#and its a very nice faint sweet cucumber smell

[quasieli]

A friend gave me this pack of (skincare) face masks forever ago and I'm just trying one out for the first time and while it smells very nice, I'm now remembering why it's hard for me to keep up a good skincare routine. Gooey wet stuff on my face, very bad hate it don't want.

[glazeflower]

Because I see people do this I'll just fo it to

Characters and what they smell like

From different fandoms because why not i have actually ideas for them and otherwise it will be short if i did them separately and me no like Ft. Simeon,Kaeya Alberich,Amber,Kamisato Ayato, Arashi Narukami, Tatsumi Kazehaya, Tsukasa Suou and Riddle Roseheart

Simeon

It's a mixture of a faint smell of Ink and tea

It depends what he just did either writing or having tea with Luke

But most of the time its mixed

But you would smell tea more

Sometimes mint and sometimes herbel

Its always a good surprise when you smell his scent

Helps calm you down

Kaeya

A strong ass scented cologne

That you can smell after he walked past 5 min ago in the streets of Mondstad

But when your alone

You can smell the scent of wine that's been scented deep into his clothes

Mostly red or dandelion wine

And maybe the strong ass cologne too but less

Idk how to explain 😭😭

If it were an AU he would smell like Axe body spray

I'm sorry

This is no Kaeya slander or something i legit love him pls don't attack 😭😭

Amber

Depends on situation

If she just came back from a mission that requires her to use her vision

Then she smells like something burned

She smells like burned grass

But if she did her patrol with a glider then she smells like air, fresh air

But normaal days with no such situation then i think

A light smell of sweet flower parfum

Very nice to smell

Ayato Kamisato

Fancy cologne that's expensive

Also the smell of ink but stronger

When he has days off which are VERY rare

He smells flowery fresh idk how to properly describe it

When Thoma or other servants get's him milk tea

He will smell like it faintly

A bit like brown sugar

Very pleasant

Arashi Narukami

Depends on her mood a minty cologne that smells very faint or flowery parfum during Knights concerts

Goes often for the second option

When on normaal days off

She will smell very sweet and flowery

Has may scents in her collection but loves the sweet smelling once the most

When hugging her and sniffing her scent she smells like she just went to a flower field or flower shop

Very comfy

Tatsumi Kazehaya

A bit earthy little bit minty cologne when on stage

When in days off old books

Idk why he just give that vibe

You can't deny old books smell the best! Argue with the wall

Tsukasa Suou

On stage he has a fresh smelling cologne

Kinda like a cucumber and green tea combo

On off days he smells like tea and sweets

Cakes, tarts, parfait and etc

And like sweet tea

He smells like he just came out of a bakery/cafe

Maybe he did...

Riddle Roseheart

Old books

A bit of ink

Roses. 100%

And lastly pastries and tea

I think it's pretty clear on this one

I think this is all for now I hope you like it tbh i didn't know most pf the terms for scents. I also didn't know the word for mans parfum was called cologne. You learn something new everyday Uhm anyway i hope its accuraat hihi...

[aceofspadegrass]

Naps are Hard with Dead Bodies

Characters: Arisu Ryohei, Usagi Yuzuha, Kuina Hikari (Mentioned), Chishiya Shuntaro, Last Boss, Cabot (Briefly), Niragi Suguru

Genre: Crack. Arisu just wants a nap, but somebody ruined that for him. >:(

1.6k words

Based on this nice thing, because it gave me some nice old crack waiting to emerge from my deceitful little fingers. Let him sleep. He just wants a nap.....

Arisu trod through the halls, sipping the bottle of moscato he stole from Hatter’s room. The man didn’t see him walk in, nor walk out, so Arisu was safe assume he wouldn’t get caught for at least until 11 at night. Maybe later, if he’s lucky.

The halls were quiet, for the most part, the majority of the sound litter coming from outside or when the doors and walls just weren’t enough to block out the wails of pleasure and pain. He was just trying to get to his own room, which was thankfully somewhere that didn’t get nearly as much traffic. He mumbles from the lip of the bottle as the wine flows down his throat, strained after he unceremoniously fell down from the second story.

It was Usagi’s idea to try to learn how to scale up there, really. Arisu trusted her with his life, just….. the height was terrifying. She made sure to give him a safety harness and a healthy dose of Niragi standing at the bottom laughing at him — the latter being a coincidence — as well as Kuina offering to give him a little spa day.

Which leads to now, Arisu still wandering down the hall that was honestly taking far too long to traverse down, coddled in a fluffy pink bathrobe with a silk picture of a puppy with cucumbers on its eyes on the left chest, the same pink colour in the curlers resting in his freshly bathed and groomed hair. Arisu was grateful for the woman, since he didn’t really put his mind on baths. Most of his brain is concentrated on better, more engaging things, like games and puzzles and how fast he could slip down a children’s tube slide covered in a reasonable amount of butter.

Important things.

Arisu taps his fingers against the frosted glass of the moscato as he takes another sip, ignoring the faint urge to scratch at the face mask that rested on his face, Kuina telling him it was apparently good for him. He had no reason to not believe her, Kuina was a good beacon of light! So he obeyed and tried his best to not bother it, even though he really wanted to ease the light discomfort of such a foreign thing on his face. Right now he just wanted to wash off the mask in his room and take a nice nap.

He sees the door to his room just up ahead, Arisu swallowing his last sip and quickening his steps.

When he gets there, his hand moves to grab the bottle with one hand so he could open the door with the other. Yes, he could just gently walk into it like some NPC and it’d open, but Arisu wanted to at least be polite to the door, as well as his poor face mask.

The smell hits him the moment Arisu is graced with the sweet darkness of his old friend, and he very deliberately takes a breath with his mouth. He wasn’t gonna use his nose! That would invite more of the smell into him!

His hands feel against the wall until he feels the switch, and even though nobody was in the hall — and hopefully not still in his room waiting for his return — he calls out. “ When I flick on the lights, I better not find another dead body!” He gives a brief pause, finger right underneath the little lever. “I’m warning you!”

Another pause, before he flicks the switch with a satisfying click. He blinks once, then twice, then slumps, letting out a whine. “ ….. Ah. There it is.” He takes a long, drawn sip of the sweet taste of defeat that was quickly running to the halfway point. He lets the bottle hang at his side, his eyes trailing over the dark red of the newest blood sacrifice and his poor, stained bedsheets.

“ Disemboweled. In…. In my bed.” Arisu mutters, as he steps in, careful not to touch his sandals against the liver that was right by the door. He continues his little shuffle as he watches the ground for any more organs. He could count at least two victims, if the third what he thinks is the kidney was to say anything about the situation. He finally makes it to the victim, who was split in half with a glass bottle rammed in the throat, with a little dirt and a daisy perched within it.

“…… At least the flower is happy.” Arisu gently wretches the bottle out from the body’s mouth, ignoring when the jaw dislocates with it, the tongue smushed within. He carefully shuffles over to one corner, where the sun hit it just right most hours of the day, filling with many other random flowers and a whole apple tree sapling. He nestles the daisy next to them, then takes another slow sip.

Arisu marches right out of the room, making sure to close it so nobody else had to worry about what fuckery happened in the room, and shuffles down the hall. He was faintly aware that he was tracking blood on the floor again, but the floor has probably seen worse nowadays, Arisu was just adding to the paint job.

He swings open his first suspect in the ‘gift’, Chishiya saying nothing as he slowly looks up from the puzzle spread around him.

“ You have blood on your sandals, stay outside.” Chishiya says, Arisu nodding and cradling the bottle in his arms.

“ Chishiya, I need to ask something.”

Chishiya says nothing, but his steady gaze was enough for Arisu to continue. “ Did you kill someone in my room? There’s guts….. everywhere.”

Chishiya remains silent, but a corner of his lip lifts up, revealing a little bit of his teeth. “ I have no reason to kill someone inconsequential.” He says with a bit of a scoff.

“ Well someone did, and I’m sleepy Chishiya.”

Chishiya looks down, reaching out and grabbing a piece before slotting it into its position. “ Well, sleepyhead, it wasn’t me. Even it is was, I wouldn’t have strewn guts. That’s far too messy for my taste.”

Arisu pouts, but nods. He holds out his bottle. “ Want some?” “ No. Not my taste.”

Arisu nods again, clutching the bottle close. “ …. Can I n-“

“ No.”

Arisu pouts again, but accepts the answer and shuts the door, leaving Chishiya to his own devices as he makes his way to his potential second suspect.

Arisu had to walk quite a bit, which only served to make him more tired. He couldn’t have just checked in the room after all, since this one tended to roam more often than not.

“ Last Boss!” Arisu calls out once he catches sight of the lanky man, Last Boss slowing as Arisu catches up to him.

“ Did you kill someone in my room? There’s guts everywhere.” Arisu tells him, Last Boss staring down at him with no evidence of either yes or no.

Finally, Last Boss shakes his head. “ Haven’t been around…..”

Arisu huffs quietly. “ I just wanted to nap…..”

“ Then sleep.”

“ But my bed!”

“ Not my problem.” Last Boss mutters. Arisu knew he didn’t mean anything harsh, but he was tired and he wasn’t helping him in the slightest.

He still tries to offer the man some moscato, and Last Boss just ignores him. He does get a small response from Cabot, who meows down at him and sniffs the bottle before making that practically was a cat version of ‘Ew. A smell.’

Arisu wasn’t going down without a fight though, so he goes off to find the only other person willing to murk someone.

Niragi was by himself when Arisu waddled into his sights, the man looking up as Arisu comes ever closer, with eyes that could almost kill a duckling.

“ Niragi!”

“ That’s my name, don’t wear it out~”

Arisu comes closer, and he puts his hands on his hips, one still dutifully wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. “ Did you kill someone in my room?”

“ What’s it to you?”

“ I want a nap, and there’s blood in my sheets. Again.”

Niragi just shrugs and starts to turn away from him, but Arisu grabs the collar of his shirt and whips him back around with a suprisingly large amount of strength.

“ Niragi, did you kill someone in my bed?”

“ What makes you say that, huh coalboy? Go accuse someone else!”

“ I did! Chishiya’s playing with himself and Last Boss is just walking!” Arisu pulls Niragi’s shirt a few more times, Niragi slapping his hand away before he could stretch out the fabric.

“ Fuck, hands off the merchandise!” Niragi grumbles, and he stares at Arisu hard. “ And I was your third choice? For murder? I need to try harder then.”

Arisu just frowns up at him, and he takes another sip of the wine. Niragi stands there, watching Arisu in his robed, masked, and hair curler-ed up physique, and he groans in defeat. “ Fiiiiiine. It was me. Happy?”

Arisu nods curtly, pulling the bottle away from his mouth. “ Why’d you do it?”

“ Why?” Niragi snorts. “ ‘Cause I wanted to fuck with you.”

“ And the daisy?”

Niragi shakes his head. “ Wasn’t me. Probably some other fucker.”

Arisu huffs, but nods anyways. He got his answer after all. He takes another slow sip, then looks at the man quietly. Niragi stares back, a hard look to his face.

“ The fuck you want now, you brambleberry bush reject?”

“ Can I sleep in your-“

“ Can’t. Chishiya threw mines out the window.”

Arisu blinks, then takes a slow, deep breath.

“….. Pardon my language, but bitch.” Now how was he supposed to get his nap......?

[peachy-inserts]

𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤

✉︎request: n/a ✰warnings: none ✎a/n: this is once again completely self indulgent 

➳ᴅᴀɪᴄʜɪ, ᴀꜱᴀʜɪ, ᴀᴏɴᴇ, ᴇɴɴᴏꜱʜɪᴛᴀ, ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ, ᴀᴋᴀᴀꜱʜɪ, ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ, ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ, ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ʏᴀᴋᴜ

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Daichi smells like an overwhelming musk, like a deep rooted connection that draws you to him. It’s deep, soothing, and woodsy. He smells like the bed of mushrooms encircling a towering cedar tree, and its deeply seeded roots; like coffee grounds poured onto the rich soil, wet after a day’s rain, hot against the bare toes that walk upon them, burying them beneath tufts of moss. There’s a hint of brown sugar, burnt and sticking to the pan no matter how many times you scrub at it

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Asahi smells like freshly washed clothes, and if you lean in close enough, the faint sweetness of cinnamon, so distant and yet familiar that you can almost taste it on your tongue. Every once in a while you’ll catch a whiff of his fabric softener, nothing short of a swift punch in the gut, but it’s almost as if it’s cleaning you of the mildew corrupting your lungs, tired and worn from abuse. It’s relaxing, relieving, and reminiscent of a fuzzy blanket straight from the dryer at the end of a particularly bad day

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Aone smells like empty rooms, abandoned decades ago and foreign, yet nostalgic; you’ve been here before, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it, waiting patiently for company as the walls crumble and rot right before your very eyes. It makes you want to pull away from him, but you can’t take the scent in enough, you never can; it’s so familiar and yet unique, and reminds you of boxes, nice boxes. The kind you’d buy straight from the post office, and when you smell him you can picture the taste of envelope adhesive

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Ennoshita smells like rain slipping against moss covered rocks. It’s soothing and enticing, making you want to drop everything just to curl up beside him. It’s clean, alarmingly clean, and you find yourself wondering if he’s let his hair dry before leaving home. It’s the soft rippling of the pond so clear and divine that invading its effortless routine would be a sin you could never repent

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Bokuto smells like baby powder, invading your senses abruptly in no different of a fashion than his boisterous attitude. It’s whimsical and light, and leaves you rubbing at your nose with the back of your fist to ease the burning sensation tickling your nostrils, and in a subconscious effort devotes your trust to him. How could you not, when it’s so calming and bright? 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Tsukishima smells like the guest bedroom at your cousin’s house. It’s universal, and always knocks his tone down a few pegs; there’s no way you could possibly bite at his sharp remarks when he smells like your home away from home, like used clothes thrown carelessly into a trash bag to be brought to the trunk of your car only to sit for months on end. It’s lazy and sentimental, and leaves you in an unbothered daze 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Akaashi smells like the ocean, wild and tame; the tides bend at his will, so tread carefully or you’ll be swallowed by the riptide, shot out into the torrent of waves beyond his control that he tried so desperately to warn you of. It’s salty, and your mouth waters, only to be reminded of the feeling of sand grinding against your teeth. It’s cold, your skin tickled by goosebumps, and overwhelmingly independent

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Iwaizumi smells like an overbearing cologne, doused in sweat and diluted into a faint scent of all things idealized and stereotyped, and yet it’s so uniquely him that you can’t pass the locker rooms without being reminded of him. Even freshly out of the shower, you can catch the scent of his drugstore body spray, and it puts you at ease. He lives by routine, never changing and always making a safe space for you to rest when your head is spinning from the change happening around you

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Oikawa smells like cucumber and freshly cut grass. It’s all things sunny and bright, everything that you’d associate with the glimmering sunlight that always catches the sensitive spot of your eyes, sunglasses always forgotten and shattered at the bottom of a drawstring bag. It’s artificial, the picture perfect summer, and fabricated to keep you close to him, but in his embrace you can pick up on the hints of plastic and lip gloss that cling to his skin

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Ushijima smells like honey, tucked away into the wax combs that protect it. He melts under your touch and the honey spills out from its confines, sweet and sticky. You’re sure that he’d be excellent with bees, his calm demeanor and striking composure undoubtedly making him the perfect candidate. He smells like sugary sweets tucked away under a heat lamp to be observed from the countertop, afraid of venturing out from his own comfort zone

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰Yaku smells like a home cooked meal. It’s the arrival home on a dark night, your back heavy with stress and your bones falling into place one by one in a symphonic manner as you force the popping sounds you’ve come to love from it. It’s warm, never hot, never enough to burn you, but always leaves you satisfied and cozy. It’s heavy, and although you can’t pick out exactly what food it may be, you’re sure it’s your favorite

[forthegothicheroine]

Lilac perfumes I have known

I love lilacs.  Maybe it was because of an essential oil I had as a kid, maybe it was the lilac bushes that lined my college campus in the spring, maybe it was the Discworld book Night Watch.  My ideal lilac perfume is my great white whale, but the truth is probably that different lilacs are better for different moods.  Here’s what I have found.

French Lilac by Pacifica: Very nice, but very soft.  I really only smell it if I hold my wrist directly under my nose, and even then it goes faint quickly.  Might be better if you get a whole spray bottle and can decide how much you want to wear.

Lilac Path by Aerin: More tart than I usually think of lilacs as being, but very nice.  Maybe it’s the angelica or galbanum notes?  Anyway, it’s a lovely floral, especially if you’re looking more for a spring flowers scent than a lilac soliflore.

Lilacs Along the Winding Drive by Alkemia: This was more violet than lilac to me.  Which is fine, violets are very nice, but not what I’m looking for.  Alkemia scents in general tend to smell different to me than their listed notes, but they have a very devoted fanbase so keep in mind that mine is the minority opinion.

En Passant by Frederic Malle: Another one that’s extremely soft on me.  I like the cucumber and water notes that keep this cool and not overly sweet, but I found it very faint.  Again, it might be stronger if you get a spray bottle, but that’s a lot for me to potentially spend on something that still might not be what I want.

Haunted by Deconstructing Eden: Love this!  Lilacs over roses, wisteria, lillies and supposedly wood and ambergris (though that doesn’t stand out to me.)  I have a small bottle of this, and as with its name, it gives me pretty ghost vibes.

Les Fleurs du Mal by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab: Another indie lilac/rose/wisteria blend that I love, but with stronger siliage.  I’ve seen reviews call this soapy, but I haven’t noticed that.  I’m probably going to get a small bottle of this at some point.  I’d give a general warning for all the BPAL scents here that perfume oil (as opposed to alcohol-based perfumes) seems to just not work on some people.

Cave of Treasures by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab: A valentine’s limited edition from a few years ago, gifted to me.  Sweet and gourmand as liacs go, with honey and cream.  The smell is delicious, though the lilac note is strongest at the beginning and seems to fade into the honey.

Dead Leaves, Blue Lilac, Black Currant, and Black Orchid by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab: A halloween limited edition from a few years ago, gifted to me.  It’s exactly what the name says, and so good!  It’s not a light maiden wandering through an enchanted garden, but a melancholy vampire posing dramatically in an overgrown cemetary, and sometimes that’s exactly what I want to be.

A Lilac a Day by Vilhelm: A full blast of lilac, strong and incredibly sweet.  This is probably the best lilac soliflore I’ve found, in that it does smell like a lilac bush, but it could probably have stood to be de-sweetened a little.  A good scent for being a fairy godmother.  I got a small bottle of this on ebay.

[vivelareine]

Review: Poesie Perfume “In the Steps of Marie Antoinette” Collection

[Originally posted on my Blogspot but since Tumblr hates links, here we go]

I love perfume, and over the past year I've dived headfirst into the world of indie fragrances. Poesie has become one of my favorite indie perfume houses due to their diverse range of scents which range from

In 2019, Poesie released a special limited collection titled "In the Steps of Marie Antoinette," featuring 6 scents inspired by the queen of France. At the time the collection was released, I didn't have enough spending money to try them all--but thanks to Poesie's annual "Reissue Event," a limited-time event where you can order retired items from their catalog, I was finally able to collect all of them.

À la Reine

Scent Notes: fresh ripe tomato, cucumber, a bouquet of garden herbs, sweet soil, all damp from the summer rain

My Thoughts:

This scent is so, so green. I love that the emphasis is on the vegetable garden, rather than florals--not that there's anything wrong with florals, but I feel like most 'hameau de la reine' inspired scents I've tried before are heavy on the florals. This scent  makes me feel like I'm walking through a vegetable garden after the rain--moist garden dirt, spicy herbs, but then a vegetable sweetness from the juicy tomatoes and cucumbers. It's really amazing how this scent captures the very particular way that gardens smell after the rain... a sort of slightly sweet, slightly spicy earth tinged with vegetables and grass.  

Petit Trianon

Scent Notes: a freshly picked bouquet of wood violets, accented with jasmine sambac, tuberose and Madonna lily, sheer sandalwood

My Thoughts:

This is another scent that I picked up when the collection was originally released. I can't resist a Trianon inspired scent!  This is a very white floral scent, with hints of green underneath, but it is mostly the violets, jasmine and tuberose that stand out. The sandalwood provides a solid thread for the florals and overall the scent gives the impression of walking through a carefully cultivated garden. A very warm, floral scent.  

Rococo Paradise

Scent Notes: ripe strawberries, plush apricot, fresh grass, milk + honey, lavender sprigs

My Thoughts:

This is one of the scents I picked up last year, and it's one of my favorite scents in my collection. This scent smells it belongs in the scene from Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette where the queen and her entourage are picking strawberries and drinking fresh milk at the hameau de la reine. The milk provides a soft creaminess to the scent, which is complemented by the fresh grass and lavender. The strawberries add sweetness--it's more of a wild strawberry undertone, berries tinged with green. A naturally sweet and mellow scent overall.

Folly of Love

Scent Notes: Paradise apples, purple lilac blooms, white Bourbon roses, seductive vanilla

My Thoughts:

I didn't receive this scent until the 2020 reissue event, and truthfully I wish I had picked up a larger size! It is a very soft, summery fragrance. The lilacs and roses form nice floral base, while the apples bright the fragrance with a touch of sweet fruitiness. The vanilla takes awhile to come out, but when it does it adds a rounded softness to the delicate fragrance. I was originally a bit worried that the florals would be overbearing, but the apple note keeps things bright and youthful.

Infamous

Scent Notes: luscious white cake layered with sticky marshmallow creme and topped with mounds of vanilla frosting

My Thoughts:

Unfortunately, this is the only scent from the collection that I did not enjoy. The reason for this is that there is barely any scent at all on my skin. It has an extremely light throw, and I genuinely have to stick my nose right up to my skin to smell anything. Even then, all I can get is a very, very faint vanilla. This is pretty unusual for this company, as while I haven't always enjoyed every scent I've gotten from Poesie, none of them have been so non-existent in terms of scent. Maybe it was an off batch!

Versailles

Scent Notes: golden cake, intoxicating orange blossom, fluffy vanilla citrus icing, blood orange

My Thoughts:

I feel like “Versailles” is what I anticipated from Infamous.  It's not an extremely strong scent, but it has a light to medium throw comparable to other “cake” scents I’ve gotten from Poesie.  This one smells like a vanilla cake smothered in delicious, luscious vanilla-orange frosting. Rich and creamy and downright yummy.

Where to Get Them

"In the Steps of Marie Antoinette" was a limited collection, so the full collection is no longer available from Poesie. However, "Versailles" was added to the Poesie General Catalog based on its popularity so it is available on the official shop page. The scent does seem to sell out fairly regularly, but it is restocked regularly as well.

If you use Reddit, I would recommend checking out the Sunday IMAM Indie Marketplace thread, where you can sometimes find people selling or swapping discontinued scents. The Indie Marketplace thread is posted every Sunday.

Or you can put a pin in this and wait until 2021 when Poesie will likely do another Reissue event.

[outroshooky]

waiting for the sky to fall | jjk

⇢ genre: series; part one (i-saw-you-on-the-subway-every morning-this-week-and-i’m-possibly-in-love-with-you!au) (fluff)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

⇢ word count: 6.3k

⇢  warnings: brief instance of anxiety; probably too much rambling about how pretty jeongguk is when he exists like that

⇢ a/n: a dearest birthday present for the love of my life and platonic soulmate @guksheart. cait, i cannot believe we have been a part of each other’s lives for over a year now. i adore you so so much and i am so proud of the bold, compassionate, wonderfully gay, fierce yet gentle, considerate, accepting, lovely woman that you are. i would not trade our sisterhood for the world, and i still cannot believe that you are coming to new york in a mere matter of months. i can only hope that we’ll have adventures like this one when you do.

this is heavily inspired by the commute i took to visit my friend in the city over the summer!! kudos to columbia university for loaning me some much-needed inspiration, although i never fell in love with anybody on the way there.

part one of the verses and vibes series. part two will be uploaded on december 20, 2019.

“bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art—   not in lone splendour hung aloft the night   and watching, with eternal lids apart,   like nature’s patient, sleepless eremite,”

⤷ “bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art”; john keats

10:57pm.

Call it 11, it’s close enough.

Eleven o’clock in the evening.

A sacred time, those great appreciators of the universe would say. It is amazing how, as the wind caresses your hair with breezy fingers, there are some who walk the city streets below without pause. Some who cannot understand the sanctity of such a time, the security that comes with the blanket of nightfall— if you could call it nightfall in the heart of such a metropolis.

Below you beats a rhythm akin to the one in your soul, beneath the skin of your merely human chest. A home you’d heard so much about, fallen in love with before you’d even met, and god it couldn’t have felt more right. Over the edge of the balcony is utter chaos: taxi cabs honk an irregular staccato, the open! sign of the ramen shop one block over flickers its own neon melody. People shout, brakes screech, doors bang, dogs bark; to anybody else, it would be utter madness but to you- to you, it is simply home.

The ambient light mutes the glow of so many stars that pinprick the sky millions of miles above, arcing across the heavens in so many celestial designs. If you squint, you can pick out Casseopia, maybe even Ursa Major through the dim haze. The stars are far and few between, but it’s a quick glance to your left and right and you’re surrounded by majestic masterpieces, this time of a manmade design.

When you were younger, you used to muse that skyscrapers not only scraped the bright blue sky so far above, but supported the very cosmos itself with the slight curve in their arching backs. They bore the weight of the world, shouldering the immense task of keeping the stratosphere aloft. For a skyscraper to crumble was for the sky to fall, and yet you’d never seen one even waver in the wind.

Later, of course, you would learn that this was not the case. Earth herself kept the stratosphere in good health, and those wonderfully tall buildings existed as testaments to man’s great ability. However, there was a quiet part of you that still entertained the fantasy (as all of us do, in one way or another). And why not? It's moments like this, where you are surrounded by the dizzying breadth of the world out there and you can taste the sweetness of the universe’s ambrosia, that have you thinking twice about it all. Who says that we can't hold up the sky? Who says we don't spend our lives wondering, even if just a little bit, when the pillars will collapse and the sky itself will cave in one shuddering breath? Who decides when the Sun will burn, the Moon will freeze, when life as we know it tumbles to ash and dust?

“Baby?” His fingers interlock over yours, warm against the cool of the balcony railing. “Everything okay?”

His chest is warm against your back, grounding in its familiarity. You could name the planes and angles of his body like you could name the asterisms that freckle the night sky. He smells like cucumber soap when you turn and nuzzle into his neck, the damp locks of his hair tickling your forehead. You usually tease him when he’s post-shower like this, the bangs that tumble past his cheekbones giving the impression of a shaggy mop, but you spare him tonight. He squeezes over your hand, palm flush against your knuckles as your cheeks heat against his neck. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just taking a moment.”

Jeongguk tilts his head skyward, but he’s already got the universe in his eyes, wide and fawn. His chest rumbles when he speaks, soft velvet, a little gritty. “It's so beautiful out here.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” you raise your head to reply, brushing your nose to the column of his throat.

He’s got good composure but he's blushing now, between the lateness of the hour and the softness of your skin. He may smell of Dove and there’s a pimple dotting his cheek, but you’re stunning in the light and there’s a faint air of something sweet; if it’s your skin or your soul, he can’t decide. Perhaps both but he can’t help himself; his lips find your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. Contentment so simple, so lovely. 

His arm slides around your shoulders and the way you fit into his side is divine insistence. The other half you never knew you had, and yet at one time, it wasn’t this way. Hard to believe, but that’s the reality of it, and you never even knew he filled a gap in your heart until the deed was done, and there was nothing you could do to unplug the hole.

He kisses your temple and you kiss his shoulder, exposed by the dip of his t-shirt. “Come to bed, baby.”

“But it’s so nice out here,” you whine. 

“It’s late and you have class in the morning,” he coaxes quietly, his accented English gentle in your ears. “Come on.” His fingers slip from your own and you sigh, giving in.

“But you have to carry me inside.”

His eyes roll but he’s already stooping, and when he scoops you into his arms to press a kiss to your nose- he just can’t help himself- you poke his cheek and he grins a smile as warm as the lazy afternoon sun. “I love you.”

“I love you twice that amount.”

Jeongguk takes the balcony in stride, nudges the sliding door open with his foot. “Yeah, well I love you fifty times that amount. Squared.”

He kicks it closed behind him as you raise an eyebrow. “Cheater.”

“I’ll throw you on the bed, swear to god.”

“You’re mean,” You retort. 

“No I’m not.” He turns the light off on his way in, bumps the bedroom door shut with his impossibly slender hip. “I’ll be the big spoon if you take that back.”

Bedsheets under your fingertips. “Fine.”

It is hard to believe that, merely a year ago, you would be coming inside to an empty bed. Merely a year ago, your world would be silent, save the busy hum outside your apartment windows. Merely a year ago, you hadn’t a clue that your world was about to turn upside down, flipped on its axis and spun into chaos in ways you’d never even considered possible. Merely a year, but a lifetime spent sitting, waiting, wishing- twiddling your thumbs, chewing on your fingernails, anxiously hoping for something, anything.

And that’s when, exactly three-hundred and sixty-four days ago, the columns gave out in a rush of dust, the cosmos itself unraveling at the seams of early morning.

 Momentary silence, a stifled yawn. “Come cuddle.”

A sleepy, breathy, near-whisper. “Will you be the big spoon?”

Jeongguk chuckles, breath soft. “Always, baby girl. Always.”

one year before

There’s no better alarm clock than a caramel macchiato, sipped through tired lips and bleary eyes on the chaos of a Monday morning in the subway. You are far from a morning person, as evidenced by the death grip on your Starbucks cup, but you feel just a little more human with the help of four espresso shots and a pump of hazelnut. Having an off-campus apartment means it’s a roughly twenty minute subway ride between home and school, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when there’s not much of a difference between the two.

To be frank, the city is home- a comfort you never expected, the subject of a thousand love letters never to be written but in the deepest cavities of your soul. The grime of the sidewalks, the gritty rumbling of the subways, artful graffiti and corner bubble tea and a little bit of pride, thrumming in the deepest recesses of necessity. The city in which you grew up is merely a square foot to the square acres that are your romping ground now.

The wires of your headphones snake around your scarf, bundled up around your shoulders. It is that wonderful time before fall bleeds over completely into winter, a lingering cool breath, and arguably the best season of all. Thus, you are perfectly comfortable underneath a warm jacket, backpack slung across your shoulder as you swipe your card, pass through the turnstiles and on to the waiting train just across the platform.

The subway car rattles beneath you with a groan, darkness rushing past in so many variants of orange from the neon lights that dotted the tunnels. Around you, bodies press tight on the morning commuter train; in any other circumstance, it would make you anxious, but there’s an odd feeling of security it grants. The train slows, pulling into the next station, and you focus your attention on the page of Madeline Miller’s latest bestseller.

At the next station, the car decompresses as travelers shift, and you are left a moment to breathe before the train will inevitably fill again, two stops from now. Next to you, a purple jacket brushes your shoulder. Just above the top of your book, a pair of black Timberlands pauses before turning towards you and settling. 

There really is no reason at all why these Timberlands would be special. There's no reason at all why your eyes find it necessary to track upwards, no reason why you should have glanced up from your delightful novel for the sake of one commuter’s settling. No reason at all why, as your eyes followed skinny jean-clad thighs to a leather jacket, and further, further.

His caramel-streaked hair brushes his cheekbones, styled in a way you’d typically call bedhead, but on him looks like art. His brow is soft yet defined, much like his jawline, cutting narrow. His lips are perfectly pink, a gentle pout, and his graceful nose a button. His shoulders are broad, the taper of his waist impossibly slender but hidden under the folds of his ridiculously oversized t-shirt. 

And his eyes- his eyes. 

You have poured over literature for hours upon hours, soaking in poetry and epics and novels alike, yet you have never understood what the poets meant until this very moment.

His eyes are the café au lait you sip on sunny afternoons, the sweetness of a chocolate bar, the warmth of a woolen blanket in wintertime. They glint with the light of a thousand stars but shine with the depth of a thousand galaxies, each and every one a testament to the great work of the universe. It is as if he holds the very cosmos in his pupils, and your breath is stolen from your lungs without a second thought. 

He is stunningly beautiful but goes completely unnoticed by everyone else in the car, it seems, as the train picks up speed. There is no greater punishment than tearing your gaze away from him when you realize you've been staring too long to be socially acceptable. You force yourself to return back to your novel but end up reading the same line five times over, too distracted by the shift of his heels, the way he toys with the straps of his rucksack. 

Part of you aches every time the train car fills, obscuring your view of the handsome stranger. Each time, you’re left wondering if he's moved, but each time, the crowds part to find him still seated on the garish plastic bench, glued to his iPhone. Your stop is the next and you can't help but feel anxious about getting up, about turning face and walking out of the train car. Your heart rattles an irregular tempo as you snap your book shut (still on the same page as twenty minutes ago), gather your things, and carefully stand amid the gently rocking car. He doesn't even look up at your sudden movement, and there's a part of you that is somehow irrationally crushed. 

The train grinds to a halt and the doors slide open, and you spare one last longing look before striding across the grimy tile, minding the gap between the train and the platform. Foolish of you to want to stop your day for the sake of an attractive stranger. Foolish of you to think his day would stop, either. 

With a muffled curse behind you, footsteps thud and voices grumble as a mop-haired boy with a rucksack on his shoulder bursts his way out of the train car, having nearly forgotten that this is his stop, too. When something brushes your arm as you jog up the stairs, you nearly drop your Starbucks with the realization that he is unintentionally keeping pace with you across the stairwell, lost behind the curtain of his fawn locks. 

Anxiety melts to curiosity as you weave through the station, matching pace all the while as you’re spit out onto the street from underground and walk the mere half block to your university gates. He hesitates under them, a touch of nerves, but shakes his head and continues on under the tree-covered path of the quad. You lose him somewhere by the Economics building, heading towards the library as you turn towards Hamilton Hall, but the excited thrill in your veins outweighs any and all disappointment.

You're practically glowing during 8am lecture, dancing on air through your lunch break when you think you spot him across the dining hall, but in fact it's just that guy from your math gen-ed. You’d never admit to a stranger consuming your thoughts, but here’s a nagging feeling at the back of your skull as you zip up your bag at the end of your day and head towards the corner station. 

A typical Monday indeed?

Anything but. 

It was certainly unconventional, the way you launched yourself out of bed the next morning in favor of tripping into a pair of jeans and dashing to fix your hair in the bathroom mirror. You haven't put so much effort into getting ready in months, and factoring in time for a dab of makeup left you skipping breakfast in favor of slinging your bag over your shoulder to rush out the door on time.

An iced Americano restores breath to your lungs, but does nothing to soothe the jitter in your bouncing knee as the train doors shut and a voice crackles over the intercom, unintelligible. A chocolate croissant is light on your tongue, memories of the flaky pastry crossing your mind only to be drowned out by thoughts of the next station and the promises it holds.

With no novel in hand, it is easy for your eyes to flick to the crowd as the train slows coming into the station. Effortlessly, you pick him out even with the white mask across the lower half of his face obscuring his nose and mouth. His visage is scrawled, it seems, on the inside of your eyelids; it danced throughout your Human Behaviors class, teased you through the late night of cramming for midterms. You hoped the concealer would cover the dark spots under your eyes, but you couldn't be certain.

As the doors slide open and the crowd surges forward, you lose him for a moment in the streams and flows of people coming and going. He appears just down the car, button-down rolled at the elbows, and even from a distance you feel your cheeks heat as he finds an empty seat just across the aisle.

Yesterday, his jacket hid him to the knuckles under the security of worn leather. But today, pushed sleeves reveal the ink snuggled tight around his wrist, curling its way up his forearm to snake hidden under the folds of the unbuttoned dress shirt he so casually threw over another plain black t-shirt. Sunflowers and daisies and blossoms you can't even name bloom in color across his skin, geometric designs etching sculpture into living marble. He is a magnum opus through and through, bearing so many works of art on the canvas of his flesh.

The white wires of his headphones leave him oblivious to the world, the galaxies in his pupils twinkling under the stark white light. He is wholly unbothered by a group of high school girls tittering to his left, the judging eyes of the older gentleman to his right. He simply exists in all of his beauty, whether the world wishes to love him or not.

And then his eyes find you.

It is only for a moment, but his gaze renders you breathless, mind spinning, pulse racing. He blinks owlishly, staring only for a second, two, but it's long enough to feel your heart ricochet around your chest, caged butterflies in your chest soar against the crest of your ribcage. They dart in tandem, beating their fragile wings with a fluttering pulse; you swear you’re reduced to a mere teenager at the sight of him, and that’s just ridiculous. The train car around you is suspended; it is hard to believe you are breathing the same air merely a few paces away, but you are and it is him and the depth of his soul is staring you blind in the face.

You don’t know him but you know him, all at once. He says a thousand sweet nothings with the shine of the lights in his eyes, promises commandments to keep when his lashes flutter against the apples of his cheeks. He is a complete stranger but somehow, someway, a known companion. His fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans and you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around yours, memorizing every divot with a careful reverence. How they would brush your hip when he pulls you against his side, how they would pull at you craving more, more, more— 

A spice of cologne curls under your nose, a little floral, a little sweet. Perhaps it’s his, the scent that clings to his pillow in the morning and his jacket in the evening. The tap of the woman’s foot to your left is the beat of his footsteps on the creaky apartment floor as he announces he’s home, he’s brought dinner; life is simple and content—

He nods his head to the beat that flows quick through his headphones, eyes shut, in his own world. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share on your morning commute, fingers entwined with coffee in one hand but music in your heart—

Bodies around you ebb and flow, but the flurry is nothing compared to the images that swirl in front of you. Tracing his tattoos with the lightest touch, laughing till his nose scrunches at a shitty pun, early kisses and late-night touches. The warmth in his eyes when you do something stupid, the comfort in your arms around his shoulders when he’s doubting himself—

It’s a misplaced elbow to your ribs that jolts you out of reverie as the older gentleman seated next to you creaks to his feet. You wince and open your mouth to complain, but not before taking in the empty seat across the train car, devoid of leather and ink and beauty.

Where did he g— 

That’s when the car doors slide shut and you, all too soon, come to a stunning realization:

The handsome stranger whom you have just spent twenty minutes daydreaming about is gone, nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd of chaos that is the city.

And you have completely missed your stop.

Well, it’s a damn good thing taxi cabs exist.

Your alarm does not go off on Wednesday morning. Perhaps a fatal mistake, because by the time your dreary eyes crack open at the suspicious amount of rest you’re getting for the middle of the week, you are supposed to leave your apartment in eight minutes— shower, breakfast, makeup, and all.

Perhaps there is a god looking out for you after all, because you manage to make it out of the house only two minutes later (although just about all of the above had to wait). Your stomach grumbles as your feet trod down the littered stairs of the station, an insistent reminder that the last meal you had was ten hours ago, and you really need to eat sooner rather than later. No time meant no coffee meant cold hands, an unfortunate consequence, and you’re shivering your way through the turnstiles onto the train as the wind bites cool at the back of your neck.

You’re still drowsy from sleep, a ten page paper having kept you awake, so it is no surprise that you nod off on the train. You’re not sure when your mind clears of soporific fog, but when your eyes flutter open, the one person you’ve been waiting for is seated in front of you with his elbow slung across a backpack next to him, propping up his head as he too drifts off. A raven cloth mask covers his nose and his mouth, his eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheeks, a bit crimson from the chill. A binder slips crooked under his arm, threatening to topple to the floor. Squinting at the train board means you’ve got two stops left and you force yourself upright, rubbing your eyes only to wince at their dryness.

Though your eyes ache and sleep tugs at your bones, he is worth staying awake for as his body sways with the rhythm of the car. Around you, everyone is immersed in their own little slices of the world, completely oblivious to another tired traveler. There’s a scar on his cheek and a tiredness about him, and your heart, two sizes too big, aches for something you don’t quite understand. One station passes without interruption and he is still asleep, draped over his backpack with his notebook slipping further, further. 

The train rounds the final bend, brakes screeching as it pulls into the station. The sudden deceleration is enough to send the stranger’s binder, packed with papers, spinning to the floor of the train just as you stand to gather your things. A few index cards here, some loose green and white papers there, and he is somehow still asleep through all of this, surrounded by oblivious minds and occupied hearts.

You have approximately five seconds to make a decision before the train fills with a swell of new passengers.

You don’t have to think when you’ve already made your choice.

Forgoing the cleanliness of your jeans, you stoop to the floor, scrabbling the spilled contents of paper and a pencil and a spare Chapstick into the mouth of the binder. People are already beginning to spill through the door, but you’re pushing your way through without a second glance, feet pounding the steps underneath you. You follow the beam of light that pours underground, cutting corners and rushing staircases until you are facing a narrow city block and the buildings that reach on tiptoe to kiss the heavens. The sun’s caress is warm on your cheeks as you stride through the gates, ever stony in their stoicism, and find a shady bench to sit and organize the mess in your hands.

It is a simple black binder filled to the brim with notebook paper, neat handwritten ideas that dissolve into simplistic sketches and jotted thoughts. You don’t mean to read it, you really don’t, but as you tuck the pencil into the neon green case looped through the rings, a single form catches your eye: an advertisement for the show in the greater library this weekend, set up by the architecture majors showcasing their designs in conjunction with the fine arts students.

He does fine arts? That must be the sketches in these pages. But perhaps it’s a casual hobby for him? Maybe he’s only interested in it and not actually pursuing it as a major. There’s Korean on this too; is he an international student? How long has he been going here? Why isn’t he dorming on campus with the others—  

A cough in front of you, and when you glance upward, you nearly choke in surprise.

Hazel shines russet when his eyes catch the light that filters through the trees, twinkling with something unknown when they meet your own. His hair is tucked under a beanie, vivid red against the muddy brown of his oversized sweater. His mask is pulled down to his chin as he fidgets in front of you, twisting his fingers with almost a childlike nervousness. His lips part, plush, a little chapped. “Can I have that?”

His English is sweet, accented on the ears, a softer tone than you’re expecting, but you don’t mind it. Curse your nerves and your sweaty palms! “Oh! Yeah, sure!” You nearly shove the binder at him and he blinks owlishly, taking a moment to examine its contents, making sure nothing is out of place while you ramble on and on. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get it back to you on the train, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you, especially since here that’s typically just not what people do, you know how they are- Oh, your pencils and things are inside the pencil case, I figured they would be too much to try to carry around before I found you, you know? And I didn’t want anything to get lost; I hate when things of mine go missing and I tend to be so scatterbrained.” You chortle nervously as he hugs the binder to his chest.

A small smile blossoms on the stranger’s face and you get the feeling there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t know how. Instead, he bows graciously, a little pink in the cheeks, and states simply, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, really! Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me and since I’ve seen you only recently on the morning train, I didn’t quite know if you’re new to campus or you’ve been here a while and just moved or something like that-” He’s still staring, eyes wide, and you realize you’ve been talking for far too long. “But ah, I’m sorry! Continue on, yeah? Have a good day!” You ramble, internally kicking yourself. Damn your loose tongue and damn this man for being so infernally, unfairly attractive.

He blushes even deeper, face flushing crimson, and shoulders his backpack. “You too…?” When he trails off, you realize he’s waiting for your name and nearly trip over your own tongue getting the syllables out. He repeats it once and nods, extending a hand. “My name is Jeongguk.”

The way his fingers brush yours is ingrained in the softness of your skin for the rest of your day, in the touch of cologne that lingers in the autumn air long after he’s gone to class. He is the sweetness of your afternoon Starbucks and the freckles of the night sky, dotted through the ambient fog that settles over the city with all the comfort of a blanket. Somehow, someway, there’s a name to the face.

A very handsome face, to boot.

You wake early that Thursday, early enough that you have time to wrap yourself in the fuzziest blanket you own and pad to the window to gaze out upon the city as it wakes slowly, block by block.

The city is sleepy too, rosy glow hanging lazily over the skyline, reluctant to slip into the brightness of daytime. It slumps against the skyscrapers, vibrant fingers brushing the glass with the softest caresses, whispering sweet nothings to the minds that rest just behind the other side. Perhaps dawn enjoys pampering her city like this, with the kindest affirmations and the prettiest, warmest eyes. 

From your apartment window, it is as if first light is melting away, slipping lower and lower as the cracked-egg yolk of the sun leaks over the harbor, spilling over the urban jungle. As you stand, blanket around your shoulders and bathed in the beauty of early morning, a thought strikes you, a minute snippet of profound reality.

It is still on your mind as your feet cross the platform an hour later, effortlessly stepping over the gap into the narrow confines of the train car. It’s busier this morning and thus your usual seat is taken, leaving you to stand and cling for dear life to the pole. A stranger brushes your arm and someone pushes against your backpack, your throat tightening in response. Oh, how you hated busy days. Anxiety blurs your surroundings, swirling in color and breath and heat around you, an unfocused Polaroid. It is blurry and nothing is right, and the doors are opening and closing, opening and closing, and then there’s a new face pressing to your left, and your entire world melts at the very seams.

It is him. Him! He is here and real and in front of you, and has opted to completely ignore his usual (empty) seat in favor of standing with you, a kindly smile gracing the corners of his lips and he ducks his head into your field of view. His eyes flick to yours and the bokeh clears, your heart thrumming happily at the warmth they contain. His fingers grip above your own as he shifts to make sure others can flow around him; you take in that little scar on his cheek, the moles that dot his neck just under the folds of his jacket, the subtle lick of ink that dips into his collarbone. You can just make out the hum that trickles from his headphones over the rattling of the train, a melodic undertone, and his head dips to check his phone.

You’re the one to nudge Jeongguk when it’s your mutual stop, him flinching with surprise when he realizes how fast the ride has gone, and as you follow up through the station, you find that you are no longer trailing him, but instead by his side. He opts to walk next to you; when you tilt your head, asking the silent question, he merely smiles and pushes the pace just a bit. When you’re chasing sunlight on stone, borne out of the street into the mouth of the day, you find yourselves under the university gates, side by side. He takes out his earbuds, fidgeting with the wires as one foot taps the sidewalk. He’s nervous. “I just wanted to say thank you for getting my book yesterday,” he begins. “Properly thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jeongguk!” You grin, perhaps a little flushed. “Anytime, really.”

Now it’s his turn to redden, shuffling in place. “Ah, is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

“Jeongguk, don’t be silly! Well…” you trail off. “Answer me one question. What’re you majoring in?”

He beams a little at this, glancing at the sidewalk. “I’m studying architecture here for a year; I’m from Seoul. I’m also learning English.” He winces. “Or trying to.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job. It’s amazing that you’re learning architecture in an urban environment like this!” You gesture above as a flock of pigeons flutters past. Like a damn Disney film. 

His eyes follow the birds as they swoop above the street, ducking under lamps and through scaffolding. “It’s different from Seoul, but also like Seoul. I like it,” he confesses. “I really like the city. Any city is my city, not just Seoul. You know?”

God, he is so cute, it hurts. Hearing him talk is flowers blooming snug in your chest, winding around your nerves, soothing their live-wire ends. You can’t help but smile at him. “I know.”

“I don’t want to keep you too long…” Jeongguk hesitates as the bell in the clocktower resonates down the commons. “Class starts soon.”

You frown. “Too soon. Want to grab lunch over at Fourteenth?”

His brows furrow. “Fourteenth?”

“Fourteenth and Tenth, yeah. There’s a cute little cafe on the corner, great for people watching and Americanos. And bubble tea. There’s ramen a few shops down, too.”

“Ramen!” Jeongguk practically vibrates in excitement. You swear your face will crack from how hard you’re grinning, from shyness or joy or both. His nose scrunches; your stomach flutters. “Can I have your number? Wait, is that too direct? May I have your phone?” He shakes his head but you’re already handing him your device, a new contact at the ready.

“Text me when you get out of class. I’ll show you how real ramen is supposed to taste.”

Jeongguk raises a hand in farewell, slipping his own phone back into his pocket. You’ll never know that he saved your contact under 귀여운 여행자, nor that he suddenly has a reason to stay awake through his 8am.

And when he spots you sitting there under the Alma Mater a few hours later, his heart skips a beat in its chest. His phone vibrates in his hand.

Ready to eat?

He was born ready.

There’s a poetry book you like to read on Friday morning subway rides, one that filters breath into your lungs and stirs the lyrics in your heart. You soak up the comforts of literature with a mocha in the other hand, lo-fi in your ears, and obnoxiously colored plastic supporting your back. How wonderful life could be in all of its simple joys.

There’s warmth at your side in the form of a boy, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the galaxy in his heart who asked if he could sit next to you and with a pounding in your chest, you gladly accepted, moving your bag to your lap and returning to your Keats, singing cants of yearning all these years later.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to dea—

A note is tucked into your open page, a folded piece of cream-white paper, smooth at the edges, unwrinkled. You glance up at him to find his gaze steadily fixed on a grayed gum stain, knee jumping up and down, up and down as he fingers the rip in his frayed jeans. You unfold the paper slowly, carefully.

Are you busy on Sunday afternoon? Because I’d really like to take you to an art exhibition on campus, and I think you’d look right at home among the masterpieces.

Jeongguk’s focus is on the floor and the floor alone as his stomach twists. Butterflies beat their wings against his ribcage, darting here and there, and he swears that if the train sways one more time, he may throw up his bagel right there and then.

He feels something at his right jacket pocket and flinches, only to notice it is your hand that retreats from it a second later.

He produces a familiar looking scrap of paper from his pocket with trembling fingers, unfolding it anew as he reads a new line of scribbled letters, squinting a little at the cramped figures.

An art exhibition? Sounds like a perfect first date to me.

And that’s how this beautiful thing begins.

an epilogue (of sorts): one year and one day later

There is a thought you had many moons ago, in the heart of a child but nestled in a timeless soul. A thought that was purely fantasy: of mankind supporting the weight of the heavens with the structures that scratch the sky around your tiny little apartment, shared not by one soul, but two. Never before had someone so fallen into your heart like he had, cradling it in his palms with sweet, sweet adoration. Jeongguk was yours and you were his, and that was simply how things were.

You had moved in shortly after you began dating, a decision some criticized but had felt purely natural to the both of you. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, easy to let him into the world you had built for yourself now expanding to fit one more.

He introduced you to Korean barbecue and held you when things wouldn’t go your way; you dragged him into the vortex of John Mulaney’s comedy and cried together while binging all seven Harry Potter movies in two days. He taught you some Korean while you polished his English, supplementing it with words he perhaps didn’t need to know, but you couldn’t help laughing when he mashed profanities in brand-new combinations. He loved tea and quiet nights on the couch; you craved the intimate moments high above it all, watching your city rush beneath you in all of its gritty, grimy, wonderful glory. Jeongguk’s pen scratches the page of his sketchbook as you gaze out at the lights that flicker in the apartment buildings seated securely in midtown, downtown, beyond.

We will never know when the sky decides to fall, to come crashing down to earth in all of her heavenly splendor. It is something known only in the fabric of the universe, stitched together in cosmic threads we cannot even hope to unravel. Not yet, anyways. It will come to us eventually, when it is time, comfortably so. In the meantime, you’ll look out over the balcony railing of your little studio apartment uptown, the night air breathing clear, with a blanket wrapped around your legs and Jeon Jeongguk by your side, unceasingly himself.

And that is everything you can ask for in this life and the next.

[sohaveyoubeento-blog]

V is for Vietnamese & Vintage

Us three ladies had always played it pretty safe by way of our lunch dates. Not to say the local deli isn't absolutely kick ass - it's very tasty and very enjoyable every time we go, but in much the same way as I struggle to go to the same country more than once on my holidays (excluding India, you can never have enough India) I couldn't help but think that life's a bit too short to sit in the same eatery every time we meet for lunch, given that the whole day is ours, and within reason, travel is no issue.

The three of us decided that we would try different cuisines every week, and with the girls (Laura and Dani) living in the quieter, leafier suburbs of Otley and Burley in Wharfedale, with me (Alex) living in what I frequently describe as the bronx, 5 minutes from central Leeds but gloriously populated by some of the best food joints in the country (confirmed) they usually end up meeting at mine and then we go into town to try somewhere a bit off the beaten track. Invariably, being three mums of young children, we eat at the speed of rabid dogs and end up having a bit of time to go explore some local weird shop or two, never anything mainstream like a department store. Oh no. We like vintage shops. You know the type, they smell like damp and the inside of your nan's wardrobe, and we prance around pretending to overlook the fact that we are just in a well laid out, slightly more selective charity shop without the undertone of giving. Usually there's some blue haired student with a headscarf and a faint stench of Bobby Orange pawing through piles of shirts and jumpers that are deemed as retro, when they've actually some of them originated in C&A - we remember that place the first time round,depressingly. The whole vintage scene is a bit ironic and try hard and a bit sad at times, but the one thing that it does offer is the piece you are often looking at, generally is one of one only in the store. The same goes for charity shops, generally. We like stuff that can't be bought in bulk.

Dani owns Deluxe Blooms, and is a luxury faux florist, and very good at it too. Laura is a nail technician and spray tanning afficionado, and the owner of Maibella Nails and Tanning. I own a salon called Lexa Hair, and the three of us work together frequently. The ridiculous thing is though, that work is going really well for us, and while in the past we may have dug around in charity shops for a bargain simply to be economical, now it has begun more of a habit. And you know what they say, old habits die hard. We don't have to eat streetfood on picnic tables anymore, and we can shop anywhere we want, but at least just for me, I don't like extravagance and I'm not impressed by labels or price tags. I like pieces that are unique,with a story behind them. My two accomplices sort of get dragged in to it I think, but they seem on board with most of it. I hope.

And street food is the best food on earth, everyone knows that.

We kicked things off with a visit to a fairly new (maybe a year old I think) Vietnamese place on North Lane in Headingley named VietBaker. Inside it's very wooden looking, quite industrial and urban, stained wood everywhere and dark red leather chairs. It smells like the rice cooker that's chugging away in the corner, mixed with plenty of garlic and of course, the fresh baguettes that are stacked up in a glass cabinet above the front desk.

We opted for a sharing platter for £9, and from the menu us Yorkshire ruffians requested spring rolls (the deep fried ones, not the fresh, healthy ones obviously), prawn toast, and 'rustic chips'.

This was skin on chips with salt and pepper (well cooked and so tasty) and the prawn toast was understandably made of baguette slices. It made for a much heavier slab of prawn toast and therefore an even more unhealthy treat but man alive, was it good. The spring rolls were pork, prawn and the usual crispy vegetables inside. Not floppy or soggy, totally crispy and served with a really light and watery sweet chilli dip that's more sweet than chilli. It was all very lovely.

I've personally eaten from here a number of times and I think the Vietnamese have got it absolutely nailed when they make sandwich. Or a Ban Mih. Laura and I opted for one each, chicken for her and pork for me. Dani went for something off the new part of the menu, the fusion section, which even featured a take on beef bourgignon, Vietnamese style. She tried the Shanghai pork belly, served with rice. Her whole bowl was piled high, and we're not talking a polite, peanuts size bowl. More like a ‘free ceramic crunchy nut cereal box’ bowl, with the with tokens on the back of the pack, that you’d send off as a kid. It was huge. The second bowl was just plain rice, which worked really well as the pork alone was…. alot. It was sticky and tangy and rich and all those other wanky words that just mean amazing. I'm trying so hard to limit the wankiness. I like writing and eating, combining the two is hard work though. Bear with me. The slow cooked pork made me feel a bit gutted I went for a sandwich until I got stuck in.

Vietnam was a former French colony, and much like their neighbour Cambodia, found their local best offerings being bastardised to accomodate the 'local palate'. The nice version is that the baguette was the French's gift to the Vietnamese, although I imagine it was more a case of 'put your lovely meal in my baguette for me or you're in deep shit.'

I've never been to Vietnam but having visited Cambodge a few summers back, I remember being astounded at the gorgeous, light, dairy free Asian cuisine that had been shoved in a crusty, warm baguette. Whoever's story was true, it's the absolute bollocks.

They cut this freshly baked baguette open and spread it with patè on one side and on the other mayonnaise (already weird but hang in there) - add a ton of crispy green leaves, cucumber, pickles, coriander and fresh chilies, and add some meat into what little room is left. Enough meat to give you meat sweats. It. Is. Superb.

The pork was very finely sliced, dark and sticky again (here she goes) and you can bang on a fried egg, too, if you're an absolute wrong un. No thanks.

Laura had the chicken which was a milder flavour but none the less tasty and flavoursome. I noticed Laura pulling bits off her sandwich and delicately chewing away at them, while I picked it up and ate it like I'd been sleeping in the dark arches for the last month. I even had to be asked to wipe my face. Sorry, not sorry. No messing with a Ban Mih. Especially not this one.

The bill was a very respectable £11 a head, and they threw in a free set of spring rolls for us, which was a nice unexpected surprise. The place had a steady flow of traffic, and although wasn't packed, I've been on an evening and I think it's safe to assume that's the bulk of their trade. It was fantastic food, very reasonable and highly recommended. Great staff and great location. We'll be back!

Afterwards we drove for about 3 days to find a parking spot anywhere near Hyde Park, so we could check out the newly (ish) renovated (OK sign replaced and possibly ownership changed) Vintage something or other in Hyde Park.

I forget the name, and if I'm brutally honest I can see why. It's alright, but it used to be alot better. The last time I went in there was alot of very old apothecary style wooden drawer units, some weird taxidermy, and unusual pictures in frames that would look incredible in the lounge. This time there was quite a bit of formica, and some hideously orange stained TV units that I guess in some context would be deemed as cool again.

The music collection seemed to be where the most effort had been made. The clothing was actually quite 'quirky' in the sense that you wouldn't actually wear alot of it, there was a whole department that seemed to have been handed over by the owner of the late knob head Jimmy Saville, shell suit after shell suit in every colour of the rainbow, in that non breathable fabric you'd get a two man tent in. Hideous. Still, there are some absolute finds in there. I would encourage people to bear in mind that these shops have a high stock turnaround and in their uniqueness, and ability to replace items based on sales, any vintage shop can be a complete bag of shite one week and a total gold mine the next. Its the luck of the drawer, I love that about them. That and the fact that we call them vintage shops. The three of us refer to them as shit shops, but potato patato.

I find it depressing that as I mentioned before, alot of the 'retro' stuff is just normal stuff we, in our 30s, encountered in our youth. There was a 'vintage phone' that was £15 and I'm pretty sure my gran has it now. It's literally a BT £10 phone still in argos, but clearly it had lived with a heavy smoker, adding to the aged facade.

Some of it was very authentic, some of it was broken crap, but the general feel of the place is a good one. There is more 70s stuff than anything else which is quite cool, but like I say, stock changes very frequently. Dani bought an oversized T shirt with a University football team logo emblazoned across it, and to be honest I would have too. There was a vast array of university related large varsity based sweaters, some unnecessarily cut in half width ways (why?!!!! Serves no purpose now, you fools) and that's the kind of thing I would have liked to look at. But as I was in charge of a one year old who was bombing around the floor, doubling as a human sweeping brush and coming back with more dust on him than the inside of the V6 after the attic stairs have been tackled, I gave it up as a bad job and put my bank card back away. No spending for mum today. Gutted.

The shop is pretty fabulous, on the whole. They do know how to charge when it comes to furniture, but the clothing is far more reasonable. It's not all one off pieces, a couple of items make an appearance a few times and that kind of ruins it for me, I start picturing some huge factory in China making hideously outdated clothing and leaving them in a damp garage for a few years, chucking a bit of tea down them and wearing the cuffs and collars down, before exporting the newly knackered pieces to us dumbasses in our 'quirky vintage shops'. Who knows. It's well laid out, and pretty cool, and although not my favourite, I imagine the next time I go it'll be a whole different experience. Swings and roundabouts with these places. It was an interesting look, and if Parker hadn't been doing his best ferret impression I would have definitely bought a jumper. Well worth a look.

Until next week!

Laura, Dani and Alex X

VietBaker, Headingley

https://www.thevietbaker.co.uk

Vintage Boutique, Hyde Park

https://vintageboutique.com

[malodorousmalcontent]

Stereoplasm Review: Part 2

Hi everybody.

It's been a day. And i'm trying to make this day mildly less garbage, and keep on trucking, keepin' active, treating myself to nice things. I have taken myself out to a nice lunch. I have bought a big ol' steak to make for dinner. I am doing fun stuff. I might draw today. I might play Bad Bethesda Videogames today (you know which one i'm talking about). But, what I know for sure is that i'm writing part 2 of my Stereoplasm reviews today. Right here.

Right

now

So buckle up boys n' berries, i'll be reviewing Gone Gnome, Libatious Leprechaun, Green Gremlin, Scorpling, Lights Across the Sky, Kindling, Selasphorus Calliope, and Divine.

GONE GNOME (PERFUME OIL) || Top notes of cilantro and key lime rooted in fresh garden basil, english cucumber and melon blossom.

I've talked a lot about this one since I got this order, because it's made a pretty big impression on me. To put it simply: imagine walking into your local grocer, and walking up to the produce section. You look upon the fresh herbs, which have just been misted. Ultimately, you just... Take a fistful of them, indiscriminately, and just. Shove 'em straight onto your nose.

That's what this smells like.

This is the first herbaceous perfume that hasn't smelled dry and buzzy to me, and the first green perfume that hasn't, ultimately, left me uninterested in wearing it. It's smooth and fresh, very wetly green, with a hint of pepperiness, a hint of mintiness... It's lush, and delicate, and just. Good.

Looking at the notes, the the cilantro and the basil is definitely responsible for the smooth greens, the super-subtle pepperiness, I bet the mintiness is actually just the freshness of the basil - and I bet all that WET smell is coming from the cucumber, which is lovely. The key lime and the melon blossom come out more in the drydown, but they're both very subtle: the former just adds a little touch of citrusy zinginess, while the latter give the scent a very soft, smooth floral edge. And like.. That citrus is very realistic - like smelling the outside of a lime rather than its juices.

Wears lightly on me, and lasts about 3-4 hours before disappearing.

tl;dr: fresh, smooth, wet, exceptionally green herbs that, on the dry down, are joined by the barest hints of citrus peel and a soft floral.

RATING: 4.5/5. Solidly green perfumes aren't usually my ballgame - they're not bad, i'm just don't care about 'em too much - but this is definitely the best green perfume i've smelled.

--

LIBATIOUS LEPRECHAUN (PERFUME OIL) || Aged whiskey and oak reveal prickly pear, spicy ginger and feisty bergamot.

I couldn't quite figure out what this smelled like to me at first, but now I have it: green apple candy, like a jolly rancher or something. It's a really warm, lightly spiced scent with a candy-tart edge. Dries down to a smooth, kinda tangy smell. Makes me think of citrusy tea.

And, looking at the notes... Yep! They fit, easy to peg everything to everything. The warmth comes from the whiskey, the prickly pear smells like apple candy, the ginger gives it that spiced quality, and what it's drying down to is a smooth, mellow bergamot. It's nice! Not so complex that I can't pick out notes, but it still has a little depth. And, in general, it just... Smells good.

tl;dr: Tart green apple candy with a bit of booziness that dries down to a smooth, sweet bergamot.

RATING: 4/5.

--

GREEN GREMLIN (PERFUME OIL) || Juicy bamboo, slimy lychee skins, sour green apple cores and rustling tall dry grass.

I've tried this one on several times over several days at this point, and for some reason, my brain's having a hard time with it. I just keep expecting it to smell more complex, to dry down to something different than the notes immediately at the forefront, and when it doesn't, my brain just. Short-circuits. I have no fricken' idea why.

Anyways, this smells like fruit.

Specifically, it smells like tart green apple juice with something under it that gives the scent a bit of a bright, tropical twist. And... Reviewing this on a blind sniff, that's basically all I get, from beginning to end.

Looking at the notes: lychee skins n' apple cores. That's it. That Is The Scent. Primarily apple on me, with the lychee underneath giving that kinda tropical berry smell. I'm assuming the bamboo is contributing some wetness, thus the 'juice' quality to the scent. At no point do I get the grass.

This is one of Stereoplasm's scents that goes pretty light on me - I regularly have a hard time detecting it on my skin. No sillage on me. However, what I can smell, I smell for a good handful of hours.

tl;dr: Apple juice and bright, tropical lychee.

RATING: 3/5. It smells real good, but i'm a bit disappointed that it's got no lasting power on me and that I lose half the notes.

--

SCORPLING (PERFUME OIL) || Hopeful and bright young tulip stems, green cactus, sun dried leather, burnt ironwood and tall flowering lilac grass.

So, without looking at the notes, I feel like i'm smelling aloe vera. I don't even necessarily know if this is actually what aloe vera smells like, but the smell of this makes me think of it: very green, and very wet, and a little... Not medicinal, but it has that, 'I could slather this on me to make me feel better' smell. Weird to say, but this makes me think of the smell of like, unscented skincare products. A moisturizing gel. Smooth, seriously wet I am not kidding, maybe a little eensy weensy bit sharp.

Looking at the notes... Alright, the wetness and green-ness coming from the stems and cactus, definitely. If the tulip stems are supposed to have a floral quality to them, I don't really get it, and i'm guessing cactus probably smells kinda like aloe vera, since they're kinda, y'know... *Gestures vaguely*... Similar. Succulents and cacti and cacti and succulents. Anyways.

The leather's there, but it's VERY faint, like all these greens are just piled on top of it. It's more of a new leather note than a worn leather note, but it doesn't encroach new car interior territory, thankfully. I don't particularly get anything woody, let alone burnt wood - but my skin is notorious for minimizing wood notes - and the lilac grass might be supplying a slight indolic quality to the scent, but it's not strong.

When I first tried this on it was so light I could barely smell it, and now it's decidedly detectable on my wrist, but doesn't have much sillage.

tl;dr: SUPER wet light green smell on a subtle background of new leather.

RATING: 3/5. Nice, but doesn't interest me too much.

--

LIGHTS ACROSS THE SKY (PERFUME OIL) || Circles of sun-bleached wheat, twilight musk, English lavender and upturned fennel bulbs. Shaking saucers under steaming cups of Earl Grey sink into comforting vanilla cream.

So, I refuse to look at the notes yet, because I genuinely have no fricken' idea what's in this, and i'm gonna make a guess and see how close I get. Okay. Here we go

My guess on first whiff: Anise and Lavender. It's got a soft edge of kinda more herbal lavender, and that sort of earthy, gummy quality of anise, though it's not an overpowering anise... Which is good, 'cause I don't like anise. There might be something kinda... Fruity-orangey in there, too? But then again, I just ate a blood orange, so maybe i'm smelling orange juice from my fingers. Hm. It's very light, and if I had to make ooone more guess about what's in there, i'd think maybe ozone or petrichor.

And, looking at the notes - not anise, but fennel, which I hear smells very similar, aaand lavender! Not too bad. The orangey scent is probably bergamot from the earl grey note - why do I keep going 'oh, smells like smooth citrusy tea!' and still totally fail to identify it as bergamot? Anyways. I definitely pick up some well-blended vanilla, too - smooth and a little waxy, as some vanilla notes tend to smell to me. Now that I know the wheat note is there, too, I can detect it - but it's so subtle that if I hadn't known, I don't think I would've realized it was its own note. It kinda just gives the scent this slight cozy toastiness.

The way the notes in this blend makes it smell kinda like a creamsicle with a soft lavender edge. An... Earthy creamsicle, but a creamsicle nonetheless. I really like Stereoplasm's earl grey/bergamot note, dude. It smell so good.

Dries down to more just, soft creamy sweet orangey smell. Lasts for about 3 hours before it starts to fade, and wears pretty close to the skin.

tl;dr: a slightly earthy/gummy creamsicle scent that dries down to a not earthy/gummy creamsicle scent.

RATING: 4/5, because they managed to make a scent with fennel in it and I didn't dislike it. Also because I like creamsicles.

--

KINDLING (PERFUME OIL) || Sweet jasmine incense, sunset musk, fresh sativa and strawberry wine.

Caaan-died straaawberries! They smell-a so good!

But seriously, I know I keep going 'this smells like x flavor of jolly rancher' in my various reviews but this smells like a strawberry jolly rancher. Or, like--actually--it smells more like those strawberry candies that every grandmother has that are absolutely delicious and come in the wrapping paper that looks like a strawberry.

You know the one.

This is very sweet and smooth and bright. Young, since it's a VERY candied scent, but I wouldn't mind smelling like this 'cause it just smells so good.

It's hard to distinguish the other notes in this, because ultimately I think they're just blending so well that it comes out to that one, singular scent of Strawberry Candy. The sunset musk, I think, might be responsible for the other half of the candied formula, lending a sweet, warm creaminess, and the jasmine incense... There's a little bit of a floral edge, but it's hard to detect. I definitely don't get anything that smells like sativa.

This has HELLA throw. Even dry, i'm catching whiffs of it from a foot away every now and then. Wears nice and strong on my skin.

tl;dr: STRAWWBERRY CANDY WHY YOU SMELL-A SO GOOOOOD

RATING: 4.7/5. Verging on too young for me, but I really like it regardless.

--

SELASPHORUS CALLIOPE - HUMMINGBIRD (PERFUME OIL) || Foxglove Nectar, Honeysuckle and fresh maple leaves.

So, funny story with this one.

I took a whiff of it and was immediately hit with familiarity. It's very strongly floral - a rich white floral with a bit of a hard indolic edge to it and just a hint of sweetness - and I know that I know the scent, but god help me, I couldn't say why. I didn't bother looking up the notes - I just assumed it was the one I could remember, foxglove nectar, and wondered why the heck I would recognize that. I've never smelled foxglove.

I'm mentioning this to my sister - just that it smells very familiar - and she goes, 'doesn't that have honeysuckle in it?'

And I go, 'nooo.' I was, obviously, wrong.

I grew up around honeysuckle, but never really paid attention to what they smelled like - mostly, I thought about what their nectar tasted like. But now, here I am, smelling a honeysuckle note and recognizing it without even knowing what it is. I take it that's a pretty true note.

So, starting out, as stated before, this is strong, lush, true honeysuckle with a hard indolic edge. After about 20 minutes, I start picking up a green-ness from the maple leaf note; I'm so used to smelling dry or decaying leaf notes, so it's interesting smelling one that smells fresh and green. With continued wear, that indolic edge smooths out, and the scent becomes a light white floral on a fresh green background. It's very pretty, actually. A great springtime scent. I still have no idea what foxglove nectar smells like, or if i'm detecting it here.

It's pretty strong, and I can smell it from about 4 inches off my skin.

tl;dr: A strong, realistic honeysuckle note on a background of fresh, green maple leaves that smooths out on the drydown.

RATING: 5/5 for a fantastic honeysuckle note that can trigger my memory without me even realizing what it is i'm smelling.

--

DIVINE (PERFUME OIL) || Gooey cherry cake batter, burnt marzipan, fresh cinnamon leaf, orange zest, warm chai cream and roasted hazelnut.

Mmm this is delicious. At first, I get smooth, almost creamy hazelnut, but it fades sort of quickly in favor of a dark dry cherry note - and this is on a blind sniff. Like, I know hazelnut's in there, but if there's not cherry in this bad boy, i'll--i'll eat my hat.

There's something warm and... Almost woody to this? And a muskiness? If I had to make one more guess at what's in here, i'd say a gentle creamy coffee note, but that might be because I drink coffee with hazelnut creamer so i'm getting coffee vibes from that. Overall i'd describe this as dark, smooth, lightly foody-sweet, spiced and sultry. This smells like something a busty femme fatale sort of character would wear.

Looking at the notes, not a lick of wood, but hey there cherry cake batter. Don't have to eat any hats today. I'm pretty sure what's giving me the coffee vibes is a combination of the burnt marzipan giving the scent that sorta bitterness that coffee has, the chai cream, and of course the hazelnut. I'm pretty sure what I was reading as 'musk' was the warmth coming from the chai cream note, as I tend to associate musk with giving scents a sort of humidity. The cinnamon leaf might be what i'm reading as wood - smells planty and spicy and earthy without going too green. Doesn't go red-hot.

With all these strong foody notes, you'd think this would be overpowering, but it's really not - in fact, this goes pretty damn light on me, but that might be less the scent and more my skin chem. I don't have the greatest luck with Stereoplasm's scents wearing strongly on me - about a 50/50 chance - but i've seen them work out real well on my sister.

tl;dr: Warm, creamy, sweet and spicy hazelnut tea accompanied by a dark cherry note. Smooth, spicy and sultry.

RATING: 4/5. I super like this. It made me like a cherry note, which is impressive! But, docked a point for going pretty light on me.

[cutiecrates]

Cutie Reviews: Kira Kira crate March 18

As usual stuff seems to be happening for me lately. A few days ago I found out my grandmother got hurt and had to be rushed to the hospital for a head injury and injured tailbone, but she is doing okay now. We were told DAYS after it happened, so she’s already recovering really well by now. Fights with friends, preparing our house for its makeover, upcoming yard sale... typical summer activities am I right? <3<

Anyway, let’s just get into this.

As you can see they’re keeping up with their “drawn tutorials” rather than use real models still. I actually really like this :3 it gives the brand a unique style.

Also I’m trying yet another new setting!

For this month we got 2 facial mask-type items. Our first is a Limited Edition Hello Kitty Sheet Mask by Pure Smile. Other than packaging design and scent its a typical plain mask. But the packaging is special all on its own if you ask me~

This came in 5 different packaging colors in 4 scents: Soybean, Pearl, Japanese Sake, and Rice. Each with their own properties; Soybean heals the skin, while Pearl boosts and regenerates collagen, and the sake exfoliates and retains skin moisture. Rice focuses on problem spots and soothes acne.

Looking at the images, I’m assuming got sake- it also smells like a face mask x light alcohol. This was perfect for me... although I recently discovered a few zits, so I could have settled for rice.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

Besides packaging there’s nothing really special or unique about it. But its really good, much like most other Pure Smile products. I also like that there was a variety, which is semi-less common in Beauty boxes.

Ironically, our next variety item is another face product, this being a Veggie/Fruits Face Mask, available in tomato, cucumber, watermelon, or pineapple :3 besides tomato they all sound delicious~

What makes this “face mask“ special is that the mask are actually several SLICES, like an actual handmade natural food treatment- you know, like how people would slice cucumbers for their eyes? Or rub avocado all over their face?

It’s a similar concept- but it’s not edible >x< sadly, cause who doesn’t get hungry after using food-based products?

These specific masks are for increasing the firmness and moisture in the skin. You simply stick them on problem areas for 15-20 minutes, then pop them off like you would a normal mask.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

I love the concept behind these, and they smell watermelon-reminiscent. Like it didn’t smell like a real watermelon, or even artificial, but it still reminded me of one. The only bad thing I noticed was that afterwards the areas I applied them to were super sticky- like more so than most normal face mask. I felt the need to wash my face off right away compared to letting it soak in like I would normally.

Next is a lovely Pink Lip Palette, a four-colored veristile palette for creating a variety of looks (as seen in the tutorial on top of the entry).

Here they are, it took a few swipes to get them to apply (especially the first two colors, which are hardly visible here). They each have their own tone and apply light, like lip balm on the lips.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

I love pink, and I love the different hues you get with this. But when actually on the lips I found that I had to do quite a few swipes to get actual color- with the exception of the reddish hue and the one slightly lighter than it. The other two were practically non existent but they did add a faint hue and shine.

Besides keeping the face clean and feeling fine, we also have this Strawberry Bath Bomb/Tablet/Ball. It’s very small and cute ♥ 

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

It doesn’t stain the skin due to being white, and I noticed how soft and smooth my hands were after testing it. However the scent left something to be desired. It didn’t remind me of strawberries- in fact it was sort of half good smelling half bad smelling and I have no idea why.

Befitting of our pink and flowery theme is a Sakura Soap & Towel set. Very handy for travel or as a gift for a friend, it reminded me of the set we got in a NMNL Box last year also featuring a Sakura theme, although it was different in design and items. They both came with a towel/cloth though.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I love this adorable shaped soap, look at its detail! It also smells really nice, and I love the cute pattern of the towel/cloth.

Our final item is this Cassis X Sakura Hand Gel product meant to replace greasy lotions while providing moisture for the hands. It is made from an oil infused with a sakura (cherry blossom) scent.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

It’s a clear product, and despite being made with oil it actually soaks into the skin fairly quick and easily. It reminds me of a product my mom had me try a while back, which starts out as a gel but turns into a powder that soaks into the skin.

The scene is amazing! it reminds me of a cross between Juicy Juice and flowers.

♥ Cutie Ranking ♥

Quality/Pricing - 3.5 out of 5. I like the items, but they were kind of on the smaller side (namely the Palette and bath bomb). It’s times like this I wonder if the price is with shipping, as we don’t actually pay for it.  

Content - 3.5 out of 5. I really liked everything, but when you get down to it a lot of it was also very plain. Like the hand gel, the bath tablet, the face mask- all of them were clear/white hidden beneath colorful or cute packaging.

Total Rank: 7 out of 10 Cuties. I like the items despite my concerns over the way they planned on changing the box to make sure all of the items fit each other to work in a routine- but I actually haven’t seen a difference honestly. I’d actually give this a 9 out of 10 because I was pretty happy with it, but I go by how I rate the prior fields.

♥ Cutie Scale ♥

1.  Hand Gel - The packaging is sweet and elegant looking. 

2.  Fruits Face Mask - I adore the concept, and it’s very sweet looking. The slices are very detailed too.

3.  Sakura Soap and Towel - The soap is very detailed and cute, and I love the simplistically cute design on the towel.

4.   Hello Kitty Face Mask - I loved its silver and color packaging, and hello kitty always looks cute in a kimono :3

5.  Pink Palette - It’s pretty plain, even if it does feature my 2 favorite colors. 

6.  Strawberry Bath Bomb - The packaging is adorable but after you take that all off it’s just a plain white ball.

And..... here we are at the end of another review :3 Next up will be Kawaii Crate so I hope you’re as exited for it as I am~

Until next time, stay Watermelony pips cute!

(btw if you get the reference then way to go!)