#misty fragrance

[lovekia]

[mypokemonscreencaps]

[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

scent machine

aroma diffuser machine

essential oil

fragrance oil

car aroma diffuser machine

aroma device

[aeyumicore]

━━ HI!

.ᐟ✧ here you will find links to all my writing. please read my rules before proceeding through the masterlist of fics.

✧.˖ i currently only write for love and deepspace, but may very well branch out in the future! i do have 1 jiyan fic in my drafts (3.5k words) and 1 dan heng fic (1.7k words)

.ᐟ✧ last updated: september 23, 2024

━━ NAVIGATION

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━━ LOVE AND DEEPSPACE

.ᐟ✧ between the blades of grass - 3.4k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ shot, shot, shot, shot! - 4.3k - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ lost oasis (misty invasion) - 4.5k - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ please & thank you - 7.5k - smut - ao3

✧.˖ shot, shot, shot, shot! - 3.7k - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ hidden motive (misty invasion) - 3.6k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ snowy serenity - 7.7k words - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ exclusive tutorial - 7.6k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ heart within reach - 5.6k words - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ what's mine - 10.7k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ business trip - 6.7k words - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ valentine's day headcannons - 800 words - fluff

✧.˖ shot, shot, shot, shot! - 3.8k - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ no restraint (misty invasion) - 5k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ she can't come to the phone right now - 3.1k words - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ heartstring symphony - 10.1k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ valentine's day headcannons - 800 words - fluff

✧.˖ shot, shot, shot, shot! - 3.8k - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ omnipotent perception (misty invasion) - 6.5k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ the sixth of march (rafayel birthday special) - 5.09k words - smut - ao3 .ᐟ✧ your fragrance - 10.4k words - smut - ao3 ✧.˖ valentine's day headcannons - 800 words - fluff - ao3

━━ JUJUTSU KAISEN

.ᐟ✧ a choice - angsty blurb

━━ ET CETERA

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

.ᐟ✦ please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[overtaken-stream]

α!Gagamaru Gin x Gn! β!Reader headcanon

Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure don't @ me.

Warnings: Gagamaru is a bit weird, Silly even(he's insane)

There is always that distinctive scent lingering on you, the smell that you try to explain but your vague ability stops you from pointing it out precisely. It must be strong if your nose can pick it out. So misty, cold, and incredibly familiar. No matter how many times you wash the school uniform and scrub your skin red, it comes back the next day, at what time you can never point it out, however, it's evident that it's from school.

Gin is all-natural through and through (except when it comes to his hair), and the perfumes often irritate his sensitive nose, same with sweet-smelling shampoos and body wash, he believes that they are artificial smells that stain people's true character, he has also found that those who use fake odors have many insecurities to hide, be it their second gender or their natural aroma is an unfavored one in society, it does not bother him, but he has never favored deceit. Gin believes that his smell is quite pleasant, probably influenced by all the time he and his family spent hiking when he was a pup. It reminds him of the scent of rain, petrichor was what the doctor called it when he presented. A compliment that his brain only remembered because of the correct adjective used to describe his recently discovered asset.

He remembers it all too well, the overwhelming mix of raw and false fragrances in his middle school class, packed in a classroom with no windows open. He couldn't help the scrunched nose showing on his face every day, trying to find clean air to breathe without the biological chemicals burning off his nose, for the first time in his life, Gin could clearly express his emotion all thanks to newly flowered instincts and his personal preference. It was a shame it had to be distaste. As a pup, he dreamed of having long limbs to hike with, cross the rivers, and climb on rocks without his father helping him, but if this is what it's like to be a grown-up, smelling all the smelly smells that smell bad or good, he would rather be a pup forever.

His keen hearing and eyesight are no match for his sense of smell, but now he could pick out his parent's residual odor on the school campus, hours after they've left.

Maybe it was his bias that made him favor Betas more than Omegas and Alphas, the natural and soft undertones in a society full of suffocating chemicals were liberating for Gin.

His nose was able to smell the uplifting aroma that you contained, weaker than ever hidden behind countless scents. It stayed like that between you and Gin, him enjoying your smell from the other side of the classroom while you took notes and never glanced in his direction, your nose is weaker than others, never truly being able to sense the intense pheromones swirling around.

His communication is not the best, however, he does not care enough to improve it anymore. Some view his nonchalant attitude and simple words as a negative trait. He wonders what you will think of it.

With a bag tossed over your shoulder, you stroll the chilly hallways, getting closer and closer to your destination. But just as you are about to grab ahold of the handle to open the door to the classroom, it harshly unlocks itself. An unexpected occurrence makes you softly jump on your feet before even noticing the figure standing on the other side, staring down at you with a curious tint in his round eyes, he casts a shadow on you.

``Oh I'm sorry, I didn't expect anyone...`` He says.

``It's okay...`` There is not a lot to say about him, even if you are his classmate, you don't know much about him and are not planning on knowing. As you make room for him to pass, you can feel his shoulder press against yours before he finally frees the entrance and walks away from the class. It was a confusing experience, but nothing to note of.

Gin figures that his favorite activity is scenting, his mother and his father were the first people he tried to scent, and kept their scent on him as an eleven-year-old pup up til the last year of middle school.

He is aware that leaving his pheromones on your clothes isn't the best strategy, but neither is leaving his scent on your skin while knowing nothing of you. He hopes that maybe he can change that, perhaps you will recognize that the cold smell comes from him.

Gin is a person who listens to his instincts, it's a skill needed for his beloved hobbies, however lately as you come to school without his scent, the active feeling of annoyance is hard to miss, he wants nothing but to drag you into his bed and cover you with himself, until your nose smells nothing but him on you the whole week, til someone can't differentiate Gagmaru from you. Gin wants nothing but to become one with you in those mornings. It's a shame he can only touch a part of you "accidentally" for it.

He wonders if his scent ever comforts you.

Gin will always find a way to scent you no matter what, so you might as well stop trying to clean it and start seeking him out since he is the only one whose scent matches with the one clinging to you.

The nonchalant alpha has never taken any bait thrown his way, so when his classmates start looking judgemental of his actions, Gin never remembers their words, he has already answered them once and Gagamarus don't like repeating themselves.

Maybe that's how you got to the bottom of your situation, rumors and rude words about him flying through the school until they finally got mingled with your name. So that's all he had to do to make you approach him? Hmh.

You speak so calmly when he left no roundabout way for you and made you go straight to the point.

You ask him to stop scenting you?

He likes you, maybe even loves you.

You don't believe in love at sight?

That's okay, he'll make you believe it.

The next day he puts his plan to work and brings only the best snacks for you to enjoy during lunch. Try to be nice after all, it's his first time courting someone.

[malscare]

Heyyyy I literally don't care enough to get into a whole thing about (hence, anon) but since you have like pronouns in bio and stuff I'm guessing you're probably not down with the many hateful bigoted right wing people jeremy fragrance has consorted with in the past. I'm sorry I know this is like an annoying ask to get but like I keep seeing people post him like he's a harmless little funny boy but he literally makes my nape hair stand on end like literally a fell wind blows on the horizon when I see him. I have prophetic powers btw so basically I'm pretty sure there will be some kind of dark cataclysm related to his activities. I actually had this sense from before I even knew he was rubbing cocks with right wing nutjobs like I kept getting these visions of him in a misty grove of pine trees surrounded by women wearing white robes and they stepped forward one by one and stabbed him with knives carved from the jaw bone of a giant megalithic carnivore. Anyway have a Gouda day ✌️🧀

what if in my vision he was mommy's perfect little pogchamp princess

[avzyeqrns]

Stay w me, I don't want you to leave..

Pairings: Sirius x GN!reader.

Warning includes: kissing and a rotten tooth fluff !

Summary ! On a rainy, gloomy day, clingy Sirius just wants to cuddle and stay in bed all day, not wanting you to leave.

Word count: 235 words

The air is heavy and thick, the scent of rain, hitting against the window with soft patters, a gentle lullaby. the world outside, cloaked in misty grey. Inside, the room is dim, bathe with a soft glow of a cloudy dawn, shining through the half sheared curtains.

Lying in bed, bodies intertwined together, tangled. The soft weight of comfort while your body pressed against Sirius, a familiar figure.

Rising up from bed, starting the new day, only to be pulled down, back into the warmth of the bed. Sirius hugging tightly against him ever so tightly.

"Stay." A sleepy mumble, almost childlike, his chin on your shoulder, eyelids still shut close.

"Sirius-"

"I don't want you to leave.."

Wanting to protest, but the cool, damp scent mingles with the soft warmth of Sirius together, creating a peaceful contrast that make the idea of leaving feel almost impossible.

Each breath is filled with soothing fragrance of rain, suspended in the tranquil moment between leaving and staying, reluctant to move away.

"Class is soon."

"Like I care." He responded immediately, blocking over any protest. You hummed, knowing not to argue, you never win. The soft hum of your voice, slight buzzing, the warmth of your skin is like a soothing balm against the world to him.

Nuzzling closer, nose brushing against your cheek, responding with a slight shift, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

Do not repost my fics on other platforms !

[hrizantemy]

She had been holed up in her apartment for days, the small space becoming both her sanctuary and her prison. The days blurred together in a haze of books, fitful sleep, and the persistent quiet that seemed to amplify her thoughts. She should have been glad for the solitude. Staying inside meant they wouldn’t send Cassian to check on her. She wouldn’t have to endure his relentless taunts or cutting comments, no more than she already had to.

Cassian's words, always laced with a mix of concern and frustration, gnawed at her. Each visit, each attempt to draw her out of her self-imposed isolation, felt like an intrusion. She could still hear his voice, clear and insistent, breaking through the silence of her apartment. He’d ask her to come out, to join him, to stop shutting herself away. And each time, she'd turn him down, the walls of her apartment closing tighter around her.

But the silence, as much as it protected her, also suffocated her. Today, the air in her apartment felt especially heavy, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe. She needed to escape, if only for a little while. Without thinking too much about it, she grabbed her coat and stepped out of her apartment, she was immediately met with a biting chill.

The cold wind nipped at her cheeks, making her pull her coat tighter around her. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, trying to ward off the icy sting that threatened to creep into her bones. The streets were bustling with people, their hurried movements leaving trails of misty breath in the frosty air. Each gust of wind seemed to carry with it a reminder of the approaching winter, sharp and unforgiving.

Nesta's steps were purposeful, her feet carrying her away from the confines of her apartment and toward an unknown destination. Despite the cold, she welcomed the sensation of the wind against her skin. It was a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth of her small living space, a reminder that she was still very much alive and capable of feeling.

She walked on, letting the brisk air clear her mind as she made her way through the city streets, searching for a reprieve from the thoughts that had chased her out of her home. She walked for a while, her thoughts drifting as she moved through the city streets. The cold wind continued to nip at her cheeks, but she pressed on, needing the distraction that only the outdoors could provide. Eventually, a tantalizing scent wafted toward her, stopping her in her tracks.

It smelled like coffee—rich and dark—and something else she couldn't quite place. Freshly baked bread, perhaps? Her stomach growled in response, a sharp reminder of how she had skipped both dinner the previous night and breakfast that morning.

She supposed this was her punishment for neglecting herself. The aroma of coffee and bread drew her forward, almost against her will, as if her body was making the decision for her. She followed the scent until she found herself standing in front of a small, inviting café. The warmth and promise of food and drink beckoned her inside, offering a reprieve from the cold and her own swirling thoughts.

Without hesitation, she pushed open the door and stepped into the comforting embrace of the café, her stomach growling again in anticipation. A bell chimed softly as Nesta Archeron pushed open the door to the café, announcing her arrival. From somewhere in the back, a sing-song voice called out, “Welcome! I’ll be right with you!”

Nesta took a moment to take in the place. The warmth enveloped her immediately, a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. The interior was cozy and inviting, with an array of breads and cakes displayed enticingly behind glass counters. The rich aroma of coffee mingled with the scent of freshly baked goods, filling the air with a comforting fragrance.

There were couches arranged in inviting nooks, perfect for sinking into with a good book, as well as tables scattered throughout the room, where people sat chatting or working on laptops. Soft music played in the background, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. Nesta felt an unexpected sense of relief wash over her. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax, the tension in her shoulders easing as she made her way to the counter.

She glanced over the array of tempting treats, her stomach growling again as she considered what to order.From the back of the café emerged a woman with a warm, welcoming smile. Her skin glowed in the soft lighting of the café. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. She wore a simple apron over a bright, patterned blouse that added a splash of color.

“Hello there,” she said, her voice as inviting as the scent of the coffee and pastries. “What can I get for you today?” Nesta looked at the woman, feeling an odd sense of calm settle over her. She took in the friendly eyes and the easy confidence with which the woman moved. It was clear she was in her element, perfectly at home amidst the warmth and comfort.

“I’ll have a coffee,” Nesta said, her voice almost hesitant, “and maybe one of those pastries.” She pointed to a flaky, golden croissant in the display case. “Excellent choice,” the woman replied, her smile widening. The woman glanced at Nesta, noticing her tentative demeanor. “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll bring your coffee and pastry over to you,” she suggested warmly.

Nesta felt a flicker of awkwardness at the offer, a strange sensation she couldn’t quite place. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, this small kindness. Nodding mutely, she turned and chose a small table by the window, her steps feeling oddly heavy. As she sat down, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly out of place. It had been so long since she’d been in a setting like this, surrounded by the simple bustle of everyday life.

She watched as the woman moved gracefully behind the counter, preparing her order with practiced ease. Nesta fidgeted slightly, unsure why this simple interaction left her feeling unsettled. Perhaps it was the warmth and normalcy of it all, a stark contrast to the isolation she had wrapped around herself like a protective cloak. She took a deep breath, trying to relax, reminding herself that this was just a café, just a cup of coffee and a pastry. Yet, it felt like so much more.

A few moments later, she approached Nesta's table, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a plate with the golden croissant. She placed them gently in front of Nesta and smiled warmly. “Here you go. Is there anything else you need?” Nesta shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, thank you." She nodded, her smile never faltering. “Alright then. Enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the counter, leaving Nesta alone with her thoughts. Nesta took a sip of the coffee, savoring the rich, dark flavor. As she bit into the croissant, the buttery, flaky pastry practically melted in her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. As she ate, she felt a sense of calm slowly settle over her. For the first time in days, the oppressive weight of her solitude seemed to lift, even if just a little.

Nesta found herself considering the possibility of returning to the café. Maybe, she thought, she could come back again the next morning. The idea of having a place to go, even for a short while, felt like a tiny step toward something better.

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 65

Tech has his own way of handling the stress of the recent intrusion.

I also had to split it up, or it would hve been way to long.

Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 65: Mittens

As Tech steps out onto the platforms of Tipoca City with Orion cradled against his chest, the gentle patter of the rain hitting the facility surrounds them. The cool, misty air envelops them both, contrasting with the warmth of Orion nestled in his father's arms. The rhythmic sound of rain hitting the metal surfaces creates a calming melody. Which is as familiar to Tech as it has to be for Orion, even if it may not have the same calming effect yet.

Tech takes a leisurely stroll along the bridges, the soft pitter-patter of raindrops echoing in the background. The reflections of the neon lights on the wet surfaces add a surreal glow to the environment. Orion, bundled up in a cosy outfit, gazes curiously at the rain-slicked surroundings with his bright blue eyes. Tech's mind, usually occupied with tactical calculations and technical details, finds a rare moment of solace in the simple act of walking with his son. The familiar scent of the rain-soaked air mingles with the subtle fragrance of Orion's baby shampoo. The sound of distant thunder reverberates, creating a soothing backdrop to their stroll.

Tech, immersed in the tranquillity of the moment, reflects on the challenges they face and the need to protect Orion from the prying eyes of the Kaminoans. Orion, oblivious to the complexities of his surroundings and the depth of his father’s thoughts, responds with innocent babbles and tiny grasps at the raindrops. His tiny fingers, encased in mittens, try to catch the droplets, creating a heart-warming scene. Tech can't help but smile, appreciating the simplicity and purity of these moments with his son. As they continue their walk, the rain serves as a cleansing force, washing away the tensions and uncertainties that lingered in the in their everyday lives.

Tech, finding a sheltered alcove shielded from the rain which intensified, another storm about to rage over Kamino, gently lowers himself to his knees, creating a makeshift haven for Orion. With precise movements, Tech positions Orion, supporting him under the arms, ensuring his tiny boots meet the cool surface of the formed puddle. Orion, snugly dressed and sheltered from the elements, looks down with wide-eyed curiosity at the reflective pool beneath his feet.

Tech, always calculating and vigilant, observes Orion's reactions. The puddle, a miniature world to the little one, captures his attention. His tiny hands, encased in mittens, reach down to touch the water, creating ripples that mirror the raindrops around them. Orion's babbling adds a joyful counterpoint to the ambient sounds of the rain. Tech, momentarily setting aside the complexities of his usual calculations, finds himself engrossed in the shared experience. The cool water beneath Orion's boots and the gentle touch of raindrops become sensory delights for the little one. The reflective surface mirrors their silhouettes, creating a snapshot of this father-son escapade on Kamino.

As the rain continues its dance, Tech relishes in the simplicity of the moment. Orion's laughter mingles with the rain's gentle cadence, creating a precious memory etched against the backdrop of Kamino's sterile metallic structures. In this sheltered alcove, father and son find solace, temporarily shielded from the demands of duty and the scrutinizing eyes of the Kaminoans and other clones.

As the distant rumble of thunder gradually transforms into a resonant roar, Orion's bright eyes widen with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The sound, amplified by the open expanse of Kamino's platforms, reaches him with an intensity he hasn't experienced before. Tech, attuned to Orion's reactions, senses the subtle shift in his demeanour, quickly getting up and holding him close.

Orion, nestled in his father's arms, grips the fabric of Tech's jacket, seeking comfort from the sudden onslaught of sound. His little body tenses, and his gaze searches the skies, trying to comprehend the source of this new auditory experience. The rain now falling more steadily and rapidly, adds its own percussion to the symphony of the storm. Tech, ever the analytical mind, adjusts his stance, ensuring that Orion is shielded from the rain and the unrelenting sound of thunder. He softly speaks to Orion, his voice a soothing undercurrent against the backdrop of the storm. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the metallic surfaces provides a counterpoint to the deep resonance of thunder.

With a practiced motion, Tech loosens the hood of Orion's protective covering, allowing him to peer out at the rain-soaked surroundings. The distant flashes of lightning illuminate the cloudy canvas above, momentarily transforming Kamino's gloomy atmosphere into a captivating display of nature's power. As the thunderstorm intensifies, Tech continues to comfort Orion, his steady presence and calming words acting as a steadfast anchor. The once-startled expressions on Orion's face gradually yield to a mixture of wonder and acceptance, as if he's beginning to understand that the storm, while formidable, is a natural occurrence. But with each thunder, Orion seems to forget what Tech tried to say.

Tech, mindful of Orion's vulnerability to the storm's sensory assault, swiftly retreats into the facility, seeking refuge from the overwhelming sounds of the storm. As the thunders are now quicker in succession. The metallic echo of rain is replaced by the comforting hum of the facility's climate control as they step through the door. Orion, still cradled in his father's arms, continues to whimper, his bright blue eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and fear.

Finding a more secluded area, Tech gently lowers himself to the ground, supporting Orion with his hands under the tiny arms, leaning him against his legs. Orion, now focused on his father's face, seems to find solace in the connection. Tech, using a soothing tone, begins to explain the phenomena of thunder and lightning to Orion. “Orion, you see, thunder and lightning are like a dance in the sky. When you see that bright flash, that's the lightning. And then, the loud sound that follows, that's the thunder. They happen together because lightning makes the air around it really hot, and that creates the sound we hear as thunder.” And he dives even more into the physics of it, before he decides to head back.

As Tech navigates the sterile corridors of Kamino, not stopping his explanation, Orion's cries finally subsided. The explanation, combined with the return to the familiar, controlled environment, helps ease Orion's distress. Tech reassures him with a soft cadence of words, emphasizing that they are now safe from the elements, shielded by the facility's walls. Continuing his gentle narrative, Tech points out a nearby window, where occasional flashes of lightning paint brief, vivid patterns in the darkened sky. He uses simple words to convey the natural beauty and scientific principles behind the storm. Orion, still cradled in his father's arms, watches the mesmerizing display with wide-eyed wonder.

The storm, once a source of apprehension, becomes an educational moment for Orion, guided by Tech's measured explanations. As the echoes of thunder gradually fade into the background, Tech uses this opportunity to impart not only scientific knowledge but also a sense of security and understanding to his son. The two of them, nestled within Kamino's protective embrace, continue their exploration of the world, one lesson at a time. No matter if Orion is to young to understand, Tech will gladly explain it again… and again.

Tech chuckles, interpreting Orion's playful tugs at his hood as a form of communication. He adjusts the hood, as they walk through the corridors, Tech continues engaging with Orion, savouring these simple yet precious interactions. "Pulling on my hood, are we? Perhaps you're suggesting I need extra protection from the storm, or maybe you're just showing off your budding fashion sense." Orion responds with more enthusiastic babbles, his tiny hands exploring the textures of Tech's jacket. Tech relishes in the joy of sharing these moments with his son. The bond between them deepens with each step, reinforced by the subtle gestures and playful antics that bridge the gap between father and child.

As they approach the squad barracks, the familiar presence of his brothers awaits. Tech, with Orion still comfortably nestled in his arms, enters the shared space. The atmosphere shifts from the controlled environment of the facility to the warm camaraderie of the squad's quarters. Tech, always attuned to Orion's needs, ensures that the transition from the stormy outdoors to the familiar space of the barracks is seamless. Orion, now surrounded by the comforting presence of his family, continues to explore the world through his bright blue eyes, eager for the next adventure, lesson, or playful moment with his father and uncles.

Crosshair, arching a sceptical brow, gazes at Orion's mittens with a hint of amusement. "Mittens? Really?" he quips, his tone carrying a touch of dry humour. "Is Kamino suddenly turning into Hoth, Tech?" Tech, undeterred by Crosshair's scepticism, responds with a calm demeanour. "Crosshair, it's merely a precaution. Kaminoan temperatures tend to be on the cooler side, especially during a storm, and I'd rather not risk Orion catching a cold."

Wrecker, always ready to inject a playful remark, chimes in with a hearty laugh. "Yeah, Crosshair, you never know when Hoth might be next on our mission list. Gotta be prepared!" Crosshair smirks, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment. The banter among the squad members adds a layer of warmth to the otherwise sterile surroundings of Kamino, which seems not to the standard for this barracks. Meanwhile, Orion, oblivious to the banter about mittens and Hoth, babbles contentedly in Tech's arms, occasionally reaching out to explore the world with his tiny gloved hands.

Tech, carefully removing Orion's mittens and then unzipping the warm jacket, lets out a small chuckle as Orion reacts with glee to the raindrops. "Enjoying the rain remnants?" he says with a soft smile, his voice affectionate. The simple joy in Orion's response brings a warmth to the hearts of the squad members. As Tech begins to undress Orion, the baby gazes up at him with bright blue eyes, seemingly fascinated by the process. Tech, ever efficient, selects a breathable onesie for Orion, ensuring the comfort of his son during sleep.

Wrecker, who has been watching the interaction, adds in a boisterous tone, "Looks like we've got a rain-loving little trooper here!" “Unless it involves thunder,” Tech explains in agreement, finishing the dressing routine with practiced ease. He cradles Orion in his arms, now in lighter sleepwear, and begins to softly hum a calming tune. The gentle atmosphere, filled with the sound of raindrops and Tech's soothing melody, creates a serene moment within the squad's quarters.

Crosshair, ever observant, notes the scene with a subtle smile. "Tech, you're turning into quite the dad," he remarks, a hint of approval in his voice, but clearly amused of hearing his brother hum. Tech glances over at Crosshair, a soft expression on his face. "I suppose I am," he replies, his attention returning to Orion.

Wrecker's laughter echoes through the barracks as he claps Tech on the back, with Tech holding Orion just a bit tighter. "Six months, and you're already a pro at this dad stuff!" Echo nods in agreement. "Time does seem to fly, Tech. It feels like just yesterday we were relaxing and you told us you need to try some flying manoeuvre out, and now look at you. A diaper changing soldier."

Tech, holding Orion in his arms, shares a small but proud smile with the squad. "Indeed. It's been quite the journey. And I would do it all over again." Crosshair, ever the sharpshooter, observes, "The kid's growing fast. Ready for a mission on Hoth with those mittens." Tech chuckles, "Maybe not Hoth just yet," as he begins the process of getting a bottle ready for Orion.

Chapter 66

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk @heidnspeak

Got press on nails after not wearing them since my operation last year. Feels strange but familiar, just gotta get used to an even length of all. Typos here I come.

[fourquartertoast]

The Splendor of Rose-Tinted Glasses: A Study In Regulus Black

Every human being contains multitudes. We are universes, each and every one of us, and Regulus? Regulus is no different. Like the rest of us, Regulus is worlds upon worlds, a star who burns with a million lights. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. So how is Regulus Black beheld?

To Barty, Regulus is the smoky scent of cigarettes at dusk and arms snaking around your waist. Regulus is the friend who elbows you in the ribs for no reason at all on the way down the stairs, and the friend you drag into an alcove between classes for some 'bonding time'. Barty knows the feeling of Regulus' tears on his wet fingertips, knows how it feels to pull Regulus against his chest and hold him there, safe from the outside world for at least a moment. Regulus is the feeling of protection, the twist of anxiety which stems from love.

To Evan, Regulus is the rhythm of tapping fingernails and smiles that are all in the eyes. Regulus can hold a companionable silence, replaces affectionate words with glances out of the corner of his eye and 'accidentally' bumping shoulders with you as he walks. Evan knows Regulus' every tic, every tell, can ascertain Regulus' mood from the way he opens a door. Evan's Regulus isn't the poised piece of perfection the world wants him to be. Regulus, the real Regulus, is authenticity, is all the things one should never try to put into words.

To Dorcas, Regulus is the buzz of a thrumming heart and the whoosh of the wind whipping through your hair. Regulus is adrenaline, the motivation to run faster, think harder, climb higher, the burn of a brilliant idea branding your mind with its potential. Regulus is also the sound of quills scratching in the deafening silence of midnight, the edge of a library table digging into your stomach as you lean over to whisper a question in somebody's ear. Dorcas sees the glint of polished steel in Regulus' eyes every so often, a reflection of the insatiable ambition which blazes in her heart, too. Regulus is acceleration, like looking out the window in a tram and watching the countryside zoom by.

To Pandora, Regulus is the tingling of fingers running through your hair and the fragrance of forget-me-nots. Regulus is a shield between Pandora and the 'normal people', a confidante who cherishes every secret he's trusted with as though it's a precious jewel. Pandora doesn't worry about being judged or scorned when she's with Regulus, because he worships every part of her, even the ones the rest of the world disdains. Regulus is soft, sweet love, like fairy floss or chiffon scarves. Regulus is the friend who lies next to Pandora under the shade of a weeping willow and listens to her senseless chatter, pink lips curved up in a tender smile.

To James, Regulus is the petrichor that lingers hours after the thunderstorm's last tears have fallen. Regulus is misty air, enveloping you, drawing you in, cold enough to scare the faint-hearted away but enchanting enough to seduce the bold. James still glances up at starry skies sometimes and thinks of Regulus' face, illuminated by moonlight, gazing at the masterpiece of the galaxy. Regulus is like an ancient artifact – something to be handled only by those who know how to do so as is due. One wrong move and you could destroy something which the world will never reproduce, because no perfect thing exists twice. Regulus is dedication, is devotion, is the luxury of falling in love.

[dira333]

Date Night with Iida Tenya

From my Date Night Series

1. 

“Oh I got you something.” You tell Tenya as he pushes your seat towards the table. 

You wait until he’s taken a seat as well before you pull the small package from your bag.

Before he can open it, though, a waiter arrives.

You’ve figured out quite fast that Tenya likes ordering for you, likes the challenge of finding you something you’ll like based on your preferences of the day.

“Something warm,” you tell him quietly, “Not too much, I want something sweet for desert.”

He orders and places his hands flat on the table.

With a smile you push the little package closer to him. 

“Open it.” You urge him and watch him peel off the wrapping paper in his usual orderly fashion.

He’s clearly surprised at the sight of a bottle of hand cream, some moisturizer and lip balm.

“You mentioned how rough your skin is in comparison to mine and I thought you might want to do a spa night with me?”

He’s quiet for a moment, carefully reading the label of each product.

His left hand’s still flat on the table and you reach for it, entwining your fingers and waiting until he looks at you.

“If you don’t feel comfortable with that, that’s okay too. I like your hands any way they are.”

There’s still insecurity laced into his eyes and you drop the topic for now, hoping that you haven’t overstepped somehow.

Tenya might be a bit stiff in some regards but he’s honest, caring, and loyal and you can see this going forward, can see yourself liking and loving him more each day.

He helps you into your jacket after your meal, hesitating when you offer him your hand to take as you walk out of the restaurant.

“I…” He takes your hand and looks down at you, “I think I’d like to try it. If you think it’s fun, it would not hurt to try.”

“That’s nice. And as I said, if it’s not something you like, that’s okay too. Who knows, you might not like the fragrance or how it feels on your skin, choosing those products is often very personal and I was trying to do as good a job at choosing them as you always do at picking my food for me.”

He smiles, the last bit of insecurity disappearing from his eyes and you get up on your tiptoes to press your lips against the side of his mouth, relishing the blush it leaves on his cheeks.

-

2.

“Your watermelon mask is almost empty,” Tenya remarks casually as he puts it with the others on the little side table.

“Really? Well, it lasted quite a while. Do you think we should rebuy it or try something else?”

You test the water in the bowls you’re preparing and, finally satisfied with the temperature, bring them over to the living room.

Tenya’s studying a pamphlet, handing it over when you put the bowls down.

“They have one with cucumber extract. We could try that next.”

“You’re right.” You read the page he’s pointing at. “I’ll pick it up on my grocery run tomorrow. Now, it’s time to soak.”

He laughs as you push him down, knowing full well that you couldn’t make him move a millimeter if he did not want to.

But he wants to. 

He’d been hesitant at first but if you forget your weekly Spa Day he’s the one making sure it has a spot in your calendar. 

“What colour do you want for your nails?” He asks as his own feet and hands are soaking in little bowls. He’s eyeing the bottles that he’s put on the table and you look over as well.

“What colour do you think? I want something warm but more like fall colours, you know?”

…

Your face mask has been washed off, your toes are dried and you’re now admiring the colour Tenya has painted onto your fingernails when he comes back from the kitchen, a plate with fruit in one hand, a bottle in the other.

“Champaigne?” You ask surprised. “What’s the occasion?”

Wordlessly he puts the food down at the table and goes down on one knee.

A gasp leaves you as you realize what he’s planned.

His eyes are getting misty as well.

“I love you.” He starts, his hands shaking as he takes your hands in his, “I don’t want this to ever stop. I want to keep guessing what you might want to eat, what colour you might want on your nails. If you want this too, I’ll do everything, I-”

“Yes.” You whisper before he can finish and you’re giggling and crying at the same time, too many emotions in you to get a grasp on.

“Yes, I want this too.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[mypokemonscreencaps]

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (15)

H for Huath (Hawthorn) - May 13th - June 9th

“May tree - Sixth month of the Celtic tree calendar (Ref)”

colour: midnight blue; Gem: lapis lazuli; Gender: female; Patrons: Olwen, Blodeuedd, Chaldean, Humen, Selene, Virgin Mary; Symbols: love + marriage, fertility + birth, reproduction, heart

The short, thorny, graceful hawthorn. The slender hawthorn trunk and branches twist as the years go by. In winter they are particularly beautiful, standing clinging to misty wildernesses and craggy rocky outcrops, or clustered on open ranges of hills that their appearance is spectacular. Leaves and flowers appear simultaneously in May, signalling the change of season from spring to summer. Hawthorn flowers bloom in clusters, so that at the height of spring, rows of white froth run across the fields and mountains, a scene aptly captured by the English writer H. E. Bates as 'the fluffy cream floating in May'.

In spring, when the hawthorn flowers are in full bloom, the air releases a musky, sweet, rich fragrance all around. Small round berries turn burgundy in autumn.

In Ireland, hawthorn is still cherished as a magical tree protected by the fairy kingdom. Tradition has it that if you cut down a single hawthorn tree standing alone in a field or burial mound, you will lose your livestock and household possessions.

Hawthorn trees protect wells and springs as fairy trees. The beautiful flowers of hawthorn are also said to deliver prayers to the heavens. Even today, many people tie rags and other items to hawthorn trees standing near wells and springs, wishing for good luck or that their love will reach the person they love.

Before Christianity, hawthorn was the supreme fertility symbol and at the May Festival, people confided their love, danced to their heart's content and made love in the woods. Among the Celts, spring was the season for marriage, and it was customary to bring a bouquet of hawthorn flowers to weddings to ensure that the couple would be blessed with children.

In Britain, the earliest known hawthorn goddess was Olwen ('white footprints'), a woman of courage, wit and beauty. The well-known mythological tale of Culhwch and Olwen, in which King Arthur's cousin, Culhwch, overcame 40 impossible tasks that seemed virtually unattainable set out by Olwen's father, the giant king, Yspaddaden, and marry his beloved Olwen.

As the beautiful, white hawthorn flowers opened, people celebrated the power of nature and love to bring new life into the world and marvelled at the miracles of sexual activity, pregnancy and childbirth. For the Celts, sexual activity, pregnancy and childbirth were not something to be ashamed of, but an essential part of life and a sacred expression that one could love.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (15)

HはHuath (ｻﾝｻﾞｼ) - 5月13日 - 6月9日

『5月の木〜 ケルトの木の暦（参照）の第6月』

色: ミッドナイト・ブルー; 宝石: ラピスラズリ; 性: 女性; 守護神: オルェン、ブロダイウェズ、カルデア、ヒュメン、セレネ、聖母マリア; シンボル: 愛＋結婚、豊穣＋出産、生殖、心臓

背丈が低くとげをもった優雅なサンザシ。ほっそりとしたサンザシの幹や枝は、年が経つにつれてねじれていく。冬になるとその姿は特に美しく、霧の立ち込めた荒野や、ごつごつとした岩の露頭にしがみつくように立つ姿、また広々と連なる丘に群れをなしている様子は、見事というより他はない。葉と花は5月に同時に姿を現し、春から夏に季節が変わることを知らせている。サンザシの花は群れを成して咲くことから、春の盛り、白い泡立ちの列が野山を縦横に走り、その様子を��国人作家のH・E・ベイツは、「五月に浮かび上がるふわふわしたクリーム」と的確に表現している。

春、サンザシの花が満開になると、麝香 (じゃこう)のような甘く濃厚な香りがあたり一面に放たれる。小さな丸い実は、秋になるとワインレッドに変わる。

アイルランドでは今もなお、サンザシは妖精の国に守られた魔法の木として大切にされている。野原や埋葬塚に一本だけぽつんと立っているサンザシの木を切ると家畜を失うか家財を無くすという伝承もある。

サンザシは妖精の木として、井戸や泉を守っている。また、サンザシの美しい花は祈りを天まで届けてくれるという。現在でも井戸や泉のそばに立つサンザシには、幸運が訪れるますように、あるいは好きな人に思いが届きますようにと願う大勢の人々が、布きれや品物を結び付けている。

キリスト教以前は、サンザシは最高の豊穣のシンボルであり、5月祭には、人々は愛を打ち明け、心ゆくまで踊り明かし、森で愛を交わした。ケルト人の間で春は結婚の季節であり、夫婦が子宝に恵まれるように、結婚式にはサンザシの花束を持っていく習慣があった。

英国では、サンザシの女神として最も古くから知られているのが、勇気と機転と美貌の持ち主、オルェン (‘白い足跡’の意)。アーサー王の従兄弟であるキルフーフが、オルェンの父である巨人の王アスパザデンが課した事実上達成不可能と思われる40の無理難題を克服し、愛するオルウェンと結婚した神話『キルフーフとオルェン』がよく知られている。

美しく、そして白いサンザシの花が開くと、人々は、新しい命を宿す自然と愛の力を祝福し、性の営み、妊娠、出産という奇蹟に驚きの声を上げた。ケルト人にとって、性行為や妊娠、出産は恥ずべきことではなく、人生になくてはならない大切な一部であり、人は愛することができるということの神聖な表現であった。

[sun-aries]

Weathering the Storm (TP Zelink)

Here's one for the collection! Just some good ole angst for the soul!

Navy flags snapped atop their poles, the glass of the windows shook against the iron grates, and the rain pelted against the shingles of the roof: an unsteady rhythm that harmonized with the crackle of the firewood. It was the kind of night that left the queen reluctant to return home to her empty chambers.  

But soon, her chambers wouldn’t be so empty anymore.

Zelda often wondered what it’d feel like, having him to come home to, to have his things mesh with hers, to crawl into bed beside him and see him dressed less than proper. Her face heated at the thought.

A long while had passed before he came to her study door, a knock so familiar under the weight of his hand that she knew it was him. At her clearance, Link entered with wet hair and a fresh set of clothes, but his boots were crusted with mud and flaking on the carpets. Training must’ve left him a mess during such a storm.

Unlike at his homestead in Ordon, knights didn't get to stay in on a rainy day. Instead, they worked twice as hard on the slick grounds and through the misty air. Needless to say, the knights were pushed to their limits and as second-in-command, Link was no exception.

“You look exhausted. You don’t want to turn in early?” She said this even though she selfishly wished he wouldn’t; she hadn’t seen him all day.

"Nah," he replied, but the tired undertone of his voice betrayed him. He'd had many worse days, of course, scouring through unforgiving temples and facing ruthless beasts. But a hard day was still a hard day, and even heroes were exhausted from time to time.

But now he had Zelda to return to, and after a nice hot bath, he was just glad to be back in her company. She was perched on the sofa before the fire, with her frayed blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a poetry book open in her palms. Her pale blue eyes were more radiant than the firelight, her small smile warmer than its heat.

The sofa shifted as he slumped into it and the fragrance from his bath oils filled the air. She set the small book aside and lifted the old blanket a touch higher. “Are you cold?”

His face stilled with a fluster. There was a pause before he smiled and carefully scooted closer. Warmth washed through him instantly, but it wasn’t from the blanket. Instead, it was the steady pressure of her shoulder and the accidental brush of her thigh against his. He often wondered what she thought of in a tender moment like this. Did it fluster her too?

Zelda turned her gaze back to the fire; though they were solemn, her eyes sparkled in the flitting flames, and her brown hair spilled over her shoulders, soft and dark in the shadows but gleaming like melted gold in the firelight.

His fingers found the frayed edges of the blanket and fixed it over his other shoulder. “Where’d you get this blanket?”

Zelda tensed. It didn’t seem like much of a question in his head but when he said it out loud, it fell heavy on the room like he’d dropped a brick in a still pond.

They were weeks away from marriage now. But there was still much about one another that they didn’t know: her status as queen had urged them to marry sooner, after all. It wasn’t typically a problem, especially on evenings like these where they could fill the silence with conversation.

But his question felt heavy in a way he hadn’t prepared for. He quickly threw more words out as if it’d ease the tension. “It seems like your favorite. Is it your baby blanket?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came from it. Instead, her pale eyes glazed over, going distant to a place he couldn’t follow. It took a moment for her to say, “No.” There was another pause, long and drawn out, where he thought she might leave it there. But instead Zelda said, “It’s from the tower.”

His mouth fell open then, the word “Oh,” slipping out without him really meaning to say it. It was a sensitive topic, and he’d never intentionally broached it. He’d seen the scars that riddled her body, fading into the smoothness of her skin; he’d heard her voice quiver with an uncharacteristic vulnerability when she spoke of it. “I’m sor-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected, clearly anticipating the apology. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t. Her fear still festered. It was in the screech of an iron door and the thud of heavy footsteps and the menacing torchlight pouring through a door or the raise of a hand or a voice. It was in the fall of twilight, when darkness dampened her contentment like a snuffer smothering a candle, and all she had was her blanket to shelter in.

Some irrational part of her was ashamed: thinking how foolish it was for the bearer of wisdom to be afraid of something that’s done and gone, or how inelegant it was for a queen to cower under her blanket at any unexpected noise. But until recently, she’d had the fortune of not disclosing it to anyone, of being alone at the worst of it in the privacy of her bedchambers.

Whether Link understood why or not, he’d already seen her flinch upon awakening in the desert. He’d learned that she’d suffered at the guard’s hands in the tower – and at times, she was certain he was just as fragile at the fall of night. She could share this with him.

“It’s just…one of the few things that brought me comfort. I couldn’t bear parting with it. When the time came to reconstruct the tower, I took it with me.”

Link’s hand fell on hers, sending that familiar trill from the Triforce rolling up her arm, and she suddenly realized she’d been tugging at a loose thread. “I get that,” he said; his voice had been so absent from the room that it almost startled her. But it brought her comfort instead. “I kept everything I found too.”

A skittish smile tugged at her lips. “You do have quite a bit of treasures.” When they worked out the logistics of it, he admitted he didn’t have much to bring when he’d move into her chambers. But he had a rather large trunk of odds and ends that he couldn’t seem to part with, one that started to gather dust in the back of his own closet.

He smiled sheepishly. “What else brought you comfort?”

She paused, giving his question a fair deal of thought before answering, “You,” she said. “And Midna of course. Knowing you were both defending this kingdom gave me a great deal of comfort. More than anything, for that matter.”

Guiltily, her words made his heart skip a beat. It killed him to think that she'd suffered all along, that he'd never considered it or done anything about it. They'd left her in the tower, thinking foolishly that she was safe there - as a princess ought to be - and carried on, while she stayed back and anticipated the inevitable abuse from the guard only steps away from her door.

And yet there was a strange consolation in knowing that Zelda thought of him – that thinking of him comforted her, even at the darkest of times. She’d relied on them to save the kingdom and at least in that he hadn’t failed her.

Looking down at their joined hands, he brushed her knuckles idly. “I thought about you too…” he admitted. “Me and Midna would talk about you a lot.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, she’d bring you up out of nowhere, but other times it was like she knew you were on my mind…” He shook his head, eyes fallen downcast, and when the fluster rekindled on his cheeks, he rose his bare hand to scratch it. “But I always worried about you. I just wish -”

She stopped him suddenly with a soft but firm kiss on his cheek. His hand froze against his face, eyes wide and staring blankly at the tapestry over her shoulder. Her lips lingered against his red hot skin; her breath filtered through her lips and carried to the hollow of his ear. “Wish nothing. You saved me.”

Her words sent his hand moving on its own accord, before he even realized that he’d broken free of his stupor, and thread into her hair, grasping her head and drawing her into an embrace. His face buried into her shoulder, catching whiff of her warm, familiar smell and holding it in his throat like it was something tangible.

“You’re safe now,” he agreed, his voice hitched with his breath, but she’d shuddered in his arms as he said it. It was a reminder – half-spoken to himself – a vow abridged to the ones they’d speak at the altar only weeks later.

When she regained some strength, she drew back far enough to find his eyes, alight with firelight - and maybe also his assertion, and said, “I know.”

[myduckieworld]

Yellowjackets perfume headcanons:

Shauna: Safari by Ralph Lauren. It's a bold scent for someone who thinks herself to be invisible. The hyacinth and galibanum are fresh and clean at the begining but a little later, as it dries, you can't escape the woods: sandalwood, cedar and amber. Her ph brings those out even more and it smells like strenght and sturdiness in a way that can be too addictive.

Jackie: Shalimar by Guerlain. It's a powerful an sensual fragrance.  Extremely alluring, first with the bergamote and then the iris, jasmine and rose. It's made to stand out and turn heads. She was first attracted to the woodsy notes she thought she'd find but the ph of her skin hides them and brings out instead the touches of vanilla, which makes it much sweeter without being cloying. Mostly, though, Jackie became obsessed when the lady at the counter told her that this perfume was inspired by the tragic love story of emperor Shah Jahan and the lost too soon princess Mumtaz Mahal, and how Shalimar means "temple of love" in Sanskrit and symbolises "the promise of eternal love forevermore".

Nat: Eau de Cologne Lavanda Wally.  Nat was mostly looking for a scent that could cover the smell of pot but she liked the strong smell of the lavender and the touch of cinnamon. When you add the scent of her leather jacket and the faint touch of cigarrettes, it's just all quite an attractive mix. Her jacket already has that mix fully impregnated so that's become part of Nat's natural scent even when she's not wearing the cologne.

Lottie: Poème by Lancôme. It's fancy and exquisite, imposible to miss but soft all the same. With the peach and flowers making it so unabashedly feminine. If you concentrate, you can find the heliotrope among the tuberose and narcissus. Lottie smells expensive and alluring, in a way that is always intriguing.

Taissa: Youth Dew by Estée Lauder. It's warm and spicy, an imposing scent that it's hard to describe but your nose willingly will follow, with a balsam heart that feels like a strong hold. There’s a touch of everything, frim vetiver to Ylang Ylang, to insence to coca cola. It's like she can do anything, try anything be anyone. And she will.

Van: Old Spice. It smells like freedom to them.

Laura Lee:  Woods of Windsor's Lilly of The Valley, powder talc. It's fresh and clean in a way that is surprisingly not overly sweet.

Misty: Anaïs, Anaïs by Cacharel. Her PH brings out the pears, peonies and cocoa. Not the mix she wanted when she cot a wiff of one of the girls in the varsity team when she was a junior but its still really nice. Her mom said so.

[fjmarchive]

The entirety of Alexi in Bed with Father John Misty & His NEW Fragrance from 2014 was uploaded onto YouTube today by u/Little_Club995! This was initially lost in 2019 when I'mBoyCrazy deactivated her YouTube channel.

Fun fact: Alexi is the woman Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings was written about. She's also in the music video!