#wild stone perfumes

[perfumefactory]

Things to keep in mind while choosing the best perfume for men

Your perfume may not woo women as many ads show, but it can help you improve your image. Also, perfume is more than a daily essential; it reflects your taste and builds your personality.

So, you must choose the right one for daily use or a special date. And here are a few things to remember while selecting the best perfumes for men.

Sillage 

The sillage of perfume refers to the trail of perfume it usually leaves behind when you move. Most people tend to pick a perfume with high sillage. But it could be better as it can overwhelm others around you. The best perfumes for men will have a balanced sillage.

Select the notes

Perfume notes are crucial when choosing the right perfume for yourself or gifting purposes. The note of perfume refers to the aromatic ingredients used in the scent. Perfumes generally have top, middle and bottom notes that describe the aroma of your perfume. Wild Stone fragrance can be a great option as the notes are attractive and unique. 

Know the tones 

The tone of your perfume describes the flavour of the scent. The best perfumes will have a subtle but unique tone that can easily combine with the perfume notes and create a captivating note. Also, if you want perfume for a special occasion, choose a note and tone that matches your preference.

Logitivity 

The longevity of your perfume means how long the perfume can last on your skin. A perfume can last for half an hour to 12 hours, depending on its making. It would help if you considered the longevity of your perfume whether you choose it for a date, vacation or regular office use. 

Price

Lastly, price should be another crucial factor when choosing the best perfumes for men. Some perfumes may charge a premium rate for the brand name. However, it would help if you chose a perfume with a reasonable price.

Conclusion

Choosing the best perfume requires little research to find the perfect aroma that matches your mood and personality. Here, we have shared some essential tips you can remember while choosing your perfume. Also, you can opt for Wild Stone fragrance, as they offer quality perfumes and unique flavours at reasonable prices. 

[codegrooming]

An ideal perfume for men should be an ally at daytime events or evening parties to give you an irresistible appearance along with an extraordinary mood. It should have a brilliance of wild places and the warmth of the sun, bringing energy and undeniable confidence. Let's welcome you to the world of Wild Stone - a fragrance that masterfully combines sensualness with nature's freshness. The result is an irresistible combination of scent, character and daring attitude. Wear it with your confidence and amplify your style! Wild Stone is a fragrant landscape of various scents that leaves a lasting impression wherever you go.

[eilidh-eternal]

Hmmm, how about some Little Red Riding Hood reader and Big Bad wolf-shifter Price???

18+ MDNI | This is a DARK FIC | cw: blood, drowning, predator and prey dynamics

You heard drowning is quick. Painless.

Whoever said that has never drowned before.

In the bleak midwinter, when water turns to stone, the blades beneath your feet find fissures and fractures and carve a place for you in the dark depths beneath the ice.

Falling through ice feels a lot like stepping beyond the warmth of one’s home into the howling, biting wind of a winter storm. It hurts, for a moment, before it numbs you. Right down to the bones. But this is an all encompassing numbness, the kind that seeps through fabric and flesh and bone—that kind that floods burning lungs and creeps into your mind.

Layers of winter garb, thermals, sweater, down coat and jeans, all soak up the frigid water and turn to a leaden weight on your body. You kick, claw at the fading sliver of caustic light, but it slips through your fingers like the rest of the water does—flickers and wavers at the disturbance. A sick parting wave as you sink further and further beyond reach. Beyond saving.

The burning in your lungs from the cold is a thousand times worse when you suck in nothing but water, unable to fight the instinct to draw breath 10 feet below the surface. Thrashing against the frigid clutches of the frozen lake is meaningless. A foolish final attempt to fight for life above the surface, to save yourself from a watery grave.

Another burning breath.

More gelid water to fill your lungs.

Another.

The world grows darker. Maybe it’s because the light at the surface is so, so far away now. Maybe it’s your body succumbing to its fate.

One.

Final.

Breath.

Everything hurts. Glacial waters are good at numbing one’s pain in their final moments, but millions of crystallized frozen droplets feel like they’re slicing into your skin as you cough and splutter, heaving up lungfuls of water and bile. Trying to roll, to wretch onto the frozen ground packed with snow to spare your clothes, is a moot point. You’re already soaked.

The whipping wind off the frozen lake is likely to fuse the fabric to your skin too, and the longer you lay here the quicker frostbite, and hypothermia, will set in. You need to get up. Get up and get moving, or whatever miracle that dragged you from the water will be squandered.

Lifting your head is a monumental effort. It throbs, feels like a ton of bricks, and the cold stiffness that’s settled in your bones creaks and pops as you go, until you can see your bare toes, already turning a dangerous hue in the cold. You linger on that.

Bare feet.

No skates.

No thick wool socks.

An unfamiliar jacket draped over your shivering body like a blanket.

Pushing through the ache in your muscles and the cramping from the cold, you manage to get yourself upright and you quickly pull the collar of the jacket closer to you as a gale of wind barrels into you, plastering wet strands of hair to your face. A shuddering intake of breath fills your nose with the scent of pine and musk. Not the synthetic kind you find concentrated in pretty bottles on a perfumers shelf at the department store. Something wild and incapable of being replicated.

There’s a pile of discarded clothing, a man’s by the look of the enormous boots, flannel shirt and canvas work pants, and tracks in the snow leading away from you into the forest. Wherever they came from, and wherever they’ve gone to, is your best chance at finding warmth.

But wait… Someone had saved you, given you their jacket, stripped, and then left? Maybe they’d stripped down before they’d jumped in, no heavy clothes to weigh them down in the water. They look dry, and that’s motivation enough for you to maneuver stiff, frozen limbs through the snow to get to them.

When you twist to drag yourself closer pain slices from your hip up to your ribs and you suck in a sharp breath that comes out in a strangled moan and a cloud of air in front of your face. Peeling away the jacket reveals the tattered thermal that clings to your skin, grey fabric stained a deep crimson where blood seeps from a gash in your side, dripping onto the snow beneath you.

Fuck. Must have clipped the ice on the way down…

Gritting your teeth against the searing pain that radiates from the wound you manage to reach the clothes, dry by some miracle, and strip down as quickly and carefully as you can. Waterlogged jeans are traded for canvas that still feels warm despite laying in the snow for god knows how long, bloodstained and torn thermal for thick flannel, and you waste little time slipping on the socks and boots, lacing them extra tight. It’s all big, you practically swim in it, but you won’t complain about a little extra fabric to bundle up with inside the similarly large jacket.

Getting to your feet feels like twisting a knife in your side, and you take gasping breaths as you push off your knees, bite down on a whimper when you finally get your feet under you and a fresh wave of pain lances through torn muscle. But you’re up. You have dry clothes.

Someone pulled you out of the water. You’re still here.

Bleeding.

Breathing.

Alive.

Trudging through the snow in boots nearly twice the size of your feet slows you down even more than the shin deep drifts, and you have to stop frequently to take a break, to let the pain subside. Blood has begun to seep into the flannel, fabric clinging to your skin beneath the coat, and it drips, stains the beige fabric at your hips, and splatters onto the snow. A trail of blood left like breadcrumbs as you follow the tracks between towering pines.

It would seem your streak of luck has run its course though. The tracks have vanished, come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the forest.

Panic creeps up on you like a prowling wolf, slinking up your spine and lunging, sinking claws and teeth into your terror-stricken mind.

No, no, no! This was supposed to be your way out, dammit!

You twist around, looking for more tracks in the snow, wincing against the stinging pain in your side, and a scream bubbles up in your throat when you find none.

How the fuck do tracks just disappear?!

Gripped tight by the claws of panic your mind reels with worst case scenarios. Blizzards. Hypothermia. Frostbite. Too busy spiraling to notice the very real threat that stands at your back.

A snarl carries on the wind like a knife, slices through the air and buries itself in your back where the hairs stand on end, every single one from your nape to the tips of your fingers.

A low growl, closer this time, sends a shudder down your spine. But you haven’t come all this way, survived this long, just to tuck tail, curl up and accept defeat. So you steel your spine, ball your hands into fists, and turn to face whatever predator has no doubt followed your crimson trail advertising your weakened state.

A wounded little fawn, separated from its herd. Easy prey.

You may be brave enough to face the thing that’s hunted you down, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from widening, doesn’t stop the fresh wave of panic that courses through your chilled veins and drains the blood from your face, when you’re face to face with the massive fucking wolf ten meters away, golden eyes narrowed with a single-minded focus.

His hunt is over. All that’s left is the killing blow.

Part 2>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[cherry-pop-elf]

What their Amortentia would smell like: Weasley Edition

All you did was something so harmless. You entered the WWW shop, and explored. Found yourself by the love potions, uncorked it for shits and giggles, and the smell sends you down a rabbit hole

Writing Commissions Open

William ‘Bill’

The beach. You smell the beach. The warm sand, the cool salt air, and the distant wind of beach flowers. It’s so warm, and inviting. The more you inhale, you smell something else. Marble. You smell cold stone, as if you were in Gringotts. A cooling scent to keep you grounded. A giggle leaves you, as you knew you smelled wet dog in there. You were going to keep that last detail to yourself. But, it did solidify something. He did smell like wet dog after his showers. You damn well knew it. Your Billy Boy.

Charlie

A smack to the face it was. This intense campfire. Very specifically a camp fire. Not a wood stove, not a fire place. It was a campfire. With those blends of nature, and burning of dried leaves. The smell of a campfire in the dead of night. When your eyes stopped watering from the smoke stench, you could smell something else. It’s almost like berries. Wild berries. A sweet, almost tart, against all that fire. Along with leather. Oh the leather clings to your throat. It stays with you, and hangs. That’s your Charlie alright.

Percy

Parchment. Parchment, and books. A rather bland scent. You swore you could even smell a freshly corked ink bottle as well. Amongst the paper, you smelled something else. Earth. You smelled earth. Specifically earth that had been freshly rained on. It’s such a soothing scent. Despite its blandness, it was comforting. It’s very familiar, and soothing. Just because it was simple, did not mean it was boring. It was his scent after all. It’s a simplistic, homey, scent. Simple, but never boring. Oh Percy. Your sweet little Percy.

Fred

Grape. That surprised you. Yes there was the expected. There was the scent of fire, gun powder, everything that defined a fire work. Yet, grape was a surprise. Grape, and tea. Specifically grape tea. There was also this distant taste of night air on the back of your tongue. As if you were enjoying a cup of cold grape tea, during a rainy night time sit on the porch. It was an almost mature scent. Fred? Mature? You were speechless. Yet, you couldn’t deny it. It’s him. It’s him to the smallest accent. Your Freddie.

George

Oranges. Oranges, and freshly made pastries. Yes, there was that familiar fire work scent, but you also smelled oranges. As if someone made orange cupcakes, and served it with an overly sugary coffee. It very much was a scent of someone waking up early in the morning. Fixing a cup of sugary coffee, with some freshly peeled oranges, while enjoying a freshly baked cookie. It’s so warm, and cozy. As if entering a kitchen, after the Fourth of July party. It’s so homey. Yep, that’s your Georgie.

Ron

Very fresh, funny enough. Like cut grass, and fresh laundry. It’s just a very homey scent. Like you were home sick, and you finally got to walk in through the front door again. It’s such a soft embrace. Like being hugged, after a rough day. You swear you even smell wool. Like of an old sweater, that’s been loved to death. Very musky, but in a good way. Like someone’s been working hard on a garden all day, and came inside to cool off. It’s such a warm scent. It makes you smile, and feel almost refreshed in a way. It was just right. It was home. Ron was your home, and he can make your day turn out for the better. Even if it’s just a few words. Your Ronnie.

Ginny

Wind. That’s the first thing that comes to mind. Just that scent of a windy day, where nature is carried through. The soft scents of floral undertones, mixed with fresh grass. There is also the scent of wood. Specifically freshly cut wood. Like someone had been whittling away, and was working hard on a project. Such earthy undertones, amongst the familiar scent of her favorite perfume. She wasn’t much of a girly girl, but that didn’t mean she hated femininity as a whole. Besides, her brother got it for her. That’s when you smiled. This was a scent of a little sister, that was loved so much, and strong in her independence. Oh that Gin Gin.

[moongreenlight]

Ptolemaea P. 1- Huntsman!Ghost x Runaway Princess!Reader

CW: BRIEF mentions of animal death, description of gore and violence, noncon implied. No smut yet.

Your kingdom was once powerful, revered by others for its political prowess and strong army, but it does not have the sway it once did. Hordes of wealth dwindled into something unrecognizable. Subjects growing poorer and more restless with only wormy apples and stinking meat and moth-eaten fabrics to barter at the market. War raging to the East, word of civil unrest in the West. Your father was left with few other options than to auction off what little possessions of worth he had left.

He was given four daughters, you, the youngest and the last to be married off. Sold like swine to the highest bidder with no consideration for character or condition.

All your other sisters went gracefully save for a few tearful goodbyes in the privacy of their quarters. Bowed heads pushed together, shaking hands clutching and grabbing at others for stability. Weeping softly for the loss of company, for the fate that awaited them, for the mystery of when you’d be reunited. Four, then three, then two, now one.

You’d been trussed up in your best dresses and jewelry. Made a spectacle of for a few days as suitors came and went from the great hall. Slobbering their way through promises of riches or alliance or armies in an attempt to win your father’s favor.

Their eyes were wild and hungry when they threw spare glances at you. Lecherous smiles showed sharp, clenched teeth. And each offer of an extra five men to an army or hundred gold pieces more than the last brought you closer to being shoved to their chests. A twine-wrapped packet of mutton scraps tossed to a pack of starving dogs.

It was a heavy feeling, sinking ever deeper as each new suitor strutted down the long walk toward you. Peacocking and vying for favor. You imagined it felt like watching the executioner approach the stand while you waited with your head laid on the chopping block.

You’d read your sister’s letters after they left. Poured over every word and learned of their new realities. Their dogs and horses slaughtered, gowns burned, all former possessions seized and thrown to the river to be replaced with tokens of their new kingdoms. Branded over their old marks like cattle in a trade. You noticed that as the weeks and months drew by, the letters became more and more censored. Stopped detailing the further horrors and discomforts they faced at the hands of their husband and opted to regale you with detailed descriptions of their gardens or their plans for children.

The same wretched sickness you felt when you read the letters ate its way into your belly as you watched the funeral procession of suitors and remembered the way your sisters’ neat, loopy writing slowly turned into something rushed and sloppy. You imagined the way it would happen to you.

Perfect cursive lettering that had been learned to you for years by a sour schoolmarm that rapped your knuckles with a ruler when you dawdled during your lessons shoved from your mind to make room for brainwashing. You sat on your hands and dug your nails into your palms until they bent backward to keep your attention away from the scream packing itself into your chest.

You were promised to a king from the South. Some larger country near the capitol that wielded far more power than your kingdom, even at its pinnacle. The new king brought to you from across the channel because of his surliness. You’d heard stories of him whispered among the maids. He was cruel and choleric by all accounts. Not to mention fat and old and ugly and impatient to produce an heir. Made it all but impossible for him to find a bride.

He brought lavish gifts with him to sway the vote. Chestfuls of diamonds and precious stones and gold that his men laid at your father’s feet. Thick furs, expensive perfumes, and silks in colors you’d only ever heard of for your mother. A new dress in his kingdom’s colors for you.

You were escorted from the room by your father’s guard when he began negotiating a deal with the new king. You’d tried to sink your slippers into the stone, tried to kick and scream your desperation for your father to reconsider. But you were thrown from the room. Dragged out under the armpits by knights whose armor shone so brightly you were able to see your teary, crumpled form on the floor reflected in their chest plates before the heavy door was snapped shut on your nose.

You heard your maids and the castle guards whispering after the new king left. Saw your mother gracefully swipe away a single tear after dinner when she kissed you goodnight. The new king’s guard would be by early the next morning to snatch you up. The narrative you knew to be true only confirmed further by gossip. Two or three days of showboating, a decision made, negotiations, and then the next sunrise another sister is plucked up.

So you waited until darkness was cast over the castle. Until you were certain your maids and the guards at your door had gone to their own quarters for a few hours rest. You made your escape barefoot and in your thin nightdress. Stole one of your mother’s new fur cloaks to help protect yourself from the bitter cold that had settled over the land. Padded down the winding halls and staircases until you were able to slip through the grand double doors of the front. Evaded the indolent guards that were no doubt sneaking a smoke or a nap in the garden and moved quickly down the path to the stables. Tacked your horse with a knight’s saddle and took off into the night.

It took no more than four hours for the castle to know of your absence. Your maid had gone to wake you up in the wee hours of the morning, pack a bag before you were picked up by your new husband, and all but flew to your father’s quarters to alert him of your empty bed. It wasn’t half six before both your father’s and the new king’s men were set out on the land in search of you. Horses and hounds kicking frost off the lawn as the sun rose.

You managed three days without capture. Traveled through the skirts of the forest. Slept for a few hours at a time huddled close to the belly of your horse wrapped in your fur cloak. Ventured into small villages and cities to see if you couldn’t convince a vendor to spare you a cup of soup or a stale loaf of bread. Heard snippets of the news of the nearest kingdom who’d lost their last princess and tucked your chin close to your chest on your ride out.

The deep woods were unforgiving. Thin, winding paths that connected kingdoms littered with wolves and marauders and hunters. It was safer to stick to the edges where trees were younger and light could still filter in. Moving West as long as you could with no real plan as to what the permanence of your situation could look like. Maybe find a city far enough away from your kingdom to settle. It was a half-cooked idea from the beginning, you knew that. Born out of fear and anxiety and bull-headedness. Freedom without direction was better than being forced into the arms of a man that would sooner cage you like an animal than see you leave.

So you followed the wood and the few slow-flowing creeks that were not dammed by slush or ice. Kept your head on a swivel and your guard up. Anyone you ran into was presumed foe, so you set a punishing pace to minimize the chance of an encounter.

–

It was an act of desperation when your father called on a huntsman. Needy for the power trade tied to the contract of your marriage and looking to stop the simmering of his people under him from boiling over. His guards had returned in couples every few hours to give him bad news. They’d sent ravens to ally cities asking them to look for you and still they’ve come up empty.

Ghost refused to meet with your father or the new king directly. Sent a tawny hawk with a scroll tied to its leg that detailed the conditions of his employment. Your father promised anything for the return of his youngest princess. The new king offered obscene riches and painted whores. And privately, in a post script penned in tiny font on the back of the scroll, he promised an opportunity for Ghost to lay with you after you’d produced an heir.

Ghost sent his hawk back a few hours later. His letter was short, only responding to your father like he couldn’t be arsed with the superficial promises of the new king. He requests ten gold pieces, some of your perfume, and a cutting of fabric from one of your dirtied gowns.

–

It’s the eve of your fourth day out before you run into trouble. Great plumes of thick black smoke alert you to either a brush fire or a village close off your side and it drives you further into the forest. You move slowly through the dusk, even slower as the light stops being able to filter through the dense leaves and branches. The ground is lost to darkness, and you’d already made the mistake of trying to stumble your way over the uneven terrain barefoot, so you opt to stay on your horse’s back until you find a clearing to settle in.

In the blanketed silence of the wood, it was easy to remember how alone you were. How defenseless. You cursed yourself every night for not swiping a kitchen knife or a hunting blade so that you had some security. Not that either would have done you much good, but it would have served to give you some peace of mind.

You were torn from your thoughts when you heard heavy footfalls in a thicket a few yards in front of you. Snapping of felled branches, two low voices carried to you on a breath of wind. You stopped your horse and tried to lay down close to its back, tuck your head in behind its big neck. You held your breath as the voices grew closer, tried to will your shivering muscles to still. But your horse is a massive beast; stark white and practically spotlighted by the faint light of the moon. It did nothing to hide you.

You weren’t sure if the men were poachers or thieves or member’s of the guard patrolling the area for you. It really didn’t matter because everything happened so fast. There was the distinctive thwack of an arrow burying itself in the tree just next to you. Bark exploded out like a bomb, grazing your cheek and spooking your horse. Somewhere in the chaos of the shouting of the men, and the hurried sounds of boots trampling crisp leaves and your lame sounding yelp of surprise, you were thrown from your horse. Sent crashing to the ground and landing so hard on your back that it knocked the wind out of you and left your vision spotted.

You would have cried out if you had any air left in your lungs. Your chest was burning. Legs weak and awkward from hours on hours of riding. All you could do was scramble back. Bury your fingers deep as you could into the semi-frozen earth and try to drag yourself away. Gasping for air, blinking away the flashes and pops of darkness that camouflaged your assailants.

You hit something hard, knocked your head on it in your rush and nearly went unconscious. It made your ears ring, adding yet another layer of distortion to your senses. A tree, probably. Or a boulder. You recoiled, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to make yourself small under the mass. Tried to make out where the footsteps and the muffled shouting were coming from. Your shaking hands felt clumsily along the ground, looking for anything you could use to defend yourself. A rock, a stick, a hard clump of mud.

There was a flurry of movement from a few yards in front of you, specifics of limbs or bodies lost to the inky darkness. And then your hands found something large and warm. Disturbingly so. Maybe a rodent or a stray animal caught in the crossfire. It takes two hands to lift the thing. You bring it closer to see if swinging the carcass of what could have been a hefty pest would provide you any defense.

Not an opossum or a raccoon struck down by an arrow. Not quite. It’s the head of a man. His face stuck eternally in a look of putrid shock. Mouth gaped wide, eyes bugging out, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He’s got a decent stump of what used to be his neck. Hot blood trailed down your wrists and arms and dripped onto your nightdress.

Someone was screaming. A tortured, twisted sound coming more and more clearly to you as you caught your bearings. The kind of mangled cry that tore its way up out of someone’s throat so ferociously that you were sure you could feel it in your own chest as well. The kind of scream that left your tongue bitter and filmed with iron.

You’re not sure where it’s coming from, but it’s loud. Almost deafeningly so. You wish it would stop. Wish whoever was making such a spectacle would realize the severity of the situation and pull themselves together for a moment so you could think. Maybe you’d find them and work together to get out of this mess. Get away from the forest and find your horse and get back on your path.

You think that maybe it’s the head still clutched in your hands. You remember a cook telling you stories when you were young about how the chickens from the farmers used to be able to run around for nearly eight minutes after they’d been decapitated. You wondered if their heads still squawked after they were severed. You wondered if humans operated the same way. If this poor man’s body was stumbling around meters away in search of his head.

A big hand clamps over your jaw. Forced your mouth shut with such punch that your teeth clack together. You taste blood and you’re not sure if you’ve taken off the tip of your tongue. The screaming stops. It takes you a long moment to piece the situation together. Sat there huddled in on yourself, still gripping at the head and letting the thick blood dripping from its- his- neck sludge down your shins and pool at your feet.

You almost forget about the hand shutting your maw in your daze. Muzzling you with the bitter taste of iron and leather and the vice grip of a bear trap. You’d almost returned to your mind. Remembered that this was not a friendly situation and the body attached to the hand was likely not of pure intention. But you were jerked up by the scruff of your neck. Another strong hand fisting a good portion of the hair at your nape in the process. It lifted you clear off the ground, left your feet dangling inches above the earth. Shocked you enough to get you to let the head tumble out of your hands and back to the ground from where it had come.

You tried to cry out, but your voice was shot. Shredded by the dryness of your throat or the screaming or pure exhaustion. You clawed at the hands, but they were wrapped in thick leather gloves that branched up the arms of your captor. Tried to kick out, but they were wearing thick armor that deflected the force of your blow straight back up into your leg.

You yowled as best you could from under the thick covering. Clawed and grabbed at the air feebly until you were shook by the neck like a rag-doll.

“You’ll quiet or I’ll cut out your tongue and quiet you myself.”

[chernabogs]

ERLKÖNIG

Inc: Malleus (/Reader later on), Reader/Prefect, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and a lot of fae who should not be in this dimension yet somehow are. Wc: Roughly 9k (Currently sitting at chapter 2/23). Warnings: Violence, reference to war, kidnapping, rituals that fae allegedly did in mythology (wild), psychological horror, body horror (not until much later), and the boys are fighting... a lot. Relies heavily on ancient Celtic and Welsh lore (Tam Lin, Thomas the Rhymer, and Oisin I owe u my life) Summary: Your first encounter with the fae was not in Twisted Wonderland, but rather on the coast of a village your grandmother once lived in—where stones bit into your bare feet and the water poured into your lungs as you were pulled to a world so different from your own. It was by cunning alone that you managed to escape, having since pushed those memories aside. But the fae do not forget—not even when you cross dimensions once more—and as Beltane looms, the time for collecting is near.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) below the cut. Check out the work up to chapter 2 here!

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

-  La Belle Dame sans Merci, Keats

19??, Dunhill, Ireland. October.

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. After all, why else do we face horseshoes upright, or close our blinds when the sun begins to set? We did not learn to play mute when we hear our names get called at night for no reason, nor did we discover on a whim that blackbirds circling are harbingers of ill outcomes.  

Your grandmother was a woman of superstition. Because she lived in Dunhill, Ireland, you very rarely had the opportunity to see her growing up. This didn’t mean that you weren’t occasionally shipped out to arrive at her doorstep for a few weeks at a time over the summer months.

Your memories of her appearance are mostly flashes of the few moments you saw her. Knotted joints on her body, silver hair hidden behind a headscarf she always wore, and the way her shoulders would stoop with each shuffling step she took. What you remember more vividly was the way she acted when the two of you went out. Her trembling hands—Parkinson’s, you think your parent may have mentioned—would always press an iron nail into yours to put in your pocket before you departed.

“They like to wait on the coastlines,” she had murmured when you asked why she gave this to you. “And they’ll like you the most.”

She would not offer any further information, nor would she let you out until the nail was securely tucked away. Despite how slowly she would move on your many walks along Benvoy Beach, you never once failed to miss the way her sharp gaze would always be fixated on the unruly seas beyond.

She dies when you’re ten years old. Her funeral is a vivid affair. Your grandmother’s humble home has been transformed into a centre of traffic within a matter of hours since her passing, barely giving your family a moment to breathe despite catching the red-eye flight earlier that day. People you have never seen before shaking your small hand and offering their condolences. The strong fragrance of unknown flowers and cheap perfume fills each room, suffocating out any last semblance of your grandmother that may have still lingered. It feels more like they’re spitting on her memory than honouring it. You know your grandmother—she is, was, a quiet woman, and not one for all this pomp and circumstance.

Perhaps this is why no one notices when you sneak out and down the rocky hills.

You slip on several rocks and scrape up your hands really good by the time your feet hit the familiar sandy beach below. With the way the sun is beginning to set, the waters seem to be a wine-red color, swirling in their chaotic fervour to reach the earth you stand on. You pause to take several breaths before kicking your shoes off and stepping forward into that hungry sea.

Your parent will be furious at you for dirtying up your formal garb, but this isn’t at the forefront of your mind right now as your eyes slide shut and you stretch your arms wide. You feel the wind rush along your body and the fragrance of salt overtake you as you spill your grief into the vast waters, letting it mix and swirl into that abyss for a moment of catharsis.

It’s when the wind carries the scent of something pungent that your eyes snap open again. The foulness is brief, and for a moment you write it off as simply a byproduct of the ocean, until it returns again stronger than before. It smothers the brine and has your head turning to look around for the source. You look over your left shoulder at the empty beach around you. The sun continues to set, and your gaze tracks the path of a gull flying overhead before you look over your shoulder once more.

This time, someone is waiting.  

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. The reason why we are scared of things that try to look like us, why we try so hard to ward them off, is because we know that anything that wants to be like a human certainly has no good intent in their heart. This is the case for the figure you see standing on the beach.

They’re wearing the same dark funeral garb you had seen the others in your grandmother’s home wearing. A wide-brimmed hat sits upon their head to conceal most of their features, although you can see scarlet hairs peeking out, and their hands appear to be clasped behind their back as they stand stoically ahead. Despite the winds that bite at your cheeks, not a single scrap of fabric on the figure’s body moves. It’s as though they’re cut from a painting and placed in real life.

You both observe each other in silence. You can feel your body locking up as your mind chants to you wrong, wrong, wrong, over and over again like a mantra. Your right hand drifts down to your pant pocket—you did not take a nail with you before you left the home.

They like to wait on the coastlines, and they’ll like you the most.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The figure smiles—black, sharp, and not quite human. 

Something in your gut tells you to run and you, even as a rebellious child, do as you’re told. Your body twists around to scramble towards the rocks as your feet slip in the wet sand. You completely discard grabbing your shoes in your haste to get away, fully accepting the agony that the stones ripping into your soles will bring as consequence.

You don’t get very far. Whatever is on the beach with you is far quicker than you will ever be. Within moments of you turning, its cold fingers dig into your shoulders. You scream—cry—as the figure leans down and the pungent aroma of rotting fish emanates with each breath it exhales. You thrash and twist in its grip until you face each other, and you lock eyes with her.  

She looks exactly as she did the last time you saw each other. Same knotted limbs, same silvery hairs, same stoop of her shoulders.

She stares down at you. The wind whips the loose strands of her hair around her face, and her eyes are the cloudy blue of the dead as something begins to claw in your mind. You watch as her thin and cracking lips form the syllables to your name—but it’s lost to the roar of an ever-cacophonous sea. The ground surges up around you, wrapping thorns—thorns? —around your legs. They bite into your skin, draw ruby gems from beneath your frigid flesh, and when you lift your head again, your grandmother merely continues to wear her blackened smile at the sight.

You cry out once more, but just like your name, your pleas are stolen away by the winds.

Everything lasts all but a few moments before the sea finally reaches what it has been clawing for. 

[sunlightmurdock]

I'm in a really angsty mood after listening to sad songs so in the usual rich person x normal person stories the rich person is usually embarrassed about being in a relationship with them but for mechanic bradley I feel like girly really wants to make the relationship public but bradley is embarrassed

how are we feeling about this wrong/not wrong/could be better?

Ooof yes! Immediately thinking of the song 18 by Anarbor, not in the sense that reader is 18 — just in the sense that Bradley very much assumes that whatever is going on between them must be a phase for reader, and that she’s just using him to sow her wild oats or whatever

He’s cool with that at first.

Taking her out for rides on his bike, sneaking into her room late at night, making out in his truck. That one time he broke someone’s nose for getting too handsy with her seemed to be a personal favourite of hers.

He figures that she wants him because he’s trouble, that she gets off on the excitement or something.

But then he starts to feel himself getting attached. He likes the way she looks at him, and the way she talks about him, the gentle way she runs her fingers through his hair and the way she makes his bed smell of perfume.

Then, when she’s laying in his arms one day and they’re catching their breaths, covered in sweat and exhausted — she tells him that she wants him to meet her parents.

So, he decides to end it. Screwing around is one thing, but being paraded around for them to hate him is another. If she wanted a bad boy then she should have known that this would end with him breaking her heart.

“What?”

“I don’t want anything serious.” He shrugs as he steps back into his jeans, stone-faced, his back to her. His throat tight. “You know that.”

And immediately she’s thinking about the flowers he has given her, the forehead kisses and the way he touches her. She knows by now that when things get difficult, he puts his walls up.

“Don’t do this.” She whispers, pulling the sheets with her to cover her up as she walks over to him. He tenses as he feels her press close to him, kissing the sweat from his shoulder. “Please. Bradley, you’re important to me, I-I care about you — and I know you care about me.”

He tries to shrug her off, shaking his head softly.

“What’s the point?” He scoffs, turning slowly to face her. “They’re never going to think I’m good enough for you.”

[tkingfisher]

Following the monk seals snorting eels post, I’d said that it wouldn’t be the tenth weirdest thing I’d heard about mammals. And then someone in the tags asked what the ten weirdest WOULD be.

Okay, I’ll confess there was some hyperbole there, because I didn’t have ten off the top of my head, but here’s three that strike me as A Thing:

CW: Animal injury and death! Also it’s disgusting! Read at own risk!

We all mostly know about hyena genitals by now, which is pretty wild in and of itself, but it gets weirder. Given that they have to give birth through the pseudo-penis, you’d think they’d be better at it, but the umbilical cord isn’t as long as the lady hyena’s junk, AND there’s a weird elbow turn, so cubs often suffocate on the way out. This may explain why they’re born so goddamn angry that siblings have been observed fighting *while still inside the amniotic sac.*

(I once peed while surrounded by hyenas. The African bush is not an easy place for a woman with a small bladder.)

(That’s not a weird mammal fact, except insomuch as I am a weird mammal.)

Lemurs will take giant millipedes, nip them to make them secrete toxins, then rub the millipede on their fur as insect repellent. But the millipede toxins also make them High As Fuck and cause them to salivate, so you end up with a bunch of stoned, drooling lemurs passing around a millipede that probably had other stuff to do today, dammit.

Ambergris is a weird waxy mass that stinks like the devil eating sardines in hell, and so of course is used in perfume. (It mellows.) For centuries nobody actually knew where it came from, just that it would sometimes wash up on shore. Eventually it was discovered in the guts of sperm whales and some clever soul figured out that it involved the indigestible bits of squid, like beaks. “Aha!” said humanity, “it must be whale vomit!”

Humanity, alas, was unduly optimistic. See, the whales regurgitate most of the squid beaks normally—they’ve got four stomachs, like a ruminant, and since they can’t chew, the first stomach is super tough and muscular to crush their food and to resist the assault of the squid, which is often still alive at this point—and so if they barfed up the beaks, there would be no ambergris. But sometimes they swallow the beaks instead and it lodges in the softer bits of the whale intestines. And then more beaks get hung up on it and more and basically it’s like a whale bezoar, and since this is of course moderately painful, the body secrete a mucusy goo to cover the sharp edges so it doesn’t poke the soft bits, the way an oyster coats sand to make a pearl.

Except, of course, it’s a whale intestine, not an oyster, and instead of a grain of sand, it’s like the world’s most disgusting Katamari. (Okay, technically it’s called a coprolith, aka “shit rock” but it’s just sitting there hooking any indigestible bits that get hung up on it, as well as a bunch of whale poop, and getting bigger and bigger, so I stand by my simile, dammit.)

Now, if you get a whale who keeps swallowing their beaks, over time, the coprolith gets so big that it creates an intestinal blockage. And at that point, one of two things happens. Either the sheer force of liquid whale poo trying to come out dislodges the coprolith and the whale takes the sort of crap that songs are written about…

…or the whale’s gut explodes. (Well, ruptures.) And the whale expires, bloats, pops, goes through the process of whale fall (which is amazing in and of itself) and the ambergris floats to the surface and marinates in seawater for a decade or so, casts up on a beach, and gets sold for a whopping $10k a pound.

Interestingly enough, making ambergris is a very rare condition, found in less than 5% of male sperm whales. (It only happens in males. Don’t ask me why.) Hunting sperm whales for ambergris would be ludicrously inefficient, and it’s classed as a “found” object under international treaties, which means that you can sell it if you find it cast up on a beach, unless you’re in the US, which classes it as a by-product of an endangered species, although enforcement is usually a little more concerned with the people smuggling live parrots in their socks and not with your disgusting lump of found whale poop.

So, yeah. Mammals. We’re a thing.

[sanzusslutt]

Drunk!Rindou x Y/N

cw: alcohol, Rindou is wasted, f! reader, also reader gets afraid of Rindou.

You were sleeping peacefully after a long day at school when the sound of the doorbell echoed inside your house two or three times.

Someone really wanted you to wake up..

You got up and slowly walked towards the door. Your mother had to stay in the hospital that night, meaning that you were all alone. It wasn't the first night you had to stay alone in the house but you were nervous given the fact that you haven't talked to neither Ran nor Rindou the last week and you didn't have anyone else to call in case something happens.

You went to check the peephole in the door only to see the last person you expected to be out of your door this late at night. Blond hair with light blue highlights and purple eyes looked straight at you like they knew you were looking through.

"Rin?.." You called. not getting any answer you took the decision to open the door and let the man inside your house.

You quickly unlocked the door in worry that he might be hurt. He was standing on the doorframe, hands crossed and head rested on the frame unable to move around. He seemed.. skeptical..

"Rin, its 3 a.m. What are you doing here at this hour? Are you okay?.." You asked. still getting no answer from him.

Instead, he slammed his hand on the outside of the door, opening it, stepped inside and slammed it shut again, making you jump. What scared you was the fact that he looked angry but didn't seem injured and he didn't have anything on his clothes that could prove that he was in a fight. Meaning that, he was irritated either with you or with Ran. Given the fact that he was in your house, you must be the cause for his behavior.

He came closer to you, making you step back and eventually pushing you against the cold wall. You tried to escape by going through your left but he quickly closed your way by putting his hand on the wall next to your head. Mirroring his moves, he does the same thing on your right side and by putting his leg between your own, he traps you among his mascular body and the cold hard wall.

"Rin?.. What is going on?.." You asked, moving your head upwards to look at him, feeling small in comparison to his large body.

"Why.. Why can't you just.." He whispered, that being the first thing he said to you in weeks.

The smell of alcohol in his breath hitted you like a train. You've seen the brothers drink but never drunk. Rindou always wants to have control over what he does and says so you never imagined that you'd see him stoned and out of hand.

He slowly came closer as he rested his left hand on your waist and his right formed a fist against the wall. The gap between your lips closing as he got closer, feeling your stomach overflow with butterflies at the thought of his soft lips against yours.

Your imagination ran wild with what could happen after this kiss, the thought alone made you light up but also unable to move.

His lips ghosted yours as you could feel his hot breath hit your mouth.

Rindou stopped some centimeters away from your lips and instead you could feel him go near your exposed and sensitive neck. He inhaled the familiar smell of your body wash as he rested his heavy head on your shoulder, his scared hand never leaving your waist. His fist on his right hand gets tighter as he punched the hard wall, making you jump.

"Who was that guy you were with yesterday at the club?.." He asked as he cleanched his jaw. He knew very well who the guy was but the alcohol made him say things without thinking them through.

"W- Who?.." You tried to recall your moves the day before but with his head on your shoulder, his hand on your waist and his leg between your own, it was impossible.

"That bastard... He had his hands on your waist just like this and you danced together.." He murmured as he tighten his grip on your waist.

"I.. I can't remember.." Your mind was getting foggy from the strong perfume he wore, making you dizzy.

"Why him?.. how could you.." He slightly raised his head from your shoulder getting better access to your neck. "Even after  that... I.. I still can't get you out of my head.." He softly kissed the side of your neck, sending chills down your spine. "Your smell" He inhaled once again. "Your soft skin" He kissed and bit your neck, hard enough to leave a mark for a few days. "Your sweet and kind personality..." He came closer to your ear. "You're just perfect.." He whispered against your ear, making you melt on his words.

His face came to his previous position in front of yours, lip to lip but still lacked contact. "The things you say and do have such a fucking affect on me, you can't even imagine.." His gaze travelled downward, admiring your trapped body against his.

You slightly tilded your head to the side and lowered your look, your eyes caching a glimpse of the bulge in his pants, making your knees weak and your insides turn in such a delicious way.

"Rin I-.." Your voice came out a little needier than expected but it was cut off by his big hand on your mouth, blocking any sound.

"No.. don't.. I know..." He removed his hand from your mouth, holding your face with his intex finger and his thumb caressing your full of lust lips.

Rindou moved his head upwards, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead and sighed as he removed his hands of your body.

"I'm sorry... for all of this.. " His voice breaking as he quickly turned around, opened the door and closed it again, leaving you alone on your empty cold house.

You were left standing on the wall, slowly sliding down on the cold wooden floor, curling your body with your hands hugging your weak knees, and your face bent and hidden by your hands. Tears started building in your eyes as you began thinking that this was probably the last time you ever talked to him.

ps: this is a part from the new chapter of my Wattpad story "At Your Mercy" if you liked it I recommend you take a look at it! also requests are open!

2ps: want a smut version?.. I kinda want to write one..

[bravevulnerability]

prompt: the 3x13 kiss happened in s1 or s2

A/N: I feel like you all figured out my weakness for Knockdown...

Set during 2x24, A Deadly Game; Beckett and Castle didn't figure out that their victim was not a real spy quite so quickly.

-

"Good evening, 223, the informant has been identified. Ally contact will meet you at Café Moulin in 315 hours with further instructions. If compromised, return to Belvedere Castle. Aid will be dressed in black. Wear the pin. Use the following code phrase, "Aren't you Steve's friend?" Response, "No, Steve is my brother." Good luck, 223."

-

"Our victim's a spy, so we have to play the spy game," Castle muses, walking with her through the park. "Act natural."

"Castle, you are the one making weird hand signals at me," Beckett huffs.

"At least I look like I'm engaging in conversation and not scanning the trees for killers," he mutters, reaching for her hand and tucking it in his elbow. "There. Realism."

She rolls her eyes, but - much to his delight - does not yank her hand back. "What are we supposed to be, a couple on a romantic stroll?"

"Um, duh. Why else would we be walking through a park together at 2 p.m. on a Monday? For fresh air? If whoever killed our spy is watching, they already saw us at the crime scene this morning."

"Maybe it's pointless to even try playing this off," Beckett mutters, but her hand still remains relaxed and curled in the crook of his elbow.

"The boys are investigating the cafe, we sweep the park." He shrugs. "Can't hurt. Besides, it's a nice day."

She cuts her eyes to him, but her body remains a present heat at his side as the castle comes into view. They stroll up the stone steps leading to the main terrace of the castle. The wind is more prominent at this higher point in the park, the water of Turtle Pond surrounding the Belvedere rippling under the clouded sky.

The pavilion is barren at this time, the cool bite of spring still prominent enough in the air to discourage lingering visitors.

"Castle, ten o'clock," she murmurs, noting the man in black strolling in solidarity along the castle's perimeter, climbing up to the second level. "Think that might be our guy?"

He shrugs, following the other man's lead. "Only one way to find out."

But just a moment later, Esposito's voice crackles in her ear and Beckett's fingers tighten at his arm.

"We made contact in the café. The castle meeting is a trick, if you show up there trying to make contact with the dude in black, the jig is up. Fall. Back."

But they can't fall back. The guy is clocking them over his shoulder right now.

Kate shoves Castle into a curve of stone railing, using the nearest wall of the castle as cover. Spinning to face him with hands on his chest and body pressed up against him, she meets his gaze with a calm expression and a wild gaze.

"You hear that?" she murmurs. He nods, heart accelerating from both her proximity and the sudden threat. "We just play this off, okay?"

"Okay, I have an idea." She doesn't hesitate, her eyes so trusting on his, even as he relaxes his face into a smile and slides his hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

Her expression is priceless, wide eyes and parted lips, but she's smart, knows exactly what to do.

A very unlike-Beckett giggle flutters past her lips and she laces her arms around his neck, pressing her full weight against him.

"Is he watching us?" she grins, but her teeth catch on her bottom lip.

Castle leans forward to whisper in her ear, using the curtain of her hair to hide his gaze as he flicks it to the man. The guy is watching them from above.

Creepy.

"Yep," he mutters, drawing back to touch his hand to her face. Oh, and that startles her. "Play it cool, Beckett."

She huffs at him and leans in closer, impossibly close. He can smell the sweetness of her body lotion, the sharp bite of vanilla in her perfume.

"My bad for not loving the idea of a potential sniper watching us," she growls, but her hands are slipping down his sides, slithering beneath his jacket. His breath hitches and she arches an eyebrow. "Be cool, Castle."

"I..." Her eyes are on his mouth. He swallows hard. "Am."

Fine. Two can play it this game. While trying to survive being murdered.

He checks the potential killer once more, still staring at them like a peeping tom.

"My idea just got a little dumber but also a little more foolproof."

"Well, what are you waiting-"

He curls his hand at the back of her neck, holding her wide eyes, alive with fear and surprise and heat sparking like gold around her pupils, and then she's letting him draw her in.

She fists her hands in the sides of his shirt, as if bracing herself, but her lips are soft and willing when he presses his mouth to hers. A small hum vibrates against his lips, a sigh that flutters like relief from her mouth, and he feels some of his restraint, his careful, tender restrictions when it comes to Kate Beckett, slip away.

Rick lifts his other hand to her face, cradling her cheek as he kisses her more boldly, the feather light brush of his lips over hers deepening into a firm caress, a slow drag of his tongue to the seam of her mouth.

Her hands move, snaking from beneath his jacket to traipse up his chest, clutch at his shirt collar. Her mouth is suddenly alive beneath his, her body like a wave eager to rise, and he holds her as she crashes into him.

When she moans, a dirty little purr, he forgets everything except the feeling of Kate Beckett.

He spins her, swallowing her gasp as her spine connects with the railing, soothing the clash with his palm spanning her lower back, crushing her hips against his.

"Fuck, Castle," she groans around his tongue, raking fingers through his hair. "He's gone, he's gone."

She's gasping against his lips, but he's slow to let her go, to tear his mouth away from hers.

"Good," is all he says, moving his lips to her jaw, scaling the harsh bone until he tastes the throbbing beat of her pulse beneath his open mouth.

She mewls and shoves at his chest, but her hand is clawing at the back of his neck, holding him to her - her body and mind at war with what to do with him.

"Uh guys," Esposito's voice rattles to life in her ear once more and she startles hard in his arms. "I think we may have figured some stuff out here. Meet us back at the Twelfth."

Kate sucks in a deep breath and radios back, "Noted. On our way."

He's impressed by how calm, how steady, her voice is when her body is trembling against him. He whines when she tries to shrug free of him, earning a fierce glare.

Hot. So hot now that he knows how fierce her mouth can be on his.

"Castle, we gotta go," she pushes, straightening against him, hands slack against his chest now.

He's not ready to go yet. Not when he spent all weekend building up the courage to ask her to his beach house in the Hamptons and all he gets in return are coy smiles and sidelong looks he doesn't understand.

"I was serious," he says, earning the flicker of her attention for a moment longer. "About coming with me to the Hamptons this weekend."

"Oh, Castle," she sighs, pressing a hand to her eyes. "Just because we - this doesn't mean-"

"You kiss Demming like that?"

Her hand drops and her eyes flare towards him.

"Rick," she warns.

"I knew it would be good, Beckett, but I had no idea you'd be so eager. The way your teeth tugged on my-"

"Stop it, that is not-"

"Almost like you've been waiting to kiss me as long as I've been waiting to kiss you," he husks, tilting his head, lowering his eyes to her mouth. God, he already wants to kiss her again. "So I gotta know, do you kiss Demming like that?"

"That's none of your business," she mutters, but the fight isn't in her anymore. She's distracted, her throat bobbing as she flicks her eyes up from his mouth. "You and I are-"

"What?" he interrupts, placing both hands on the railing, on either side of her hips. Trapping her. "What are we, Kate?"

Her lips purse, eyes blazing with indecision.

"I know what I want to be," he muses when she fails to respond. "Do you?"

He pushes off the railing, bends to snag the scarf he managed to shove from her neck, and turns to walk on ahead. The catch of her fingers in his jacket reels him back in, jerks him back into place against her. Kate's mouth on his is hot, certain, and he groans against her, kisses her back instinctively.

"No," she husks, lips moving over his as she speaks. "But maybe I'd be willing to figure it out. This weekend. On a beach."

His heart could explode with joy, catches on fire when she scrapes her teeth over his bottom lip. Oh, he may not survive a weekend with her.

"But first, we need to finish this case and I - I need to talk to Tom," she admits, drawing back just enough to knock her forehead against his in a kind of intimacy that has the heat between them simmering to warmth.

Castle nods, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, brush his thumb to her swollen lips.

"I can wait," he swears to her, taking a resolute step back. "But just know, I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about that - this."

Her cheeks flush, but she's smirking as she steals her scarf back. "Yeah, well, me either, Castle."

"Hurry," he murmurs, grabbing her hand and starting towards the steps that lead back into the park. "We need to get back to the precinct and solve this case. You'll need time to pack that swimsuit."

She hums as she fixes her scarf around her neck and slips past him.

"Who said anything about a swimsuit?"

[cliaban-rilag]

Alvea’s inventory (mahariel version)

trying to draw something different to get me out of artblock. as always, i went a bit wild with the details hhhh

1. Healer’s kit: disinfectant, cloths, poultices, bandages, powders, thread and needles, salves, herbs etc. When Alvea’s healing magic needs a little bit of help

2. Raw amber chunks. Great gemstones for augmenting fire spells

3. A scrap of her original circle robes

4. Mabari crunch. Snacks for the best boy of Ferelden

5. Enchanted silverite sword. The enchantments on it allow her to channel magic through it and use it instead of a staff.

6. A lyrium potion. Used very rarely, only for emergencies.

7. Zevran’s earring (ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ✿) 

8. Amber ring, swiped from the circle’s depository. What is strange about this ring is that it does not seem to fit anyone other than Alvea.

9. Brass brooch. A memento of Alvea’s deceased lover. The fastener has been broken and mended many times, but it’s a constant element of Alvea’s equipment.

10. Herbal soap. Smells nice.

11. Dangly earring with a chalcedony stone. First possession bought by Alvea with her own money.

12. Bone comb of Dalish make, bought from the clan in Bercilian forest.

13. Eye kohl (for darkening her eyelashes), red lip and cheek tint and perfume.

13. Fireheart - a staff light enough to be wielded with one hand, with a heart-shaped amber stone at the top. It emits a constant, soft glow, which brings to mind embers of a dying fire.

[perfumefactory]

Find the Best Online Perfume Combos for Men

Making an impression that lasts requires making the perfect scent choice. Perfume combos for men offer a convenient and cost-effective way to build a versatile fragrance collection. Now, locating the ideal perfumes for men online has always been more complex due to the ease of internet buying. Exploring the range of men's fragrances available online is a beautiful opportunity to find a variety of aromas, whether you want to expand your fragrance collection or locate the ideal present for a loved one.

Why buying a men's perfume combo is the best option?

Men's perfume combos provide a variety of scent alternatives in a single container. These combinations offer a varied selection to suit various events and emotions, whether you favour fresh and aquatic notes, oriental and spicy undertones, or woody and masculine fragrances. Opting for perfume combos allows you to experiment with various scents without committing to a full-sized bottle.

Individual perfume bottles can be expensive, particularly for high-end designer scents. Perfume combos for men are more affordable than individual bottles since they frequently sell for less. Because of their accessibility, you may afford to experience a range of perfumes.

Men's fragrance sets are beautiful presents for important occasions. These sets are meaningful and valuable gifts for every occasion, including birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Additionally, online platforms provide gift-wrapping and customized message possibilities, which elevate your present.

To assure the authenticity and quality of the scents, it is essential to select reliable websites and authorized merchants when buying men's perfumes online. You may feel confident purchasing a high-quality scent collection when you shop on reputable online platforms selling authentic items from well-known companies.

Conclusion

Perfume combos for men by Wild Stone are a great option for adding to your collection of perfumes. These combos offer an excellent opportunity to improve your grooming regimen. Take advantage of the convenience of buying men's fragrances online; you can choose from an extensive range of premium scent combos.

[codegrooming]

Foolproof Fragrance Notes Every Man Should Own

Ever found yourself standing in the cologne aisle, surrounded by more options than a buffet, and wondered, "What the heck do I choose?" Well, most of us have been there. To help you out, we have decoded the foolproof fragrance notes that every man should own.

Citrus Notes

Nothing says sophistication like a dash of citrus. Lemon, bergamot, and orange notes are like the OGs of fragrances. They're cool and crisp and leave an impression that lingers longer than a good mystery novel. Copper by Wild Stone CODE is the perfect body spray for men if you like Citrusy, balanced fragrances. 

Woody Notes 

Sandalwood, cedarwood, and vetiver are like the backbone of good woody fragrances. They give it that earthy, grounded vibe—like you just took a stroll through a lush forest. Plus, it's like the olfactory equivalent of a strong, confident handshake—memorable and undeniably powerful.

Earthy Notes

These are rugged, grounded, and effortlessly cool notes. Moss, patchouli, and leather will have you smelling like you just stepped out of an adventure. Perfect for casual weekends or when you want to channel your inner explorer without actually leaving the city.

Leather Notes

 It's the scent equivalent of slipping into a perfectly worn-in leather jacket. Masculine, timeless, and undeniably cool leather notes bring an edge to your fragrance collection. It's like the secret weapon in your olfactory arsenal when you want to leave a lasting impression.

Spicy Notes

A hint of pepper or a touch of cardamom can make your fragrances unexpectedly irresistible. Terra Luxury Perfume by Wild Stone CODE has balanced spicy notes that add warmth and depth, making your scent linger in the air like a subtle invitation to come closer.

Now, here's a pro tip: don't be afraid to mix it with other Grooming Products for men, like moisturiser, body salves, etc., for a long-lasting appeal.

Fragrance is a personal expression, like choosing the perfect playlist for your mood. Feel free to mix and match these notes to find your signature scent. Experiment, have fun, and let your nose be your guide.

[hamletthedane]

Transcribing the Oscar Wilde Questionnaire

Because nearly every response is a gem. (Here's a link to a high-res photo of the questionnaire, completed by Wilde in 1877)

N: Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, 1877

Your Favourite

Colour? couleur de rose (often a [red?]).

Flower? Lilium Auratum

Tree? Stone Pine and Lemon Tree

Object in nature? The sea (when there are no bathing machines)

Hour in the day? Post hour.

Season of the Year? Beginning of autumn.

Perfume? almond blossoms

Gem? Sapphire in winter / Diamond in summer.

Style of Beauty? that of Guido [Reni]'s St. Sebastian and of the "Venus of Melos [sic - Milo]"

Names, Male and Female? Eucharis, Florence, Cecil

Painters? Fra Angelico; Turner; Caravaggio.

Musicians? Mozart, Gounod, Chopin.

Piece of Sculpture? Apoxyomenos of Vatican.

Poets? Euripides, Keats, Theocritus, and myself.

Poetesses? Sappho and Lady [Jane] Wilde

Prose Authors? Plato and John Ruskin.

Character in Romance? Achilles; Nausikaa

[Character] in History? Dr Newman. Alexander.

Book to take up for an hour? I never take up books for an hour.

What book (not religious) would you part with least? my Euripides.

What epoch would you choose to have lived in? the Italian Renaissance.

Where would you like to live? Florence and Rome.

What is your favourite amusement? writing sonnets, and Riding.

What is your favourite occupation? Reading my own sonnets .

What trait of character do you most admire in man? the power of attracting friends.

What trait of character do you most admire in woman? the power of becoming either a Cleopatra, or a St. Catherine

What trait of character do you most detest in each? Vanity; self esteem; conceitedness

If not yourself, who would you rather be? a Cardinal of the Catholic Church

What is your idea of happiness? Absolute power over men’s minds, even if accompanied by chronic toothache.

What is your idea of misery? living a poor and respectable life in an obscure village.

What is your bête noir [sic]? a thorough Irish Protestant

What is your dream? getting my hair cut

What is your favorite game? Snipe and Lawn Tennis

What do you believe to by your distinguishing characteristics? [the word “humility” is scribbled-through] inordinate self-esteem

If married, what do you believe to be the distinguishing characteristics of your better-half? Devotion to her husband [Note: written high in margin as cheeky reference to response in #34]

What is the sublimest passions of which human nature is capable? asceticism; ambition

What are the sweetest words in the world? Well Done!

What are the saddest words? Failure!

What is your aim in life? success, fame or even notoriety

What is your motto? [No response]

[moodymisty]

↢ Bad Batch Kinks ↣

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

Authors note: Now, is it really kink HCs if I don't say Hunter has a predator/prey kink? It's like a right of passage.

Relationships: Hunter/Fem!Reader, Tech/Fem!Reader, Echo/Fem!Reader, Wrecker/Fem!Reader, Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only please, Predator/Prey kink, Bondage, Oral, Power Play/Dynamics, Voyeurism, Dom/Sub,

✦ Hunter ✦

Hunter will salivate over anything that makes use of his senses. It's not something he can control, the way they make him feel; Even if he has a good mastery over them. But it isn't long before you have mastery over them as well, and you can now often make him tick without so much as lifting a finger.

Scent: Your natural one, as Hunter hates perfumes. They're far too strong, and often end up giving him headaches. But more importantly, he wants to smell you; The smell of your skin, your sweat, the wetness between your legs that can torment him with everyone else around him being none the wiser.

You'll be sitting down purposely thinking of him, the last time you'd been together, subtly rubbing your thighs together as you pretend to just adjust the way you're sitting. All the while Hunter- who was just standing behind you minding his own business- now has his hands almost bending the back of the seat, with how hard he's gripping it.

It's about to snap underneath his fingers as he tries not to breathe in too deeply. The very second he has you alone he traps you, pressing his face against your neck breathing deeply while whispering to you to 'stop torturing him like this', while you decide to play coy in response.

Hearing/Predator & Prey: It had started largely as an innocent question about his hearing. Which ended up into a discussion about Hunter's ability to track people down, that was on a scale not many could beat.

'How fast do you think you could find me?' You remember asking him, sitting on two bar stools in a Coruscant food stall.

He'd given you a three minute head start, you snarfing down the last bite of food and paying before rushing off into the crowd. Hunter paid for his own, before eventually going after you.

Even if this was Uscru, a district filled with filth and stenches and sounds, Hunter could still quite easily track you down, pushing through a sea of people and droids.

But it was your frantic heartbeat that had given you away, hidden in the back corner of an alleyway. He had stormed down that alleyway like he was after a target, his shoulders squared and head straight forward.

It was then, through the sounds of his own heart and his hot breath trapped in his helmet did he realize how hard he was, his blood rushing in his ears. It was like he was a frayed rope about to snap the way he had looked at you when you'd been caught, before Hunter towed you off deeper into the shadows.

✦ Tech ✦

Tech is always in the pursuit of learning. So when you came along, a whole new brain to pick? No question is left unasked and no stone is left unturned. Tech is a wild card; And as long as it’s planned out together and safe, he’s willing to try anything once. Which means sometimes you have no idea what he wants to do next.

Bondage/Shibari: He was the one who'd brought it up, to tie you up. Ever keen eyed Tech noticed you often gripped him or something else, knuckles white, whenever you were together. He wanted to see what would happen if he took that away from you, tying your hands behind the headrest of the pilot's seat the first time he'd done it.

After that however Tech had gotten curious; And his curiousness often leads him on paths of research down which he'd never come out empty handed.

More complicated knots, different positions, using whole lengths of rope or barely any at all, Tech had done his research and was intent to put it to test, as he did with all else.

Sometimes he'd do knots and patterns that you'd consider art, not too tight or loose against your skin as you laid or sat or stood; Completely helpless.

Sometime later however he asked you to do it to him, and while Tech was always largely unphased by this sort of thing, you didn't miss the way his face felt hot when you'd touched it. He guided you through the whole setup, each knot, loop, twist and turn, until you'd stumbled your way through.

By the time you had, and Tech was well and truly restrained, he was already begging you to come closer. Turns out he liked being on the receiving end just as much, if his beat red face was anything to go by.

Toys: Tech is a genius. He was bred to be that way, it was a core part of his identity. But sometimes you hated that fact, hated that he was so damn smart and was able to whip together feats of engineering with leftover scrap and scavenged bits.

You spend a lot of time apart from him, and in all of his late night tinkering, the result came in the form of a box on your doorstep. It was from a proxy address, but you knew well it was from Tech by the meticulous look.

You took the box inside and sat with it on your bed, opening it and pursing your lips realizing instantly what it was on first sight. Tech had actually gone through the effort- how he did it without getting busted by his brothers you didn't know- to make you an actual honest to gods vibrator, even in your favorite color. You wouldn't ask how he found body safe silicone on Kamino.

You put it away in your bedside drawer, until you'd taken it out three days later in the late evening deciding to use it before you went to sleep. In bed you flicked it on and not five minutes later, you were interrupted with a sudden call. Tech, the ID said.

You got around three sentences into the call before you realized he had called because he knew you'd turned it on; By some intricate programming or who knows what no doubt. You turned beat red and called him 'the most perverted clone on Kamino', listening to him laugh. Tech would only be inspired to make more, and soon enough, that drawer was starting to become full of all sorts of things; Some for you, for him, or for both.

✦ Crosshair ✦

Crosshair is complicated. He rarely does-if ever-speak without thinking first, and keeps most things to himself. He was(and still sometimes is) impersonal, always a step away from you both physically and emotionally. But as time passed and you slowly wormed your way in, Crosshair started to actually show how he felt about you; Instead of hiding it.

Dom/Sub: What had started as Crosshair trying to stay emotionally distant had slowly morphed into something far more than that, feeling his hand gently rake through your hair after he ties your wrists together.

He'll expect no less than absolute obedience, and sometimes you'll play along; Sometimes you won't. He'll grab your jaw, turn it facing him and threaten to punish you if you don't, while you're fighting against the bonds that keep you tied down.

He'll only reward you if he gets exactly, down to the letter, what he wants; And he'll settle for nothing less.

Although he won't mind if you take the reins from him sometimes; But you'll have be ready to fight every centimeter. Crosshair is a brat, the most snide, disrespectful thing that you have to fight and claw to make even an inch in taming him.

He doesn't say please easy, and you'll find yourself on him for what seems like hours until he finally gives in. But when you're done one of you will get a glass of water for the other and Crosshair will ruffle your hair, finally having a moment of softness since he knows he's here with just you.

Voyeurism: Crosshair's a tease. He was when you first met him, he was when you ended up becoming what you could maybe call friends- Clone Force 99 wasn't exactly good at making traditional friends- and he was after he'd kissed you in the middle of an argument. And nothing stops him; Anytime of day, anywhere, you can never predict when he'll suddenly want to make your life a whole lot harder.

All you'd asked was a curious question about his rifle, and the thing was in your hands before you'd even realized. The safety was on and your finger was nowhere near the trigger, but Crosshair still stayed close. Until you realized he wasn't staying close for safety at all; Pressing his body against yours, hands on your forearms as you hold the rifle in your hands. You can feel his hips against your ass, his chest against your shoulder blades but you hold firm, pursing your lips before asking him a simple question.

But Crosshair wants to make you crack, make you beg him as his gloved hands slide down your arms to your hands. And he's not going to make it easy. He grabs your hips and moves them almost grinding against him under the guise that your stance is all wrong; That if you fired the rifle you'd get toppled over.

You need to get out of here; Away from the Marauder thats in the landing bay, away from the other clones in the shooting range, wherever you are. He follows you back, and while you end up scolding him for making you a mess, it's far from the last time he does it.

✦ Wrecker ✦

Wrecker is as much of a gentle giant as you would think. He's always careful, making sure he never grabs, pushes, or hugs too hard. And while as much as he tries you still sometimes get little marks on your skin, they're nothing horrible. If anything, in a way you think they're sweet; Wrecker loves you so much but he tries so much to be gentle, even if sometimes he slips up and grabs a tiny bit too hard.

Size difference: But one thing Wrecker will never get over is how small you are compared to him. That he dwarfs you in height, and in sheer size.

After it was well established you didn't mind being tossed around Wrecker would often jokingly use you as a weight, grabbing you with one arm; or you'd sit on his back while he did push ups and he'd admire how you looked. Like you were on your own little island that was his back.

You look so cute, with your little hands and shoulders compared to his own.

But Wrecker has a vivid memory; Of once in a fit of spontaneity you’d pulled him into a small cramped room intent to have your way with him, snickering the whole way. He followed, looking down at your hand wrapped around his fingers as you led him towards your destination. Once inside you were lightning quick to pull him downward by his chestplate and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. While he hefted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist.

It was spontaneous, bits of clothing and armor were out of place; As much both of you try and largely fail to be quiet. But in the cramped room your feet kept hitting the wall and banging it, ringing the metal.

You both move and adjust until Wrecker suddenly grabs your ass harder and moves your legs, pulling them straight upward and effectively folding you in half; Ankles over his shoulders. You both don't last much longer after that, and afterwards Wrecker files it away in his memory to do that again, as soon as he's able.

Oral: You remember the first time you tried oral with Wrecker; It was messy and uncoordinated, but more than made up for by enthusiasm.

By the time you were tired and aching you were soaked, as was the lower half of Wrecker's face. And the next day you'd found out that you were now sporting some large but light colored bruises on your ass and backs of your thighs, from where he'd grabbed and pulled you close to his face and didn't budge even a fraction while you writhed.

Wrecker- having noticed your wincing as you sat down- had started to feel guilty for hurting you, vowing he'd never do it again. But with a glow on your face you told him it was fine and to please, do it again; And it was only seconds before he said yes. Wrecker never had a shot at saying no, not when you looked at him like that, and taste so good.

✦ Echo ✦

Echo during his pre-citadel days had a good bit more spunkiness, but now that he was more machine than man, he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive about his appearance. He knew that you hugging or laying on him left marks on your skin, that his entire lower body was unforgiving, molded metal. But you'd been on him making sure you batted away those thoughts, making sure that he didn't believe them. And as a hopeful result, Echo had gained a some of that confidence back, no longer using so much self-deprecating humor or staring at his body and lamenting what once was.

Praise: But while you'd been oh so slowly sowing the seeds of confidence into Echo, he would always be weak to your kind words.

He almost found it pathetic sometimes, that he could be barely distracted and you'd call him your 'good boy' and he'd be putty in your hands, chin on your shoulder as your hand drifted along his side.

Echo swore you could have half the clone army if you spoke to them like that, with your fingers curled around his jaw pulling his cheek to your lips. Your lips trail closer to his own whispering 'how handsome he is' as you moved to straddle his lap, taking his bottom lip gently between your teeth. You were a devious torture; Because he always wants more.

Power Play: Echo remembers the day you'd awoken something new in him, calling him some sort of half-witted insult and teasingly pinching his arm. He'd told you to cut it out while trying not to smile, and with a pouting face, you'd sang the words 'Sorry, Corporal.'

Echo had thought about the way you'd said it- with a breathy, teasing tone- in the evening that followed. But it was only once he was going to sleep and realized that his body felt hot; That he was getting off on the idea, did he decide to ask you.

The next time you were alone, your hands trailing up his chest he asks you with a nervous stutter; If he could put his armor back on.

When you'd said yes, pursing your lips to try and hide a smile, Echo left and returned not too long later with his full set of gear; Kama and all.

You don't remember much of what happened after, but you do remember making your commanding officer very pleased with your preformance.

[krscblw]

ghoul element perfume associations!

i've done a few scent association lists for individual ghouls, and i thought it would be fun to do one for elements instead! it's a little more general, which lets me include perfume that i really like but that don't fit any of the ghouls exactly. as always, i would love your feedback!!

Usual warning: This might look weird on mobile, but it should be good on desktop. Apologies, I'd fix it if I knew how.

Earth: Dense, earthy, bitter, green scents reminiscent of forests, gardens, and ruins halfway reclaimed by nature.

Notes: wood, vetiver, greenery, moss, soil, fruit, rose, stone, fungus

Rose Fantôme - LVNEA

“Rose Fantôme breathes not the fresh blooming rose but the one that has been cut, left and forgotten. Now one with its surroundings, it blends with the scents of dried grass and lichen, hay, and dirt.” 

porcelain roses, immortelle, dried hay, graveyard soil, cepes, oakmoss, oakwood

Duende - Fantôme 

“The smell of being lost in an enchanted forest.”

oakmoss, cedar, fir, resinous labdanum, benzoin, tree sap, wild violets, lilac

(i have this one, it's forest-y but also pretty light for a forest perfume. definitely a summery, magical forest smell)

Holy Oak - LVNEA

“Holy Oak alchemizes the aromas of deep, damp oakwood and the dry warmth of cedar to evoke the sound, sight, and smell of a well-worn cabin woodframe creaking against the weight of tempestuous rainfall as it begins to slow.”

galbanum, cedar leaf, petrichor, frankincense, cedarwood, oakwood, oakmoss

Mount Auburn - Little & Grim

“A dizzying array of all the flora that buds in Massachusetts. Fragrant, fruity blossoms and towering trees shading gentle, winding paths.”

fresh raspberry, melon, honeysuckle, blooming lilac, wisteria, spruce

Love Among the Ruins - Alkemia 

“An ancient ruin of fallen stonework covered with lichen and tangles of flowering vines slowly disintegrating/returning to nature.”

stone ruins, lichen, tangles of flowering vines

Rochester - Fantôme

rich earth, crisp fallen leaves, sweet tobacco, a hint of patchouli, garden tomato, newly ripened autumn gourds

Vert Sur Le Vert - Alkemia  

green grasses, new leaves, tomato seedlings, crushed sweet grasses

Air: Scents that range from cold, sharp, and sweet to thick, powdery, and dusty – reflecting the versatility of air as an element. 

Notes: florals, musk, fruit, cold air, dust, sugar, honey, ozone

Lilacs Along the Winding Drive - Alkemia 

fresh lilacs, a gentle breeze after a light spring rain, a dusty pebbled driveway, a slightly rusty porch swing, and a small handful of late blooming violets

Hummingbird - Zoologist 

“This diaphanous scent alights upon you in a pastel bouquet of honeysuckle, mimosa, lilac and peonies, with just the lightest dusting of natural sugars found in pear, cherry and honey. A finishing dollop of velvety whipped cream melds the tantalizing notes, completing this irresistible and opulent perfume.”

apple, cherry, citrus, lilac, muguet, plum, rose, violet leaf, honey, honeysuckle, mimosa, peony, tulip, ylang, amber, coumarin, cream, moss, musks, sandalwood, white woods

Frost Flowers - LVNEA 

“Icy and cold, delicate yet jagged, floral ice crystals slowly melt to reveal a heart of dark florals at the center of this musky and enveloping oil perfume.”

tuberose, jasmine, black currant, ambrette, cypress, elemi resin

Thundersnow - Fyrinnae 

“On rare occasions within a system cold enough to produce ground level snow, the conditions are favorable for the right lifting and instability required to also produce lightning.”

cold air, electricity, metallic ozone, gasoline

Veil of Spidersilk - Nui Cobalt Designs

“Slender strands of cotton flower hung with trembling dewdrops… Wear to bless any new beginning and brighten the path ahead.”

cotton flower, dew, pale pink musk, tiny black vanilla beans, Margaret Merril rose, lily of the valley, neroli, honeysuckle, non-indolic jasmine

Mama Gein - Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab 

crushed baby’s breath dusted with baby powder

Foxfire - Alkemia 

white sugar ambers, jasmine aldehydes, night flowering nardo

Fire: Warm, heavy, lingering, spicy scents. Some fire ghouls smell like smoke and fire, but others smell like heat, metal, or spices. 

Notes: smoke, incense, spices, metal, patchouli, wood

Paimon - Fantôme 

“This is a warm, regal scent conjuring an endless sea of sand with the hint of an oasis of coconut and dark vanilla carried on a warm desert wind. Golden frankincense, black amber, and myrrh stir under the endless dunes of hot sand, grounding the bright, golden notes that shine under the unrelenting sun.”

hot sands, frankincense, myrrh, sun-bleached parchment, vanilla, black amber, coconut husk, gold

Eldritch - Pineward Perfume 

“Lair of ancient eldritch abominations, a resinous and dark perfume for the bold and unafraid.”

leather, myrrh, patchouli, fir, oolong tea, opoponax, smoke, pine needles, oakmoss

Stel - Treading Water Perfume 

motor oil, metal, desert air, frankincense, oud

Persian Tea Room - Alkemia 

spiced black tea, dry desert sand, spices, musk, soft leather

Firebird - Fantôme

“This is a rich, golden scent that emulates the golden apples and warm flame of the Firebird.”

smoldering embers, burning cloves, orange, golden saffron, endless forest, soot on feathers, soft flame, apple 

Dwarf - Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs  

iron filings, chips of stone, hops, soot-covered leather

Tyrannosaurus Rex - Zoologist  

“A sultry heat wafts across the land, lapped up greedily by the abundant flora that thrives in its midst… The Cretaceous period comes of age against a backdrop scorched by wildfire and lightning strikes.”

bergamot, black pepper, fir, laurel leaf, neroli, nutmeg, champaca, geranium, jasmine, osmanthus, rose, ylang ylang, resins, cade, cedar, civet, frankincense, leather, patchouli, sandalwood, vanilla

Water: Water ghouls tend to have smooth, cold scents. Some are sweet, some are sour, some are salty, but all of them reflect different bodies of water.

Notes: ozone, vanilla, water, citrus, seaweed, salt, sand, ice, tropical fruit

Triton - Fantôme

murky sea water, ambergris, ancient forest mosses, crushed ivy, frankincense, resins, ozone, a hint of citrus

Voice of the Sea - Alkemia 

“An olfactory musing from the underside of a wooden dock.”

salty sea breezes, sun-bleached driftwood, crushed seashells, lemon peel, barnacles, sand, and sea-soaked timbers

Dragonfly - Zoologist 

“Giant lotus pads part to make way for buds that pierce the surface of the jade green pond. They raise their faces to the sun, their delicate fragrance floating around them. In the shadow of the flowers, tiny dragonfly nymphs also emerge from the shallows. They spread their fragile wings and shyly take flight, ready to explore a world beyond the water.”

grapefruit, basil, angelica seed, ginger, rice, aquatic florals, geranium, jasmin sambac, mimosa, orris absolute, rose, violet leaves, rainwater, moss, patchouli, tonka, vetiver, benzoin, cashmeran

Acadia - Alkemia

“An olfactory portrait of coastal Maine.”

atlantic ocean fog, balsam fir pine needles, seaweed, bay leaves, saltwater, charred driftwood

Gelatto - Pineward Perfume 

“Suntanned skin and sunny beaches.”

makrut lime, jasmine sambac, mandarin orange, gardenia, massoia bark, sandalwood, ambergris

Squid - Zoologist   

“The vast ocean swells and contracts, caught in the relentless tug of the moon. Beneath the surface, a school of squid emerges. Strange, elastic forms propel from the deep in a frantic search for sustenance. They are not alone. Their predators lunge, only to be foiled by blinding jets of murky ink.”

pink pepper, solar salicylate, incense, black ink accord, salty accord, opoponax, ambergris, benzoin, musk

Seahorse - Zoologist  

“Balmy sunlight trips across foamy turquoise waves, sending rippling haloes onto the coral below. On the lagoon floor, anemone and seaweed sway in unison, limbs pumping to the rhythm of the current. Hovering among the coral branches, a group of seahorses gazes shyly on.”

guatemala cardamom, fennel, ambrette absolute, clary sage, tuberose, neroli, algae absolute, vetiver, ambergris accord

Quintessence: Heavy, warm, creamy scents. Quintessence ghouls tend to smell comforting, and their scents reflect human creations much more often than other ghouls’.

Notes: amber, leather, chocolate, alcohol, linen, lavender, wood, milk, vanilla

Amber Witch - Alkemia

aged dark arabian amber, honey musk, creamy bourbon caramels, spiced rum

Moon Magic - Sorcellerie Apothecary 

“Smells like your favorite cozy witch.”

lavender sugar, tonka bean, chai spices, vanilla steamed milk, cashmeran, ambroxan, crystals charged by moonlight

Sailing to Byzantium - Alkemia

papyrus, leather, ink, cardamon, orris, tonka, wet tweed, precious incense woods

Novella - Alkemia

“A cozy afternoon curled up in a favorite chair…”

spiced lavender de provence, steaming earl grey tea, old paperback books 

The Old Gods Survive - PULP Fragrance 

cherry pipe tobacco, golden amber, aged leather, oakmoss, old cedar chests

Solovey - Fantôme 

black amber, crushed violets, black currants, dark espresso, labdanum, black agarwood, tobacco

(one of my favorites of all time. it smells like nighttime but magical, somehow. the amber, violets, and espresso are most noticeable and it's so good. if dark purple was a scent it would be this imo)

Fleurs Historiques et Cacao - Alkemia 

“A historical recipe from the 1700's court of Versailles created by a mistress to delight a king. A paradox of the decadent and the divine…”    

dark cacao, french lavender, piquant black cardamom pods, tea with lemon peel, grapefruit blossom, vanilla musk

thank you for reading, and i would love to hear your thoughts! (also, gentle reminder if you got this far that reblogs are very appreciated!)