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yuk1-tsukumo · 3 years

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what jujutsu kaisen characters smell like ✧･ﾟ: * [sfw]

a/n: hello! this is a part two, and i don't think i'll be adding anything else to it, so... this is it! part 1 is here <3 enjoy !!!!

w/c: 575

kento nanami

three words to describe nanami's cologne of choice: it's sophisticated, sexy & classic

probably something woody, musky or spicy, maybe even a hint of floral (?)

black pepper, sandalwood, bergamot, rose, cinnamon, african orange flower, cypress, cedar... that kind of thing

tom ford is a name that instantly came to mind

the other one i thought of was caron—they made the first-ever fragrance marketed for men, back in 1934

now that's what i call classic

what he goes for is definitely expensive as well, but he's willing to pay the price for a fragrance that's high quality but also tried, tested & true

satoru gojo

i feel like he has a few different colognes & he just chooses depending the occasion (?)

i can think of two scents for him

i don't want to say acqua di gio, because it's SO common, but.... something like that, for sure

he smells like the sea, in that wealthy italian man way i said yūji didn't

the other one that comes to mind is more what people expect of him

i'm talking about bleu de chanel, specifically

it has citrus notes, like acqua di gio, but it's woodier & spicier

he probably also uses way too much, every single time

rip to the poor souls who've ever had to sit next to him during flights

toji fushiguro

i really hate the term but "macho-man" is what came to mind

leather, spice, tobacco, wood, booze and musk

toji highkey smells like a dingy, gnarly, dark dive bar

but make it sexy

yuki tsukumo

being totally honest, yuki and perfume isn't that great of a combo

i mean, think about it for a moment! she travels by motorcycle, it probably doesn't even last on her

but for the sake of this post and my fantasy, let's ignore that

i actually think her scent of choice would be quite similar to what i headcanon toji's to be, so, something woody and/or leather-y

it's not nearly as harsh, though

her perfume (or cologne—i could totally see her buying a men's fragrance!) has oranges or some kind of citrus in it, too

overall, not the scent traditionally marketed and/or associated with women, but it's cool as hell and unique like her <3

oh! she also has the smell of motorcycle oil lingering around her, obviously

suguru geto

i feel like he prefers very earthy and green scents, but also a bit aquatic

a fragrance with ingredients such as moss, petrichor, fern, vetiver, fir, patchouli, and geosmin

he really does smell like earth or soil after it has rained

another scent that i associate with him is green tea

shoko ieiri

as a friend kindly pointed out, shoko most likely smells like rubbing alcohol and bleach

since she's a doctor

she would also smell like cigarette smoke, now that i think about it

but, as with yuki, i will pretend i don't know this (◡‿◡)

we know shoko isn't a frilly person at all and i think her perfume would reflect it

for some reason, i instantly thought of light blue from d&g

its bottle is minimalistic & the ingredients, i think, feel airy

(the notes are sicilian lemon, apple, cedar; bamboo, jasmine, white rose; amber and musk)

my friend thought of be delicious from dkny and honestly, yeah, i can see it!

(notes are cucumber, grapefruit, magnolia; green apple, flowers such as rose and lily; and woodsy notes, sandalwood and amber)

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

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Not the original Justice is Blind anon, but man, I really like that verse. Hopefully more of it will sneak out of the old brain pan. :D

Hi babe. Ah, it’s such an interesting idea, like the logistics behind being a vigilante, and just! Yeah. So here’s a thing for your loves @satire-please will probably throw down about the Black Bird.

Getting out of Wayne Manor proved to bemore of a pain in the ass than he initially thought it should be. Most of his life, he’s had little adult supervision, fewpeople telling him when and where to go, or if he can’t. Really, Bruce was the first adult to set complicated rules,to hold him back or push him forward (you know, when he was that Robin), but even then, he still had freedom to movewithout restraints. If he needed to hit crime scenes, information sources,track baddies, and later, meet with his allies, his teams, he just went. Hemight shoot B a text, leave a note or something, but he was rarely hindered.

This? One of those rare times.

“We justgot you back from the League of Assassins,” B is arguing, trying to soundreasonable.

Ruffle of a newspaper, a sharp snap, but B isn’t really reading it, noteven skimming, there’s no shift of a thumb over the edges like when he’sconcentrating.

“I already had a way out and othercontingencies. Explosions, remember?” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest(and since when did it feel odd to be talking to B without a mask orcowl on? When did he start getting an itch of discomfort being in the Manor?…Oh, right, since he’s fucking riff raff).“It’s not like I don’t appreciate Bat intervention, Bruce, I do. Thank-you forcoming, but I have other things that need attention—” Please let me just leavewithout fighting—not in front of Damian and Dick.

“And I am to assume,” Alfred Pennyworthbegins from a few feet by his right side, close to the buffet, smell of coffee,eggs, waffles, and something sharper,probably juice, “these things aremore pressing than a hardy breakfast, Master Timothy?”

Movement, soft steps, a slight heel onthe shoe against the carpet, stronger scent of coffee, warmth of body heat.Without a hitch, he holds out a hand and moves his face only slightly towardAlfred as the saucer fills his palm with a whole lot of familiar. His thumb maps out the engraved vines in the saucer, theW in the center while his first finger automatically dips over the rim of themug, checks how full it is before he lifts it to his mouth for a sip, and just—

God,Alfred coffee is like no coffee ever made.

(And no, he’s not thinking about the room upstairs that’s still his apparently or that Alfred remembershow he likes his coffee—nope, not goingto think about it. Not at all.)

“Crime never stops, Alfred,” hecounters, feeling the heat of gazes on him, standing by the long dining roomtable, in the t-shirt and sweats he woke up wearing (new, not borrowed?), bare feet and face, histoo-long hair probably still a mess with only some water and fingers to runthrough it.

“Perhaps not, young Sir, but itcertainly has a nutritious breakfast beforeplotting sundry nefarious deeds.”

He chuffs a laugh, holding the cup andsaucer. “This is all the breakfast I need, thanks anyway. I need to get back tomy Perch and check on the analysis I have running.”

Another sharp snap of the paper,rustling of it being folded, laid down (close to Dick’s left hand as usual).His empty gaze swings back to Bruce automatically, a Robin action that makes him pause because isn’t this little situation familiar—

Going over his cases with Bruce at thebreakfast table, giving out the details, working through the evidence andsuspects with him, Dick joining them whenever he was in from the ‘Haven. The twoor three of them breaking all the aspects down, looking for the hiddensubtleties, picking crime scenes apart, looking over photographs and analysisresults, circling the dining room table with cups of coffee and a bite of eggor waffle while they muse aloud to one another, while they work together—

It’s a whole lot of nostalgia right here, one that makes hischest tight (because they helped himalong the road to being a detective, to being a vigilante he could be proud of, and like it was all supposedto come back in some crazy kind of circle, here the fuck he is again).

“I can connect the big computer to yoursystem if you want the answers now.” Bruce gives him a way without making it seem so in a way that’s just so Bruce—pushing what he wantsindirectly (Clark has finally gotten as good at reading into it as he has),only pressuring when it’s necessary.

“Isolated V-LAN,” he answers softly,gaze pointing in the direction of Bruce’s voice, “it’s not on a network.” Andif he relaxes a little, just a little—

“If… it is a matter of—” Damian’s voicecuts in, makes his shoulders draw up on some long-established instinct (youknow, being thrown through glasscases and such) even though he’d known the current Robin was there because ofthe sweet musk and patchouli scent underlying Dick’s subtle aftershave, “—howyou must eat, Pennyworth and I have completed research to ascertain the mostappropriate methods of preparation and presentation.”

And here’s the part where he reallyshouldn’t ask any questions, at all.He should put the cup and saucer down, go back upstairs, take the shortcut ventdown to the Cave, find his cowl, and peaceright the fuck right.

But again, should.

“…research. About how I eat.” He says it slowly, notreally questions there, but the shifting, creaking, material on wood, theshifts of knees under the table cloth—

“Common practices to cook for thevisually impaired,” Damian explains in a careful, measured tone.

Dick, in his usual place at Bruce’sright hand, pauses in taking in everything (because Tim is back in the Manor)turns only slightly, eyebrows drawn, “you knew.You knew and you didn’t tell me. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”

The sound of cloth moving is theyoungest Robin shrugging, “I was aware, yes. It was, however, not my place totell you. Not without Drake’s permission.”

“Oh? But you could tell Alfred?”

The responding noise is anasty-sounding tt. “Pennyworth is thekeeper of the Bats, Grayson. Of course he must know. You, on the other hand,would poison Drake with your idea of cuisine.”

“I’m insulted, Dami. Tim likes my spaghetti and meatballs!”

And yes, actually, yes he did. Dick usedto put a little sugar in his sauce, just like Mrs. Mac.

Tim sighs softly as they banter backand forth (Robin and his Batman),holding the saucer and cup in the thumb and forefinger of one hand while theother massages the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wants right now is tobe thrown in the middle of their family breakfast—wrong Robin, remember?

“Thanks for looking out, Damian.” Heinterrupts their back-and-forth, catching the irritated tapping of Bruce’sfinger against his own cup and saucer. And, well, maybe he’d been somewhat anxious about trying to eat with all ofthem watching him, assessing, but that was really just a secondary reason. “Butno, I’m fine. Eating isn’t a problem.” Beingup in the Manor, in my old room isthe problem.

“Just working a case before the Leagueof Assassins came calling?” Dick asks, playing the more blatant card ofBruce’s.

Gingerly, he puts the saucer down onthe table, still ignoring the chair he knows is empty on Bruce’s left, has nointention of taking it up again.

“It’s something I need to get back to,”he replies instead, tone carefully empty because Dick and whatever crazy plan must be going through his head.

“Tim. You don’t have to go,” and it’s the tone of voice when alljoking aside. “Back at Ra’s place, we were serious—”

Sure.“Again, I appreciate the sentiment.”

He turns on his heel, finding thematter settled, and if he hadn’t spent most of his life here, had learned all the ins and outs of Wayne Manor early onduring long spans of crime solving, pacing all over the first floor, he’d havea hand on the wall to guide himself out.

As is, he doesn’t need it (and well, there’s a lot of things he doesn’tneed at this stage of the game), and can take the stairs, can find his old roomagain by muscle memory alone. His phone, previously left on the dresser (oldhabit—don’t think about how Bruce rememberedthat), talks when he hits the main button, an application he made himself.

“How can I assist you?”

“Activate Black Bird, trackingprotocol.” And he ducks slightly, runs a hand around—

Ah. There’s the vent.

“Black Bird activated,” the voice fromhis phone soothes as footsteps outside the open door are silent, but not Batsilent.

“There will be no need for that, MasterTimothy,” Alfred’s voice soothes as he enters the room, something in his handsswaying. “I have collected your suit and sundries.”

Unruffled as always, Alfred is probablyhere to help move it along. You know, outwith the old.

“I appreciate it,” he repeats,straightening, holding out a hand.

Alfred hums and hands the thing over,watching Master Tim’s fingers trace over the pack to find zippers and pouches,watches those fingers pause when theycome to safety pins and old band patches sewn in to the canvas with half-assedstitches.

Alfred fervently hopes it relays thecorrect message.

Tim goes still, dead eyes fixed on aspot just over Alfred’s shoulder. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten everything outof the Manor the first time.

Oops.

He opens his mouth to ask if there’sanything else he should be taking,but Alfred is already moving to the closet, filling in the stunned silence.

“I have taken the liberty of packing alight fare. I do hope you are still partial to my tomato and cheese omelets?”

Shit. His stomach rumbles slightly, andAlfred can probably hear it.

“Thank-you,” is what he can manage,digging into his old (Robin’s)backpack, fingers finding the slick edge of metal, the catch of his harness. Alittle more digging and the heavy cloth of the utility belt pouches, finallyhis fingertips nudge plastic, the side of a regular pair of shades.

Alfred is already back from the closet,standing close, “if you would, Sir?”

He pauses and something plastic touchesthe back of his hand, something with braille written on the other side. Hisfingers move over the tag hoodedsweatshirt; World of Warcraft design. A second tag replaces the first shoes; DC brand; black with blue DC logo.And Tim sits on the bed abruptly with the tag in hand, the other still in thebackpack, gripping the shades, yet to pull them out and on.

And he doesn’t need to see to know Alfred is giving him somekind of look, something that could behere is the last of your clothing, Sir.Please be careful on your way outor something that could even be I shallfetch another should this not be to your liking.

He’s in a bad place to make a guess.

“This is fine,” he finally breathesout.

“Very good. The t-shirt you are wearingis black with white lettering. It reads: The Physics is Theoretical, but theFun is Real.” (Someone obviously knowshim because that? Priceless. Enough that he sniggers) “The sweatpants are alsoblack with a white drawstring.”

He nods but Alfred moves away, pullingout a drawer in the bureau, “would you care for blue, white, or black socks?”

He catches himself from saying blue(since most of his blue clothing used to be the same color as Nightwing’s suit),“white please.”

“Certainly.”

He finally gets himself together enoughto slide on the shades, pull his extendable bo from the utility belt.

“Your hooded sweatshirt is on yourright side, the shoes will be here by your left foot, and the socks laid acrossthem.” And Alfred retreats a few steps, the sound of steps muffled, waiting onsomething.

Going with option number 1, Tim pullson his socks and shoes, sliding the tags in the pocket of the sweats. He slideshis arms through the sleeves of the hoodie, zips it up and adds the backpack.The bo (cane), pops out with the press of a thumb.

“The Rolls is ready at your convenience.”Alfred cuts in as he’s almost through the open door

Again, with the tone of voice, Option 1 or 2 hovers in his brain pan.

“My ride is on the way actually,” he counters,not turning back around. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

The impolite chuff is very familiar inthat being a pain in the ass will makethe butler angry kind of way.

“Master Timothy, if you would be sokind.”

This time, he does turn, bo in one handbecause he must have left something else that needed to be removed so the roomcan turn into a guest room or storage or—

But Alfred’s hands are a completelydifferent type of strength from Bruce’s. A strength that more to do with will. Hands that are recognizable withoutsight, and the grip on his biceps is something jarring, unexpected. It’s been awhile since he’s been…hugged (Dick’soctopus hold and Bruce’s self-recrimination hold notwithstanding).

“What is it, Alfred?” He askshesitantly, staying stiff because he’s only slightlyat a loss here.

“Promise to come back soon. And shouldyou need anything, promise you will call. If it is your preference I not tellMaster Bruce, Master Dick, or Master Damian, then I shall honor that request.However, simply call.”

His mouth works for a second, no soundcoming out.

“Alfred, I—”

“We’ve missed you,” the butler fillsin, “it would ease my conscience if I believed you really would call should you have a need.”

And the laugh is very not one of those ha-ha funny ones. Alfred’s grip justtightens.

In the entryway to Wayne Manor, Bruceis waiting. The smell of his cologne, and the utter stillness all he needs tobe able to tell.

The phone in his hoodie pocket chirps, “theBlack Bird has arrived at your destination. Twenty-one steps away.”

There’s a look exchanged between Bruceand Alfred. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s happening.

“I have a ride.” He answers thequestion before Bruce even has to ask.

But there’s a hand on his shoulder, abig hand that does that familiar thing, groundinghim even after the last few years alone. “Promise you’ll come back beforeyou leave Gotham again.”

His smile is somewhat brittle, smallagainst the dark sunglasses hiding his dead eyes.

“At least patrol with me once if youwon’t come back to the Manor.”

“Batman has a Robin, B.”

The hand twitches and tightens, the oldmemories between them (“Batman needs aRobin!”).

B leans down just enough, “you’re still my Robin, Tim. You always will be,just like Dick and Jason. No matter what other name you take, you’re the boythat wore the tunic for me. You’re my partner. Don’t ever forget that.”

And—

Bruce plucks the glasses off his eyeswithout a hitch and wraps his arms around Tim again, just like he did in theCave, just like he did when he asked if adoption was okay, just like he didwhen it was a hard night and a shaky Robin needed something more than a “Good job.”

It’s so easy, too easy to sink in, togrip right back, fist his hands into the t-shirt, close his eyes, breathe outshakily. It’s too much, making his eyes hot for the first time in…

Well, nope, not going there.

He swallows around the lump in histhroat, but breathes in deep (and who called for hug day or some shit? Really, it’s getting to be a bit much, like where’s Jason Todd and please warn him if thatguy is looking for more than a little stab,stab, bang).

So maybe…he could just agree tosomething, make B feel better about this whole thing, “okay, Bruce. Before I go…something.I’ll call or…something. I don’t know. Patrol or whatever.”

The hand in his hair scratches at hisscalp (and really, it’s a weaknessokay? Steph is the one that figured it out first, so of course she’d spill itto Batman), rewarding him for openingup just a little. When it feels too nice, almost enough to make him sigh andcome back in to eat breakfast at the table after all, he pulls back, ahalf-smile making Bruce think Tim might actually look his age once and a while.The glasses are slid back on his face and Alfred gently opens the front doorfor him as both watch him go. Alfred leans in slightly to say a gentle, “becareful, Master Tim.”

The former Robin pauses long enough tosmile before he starts out into the sunlight.

And the World’s Greatest Detectivecalculates and considers—not for the first time since they brought a sleeping Timto the Manor after the fight with the League—just what the hell Ra’s al Ghulwants with the third Robin anyway. Since Dick and Damian are on a make Tim part of the family again, kick, they might be willing to do some leg work.

#winter answers #justice is blind #blind!tim au #things to tug your feels #I totally will go more into the Black Bird #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #lookit Dami being a good detecitve and doing research #dick grayson makes banging food for this universe #I will feed them to show them my love

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