the dimly lit study of Wayne Manor, Jason handed the vial over to Bruce Wayne, who examined it with a furrowed brow.

"Babs' intel was right," Jason crossed his arms. Dick Grayson stood nearby, his arms crossed, curiosity etched on his face.

Bruce scanned the vial, his fingers deftly manipulating it. "That's not Ivy's toxin. It looks similar, but not viscos enough. I need to bring this to the lab," he concluded and held the glass container out to Dick.

"Hurry, I'll need to return it before she comes back tomorrow." Jason informed.

Dick handed the vial back to Bruce and turned his attention to Jason, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "So, Jay, did she use the pheromones on you?" he quipped, his tone teasing.

Jason arched an eyebrow, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "She's more your style, Grayson. Im not into nerdys,"

Dick chuckled, holding up the vial. "The nerdy ones end up being the most fun!" he retorted, insinuating a connection between you and Poison Ivy.

Bruce handed the vial to Alfred to analyze in the lab and redirected their attention to the matter at hand. "Focus," he interjected, his tone firm. "We need to find out Ivy's whereabouts and her potential connection to this girl. I'll go to arkam tonight. You, too, are on patrol. Jason, keep an eye on her."

Jason mock saluted his adoptive father. "Yes, sir,"

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Once the lab analysis came in and the vial had been returned to your work desk, Dick and Jason were back in Jason's apartment; each nursing a beer even though it was only noon.

Dick scrolled on his laptop, typing away at locations for possible patrol when he snapped the computer shut. "Alright, come on. Old man’s not here, you can tell me, are you more interested in this job. Or this girl?" He raised a brow.

Jason knew you had been home early today after checking out the schedule pinned on your wall yesterday. He also knew that your window was open and it was below his, and he could definitely hear your humming while you did some task.

"Who? y/n?" He said a little louder than necessary. He noticed the humming had stopped. Dick noticed it too, raising his brow at his adopted brother.

Feeling a bit bold, he sat up and turned towards his brother. "She's a cute girl. Likes to wear neat button-up shirts, neatly tucked into her preppy little skirts when she goes to study."

He strained to hear you. You weren't making a sound. "And when she walks home in the heat, the sweat makes her clothes stick onto her body..."

"Oh yeah?" Dick asked, catching on to what Jason was doing as he eyed the window.

"Ill admit, dude, she has a nice fucking body." Jason groaned on purpose.

"What else is nice about her?"

"Well, she always comes back from the library with some cheap, dumb looking romance novels so that she could fantasize when she's alone, and she thinks nobody can hear -"

An object fell from somewhwere beneath the open window, followed by a feminine gasp.

Dick grined. "That's very nice... go on"

Jason shrugged, feeling as though he had his fun. He strained his ears to pick up any more noise or reactions from your window. When he didn't, he shrugged it off, turning back to his brother and speaking in his inside voice. "Well... she's a good kid. She plays it kinda safe. Not really my type, I guess."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

That evening, Jason was going up the stairs to his apartment, about to change for patrol. He heard clicks coming from the second floor and turned his head to see who it was. He nearly froze on the spot when he saw you make your way to the steps.

You were in high heel leather stilettos, which made you almost come up to his nose, though you were on the highest step, and he was one below. A short red velvet dress sat on your dancer physique, with long sleeves and a dip in the front that showed off your choker of the same color. Your hair was up in a ponytail, with small curls falling down each side to frame your face. You wore red lipstick, glossed over, and made you look so kissable. Jason realised he must have been staring. He cleared his throat. "Nice dress."

You rolled your eyes. "Can you please move?"

"Are you mad at me?" He didn't get out of the way, though.

"No," you shrugged, remembering his words earlier today. "Plays is too safe." "Not my type," whatever. Like you cares what he thought of you. You did, though.

"Oh yeah? Well, where are you going dressed like that?" He pressed.

"Somewhere fun.” You snapped at him. “Get out of my way, Jason." You shoved past him.

He smirked to himself, deciding his evening was all booked up. Because there was no way he was going to let you put yourself in danger on the way to fun just to spite him for his dumb big mouth.

[ilovejungwonandhaechan]

scented skies - hjs. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: scentshop owner!joshua hong x reader

trope: friends-to-???

summary: getting the first smell of joshua's new scents comes with the best friend benefits, but getting a full line of scents dedicated to you? that was not exactly a part of the deal.

🎧 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

word count: 2,926

a/n: happy belated birthday joshua!! not proofread lol

fic under the cut!

The shop was quiet now, a soft hum of the world outside the only sound reaching your ears. The last of the daylight had long since faded, and the warm glow of the scattered lamps gave the room a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Shadows flickered across the shelves lined with jars, their contents a rainbow of wax waiting to be transformed into unique candles. The gentle scent of melted wax lingered in the air, adding a cozy layer to the ambiance.

You and Joshua were the only ones left in the shop. The front door had been locked, the customers long gone, and the usual hustle and bustle of the shop had given way to an intimate calm. Joshua's workshop, the create-your-own-candle table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an array of fragrance oils, waxes, and little glass containers. The low hum of a fan in the corner was barely audible, but the delicate warmth it radiated added to the shop's welcoming vibe.

Joshua placed two boxes in front of you on the table, the cardboard a little worn from use, but inside, the promise of something new. A freshly brewed coffee, still warm from the café down the street, sat between you two. Its rich, earthy scent blended nicely with the soft perfume of the shop, and for a moment, you just let the quiet and the coziness of the scene settle around you.

"I’m glad you're here," Joshua said, his voice almost conspiratorial as he leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "I've been waiting to show you our new lines of scents."

The first box Joshua opened revealed small vials, their glass smooth and cool in the dim light. The labels were minimalistic, hand-written with care. You could see the weight of each scent as it was revealed—a promise of new memories to create, new moods to set.

He pulled out the first bottle and held it up, a glint of pride in his eyes. You reached out eagerly, your fingers brushing against the cool glass before uncapping the bottle. As soon as the scent hit you, it was as if you had stepped into a tropical garden at dawn—sharp, sweet pineapple mingled with the fresh, zesty bite of bergamot, and the earthy undertones of cedarwood brought you back to the deep, rich scent of an old forest after rain. It was fresh yet grounding, evoking a sense of summer mornings and long, lazy afternoons.

"That's the first one," Joshua said, his tone soft with an almost secretive air. "I don’t have a name for it yet, but I was thinking something tropical, maybe even a little nostalgic."

The second scent you tried was more delicate, a warm embrace in a bottle. Vanilla, sweet and smooth, curled gently around a subtle hint of coffee—like an espresso brewed fresh on a chilly morning. A touch of pear added a crisp, juicy sweetness, and together, they created a fragrance that felt like the perfect rendezvous in a small, hidden café, the kind with dim lights and rain softly tapping on the windows.

The third scent was a complete contrast—deep, rich, and bold. A blend of almond, rum, clove, and vanilla, it was something undeniably masculine, reminding you of leather-bound books and old whiskey glasses, a dark room lit only by the glow of a fireplace. It carried a weight to it, an air of mystery, like a story that had yet to unfold.

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath you grounding you in the moment. The room, now illuminated by scattered lamps, seemed almost enchanted. The faint scent of wax and the lingering perfume of the oils mixed in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that invited conversation.

"You know what’s funny?" you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joshua glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

You giggled to yourself before speaking again. "This is exactly how I imagined Baekhyun’s new album to smell." The words slipped out easily, the connection between scent and music obvious to you now. You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but these fragrances had a way of capturing the essence of each track you'd been listening to.

Joshua's laughter echoed in the room, warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world outside had fallen away.

"I’m being serious," you said, still grinning. "The first one is so obviously 'Pineapple Slice', the second one is so incredibly 'Rendez-Vous, and the last one is totally giving 'Truth Be Told.'"

Joshua let out a dramatic groan, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What, do you want me to name this new line of scents after your king Baekhyun?"

Your sarcastic laughter joined his. "Yes, Shua, I think that would be a great idea."

He shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "I will never take name suggestions from you. Ever."

The air between you both was filled with warmth and familiarity, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. The room, the scents, the soft glow of the lamps—everything seemed perfectly aligned, as though the universe had conspired to create this simple, yet unforgettable moment.

Joshua’s hands moved with a practiced fluidity as he pulled out the second box. It was a bit larger than the first, and as he placed it down in front of you, the lid came off with a soft scrape, revealing yet another set of bottles, each carefully sealed, their colors deep and inviting. The faintest glimmer of excitement flickered across his face as he began to unwrap the scents one by one.

The air in the room seemed to shift slightly, charged with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued. The first bottle he lifted smelled almost cold, a crisp, fresh scent that immediately took you to the edge of a windy cliff, the sea below churning with frothy waves. You could almost feel the air stinging your cheeks. There was something sharp in the top notes—eucalyptus and mint—sharp and clean, like a sharp breath of air after a storm. Beneath it, a grounded base of moss and earth, almost like the feeling of standing in the middle of a clearing just after the rain, the grass still damp beneath your feet.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. “If this was weather…” You trailed off, eyes still closed as the scent wrapped around you. “This would be a cold, windy morning, the kind where the sky is cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain but it never comes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you’re standing outside, waiting for the storm that never quite arrives.”

Joshua leaned in, watching you carefully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head affectionately. “Always reading the sky, huh?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I can’t help it. The world smells like weather sometimes, and my brain just connects the dots. Anyway,” you said, reaching for the next bottle. The second scent was much softer, warmer, a delicate mix of amber, warm vanilla, and the faintest hint of lavender. It was the kind of scent that made you think of the slow, steady descent into dusk, when the world is soft and golden. It was a soft glow, the fading sunlight kissing the horizon, and everything in the world seemed to slow down.

“If this one were weather,” you mused with a dreamy look in your eyes, “it would be a late afternoon thunderstorm—one of those brief, violent storms that rolls through, but then the sky clears up again, and everything smells fresh and soaked. The air’s still warm, but there’s this crispness that follows after the rain.”

Joshua’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That’s exactly it. I knew you'd say something like that.” He pulled out the next bottle, this one a darker, more grounding scent. It smelled like deep woods and earth, with notes of sandalwood and leather, wrapped in the comforting warmth of a smoky fireplace. There was something ancient about it, something you could imagine walking into an old cabin in the middle of winter, where the air is dry, the fire crackling, and snow falls silently outside.

You sniffed it deeply, your mind already wandering, and then laughed softly. “This… this is definitely a winter night. The kind when it’s snowing heavily outside, and the world is quiet and still. There’s a clear sky, so you can see all the stars, but the cold just lingers in the air. It’s peaceful but heavy, the kind of night that makes you feel small but also strangely at peace.”

Joshua leaned back with a grin. “I thought you'd say something like that, too,” he said, his tone affectionate but laced with something else, something that made the air between you feel thicker. He began pulling out the labels for each scent, one by one, placing them in front of you as though he couldn’t wait to see your reaction. As he slid each label toward you, your heart skipped a beat.

Each label was adorned with a photograph of the sky—clouds, sunsets, stormy horizons, or a deep, endless night sky—each one a text message you’d sent him over the past few years. There was the picture of the sunset you had sent last summer, with the caption: “The sky's a canvas right now. I swear it looks like the colors are coming alive." Another label had a photo of a thunderstorm, the caption: “The world feels like it’s holding its breath right before the storm hits. Can you smell it?” And the last one was a quiet winter evening you’d shared with him years ago: “The air smells like snow tonight. So still, so clean.”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest. As you looked at the labels, the realization hit you like a wave crashing against a rock. It wasn’t just about the sky or the weather anymore—it was about the connection between you and Joshua, one that you hadn’t seen for what it truly was until now. You hadn’t noticed before, not with this kind of clarity.

He was looking at you now, his expression soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, something he rarely let show. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding in the way he watched you now. The corners of his lips curled up in a quiet smile, but there was something different in the way he held himself, something that felt as though the entire room had shifted.

For a moment, you were completely still, your heart thudding against your chest. His dedication—the care he had taken to incorporate your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations of the world around you into something so tangible, so beautiful—felt like a promise.

The realization struck you harder than any scent, any image, any word. You’d been falling in love with him for years—since childhood, really—but now, with the pieces of his heart scattered before you, the truth was undeniable. You didn’t know when it had started, or if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment. But suddenly, everything about your relationship with Joshua felt different. He saw you with new eyes. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he’d always seen you this way—if maybe, all along, he had been falling in love with you, too.

You looked up at him, feeling a pang in your chest. There was warmth in your face, but a strange ache at the back of your throat. “Shua…” you whispered, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling everything at once. You blinked, not trusting your words to come out right.

Joshua didn’t say anything at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. Then, as if testing the waters, he spoke softly, a touch of humor in his voice but something deeper beneath it. “You know,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, “I’ve always thought the sky is just as beautiful as you say it is. But now… I think I understand it a little more.”

His words, though simple, made the air between you two feel electric, like everything had just changed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or simply sit in the stillness of it all. But one thing was for sure: the landscape of your relationship had shifted forever.

The space between you felt different now, fuller, like an unspoken truth was hanging in the air, too delicate to name yet too real to ignore. And in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how everything—his words, his look, the way your heart seemed to flutter—felt like something new, something you'd both been dancing around for years without ever realizing it.

[righteous-r0de0]

i saw a bunch of other people doing this so

random redacted headcanons!

- vincent can’t handle spicy food very well, even post-turning

- ivan hates fishing

- david loves egg salad sandwiches with hot sauce (it’s his favorite comfort food)

- caelum has never had cotton candy and freelancer is pretty sure if he ever did, he would implode

- gavin doesn’t like snow

- lasko on the other hand LOVES spicy food and testing his tolerance to certain things

- damien doesn’t drink coffee or tea or energy drinks, this man is just out here raw-dogging life

- kody still tries to look at all the damn crew’s socials, even though they all have him blocked

- huxley (opposite of damien) gets his caffeine anyway he can but his favorite are the caffeine pouches (similar to zyns (these are also my favorite))

- asher loves watching mma fights and tries (gently) to recreate the moves on babe (“i could have dropped you just then! you gotta keep your guard up!”)

- james “i’m exploding you with my mind” redacted

- marcus begged his mom for a mohawk in middle school but he didn’t have the right texture hair for it and she refused to buy him all the hair gel necessary to make it a real mohawk so they just had to shave his head (kids thought he had lice)

- anton loves sending and receiving physical mail. he knows it’s impractical in comparison to texting or calling, but he loves it

- ollie has a favorite blanket, pillow, and set of sheets. he’s very particular about his bedtime routine

- elliot however could drop anywhere at anytime. and that’s nothing to do with him being a dreamwalker. he’s just a fantastic sleeper

- brachium has never had candy, but he’s curious about it

- avior really really likes classical music and it’s brought him to tears multiple times (especially jupiter comp. by gustav holst iykyk)

- milo holds the door open for everyone whenever he can. sweetheart once thought he was following them for like fifteen minutes but he was still stuck at the door

- cam loves fresh produce and is a frequenter of any local farmers market

- blake had a phase in middle school and early high school where he was super patriotic and right-wing leaning and he hates when people bring it up

- aaron actually knows most of the shaw pack boys. he tried to hire them for an event before realizing they were an empowered company. david thought he knew

- sam showed pigs and sheep when he was younger. he kinda misses it but he doesn’t have the room for livestock anymore

- vega in all his years of existing both in aria and on earth has never been truly hugged

- before falling, regulus lived on earth with his charge. they had two cats

- xavier used to travel ridiculous amounts of miles to go to food festivals around the country. he took the team with him once or twice

- geordi never deleted any pictures of him and cutie. he’s still hopeful that things will work out and he doesn’t want to get rid of older memories with them

- guy was friends with a lot of the unempowered boys in school, but lost touch with them in college

- morgan is very into hair-care. his shower looks like an apothecary shop full of mystery vials and oils. he knows what everything is and how to use it though.

- porter loves classic literature and translating latin to english. it’s one of the few hobbies he allows himself to have

- hush once traipsed into doc’s apartment, mud up to his knees and all over his face and hands, holding a bull frog. he only came to ask what it was.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 69] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content warning: Descriptions of injuries that could make some readers uncomfortable.

Is it wrong to feel relief right now? On one hand, your job is complete, and there are no more expectations from the linguistics team. On the other hand, there are still hostages trapped in the theatre, and the riskiest part of this entire operation is yet to begin. You're still expected to be on call, and it's entirely a possibility that you'll be expected to quickly resolve some other unforeseen mystery. It seems your two peers don't know what to do with themselves either, as the three of you stand in uncomfortably still air in the dark void of the vacated restaurant. It felt like you no longer had the authority to draw a breath, like any stray atom might hinder the raid that's moments away from starting, just past those long curtains. 

The commotion behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin, and you and your peers turned to gawk at the opening door like a pack of meerkats. An unknown man and woman entered, barely making eye contact as they surged into your space. Your fingers instinctively slid over a cloth-wrapped bundle of cutlery from one of the dining sets to defend yourself, but the lettering on their matching coats loosened your tension. Thick navy coats with orange shoulders marked with blocky text reading "sanitäter," they're just paramedics. A tall female medic with blocky glasses and a lanky man with faint yellow hair, making brisk eye-contact as she knelt to reveal a trunk of equipment. 

The male paramedic said something in German directed toward you, but you were too stunned to churn the words into thoughts. Your eyes were out of focus, but the KKpt spoke an affirmation in return that satisfied his statement. You watched as he shoved what's essentially your life's work onto the wood floor, a cascade of papers and pens, clearing space on one of the larger tables. The female paramedic clicked a silvery metal staff into a pillar, hooking a sack onto the device. They worked fast, hijacking your now redundant workstation to fashion one of their own. Just as your mind started to consider that this might be a med bay for evacuated hostages, familiar voices broke through the glass barrier of the front door. 

You'd be easily forgiven for not recognizing them at first. For a moment, your muscles considered raising the alarm that two civilians had just wandered into this top-secret facility until your brow softened at the sight of familiar faces. Blue latex gloves guided the two soldiers to recline on the cloth tables, immediately examining the wounds in a flurry of triage. They muttered to one another, functioning like a well-oiled machine to ferry tools and vials into upturned palms. 

Soap having his bicep exposed, thanks to his tacky sleeveless shirt, made it easy for the male paramedic to point and pinch at a jagged slash just below his shoulder. Unfortunately for Soap's unsightly wardrobe, a second gash along his chin dripped fresh blood across his chest as he was forced to lie on one of your tables. All while carrying on with Ghost about a similar encounter in Thailand. The paramedics pointed wooden sticks at every seeping slash across his body, even probed at pink dots along Soap's wrist, battle scars from a kerfuffle with a pigeon. Ghost on the other hand looked worse for wear, on paper that is, just in time for Gaz to push through the doors. He took no time to make his presence known, catching a nod from his abed comrades with a bold grin pulling at his cheeks. 

"Nice jumper, LT. Does it come in men's?" Gaz boldly snarked at Ghost's eccentric red and blue sweatshirt as he approached. 

"Can't say, Garrick, but I think you come in men enough to be the expert," Ghost cut back cruelly, making Soap holler in laughter and immediately crushing Gaz's onslaught.  

The female paramedic lifted the fated jumper over his shoulders, revealing a tight beige vest underneath, now blooming with red on his right side. Meanwhile, her partner prepared a small tray of equipment, one of which was a long hooked needle that made your skin grow numb. 

"Cheeky cunt," Gaz rocked on his heels after striding to stand at the table Ghost was being treated at, rolling his jaw in agitation as he grinned. 

Soap's expression, however, told the story of a sweatshirt he wished he hadn't leant to Ghost for this mission. Now for more reasons than one, the poor piece was shovelled into a biohazard bag, spattered with your lieutenant's blood and likely that of a few of his attackers as well. Just then did you notice Soap's tattoo along the top of his forearm as he punches Ghost in the shoulder, a circular shape resembling some emblem. It's hard to say for sure. 

"Where is Cricket, anyway?" Soap chimed as one of the paramedics temporarily pinched his shoulder injury shut with a wound closure strip.

The mention of your name made you snap out of your blank, eavesdropping stare at the floor. By the time they had spotted you, an awkward silence had taken hold. Your jaw opened to speak while your tongue fell heavy.

"Hello," you spoke, immediately questioning the eeriness of just standing in the corner silently watching them. 

Luckily, that train of thought was brought to an end as Price entered, and the spotlight was redirected. An odd sense of relief washed over you as he struck up a conversation. 

"You did a good job stopping a trowel from embedding itself into a wall, Simon," Price noted sarcastically as latex gloves pried the piece free from Ghost's chest, not even winging as what looked like alcohol was swiped over the slash. 

"Another brag rag," Soap sneered. 

"I'm starting to run out of room on my uniform," he sighed as the medic applied fibrous tape to temporarily seal the gash. 

"Maybe they'll start sticking them to the back like pin the tail on the donkey," Price huffed, eliciting a snort from Gaz. 

They banter like they both don't have hooked needles prying closed weeping gashes on their skin, reclining in their positions like it's a day at the beach. Skilled gloves hooking under pale, flayed skin, heaving to pull dark threads through the other end along Ghost's abdomen. Your eyes darted across every movement of her hands, her firm grip and tedious stitching, imagery that would otherwise make you winge. It's a 50/50; either the paramedics don't speak English, or they're simply used to hearing whatever unhinged banter tends to go on in a military hospital. You can't help but be weirdly hopeful it's the former as your eyes absently wander over more of the scene. This is more of Ghost's body than you've ever seen before. While you got to see some exposed shoulders and the whole of his tattoo sleeve back in that Polish hospital, your exploration was cut short by sprawling bandages just under his pectorals thanks to broken ribs. Now, he lay significantly more exposed, forced to expose his soft underbelly by an insistent medical team. But his underbelly was anything but soft. It took every fibre of your being to stop yourself from sweeping over every curve and divot of his lower abdomen, angular lines along the sides of his pelvis and a soft trail of hair leading down to the buckle of his jeans.

"I heard you had to put a guy to sleep out there," Soap nodded to Gaz, resting his free hand behind his head. 

"A little sloppy, not my best work. Captain's guy didn't wake up though," he retorted, tilting his gaze. 

"It was either me or him," Price sniffed. "Like takin' out the trash," a cheeky and arguably cringeworthy reference to his manner of disposal of the assailant. 

"Sick bastard," Soap chuckled, having his jaw wrangled by the male paramedic's grip on his wound. 

"Glad to see we're all in good spirits then," the captain ordered.

At the angle Price was standing, you couldn't help but see some of the printed images on the pages under his crossed arms. Printout stills of the photos Soap took in the oracle's apartment. As he rocked on his hips, occupied by a lively discussion with Soap and Ghost, you managed to spy images you hadn't been sent. Different angles from around the apartment, some blurs of colour and what looks like a cork pinboard, a flash of blue and black, and a grey backpack. Your attention must've been so laser-focused on the cipher that you missed something notable right under your nose, and the building tension in your forehead dissipated when he made his way over to your position. 

"Good work out there, all of you," Price stood before the three of you. 

"These two were a treat to work with," you smiled, nodding at the professor and Korvettenkapitän.

KKpt tapped her forearm on your bicep, looking like she was considering the formality of pulling you into a relieving hug, opting instead to frown and nod sternly. The professor, however, seemed entirely distracted by the view across the room, not even registering Price's presence. What an odd pair. 

"-Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got' to talk to Miss Laswell," Price swaggered toward Laswell as she held the door open for him to follow. 

He left after bumping his fist on Ghost's shoulder, though Ghost looked like he was considering snapping and biting the man like a poorly trained dog. As hilarious as that may have been, your lieutenant's self-discipline prevailed. Ghost's eyes flashed to meet your vacant stare, and you blinked away the blankness. There was an agitation in his eyes that startled you, and for whatever reason, you couldn't find it in yourself to match his challenge. You were just so tired. Days of minimal sleep and exhausted mental faculties were catching up to you, not to mention the early phases of starvation blighting your system. As much as you might want to, you can't return to your dingy motel boxspring until at least a few hours have passed, or as long as it's socially acceptable. The boys are packing up anyway, and Laswell or whoever will be expecting a debrief. 

Your next task was remarkably unremarkable compared to the past few days, noting every strategy and conclusion and wrapping it up in a tidy package that will align with official reports. KKpt was the champion of the idea, though; you initially had every intention to sit and rest your head on your forearms for a few hours, spying through the heavy curtain whenever you heard the commotion. She pushed you to write, and it was a blessing in disguise. Your pen worked to expand on crude bullet points you'd laid out, forcing you to make sense of the chaotic few days. Shouting and uproar outside caught your attention. From your angle across the street, an entry team of what looked like ten German SEK officers stood crouched under the front door of the Kino Der Toten theatre, ducking in synchronicity for a soldier swing a battering ram to crash through the wooden barricade. A flash of silver caught the corner of your eye, and your heart softened as rows of frail schoolkids were ushered in aluminum blankets into ambulances, safe at last. The peace of mind made the remaining hours pass easier, like the elephant in the room had vanished.

It didn't even cross your mind that that may have been the last time you'd see those two, but you were already halfway up the stairs to your motel room with your cake across your forearms before you realized. You'll probably catch up with them in the morning before you head out to whatever shitshow mission they have you on next. That wasn't a concern right now. You fought with gravity to find the key in your back pocket and shuffled into the motel room without a second thought. There's that same mustard yellow floral pattern you'd come to recognize, haphazardly applied to nearly every surface. The boxy TV in the corner will have to serve as a temporary counter, as it just now occurred to you that you have no form of refrigeration for this cake. This birthday cake. Happy fucking birthday. Alone in a run-down motel in Germany, the only friendly faces are people who are paid to be there, allies in a technical sense. Not a word from the friends you'd last seen on your previous birthday; they've not even bothered to take note of the date since your absence.

The plump strawberries on the chocolate cake were what got you. Recognition softened the muscles in your face, and it took less than a second for tears to sting in your eyes. Those were your sister's favourite fruit. She'd fight you for them with tooth and nail at the breakfast table as little girls, the treats you'd left for her months ago on that mountaintop in your hometown. What would Carolyn think of what you've done with your life? The thoughts were all too much to try to withhold. Tears prickled along your waterline. Your vision had already blurred the yellow florals into a haze that your fingertips couldn't even swipe away. They just kept coming. Heaving breaths crashed into your chest in hiccuping spasms, and aching muscles made instinctive pacing a painful labour. 

Before you could consider burying yourself in those musty sheets, you were already shedding the shell jacket Laswell gave you, shucking layers free as you made your way to the shower. In one way, showering has always brought you comfort, in another, a thorough shower is a luxury you've been deprived of in your days of brutal studies. It also comes with the benefit of washing away streams of hot tears that sting in your throat and crinkle your brow. Water gradually grew in temperature as your impatience forced you to immediately step under the faucet, streaming cold water down your face and hair. You hadn't even fully undressed, haphazardly slinging soggy socks onto the floor of the yellow fibreglass shower unit. Panic and dread wracked your system, and you didn't even bother stifling weeping sobs. Lukewarm water spilled over your senses, forcing you to squeeze your raw eyes shut and fight harder for breath. Electric muscles compelled you to wash yourself and rid yourself of whatever metaphorical and literal filth you've accumulated, not that this hard water stained shower would leave you much cleaner. 

When you glanced over your shoulder to swipe a handful of bar soap over the limb, your heart stopped entirely. You weren't alone in the tiny bathroom, as a dark figure was in the corner of your vision. He stood cross-armed across from you, leaned against a wall-mounted sink, visible in the crack you'd left in the shower curtain when you haphazardly drew it. He didn't look pleased, but it's hard to say when he's wearing that dumb skull plate stitched over his mask every day. 

"What do you want?" you spat, easily translating your despair into aggression. "Did you come to chew me out?"

"I'm thinking about it," he stood, cold and level. 

"Well fucking get on with it," you jabbed calmly, splashing water over your face to drown lingering tears. "Make yourself comfortable."

Ghost took the time to pause, considering his words carefully while you hotly wanted him to spit out whatever you'd transgressed. While one side of your brain was entirely prepared to fight him with bared teeth, the other urged you to relent and surrender to your despair, curling into a helpless fetal position.  

"You can't back-talk to me in meetings, you know this," he sounded irritated. You caught a glimpse of pale gauze under his black tee when he lifted his arms to cross them. "I thought I was pretty clear that you won't be getting any special treatment because of our transactions."

He brought forward memories of you snapping at him for stating the obvious when you were in that restaurant with KKpt and Kraus. Your fuse was short, but you spoke with an attitude to your comrade, superior, in front of your captain and Laswell. That's the kind of shit that'll get you a written reprimand or, God forbid, an Article 15. Far from acceptable in the military, especially in your tenure. It'd long since slipped your mind in the shitstorm that's been the last few hours, though he still made sure to spare you a few scathing glares to make it clear that he hadn't forgotten. 

"I had a lot on my mind. I fucked up, okay? I'm sorry," your voice venomous and hateful. "Just show me where to sign already."

"'You wouldn't act like that to Soap or Gaz,'" he used your same words from back in the bunker against you, challenging you with your own logic. "If this situation is to continue, you have to learn to separate it from work and be professional."

"Fine," you sighed, still hot with agitation but stripped of munitions by his reasoning. "I can't help but remember you being pretty unprofessional with Gaz and Soap earlier when you were getting stitched up." 

"That was banter with my comrade," he tilted his head back. "It's not the same as disrespecting someone's authority in a strategy meeting." 

"So it's only okay when you do it?" 

"It's only okay when it's after the task is completed."

"And what, so you just let yourself into my room? That's also pretty unprofessional," your lip curled into a frown, loosely resembling a snarl. 

"I got you a birthday gift," he shrugged, tilting his head to a small yellow box he'd balanced on the porcelain sink he was leaning against. 

You turned to face away from him as an odd sense of shame made your face run cold. Warm water rained in hard streams against your skin. You couldn't bear the sight of another person right now. What's gotten into you? Why are you turning every situation into a self-flagellating pity party? You used to have so much more respect for yourself, be able to bark back and hold your ground if someone pressed you. You'd failed to uphold your end of the bargain, and he'd come to scold you for it. His work will always be a bigger priority to him than you, and you'll be discarded and forgotten the second you're no longer of immediate use to this travelling circus. 

A bootstep in your direction made you flinch and cringe, but it slid back to its original position over the tile. Tears made the sight of him blurry when you turned to see him again, a mass of black and white standing at the porcelain sink. 

"What if-" a knot in your constricted throat made you tremble. "What if I asked you to leave right now?"

Milliseconds felt like hours, and the steady thrum from a shambling shower head pelted you with water that progressively lost its temperature. It felt like the life was being sapped from you by this shitty water heating. Rejecting another man made your skin prickle with anxiety; the thought of him, too, slamming his fist across your cheek if you rejected his advances flashed into your mind. A flickering lightbulb overhead made your mind imagine the act too, just as said bruise had begun to fade into your cheekbone. 

"Then I'd ask you to lock the fucking door behind me," his voice was just above a whisper, tinted with humour but still bassy and clear. 

He didn't hesitate or even look your way, smoothly lifting himself from his leaning angle against the sink and ducking through the door with a click. It startled you how quickly he accepted your answer, like you were almost expecting some resistance. He's the one who deserves the pity card, he's the one who suffered a serious injury today, though you'd never guess by his disposition. A strange sense of panic swept over you, like you were scared of being alone, scared of pushing another person out. What else do you have now, if not a few government-mandated co-workers and a strictly physical relationship with the man you'd just kicked out. The closest thing you have to any sort of physical intimacy is a person you're strictly disallowed from holding. Despair in isolation never suited you, and your voice shot out as a lifeline in the sudden silence. 

"Si-" your foggy mind almost slipped to break another rule, another transgression for him to chastise you for. "Ghost."

But he'd already gone. The door had clicked behind him, and the sound of heavy water streaming from a squealing facet had drowned out your squeaking voice. He has every reason to leave. You've worked yourself into a hysteric mess. A burden to this elite task force that lacks the emotional control to be worth hanging onto, he's probably regretting laying a finger on you to begin with. 

Why did there have to be strawberries on that cake? A bitter reminder of the passage of time with the symbol of your sister's mortality represented in a nostalgic fruit. That bundle you'd left on the mountain as an offering is coming back to haunt you, scorn you for your inaction. At first, you thought it was a lack of agency, but that fell through. Maybe feeling like you have no control was the root of your dissatisfaction, but that only caused you to make out with your lieutenant and a handful of other ignorant choices. Then maybe it was your lack of mental stimulation, that reading and filling your mind with case studies would soothe your agitation, but that too fell through. Now, your hunch led you to think that a lack of recognition for your work is the downfall of your self-worth. While it was a factor, and one that Ghost has helped you remedy, ultimately, you shouldn't have joined a career like the military if you wanted to have your boots kissed every time you do what's expected of you. 

Here you are, another year of borrowed time lost, time you should've spent in the soil beside your father and sister. And what do you have to say for it? You've filled a role that would easily be substituted by the next bright-eyed linguist and obeyed your wise masters like the good dog you've become. Comfortable with your collar and willfully heeling as it constricts tighter around your windpipe. You're not cut out for this, you're just not. Your fingernails raked over slippery shoulders, trying to spark feeling back into skin that's slowly being sapped of warmth. Splashing water didn't help, trying to drown your melancholy and not spend your birthday as a weeping mess. Again. But there was a presence in the bathroom. You were too numb to flinch, but he was there, back at his post, leaning on the sink. Knees crumpled from under you, and your face twisted into an ugly frown. Your arms shot out for him, and his forearms caught you before the moisture accelerated your fall into his shoulder.

<< Prev Chapter           Next Chapter>>

Master List

[classiqals]

status -> closed starter for @succiducus {rostam}

setting -> in their shared chambers before the mysteries of osiris gala

seated in front of the vanity to finish preparing for the gala, just nearly ready to leave, ariyan screwed the lid back on the glass vial of rose oil after rubbing it into the ends of their hair. a floral scent clung to the jet-black strands, robes && layers light for the warm brazilian winter in a muted shade of red. not many got to see the rituals ariyan had for getting ready; but for those very few privy to such habits would know that ari took pride in the presentation of their appearance, each decision a careful selection.

" are you just about ready? " ariyan asked, tying back shoulder length waves with a ribbon, out of their face, before discreetly sliding a small, plain box from the vanity, concealed within their hand easily. a ring - ariyan had one designed, from a metalsmith from india. even if not culturally necessary, ari saw the merit in tradition; and part of them didn't want to let go of every part of them forged from the fires of home. besides - it felt fair, should ariyan be wearing rings of recognition in power in thanks to their husband, as should rostam have such ability. " come here then. i have something for you to wear tonight. "

[commander-gloryforge]

so, whats the deal with demian anyways?

long story short: was born and instantly abandoned, fed power by a demon for long enough to survive, grew up to be the worlds biggest asshole selling drugs, ended up fighting a huge demon threat, got gay.

long story long: demian was born somewhere in the shiverpeaks to two priory explorers that kind of did an oppsie while huddling for warmth, and they're really not in the mood to raise a child while exploring ancient tombs. so like, it's not like anyone knows about this kid, they may as well leave it in some cave and just piss off. so they did that. its whatever.

so we have a little asura newborn in a scary old cave in the shiverpeaks, and the baby should probably die any moment now. well, she doesnt, for some fucking reason. turns out some mysterious demonic entity was so attracted by the yummy smell of a sad lonely abandoned left to die little baby, and was like. fuck yea. dinnar🔥but like, thats a baby, and despite all that distress and fear its feeling, thats not a good snack, so the demonic entity just decided to chill within that baby for a while. maybe once she'd grow she makes a better snack.

so now we have a baby that is also possessed by an unknown demon, and it kind of can't die from hunger or thirst or cold, and it takes a while, but other explorers find the child, pick it up, take it to safety, and now it grows up somewhere between hoelbrak and lions arch, she never really has a home or a family, just gets nursed to health by someone who was kind enough to take her in for a while, but otherwise she's just being fed by everyone she comes across like a stray cat.

she gets older and finally chooses a name, demian. she begins to make money, selling people things she found on the ground and pretending like theyre worth something, swearing that they have some special powers. demian is a little odd, she senses things that others dont, she looks strange, sometimes it seems as though shes seeing things, so that alone often convinces people that maybe her snake oil does work.

silly rocks she found on the ground turn into vials of river water with supposed healing powers, then into strange mushrooms she found. she knows how to make money, shes oddly charismatic yet scary at the same time. shes a businesswoman at its finest, she cares about her survival and making money and nothing else. she grows up to be ruthless, and really fucking mean.

youd think the demon wouldve eaten her by now. well, as you can tell, it hasn't. its still there in her head or her body or wherever, and it doesnt seem like it wants to leave. instead, its feeding demian power. its giving her abilities to see and sense things, other demons of whatever kind, and to fight them. not kill them, probably, but to banish them somehow. demian doesnt know what exactly her powers do, but she seems to attract demons, and this is just a way to get rid of them and protect herself. like everything she does. she doesnt question things, pretends like these moments of possession are normal or not happening at all. whatever. its whatever, really.

somewhere in lions arch, she finds an empty structure, left in a hurry, rotting and abandoned. theres an odd smell to it. theres something in there. demian doesnt mind. theres something in her too, and its never bothered her. she opens the haunt, a club and means to sell more alcohol.

so there are demons! so what! yea theres a portal that lets in literally every bad demonic entity you can think of! demons feed on emotions and opening a club in a demonic hot spot is GREAT because if you get drunk or high or whatever, the demons will FEAST! and that will make you miserable, and then you buy more! fantastic! demian can easily "banish" the demons and cleanse her club if things get too bad, so its no problem, really! whatever!

so, now we have demian, the club, the demonic portals. its whatever, really. aaand there comes another demon out of another portal. eeewww its fleshy. well demian takes care of it, its no big deal, as always. the threat is dealt with.

and them some weird fucking wizard bursts in and thinks she can "help" with the "danger to tyria" pfff. okay girlypop whatever you say. oh the "rift needs to be closed" yea sure what the fuck are you doing in my club though. "this is a serious matter" uhu okay. "the astral ward will deal with this" okay do you even have a job. lol. fucking loser.

"rifthunter" lmao what a weird fucking title. i dont care. get out of my club we arent open. i said get out.

oh no shes not getting out.

[phoenixinthefiles]

Guys guess what…

“HEALTHY” Chapter 5

Damian and Talia have landed in the League’s sacred city, Damian has an allergy flare up, Ra’s swoops in to help with…a potion?

Tags: @vhstown @noharaaa (let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!)

Immediately after their plane touched down in the Snake’s Nest, Damian’s allergies flared up. Of course.

Despite his copious amounts of protesting, and whining, his mother kept him locked away in his rooms.

“Am I not meant to adjust to the climate?” Damian had pleaded, on his first day of quarantine.

His mother had only hummed and continued rubbing in strongly smelling oils into his skin.

He sits scowling now, as Nadia spreads a spicy scented cream onto his chest.

His mother’s oldest handmaiden gives him an amused look as she continues her task.

Damian does not appreciate it.

“Don’t you think this is ridiculous?”

“I think your Mother is worried for you even more now.”

How very diplomatic.

“Did she tell you about the baby, first?”

Nadia looks stricken for a moment, which is…odd.

“I was there as she found out.”

Damian hums, his focus still on her reaction to his question.

“I suppose it was good she had you by her side.”

Nadia smiled down at him and Damian preened, she smiled a real smile.

Damian’s door clicked open and he shivered at the cold air it brought in.

Jason stepped through it and shot Damian a smirk.

“Your bail’s been posted, you’re free now.”

Nadia giggled at Jason’s teasing but she pressed a hand over her mouth when Damian pouted at her.

“Do not make fun of your brother, he has served his time well.”

Jason snickered and Damian glared at him and shifted to give Nadia a hard look as she rubbed more cream into his skin.

Nadia stiffened suddenly and both Jason and Damian sent her questioning looks.

Before either of them could question her Damian’s door opened again and his grandfather walked in.

Damian immediately straightened up with a small smile.

His grandfather acknowledged him with a nod before turning his attention to Nadia.

“You are excused خادمة”

Nadia frowned but did not delay, Damian sent her a small smile as she left.

He started to cover his chest but his grandfather stopped him.

“You are developing a rash.”

Damian nodded, “Mother says it shouldn’t last for much longer.”

His grandfather hummed and produced a vial from his robes.

“Perhaps if you did not relocate as often, you would not have a rash.”

Jason scoffed and Damian looked over at where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

He’d nearly forgotten his brother was still in the room, grandfather commanded a certain focus that was irresistible.

Jason clearly did not agree with sentiment; his brother seemed to be focusing on not paying attention to grandfather.

Damian’s focus was captured again when Ra’s uncapped the vial he was holding.

The shimmering gold liquid immediately enraptured Damian.

His grandfather had an extremely steady hand but the liquid still sloshed around in its container.

“What is that?”

Damian was once again jarred by his brother’s presence. He managed to drag his eyes away from the mysterious concoction to see Jason studying it as well.

“It is a medicine, and it is more sure to cure your brother than any other potion his mother has tried.”

“I think Talia would have tried it if it’s as good as you say it is. The only reason she wouldn’t is if it isn’t safe.”

Damian blinked away from the vial at that, his mother was very particular about his allergy treatments.

“I assure you, Jason, it is perfectly safe for Damian; you might say it was created with him in mind.”

Damian felt something bloom in his chest at that that statement; grandfather had created something specifically for him and no one else.

His grandfather tilted the vial over his chest and Damian gasped at the cooling sensation.

He looked down at his chest and the liquid his grandfather was spreading onto his chest and was shocked to see his chest glowing.

Jason exhaled sharply and Damian saw his own surprise on his brother’s face.

So it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

Grandfather either did not notice, or ignored their expressions as he continued to massage the solution onto Damian’s chest.

When he stood and recapped the vial, Damian’s chest had stopped glowing and the cooling sensation had faded.

Jason recovered from his shock and instantly prickled.

“What the hell was that?”

Damian sent his brother a surprised glare.

Was he trying to get into trouble, surely he knew that no one was allowed to speak to Ra’s Al Ghul that way.

Grandfather chuckled and Damian shrank back instinctively.

“It was a cure, Jason. A…panacea if you will,” Grandfather answered.

His eyes glinted and a shadow covered his face.

Damian turned around to face his bedroom window but the curtain was still open and the sun was as bright as usual.

Jason scoffed and Grandfather spared him another amused look before turning to Damian.

“You are freed from this quarantine your mother has imposed.”

“Yeah I already told him that.”

Damian tensed but his grandfather just offered Jason a wry smile before exiting the room.

Damian watched as his brother glared at the closed door. His brows were furrowed like he was trying to manifest the powers of Superman.

Damian snorted.

“You are lucky grandfather thinks your comments are jokes: he doesn’t tolerate disrespect,” he warned.

Jason scoffed, again, and replied, “He knows I’m not joking, he just doesn’t take me seriously.”

“Well you’re lucky for that.”

Jason gave his little brother a scrutinizing look. “Why are you so concerned about me disrespecting him?”

It was Damian’s turn to scoff this time. Why would Jason ask a question with such an obvious answer?

“Because grandfather does not appreciate any perceived disrespect. Did you not already know this?”

Jason rolled his eyes and pushed off the walls he’d been leaning against.

Damian never ceased to be amazed by his brother’s attempts to protect his “devil-may-care” attitude. He had only been apart of Jason’s life for seven years, not even half his brother’s life, but he knew him well enough to know that the way he’d been acting recently was strange.

He had assumed Jason was entering a phase of teenage angst. At least, that’s what his grandfather had told him.

However, it was clear that something else was bothering Jason. Dick had said he was “going through something,” not a light phrase in their household.

Damian huffed to himself, did he have to do everything?

He opened his mouth to speak but Jason cut him off with a smirk.

“Talia says you can continue your schoolwork since you’re feeling better.”

Damian scowled at his brother and hoped that his scowl was projected to his mother as well.

Unlike Jason, Damian hated school. His tutors were frustratingly inefficient, Damian was sure he could master his lessons much faster if they sped up their unnecessary teaching process. Mother said he needed to learn patience and Grandfather said he needed to learn the “proper way” to do things.

Whatever.

“I think I’m feeling more ill now,” Damian dragged dramatically. He rubbed the spot on his chest where his rash had been for authenticity, how did it clear so fast?

Jason snorted, “Yeah right, there’s nothing wrong with you. Besides,” he grinned slyly, “if you don’t do your schoolwork, you’ll never be able to prove that you smarter than Tim.”

Damian was aware he was being manipulated, but it was a smart tactic and the statement was true. He was already smarter than Timothy but he would need to learn all he could to defend his intelligence.

“Fine,” he relented, “but I don’t need these lessons, I could have graduated from a university with all the knowledge I have.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “I’ll give you high school and maybe the first semester of college.”

“Agree to disagree,” Damian replied with a smirk.

While Jason led Damian through the halls of the palace, he couldn’t help but lament the wasted time with his grandfather that morning. If Jason hadn’t been in the room he might have been able to employ his grandfather’s strategic expertise. Maybe he could him before…

His eyes caught a flash of orange in a doorway they were passing by and he stopped just as a guard moved to stand in front of the door. Jason had also stopped and he glared at the guard before taking Damian’s arm and pulling him along faster.

Damian looked up at Jason’s face as he did his best to keep up with his brother’s pace.

Jason’s eyebrows were drawn in tight and his jaw was like stone as a…look passed over his face.

Damian pulled his eyes away from the teenage mystery and glanced back at that doorway the guard was still standing in front of.

An orange…glow? Was that the room grandfather used to manufacture the shiny medicine?

Tadaaaaa

[saberamane]

Final Fantasy 7 Vial Props

Project G, Project S, (fan-made) Project Z, (fan-made) Project C, MAKO, JENOVA Cells, CHAOS Cells, (fan-made) TSVIETS Cells, (fan-made mystery solution) ????.

Also, S, Z, and C look very similar but ARE different.

These will be sold as sets of 9 as shipping 1 or 2 is not very cost-effective to me or potential buyers. As the video shows, they are not very big, so shipping all 9 as a set is a better deal for everyone. And why wouldn't you want them all? ^^

I will say the ???? vial can be customized to any color you want, just message me if you order to let me know, otherwise I will randomly pick a color.

Price is not yet decided, but I have already made the decision that ordering this set in tandem with the materia set will include a discount. Something like you'll basically get one set half off or something of that nature.

Materials used: Medical grade glass vials (with included rubber stopper and metal cap), labels designed and created by me, food coloring, mica powder, hand gel, vegetable oil, rubbing alcohol, glycerin, sticker paper, glue.

The two vials of jenova cells and tsviets cells are hand gell, which is why they don't move much. The chaos cells are a mixture of oil and hand gel, which is why it moves a little bit. Everything else is rubbing alcohol.

[mariacallous]

Caligari A-Go-Go Perfume Oil

A fragrance inspired by the atmosphere and art direction of the film — its layers of grit and ooze, pop-art colors standing out against a starless void, clumps of debris, fake flowers, vials of mystery fluid, rumpled straitjackets and crisp lab coats.

Green amber, jasmine bud, cotton blossom, eucalyptus, secondhand smoke, dirt, and petitgrain.

Cannibal Soliloquy Perfume Oil

“I know what I am, but I know I’m not what I am. Beauty lives inside me. But oh, when beauty is trapped, it gets ugly…”

A perfume worthy of a fading Tennessee Williams heroine wandering through a mirror-maze of memories, only slightly singed from too many Electro-Convulsive Therapy sessions: wafts of burning frankincense rising from a hot-seat occupied by duelling champaca orchids, white amber, Sicilian mandarin, and bergamot.

Doom Cake Perfume Oil

A drug-induced vision of grabby, gore-slicked tentacles erupting from a facade of thick buttercream and lemon sponge soaked in cherry-flavored goo.

I Know You’re Watching Me Perfume Oil

The scent of full-blown nympho housewife hysteria: a smear of flushed, pearly skin musk splashed by a sophisticated vintage aldehyde perfume and drenched in the secretions of high-pitched arousal.

Minty On My Lips Perfume Oil

Even the brainiest femme fatale schemes are bound to collapse under the weight of a monstrous ego. The scent of defeat snatched from the jaws of success: a soft, satiny pink grapefruit punctured by a shiny metal drill bit.

Scarecrow Boytoy Perfume Oil

A lusty, bubbling cauldron of thick, black tar spilling forth from a pile of dusty straw and secondhand clothes.

Tongue Wall Perfume Oil

Fleshy and fruity: guava musk, slick strawberry lip gloss, and blood-tainted digestive juices.

XXX Means Kisses Perfume Oil

“Life imitates bad art.”

A rare portrait of innocence and integrity amidst the corruption of Caligari’s asylum. Tart hibiscus, skin musk, shea, and the faintest whiff of nicotine.

[illumins]

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖙·.༄࿔ 𝐤. 𝐭𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠

༺✺༻

✦𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: low fantasy, short, fanfic.

✦𝐩𝐨𝐯: omniscient | third pov

✦𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dead bodies, description of corpse.

𔘓⁩ ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ

༺✺༻

Taehyung leaned back against the plush velvet of the vintage train's seat, the warm rumble of the engine beneath him creating a soothing rhythm. The carriage was a masterpiece of Victorian opulence, a haven of polished mahogany, intricately patterned carpets, and crystal chandeliers that bathed the space in a soft, golden glow. The walls were adorned with oil paintings depicting scenes of arcane lore and historic battles between mages and humans, a constant reminder of the delicate balance that governed their world.

Seated across from Taehyung was Professor Atticus Fair, a distinguished figure whose salt-and-pepper beard framed a face lined with wisdom and experience. Atticus, a renowned scholar of magical history and ethics, had long been an advocate for the integration of dark mages into society. His attire mirrored the grandeur of the train carriage, wearing a tailored charcoal suit adorned with subtle silver embroidery that hinted at ancient symbols of arcane power. His vest was adorned with a pocket watch that gleamed in the ambient light, a relic of a time when punctuality was paramount. 

As for Taehyung, he was attired in a suit of deep indigo, the fabric expertly cut to accentuate his lean frame. His attire held a touch of modernity, the lines of the suit reflecting a fusion of traditional tailoring and the more experimental designs favored by the younger generation. A silver chain peeked from his pocket, securing a small vial filled with shimmering iridescent powder—a potent substance used in certain advanced spells.

His sharp, distinguished features were accentuated by the flickering light of the lamp above, casting deep shadows that danced across the lines etched into his face. As the train hurtled through the landscape, Taehyung and Professor Atticus delved into the topic at hand. The professor's gravelly voice carried the weight of experience, each word a carefully chosen brick in the construction of their discourse.

“The politics of our world are built upon a precarious balance, Taehyung,” the Professor mused, his fingers steepled in front of him. "The dark mages, with their formidable powers, walk a fine line between obedience and rebellion. It is the duty of the ruling class to maintain that equilibrium.”

Taehyung nodded, his gaze fixed on the passing landscape outside the window—a panorama of sprawling cities with towering spires and billowing chimneys. The Professor continued, his eyes momentarily fixated on the city lights. 

“The Council of Arcane Affairs, established by the Accord of the Elders, holds the reins of power. Dark mages are permitted to exist only under their watchful gaze. But tell me, Taehyung, what happens when those in power begin to waver, when the delicate balance tips?”

Taehyung's gaze flickered with a subtle intensity, the play of shadows on his chiseled features giving him an air of mystery. “Chaos ensues, Professor. It's a delicate dance, and one misstep could plunge us all into the abyss.”

As Taehyung opened his mouth to voice his query, a sudden, eerie shift descended upon the train. Shadows lengthened, swallowing the warm glow of the gas lamps and shrouding the carriage in an oppressive darkness. The clatter of the wheels against the tracks grew muffled, drowned out by the collective intake of breath and the rustling of fabric as passengers shifted uneasily in their seats.

The once lively hum of conversation fell into a hushed silence, broken only by anxious whispers that rippled through the air like a nervous breeze. Some passengers gasped, others whimpered, and a few, gripped by fear, erupted into panicked exclamations, demanding to know what was happening.

Taehyung felt a surge of urgency, his muscles tensing in readiness to rise and investigate, but the firm grip of Professor Atticus's hand on his wrist arrested his movement. He glanced at the professor, whose steady gaze implored him to remain still, a silent command underscored by the subtle tilt of his head.

Reluctantly, Taehyung sank back into his seat, his expression shifting from curiosity to a strict mask of alertness. His throat tightened, a reflexive gulp betraying the tension that coiled within him. His eyes, usually warm and expressive, now scanned the dimly lit carriage for any sign of danger, his senses heightened as he tried to discern the source of the encroaching darkness.

“Sit tight,” the Professor murmured, his voice low but resolute. “Let's observe first, understand the nature of this disturbance.”

Around them, the fear of the unknown simmered, morphing into various reactions. Some passengers became more agitated, their voices rising in a crescendo of questions and demands for answers. Others clutched at talismans and charms, seeking solace in superstition. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and contorting in eerie shapes that seemed almost sentient in their movement.

The sudden yell pierced through the tension like a lightning bolt, distorting into a guttural growl that reverberated within the carriage, followed by a heavy thud that jolted everyone into a frenzy of panicked screams. Taehyung shot a glance at Professor Atticus, an irritated yet alarmed look flashing in his eyes. Without waiting for permission, he rose from his seat, determination etched on his features as he maneuvered through the chaos toward the source of the commotion.

Navigating through the dimly lit carriage, Taehyung's senses were on high alert. People scrambled, their cries intertwining with the unsettling darkness that engulfed the space. Finally reaching the front-middle section, he found a cluster of terrified passengers, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear.

“She's dead!” someone screamed, their voice laced with horror. The passengers erupted into a frenzy, their voices a discordant chorus of terror. Taehyung pushed through the crowd, his gaze narrowing as he caught sight of the lifeless figure sprawled on the floor.

In the dim light, Taehyung discerned a streak of embers below the lifeless eyes, a haunting glow that sent shivers down his spine. Without hesitation, he reached for a lantern on one of the nearby tables, fingers deftly tracing an incantation along its rim. The spell was swift, a whisper of magic conjuring a flickering flame atop the candle within the lantern, illuminating the grim scene with an ethereal glow.

With the lantern illuminating the scene, the grisly truth came into focus. The victim lay motionless, eyes now hollow, black ashen sockets that seemed to absorb the feeble light around them. The mouth, once wide and agape in terror, now held a silent scream frozen in the pallor of death.

The streaks of ember and fading fire beneath the eyes painted a sinister tableau. Taehyung's breath caught in his throat as he surveyed the eerie remnants of magic that clung to the lifeless form. The air crackled with an unknown energy, and the acrid scent of burnt remnants lingered, as if the very essence of the victim had been consumed by an insatiable flame.

As the lantern's glow flickered over the lifeless figure, Taehyung sensed Professor Atticus's presence behind him. He turned slightly, catching the glint in the older man's eyes as he murmured, “Angels…” The word hung in the air like a cryptic melody, and Taehyung's curiosity flared. It was a peculiar response, one that hinted at a knowledge deeper than the surface of the magical realm.

Before Taehyung could press for an explanation, a renewed cry echoed through the carriage, mirroring the previous disturbance. The urgency in the voices was unmistakable, and the professor's gaze shifted from Taehyung to the source of the commotion. Another unsettling growl resonated, low and menacing, as if some malevolent force lurked in the shadows.

The cries of terror multiplied, echoing through the compartments like a ghastly symphony of fear. Bodies fell, accompanied by the sounds of panicked voices and desperate pleas. Taehyung's eyes widened in alarm as he witnessed the swift descent into pandemonium.

The once tranquil luxury of the vintage train had transformed into a theater of horror. People writhed in agony, falling to the ground as if pulled by unseen malevolent hands. Fear painted stark portraits on their faces, their voices carrying a chilling urgency that mingled with the train's relentless rhythm.

Taehyung's eyes darted rapidly from one corner to the other, his senses attuned to the unfolding drama. Bodies fell, and the air crackled with the frenzied energy of the unknown. His hand tightened around the lantern, the warm glow casting dancing shadows on the carved walls of the carriage.

Professor Atticus's expression remained inscrutable, his gaze unwavering, and Taehyung felt a ripple of uncertainty. In the dim light, the professor's lips parted, as if about to share some profound revelation. Yet, the chaos intensified, drowning out any possibility of dialogue.

Amidst the tumult, Taehyung decided to act. His instincts propelled him forward, navigating through the panicked passengers toward the epicenter of the disturbance. The train seemed to hurtle faster, its wheels a relentless percussion beneath the cacophony of screams.

As Taehyung reached the next carriage, the scene mirrored the horror he had left behind. People stumbled and fell, their faces etched with terror. The air buzzed with the same malevolent energy, and Taehyung's eyes widened as he discerned the telltale signs of dark magic at play.

A chorus of panicked voices echoed through the steel corridors, each scream intertwining with the next. Taehyung's mind raced, the urgency of the situation demanding his full attention.

Taehyung moved through the carriages, his mind racing as he recited the fundamental rules of magic under his breath. “The first rule: what is taken can be returned in equal measure…” Each rule echoed in his thoughts as he delved deeper into the labyrinth of compartments. "The second rule: Energy can't be created or destroyed…" His steps quickened, urgency driving him forward. "The third rule: Magic obeys balance…" He scanned the faces of passengers, seeking any signs of a mage in distress.

“Fourth rule: Whatever is done to one will be mirrored on its user…” This particular tenet echoed in his mind, the implication clear. Whoever was casting such powerful magic would suffer its repercussions.

Yet, despite his urgent search, Taehyung couldn't pinpoint the source. His eyes scanned every corner of the carriages, seeking any sign of a mage suffering the repercussions of their own magic. Frustration gnawed at him as the chaos continued unabated, the elusive caster of the spell remaining elusive.

As he entered another carriage, the professor's voice cut through the chaos. “Taehyung!” The older man weaved through the terrified passengers, his hand reaching out to grab Taehyung's shoulder. Startled, Taehyung turned, his eyes ablaze with determination.

“What?” Taehyung snapped, his voice edged with urgency. “We need to find them, or more will die!”

The professor's hands tightened on Taehyung's shoulders, a touch filled with a desperate plea. “Listen to me, Taehyung,” he implored, his voice strained. “You won't find them because it's not a dark caster. It's an Angel.”

Taehyung's brows furrowed in confusion. “An Angel? What do you mean?”

“Yes, an Angel. They don't follow the rules of magic as we know them. It's not a dark mage casting these spells. You won't find them through the echoes of pain. They're beyond that, working on a different plane. We need to rethink our approach.”

As the chaos surged around them, Taehyung made a conscious effort to steady his breath. “What can we do, then?” he asked the professor, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency.

Professor Atticus's brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “We have to attune our frequencies to sense Angels. It's akin to when mages attune their frequency to communicate with the dead. We need to shift our perception, align our senses to a different realm.”

Taehyung absorbed the professor's words, the notion of attuning frequencies beyond the scope of conventional magic both intriguing and daunting. Atticus wasted no time in explaining the process, guiding Taehyung through a series of mental exercises meant to adjust his perception.

“Focus on your senses, Taehyung," Atticus instructed. "It's not about seeing or hearing. It's about feeling, reaching out with your awareness. Concentrate on the shift in energies around you.”

He guided Taehyung through the process, a method that required a delicate manipulation of one's magical senses. “Focus,” the professor urged. “In the threads of life and magic, you'll notice a thin thread, almost imperceptible at first, with an unfamiliar glow. Once you learn to spot it, it becomes easier to distinguish amidst the larger threads.”

Taehyung closed his eyes, focusing on the fabric of existence around him. At first, it was a struggle, the sea of threads blurring together. But slowly, a glimmer caught his attention—a faint, almost ethereal thread with an otherworldly hue.

His eyes snapped open, widening in realization. “It's here,” he murmured, whipping around to search the carriage. The professor's voice cut through the urgency, his tone heavy with the weight of their predicament.

“The High Council and I haven't found a way to stop them,” Atticus explained, frustration tinged with resignation. “How do you stop something that isn't bound by law?”

Taehyung's mind raced, thoughts colliding as he pondered the professor's words. An idea sparked within him, a dangerous notion that took root as Atticus spoke. But he held his plan close, veiling it in the secrecy of his thoughts.

Without a word, Taehyung walked away from the professor, following the faintly glowing thread. It led him to the far left corner of the carriage, where he found a young woman in a black dress. Her long wavy locks lay calmly as she rested her hands on her legs, an image of serene composure. Oddly, a white cloth was wrapped around her eyes, shrouding them in mystery.

Taehyung hesitated, his senses alert. The glow from the thread seemed to emanate from her, and as he observed her serene countenance, a chilling realization settled in—he had found the Angel.

With a hesitancy that clashed against his urgency, Taehyung extended his hand toward the young woman in the black dress, his fingers trembling slightly before finally clasping hers. A chill swept through him as their skin connected, a sensation akin to icy needles pricking his flesh. The touch was unsettlingly cold, sending a shiver down his spine, but he tightened his grip, steeling himself against the discomfort.

Focusing his will, Taehyung began the incantation in a low, steady voice, his words resonating within the confines of the carriage. The air hummed with the potency of magic as he sought to bind himself to the Angel. Latin words spilled from his lips, each syllable charged with intention and purpose.

“Anima mea coniunge te tibi,” he uttered, the words echoing against the chaos surrounding them. His eyes bore into the cloth-covered gaze of the Angel as he continued the spell, a swirling maelstrom of ancient language and raw power.

As the spell unfurled, weaving tendrils of binding magic between them, the Angel's calm facade fractured. With swift, ethereal grace, she rose from her seat, her hand snaking around Taehyung's throat, cold and unforgiving. He felt the vice-like grip constricting his airway, the sensation of her touch seeping into his very essence.

But Taehyung remained resolute, his voice unwavering as he continued the incantation. Pain, both visceral and transcendent, surged through him as their souls began to merge. It was a tumultuous union, a clash of opposing forces seeking to entwine in a forbidden dance.

The merging of their essences was a cacophony of sensations—pain searing through his veins, an electrifying thrill coursing down his spine. It was as if his very being was on the precipice of transformation. The world around him dimmed, his focus solely on the binding spell and the merging of their souls.

Amidst the chaos, Taehyung heard whispers—a symphony of voices that weren't his own, fragments of ancient tongues and celestial murmurs. It was a chorus of existence, a collision of two disparate entities tethering themselves to each other in a realm beyond comprehension.

The agony intensified, a crescendo of pain and exhilaration that threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, amidst the chaos of their merging souls, a strange harmony emerged—a strange understanding, an unspoken connection between two beings on opposite ends of existence.

The culmination of the binding spell was a tumultuous whirlwind of sensations. As Taehyung uttered the final words, “Libera me,” the air crackled with residual energy, and a profound stillness settled over the carriage. He knew, in that moment, that the binding had been successful.

With a sense of finality, Taehyung released the Angel's hand, only to find her grip around his throat relenting. Desperation etched across his features, he gasped for breath, his hand reaching to rub the soreness that lingered in the wake of the ethereal struggle.

“Stop,” he croaked, the word barely audible as he struggled to regain control of his body. His vocal cords protested, a harsh rasp escaping his lips. Undeterred, he shifted to mental communication, focusing his thoughts on the Angel. ‘Let go.’

A hesitation lingered in the ephemeral connection they now shared, and slowly, the Angel loosened her grip. Taehyung felt the constriction around his throat ease, the pressure relenting as if a vice slowly releasing its hold. He gulped for air, the pain subsiding as he focused on restoring his own breath.

As the echoes of their struggle faded, Taehyung became aware of the continued chaos surrounding him—the screams, the cries, the remnants of fear that clung to the air. He turned to see Professor Atticus staring at him in horror, the older man's eyes wide with disbelief at the uncharted path Taehyung had ventured upon.

Taehyung met the professor's gaze, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination. “Stop,” he commanded the Angel once more, this time with an air of authority. The chaos seemed to heed his words, the screams tapering off into an eerie silence.

The aftermath of the magical turmoil was palpable. Passengers, frozen in various states of panic, stared wide-eyed at the scene that unfolded before them. The Angel, now released from her ethereal assault, sat calmly in her seat, the white cloth still concealing her eyes. Taehyung's eyes flickered between the Professor and the Angel, uncertainty lingering in the air.

With a steadying breath, Taehyung addressed the professor, “We need to understand her motives, Professor. There must be a reason for these disturbances.”

The professor approached them, his gaze shifting between Taehyung and the Angel. His eyes, once filled with shock, now harbored a mixture of concern and reproach. Taehyung met his mentor's gaze, the weight of their unspoken conversation lingering in the air.

“What have you done?” Professor Atticus asked, his voice a measured blend of disappointment and caution.

“I did what was necessary,” Taehyung retorted, his tone firm.

“Taehyung,” the professor began, his voice measured but tinged with a grave tone, “you've broken one of the fundamental rules set by the Elders.”

Taehyung sighed, closing his eyes. “The binding spell—”

“Yes,” the professor interjected, “the rule explicitly states that the binding spell cannot be cast. Not under any circumstance.”

Taehyung's gaze flickered between the professor and the veiled Angel, a surge of frustration and determination building within him. “But this was different, Professor. You saw what happened. The threat she posed—”

“The Elders won't see it that way,” Atticus interrupted, his tone unwavering. “There are protocols, Taehyung. Lines we cannot cross, even in the face of danger.”

“But I acted to protect,” Taehyung protested, his voice tinged with urgency. “Surely they'll understand the circumstances.”

The professor's expression remained somber. “You'll have to defend your actions, Taehyung. Explain why you breached the rules they've set. It's a line that's been crossed, regardless of the intent.”

A sense of dismay settled over Taehyung, the weight of the situation pressing down upon him. He had acted on instinct, driven by the urgency of the moment, and yet now faced the consequences of his impulsive decision. The tension in the carriage hung thick, an unspoken rift between the laws of magic and the instinct for survival.

[ria-writes-stories]

Dripping oil

Ship: Dizzy

Genre: Obsession + Love

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

(No one's pov)

Desire. The mortal sin of the flesh, but what happens when the flesh plays God as if it's the same as the greater power of the universe, as if it's the same embodiment of light and darkness. The flesh is flawed, whatever it will create will be flawed, always, forever, doomed to repeat or represent it's own tragedy, mirroring it's creator in it's own cycle of empty misery.

Doll would find herself staring at the ceiling for hours, laying on her bed with her arms resting on her abdomen, but then, one day, those hands began to warp around a certain someone. Talking nonsense for hours even when that person long fell asleep, still, their presence was comforting, as slowly they imprinted on each other so much that they felt together even separated.

Lizzy, her eternal love. They grew up together, whatever curiosity they had they'd go to each other and experiment. Both had loving families, but Doll's desire of this world was so big followed by Liz's silly wish to be popular brought them to learn of things before they were age appropriate for them, nothing too serious or morbid, just stuff like 'what's a cigar?' and why do people use it, that's all, but then they had curiosities that emerged from their own initiative.

'What do her lips state like? What do they feel like?' 'This feels so strange...can I still hold hands with her?' 'She's mine, I don't know if it should be known, but people should know to keep away from her.' 'She's so beautiful and amazing, her accent... God that accent, and I've known her my whole life yet she has such a mysterious charm...' 'I don't care who sees, does or say something about it, if they slip towards her, my hand will slip as well.'

I believe there is no need of explaining who said what.

Doll was darkness itself. Born in light, always living in it, and yet deciding to hide into the shadow of her best friend, the light was too blinding, yet nothing was brighter to her than this wicker girl. 'Ewww it didn't kill her!' 'Look at that freak!' 'Oh, my, robo-jesus! You won't believe what she did!' Lizzy, oh Lizzy you clueless girl, how you made Doll fall for you, a wicked weed, so beautiful that you can't even tell it's one, adored and loved by a literal monster, a catastrophic beast filled with inexplicable and horrifying thoughts, desires that had no justification, yet they stayed deep into the shadows that she built, why? Because the light surrounding this vial brute being was enough to ease it to simply wicked, whatever it took to hold that girl into her arms she'd do without hesitation or remorse.

One day, alone in the locker room of the cheerleaders she warped her hands around her waist. "Doll?" Lizzy asked puzzled. Doll wasn't one to go in for a hug, let alone to grab her so closely like that, but it felt like she saw Doll for the first time in her life. She was smiling widely, nothing like her usual soft gentle smiles. A large, sickening, psychopath smile spread across her face and Lizzy's answer...? She simply looked at her puzzled and confused as she slowly felt heat rise in her body as Doll buried her face in her neck. "Doll..." Lizzy whispered quietly as she felt a slow kiss being place upon her soft delicate skin. Doll's lips were cold, freezing compared to her skin, causing a shiver go down Lizzy's spine as she looked at the ceiling terrified yet she didn't oppose to any of this.

A kiss, one after the other, again and again, they didn't end, they didn't stop even when the bell rang, and it rang, and those girls stayed in the locker all day as Doll kissed her over and over again, on her cheeks, on her neck, her shoulders, her forehead, her lips.

First she held her closely by the waist, then she pinned her to the wall when Lizzy slightly shifted her body, trying to find a justification to stop all of this with an embarrassed blush resting on her cheeks but the smile on her face spoke louder than her words did, and that is what Doll listened to.

Then when she noticed Lizzy's legs shaking, Doll sat down on one of the benches and placed Lizzy on her lap, kissing her shoulders over and over, of tender loving kisses of passion, yet pure and innocent, as if with each kiss Doll told Lizzy 'I love you' over and over again.

When Lizzy closed her eyes, shivering from every inch of her body feeling her body boil, Doll laid down and she laid Lizzy on top of her as she limited herself to only kiss her on her forehead and cheeks seeing how much of a tool this all took on her precious golden treasure. "Shhhhhhhh." Doll hushed her softly as she rubbed her back affectionately while reassuringly giving her light soft innocent kisses all over her face.

Next thing you know these two are holding hands every time they are alone, giving each other loving kisses but never on the lips. Doll would kiss the back of Lizzy's hand each time they saw each other for the first time of the day, regardless if it was in public or not, she was a charming devil and she was subtle about it.

Doll was obsessed but Lizzy was so intoxicated she couldn't even acknowledge it. The two were happy together, and that's all that mattered.

The ceiling was stained with oil, slowly dripping down on the floor and down the walls as Doll stood in the middle of it all motionless until Lizzy found her.

The AS has activated, the hunger broke out for the first time, and Doll only felt herself in control again when Lizzy was there.

The two began to work together but Lizzy's consciousness began to work, making her ask herself how wrong all of this truly is.

After the prom night she still found herself crying into Doll's arms as Doll hush her softly, rubbing her back and kissing her tears away. "It's alright. I've went too far with it all. Everything's going to be alright from now on. I have a plan, just stay away from Uzi, promise me, alright? Can you do that for me?" Doll asked as she gently cupped Lizzy's cheeks as the blond girl simply nodded with tears staining her prom dress before receiving a soft kiss on her cheek.

Oil had stained the forest and the snow while Doll held Lizzy tightly. "I told you to stay away from Uzi." Doll lightly scolded Lizzy as she peacefully slept in her arms in the comfort of her bed, happily enjoying the warmth emanating from Doll.

Doll simply sighed as she kissed Lizzy's cheek.

"Where are you going?" "I found something." Doll said as Lizzy fixed her button. "You're always leaving!" Lizzy complained. "Would you rather I don't?" Doll asked bluntly as she saw Lizzy's face reveal all of the mixed emotions she felt all of this time. Doll simply sighed as she kissed the back of her hand softly. A kiss each time they saw each other for the first time of the day...a kiss for seeing each other clearly after so long.

Lizzy looked at Doll terrified, because she could feel that she would be gone for a very long while. Therefor she needed a promise from Doll that she will return, so, Doll bit her own lip until oil came out and then she stained Lizzy's lips with it as the oil dripped down and mixed with Lizzy's tears. "I will come back, for you, we'll be happy, and my parents will be there when we marry." At this words Lizzy broke into tears again. Doll's parents were dead, and either death would bring them together again, or whatever Doll planned out would work out.

The two stayed like that, embracing each other for so long before finally saying their last goodbye with another kiss, afraid that it will be the last one they made it last for as long as possible.

Despite the sadness in their heart whenever they thought of the other they could only smile. Doll with her sickening wide one and Lizzy with her sassy prideful one. They didn't know where their own self started and where the other one ended, but they could care less as they simply yearned to see each other again the next time that it is meant to be.

Oil flowing through their veins, and yet...

Only the oil flowing through the veins of the other one could satisfy them.

The end

[tobiasdrake]

Entering the Mystery Labyrinth. Really looking forward to unraveling this one.

I'm liking Karen as Aiko's killer and Yoshiko as Karen's, but Kurane's also pretty suspicious.

It would be supremely difficult for Waruna to have committed Karen's murder, however. By herself, anyway. She was onstage the whole time and her costume was checked to ensure nothing was smuggled in her pockets. The only way Waruna could be complicit is as part of a conspiracy with Yoshiko and Kurane.

Oh, by all means. I was terrified that the two of you were going to wind up feedback-looping into a giant tangle of perverted nonsense, but instead you're mixing like oil and water. I like that. Keep doing that.

So, starting with the obvious.

Kurumi did not poison the wine bottle, because the poison would have oxidized long before it was drank if she had. (Also because the wine bottle was not poisoned.)

That Karen herself could have been a conspirator is not outside the realm of possibility, given that she worked with Kurane (and possibly Waruna and/or Yoshiko) to eliminate the random factor from the Duel of the Cups.

But, much like Waruna, she had nothing in her pockets and was onstage the whole time so it would have been difficult for her to have carried out the poisoning without a co-conspirator. Also, why?

It's weird that she's trying to, though. Mystery Phantoms only appear as manifestations of people trying to conceal the truth of what happened in the real world. Why would Karen be here?

Did Karen, like, conspire with Kurane to kill Waruna? Only for it to backfire?

Whatever the case, Phantom Karen says she committed suicide via the poison vial and we know that's bunk.

We've already been over possible vectors thoroughly. The vial and wine bottle are both out of the question. Only the glasses could have been poisoned.

Or someone used the water gun to spritz-spritz poison in but that seems less likely. The most plausible explanation for how the poison got there is that Yoshiko took a backup wine glass to the chem lab, painted in poison with the discarded paintbrush, then crept backstage through the underground and swapped out the glasses.

Okay, from left to right:

1 - Paintbrush in the chem lab painted into the backup wine glass. 2 - Backup wine glass swapped for a regular one. 3 - Kurane's spotlight trick and Karen's instructions to grab the first glass Kurane lights up.

The central wrinkle of this mystery at this point is that only Yoshiko could have swapped in the killer glass but only Kurane could have guided Karen to drink from it, and they can't have conspired together because Yoshiko despises Kurane too much to even look at her let alone speak to her. Yet both must have played a key role in Karen's death.

[starrook]

He ought to get better at being a bit more visible. As it was, Zelkov silently stepped out into Alcryst's path, in the dim light of dusk against gray monastery flagstones which were remarkably similar to the shade of his overcoat in the low light.

Oops.

"Ah, Prince Alcryst." Zelkov greeted him in a low, breathy tone, aware of the late hour, and less aware of how mysterious he sounded. "I see we are *coworkers* now." With Alcryst's skill, Zelkov almost pitied anything that dare attack the monastery. "Should you *require* any medical attention, stop by the infirmary any time. I even have many of my *homemade* potions on hand." He pulled an unlabeled vial out of his coat, presenting it to Alcryst with an unreadable smile. "For you."

(It's lavender essential oil.)

The sudden appearance of a tall, dark figure stops Alcryst in his tracks—there's no time to question how someone managed to sneak up on him. One hand reaches for the knife, prepared to defend himself... but a certain memory from the Brodian borderlands gives him pause. He nearly killed the Divine Dragon in a situation like this...

Alcryst raises his head, watching this figure warily. They look... oddly relaxed. And oddly familiar. In this dim light, it takes a minute to put a name to their face, their voice. "...Zelkov?" He answers uneasily. An Elusian in league with Ivy, but an ally all the same. Alcryst forces himself to relax as Zelkov does, despite this man being as suspicious as ever. His mannerisms. His smile. That 'potion' in his hand.

"...Lavender?" Alcryst can smell it from here, a strong floral scent that bring fond memories of his mother's soaps and shampoos. Everyone is trying their best to mend their countries' ties after the war... thinking of the gift like that makes it easier to accept. "I admit it's a lovely scent... Are you sure you should be giving this to me? What if someone else needs it?"