#sap case study | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leyiorr · 10 months ago

Text

i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

860 notes · View notes

twistedpink · 6 months ago

Text

Mc inserts x TWST characters (Part two)(Part three)

(basically non-yuu pairings I think about instead of my inbox :p)

Ignyhide vice!Mc x Jamil Viper

Mc is probably twisted from one of the little demon goons, and it makes your contrast with Jamil charmingly obvious. You’re both vices in the basketball club with an outside connection to your wardens (you figured a physical activity’ll ward Idia’s eye away) and you both hate your jobs to a comedic degree. The connection is actually really sweet and subtle!! Atleast until book 6 when Mc is complaining about their ego trippy boss while basically eating out of Jamil’s hand, feeding him information like the layout and hierarchy of styx,, as Idia’s super exclusive assistant it’s only fair to give your guests a full tour!

“geez! And he just gets so flippy-floppy, yknow? He’s got this thing about energy drinks now so I’ve been diluting them, it’s such a pain!”

“It might just be a defect with housewardens. Have you ever heard of the incompetency theory?”

Card soldier!Mc x Malleus Draconia

okay picture this- Mc is comepletely wasted and coming off the high from a holiday party that was totally killer. You wander into the woods past campus and find yourself at a little abandoned cottage, it’s like 100% cozy enough to chill in before stumbling back to the dorms. You continue heading there for pregames/drunken shenanigans, meeting up with some hot guy that hangs around sometimes. You’re fully blindsided when your “little buddy” is kicking heartslabyul ass during a spelldrive tourney..

“Yoooooo, Mally, you must be really fun at parties. Want ta’ go with me?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been invited to a “rager” before, but it sounds.. enjoyable. I accept.”

Ignyhide freshman!Mc x Deuce Spade

You’re a shaking mess during your first track meet. It’s a graduation requirement to take at least one gym class before the end of freshman year, and you’d rather die than take flight class with all those scary seniors!! Your vice had enough sense to convince you into not dropping out, he’d said that “track is low stress!” And “you’ll enjoy it” >:( you can’t believe he’d lie to your face like that!! (Is this the AI revolution??) You guess it’s not too bad though, you’ve even started strength training with a new friend. He’s a little short tempered, but it could be a lot worse.

“hey, I had no idea ignyhide kids were into track! I thought it’d be too much sun,,”

“We’re not vampires. I wouldn’t clown on you for the tea in your thermos, so lay off.. heh, there’s totally a dormouse in there.”

Scarabia housewarden!Mc x Leona Kingscholar

It’s pretty rare to see Leona of all people in your reserved pool chair, but plenty of weird stuff’s happened during your senior case study. You’re this close to getting your big shiny diploma- and a little rest now and then won’t hurt anybody! Savanaclaw’s housewarden has only had his position since last year, and you’ve held yours through all four. After knowing of each other for so long, it’s only logical that you’d become good friends! (Not that he calls you that)

“So you’re graduating, huh? Hope that brat you chose’ll fill your shoes, you’ve worked pretty hard.”

“awh, you’re such a sap,, I’m sure you’ll like Kalim, he’s no idiot. I promise to visit whenever you decide to graduate, but it’ll be a lot easier if i get that job in the castle!”

Octavinelle sophmore!Mc x Jack Howl

Poor Jack has to deal with everyone else’s business on top of his own education, when does he get a break? That ramshackle prefect’s looking for leads on how to beat those twins in the water, and only one face comes to mind. You’re his coworker at his temp job, and you owe him a favour (atleast from your perspective, he doesn’t hold it over your head) because with your grades Azul’s got it out for you. He’s begging for you to help him out- and who are you to deny those puppy eyes?

“Jack you can’t tell him! The housewarden’ll make me quit, I need this job! :(((“

“woah, it’s not like I’m gonna blackmail you.. what kind of guy do you think I am?”

Savanaclaw freshman!Mc x Epel Felmier

You’re lost, stressed and so confused in your first year :( it feels like everything is going wrong all the time!! It’s probably like 10x worse because you’re very tall and so built, but nobody cares to peer up at the cute giraffe ears on your head! You’ve been challenged by so. many. seniors. (and you win against all of them, you’re no pushover) but you’re tired of the beef. Epel just thinks you’re the coolest person in the room, and is always saying he wants to get freaky fridayed with you. But he doesn’t get the struggle!! Atleast Jack cares enough to tell him you’re just not liking it at school, and it makes Epel kick into action- he’s not letting you drop out, so please wait until he transfers!!

Pomefiore Junior!Mc x Rook Hunt

You’re convinced that Rook c. Hunt is the worst guy in all of twisted wonderland (C for creep)! And it SUCKS because he went from your rebellious savanaclaw boytoy to.. whatever he is. (How’d you miss the warning signs when you were tongueing him??) You can always see his stupid bob in your peripheral- but you’ve rationalized that if you watch him, then he only sees what you want him to see! It’s keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, just until graduation. And it does work, until you realize you’ve given Rook an inch that he’s turned into a mile. You’ll probably never get rid of him now, but what’s the point anymore?

“Ah, mon cher! You always enchant me with your passionate gaze, I’m honoured to be the object of your attention!”

“uh.. sure thing, hon. Whatever you say.”

Diasomnia Senior!Mc x Idia Shroud

You’re a highly educated noble from the mysterious land of Briar Valley. You are poised, weirdly formal, and utterly incompetent with your newest area of study- contemporary technology. You’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s pointless, they don’t even use it at home! But if you want to travel anytime before the collapse of human civilization, it must be done. you’re insatiable with your thirst for knowledge, and completely enamoured with having first hand experience with every era of mortal tech. It also happens to be almost impossible to revive your “Kno-Keya” once it has decided to die. That is where Idia Shroud comes in.

“In exchange for the revival of my electronic mailing device i am willing to offer an extensive dowry befitting of your station and technological necromancy skill. Will it suffice?”

“I literally only charged your phone, uh.. WOAH, A DOWRY?? I don’t have the space for five horses!! I’m totally not prepped for the marriage route, I haven’t seen the wiki yet!”

518 notes · View notes

cece693 · 23 days ago

Text

EVEN MONSTERS HAVE A SOFT SPOT

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader synopsis: When one thinks of Hannibal Lecter—sophisticated, has a refined taste, intelligent—are merely some words that come to mind, so it surprises even him when he becomes bespoken by an individual who's the complete opposite.

The relationship begins, as so many of Hannibal’s fascinations do, with an aroma: fresh-cut thyme carried in on a January draft as you push through the frosted doors of the Johns Hopkins atrium. You are there to drop off hand-bound sketchbooks for a pediatric art-therapy fundraiser; he has been asked to consult on a delicate cranial reconstruction.

Hannibal hears the shuffle of paper, the careful thank-yous whispered to each nurse you pass, and turns on an instinct older than speech. The halls smell of antiseptic and fear, yet the sprig of thyme tucked behind your ear—careless, uncurated—rises above it all. Mischa once wound the same herb into her braids to disguise the smell of campfire smoke. It stops him mid-stride.

You notice the tall man in the immaculate three-piece suit studying you like a still life, and instead of shrinking away you smile—open, guileless, inviting him to share the moment rather than conquer it. “Does it look ridiculous?” you ask, touching the herb.

"It looks honest,” he says, and means it.

That is the first crack in the marble.

It had been easy to catalogue you— an act of clinical triage Hannibal performed on everyone he met. Most novelties dimmed under the fluorescent glare of his scrutiny; even the rare ones, the ones he kept, were arranged on mental shelves like curiosities: a pocket watch of precise conversation here, a porcelain mask of manners there. But you would not stay still. Your sweetness tasted of movement—of sap running in thaw, impossible to pin beneath glass.

The second crack came a fortnight later, when he found himself altering his schedule—voluntarily lingering in the pediatric wing to “review charts” he had already memorized, just in case you appeared again with arms full of art supplies. He would claim afterward that he needed the walk to clear his thoughts, but the truth hissed at the edge of self-deception: he wanted to hear your gentle “excuse me” as you navigated the hallway, wanted to watch nurses straighten their posture under the lift of your smile.

Crack three: the wine-red sketchbook he couriered to your door. He wrote and rewrote the invitation card four times, adjusting the slope of a y, sanding away the faintest curl of a d, until the script looked as measured and effortless as his pulse seldom felt anymore.

Your yes arrived by phone—soft static laced with gratitude—and something inside him slipped an inch toward hunger. Not the crude appetite he sated with curated flesh, but a subtler craving: to be worthy of the tone you used when speaking to friends. To be invited, one day, into the small, sunlit domesticities you seemed to create wherever you went.

The night you crossed his threshold with that Mason-jar candle, the fissures spread like roots beneath frost. You apologized for the jar’s label—hand-inked, a little smudged—and he caught himself wanting to apologize back for every silver spoon he had ever polished to razor acuity, for every dinner served immaculate yet devoid of this raw, beeswax honesty. The flame bobbed inside cloudy glass; his resolve bobbed with it.

From then on, softness became a symptom. He noticed it first in the kitchen: how his hand hovered above a cleaver, unwilling to strike until your laughter in the dining room subsided, as though the crash of steel on board might frighten you from the next breath. He noticed it at the symphony, when the woman in the fur stole behind you whispered that you were “quaint”—and the back of his throat flooded with copper and snow, the memory of rifles in pine trees. By the scherzo’s final chord he had already decided which of her organs would prove most eloquent when removed.

He told himself these protective urges were logical—defensive medicine for a fragile but necessary part of his life. Yet he knew. Every quiet kindness you extended was another brushstroke across the portrait of Mischa his mind refused to hang. You were not her, would never be; still the echo persisted: thyme woven into braids, warmth hoarded like contraband against the winter outside. It left him both soothed and flayed.

So the murders quickened, as if some internal metronome had accelerated to match the beat of your footsteps on his stairs. A barista’s sarcastic arch of eyebrow, a critic’s oily sneer, the casual cruelty of an academic who dismissed your hand-stitched notebooks—all of them sprouted in his ledger like black mold begging to be cut out. Each removal felt cleaner, swifter, almost merciful; he was pruning the world into a shape where your kindness could continue unbruised.

And with every body that fell, Hannibal’s voice with you grew gentler, his touch nearer to reverence. He learned to breathe through your hair as though inhaling penance; to accept your crookedly knitted gifts with a gratitude that shocked him into silence; to sit across from you at dawn, watching you stir honey into tea, and feel—for the length of a single heartbeat—content.

He never says the word love. He thinks it, sometimes, in Lithuanian, French, the brittle Latin of anatomy texts, but all translations seem too narrow. What he feels is not an emotion but a geology: plates grinding, landscapes upheaving, rivers rerouted to spare one emerald valley from drought.

One night, long after you have fallen asleep against his shoulder, he studies the candle stub on the mantel—glass smudged by your fingerprints, wick stooped like a priest at confession. The flame gutters once, twice, then steadies. Hannibal brushes an ember of wax from the rim, commits the gesture to memory, and understands that the marble has shattered clean through. The statue is gone; in its place stands something living, something pliant yet unbreakable, defined by the simple fact that your light is inside it.

He will feed that light. He will guard it with butcher hooks and bone saws and lullabies. And when the world asks, with trembling voice, why the Ripper’s knife swings faster these days, he will answer—in the privacy of his own mind—that every heartbeat spared from cruelty is another second you spend unspoiled.

That, to Hannibal Lecter, is the only measure of decency worth counting.

123 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

Text

THE COME DOWN PT 2 | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is not everyone's cup of tea and warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse and overdose, so if you're not comfy reading this, step back now! if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

wc: 3.8k

warnings: substance abuse, overdose and mentions of death

part one

The flat was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old pipes and the distant hum of traffic outside. She sat cross-legged on Oscar’s bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him. Her bag sat untouched in the corner; she hadn’t bothered unpacking, too afraid that settling in even slightly would mean acknowledging the enormity of what she’d done. Leaving Lando. Leaving everything behind.

Oscar was in the kitchen. She could hear the clatter of mugs and the low hiss of the kettle as he made tea, always keeping his hands busy to avoid saying too much. He had a way of filling silence that was considerate, like he understood she needed time and space but couldn’t leave her to drown in her thoughts.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She ignored it. It wasn’t as though anyone important would be calling her, and she couldn’t stomach the idea of hearing Lando’s voice, slurred or otherwise. The last time still replayed in her mind, a cacophony of anger, confusion, and shame. She pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and pressed her fists to her temples, willing the memory away.

Oscar appeared in the doorway, balancing two steaming mugs. His face was a study in quiet concern, his dark eyes scanning her as though trying to decipher what she wasn’t saying.

“Chamomile,” he said, setting a mug on the bedside table. “It’s good for relaxing. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “But, you know, just in case.”

She offered him a small smile. “Thanks, Osc.”

He stood there for a moment, uncertain, before finally retreating to the sofa in the other room. He hadn’t asked her why exactly she called him three nights ago looking like a ghost of herself. He didn’t need to. Oscar had always been like that—a safe harbour. Dependable. Steady. A friend.

She leaned back against the pillows, clutching the mug in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The flat was so different from Lando’s. No art on the walls, no clutter, no hint of chaos or indulgence. It was simple and unpretentious, much like Oscar himself. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt like she could breathe.

But the guilt lingered, gnawing at her. She’d left Lando. Not just walked out, but abandoned him when he was at his lowest. The memory of his eyes, wide and red-rimmed, flashed through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry again. Not now.

The days at Oscar’s flat passed in a blur of silence and borrowed familiarity. She didn’t do much—couldn’t, really. Her thoughts were too loud, her energy sapped by the constant cycle of guilt, anger, and self-recrimination. Most of her time was spent curled up in Oscar’s bed, surrounded by the faint smell of his laundry detergent, trying not to think too hard about anything. It was a losing battle.

Oscar gave her space, which she appreciated. He didn’t hover or press her for answers, but he was always there, lingering at the edges of her solitude, ready if she needed him. Sometimes she found him at the small dining table in the corner of the living room, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Tonight was one of those nights. She wandered out of his room with the cup of tea he’d given her. He glanced up when she padded into the living room but didn’t say anything, just offered a small, welcoming smile before returning to his book. She sat down opposite him, curling her legs beneath her, and watched him in the soft glow of the table lamp.

The book must have been gripping because his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned the pages with an almost reverent care. She noticed the way his fingers brushed the edges, like he didn’t want to crease them. She hadn’t seen him this still in years. But then again, she rarely ever saw Oscar now.

“Good book?” she asked eventually, her voice breaking the comfortable quiet.

He looked up, startled for a second, before the smile returned. “Yeah. Bit dense, though. I’m not sure I actually understand half of it.”

She huffed a small laugh, the first real one in days, and it surprised her. He noticed, too. For a moment, he just looked at her, like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and glanced back at the page.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t oppressive. She stared at the mug in her hands and her mind wandered—back to Lando, inevitably. To his voice, slurred and sharp; to the way he used to be, before everything went wrong. She wondered if he’d even noticed she was gone.

Oscar’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. “You don’t have to stay cooped up in there, you know.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“In the bedroom,” he said, nodding towards the closed door behind her. “You’re welcome out here, anytime. Even if it’s just to sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks.”

They sat together like that for a while longer, him reading and her lost in thought. It was strange how easy it was to be with Oscar, even with all the mess she’d brought into his life. She wanted to thank him, to say something to convey just how much it meant that he’d opened his door to her without question. But the words felt too heavy, so she stayed quiet.

Later, when the weight of the day became too much, she retreated to his bed again. She pulled the covers up to her chin, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come easily. She kept seeing Lando’s face, hearing his voice. Over and over, the same thought clawed at her—I left him.

The phone call came in the early hours of the morning, jolting her awake. She fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, her heart already racing as she answered it.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was barely a whisper, but she recognised it instantly.

“It’s me,” Lando said, his voice cracking.

Her stomach twisted. “Lando? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Then the line went silent.

“Lando?” she said, louder this time, her voice thick with fear. “Lando, are you there?”

Nothing.

She sat up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew something was wrong. Her body knew it before her mind caught up. She stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where Oscar was sprawled on the sofa, asleep under a thin blanket. She shook him awake, her urgency spilling over.

“Osc, wake up,” she said, her voice shaking.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Lando. I think something’s happened. We need to go. Now.”

Oscar blinked himself awake, shaking off the haze of sleep as he sat up on the sofa. The urgency in her voice jolted him fully alert. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.

“It’s Lando,” she said, pacing in frantic, uneven steps across the room. Her hands were shaking. “He called me, and something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but we have to go. Now, Osc. Please.”

Oscar frowned, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Wait, slow down. What did he say?”

“He didn’t—he barely said anything. But I know him. Something’s wrong.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped pacing, fixing him with a desperate look. “Please, Osc. We can’t waste time.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. He grabbed his keys from the table and pulled on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive was a blur of adrenaline and recklessness. Oscar’s McLaren roared through the city streets, the tyres screeching as he ignored red lights and zipped through gaps in traffic that barely existed. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, clutching the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as though willing them to go faster.

“What’s his flat number again?” Oscar asked, his voice tight.

“Four. Top floor.”

When they reached the building, she was out of the car before he’d even fully stopped. She tore up the stairs two at a time, her breath coming in gasps, the blood pounding in her ears. Oscar was right behind her, keeping pace as she reached the fourth floor and darted to Lando’s door. She banged on it with both fists.

“Lando!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the empty hallway. “Open the door! It’s me!”

Nothing.

“Lando!” She banged harder, the sound reverberating through her skull. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening.

Oscar caught her arm gently, his expression grim. “Move,” he said.

Before she could argue, he planted a foot against the doorframe and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The first hit made it shudder; the second sent it crashing open.

The smell hit them first—a sharp, acrid scent that made her stomach turn. She rushed inside, her eyes darting around the dimly lit flat. “Lando?”

The bathroom door was ajar, and she spotted his legs sprawled on the tiled floor. Her heart stopped. “Oh, God.”

She ran to him, dropping to her knees beside his lifeless form. He was slumped against the tub, his head lolling to the side, his skin pale and clammy. An empty syringe lay on the floor next to him, and his breathing was shallow, barely there.

“Lando,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “Lando, wake up. Please.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. “Is he—?”

“Call an ambulance!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Right now, Osc!”

Oscar pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dialled. She turned back to Lando, tears streaming down her face. She shook him gently, her voice rising in desperation. “You don’t get to do this, Lando. You hear me? You don’t get to give up like this.”

The operator’s voice buzzed faintly from Oscar’s phone as he relayed their location. He crouched beside her, his free hand resting on her shoulder, trying to steady her as she broke down.

“Come on,” she pleaded, her forehead pressed against Lando’s. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like this.”

The sound of distant sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Oscar stayed silent, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her as she crumbled.

In that moment, a bitter realisation struck him—a knife twisting in his chest. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never truly have her. Her heart was still tethered to Lando, even in its shattered, battered state. And as he watched her hold the man who had hurt her in so many ways, he knew it would always be that way.

She, meanwhile, was drowning in her own spiral of guilt. She’d left him. She’d abandoned him when he needed her most. And now, seeing him like this, all she could think was, I’m the reason he’s here. I’m the reason this happened.

The paramedics burst through the door, their presence swift and efficient, but she didn’t move until Oscar gently pulled her away to let them work. She stood frozen, clutching the edge of the sink as they checked Lando’s pulse and prepared a stretcher.

“Will he be okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

One of the paramedics glanced at her with a professional calm. “We’re stabilising him. He’s got a chance.”

As they wheeled him out, Oscar stayed close to her side, his arm hovering protectively near her back. They followed the stretcher down the stairs, out into the crisp night air. She couldn’t stop trembling, her mind replaying the scene over and over.

For Oscar, the sight of her clinging to Lando’s hand as he was loaded into the ambulance was a final confirmation of what he’d already known deep down. He would always be the one standing on the sidelines, watching as her heart belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding her away from the flashing lights. “Let’s go.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of her stomach. She stood on the pavement, watching as the vehicle sped away into the night, its siren cutting through the heavy silence. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her chest tight with the weight of too many emotions to name.

Oscar stood a step behind her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the tension in his body radiating outwards. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew better. She needed space, and he wasn’t sure he had the words to make this better, even if she’d let him try.

Finally, she turned to him, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the city. “I can’t believe I left him.”

Oscar frowned. “This isn’t your fault.”

Her eyes snapped to his, the raw guilt blazing in them making him wince. “Isn’t it? I walked out, Osc. I left him. I knew he was falling apart, and I still…” Her voice broke, and she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who couldn’t set herself on fire to keep someone else warm,” he said softly.

She stared at him, her breath hitching, but the words didn’t seem to sink in. She shook her head, taking a step back. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love destroy themselves, to feel like you’re all they have, and then to just… leave.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know?” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been watching you do it. For too long. Staying with him, breaking yourself to pieces trying to save him.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She just looked at him, stunned, as though the weight of what he’d said was pressing down on her all at once.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” Oscar continued, his tone gentler now. “But you need to stop blaming yourself. Lando made his choices. You didn’t make him drink, or use, or…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t make him do this.”

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold the pieces together. “I just keep thinking… if I’d stayed, maybe—”

“Maybe you’d have ended up in that ambulance too,” Oscar interrupted, stepping closer. He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did what you had to do. For yourself. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”

The tears came then, silent and unrelenting. She leaned into his touch, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile and precious. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, Oscar allowed himself to close his eyes and just be there for her. It wasn’t enough—not for her, and not for him—but it was all he could offer.

When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression.

“I need to go to the hospital,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Oscar nodded. “I’ll take you.”

The drive to the hospital was quieter, the urgency replaced by a heavy solemnity. She stared out of the window, her mind miles away, while Oscar focused on the road.

When they arrived, the harsh fluorescent lights of the A&E waiting room made everything feel colder. She checked in with the nurse at the desk, explaining who she was there for, and was told to wait.

Minutes turned into hours, and still, they hadn’t heard anything. Oscar sat beside her, his knee bouncing impatiently. She sat perfectly still, staring at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap.

Finally, a doctor emerged, her expression neutral but kind. “Are you here for Lando?”

She shot to her feet. “Yes. How is he?”

The doctor glanced at the clipboard in her hands. “We’ve stabilised him. He was lucky you got to him when you did. Another half an hour, and we might have been having a very different conversation.”

Her knees nearly gave out, and Oscar steadied her with a hand on her arm. “Can I see him?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“He’s still unconscious,” the doctor said. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and followed the doctor down the stark, sterile corridor. Oscar stayed behind, giving her space.

Inside the room, Lando looked small against the backdrop of wires and monitors. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a stark reminder of how close he’d come to losing the fight. She sank into the chair beside his bed, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

But as the words left her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered something else: You couldn’t have saved him alone.

She sat there for what felt like hours, holding his hand and staring at the fragile rise and fall of his chest. In the doorway, Oscar watched her silently, his face unreadable.

For her, it was a moment of reckoning. For Oscar, it was a moment of heartbreak.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence of the hospital room. She sat by Lando’s bedside, her hands trembling as they clutched his limp, lifeless one. He looked fragile under the harsh fluorescent light, a hollow shadow of the man he used to be.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there when his fingers twitched weakly in hers.

“Lando?” she whispered, leaning forward.

He stirred, his eyelids fluttering before slowly cracking open. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused, but after a moment, they found her. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by something darker. Shame.

“You shouldn’t… be here,” he rasped, his voice thin and raw.

Her breath hitched. “Lando, don’t say that. I was terrified. I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, jagged and broken. “Why do you care? You left, remember?” His words cut, even though his voice barely carried above a whisper.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. She squeezed his hand instead, her own shaking. “I care because you called me. You called me, Lando. You could’ve called anyone else, but you didn’t.”

He looked away, his expression crumpling. “Should’ve called no one. Let it… end.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up like that. Not when there are people who still care about you.”

Lando’s gaze drifted past her, to the doorway where Oscar leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his stance, a sharpness in his eyes.

Lando scoffed. “Even him? What, are you here for moral support, Oscar? Come to gloat?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for her, not you.”

The venom in Lando’s glare was palpable. “Course you are. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Sweep in like a knight in shining armour, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I don’t have to act,” Oscar replied coolly.

“Stop it, both of you,” she snapped, looking between them. “This isn’t about whatever history you two have. Lando, you’re in a hospital bed because you nearly died. Oscar, I didn’t ask you to be here so you could fight with him. This is bigger than that.”

Lando’s gaze flicked back to her, and the defiance faded, replaced by something brittle. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured. “I didn’t want anyone to.”

“Then stop putting yourself here,” she said, her voice breaking. “Lando, please. You have to get help. You can’t keep doing this.”

He didn’t respond, his face turned away. She felt her throat tighten, but she pushed on, her voice softer now. “I left because I couldn’t keep watching you destroy yourself. I didn’t want to, but I had to. For me. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. And it doesn’t mean you can’t fix this.”

Lando turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking with hers. “What if I don’t know how?”

Her heart broke at the quiet, vulnerable question. She squeezed his hand, her tears falling freely now. “Then let someone help you. Let me help you. But you have to try, Lando. Promise me you’ll try.”

Lando’s lips quivered, and after a long moment, he nodded weakly. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Behind her, Oscar exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But when Lando’s gaze shifted back to him, the bitterness returned.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this,” Lando muttered. “The great Oscar Piastri, saving the day again. Must feel nice, huh?”

Oscar stepped forward, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about you, Lando. It stopped being about you the day you threw it all away. The career. The friendship. The team. I stopped caring about you a long time ago. The only reason I’m here is her.”

Lando flinched, and she bristled, turning to Oscar. “That’s enough, Osc.”

But Oscar didn’t back down. “No, he needs to hear it. You’re not my responsibility, Lando. You never were. But you made her yours, and you dragged her down with you. That ends now.”

Lando’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his hand over his eyes. The sound of his muffled sobs broke something inside her.

“Oscar, stop,” she said firmly, standing. She faced him, her eyes filled with anger and hurt. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time.”

Oscar’s jaw worked, but he nodded curtly, stepping back. “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He walked out without another word.

When she turned back to Lando, his face was wet with tears. “He hates me,” Lando muttered.

She sat down again, taking his hand in hers. “Maybe he does. But I don’t. And that’s why I’m asking you to fight. Not for him. Not even for me. For you.”

Lando didn’t answer, but the faintest nod of his head gave her hope.

In the hallway, Oscar leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor. His heart ached with frustration and unspoken words. When she finally emerged, her face pale and drawn, he straightened.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be okay,” she said quietly. “He promised he’d try.”

Oscar nodded, his expression unreadable.

He didn't know how this was going to go, but he wasn't ready to mourn the loss of another friendship because of his old teammate's reckless decisions.

the end.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife@iimplicitt

177 notes · View notes

messenger-of-babel · 8 months ago

Text

Green With Infatuation

Summary: Kyle hopes with all his heart that you like him back after rumors begin floating around. (Kyle Rayner x reader)

Word Count: 1.5K

Notes: Kyle just being a love sap (I know he's a more fleshed out character than that but sometimes I want to curse his romance).

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Kyle Rayner was many things.

He was a green lantern, a defender of Earth. He had carried the white lantern mantle for a while as well, until he tried to resurrect the Blue Lantern Corp. He was a friend to many, and when he felt like it, a pain in Hal Jordan's side (even though the other man took it in good mirth). However, nothing was a strong as what he knew himself to be at the core: A man head over heels for you.

From the first time he had seen you, he couldn't help but be captivated. The way that you smiled at him made him feel like he held up the sun, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn't often come by the Justice League headquarters, mostly just when Hal or John put a request in for extra backup. However, he found himself going back repeatedly when he wasn't needed, pacing through the halls just for a chance of seeing you again.

You were a secretary hired by the Batman himself, keeping things orderly and neat to the eyes of the public. He'd come to get coffee with Hal, looking through the glass wall of the second floor to the reception you manned. He'd watch how day after day you dealt with angry members of the public or crazed fans trying to get past you. Not that they could, everything beyond a certain point was access restricted so they wouldn't be able to do so much as call the elevator. With a sigh and a calm smoothing of your shirt you'd click the call button under your desk, security coming to whisk the person annoying you away.

He also saw you at some of the work functions, little get togethers that Superman held to try and encourage a team environment. You were invited to those too but seemed wildly out of place among all of the superpowered (or in the Bat's case, heavily armed) figures in the room. Since Kyle had been dropping by more and more frequently for months now, they invited him along. Every time they didn't, he asked to come along with Hal.

He yearned to talk to you, yet there was a pit of worry clawing at his gut. He wished he could take off the mask and talk to you normally, like you were both casual civilians bumping into each other on the street. He had debated that exact scenario multiple times, but he didn't want to be a stalker. If you two ever did end up together, he didn't want to have the foundations of the relationship be a lie. That wouldn’t be fair to you.

So, he watched from a distance, studying the way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you held yourself. Catching sight of Diana coming towards him, he nodded his head in polite greeting. The Amazonian returned the gesture, drink in hand as she leans on the wall next to him. "Rayner," she greets quietly, lips quirking into a grin. "I've been seeing you a lot more at these kinds of things. Don't tell me you're actually starting to enjoy them?" she teases. he shrugs his shoulders, smiling back.

"It's not like the corps are gonna throw a Christmas party anytime soon, I'll take what I can get." he chuckles, raising his glass to hers in a toast. She clinks her own cup against his, and they both take a sip in silence. Automatically his eyes seek you out again, picking you out of the crowd as you talk to Superman. Diana's eyes follow his.

"Have you met our secretary yet?" she asks, curious. He shakes his head, throat feeling dry.

"No, I don’t think I have." he replies, trying to control the thudding of his pulse. She clicks her teeth at his answer, humming lightly.

"They're a civilian that helps us out. Batman hired them to try and manage PR, you know, when people think we aren't doing anything. They help keep those tabloids from running rampant, and they do a pretty good job of it." Kyle turns to look at her, eyebrow raised.

"Doesn't that make them a target?" he asks. "If they're a civilian at the front desk of the Justice League, isn't there enemies of you all that would love to get the chance to take a free hit?"

Diana shrugs in response. "There was at the start, and truthfully it was quite scary." she says. "But our enemies realised rather quickly that to be a mistake. There's always someone at the headquarters, and they just better hope that it isn't Batman's shift." She jokes, waving her hand. "Besides, everyone figured out pretty quick that they've got a guard dog watching 24/7. No one's coming to get them knowing that."

He huffs out a laugh, grin gracing his lips into a smile. "Who's that? Don't tell me it’s the Bat, I won't believe you."

Diana laughs, shaking her head. "No, it's not Batman." she says, eyes sparkling as she smiles. "I thought you would have known."

"Why?"

"Because he's a lantern." she says matter of factly, pushing off the wall as waving as she heads back into the small crowd. His heart thuds in his chest, world slowing down around him momentarily. Did she know about how he felt? rushed around his mind, making his hands twitch nervously. He excuses himself politely, wondering just how often he had to have been caught staring for Diana to put something like that together.

As he heads for the bathroom to wash his face, he fails to notice that you've since stopped your conversation with Superman, instead conversing with the Flash and Hal. If he had paid attention just a touch closer, he would have seen the way you stood a little closer to Hal than usual, and the respectful hand that snaked around your waist to sit on your hip.

Since the night of the party, Kyle found himself inextricably coming back to the Justice League base, day after day. Just for a chance to talk to you, a chance to see you, for your hands to accidentally brush against one another when you go to get water from the cooler. You'd give him a smile and a thank you each time, his heart softening after each one. He couldn’t help the daydream of what it would feel like to have you in his arms, and to wake up with you beside him. What your face would look like as he made your favourite meal after a long day of work or flying you up to the tallest building in the city so he could see the lights reflected in your eyes. Hearing the passing chatter of others did nothing to quell his racing heart either.

The rumours that floated around that you were getting close to a Green Lantern made his heart leap from his chest, hands tingling with excitement and blood rushing to his head. When there was any tearoom chatter that you were dating a Lantern, he brushed it off. He hadn't been that forward, had he?

He tried to push past it, smiling and striking up conversation with you a bit more. His lips longed to ask you questions about what the two of you were. He had just seen it as friends, but did you see it differently? Did you want to be with him even a fraction of the way that he wanted to be with you?

When you mention your respect for the work that the Lantern's did, giving him a genuine thanks, he swore that the sun came out in a halo behind you. Of course he played it off as well as he always did, lovesick smile pulling his lips back and dark hair flopping over his eyes as he laughs and tells you not to worry about it. Every compliment you give him, every time you talk about how much you liked a certain lantern in particular made his chest pound. His throat felt tight, brain racing at the way that you brought it up so casually.

Was this your way of signalling your interest in him? Was he being too dense?

Hope fluttered weakling in his chest each time, making him giddy. When he saw you with Hal, he waved politely at the two of you, carrying on his business. He so desperately wanted to say that if you wanted to get to know him better, that you could just ask him, not Hal. He didn't bite and he didn't have any intention of being rude to you. He chalked it up to you just being scared, a nervousness that he could relate to all too well.

That's why when he sees the two of you leaving one evening, he can only sigh dreamily from the sidelines. So in love and heart fluttering with hope he can barely register the arm Hal has thrown around your neck, or the fact that it's his jacket covering your shoulders. He doesn't take note of the way you kiss Hal's cheek rounding the corner, or the way his coworker smirks and leans down to whisper something in your ear.

Kyle Rayner was a man well and truly in enraptured, with eyes that were lovestruck and hopeful.

Even if that hope was a false one.

199 notes · View notes

merrydock · 2 months ago

Text

More mechanical drawings! This time, I designed Lari's ship!

Lari is an astronaut and geologist for Outer Wilds Ventures, launching in the midst of a huge design overhaul for their spaceships. As such, their ship has many unique and novel (at the time, anyway) specifications!

Lari launched between Chert and Riebeck, at the advent of retro-rockets and the repositioning of the thruster banks to the sides of the ships. While Riebeck's ship was an older model retrofitted with new technologies, Lari's ship was built new, and thus more closely resembles the modern chassis designs of Chert's, Gabbro's, and the Hatchling's ships.

(More details and an unannotated version below the cut)

Lari's ship is built small and sturdy, perfect for a mediocre pilot who rarely has a smooth landing. Lari packs plenty of provisions for their trips to space, typically spending just shy of a month camping in the field, with an extra barrel of sap wine (""water"") to spare in case they get any visits from their fellow Travellers. In addition to all the standard instrumentation, such as the Scout Launcher, Landing Camera, and Signalscope, Lari's ship comes equipped with a small robotic arm that can be used to take samples of rocks in space or in hazardous environments. The ship was built pre-autopilot, but will be updated as soon as the current version passes field tests.

The extension on the back of the ship was added by Tilley (@eruraima's Hearthian), an engineer and Lari's closest friend. The electrical panel was ripped off and added to the bottom of the extension, where everything was hooked back up nice and properly. Despite their efforts to work in secret, the "insignificant" addition was quickly noticed by Slate, who had a few choice words to say about the unvetted modification. The added storage lets Lari stay out in the field for longer and bring back more samples for Hearthbound geologists to study.

#outer wilds #concept art #my art #lari #I can't explain it but I love drawing outer wilds ships so much #more mechanical art coming soon probably

56 notes · View notes

paperometria · 6 months ago

Text

Ho bisogno del vostro aiuto, quindi vi chiedo un cortese reblog, e se volete, aiutarmi su altre piattaforme al di fuori di Tumblr, dove ve pare, tutto il materiale riportato qui è pubblico. Please, I need your help to "spread the word", so thank you in advance for your kind reblog, even on other platforms, you can share with no restrictions.

Hi,

SAP, my company, is searching for students that are willing to get a Bachelor in Computer Science, called VT/STAR, Vocational Training. I'm adding here all the details and the links, but let me recap why it's a great thing for you.

The Bachelor is a 3-years program and you get paid while you study!!! First year, 1.300 EUR per month, then 1.450, and finally 1.600 EUR.

You have full access to all SAP facilities in the Campus, like the canteen, the sport gym and many other social places, with no costs on your side.

The Vocational Program is intended to hire young people, so once you complete your Bachelor, you pass the exams, the chances are quite high to be hired in SAP and start your career there.

The whole program is paid 100% by SAP. In detail:

this is not for German students, this is for any EU non-German student that is willing to start a Bachelor program intended to hire a future developer/data scientist/AI expert. For any EU citizen, this Bachelor program has no costs on your side, you just come and start.

for any non-EU citizen, you're charged for a one-time-only 1.500 EUR entry fee, and that's it.

Just to be transparent, the company does not cover any costs due to the relocation to Walldorf, Germany, those are on you.

The Bachelor start on September, 1st, every year, you need to go through an interview and pass an entry test, there's no deadline for your application, but if you apply once the program has already started and you pass it, you'll be in the line for the next year automatically.

You can read all the details in the link below, I'm just rephrasing two of the points you'll read there.

Excellent written and spoken English => no, you just need the English required to study a STEM discipline, we don't need any future Shakespeare, you don't need to bring any English certification, you'll prove your knowledge at the interview, that's it. No German language is required!

Programming skills in at least one programming language => you don't need to be a senior, you don't need to be an expert, you just need to have some basic knowledge about what coding means, what is OOP, and some other basic computer programming concepts. If you have ever written a simple program on your own, I mean, something on the educational level, chances are that you can fit the program.

Here you can find all the information you need:

And here you can apply for it:

In case you need any other detail or you have more questions, please write me a message.

Good luck! :)

#sap #vocational program #bachelor #computer science

56 notes · View notes

bubblyi3 · 20 days ago

Text

Through the Veil | PJM

“you left, and the world kept turning, but his stopped.”

pairing: jimin x female reader

genre: detective!jimin, mystery, thriller, romance, angst

word count: 4.1k

content warning: death, grief, psychological themes, murder

summary: when detective park jimin loses you. the love of his life to a tragic and mysterious murder, he's left broken, haunted, and desperate for answers. but when an anonymous case file lands on his desk. reopening the very case that shattered him, jimin dives into the investigation with a purpose.

author's note: hiiii everyone~ please welcome my new series! <3 this concept actually came to me as a random shower thought, and i figured it was time to give jimin his moment to shine :) i’ve decided to put cigarettes and clementines on pause for now because of a bit of writer’s block. but don’t worry, i have the first part drafted and will share it sometime soon! huge thanks to everyone who’s interested in being on the taglist for that one <3 for this new series, the taglist is open as well, so if you want to be notified when i post, just let me know!

playlist:

feels - watts & khalid

kaleidoscope - chappell roan

blue - billie eilish

me and the devil - soap&skin

The night air was cool, touched with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and jasmine from the rooftop planter boxes. A soft breeze tugged at your cardigan as string lights flickered overhead, casting golden halos on the small table set for two.

You looked across at Jimin, who was nervously poking at his bowl of tteokbokki.

“You’re being weird,” you said, half-laughing. “What’s going on? Did you forget our anniversary again?”

He looked up, blinking like you’d caught him off guard. “What? No! I remembered.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you burn something? Are you dying?”

He laughed, a little too loud, a little too fast. “Why do you always go straight to worst-case scenarios?”

“Because you look like you’re about to confess to murder.”

That made him choke on his drink, which only made you laugh harder.

But then he sobered. Sat back. Studied you with that quiet kind of intensity he only used when he was about to say something that mattered. “You always assume the worst.”

“I’ve been dating you for three years. It’s called pattern recognition.”

He rolled his eyes, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay, fine. I wanted to do something nice for you. No reason. Just... because.”

“Because…?”

He smiled at you in that way that made your chest tighten — soft and warm, like a sunrise after a long night. “Because I want to remind you of how serious I am. About this. About us.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Wait—”

“Don’t panic,” he said quickly, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “It’s not that kind of ring.”

From the small velvet pouch, he pulled out something fragile-looking. A slender band of brushed silver, its surface etched with faint celestial markings only visible when the light caught them just right.

At its center sat a tiny opal, milky with hints of blue and lavender that shimmered like trapped starlight. It didn’t sparkle in the traditional sense — it glowed, soft and ghostly under the string lights.

He didn’t drop to one knee. He didn’t make a speech. He just slid the ring across the table toward you, hands slightly trembling, his eyes locked on yours like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.

“It’s a promise ring,” he said. “Not a proposal. Not yet. Just… a promise.”

You blinked. The world blurred at the edges.

“A promise for what?” you whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“That I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “That I’ll protect what we have, even when things get hard. Even when I’m tired or scared or too in my head. You’re it for me. You’ve been it for a long time.”

You stared at the ring. Then at him. Your voice broke a little. “You sap.”

Jimin laughed again, gently this time, and took your hand. “You don’t have to wear it if it’s too much, I just—”

You cut him off by slipping it onto your finger, the fit snug and perfect.

“You’re it for me too,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You’ve always been.”

He took your hand gently, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I know sometimes you get scared about... things. About things ending. But I want this to be something you can hold onto, when it gets dark.”

You slipped the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly.

“I don’t want anything else,” you whispered.

Jimin kissed your forehead, then lingered there for a moment. His voice was so quiet, you almost didn’t catch it.

“Maybe this time, we’ll get to keep what we love.”

This time.

You didn’t ask what he meant.

You didn’t know you should have.

The funeral hall was quiet in that sterile, polished kind of way — all chrome finishes and white walls, dimmed lighting that cast soft halos around everything. A subtle scent of incense hung in the air, clinging to black suits and pale lilies. Outside, the rain poured steadily, slicking the pavement and turning umbrellas into a sea of black domes as mourners came and went through the glass doors.

Inside, the memorial portrait of you sat on an altar draped in white, framed by a wreath of chrysanthemums. Your smile in the photo was bright — too bright for a day like this. Too alive. Below it, the tablet bearing your name sat neatly beside a small brass urn, surrounded by offerings: bowls of fruit, flowers, and a soft candlelight that flickered like breath.

Jimin stood a few paces away.

He had bowed. Three times. Had stood through the Buddhist chant. Had watched as friends and family took their turns at the altar, heads lowered, eyes wet. But now the room had thinned out. Only a few guests lingered quietly, murmuring in corners or holding tissues in trembling hands. A staff member in a formal suit passed by, offering polite nods, ready to begin cleanup if given the signal.

But Jimin didn’t move.

His black suit clung to his frame, still slightly damp from earlier. His hair, styled perfectly that morning, now hung loose over his forehead. He hadn’t touched the bottled water someone had handed him. His hands remained at his sides, fingers twitching like they were trying to remember the feeling of yours in his.

He stared at your portrait like it might shift — like maybe, if he looked long enough, you’d blink.

“Jimin…”

Taehyung’s voice broke softly through the silence.

Jimin didn’t look back. His eyes stayed fixed on you.

Footsteps padded across the polished floor. Taehyung stood beside him now, his own gaze cast downward.

“You should sit,” he said gently. “You haven’t eaten.”

Another presence joined them — Hoseok, his usual brightness dulled by the weight in his eyes. He placed a hand gently on Jimin’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

Still, Jimin said nothing.

Then Jungkook appeared — younger, quieter, wearing his grief like a second skin. He lingered a step behind, unsure of what to say. He looked at the urn, then at Jimin.

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook murmured. “Let us take you home.”

But Jimin didn’t budge.

Not until he saw her.

Sohee.

Your best friend.

She stood at the edge of the room, beneath the soft lighting near the door. Her umbrella leaned against the wall, forgotten. Her makeup had long since faded, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression vacant — like she was barely tethered to the present.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the weight shifted again. Not lessened — just shared.

She didn’t speak. Just gave a trembling nod before stepping away, slipping back into the rain outside.

And that’s when he saw them.

Your parents.

Approaching slowly. Hands linked tightly together, like they’d fall if they let go.

Jimin’s throat tightened.

He rose slowly, as if bracing for a blow.

But instead, your mother stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. No hesitation.

He froze.

“You loved her,” she whispered against his chest. “She loved you. We know.”

He blinked fast, jaw clenched hard.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I should’ve—”

“No,” she said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You were everything to her.”

Then your father stepped forward. Always the quiet one. Always steady.

“She’d hate to see you like this,” he said softly. “She’d want you to keep going. Don’t fade.”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no words followed.

Then—

“Please,” your father added quietly. “Find out what really happened. Don’t let this end here.”

Something in Jimin broke then — not in a shattering way, but in a shift. Like ice beginning to thaw. He bowed his head, lower than before.

“I will.”

And this time, when he looked up at your altar — the candlelight seemed to burn just a little steadier.

Later that night, the pub was dim and warm, but it felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

Jimin sat in the corner booth of the local dive bar they used to laugh about. It smelled like damp coats and wood polish. Like cheap beer and old jukebox songs.

Taehyung sat to his right, nursing a glass of whiskey. Hoseok slouched opposite him, arms crossed, jacket half-off. Jungkook sat to the left, staring at the bubbles in his untouched beer.

Jimin didn’t speak.

He hadn’t since they left the cemetery.

The silence around him wasn’t tense. It was respectful. Reverent, even.

They were giving him space. Space to fall apart. Space to breathe.

Only he wasn’t sure how to do either.

Taehyung finally broke the silence.

“She believed in you,” he said, swirling his drink. “Every time you doubted yourself, she’d talk about how strong you were.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok added, managing a weak smile. “She used to scold us for stressing you out at the precinct.”

“She was so proud of you,” Jungkook said. “All the time. You were her safe place.”

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered.

“You couldn’t have known,” Hoseok said.

“She called me,” Jimin snapped, his voice sudden and sharp. “Thirty minutes before. I was too busy. Thought I’d call her back after the interrogation.”

The guilt slithered through him, wrapping around his lungs.

“I thought I had time.”

Taehyung reached over and gripped his shoulder.

“You loved her. That’s what matters.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

“You gonna take a break?” Hoseok asked after a beat. “You don’t have to go back right away.”

“I can’t,” Jimin murmured. “The case was closed.”

“Then let it be,” Jungkook said quietly. “Don’t kill yourself chasing ghosts.”

But Jimin’s eyes burned.

“I have to,” he said. “Because none of this makes sense. It wasn’t random. Something about it… everything about it feels wrong.”

The three of them looked at each other, then back at him.

“You might lose yourself,” Taehyung warned. “You already are.”

“I’d rather lose myself than lose her again.”

No one said anything else.

Jungkook poured another drink. They clinked glasses without a toast. Just silence. Letting the rain outside blur the lines between what was and what would never be again.

It was past midnight.

The city outside had settled into silence, the kind that only came after a storm — where puddles reflected the amber glow of streetlights, and the wind rustled forgotten newspapers down alleyways. Inside the precinct, the atmosphere felt no different. Still. Suspended.

The building creaked with age. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, some flickering with that twitchy, uneven strobe that made the shadows dance if you stared too long. The central heating hissed like an old secret trying to claw its way out of the walls.

Jimin’s shoes echoed against the tile as he made his way through the corridor, each step louder than it had any right to be. The precinct was nearly deserted — just the skeleton staff in night duty, a dispatcher yawning at the front desk, and the ghost of what used to be routine.

When he reached his office, the doorknob felt cold in his hand.

He pushed it open.

The air inside was stale — heavy with the scent of old ink, forgotten papers, and that faint trace of dust that lingered no matter how many times the place was cleaned. It smelled like memories sealed in manila folders. Like long nights and unsolved questions.

Nothing had moved.

The chair sat tucked neatly under the desk. His coat hung limply on the back hook, still damp from the earlier rain. The blinds were half-drawn, casting striped shadows across the room like prison bars.

And yet…

Something was different.

There.

Sitting in the center of his desk.

A single envelope.

Plain. White. No return address. No handwriting. No seal.

Just… placed.

Like it had appeared from nowhere.

Jimin stilled in the doorway, a faint chill crawling up the back of his neck.

He wasn’t expecting anything.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone about the case in days — not since it had been officially closed. Not since the report had called your death a “random burglary turned fatal,” and he had sat there, reading the words over and over until they blurred.

This envelope didn’t belong here.

He stepped inside, slowly, cautiously. His eyes didn’t leave the desk.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it — not from fear, exactly, but from something deeper. Instinct. A kind of bone-deep knowing that whatever was inside would change everything.

He peeled the flap open carefully.

One single sheet of paper slid out. Thin. Off-white. Slightly creased.

He unfolded it.

“The dead are speaking. Will you listen?”

Seven words.

That was all.

But they knocked the air from his lungs.

His eyes dropped lower — and his breath caught in his throat.

Beneath the note… was a file.

Your file.

The same one that had been stamped closed just last week.

Now… it was open again. Restamped. Re-dated. A new investigator line left blank.

Jimin’s heart started to race.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Loud in the silence.

His pulse pounded in his ears like a second heartbeat, echoing against the stillness of the room. His fingers hovered above the file’s edge, but he didn’t open it yet. He couldn’t. Not while his mind tried to make sense of it.

Who?

Who had brought it here?

Who had the authority to reassign a sealed case?

Why leave no trace — no message, no name, no instruction?

Just a whisper of something unfinished.

The air shifted behind him.

A whisper of movement. A subtle shift in pressure. Like the room had inhaled.

Then—

“Jimin.”

His name.

Spoken low. Breath-soft. Almost tender.

He spun around so fast his chair toppled to the floor with a hollow thud.

But no one was there.

Just his empty office.

Just shadows stretched across old carpet. Just the blinds swaying ever so slightly, though no window was open.

His breath came short.

His mind fought for logic.

Maybe he was tired. Sleep-deprived. Maybe it was the weight of mourning, hallucinations from stress. He’d read the research. He knew what the brain could conjure under duress.

But it hadn’t felt like imagination.

It had felt real.

Like you were there.

Like your voice had brushed against the curve of his ear. Familiar. Intimate.

Like you had been trying to reach him.

The lights above flickered again.

He turned back to the desk. Stared at the file.

Something impossible trembled at the edge of his thoughts.

A possibility he would’ve dismissed weeks ago.

But now, with the note in his hand and your whisper in his ears, something inside him stirred.

A sense.

A shift.

A haunting.

Jimin lowered himself slowly into his chair, the legs creaking beneath him. His fingers found the edge of the file. He opened it.

Inside — crime scene photos. Witness statements. A coroner’s report. The timeline. The inconsistencies he had tried to ignore before the case was snatched from his hands.

And on the top page… someone had circled a single phrase in red ink.

"Not everything buried stays dead."

Jimin stared at the words until they blurred.

He didn’t know if he was losing his mind.

But if this was madness… it felt like purpose.

For the first time in weeks, he felt alive.

Eyes sharp. Chest tight.

He stood again, slowly, turning to the dark window.

Rain still fell against the glass.

His reflection stared back at him — hollow eyes, clenched jaw, and something burning behind them.

A vow.

A promise.

You weren’t gone.

Not completely.

And whoever tried to bury the truth…

Had made a terrible mistake.

The small BBQ joint in Mapo-dong was the kind of place that smelled like charred pork belly, cold beer, and old jazz playing too loud on busted speakers. It sat between a pawn shop and a stationery store that never seemed to be open. The sign above the door buzzed neon pink, flickering between chicken and soju, and complete darkness.

It was just after noon.

The lunch crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet, but the scent of grilling meat had started to fill the narrow alleyways. The sky hung low, a dull grey, threatening rain again.

Taehyung arrived with a scarf tucked around his neck, still slightly damp from the earlier drizzle. His brows furrowed as he pushed open the door, a bell jingling overhead.

He spotted Jimin immediately.

Back booth, corner seat. Hood up, black ball cap pulled low, hunched over the table like he was trying to fold into himself. There was a half-empty glass of water in front of him and a file — thick, overstuffed, the kind detectives used to carry around before they all went digital.

Taehyung slowed his approach.

He had thought Jimin just wanted company. A little air. A talk. Maybe even a drink if they could stomach it. Grief made people reach in different directions — and Jimin had always reached for him when it got bad.

But when Taehyung got closer, he saw the look in Jimin’s eyes.

Wide. Sharp. Bloodshot. There was a twitch in his jaw. His fingers tapped against the file like a metronome he couldn’t stop.

“Jimin…?”

Jimin didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he glanced around — eyes darting to the waitress, the man at the bar, the open window beside them. Then, with a kind of controlled urgency, he shoved the file across the table.

“Read,” Jimin said lowly, voice like smoke. “But don’t let anyone see.”

Taehyung stared at him for a moment before sitting down slowly. He looked at the file, then back at Jimin.

“Jimin,” he said cautiously. “I thought we were grabbing lunch. You said you needed air—”

“I do,” Jimin cut in, eyes locked on his. “But I also need you to read this.”

Taehyung frowned and reached out, fingers brushing over the folder’s edge. It was thicker than expected. Stuffed with loose sheets, copies of witness statements, scene photos, a timeline chart, red notes scribbled in the margins — all too familiar.

His stomach turned.

“Is this—”

“Y/n’s case,” Jimin whispered. “Reopened.”

Taehyung froze, blinking.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You—” Taehyung’s voice dropped. “Jimin, are you out of your damn mind?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No,” Taehyung muttered, sinking into his seat. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Probably haven’t,” Jimin said without missing a beat. “I found the file on my desk three nights ago. No label. No name. Just… there. With a note.”

Taehyung leaned in, his voice lower now. “What kind of note?”

Jimin’s eyes flicked toward the front of the restaurant again, but no one was paying attention. He pulled a folded slip of paper from his coat pocket and slid it to Taehyung.

Taehyung opened it slowly, and stared at the words for a long moment. Then he exhaled hard, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Jimin…” he said, softer this time. “I know this hurts. I know she was everything to you. But this—” he tapped the file, “—this isn’t healthy. You’re not even on this case anymore.”

“I should be,” Jimin snapped. “You know the department. They closed it too quickly. They tied a ribbon on it and called it solved. But it wasn’t.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw. “You were pulled off it because you were emotionally compromised. Everyone knew it.”

Jimin leaned forward, his voice trembling now. “And maybe I was. Maybe I am. But you know what’s worse than grieving?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

“Not knowing.” Jimin’s voice cracked. “Not knowing who took her. Why. How they got in. Why the alarms never triggered. Why the only camera footage cut out for seven minutes. Nothing adds up.”

There was silence between them.

Taehyung glanced around, paranoid now, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. The smell of grilled meat filled the space between them, but neither of them had touched a menu.

Finally, he spoke again, low and measured.

“Maybe it’s not your job anymore. Maybe it’s time to let someone else figure it out.”

“Someone who doesn’t know her,” Taehyung added.

Jimin’s hands clenched into fists.

“No one else will care the way I do.”

“I care,” Taehyung said, his voice tightening. “We all do. But if you keep going like this, you’re gonna lose yourself. What happens if they find out you’re looking into this on your own? They’ll bury you, Jimin.”

Jimin looked up, eyes dark and wild.

“Then let them. I’d rather be buried next to her than live pretending this is over.”

Taehyung stared at him — really stared — and for a moment, all he saw was the boy he’d known since academy days. The boy with steady hands and sharp instincts. The leader everyone trusted.

But this wasn’t that boy anymore.

This was a man unraveling. Held together by obsession and the weight of a promise.

And yet… behind all of it, something flickered.

Conviction.

A truth Taehyung couldn’t ignore.

He closed the file and leaned back slowly.

“I’m not saying I agree with you,” he said after a long pause. “But… I’m not leaving either.”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard.

“You mean that?”

“Dumbass,” Taehyung muttered. “I just said someone else should handle it. I didn’t say I’d let them.”

They sat in silence again — not comfortable, not easy, but honest.

The grill crackled softly beside them, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

Outside, the rain had started again.

But inside that dim, smoky restaurant, something had shifted.

The dead were speaking.

And they were finally listening.

It had been one of those rare Seoul evenings when the air didn’t feel like smoke and concrete. The summer heat had broken just enough for the wind to breathe again. The apartment windows were wide open, letting in the soft hum of city life — distant horns, an occasional bark, someone’s TV echoing with a laugh track. And in the middle of it all, was you.

Wearing his oversized hoodie and sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, you bit into a tangerine, lips sticky with juice. Jimin stood across from you, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, a mug of tea forgotten in his hands.

“You always eat those like it’s your last meal,” he chuckled, watching you with that lopsided grin that only ever appeared when it was just the two of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, wiping juice from your lip with the back of your hand. “If I die tonight, at least I’ll go smelling like citrus.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin said too quickly.

You paused.

He hadn’t meant to sound so serious. His grip on the mug tightened slightly, the knuckles of his fingers whitening just a touch. There was a flicker in his eyes — there and gone — like he’d just seen something behind you that wasn’t really there.

You tilted your head. “Hey.” Your voice softened. “I’m kidding.”

“I know,” he said, his smile returning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You jumped off the counter and padded barefoot to him, arms looping loosely around his neck. “You okay?”

He exhaled against your shoulder. “Yeah. Just… you ever get a weird feeling? Like you know something’s coming, but you don’t know what?”

You blinked. “Are you having another dream?”

Jimin went quiet.

He’d never told you the whole story of the dreams. Just snippets. Shadows. A door that never stayed closed. A whisper in a voice that sounded almost like yours.

You looked up at him, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“I know,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thunder cracked in the distance — not close, but loud enough to make the window panes tremble slightly.

You both looked toward the open window.

The wind picked up then, curling through the curtains like fingers.

Jimin stared at it for a beat too long.

“…Did you lock the front door?” he asked suddenly.

You furrowed your brow. “Yeah. Why?”

“I thought I heard—never mind,” he said, brushing it off, but you could tell it was still bothering him. “Sorry. Long day.”

You took his face in your hands and smiled. “Then come to bed, Detective Park. Your civilian awaits.”

That made him laugh. A real one, this time. One that lit up his entire face and pulled the years off his shoulders. He chased you down the hallway moments later, laughter echoing off the walls, the citrus scent of your skin still on his fingers.

Neither of you noticed the tangerine peel you’d left on the counter.

Or the way the kitchen light flickered once… then steadied.

And somewhere down the hall — too faint to be noticed — the sound of the wind knocking gently against the door.

Once.

Then twice.

#bangtan #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts scan #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x oc #jimin angst #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #park jimin fanifc

50 notes · View notes

kiskivmiske · 20 days ago

Text

Medical conditions for my Pyrrhia exploration au while I'm putting illustrations in order:

Fireless discharge

Specific to fire breathing dragons. Speculated to come from common ancestors with RainWings.

Symptoms: it's a congenital disorder where a dragon lacks one or more components to trigger fire breath. Dragon exhales black spray with skin irritating properties. Depending on the severity, the liquid can still be somewhat flammable.

Treatment: none, it wasn't studied much as it doesn't cause significant distress.

Prevention: avoiding inbreeding/breeding with other dragons with this condition to avoid it in next generation.

SeaWing immunodeficiency and glowscale infection

Specific to SeaWings and hybrids.

Symptoms: Seems to be a congenital immunodeficiency, which manifests in the spread of bioilluminescent bacteria from glowing scales to the rest of the body. Can cause septicaemia but there is a case of an adult SeaWing living with this condition without it generalizing into sepsis (But his light pulsates along with heartbeat which others around find mildly annoying)

Treatment: injecting glowing scales with micro doses of RainWing venom, infecting a dragonet with witch circle fungus or otherwise scarring the area to get rid of bacteria.

Prevention: none. The cause is unclear and its inheritance isn't studied enough. It is also unclear whenever it had to do something with strain of bacteria, but affected SeaWings showed slightly less resistance to other diseases.

Forevergone

Specific to RainWings and hybrids (Nightwing hybrids especially)

Cause: seems to manifest spontaneously, but can be caused by stress, acute or prolonged traumas, depression, self hate, untreated anxiety, head injury, stroke.

Symptoms: RainWings disappear by telepathically influencing optic lobes. But in some dragons it isn't only chronic, but increased tenfold.

Affected dragon's existence itself in some severe cases can't be acknowledged at all. They can't be seen, heard, smelled or felt. Any contact with them is completely ignored by the brain. Some personal items or images can be perceived as distorted. Others around them might know there's another person, but can't quite remember who. The effect lasts even when the dragon sleeps. In less severe cases can be sporadic, making them disappear at random times or when they are especially stressed.

It can pass by itself when they recover from stress. But as you can see from its name many dragonets die due to being neglected. The body appears after death. If you find some objects misplaced you might have a sick dragon in your den.

Treatment: stress relief therapy, meditation, burning incense, valerian root infusion. Talisman made out of a golden bee brooch enchanted by Plume negates this effect.

Featherscale

Spread by fungi. Infects all land dwelling thickscaled creatures, including shrimpox, swampgliders and clynx EXCEPT for MudWings. Can be received through contact with other creatures, through contaminated items such as towels, sheets, brushes, through mud and stagnant water.

Symptoms: discolored or yellow spots on scales. Scales become brittle, separate into layers and then into strands. In their structure they become somewhat reminiscent of asbestos. The infection never generalizes into sepsis and doesn't cause death, but ruined scale structure can lower life quality. If the infection damages claws, they will also become brittle, which ultimately leads to their loss which significantly affects dragon's ability to hunt.

Treatment: sap of dragonet tear vine. This clear liquid appearing on the vine during flowering season has antiseptic properties and can treat other fungal or yeast infections. It can also be used for inflamed tonsils. Downside — it attracts pixies, vine's natural pollinator. They aren't dangerous, but are extremely irritating! Human made treatment for nail fungus such as clotrimazole is also effective

RainWing autotoxicity

Congenital disorder caused by infections or toxins ingested by mother carrying the egg.

RainWings are protected from their own venom by enzymes in their mucous membranes. But in some cases venom and antivenomous enzymes aren't compatible, which results in:

A) venom isn't neutralized and slowly eating through tissue

B) venom and antivenom forming an entirely different concoction which can't be neutralized even by relative's venom.

Appears at the age of three months

Symptoms: red upper palate, gums, sharp neurological pain, venom oozing uncontrollably. Pain in sinuses and jaws. In neglected cases venom can burn through palate, jaw bone, nerves, and teeth. The dragon can loose ability to chew because of paralysis, unbearable pain, cleft palate or missing teeth. Theoretically, venom can get into the brain through bloodstream, which, luckily, wasn't registered.

Treatment: dissection of venom glands

Prevention: ensuring general health of mother, early diagnosis.

Fulminant encephalitis virus

Infects: all dragon tribes. It is a strain of human tick borne encephalitis genetically modified to infect and kill dragons.

Transmits through bites of hard ticks.

Symptoms:

Two variants of progression: dormant and fulminant. First variant manifests as sub febrile fever and skewed temperature sensitivity. Can be mistaken for ciguatera, poisoning with invasive earth fish. This form is harmless and will pass by itself within 2 weeks.

Fulminant progression manifests similar to rabies and/or tetanus: drooling, spasms, tremors, high aggression or drowsiness, trouble swallowing, painful uncontrollable grimases, hydrophobia, light sensitivity, also anomalous temperature sensitivity. This form kills victims within 10-72 hours, depending on tribe and size.

Treatment: none at the moment. It is advised that sick dragon is euthanized to avoid injuries of others around them and lessen suffering.

Prevention: stay away from wild onion where modified ticks seem to gather the most. Apply mud mixed with floatpod pulp, dragonbite viper venom, levant viper venom, peppermint oil or anything containing capsaicin on your legs (Might cause burning sensation)

Witch circle

Infects: humans, RainWings and SeaWings with damaged skin, BeetleWing larvae.

Skin infection. Caused by parasitic fungi endemic to the Maw lake.

Symptoms:

Red, almost perfect circles forming on skin of humans or genital area, wing membranes, webs, ears, gills and frills of dragons. If not treated, tiny spore boxes emerge in a week. At this point infection can generalize and lead to death via septic shock. Victim suffers thirst and attempts to find water to spread the infection before dying. This is human specific as RainWings and SeaWings are immune enough.

Treatment: the upper skin layer can be eaten by bugfish or copycat, scraped off with a blade, lava rock, bark, applying your own venom. Human medicines such as ethanol, zink ointment, iodine, methylene blue or brilliant green are also effective.

Prevention: don't swim in Maw lake (duh!) Incisors will kill you if the fungus doesn't. Get a house copycat that can detect the fungus and eat it.

Griptail invasion

Infects: virtually any omnivore or herbivore

Caused by griptail worm. It's not a worm in human understanding but a small, 0.8-2 cm long Pyrrhian invertebrate with two clawed tails and six small front legs. It is highly aggressive and instead of traditional parasitism actively damages intestine walls in different places and burrows into them. Depending on species and severity, can lead to death due to perforation. Native to rainforest but can be found in oasis and Mud Kingdom.

Symptoms: drowsiness, anemia, insatiable hunger, diarrhea, spasms. Eggs of griptail worms and dead specimens can be found in feces. In severe cases — intestine perforation and subsequent peritonitis.

Treatment: anything spicy, from floatpod stems to jalapeno. Garlic and wasabi also work. Dragonbite viper venom isn't recommended because it can absorb into bloodstream through damaged intestinal walls.

Prevention: boil water, wash fruits with said water, eat only cooked meat.

Maw plague

Infects (supposedly) all dragons. Only known to infect two Beetle-RainWing hybrids.

A modified strain of rotavirus. Supposed to be spread by non-consentually infected troops.

Symptoms: fever, joint pain, headache, cough (quickly becomes bloody), sore throat, diarrhea, increased salivation and sweating, symptoms of brain damage. Death of kidney failure and/or dehydration. Has a relatively short incubation period but develops slowly.

Treatment: human made medicine called "Pyrrhovir", which was provided to the other wave of troops and was subsequently taken away by the infected in the Maw lake standoff.

Prevention: Waiting for the end of quarantine. Avoiding contact with army troops (give tips about their whereabouts to the incisors) Wearing face masks when contacting humans, washing your talons and mouths with dragonet tear sap, vodka or chlorhexidine

Jewel plague

Another attempt at creating bioweapon, this time targeted at MudWings. Specific to Jewel lake on the Western side of Claw mountain range. Caused by modified yersinia pestis. Spread by infected beavers and muskrats.

Infects: all Pyrrhian fauna

Symptoms: lymphadenitis, fever, black boils and ulcers appearing all over the body, multifocal pneumonia, full or partial paralysis due to encephalitis, organ failure leading to death within five days. Has a long incubation period, up to 24 days.

Treatment: none, euthanazia is also advised.

Prevention: the circle of fire operation. A forest fire is sustained all around the drop area and is slowly shrinking to the center. Infected mammals are killed with dragon fires and bombarded with dragonflame cacti and floatpods.

Eradicated, thankfully, before victim count hit three digits. This, however, cost Pyrrhians the biggest rainforest on the continent. The climate was thrown off balance and previously lush rainforest, ravaged by never before seen tornadoes, turned into a desert. Jewel lake was lost to the sands.

21 notes · View notes

turndon100-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Regardless of the past, do not ask the future

link click live action was so much fun!

I had added this randomly into my watchlist few months back and it turned out absolute gold.

The funniest scene was probably when xiaoshi kept calling for luguang after they mistakenly entered the pre-match picture 😭 look where greed got you my boy! I was so scared he'd change the main node lmao but phew he saved the day! This boy literally went "I DEFENDED MY IDOL". masterpiece 🤣

Or when Qiao ling found their secret 😭 and xiaoshi made 5 versions of the story lol but thanks to her, these silly boys continued to work together.

Actually I loved how xiaoshi started studying about the cases beforehand so that he'd make no mistakes. Always giving 200% , a true hero and and I love him so much because what do you mean he learnt to ride the bike just for lu Guang 🥺

umm.... I'm sad they didn't mention that Lu Guang was an Artist, until the later end of the show?? I wish we had gotten more of this!

Surprising mentions of The Rabindranath Tagore? Yes please, more references to remarkable artists! The lines quoted from Stray Birds:

"what you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow"

"Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves."

"This life is the crossing of a sea, where we meet in the same narrow ship. In death we reach the shore and go to our different worlds."

I hate that they made me cry for 2 episodes straight but it's okay I survived!

Let's talk about that psychologist, brother went 0 to 100 real quick and expected us to believe his dead gf sap story 🙄 And oh that bookmarker climax!!! I thought I was ready for it but damn that bit was so good, my mouth hung open, mind blown! Anyways, you can't be redeemed be whatever your reason.

4th wall being broken? Love to see it 🤣

on a side note, all the actors were so good because everyone being controlled by xiaoshi was believable only because of that!👏🏼

The only thing that was bad in this series for me were those broken english subtitles 😒

Shall we talk about this look!!!!!! 😍

Maybe I should watch the original source too since it seems like there are 3 seasons (?) and really good arcs hmmm.

#link click live action #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #qiao ling #shi guang dai li ren #link click

40 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

hello!!

I've seen a couple of your fics coming across my recommended and I love them!! you write amazingly. They get me smiling every time!

I have no idea if your requests are open and I've never requested a fic before so please feel free to ignore this haha

I was wondering if you would want to write a piece about the marauders (preferably poly!marauders but only one is perfect too) where the reader is super stressed about an upcoming test? I have a massive test coming up worth 30% of my grade and I have never done something this big I don't even know where to start studying.

Anyway sorry this is so long, I hope you have an amazing rest of your day/evening and thank you!

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!! Hope you have an amazing day/evening as well <3

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 637 words

“I don’t know how to do this,” you say, fingers pushing into your temples. “It’s too much.”

“You’ve got it,” Sirius replies, flipping the page in his book. He’s spread out like a cat next to you on the couch, oozing calm. It’s vaguely irritating. “Just look over your notes, babe.”

Look over them? “This is, like, a huge percentage of my grade.” You shake your head, overwhelmed. You feel like you’re caught up in a tornado. Or maybe more like you can see a tornado about to catch you up, and don’t know how to get ready for it. It seems like you might just sit here until you get swept away. “I can’t just memorize all of my notes.”

“So just memorize the important ones.”

“I don’t know which ones are important!” You sound shrill even to your own ears, and Sirius looks over in surprise, the ease sapping from his expression. “I don’t know what’s going to be on the test, and if I don’t prepare well enough I’m going to fail, so I need to figure it out but I don’t know how to tell—”

“Hey, hey, baby.” Sirius sets down his book to take your hand, forcing you to drop the pen you didn’t realize you’ve been tapping anxiously against your leg. The side of your knee is a mishmash of inky lines. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to tease you. I know this test is important.” His touch soothes over your hand, uncurling your fingers and brushing up against your pulse. “Have you never studied for something like this before?”

“No,” you huff. It comes out more like a sigh, your frustration losing steam.

His eyebrows pinch. “I’m sorry,” he says again. Earnest. “We’ll do it together, okay?”

Sirius doesn’t wait for a response, reaching past you to dig in your pencil case. He pulls out a highlighter and bends down to your level, hunched over your papers. “We just scan them for the parts that seem most important, and highlight those. That way we can concentrate on the main points to memorize. That’s what works for me, at least.”

You look over at your boyfriend, perplexed. “Do you study?”

He flashes a grin like a sheep hidden behind a wolf. “Don’t tell. But yes, occasionally the answers don’t just come to me intuitively,” he shrugs, “in which case some effort is required.”

You smile wryly. You can forget how smart Sirius is sometimes. It seems like all he ever does is think up witty remarks and ridiculous nicknames for you.

“So I just…skim?” You eye your stack of notes warily.

“Just skim,” he confirms, stamping a quick kiss on the side of your head. “You’ll remember the main points as you go, and it’ll get easier.”

You nod, rallying your determination and what’s left of your energy. “Okay. Got it.”

Sirius laughs. You turn towards him, and he’s already reaching for your chin, gripping it firmly. “You look like you’re going to war,” he teases. “Perk up, buttercup. I’ll make you some tea. And every lesson you get through earns you a kiss, how about that?”

You tamp down a smile, narrowing your eyes at him. “What kind of kiss? A good one?”

He levels you with a dispassionate look. “They’re all good, babe.”

“Can I get some payment up front?”

Sirius pulls your face toward him, and you close your eyes, expectant. You can feel him closing the distance between you, his nose tickling your cheek. His lips brush yours, and—and that’s it.

You open your eyes to find him grinning fiendishly. He releases his grip on your face, standing.

“That doesn’t count!” you protest.

“It’s a taste,” he promises, going towards the kitchen to make your tea. “Finish highlighting the first lesson, and you’ll get a real one.”

294 notes · View notes

sunny374940 · 5 months ago

Text

I will be waiting with open arms pt.3

Hello and welcome back to my sadness corner (though this one seems to be the least sad of the three, but probably ready your tissues? Just in case). This (hopefully truly last) chapter centres on Emmrich waiting in the afterlife, just like he promised. (Start from part 1 here, if you want to)

Cw: character death, off screen

@mercars-musings, @redheadsramblings, @sorrowsfallallaround come be sad with me?

Here on ao3

And here are my other stories

“He kissed me for the first time right under this statue, you know?”

“Yes, dad, I know. You've told me a few times”

“Did I?”

The voices were laughing, though there seemed to be an undercurrent of sadness to them and Emmrich wondered idly who they were. He was lying on his back in soft grass, sunlight was warming his skin and he hadn't felt this good in a long time.

He stretched his arms and was surprised to discover that he could actually raise them all the way up, a feat that he had been unable to perform for quite a few years, ever since old age slowly started taking his mobility away. He sat up and stared at his hands. His wedding band was there, a constant presence for the past, hmm, thirty nine years. He had been hoping to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary, but alas…

Wait, what?

Oh, of course. He died.

“The Shroud's Kiss is blooming, should I pick some for you to take home?”

“No, bug, thank you. I'd rather come to admire them here. It will give me an excuse to visit him.”

“Aw, you're such a sap.”

“What can I say? Your daddy might have influenced me a little bit.”

He was studying his hands and they looked stronger than he remembered them being, less wrinkled. But the voices were niggling at him, so familiar, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

“Let's get going, dad. Rupert and Manfred will need us.”

“You're right, we've moped long enough.”

“Goodbye, daddy.”

“Goodbye, Emmrich. We'll visit again soon.”

“Rook! Ellie!”

It was them! He could hear them! But they couldn't hear him, it seemed.

“I'm so mad at you! It's been a year and it doesn't get any easier. I hate you for leaving me here!”

Rook was crying and Emmrich felt unshed tears stinging at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, darling. I miss you too.”

He knew Rook didn't hear him, but it made him feel better to respond.

“Your letter started tearing at the edges, I've been reading it too much. Ellie got me a frame for it, so it wouldn't get destroyed. She's so kind, Emmrich, just like you.”

Their sweet Ellie. Emmrich missed her so much, missed all of them. He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to cry.

“Did you know that Rupert and his husband wanted to elope? The little buggers! Can you imagine not seeing your only grandchild get married? But I gave them a piece of my mind and they agreed to have a small ceremony in our garden, just like we had. It was amazing, I wish you could have seen them.”

He could imagine not seeing his only grandchild get married, actually, and he laughed to himself, picturing Rook's indignant expression as he was relaying the news. He missed seeing him.

“Hi, grandpa. I got married, but I think grandad already told you. We’re adopting a little girl, but he doesn't know that yet, so keep it a secret, okay?”

“Don't you worry, dear boy, I won't spoil the surprise.”

Rook would be so excited! A great-grandchild! He envied him a tiny bit.

“I'm getting old, you know. I can't come by as often as I'd like. I'm sorry, love. But I think about you all the time and the memories help me keep going. I love you, Emmrich, I always will.”

“I love you too, darling,” he whispered, wiping at the tears falling from his eyes.

“Hi, daddy. Dad can't come anymore, he's too sick, but he sends his love. And lots of kisses. I- I miss you so much.”

She was sobbing and his heart was breaking for her.

“I love you, my darling girl.”

Time seemed to pass strangely and Emmrich wasn't sure how long he'd been here, but discovered through his family's visits that it had been about twelve years since he died. He wasn't entirely alone in this place, there were spirits coming through and the odd soul as well, but they were always moving on to somewhere else. But he told Rook that he would wait, and so he did.

Over time he learned to feel Rook's presence through the flows of the Fade, though he only ever heard him when he visited the Memorial Gardens. Lately, that comforting presence had been growing weaker and he was restless with anticipation. Would he finally get to see him? Would Rook recognize him? He seemed to have returned to the way he looked around the time of their wedding, not that he complained, but the last time Rook saw him his looks were markedly different.

He was pacing around anxiously, when there was a sound like the rustle of yellowing leaves on a very particular cherry tree. He turned towards it and there he was, sitting up, blinking in the soft sunlight and he looked so young and he was here, he was really here after all this time!

“Emmrich?”

And Emmrich couldn't move an inch, could only spread his arms out for him.

“I did tell you I would wait for you, darling.”

Rook came rushing at him, knocking him off his feet with a hug and they were laughing and kissing and finally they were together again. For good, this time.

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age veilguard #emmrich x rook #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #This was a wild ride #It just keeps going

21 notes · View notes