#fragrant tube

[searchsystem]

Abib / Hand Crème – Fragrant Tube  / Packaging / 2020

[justepilepsy]

Headsup

In case anyone of you has been following the reveal of James Somerton's fragrant Plagiarism via Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)

James Somerton has released a second response video, which may be more collected and calm, but he mentions his diagnosis with epilepsy and therefore the memory issues he suffers from as a reason for how the rampant continous plagiarism was possible to happen over and over again.

I believe him in saying he has memory issues. (I also believe him that he got fired because of his epilepsy, because sadly this is a very common occurence!)

I personally am not convinced, that memory issues cause you do copy-paste entire books and a multitude of articles into a script, close the doc, open the doc the next day and go "wow i definitely wrote all that, let me read it into the camera".

I don't remember a lot of the things I am saying, especially in verbal communication. Friends quote me back constantly and a lot of times I don't remember, I can only say "this sounds like something I would say".

My memory is very bad at times, and terribly accurate at others.

I know there are different types of memory issues.

But I can not - for the life of me - ESPECIALLY when I know I have these issues, imagine that someone with memory issues does not include pasting a link to the SOURCE of the text they are copying into their word.

I also am pretty sure, one would recognise their own writing style, even when not remembering writing something... especially in like - longform text formats.

I think also - when having a co-author, I would lean towards asking the co-author to check my writing for instances of accidental plagiarism, in order to stop it from happening (again).

But maybe this is just me. Am I being overly harsh here?

I don't want to shoot against someone who is also epileptic without reason. Please share your thoughts.

[hyperactively-me]

I KEEP SENDING THINGS IM SO SORRY 😞 😔 but you're writing is so good I'm addicted!!! I remember in one of your previous chapters about king ghost he says he loves princess' hair. Can you imagine he walks in while she doing her hair care routine, like oils and the like and she says let me do your hair too and he just feels so loved and appreciated 😭😭😭😭 and he's super interested in what all the products are for and he's like no wonder you look gorgeous everyday 😭😭😭😩😩😩😩

i got 2 requests that were pretty similar, so i'm just gonna combine the two in this one post! i love this idea! so cute! i'm gonna try and keep the description of hair as vague as possible btw. for my reader inserts i always try my best to not describe specific appearances.

One sunny morning, while Simon is still lazing around in bed, you get up to do your hair routine. The warm rays of the sun sneak through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in the room. You stretch and yawn, feeling the soft sheets beneath you as you rise. Simon makes an attempt to grab you before you slip out of bed, but you jump away, giggling quietly at his grumbling. 

You pad over to your vanity, where an array of products awaited. Bottles of sprays, tubes of creams, and the fragrant allure of hair oils beckoned you. Simon, still in a state of semi-slumber, observed your morning dance with the products from his place in bed. Your reflection in the mirror smiles back at you, anticipating the ritual ahead. 

As you began to work the elixirs into your hair, your hands moving with a practiced grace, Simon's eyes followed your every move. There was something captivating about the way you devoted attention to your locks, a mesmerizing movement of hands and hair. He couldn't help but admire the effortless beauty that unfolded before him.

You finished off your hair with a perfumed ribbon, the fragrance adding a final touch of elegance to your carefully styled locks. 

Caught in the act of staring, Simon's gaze met yours, and you giggled playfully. The room was filled with a light, carefree energy as you asked him, “Want to give it a try?”

Simon, initially a bit shy, nodded with a sheepish look. Intrigued, he joined you, shifting from the bed to stand beside you next to your vanity. You stand up from your seat, beckoning him to sit down. 

“Okay, try not to move,” you instructed. With a bottle in hand, you began the process, your fingers deftly working through Simon’s hair. The scent of the hair oil filled the air as you massage into his scalp. 

Simon, initially unsure of himself, gradually surrendered to the sensation. Your hands, moving with the same practiced grace he had admired moments ago, massaged the oil into his scalp. Simon closed his eyes, allowing himself to be fully present in the moment. 

“You're quiet this morning,” you observe, your voice a gentle whisper, rubbing a different lotion into his hair. 

Simon, enveloped in the soothing touch of your hands, took a moment before responding. “It's just nice,” he admitted, his voice carrying a sense of calm. “I didn't realize how relaxing this could be.”

You chuckled softly, continuing your ministrations. “It's the little things, isn't it?”

“Mhm,” he hums, leaning back into your touch. 

After a while, you shifted gears, picking up another bottle. “Let's add a bit of this for extra care,” you suggested, your hands now working a different lotion into your palms. The subtle fragrance mingled with the hair oil, the scent reminding him of you. Simon, still with his eyes closed, nodded in agreement.

As the final touches were added, you stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied nod. Simon, now with his eyes open, met your gaze. 

“Finished,” you smile. “Do you like it?”

Simon, running his fingers through his freshly pampered hair, couldn’t help but smile in contentment. The subtle fragrance that lingered in the air swallowed him whole. “Love it.” 

“No wonder you look gorgeous everyday,” he adds on, spinning around his seat, pulling you in between his legs.

You smile, moving a single stray lock away from his forehead. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, your fingers playfully tousling his hair. 

Simon, still holding you close, gazed into your eyes with a soft intensity. “You're truly something special,” he said, his words carrying a sincerity that resonated deep within.

Simon, ever playful, spun you around to face the mirror. “Now, it's my turn to admire your masterpiece,” he declared, his arms wrapped around you.

You chuckled as you both stared into the reflection before you. His hand reaches up to your ribbon, playing with the edges gingerly.

“You like it?”

“Looks s’ pretty,” he nods, letting it drop from his grasp. He'll take it for himself later.

Simon turns you around to face him, his hands cupping your face. “You know, I love these quiet moments with you,” he confesses, his eyes searching yours.

You lean into his touch. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the embrace, a gentle knock on the door interrupted the moment. You shared a playful smile, knowing that the day awaited.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[buffetlicious]

Sis bought this Kaya Swiss Roll (S$12) from Rich & Good Cake Shop. The long tube of rolled cake is about 12 inches long and wrapped in a piece of plastic. The cake itself is soft and fragrant with a whorl of coconut jam within. Though it tasted good, the price is hard to stomach as it had gone up by at least 100% over the last 6-8 years.

[charseraph]

The River Jordan and Sweetpea are electric engines on the first railway on Mars.

River Jordan was the first one built, being the product of a collaboration between the nations who established the colony.

Sweetpea was donated by a coronal aerospace guild and assembled onsite. Her parts were imported and her blueprints were crownmade, so her visage is coronal.

Visage and the nature of living transport

Engines take the image of their creators. Their faces are not organic, and are more like a vessel for helpful senses and communication tools.

They come alive soon after they are built, once out of eyeshot for any moment. Attempts to stare at a new engine to see it stir are foiled somehow (blinks, saccades, CCTV malfunction, momentary lapse in attention). Not all engines come alive, as their animacy is often (but not always) decided by the intent of the builder.

Living engines can assess their circumstances and make judgements based on them. They are useful in volatile situations as an expert second opinion on conduct and design, and are capable of sensing external and internal problems quickly.

In calmer periods, they may not get adequate stimulation, and their personalities may interfere with their efficiency. For this reason, railways have their preferences when they build and purchase engines.

The facial material ends at the surface of the machine and is inscrutable in composition—the material appears to be made of itself, and is unusable for any other purpose besides as an engine’s interface with the world. If damaged, the material heals. If removed, it disappears. The conceptual self-referentiality of engines’ faces, souls, and senses deter scrutiny.

Living machines exist as a fact of the universe. Their animacy is cloaked in an analysis-averting antimeme.

Human Engines

Engines designed and built by humans possess dual-pinhole pupils that dilate into an elliptical shape, granting them a broad field of view and tolerance of rapid changes in light levels (such as in going in and out of tunnels). Deep set zygomata allow them to look directly to their sides, and with the dual-pinhole setup, they maintain some depth perception in monocular sight. Their pupil shapes are hidden by their black irises, which absorb glare. They can see clearly to their front and sides, but can’t see up or down very well. A tapetum lucidum retroreflects incoming light back through their retinas, granting them vision in darkness. The nictitating membranes and long eyelashes protect the eyes from dust.

The chemicals engines are capable of detecting are relevant to their purpose, e.g. distinguishing coal, gasoline, diesel, and wood fires from their smoke but not being able to distinguish or detect food smells. Similar to how cats, obligate carnivores, have lost their ability to taste sugar due to its absence in their diet, but can taste ATP for its presence in meat—engines can parse environmental and industrial scents, but will have wildly varied responses to food and fragrant compounds, often being unable to notice them.

To investigate an aroma, they slightly lower their bottom lip to take air into their vomeronasal organ located behind the upper incisors.

Engines do not require oxygen, but if debris enters the nasal passage, human engines will sneeze to:

Ensure their voice resonates properly,

Keep their olfactory facilities clean, and

Indicate to engineers that particle buildup may have occurred in other places, such as the boiler tubes for steam engines.

Crown Engines

Just as the tongue is the only colored object on a human engine’s face for distinguishability, so are the teeth on coronal engines. The positions of the upper and lower jaw indicate tone, functioning in communication similarly to eyebrows.

Coronal engine eyes consist of an armored cornea surrounded by a cuticle and muscular eyelid. The cornea moves with the help of the embedded eyestalk supporting it. The cuticle is lubricated with an oil-based film and is less susceptible to irritation than the aqueous solution on human engine eyes. The undersides of the eyelids and surface of the cornea are covered in setae, preventing chafing and reducing airflow on the cornea. The hairs catch debris and are combed out by the lids with a puckering motion.

To make up for unenhanced vision by human engine standards, coronal engine hearing is advanced, allowing the listener to pinpoint sound sources through triangulation of the four inner ears. Coronal engines, too, channel sound through their incisors and into their internal ears via the acoustic windows at the hinge of each jaw.

Coronal engines achieve their sense of industrial smell through the gustatory papillae that line their choana and pharynx. They supplement their olfaction by introducing cool air behind the heat pits inside their nares.

Coronal engines’ thermoception is more efficient than living crowns, as coronal engines’ faces do not produce heat nearly proportional to their mass.

Conversely, the tines heat up significantly hotter than the crown average for unambiguity in temperature tones. The origin of the tine thermal energy appears to be redirected from excess produced by the machinery, or from the face’s temperature directly.

Extramodal senses

Engines are capable of listening from within their cabs with greater acuity than mere conduction of sound through the body would suggest. Other unsubstantiated sensory abilities include:

Discernment of water/fuel quality within the framework of taste though intake alone

Somatosensory awareness in the entire body, not just the face

[angelmush]

it's been a while because our oven was out of commission (mice in it) and i was sick w some catastrophic mystery illness and then i was back home in colorado for a few days for the holidays but i'm back now so here's another little post about meals i'm wanting to make soon!!

i want to oven roast wedges of cabbage and mushrooms and maybe some chicken w lots of spices and olives and garlic and oil and maybe char some lemons until all is golden and crispy and then whip up some fresh creamy feta (i splurged on it lol it's a treat) w lemon and yogurt to lay down as a base for the roasted stuff and top w olive oil and dill and fresh lemon and maybe some kind of tahini drizzle if i'm feeling ambitious. this idea has had me daydreaming for dayssss

i have japanese curry cubes that have been waiting for their moment resting in my pantry, an abundance of potatoes (15 lbs LOL), fragrant jasmine rice, some wild carrot, and some very pretty marble-y slabs of pork i could make tonkatsu with, a meal that reminds me of my friends in colorado who made this once for us to eat for a DND session :'')

my gf has been asking me to make alpermagronen, a swiss childhood staple of mine, since we ate it on the side of a mountain when we went back to switzerland to visit my childhood friends. it's a hearty alpine meal that's sort of mac and cheese-y with tubes of pasta and soft cubes of potato in a luscious creamy gruyere sauce topped with thick batons of bacon, a heap of caramelized onions and homemade applesauce. very swiss, very comforting, very filling and something that makes me deeply nostalgic

and a surprise to no one, another chicken soup!!! it's one of my fave foods but i want to do a different kind with a dash of cream and some kale and lots of lemon this time as opposed to the traditional carrot and celery one i've been making every few weeks. i have homemade chicken stock still in the freezer and a butchered chicken as well, all ready to go

i want to bake the nyt gingerbread blondies !! they sound up my ally :)

[archiveikemen]

"Black Wedding" Story Event: Premium END

Jude's Route

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

This story is in Jude's POV.

(What an ugly place.)

After putting every single one of the cultists to sleep, I stood before the altar where the wedding ceremony was to be held, cursing to myself in my head.

(Binding themselves to promises that last an eternity, as if they’re completely guilt free.)

(Vows of love are the same as curses.)

What was so great about cursing each other to cling onto your love in sickness and in painful times?

The clean handed atmosphere, solemn tube playing at the organ, and the fragrant scent of flowers… all of it was like an annoying tool used for cursing.

There was nothing beautiful about anything called a “promise”.

To me, at least.

And then, the church door opened — and Kate appeared wearing a black dress.

(Hah, she’s so nervous that her teeth are practically chattering.)

However, she raised her head with her lips pursed.

She wore an odd expression on her face the moment our eyes met.

(...?)

With an absent-minded and feverish look on her face, Kate slowly walked down the aisle leading to the altar.

(... Hah.)

(Is she acting like a fool because she got too caught up in the mood of this “wedding ceremony”?)

(Seriously, she’s so simple-minded that it’s concerning.)

Jude: What’s with those hundred comical faces you’re making?

Kate: Huh…?

Kate blinked when I started talking to her, as if she had only just realised that she reached the altar.

(You’re burdened by your role as a “fairytale writer”, decking yourself out because you’re sincere about keeping your promise.)

(There's no saving this princess.)

She looked so defenceless standing there in her wedding dress.

— Even a fingernail could tear her into shreds in an instant.

Jude: You look so absent-minded for a bride. Are you really getting married?

Then, a long-haired man wearing glasses with a pleasant demeanour arrived.

(... This guy is the “Founder”.)

Man In Glasses: This loving couple has come such a long way.

Amor: My name is Amor. I am a manservant of love and representative of Amour, I will make your love last an eternity.

(... Does this guy actually have a screw loose?)

The way that man said those stupid things with exaggerated gestures was beyond sickening, it gave me goosebumps.

(Would be great if I could just put him to sleep right now so that he would shut up, but…)

(I won’t be satisfied until I torment him for all the ridicule he put me through.)

I recalled the contents of the investigation report I read on our way here.

(“It is likely that the couples were poisoned after vowing their love to each other”, huh.)

In that case—

(An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth — a poison for a poison.)

Amor: Come now, those who are truly in love with each other have no need for vows.

Amor: If you vow to love each other forever… close your eyes and kiss.

Kate: … *gasp*

Kate gasped, bewildered by his words.

(Hah, she’s losing her composure even though we’re not doing this for real.)

Kate was getting visibly restless, and I lifted her chin with a finger.

When I pulled her closer, her eyes grew so wide that they looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets.

Kate: Ah…

Jude: Mm.

(Look up. I’m bringing our faces closer to deceive him.)

Kate pointed her chin upward as I had instructed and her face turned red.

(Hah…?)

(Does she think I’m really going to do it?)

I stared at her trembling lips in disbelief.

Despite being in a mess and feeling restless, Kate squeezed her eyes shut, as if bracing herself for what's coming.

(... Tch.)

(I didn't think she’d be this softhearted of a person.)

– Flashback Start –

Kate: I don’t believe that love will magically last an eternity just by holding a ceremony, making promises to a superior being, and reciting vows to the people around us.

Kate: But… I think that’s why people make promises to each other.

Kate: Whenever they feel like they might break the promise, as long as they still have the memory of them making that promise together, they’ll gain the courage to keep going and not give up.

– Flashback End –

It was those beautiful things that made me sick to the stomach.

And yet, I was certain that those beautiful things were true in the world she lived in.

(She’s extremely upfront about her feelings, honest to a fault, and good-natured.)

(She’s a princess who knows nothing about hardships, and wholeheartedly believes in those sickening things that are nothing more than mere lip service.)

(I can’t believe a woman like her would make an eternal vow to me... even if this is a joke, it isn't funny.)

I envied people who could lead beautiful lives, and I had a cruel desire to ruin it for them so that they would understand.

Jude: … What are you closing your eyes for?

Kate: Huh…?

She opened her eyes that were closed in preparation to be kissed.

Jude: You’re really foolish, you know that?

I looked into her eyes that were wide open and sealed her lips with mine.

Kate trembled and stared at me in surprise.

Kate: Um… uh…

Jude: … Pfft, you’ve got a stupid look on your face.

(This will teach her a lesson, and she’ll reflect on herself.)

Amor: I hereby pronounce you husband and wife… I will now make your love last forever.

Amor: Now, you are to pour this wine into each other's mouths.

Amor produced two wine glasses in an exaggerated manner.

Jude: Is this a secret potion that will make love “last forever”?

Amor: Yes, that is correct.

There was no doubt that the wine was poisoned.

(Nice smile.)

(That face will soon contort due to panic and agony, just thinking of it is making me excited.)

Jude: Which reminds me, you spilled water on someone during the day time, didn’t you?

Amor: … Huh?

Amor was drenched in the bright red wine.

I deliberately aimed it at his face, so that the wine would permeate the mucous membranes of his eyes and nose.

Amor: !? Uwah…arghh…!?

Panicking, Amor rushed to the shelves next to the altar.

Kate: What is he doing…?

Jude: He’s searching for the antidote.

Kate: The… antidote…?

The moment Kate realised that the wine was the poison that caused the deaths of those couples, her face turned pale.

Kate: How did you know?

Jude: I read through the investigation report in advance.

The way Kate stared at me was as if she were saying “I never heard of you doing that”.

(Of course I kept it from you.)

(If I told you, you’d probably get frightened and spill the beans.)

Ignoring her gaze, I walked towards Amor who took what looked like a bottle of medicine from the shelf.

I grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm before he could open the lid.

Jude: You make other people suffer, and yet you try to escape when it’s your turn to go through the same thing you put them through…

Jude: You’re no different from an insect.

Amor: Ugh… gguh…!

(Let me hear more of that horrid shrieking.)

(Come on, you’ll be poisoned to death if you don't hurry.)

Amor: T-There’s no time… ugh, let go of me! I-I’ll do anything… anything…!

Jude: Anything? Fine. If that’s the case, sign a contract with me.

Jude: A contract to serve me till the day you die. Will you promise me that?

When Amor nodded his head, I let go of his wrist.

Looking laughably panicky, he forced open the lid of the bottle and swallowed its contents.

(Good job.)

I poked Amor's forehead with my finger.

I used my curse’s power to put anyone whose forehead I touched to sleep, and sent Amor to the deepest depths of the land of dreams.

Kate: … What do you plan to do with him?

Jude: I have yet to decide what to use him for.

I looked down at Amor lying on the floor and breathing in his sleep.

(He’d be good to be used as a specimen, or I could just toss him onto a cargo ship.)

Kate: Um… where are the rest of the cultists?

Jude: In their dreamlands. Even the guy who was playing the organ.

— The mission is completed “for the time being”.

(I wonder if that’s what she’s thinking.)

Feeling relieved, Kate let out an exasperated sigh.

Jude: You didn’t realise that you were close to “signing” a god awful contract, did you?

Kate: Huh…?

Kate blinked and tilted her head to the side in puzzlement.

(What did you do just now?)

(Did you already forget what you did to me?)

(This woman is terrible. I have no idea how she managed to live until now.)

Jude: “If you vow to love each other forever, close your eyes and kiss.”

Jude: When you closed your eyes… were you prepared to be ridiculed by me for the rest of your life?

It took 5 seconds for that to click in Kate’s head.

It was entertaining to see her turn bright red.

Kate: That was… that was because I thought we had to kiss for the vows so that we could make him let his guard down…!

Jude: All we had to do was bring our faces closer to deceive Amor into thinking we really kissed.

Kate: T-Then why did you kiss me?

Kate: It would've been better if we tricked him instead…

Jude: I wanted to see what kind of stupid face you would make because of that.

(Even if it was fake, kissing for the sake of a vow wasn't a good idea, and so that was my punishment for this foolish princess who so easily offered herself to me.)

Jude: Don’t worry. /I/ didn’t close my eyes.

Kate: I didn’t close my eyes intending to vow my eternity to you either…!

Jude: Oh, really?

Kate’s face was beet red, she was shaking and left speechless.

(Hah, I like that face. Her frustrated expression is the cutest.)

Jude: That facial expression is unbecoming of a bride, Princess.

Kate: That’s fine.

I tried to imagine how much more I had to teach this woman about how dirty the world was, before she would fall into despair and no longer be able to say those beautiful things.

(... I can’t imagine it.)

Instead, I imagined her standing there in a quandary, scowling at the shitty reality before her—

I felt a twinge at the pit of my stomach.

[roseythorne]

3 Word Prompt: Trystan, MC, subway :)

⪩⪨ subway

a/n: as much as i’d love for this prompt to be referring to a certain sandwich shop that now offers footlong cookies (OMG??) i have determined that it is, in fact, not. thanks for the prompt! :)

featuring: m!trystan thorne x mc (second person pov!)

your ankles cried out in pain as you trudged down the steps to the subway after a painstakingly slow day at the agency.

you never thought you’d miss those high-stakes cases—or maybe you just missed working with your partner-in-crime.

as you hastily crossed the threshold into the tightly-packed subway, all you longed for was to be at home, in bed in your lover’s embrace, tangled together in crisp sheets after a warm shower that magically melted away the endless cases swimming through your whirring mind.

oh, how amazing that sounded.

you weaved through throngs of disgruntled commuters returning home from their tedious nine-to-fives before finding refuge next to a pole. you squeezed by to give yourself as much space as possible, when—

“fancy meeting you here, honey.”

you whirled around, bewildered at the unmistakably suave voice.

“trystan?!”

the sea of heads surrounding you slowly swiveled around to look at the commotion, eyebrows raised.

you sheepishly shrink back, murmuring a quiet apology while trystan places a calming hand on your shoulder.

“my love is just excited to see me, that’s all. carry on.” trystan dismisses the irritated stares with a regal wave of his hand, and just like magic, they obey.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes before folding your arms and gazing up at his smug smirk. “so? why are you sneaking up on me? you were working from home today, no?”

“ah, you see…” he brandishes a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back as your breath catches in your throat. as you admire the flourishing blooms in front of you and their sweet, fragrant scent, your concerns about how he perfectly preserved such a gigantic arrangement in the tightly-packed subway vanish into thin air.

he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, lips curving into a bashful smile. “well, i was going to surprise you with these when you returned home, but i got caught in a bit of a, ah… as you would put it…”

“trystan, did the police chase you again.”

his eyes widen in horror as he presses a finger to your lips. “darling, not so loudly in public, please!” he makes a show of looking side to side before meeting your gaze and whispering in a clandestine tone. “i may have had a little… ‘altercation’ on my way to the tube. however, it’s really no matter, as i succeeded in my mission to surprise my love, no?” he flashes a devastating grin—the one that never fails to melt you.

sighing, your gaze falls to the dazzling bouquet in front of you before you look up at him, a smirk playing on your lips, much against your will.

“you’re never going to stop being a thorn in my side, are you?”

“never, my rose,” he whispers affectionately, wrapping his arms around you before pressing a soft, loving peck to the top of your head.

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) if you have a prompt you’d like me to write, feel free to drop it in my ask box! <3

[blixtrandetorst]

Starter for: @malefikant

Peculiar in how the scent, or rather a feeling presented itself. Moving through human veins with full force of glaciers behind it, as if the frost wasn’t invading the viscera. Spiking in geometric shapes the very tubes that bore it. Ice as if impregnated with blood that stained throughout its marbling. It gave him a chill that stopped him immediately. Were those veins black with its bite? Those around him shuffling in, about, and around him, gave him no mind. Off to this stall and the next, chattering about that mug and this tchotchke. All as he stood motionless. Unblinkingly, over his fur collared shoulder, to find the source. In its gratuitous warmth the place had in its plethora of warm bodies to radiate heat. He scoured by instinct to find the cold pocket’s source. Even the lighting seemed to take a colder tone around him from the honey shade they normally had. The inviting nature of these nighttime shops was cooled in his wake.

Body heat is around ninety-eight degrees, give or take for the individual. Blood, by extension, about the same. By extension, those fed on warmed the drinker. It’s what helped it stay so fragrant for beings like Dieter. A biological invitation of sanguine health. But this one smothered the heat. No, rather, pushed it out. Expelled it from itself. Heat had no home with him. No home indeed within the black haired man he spied stopped at a stall. The rest of the crowd melted away into their shared heat. The mass’s undulating mirage slowed in time with the folk music. The blurred together as dieter’s senses fixed. An anomaly. Anomalies he loved. Anomalies were to him as exotic animals to trophy hunters.

He thought better of hunting this one though. He was already cold himself. It’d do no good as he wouldn’t spoil as normal dead things do. That would’ve happened ages ago. Long gone into the soil Rittmeister Bergström of Jasta ten. Like many a good flier before him. Now he was here, decades later, in a winter night-market, watching a man who should be frozen solid buy trinkets from a vendor who probably couldn’t even tell. Clever man taking advantage of the cold outside. Gloves shielding the closest contact between others. Would the old shopkeeper’s hands instantly freeze without them as he gave back change? How far did that glacial air extend? Could Dieter get closer?

[diamondtaem6v6]

✨ Onew’s interview for SeeK Vol.021

A story of Onew and fragrances

Experience making his own perfume.

So, what is the scent that Onew imagines?

The title of the concert held in March was "ONEW CONCERT "O-NEW-NOTE" in JAPAN".

Yes, Onew is very interested in "fragrances" now.

The story of Onew, who thought: "What kind of scent do I like?", how he pursued it thoroughly and found his own scent.

We will deliver it with plenty of healing effects.

ONEW

Trying to make his own perfume

He experienced making original perfumes at a popular perfume workshop.

He likes strong commitment and detailed work… Please enjoy the unknown aspects of Onew, such as his obsessions, love for detailed work and so on… to the familiar Onew (!)

Step 1: Fill in the check sheet

Check the image of the fragrance you want to create.

Before starting the perfume experience, first fill in a check sheet to confirm your favorite scent taste. Choose the scent you want to create and your favorite color from among the many options. Onew confirms one by one: “What does it mean by ‘heavy’?”, “Is it refreshing?”. He chose soft scents, heavy scents, fresh floral scents, fruity scents, woody/forest scents, and herbal scents.

When asked by the teacher about his favorite image, he said: “The phytoncide in the summer forest is ‘refreshing’, and the warm brown tone of the wood is ‘soft’. Ah, I see, so I’m ‘soft’. But I like the damp wood...”, he continued the exchange with the teacher.

The color that you can feel for each scent is also different. “I like dark tones like damp wood” - he said, checking the dark brown one. In addition, he also chose the same yellow color as today’s outfit.

Some of them smell like wood, some like herbs, and some of them feel like forest without heavy trees.

“Hmm… It’s not easy”, he suddenly was confronted with the depth of the scents.

Step 2: Trying them

Smell the 36 scents one by one

After learning about the composition of the scent of top notes, middle notes, and base notes from the teacher, it’s finally time to take the first step in creating a perfume. It’s the moment of "trying them", where you choose while smelling the scents to be blended. The impression here is important! What Onew experienced this time was a course to choose from 36 kinds of scents, and there were many perfume bottles in front of him! "I have to smell all of this, don't I? It's shocking!" - while saying that, he started immediately.

“Take a small amount with the dropper on the lid and drop a few drops, and the scent will come out. When you smell it, count 1, 2, 3” - the teacher told him the points. Then, he writes down his impressions on the sheet, whether it’s good, weird, or disliked.

It seems that his nose slowed down after 10 minutes. When that happens, smell the aroma of the coffee beans and reset. Onew posed while holding coffee beans. He asked the photographer: "How is it? Can I make an advertisement for coffee?".

He was muttering something to himself, so when I listened more carefully, he was saying: "Orchid? Child's scent?" (*or-kid) Jacket? (*leather) Oh, I like it”. He is putting some gags in between (laughs).

“I like the smell of acacia gum (acacia senegal gum), which I used to chew when I was a kid”… “Oh, it smells good”. “This is fragrant olive! I didn’t know that frangrant olive was a tree until I learned it at cram school” - he shared the episode (laughs). “The black pepper one has a pepper scent!” - Onew tries it while having fun.

While confirming the name of each scent, if he can’t understand, he will actively ask the teacher. Showing off a good student who is full of motivation. Finally, he finished smelling all 36 perfumes.

Once his nose is reset, he continues to try the scents. "Sure, I like this kind of scent." Whoa! I think he is starting to understand it!

Step 3: Perfuming

Making adjustments to the scent many times in search of the desired scent.

Onew will combine scents that he thinks are good in the scent test. Putting one drop into a tube with a dropper, dipping it on an L-shaped paper and smelling it, is like a chemistry experiment. He tells the teacher what he thinks of the scent, and adds more of the scent little by little. Changing the amounts and the fragrance is formulated again. A delicate one-on-one exchange with the teacher continues. In fact, it was difficult to achieve the ideal scent, so he had a hard time… "I’m more serious (about it) than I thought (I would be) (laughs)", he said with a wry smile.

According to the impression Onew felt, the teacher added a scent, but: "It should be a little less sweet, and the one with the scent of wood is better", "A little, not clear, subtle", "It's not the scent I expected" - Onew is not convinced. His face gradually became troubled, but after the 6th attempt, he finally smiled: "Oh, it’s similar!" and then the 7th attempt: “It's the weight I wanted”. That’s good.

For example, after the teacher puts in a little bit of fragrant olive, Onew puts in a drop of cedarwood and black musk. The trick is to drop it with so as not to touch the tube.

Even the teacher praised him!

“Onew has a pretty high ability to catch the scent. Even if you smell the same woody scent, it’s generally difficult to tell which is the lighter tone wood or which is the heavier wood. I was surprised because before, he had already correctly caught that sandalwood was lighter than cedarwood and that cedarwood should be used more as a main”.

Step 4: Put in a perfume bottle

Weigh it with a scale and pour the stock solution accurately.

Accurately pour the undiluted solution of perfume into the bottle using a scale according to the amount determined in the previous perfume blending. 0.01g determines the aroma, which is quite a delicate process. Looking at the scale, drop, drop. Concentrate and talk less, seal your favorite jokes. The silent struggle continues, but Onew said, working hard towards the imminent completion: "I want to complete my own perfume!".

Adding 5.00g of cedarwood, 2.40g of sandalwood, and 2.68 g of ambrette, that the teacher gave him when he was making the perfume. "I have to be precise!", Onew holds it tight with both hands.

Step 5: Attach the label

The scent, appearance, and name are all Onew originals!

Mix the undiluted solution from earlier with the perfume base, and finally attach a label in your favorite color to complete your original perfume! However, perfume needs a maturation period, so you can enjoy the real scent after 1~2 weeks. The teacher said: “Onew made it with very precise measurements, so it has become an ideal scent. So please, rest assured”.

Everything from the illustration on the label to the fragrance has created a one-of-a-kind perfume that is unique to Onew.

Onew chose his favorite color from the 6 different labels. “It's a little crooked because my feelings are crooked (laughs) But it looks quite good like this”, Onew said.

ONEW’S FRAGRANCE “MORI-AMA”

The sweet and soft scent turns into a dark and heavy woody scent!

A unique scent that is warm and calm, yet firm in its charm.

In order to get closer to the ideal scent that Onew had imagined, the perfume “MORI-AMA” was created by repeating the process and trying the smell over and over again.

Of course, Onew likes it, but there is also plenty of charm that goes beyond that.

This time, we asked the teacher who prepared the fragrance in detail about this perfume.

When I asked him before the class started, he said: “It would be nice if the base was woody and it had a faint floral scent”. The floral scent was made with a small amount of jasmine, which is the most similar to acacia, because he wanted the scent of acacia. In addition, among the woody scents, he liked the scent of wood, which has a “dark and deep image,” so we built the scent of cedarwood as the main scent, and added the scents of ambrette and sandalwood as decorations. However, it’s difficult to express the “warm and calm atmosphere” and “heavy atmosphere” that Onew wanted with just that scent, so it contains most cashmere scent.

The scent flow is sweet and soft at first, and rises with a calm jasmine scent. When the scent shifts from the beginning to the middle, the gentle and clean scent of sandalwood rises and the tone of the perfume is bright. The dark and dry image of cedarwood changes completely, giving you a twisted charm. During this change in scent, the ambrette enhances the woody scent and the cashmere scent is felt from start to finish, creating a warm scent.

As a perfume, it has a warm, soothing yet firm, trendy, twisted and alluring image. The cashmere scent lasts for a long time, so you can feel the soft and warm impression, and it’s a perfume with a calm image that is made by concentrating on the residual scent of woody. Among them, the dark tone of cedarwood added to the bright tone scent makes it even more attractive.

For the last few years, the Korean perfume trend has been the natural image of woody scents, or slightly unique niche scents. Onew's perfume contains these two trends.

MIDDLE Note: Jasmine

BASE Note: Ambrette

BASE Note: Sandalwood

BASE Note: Cedarwood

BASE Note: Cashmere

Thoughts after finishing the perfume making

Talking about scents with Onew

We asked him about this and that, from his impressions of perfume making to episodes about fragrances. At the end, we talked about his memories of his stay in Japan.

Onew: It’s my first time making perfume. I’m not usually that interested in perfume, I just care about the scents I can feel in my life. By the way, my favorite scent is the smell of freshly baked bread (laughs).

However, this perfume-making experience gave me the opportunity to think about what kind of scent I like. And it was a much more specialized field than I thought. I thought it would be easy to make, but I smelled one by one and compared them... My nose got tired right away, but thanks to the coffee beans that the teacher prepared for me, I was saved (laughs).

It was fun trying out the scents.

I was also surprised by the variety of woody scents. There is also such a scent. I was so into sniffing and selecting each one, and it took me a lot of time (laughs). This kind of work might suit me unexpectedly! I felt like a sommelier or barista, and it was a fresh experience.

This time, before making the perfume, I imagined a woody, slightly moist scent that felt like being in the forest. I wanted to make something with a scent of thick trees and a slightly damp earth, but I thought it might be a little heavy on its own, so I thought it might be a good idea to add a little sweet scent. But I don't know much about fragrances, so when I say sweet scent, I can only think of the smell of gum that I like (laughs). I thought the smell of “acacia senegal gum” that I used to chew a lot when I was a child was good.

Today, I made two types of scents and chose one. The first one I made wasn’t bad either, but it just didn’t click with me. It was too light and had a strong fruity scent, so I thought it wasn’t the forest scent I had imagined.

The second is a heavier scent that I like. When I want to be healed, I seek the “scent of the forest (phytoncide)”. Like when I go camping in the woods. It would be better if it rains at that time. I made it a simpler scent of forest, but I think the result is a satisfying scent. I'm simple myself, so I have to keep the scent simple (laughs). In general, it may feel heavy, but for me this is the most refreshing scent.

If I had to name this perfume... “Mori-Ama”! I just put "forest" (mori) and "sweet" (amai) together, but I think it’s a little lame (laughs). But “Mori-Ama” is good. I don't usually wear perfume.

Perfume is often remembered for its scent, isn't it? If someone remembers my perfume because it smells something they don’t like, it’s kind of sad. Also, I’d probably change my perfume depending on my mood at the time, so I think it’d better to be in a state of “nothing” rather than mixing various scents. So that you can easily put it in any scent. Maybe that's what I want to be.

I tried using essential oils and candles, but after about 5 to 10 minutes, I couldn't feel the scent anymore. I wonder if my nose is so sensitive that I get used to the scent so quickly and it becomes numb. To the extent that I even forget that I lit a candle.

By the way, the scent I don't like is the refreshing citrus scent. I recognize all of them as cucumber smells. Actually, I don’t like cucumbers (laughs). When I was a kid, I didn't even eat melons or watermelons. Come to think of it, the first time I put on perfume was my mother's perfume when I was in the first or second grade of elementary school. It was in a drawer, and when I smelled it, I really liked it. I remember asking my mother how to put it on. It smelled good, but I still remember it because there were times when I put it on too much and was like “Argh!” (laughs). If I were to create a perfume inspired by SHINee, it would be the scent of forest and acacia (laughs). It's one of my favorite scents, but since I'm part of SHINee, it would be nice to have my own scent arranged a bit. The sweetness should be modest, and it should be more refreshing. I want the bottle to be small so it's easy to carry around. A bottle like lip balms. The name would be… “OUO”. It’s a combination of the work “king” (“ou”) and the exclamation “Oh!” into alphabet!

In 2022, I stayed in Japan for three months on a solo tour, so I was able to eat what I wanted many times. What impressed me the most? It's hard to choose because they were all delicious, but I’ll go with sushi. I love chutoro (medium fatty tuna), and when I ate a course meal at a sushi restaurant, I ordered an additional item individually (laughs).

I only remember eating during the tour… (laughs) When I look at the photos I took during my three months in Japan, there are only photos of food. Especially this time, it was good that I was able to wander around by myself and suddenly enter the restaurants in front of me. I've been going around gourmet food for a long time, so I thought this shouldn't be the case, so I exercised well.

Next time I go to Japan, I want to deepen what I did this time. I used to go to the restaurants I was recommended by people and on the Internet, but this time I enjoyed walking around on my own. For example, the same tonkotsu ramen may taste different depending on the restaurant, right? It was so much fun to explore my favorite flavors like that, and I hope to deepen it next time. I guess I relieve stress by eating. I feel very happy when I am eating delicious food.

ONEW’s special message:

Once again, SHINee WORLD J

I'm planning to have a solo concert in Japan in March 2023, but by the time this SeeK arrives, it's over, so I'd like to ask everyone: "Was it a fun concert?". Whether I'm solo or in a group - working in Japan is a lot of fun and I feel very happy.

I never want to let go of this happiness.

I have a lot of songs that I want to release in Japan, and I have a lot of things I want to do, so I plan to do them all.

Everyone, please look forward to it!

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

Credits: SeeK Vol.021

JPN - ENG translation: @DiamondTaem

[searchsystem]

Abib / Hand Crème – Fragrant Tube  / Packaging / 2020

[honey-climb]

It'll be a Ball

Characters: Hettie Cutburn (Healing Coven Head)/Vitimir (Potions Coven Head)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Requited love, Idiots in love, Crushes, Mild Gore (in reference to the vague description of a cadaver in the third bit), but that's what romance is really all about: unethical experiments with the girl you crush on, also non-sexual putting your fingers in someone's mouth

Word count: 5k

Description:

The royal ball looms close as Vitimir struggles to ask Hettie out.

Read on AO3!

So absorbed in his work sitting at his desk, Vitimir found it easier than usual to block out all external stimulus. He focused on his piles of papers and notes and his various tubes and beakers, all displaying different colours. As he scanned an ancient text, the margins rotten and frayed, he ignored the consistent knocking at his office door.

If it were a real emergency, his unwanted guest would soon give up and find a more readily available headwitch. Vitimir exchanged the text for a small tin, which he carefully unscrewed the cap of. Beautifully fragrant dried herbs greeted him.

Beyond him, the office door opened. Sturdy footsteps entered, annoying Vitimir, but not enough to make him glance up.

“Headwitch Vitimir? Coven Scout Captain reporting, by direct order of Emperor Belos.”

Heavy boots crossed the floor, kicking and crinkling papers as they went.

Vitimir stayed focused on his work. He pinched a thimbleful of the herbs between two black painted nails. He assessed his selection with narrowed eyes, before bringing them over the lip of a tall beaker holding bright blue liquid.

A soft parcel dropped on the desk. His focus broken at last, Vitimir paused and glanced up.

“...Whassthis?” Vitimir mumbled, hardly offering the Captain his entire attention.

The Captain crossed their arms. They glared down at Vitimir with an almost bored distaste behind their mask.

“A formal invitation from Emperor Belos. He’s hosting a ball and inviting the Isles.”

That caught more of Vitimir’s attention. He pinched his brows together, snarling softly underneath his scarf and wide brimmed hat. He retracted his hand and returned the herbs to their tin. Only a small portion of a leaf fell into the beaker.

“I don’t have time for this. No one does.” Vitimir huffed. As the herb collided with the liquid, the potion boiled and exploded with a puff of bitter smelling smoke. Unfazed, Vitimir grumbled, “At least those of us who do work around here, anyway.”

The Captain coughed and waved their hand in front of their mask. Once the air cleared, they leaned forward to tap the envelope on Vitimir’s desk.

“Read the invite. You’ll find that attendance is mandatory, Headwitch. Failure to comply will lead to punishment at Emperor Belos’ discretion.”

The practiced, almost monotonous edge to the Captain’s voice lead Vitimir to believe that they’d already recited this part a few different times. Vitimir wondered how many headwitches also expressed a similar distaste to the frivolity.

Annoyed as he was, Vitimir still snatched the envelope from his desk. He hooked his nail under the seal and ripped it methodically open.

“What a waste of time...” Vitimir uttered.

The Captain shrugged. They cleared their throat loudly. “You said it, not me. But he wants all the headwitches there to leave a good impression.”

Vitimir scanned the text of the letter. Fancily typed on crisp paper, with a golden boarder and the Emperor’s Coven sigil stamped on it. All Vitimir saw in it, despite its beauty, was a shitty work party chock-full of awkward, unavoidable social interactions and small talk. If Vitimir wanted to endure such torture, he’d check himself into the dungeon with Warden Wrath, or head to Terra’s for high tea.

“...If you want my opinion,” the Captain said, having dropped the more formal edge to their voice. Vitimir casted them a curious, narrowed eye glance. “Treat it like a day off. Drink. Be merry. Invite a date to share it with.” The Captain shrugged again. “Why not? If the old fart is forcing you to be there, you might as well make the most of it.”

“Rrrrr,” Vitimir mumbled. Under his scarf, his cheeks flushed a hot teal. “I got it. Yer dismissed.”

The Captain gave a half-hearted stance and salute to Vitimir, before they turned and left.

A quick glance to the clock, and Vitimir grumbled to himself again. “Rrrrr.” Clearing his desk entirely was not an option; Vitimir arranged everything important into a pile and swept them up. Awkwardly he balanced a fine collection of papers and glass potion bottles in his arms. Then he exited his office, crinkling the same discarded papers that the Captain had on the way in.

Vitimir crept through the halls, accompanied only by the sound of his clicking talons and his thoughts.

Invite a date... The thought made Vitimir’s mouth dry. What was he, a schoolboy? There was no time for dating or social mingling while you were the headwitch of a coven. He had more important things to worry about, and beside—who would lower themself enough to want to go with him, anyway?

Vitimir would say that his friends were few and far between. His rough exterior and lack of social skills often left him isolated, which was fine, Vitimir enjoyed that mostly. He was close with a handful of witches under him in the Potions coven, but nothing like that . He wasn’t even sure if that would be allowed. As far as people outside the coven, that was a bust, same for the other covenheads.

But then again, there was Hettie Cutburn.

Vitimir flushed thinking about her.

They were... Close. Close enough, anyway. They spoke before and after meetings quite often, and Hettie had recruited Vitimir’s help on a personal project she worked on during their downtime. Could he consider her a friend? He’d hesitate to say it aloud first, but inside he felt it.

Maybe he even felt something a little bit more than just ‘friendship’, too.

Vitimir couldn’t entirely explain it. Hettie was beautiful, but the word didn’t seem to do her enough justice. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of her being. She was tall, broad, impossibly strong—yet graceful and precise while holding a scalpel and forceps. She had an unexpectedly light and melodic voice, even when reading off the clinical symptoms of Chlamydia. Her smile , so bright and brazen while she worked at stitching up a fellow’s massive abdominal cavity wound.

The halls Vitimir crept opened up into a large lobby of sorts. A group of witches stood by chatting. However, lost deep in thought, Vitimir saw little except the carpeted floor in front of him.

The word ‘love’ felt like an iron weight tugging Vitimir’s tongue down into his stomach. What he experienced towards Hettie had to be different—admiration, probably. Infatuation most certainly. But how could you not be completely absorbed in her while she commanded a roomful of surgeons like an army general with her squadron—

Vitimir’s talon caught on the slightly ruffled rug underfoot. He stumbled and pitched forward with a startled yelp.

Reality came crashing back then as hard and violent as the castle floor. Vitimir’s knees and elbows took the brunt of the fall, graciously saving his long nose. However, the scrolls bounded everywhere and the potions shattered as they evaded Vitimir’s grasp. A thick cloud of noxious smoke arose from the broken jars, enveloping him.

Disoriented, Vitimir coughed. The fumes, though he tried not to breathe them in, made his head spin. Above the cloud rose the sound of snickering laughter from various voices. Vitimir’s heart sunk, embarrassment lighting inside him.

Suddenly he truly did feel like a schoolboy again, lost in the halls, desperately trying to find his way while the popular kids laughed at him. Strange, awkward Vitimir, who fell flat on his face.

With his mind rushing, Vitimir dug into his pocket for a potion of invisibility; at least then he could escape with some dignity.

Then a voice—a beautiful, light, familiar voice—scolded, “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

A hand parted through the potion smoke. It stretched out towards Vitimir, clad in a white disposable glove. Vitimir almost choked on his breath.

Hettie’s face came shortly into view, emerging through the smoke as though she were an angelic vision. She pursed her lips together into a worried frown, the only part of her expression visible through her uniform.

“Are you alright, Vit?”

Faced with this towering beauty, Vitimir eloquently responded with a noise as though the air was being let out of him. “Aaarrg.”

“Excuse me?” Hettie asked, tilting her head.

Vitimir’s face exploded into a bright teal blush.

The potion cloud dissipated. Hettie stared confused and worried at Vitimir, thinking perhaps that he’d hit his head. Vitimir stared back like it was his first time seeing another witch. Beyond them, the small gaggle of previously-scolded Healing Coven witches stared just as baffled, sporting various degrees of amusement.

Words continued to evade Vitimir. “Er,” was the only sound he could make. Though, in an act of mercy from the Titan, Vitimir’s body moved. He reached out and gingerly took Hettie’s gloved hand. Nerves sparked through him as her fingers clasped around his. She pulled him back up onto his feet like he weighed nothing; Vitimir feared that his weak knees might give out under him. Thankfully, they stayed intact.

“Err... Thank you.” Vitimir finally managed to mumble.

For a long second their hands stayed clasped. When Vitimir realized, he flushed even hotter and quickly took his hand back.

“You’re welcome.” Hettie replied. She gave a smile—that big, beautiful smile that made Vitimir want to melt. “Be more careful next time. You could hurt yourself being so clumsy.”

Hettie reached out. Vitimir flinched on instinct; she gently took the brim of Vitimir’s crooked hat and adjusted it. Satisfied, she grinned wider.

“I don’t want to see you in my office with a broken nose any time soon. Especially not before Belos’ ball.”

The ball. Oh, damn, the ball. Vitimir’s head spun.

Hettie was right here, he could invite her now. It could be so easy. He just needed to move his lips, and say the words.

But he stayed silent. No sound would escape. Even when Hettie knelt down and began collecting his discarded things, Vitimir couldn’t move. He was petrified in place. Chewing on sand would have been more pleasant than how he felt now.

“Speaking of,” Hettie continued. She placed the scrolls into Vitimir’s arms. “Are you planning to invite anyone with you?”

Vitimir’s heart rate spiked into full-on panic. Sweat poured down his ashy skin.

Say the words! Now! Now, Vitimir! Say them!

“I’mnotsure,” is what Vitimir said instead. He hesitated. “Ihavetogo. Goodbye.”

Vitimir hightailed it out of there before the embarrassment could get any worse. Hettie didn’t try to stop him—perhaps too stunned to speak then—and only watched as Vitimir ran, followed by the giggles of the Healing Coven behind him.

Once he was far enough away, Vitimir found a secure supply closet, locked himself inside, and screamed into his scarf until his voice was hoarse.

—30—

It took a fair amount of internal back and forth, but eventually Vitimir decided that he would try to ask Hettie out again. With more preparation this time, surely he could do it.

Slinking through the Healing Coven sector of the castle, Vitimir followed closely behind the Healer who greeted him at the front. The walls were a sanitized white tile all around and smelled faintly of bleach. Vitimir needed to squint to tolerate the bright lights.

“Headwitch Cutburn has mentioned you,” the Healer said. She walked with her hands suspended at her chest and lightly clasped. She had a sharp, unnerving smile. “You come up in conversation every now and again, I mean. I reckon it’s about time that you came to see us.”

“Rrr.” Vitimir mumbled. He tugged down the brim of his hat, hoping to block out the worst of the light. “Only good things, I hope.”

The Healer tilted her head back and forth slightly, then she turned her wide smile to Vitimir. With her eyes covered, her smile had no warmth; if anything, she looked like a snake that was preparing to swallow its prey whole. Vitimir bristled slightly.

“Good things? Yes. Yes, you could say that.”

Then she turned away again, leaving Vitimir with more questions than answers. Before he could ask any of them, the Healer swept up to a door. She knocked thrice in rapid succession, then let herself in.

“Headwitch Cutburn?” She practically sang. “I brought your next patient for his physical, the Potions headwitch.”

Vitimir poked around the Healer like a child peeking through his mother’s legs.

Hettie’s office was meticulous, the polar opposite to his own. The floors sparkled; the walls were clean and sparse with a few framed documents. Cabinets were lined with floating organs and specimens in murky jars, all neatly labelled. Her desk was tidy with decorative models displaying the inner workings of a witch’s anatomy.

And then behind it all sat Hettie. She glanced up at the Healer’s words, her square shoulders jumping. A pause, and then she grinned widely.

“Excellent. Thank you, Viridiana.”

The Healer flashed Hettie a thumbs-up, then disappeared again through the door, leaving Vitimir suspended there awkwardly. He jolted as the door slammed shut behind him.

Hettie swept her hand out, motioning Vitimir in.

“Hello, Vit. Come in. Don’t be shy.” She flashed him a smile. “I don’t bite.”

Vitimir’s weak knees shuffled forward. He deposited himself into a stiff plastic chair across from the desk.

“Did you forget that your physical was today, Vitimir?” Hettie flipped open a file. She scanned it briefly, tracing her fingers over the pages.

“Err, not exactly—”

“I hope you weren’t trying to avoid me.”

Hettie gave him a teasing smile. To it, Vitimir’s heart skipped a beat. He thought he might choke on his tongue as his cheeks went aflame.

He buried his face into his scarf and curled up slightly in the uncomfortable chair. “No. No. Busy, busy, always busy—”

“You work too hard.” Hettie commented. She snapped the file shut, before setting it aside. “You need to slow down once in a while. What good is a coven without their headwitch?”

She rose and came around the desk.

Sweat pooled on Vitimir’s brow and his palms. Hettie towered over him normally, and now sitting he felt positively puny. Frozen in place, all he could do was stare.

“Could you remove your hat for me?”

Vitimir swallowed the words stuck in his throat. With a shaking hand, he pulled off his hat and laid it across his lap. Hettie snapped her gloves on, then descended upon Vitimir. She smiled with all her teeth—a beautiful sight as far as Vitimir was concerned. His heart thundered like a storm.

“Thank you,” Hettie said. She leaned in, Vitimir held his breath. Her hands slid over his jaw, cupping it. Her fingers were so cold that they practically burned against his hot skin. “You’re my favourite patient, Vit. Don’t tell anyone.”

She gently squeezed his jaw and the side of his neck. Vitimir let out a pathetic, trailing breath. “I won’t.”

Hettie chuckled, and it made Vitimir want to melt. She slipped her hands down Vitimir’s throat, pressing gently, to feel his pulse. Under his touch, Vitimir could literally feel his nerve slipping away. He couldn’t ask Hettie to the ball. There was no way. She’d laugh and spit on him, or worse, he’d ruin everything. He’d make things weird. She’d never want to be seen with him again.

“...Vit?”

Vitimir offered a strangled noise hardly audible through his dry mouth. “Errrryes?”

“Your heart rate is spiked. Are you feeling alright?”

This type of closeness was one seldom experienced. Actually, Vitimir felt like he’d die if Hettie ever took her hands off him. He wished he could crawl into her arms and never leave.

Instead, Vitimir said, “YesI’mfine.”

Hettie hummed. She pursed her lips together. “Alright. Let me know if you’re uncomfortable. Open your mouth for me, please?”

Quivering, Vitimir pulled down his face covering. He tilted his head back and unfurled his jaw.

“Good. Beautiful.” Hettie said approvingly.

Vitimir’s heart slammed. He squeezed his eyes shut as Hettie examined his mouth. The taste of latex lay heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t do this. He would have to risk petrification from Belos and miss the ball, he couldn’t invite Hettie. Unless she could miraculously read his mind now as she methodically counted each of his teeth, he couldn’t do it.

“Everything looks good so far,” Hettie hummed, obliviously examining his sharp teeth. “I’m impressed.”

“Th’nk yew.” Vitimir slurred around Hettie’s fingers.

“But I have to ask again if something’s wrong,” Hettie continued. She moved further into Vitimir’s mouth. Vitimir locked his jaw as to not bite her on instinct. “You’re sure you’re feeling alright? No new illness or symptoms?” Hettie pried Vitimir’s jaw open wider, earning a moan of discomfort. “It doesn’t hurt to come visit me before self-medicating with your potions.”

Vitimir could barely think over his racing heart. Feelings boiled under his skin and through his throat as though he were going to explode. Or vomit. Even then that might be less embarrassing than what he was about to do. If he could just put his mind to it, say the words, move his mouth—

“Achsually,” Vitimir slurred around Hettie’s fingers. He couldn’t believe he managed to do it. Holy shit. His stomach churned itself into knots. “I’s won’ring— about th’ ball—”

In that same moment of bravery, Hettie’s office door flew open. The Healer from before appeared in the doorway. Both Vitimir and Hettie flicked their eyes to her.

Dark stains stretched across her robes and gloves. She seemed noticeably more dishevelled than before, her strange smile more strained.

“Headwitch Cutburn— I’m sorry,” the Healer said in a rush. “We’re having kind of an issue out here—”

A scream rang out, followed by a crash and clamouring. Alarmed voices cried out.

Hettie scowled. She removed her fingers from Vitimir’s mouth and leaned back.

“You all can’t be on your own for five minutes.” Hettie sighed. She snapped off her gloves and discarded them aside. “I’m sorry, Vit. I need to deal with this.”

Vitimir almost curled up in a ball on the chair. Any nerve and bravery seeped out of his pores and pooled on the floor beneath him. His voice tumbled out of his mouth like an overfilled cup, “‘Sokay.”

“You don’t need to stay. We’ll reschedule and pick up where we left off later.”

As Hettie went to leave, Vitimir sadly unravelled his gangly limbs. He slumped off the chair, feeling utterly defeated. Then Hettie paused suddenly by the door, turning back to look at him.

“...What were you going to say, by the way?”

Vitimir’s skin crawled with gooseflesh. He shivered from the base of his skull down to his tailbone.

“Nothing. Nothing important.” Vitimir squeaked.

Hettie looked at him for an agonizingly long moment. Vitimir wished he could see her eyes, and discern what she was thinking; based on her lips set in a straight line, Vitimir imagined that she didn’t believe him for a moment. Or she found him revolting and insane.

Instead of voicing any of these concerns, Hettie frowned briefly, then forced a more neutral expression.

“Well. Okay. I’ll see you again before long, won’t I?”

She quirked her lips into a half smile, which Vitimir imagined would suffice as a wink. It had the same effect on him; a hot wave washed over him as he nodded dumbly.

“As always.”

Once Hettie disappeared, leaving Vitimir alone in the office, he bit down on his tongue and did everything in his power not to scream.

—30—

There’s only so much that one witch can withstand. After multiple failed attempts at asking Hettie to the ball, Vitimir had relinquished to the fact that he might never succeed. He would risk either a horrific night at the ball or a petrification. Whatever. As is Vitimir’s miserable life.

At least sitting in the small hut on the outskirts of the Emperor’s castle, Vitimir could forget his troubles. Instead he was able to put his focus on Hettie, her project, and the dead, partially dissected body stretched out on an examination table. By the low light he forgot himself, and his plight, and cared only for his task of administering an adrenaline potion into a cadaver while Hettie carefully stimulated the heart and lungs.

“...So the emperor’s ball is in a few days,” Hettie commented. She was dressed down in only her robes, missing her face covering. Vitimir hardly ever saw her murky white eyes and her exposed, towering horns, but he tried not to draw attention to it. 

Vitimir nodded sagely. Perspiration collected on his brow just below the brim of his hat. He didn’t need that reminder. “So it is.”

“What do you make of that?”

Only Hettie Cutburn could make small talk while she was wrist deep in the chest cavity of a cadaver.

Vitimir tilted his head side to side. Carefully he pressed down on a button which administered a slow drip of potion into the cadaver.

“...It’s a waste of time and resources,” Vitimir finally said. As his thumb reached the applicator, he waited a moment, before switching out the tube with a fresh one. “I became a headwitch to do something with myself, not waste my time at... Rr...”

Vitimir snapped his free fingers as he struggled to find the right word. Without looking up from her methodical massages, Hettie offered, “A glorified office party?”

“Ah. Precisely.”

“Maybe we ought to spike the punch. Make things more interesting.”

Vitimir’s heart skipped a little beat. His thumb almost slipped on the applicator, though he quickly restrained himself. The presence of the ‘we’ in that sentence implied that he and Hettie would be there together, right? Or maybe Hettie meant the general, royal ‘we’. After all, they were colleagues. Nothing else. He shouldn’t make those types of assumptions, least he disappoint himself down the line.

Hettie sunk her hands deeper into the cadaver. Vitimir watched with almost envy; he wished Hettie would reach into his own chest and massage his heart as tenderly as she did with the corpse. Metaphorically or literally. He would trust her with any of his important organs.

“You know, Vit, speaking of—”

The corpse jostled.

Vitimir jolted in his seat, snapping back to full attention. For a moment he assumed that they were making progress, but then came a hissing sound from inside the body.

Hettie gasped and wretched back. Sizzling green acid bubbled across her hand.

“Balls. Shit. Fuck.”

The short, downy feathers on the back of Vitimir’s neck stood straight. A shudder pricked through his body as he leapt up from his stool.

“Hettie? What happened?”

Hettie shook her head as she quickly peeled off her steaming rubber gloves. “Damn. Damn.” She flung the offending gloves into a corner, where they proceeded to melt into the floor. She rushed for a sink on the other side of the operating table. “I thought I got all the acid sack out before. Sloppy.” She stuck her hand under the running faucet and hissed.

“Rinse it and let me see.”

“I told you, I’m fine. It doesn’t feel deep—”

“With all due respect,” Vitimir said firmly, surprising even himself. “You wash yer hands about a thousand times a day. You can’t feel almost anything. It could be worse than you think. Please, Hettie. Let me check it.”

Hettie paused to that. So used to wearing her Healing Coven face covering perhaps, she offered little to no outward expression. She stared at Vitimir, giving only a small twitch to her brow. But after a long moment she scoffed and smiled.

“Fine. Come here.”

Vitimir shivered again from head to talon. He slunk around the table to Hettie. Part of him wanted to apologize for being so stern with Hettie just then, but the other part knew that her stubbornness wouldn’t respond to anything else.

Hettie sucked in a breath as she held out her hand. Vitimir took it with all the care he had in his body.

Any other time, he would be thrilled for the opportunity to touch and hold Hettie’s hand; now, all he could focus on was her well-being. He turned her hand over, presenting her palm. Vitimir frowned. Hettie hissed.

A large acid burn ate up the majority of Hettie’s palm. Her white skin had been turned an angry red, fit with forming raw blisters.

“Ugh,” Hettie uttered.

Vitimir shook his head in grim agreement. “No good.”

Cupping her hand in one, Vitimir dug into his pocket with the other. Hettie tipped her head to the side as he produced and uncorked a potion. He shook a generous glob of thick, viscous liquid out onto Hettie’s open and waiting palm.

Immediately on contact, she jumped and hissed, “Ah! Fuck!”

“Sorry. Stings.”

“No shit.” Hettie laughed tensely.

Vitimir flushed teal at the sound. Oh, Titan, her laugh was so beautiful it hurt. He pocketed the bottle again, and carefully worked the tincture into her wound 

Hettie watched as though transfixed.

“You know, I’m grateful to have you, Vitimir. Really.”

He shivered. “Rrr. It’s nothing, really. An aloe-mineral-witch hazel mixture... With a twist not yet approved by the Potions Coven.”

Hettie cracked a smile, even laughed a bit. Vitimir rubbed slow methodical circles into her palm.

“But it should help. It’ll moisturize the burnt skin and promote healing in the tissues.”

Hettie cleared her throat. “Vitimir...”

“If you left this, it would’ve gotten infected. Ya never know what type of bacteria’s gotta live in the acid sack.”

“Listen, Vit...”

“Yer a doctor and you take care of others, but you gotta take care of yourself too, yaknow—”

“Will you go to the ball with me?” Hettie blurted out.

Vitimir responded initially with stunned silence. He paused full bodily and stared at Hettie bewildered. Then he muttered, “Errrrwhat.”

Hettie exhaled heavily. A grin overtook her lips. “Oh, Titan, I’ve been trying to get that out for days .” She laughed, then, so casually. Too casually. Vitimir meanwhile felt like he was going to explode.

“What.” Vitimir said again.

“There’s never been a good time, and you’re so busy—”

“Youwanttogototheballwithme.”

Hettie grinned wider, displaying all of her straight teeth. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Vitimir short-circuited. His brain became a collapsing supernova inside his skull. So blindsided by this statement that he actually forgot he was holding Hettie’s hand so tenderly in his own, gently clasping her palm. He forgot to think about how cold her hands were, yet so incredibly comforting and soft. He actually forgot to blink, too, leaving him only to stare blankly at Hettie.

“I. Rrr.”

Hettie’s smile faltered. It edged closer to worry than relief.

“Oh. It’s alright if you don’t want to go. Together, I mean. I just thought, well...” Hettie’s fingers flexed in Vitimir’s hand. “I guess you know what they say about assuming—”

Vitimir’s heart leapt up into his throat. He thought he’d choke, but it squeezed out a string of words instead.

“I’dlovetogowithyou.” Vitimir said in a rush. Then, after a pitiful inhale, he clarified, “To the ball. If you’d have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you, you silly bird man.”

Hettie did the unthinkable. She leaned in over their clasped hands, ignorant to how Vitimir flinched out of habit.

She laid a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips were cold, though quickly Vitimir’s face turned ablaze up to his ears.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, too.” She admitted.

Vitimir stammered nonsense for a long moment as his stunned tongue tried to remember how to move. Hettie looked at him with her murky white eyes, waiting and smiling patiently.

“So you... I... Err... Have I been missing something?”

“Yes. You have.” Hettie found a piece of Vitimir’s long hair and twirled it around her finger. “You’re painfully oblivious.”

“Oh.” Vitimir hesitated. “I’ve been. This past week. I. Have also been trying to... Ask you out.”

Hettie stopped. Her lips parted. “You’re kidding.”

Vitimir shook his head.

“Oh my Titan...” Her lips split with a grin. “We’re both oblivious.”

Something clicked to Vitimir then. He realized—he didn’t understand. He thought that everything was so black and white, that he knew exactly how the world worked and spun. But it wasn’t true. Vitimir had gotten in his own way believing that Hettie was above him, too good to even consider dating his weird, awkward self, when this entire time she had been trying to ask him the same thing. The thought rocked him, incomprehensible, bubbling up through his stomach and his throat...

Vitimir laughed. A chuckle at first, scratchy and strange, as though the sound was foreign to him. Then he lost control of it, and it got louder, until he was laughing like he’d been told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

At it, Hettie’s expression lit up. She raised her brows, eyes bright, and grinned. She laughed with him.

“Whaddya say we sew this fellow back up an’ retire for the night?” Vitimir’s own brashness shocked him. But fuelled by Hettie’s beautiful smile and her eyes, he felt like he could do anything.

“Let’s.” Hettie stood straight, grabbing a roll of gauze from her collection of things from the sink to wrap her hand. “Can we go get some food? I’m starving.”

Vitimir’s heart lay full and bright inside his chest, and he couldn’t stop his crooked smile. He knew then that he’d follow Hettie Cutburn to the end of the world if she asked him to.

“I’d love that.”

[writingmaidenwarrior]

OC Recipe Tag

I was tagged by @kaiafosterwrites

Rules: share a recipe your OC would make, either one passed down to them or one they found all by themselves. Bonus if you have an actual recipe to link! Some OCs can't cook to save their lives, but let's talk about the ones who can! :D

I do this for Wynthan since he learned some cooking from his mother and horned ones love three things: meat, sweets, and fried stuff.

That means sweet BBQ marinade is a must.

I just hand out the slightly sweet BBQ marinade we used in our family for decades

1 tube of tomato concentrate (about 200g usually) 2 cloves of garlic (more if you love garlic) 1 small onion honey cayenne pepper salt pepper thyme rosemary Cut the onion in really small cube. Roast them in a pot until soft. Add tomato concentrate to it and coast it a little until you add a pinch of salt, and about an eating spoon of honey for starters.

Depending if you use fresh thyme and rosemary or the died ones you need either one sprig each or about one tea spoon dried. Maybe more if the herbs aren't as fragrant as they should.

Add pepper and cayenne to taste. It should have a slight ting but mostly tomato-y and sweet with the thyme being recognizable.

Put on spare ribs, whole chicken, chicken legs, or similar meat for grilling/ roasting. It will darken a lot and look slightly burned. Left over marinade can also used as spread for sandwiches under cold cut meats

I tag @pheita @ashen-crest @tabswrites @cljordan-imperium @captain-kraken

[she-karev]

A Road to a Happy Ending (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of One

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 7

AN: Like all of you I hated the last 18 minutes of the episode we unfortunately know too well. It’s why I decided to fix it right here and now with this short chapter. In my mine his injuries weren’t that serious and he made it out of his first surgery and didn’t need a second one. Like and reblog below and let me know what you think.

Summary: Amber visits Andrew in his room after his surgery and confesses her feelings for him and wanting them to get back together.

Words: 1266

May 3rd, 2020

Amber waits out in the hall of the ICU clasping her hands together anxious about entering Andrew DeLuca’s room. Carina is inside first as the rooms are limited to one visit at a time and Amber gives Carina that chance first knowing how much she loves her brother. Amber goes through what to say to him in her head and wonders where to start this conversation.

Amber hears the doors slide open and she sees Carina exiting the room with tears in her eyes. The Italian OB walks toward Amber with kindness in her eyes.

“You can go in now, try not to jostle him too much, the tube is still in his throat.”

Amber nods leaving Carina out in the hall while she takes her turn. She can see Andrew through the window and the sight breaks her heart. He is laying in bed obviously tired, wearing a hospital gown with an ETT tube down his throat. Seeing him like this has her scared that one wrong move in there will make Altman and Hunt’s work vanish and she will lose him.

But she reminds herself that isn’t the case and it’s her anxiety trying to take control of the joy she feels from this miracle and pushes through it. Amber inhales before sliding the door open and quickly closing it behind her.

Andrew opens his eyes and his shock is evident from his groggy eyes widening slightly at seeing Amber in the room. He wonders if this is a dream of his but her voice tells him it’s not as he knows the timber of her vocals too well.

“Hi don’t try to talk.” Amber sits at the edge of the bed next to his leg and he can see her eyes glistening with tears that makes him want to wipe them away but he feels too weak to move his arms up, “I’m just…I’m just so happy you’re okay.”

Amber carefully moves around the tube so she can lie down by Andrew’s side. She has her head against his chest listening to his heart beating against it so she can be sure he’s alive and well. She is careful not to touch the tube as her hand clings to his left shoulder with her delicate nails pressing lightly afraid he will slip through her fingers.

He welcomes the hug and being near her enough to recognize the fragrant fruity body mist she wears at work. Although his body feels sluggish, he is strong enough to lift his left hand and hold her forearm that is draped across his chest.

He lightly squeezes her to make certain she is real and when he does he closes his eyes and enjoys this moment after his surgery. He hears her sniffling and feels drops of wetness on his chest that he deduces are from Amber who has her head against his chest. They hold each other like this for several moments as this moment feels long overdue for both of them. The silence is broken by Amber as she is the only one in the room who can speak for both of them.

“You are the most heroic…idiotic, brave and stupid son of a bitch I have ever met.” DeLuca isn’t offended as he knows it’s coming from Amber being worried sick over him during his surgery, “And you’ve met my brothers, so you know the bar is really high on that category.”

If the tube wasn’t down his throat DeLuca would laugh at another insult towards her aggravating brothers, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you. You were right that day, but you were wrong to treat me the way you did when all I was trying to do was help like I tried to help my mom and brother. You said things and did things that I thought were the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

Andrew lies still under her feeling useless as he can’t speak another apology due to his condition. However, he tries to remedy this by lightly stroking her arm with his thumb that she welcomes and continues to speak with Andrew hoping this takes a better turn.

“But I was wrong.” Andrew feels relief at this, “The worst thing that happened to me was when I thought you were dead and… you died thinking I hated you.”

Amber’s voice breaks at that last one causing Andrew anguish for putting her through the wringer once again. He doesn’t regret following Opal but he regrets not listening to Carina and getting stabbed in the process. He regrets getting himself hurt and worrying the people who love him, the people he loves so much it would hurt him to see them vanish into the operating room as well.

“I thought I did you know, I thought I hated you, but I don’t. I could never hate you; I can be mad at you, and I can scream at the skies because of you but I can never hate you. I don’t think a part of me is capable of letting go of the love I feel for you. It’s like…it’s like it’s always gonna be a part of me.” Andrew squeezes Amber’s forearm as a silent ‘I feel the same’ and he feels her squeezing his shoulder as well sharing the same sentiment.

“It’s why I’ve been such a mess these past 4 hours and 36 minutes. I was afraid the last thing I did to you was walk away after you promised me that things would be different if I gave us another chance. I walked because I needed to think and to know how I feel.” Andrew strokes her arm in comfort understanding where she’s coming from due to her traumatic childhood, “I needed to know if I can try this again…and I can.”

Andrew closes his eyes feeling his heart flutter at this confession that he has been yearning to hear for weeks. He wishes he could kiss her at this moment but holding her and hearing her talk is a close second that he will gladly take as long as it has the woman, he loves by his side again.

Amber sniffles against his chest and feels a stray tear escape and slide down to his hospital gown. She still clings to him understanding now just how precious life is and how you should cherish every good thing in your life while you still can. Amber does this by opening her heart little by little towards the man who made her feel safe to be vulnerable once and hopes he can do it again.

“I don’t know what happens now and it scares me. But what scares me more is living in a world where you’re not around. It’s a world I don’t want to live in. I can’t live in that reality it’s a fact.” Andrew inhales deeply wanting so bad to say something anything at this moment, “So don’t make me got it? Blink once for yes, twice for no and three for I’ll make smart decisions from now on.”

Amber glances up and sees Andrew blink once at her request that is good enough for her. She lays her head back on his chest laying still so as not to jostle the tube. Andrew has his hand on her arm still holding onto her for as long as he can, not wanting to waste this opportunity like he did months ago. They close their eyes and hold each other content and hoping this moment is a road to a happy ending.

[entomologistologist]

sour cream & onion pringles. a whole tube of sour cream & onion pringles, fresh and fragrant. what do you think?

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

I WANNA KNOW ABOUT UR WIPS !!!!

You got it babe!! (ew is that weird. idk I think my inner Harry Du Bois came out there)

Currently they're all Cyberpunk 2077. Mostly Kerry/M!V but one Silverdyne Johnny-has-a-body Post-ending current era, with flashbacks.

But, thanks to this Canadian DJ I know, there's a Geraskier brewing in my brain.

Here's a couple of snips from the two Cyberpunk WIPs

V/Kerry:

V strips as he heads to the bathroom, tossing the pants and shirt onto the fragrant pile near the front door. Johnny materializes in the bathroom mirror's reflection, sprawled against the back wall, making a real show of checking out V’s ass. He’s doing it just to be a dick, and V can’t help but laugh a little despite being annoyed that Johnny can’t feel this headache coming on. The intensity of Johnny’s staring is more than a little unnerving, but the longer he stands there the more V’s starting to believe that maybe he is enjoying the view. He slowly slides a hand down his chest, stopping just as the bare skin turns from above the waist to below. Johnny’s face screws up into a grimace and he glitches out. V barks out a small laugh, vision swimming as he shakes his head. Johnny was right. This is what you get when you have a busted biochip in your head and only drink a beer and a tube of warm vitamin goop for breakfast

And this is the Silverdyne one

Between the clean sheets in a wide bed lies a man who isn’t awake, but isn’t asleep. In the pauses of his breath lies a city full of sound.  

If the only way out is through, there were some painful and uncomfortable situations ahead.  Nothing like a hangover to remind you of that. At least, he’s assuming that’s the reason he feels like a half dead raccoon on the side of the road. 

It wouldn’t be out of the question for this to be a hangover, even with a history of  hard partying. Of being a local bar band turned recording turned touring band. By the time he’d gone solo his tolerance was jacked up so high that it was a miracle he could even get drunk. This new body has never seen a bender stretch on for a week, and it shows. There’s no sleep happening, for the third day in a row, which is fine, a little delirium sparks creativity when the timing is right. Still would have been nice to maybe dream a little. But the nicotine addiction is one thing his brain never managed to forget, and it gnaws at his skull until he rolls over and slaps the tiled floor, groping one hand around in the mess blindly — he was hoping to find at least one smoke left in the pack in his pants — sighing as he comes up empty handed. Nada. Karma all used up.