#notat perfumes

[the-joyful-abyss]

من يومين اتفتح قدامي باب لشراكة بالخبرة مع صديق عاوز يعمل براند Body splash متخصص وعنده خطة ينتشر بيها بشكل كبير في مصر كلها تقريبا في وقت قصير وأنا مقتنع إنه يقدر يعمل الانتشار ده بالفعل، لكن في نفس الوقت متردد اخد الخطوة دي لإني بعمل منتجاتي بدافع الشغف والحب والاستمتاع وقلقان لو الموضوع اتقلب لبيزنس بنطاق واسع إني أفقد هواية بهرب بيها من العالم ودوشته واعزف مع نفسي بالنوتات العطرية علشان أطلع حاجة ترضيني أنا قبل ما ترضي أي حد والموضوع يتحول لشغل تجاري واضطر اعمل حاجات مش راضي عنها، بجانب إني بحب اسم البراند بتاعي ومش عاوز أتخلى عنه وما اظنش هيبقى متاح إنهم يستخدموا الاسم لإنهم هيختاروا مختلف طبعًا، وكمان علشان مش هقدر أخد الريفيوهات بشكل مباشر من الناس اللي بتتعامل معايا -ودي في حد ذاتها متعة بالنسبة لي- ف التردد عمال يزيد هل أعتذر واعرض عليهم المساعدة بشكل ودي ومن غير شراكة ولا أدوس في الموضوع واشوف هيحصل ايه.

على الجانب الآخر ليا كام يوم بتجيلي Reviews عن ال Hair perfume وكلها ما شاء الله تفتح النفس عن قد ايه التجربة مختلفة والتأثير حلو وانهم بقوا يستخدموه مش بس للتعطير لكن كمان لتغذية الشعر وعلاج الهيشان والتقصف، ف اللهم لك الحمد.

فضفضة مع الناس اللي بحبهم ❤️

[musamora]

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. soft!fyodor, fluff. not proofread. 1.1k+ words.

author's note. because we have been blessed (or cursed depending on if you're a big sigma fan) with fyodor this week, allow me to spew some fluffy bullshit that anti-fyodor fans will rage over.

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. fyodor was never the type to long for anyone, ever. in his many years of living, he had never yearned for anything beyond his simple needs and his complex goals. so, when he comes to find himself constantly thinking about one person, he is left internally baffled.

The house was quiet, unnervingly so.

Fyodor remained in the doorway momentarily, taking in a short breath of burned-out jasmine candles and perfume. It was strange to return home to such an empty house, which his lover had left on a business trip multiple days ago — but the fragrance of her presence seemed to remain strong despite its owner's absence.

There was no use remaining inside the doorway; the man shuffling inside almost expected to hear smaller footsteps responding to his. But there was nothing, only the noises he made inside a lifeless house.

He went through his routine, though it was slightly altered due to the lack of another presence. Instead of sitting in the dining room to eat, he walked into the kitchen and looked inside the fridge. He almost found himself smiling at the intricately organized interior, spotting a pre-made meal explicitly created for him. He heated it up, making himself a pot of tea, and took both to his study.

He sat at his desk, settling into his chair to review documents from his subordinates' missions. His fingers mindlessly scrolled through hundreds of lines of detail, but he found his thoughts elsewhere. The normal control he had over his mind ceased, the constant presence of laughter and a familiar silhouette resurging in his mind.

What about her made it so that she constantly persisted in his thoughts? He leaned back, humming as he contemplated the question.

Her routine.

The tendency she had to go to bed late (not unlike himself, she would often say) and awake closer to noon, and the struggle it took to wake her at any hour before then. A small part of him adored the creased line of her brow as she looked up at him with disdain, reminding him of a grumpy kitten.

The simple sandwich she would make every day with the same glass of juice, which she would take to the window seat of their living room and watch the world outside their space. She seemed to soak up the sun.

The way she would make herself a bath every Friday, filling it with a jasmine bath bomb and lighting multiple candles. She would tease him about joining her, knowing he was far too puritanical to take her up on that offer before they married. (They were already pushing it by living together pre-marriage).

The leftovers he would find in the fridge, which were properly sectioned and labeled for him to eat if he ended up returning home past dinner. Each would be wrapped, and a sticky note with a sweet message reminding him to eat would be taped against the material.

Her tastes.

She liked coffee; he liked tea. There was an occasion when he made the both of them tea. He fondly remembered how her nose scrunched up and the funny expression she forced off her face, respectfully sipping the entire cup.

She liked spicy food; he did not. It almost baffled him how she could eat the spicy foods that they came across in Japan. He was glad that she kept his spice intolerance in mind whenever she cooked, though she constantly teased him about it.

But both of them liked physical books. There was something so innocently intimate about holding a physical book, able to notate and mark any interesting line. Feeling the texture of the worn pages against skin, able to trade books with one another.

Her words.

The curious quips that she would respond with whenever they held discussions about life and its purpose. Each interjection reminded him of one of the aspects he adored about her the most, past the vein admiration of her appearance and personality — her intelligence. A sharp wit that maintained a steady pace alongside his own. Like an identical pair.

The firm reassurances she would declare moments before he’d leave, pumping herself up more than it did him. He had to admit, it was cute.

The small tunes she would hum whenever she thought she was alone, often mimicking the music that Fyodor would practice on his cello. She would deny listening to his practice sessions, but that humming always seemed to reveal otherwise.

Her expressions.

The small pout of her lips whenever she realizes that he is leaving on a mission for a prolonged period of time. She always tries to hide her disappointment, but her feelings become obvious with the slight quiver of her mouth.

The sparkle in her eyes as she looked upon him with intrigue, listening intently whenever he took the time to explain an intricate aspect of his plans or the complexity of his philosophies.

The calm smile that slowly appears on her lips whenever she sees him following a mission, eyes filled with relief and sympathy whenever she looks upon his tired form. It was an expression that would remain on her face as she made sure to take care of him.

Her laugh.

The small giggles she would make whenever she came across a humorous passage in her books, attempting to cover her laughter with her hand.

The way she would bend over, wheezing with tears coming from her eyes as he accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) brushed his fingers against the sensitive area of her skin near her hips.

The way she dismissively huffed whenever someone would annoy her, hiding it underneath an irritated chuckle as she attempted to maintain her composure. 

But there was one aspect that he felt was missing.

It was strange to forget something about someone who remained so close to his side. It murked him, his fingers thrumming as he contemplated the trait missing from the set. If he was candid with himself, he adored millions of things about her. But there was one aspect that persisted above the rest.

"Федя? I'm home!"

He froze; his gaze shifted from the patterns of the ceiling to the entrance of his study as a slight knock was made against the wall. And standing there was the lovely woman he had chosen to spend his days with, her lips curled up in a familiar smile as she leaned against the study's door frame.

"I may have gotten you a few little souvenirs," she chirped, swaying a large, heavy bag in front of him like a pendulum. "I know that you've wanted to expand your library, and I managed to find a few novels that weren't in your collection."

And it was in a quick moment of reflection and a surreal feeling of grounding he realized the trait he forgot to count. His favorite aspect out of all of her personality traits and physical attributes.

Her heart.

Always thinking of others. Considerate and thoughtful. In spite of their tainted world, there remained a kindness that was almost otherwordly inside her. It was rare to find someone who didn't always put themself first, but there she was. His rare gem, a diamond amongst coal.

And he smiled.

"Thank you, милая. Such a pleasant surprise. Come inside. Tell me the details of your trip."

It was that heart he would protect.

Федя = fedya милая = dear/darling

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[bullet-prooflove]

Love Song - Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life, @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @vannabanana1995 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

You’re not in bed when Riz wakes up, but he can hear the low dulcet notes of your guitar through the closed door. He follows the sound down the hallway, his hand brushing his hair out of his eyes as he lingers for a moment on threshold.

You’re sitting on the couch in one of his button up shirts and a pair of black panties, the guitar perched in your lap. Your song book is spread out on the coffee table in front of you, pencil etchings scrawled across its pages as you pause and make another correction.

He smiles because it’s moments like this that he treasures, the ones where he sees you in full flow, inspired and vibrant. It does something to him to see you like this, to know that you’re comfortable enough in his presence to express yourself and your creativity.

Your head tilts up as he enters the room, attention diverted by the movement.

“Sorry.” You say, setting the pencil down alongside your notebook. “I woke up with a song in my head. I have the lyrics down, but the melody is being tricky.”

“Let’s have a look.” He murmurs, his voice still rough from sleep as he takes a seat from the couch beside you. You hand him the guitar before turning the song book towards him. His fingers pluck at the strings, testing the chords as he finds the impression of the song, the ebb of the melody.

You lean in close, your hair brushing over his shoulder, the faint scent of your perfume clinging to your skin. Delicate rose with hints of saffron, it reminds him of the first blush of spring.

“I’m having a problem with this part.” You tell him, your fingertip skating over the notation. His brows furrow as he studies the notes before he picks up the pencil and jots an alternative beside it.

“We could try this.” He said, tapping the pencil against the paper. “I’ll play, you sing?”

You smile at him, and he feels that warmth blossom deep down in his chest because despite the fact it’s two in the morning, he’s never been happier. There’s something about being around you, making music and collaborating that feels right. He’s never had this with anyone else, never dreamed that he could.

It takes him a couple of tries to pull the song together, to learn it just enough to play without the song book. It’s beautiful, light and upbeat and he can feel the echoes of your essence vibrating through the stings as he plucks them. There’s a signature when it comes to musicians, it’s the difference between mimicking someone else’s music and crafting your own. He can see your flourish, feel the elements of your style as he plays, and it resonates with something inside of his soul. He chases the rhythm, letting it flood his senses until the song overtakes him. This is what he loves about music, you can sense someone’s passion, feel their emotions, it’s something building in your chest until it overtakes you.

It isn’t until the third run through that he tunes into the words your singing, he listens closely as he strums, his brain catching on each of the lyrics, bringing colour to his cheeks.

A dark haired lover with amber eyes to kiss me through the night.

He’s got patches on his skin that tell a story, of a thousand lifetimes lived.

I run my fingers over them, and I hope he knows I’m his.

His heart thunders against my chest, my hands in his hair

As he whispers I love you against my lips.

There’s a feeling deep inside of him, a wanton surge of sentiment that surges through his nerve endings until it engulfs him. He looks at you, his fingers slipping from the fretboard.

“Do you mean it?” he asks you.

“I can’t say it. The words I have they don’t seem adequate enough.” You tell him quietly, fingertip tapping on the place your heart resides. “But I can sing it, it’s the only way I know how to show you how much you mean to me.”

He doesn’t speak, he can’t.

There are no words to express how he feels in this moment, the wild flurry of devotion that rushes through him. Instead, he puts the guitar down and he shows you. He makes love to you on that couch with a song in his heart and your hands in his hair.

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[pinkiepiebones]

Exciting Job Opportunities in Your Area!

Missing film reels. Written for the prompt " '31 Dracfield"

--Long Ago--

Robert Montague Renfield had arrived at Castle Dracula a real estate lawyer. His office had received a letter of inquiry regarding available land in London, and Robert, he jumped at the opportunity for the assignment as soon as he heard that title- Count. A count! A foreign fellow, yes, but surely a noble foreigner. A wealthy, noble foreigner, one would be led to believe.

Robert scoured the paperwork regarding available parcels and sent the notations and descriptions and sketches and floor layouts and history and chain of ownership and prices to the Count in Transylvania and even paid for expedited post.

A week later, a letter addressed "For the eyes of Mr. RM Renfield only" arrived on his desk. Robert did his best to temper his excitement but a giggle escaped his lips as he cracked the blood-red wax seal- God, how quaint!- and found that the Count had kindly returned all the paperwork and had inscribed in flowing, elegant handwriting, that Carfax Abbey would suit his needs perfectly. Bundled with the note was partial payment for the place (a blighted spit of godforsaken marsh nestled next to a madhouse! Ah, how the wealthy spend their exorbitant sums) and... Oh.

Robert squinted at the cursive. For a foreigner, the Count wrote in excellent English. But this- it was instructions. Addressed to Robert himself.

His heart sped up as he read.

"Mr. Renfield,

I wish to discuss with you, in person, the purchase of Carfax Abbey in London. I am unable to travel at this time; however, I will at once see to it that your travel to my home is paid for in full, should you respond in the affirmative and agree to follow my instruction. I await your reply, Mister Renfield.

Your friend, Dracula"

Your friend.

Robert did not discuss it with his wife or with his fellow solicitors. He tucked the letter inside his suitcoat, pressed firmly against his heart, and sent his response in secret. He felt as though he was to soon embark on an incredible journey.

The Count's response came within days. Robert ran his fingertips over the wax seal- this time, stamped not with a plain sort of stamp, but with what was undoubtably the design of the Count's family crest- and carefully shattered it. Inside were joyous salutations, a boarding pass for a ship leaving from London, a train ticket, a beautifully etched map, and instructions.

"Tell no soul where it is you are heading. Not friend nor lover. Your travel and arrival to my home must be bathed in the utmost secrecy."

Robert idly traced the word 'lover.' How peculiar of the Count to not say 'wife.' Surely he had mentioned Elizabeth in previous correspondence. What sort of family man didn't mention his family in the work hours? A married father makes more money than a confirmed bachelor. Right?

Robert brought the letter close and breathed deep. The paper was perfumed, just barely so, but he could smell something enchanting on it.

He borrowed books from the library and read all he could concerning Transylvania, so as to not look or sound foolish in his travels. He told his wife he would be going on a business trip two days before the ship was set to sail.

"Where to?"

"Ah, well, my client wishes me to keep that private."

Elizabeth looked at him from the vanity. This was how a great deal of their conversations took place now, her at the vanity in her nightgown, brushing her hair, he sitting on the edge of their bed in his pajamas. Dinner conversation (whenever Robert was present in the house and not working late) was focused mostly on their daughter and her schoolyard exploits.

"You can't tell me where you'll be going?"

"No, dear."

"What if something happens to Lillian? How would I get word to you?"

Robert looked down at his hands.

"And how long will you be gone?"

Robert fought the urge to simply shrug and said "my client wishes to discuss his purchase, and I'm to bring paperwork for him to sign. It shouldn't have me away for more than a week, maybe two if the weather turns."

Elizabeth stood and crossed the space between them. Her expression was unreadable, as was the case most of the time these days. Robert took her hand in his and looked up at her, eyes pleading.

"Elizabeth, I don't mean to be crass, but he's rich. He is nobility. This is my chance to get the life I- we, the life we deserve. The life Lillian deserves." He gently squeezed her hand, her wedding ring pressing into his palm.

Elizabeth sighed. "You'll go whether or not I support you going. So go." She took her hand from his and got in bed. "I will make up a story for Lillian," she said. "Because Lillian will ask where you've gone."

Robert approached his side of the bed.

"I- I'm going to take you and Lillian with me to London. She'll see me board the ship." He chuckled. "So, your story will start with a little sea faring."

Catherine was quiet.

Robert slept and dreamed of being consumed by shadows.

- Robert Montague Renfield had arrived at Castle Dracula a real estate lawyer. He had followed the Count's instructions implicitly, telling no soul of his final destination. The castle was shockingly dilapidated, but Robert pressed on, hoping, perhaps, that the disrepair and decay of the castle simply belied how miserly the Count has become with his vast fortunes; maybe the Count elected to hoard his wealth like a dragon instead of purchasing materials and labour for the upkeep of the stonework and such.

Robert gladly accepted drink from the Count and noticed the Count poured nothing for himself.

"I never drink... wine," the Count said with a smile that exposed sharp, sharp teeth.

The wine or something in it sent Robert to the floor. He woke, barely, to the sensation of fingernails stroking his face. He could have sworn he had heard women's voices before opening his eyes. Odd.

Dracula was crouched over him, staring. Robert swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.

"The wine is strong for you," Dracula said, grinning. Robert was blushing. He knew he was.

"Um, y-yes, I think so."

Dracula's fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of Robert's neck and Robert gasped at the cool touch that set a fire in him.

"Your heart is so loud, Mister Renfield," Dracula chuckled.

Robert whimpered. He felt, suddenly, incredibly exposed, as though the Count's gaze had penetrated the depths of his soul, where he hid his truest self.

Dracula leaned down and kissed him. Robert's eyes fluttered closed and his arms, sluggishly, raised, fingers grasping at the Count's shoulders.

Robert whined when the Count broke the kiss. He sat up, dizzy still.

"You have had to hide yourself for so long," the Count cooed, stroking Robert's hair. "No use trying to hide from me."

Robert felt tears rolling down his face. Too many conflicting feelings and the wine and the lips and the crucifix, gone, torn away, a millstone unmoored from his neck.

"I am alone here," Dracula purred, still petting the bewildered lawyer. "You will stay here, with me, being my assistant."

"I... I will?"

Dracula smiled, eyes shining.

"You will make a very good assistant, Mister Renfield."

Dracula tilted Robert's chin up and leaned so close Robert could feel the Count's lips on his neck.

"I - yes. Yes, I will."

The Count sank his teeth into Robert's flesh.

"Yes-!"

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

The Box Lady of Benton

It was October 8th, 1976 and Norman Skoog had spent the day harvesting his “back 40,” acres of corn along Benton County Road 200 South. Around 5pm, while harvesting in a remote spot about a mile-and-a-half from the Skoog home, he made a bizarre discovery. A white cardboard box wrapped in tape and rope sat on the ground roughly nine rows deep in the field, approximately 15 yards off of the gravel road. Norman had nearly ran over the box with his combine. When he got out to investigate the box, he realized it was far too heavy for him to lift alone. He left on his combine to get his father-in-law and his pickup. Together, they loaded the box into the bed of the truck and drove it to the Skoog home.

Curtis Skoog, 16, was first to notice the pungent odor of cheap perfume coming from within the box. Using a pocket knife, he sliced open a section of the box to find a broken vial of perfume lying atop something wrapped in layers of plastic. Concerned what may be inside, Norman phoned police. He told Curtis to return the vial to the box and wait for the Sheriff to arrive.

Sheriff Donal Steely arrived at the Skoog home a short time later to inspect the suspicious package. As he began to cut into the thick sheets of heavy plastic and rope, a new foul smell wafted out of the box. Steely decided he should contact the State Police before proceeding any further. Indiana State Police arrived and opened the box. Beneath the layers of plastic sheeting and rope, they discovered the body of a woman. The body was taken to the local coroners office, and later an autopsy was preformed in Lafayette, Indiana.

It was concluded that the woman’s cause of death was from a small calibre single gunshot wound at the base of her neck fired at close range. The bullet was never recovered. Her death was estimated to have occurred 7-10 days before being found, but it was noted that very little decomposition had occurred.

She was found in the fetal position with her knees pressed firmly against her chest. Her body was bound with rope and her hands were tied under her knees. Her head and face were wrapped in white paper towelling, and two small plastic bags had been tied over her head. Her body had been wrapped in several layers of thick plastic, similar to those used as runners to protect carpet. White clothesline style rope and heavy duty duct tape had been used to tie the plastic around the body and was so tightly bound, it had distorted and bruised the woman’s face.

The woman was white, approximately 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighed around 175 pounds, and was estimated to be around 60 years of age. The woman wore a green 2-piece pants suit that was covered in blood, but otherwise clean. She wore no makeup, shoes, pantyhose, or jewelry and had no identification. She had a few distinguishing facial features, including a large “bump” on the bridge of her nose and “abnormally large ears.”

It was evident the woman had undergone several surgeries. She had undergone a radical mastectomy, and bore a vertical surgical scar on her mid-section which extended from her sternum to her stomach. She had also undergone extensive dental work, though she was in need of more.

Her makeshift “coffin” was a white cardboard box measuring 3-by-2-by-1-foot. The box was a typical moving box, stamped with a factory label reading “wardrobe.” Another part of the box bore a handwritten notation reading “hall closet.” It was learned that the box had been manufactured in Illinois. Inside of the box, the small vial of perfume was found, however it had no label. The box itself had been sealed with tape and the same rope that was used to bind the woman. Investigators believe the box had been left at the location the same day it was found. Heavy rains had blanketed the area the previous day into the early morning hours and the box showed no signs of moisture damage.

Police attempted to use fingerprints to identify the unknown woman, however they never found a match. This led them to the conclusion she had never been arrested, or held a civil service job. A sketch of the woman was released to the public in the hopes of identifying her, however no one came forward to claim her body. Eventually, she was buried in an unmarked grave in Fowler Cemetery.

The investigation continued and several people came forward from states as far away as Alabama believing the unknown woman may be their missing loved one. Unfortunately she was not a match to any of them.

Multiple theories existed, from everything to a “mob-hit,” to a wrong place wrong time scenario. However the most bizarre, and seemingly most accepted theory, is that the box was dropped from a helicopter.

While the area the box was found is extremely rural, it is also a tight knit community of farmers who are outside from sun up to sun down. According to them, they would have noticed someone driving along the gravel road that morning, and while they didn’t spot any suspicious cars, they did see a helicopter fly over the field early that morning. According to three separate witness statements, the helicopter approached from the northeast, swung to the southwest, and hovered near the ground for a few seconds where the box was found.

A second piece of evidence supporting the helicopter theory is that when police searched the area where the box was found, they discovered an irregular circle of exposed black dirt around the dumping site. During harvest, corn stalks litter the ground covering the soil. The powerful updraft created by a helicopter could cause the stalks to scatter leaving the ground exposed and leaving a circular “imprint” like the one discovered at the scene.

[auburniivenus]

╰┈➤ @infernaliscor got healed ❤

Within   the   solemn   tranquility   of   the   scriptorium,   a   citadel   of   erudition,   Orihime   and   her   beloved   companion   are   imprisoned   as   seekers.   They   obtain   solace   in   an   atmosphere   infused   with   both   reverence   and   mystery,   a   quarter   where   the   uttered   incantations   of   bygone   intellectuals   still   propagate   through   the   nimbus,   now   contaminated   with   a   perfume   of   antiquity.   The   scriptorium’s   historic   walls,   punctuated   with   prominent   oak   bookcases,   support   the   weight   of   inexhaustible   cognizance:   scrolls   and   volumes,   each   a   CACHE   of   the   world's   cumulative   sapience,   arduously   inscribed   by   the   hands   of   innumerable,   anonymous   craftsmen.   In   this   secluded   oasis   of   scholarism,   the   very   essence   of   knowledge   pervades   the   atmosphere,   unveiling   a   trove   of   secrets   eager   to   be   revealed.

Their   pursuit   of   excellence   is   as   formidable   as   it   is   praiseworthy.   With   precision,   she   commands   her   quill,   a   mute   but   potent   conduit   of   her   tenacity,   tracing   the   sinuous   characters   upon   unblemished   parchment.   The   act   of   inscription   becomes   a   ceremony,   with   each   flourish   of   her   pen   serving   as   a   silent   supplication   for   enlightenment.   The   inkpot,   a   goblet   of   deep   onyx   fluid,   quivers   under   the   magnitude   of   her   endeavor,   its   dark   liquid   a   depiction   of   the   opaque   sapience   they   yearn   to UNENCRYPT.

Her   caramel   gaze,   alight   with   the   urgency   of   academic   pursuit,   meticulously   examines   the   documents   arrayed   before   her,   each   a   palimpsest   concealing   the   obscures   of   history.   The   gentle   rustle   of   cellulose   and   the   steady   tempo   of   quill   upon   paper   are   the   sole   disturbances   in   this   consecrated   stillness.   Their   investigation   is   a   thorough   scourge   through   the   tangled   thicket   of   historical   chronicles,   with   each   discovery   a   triumph   over   the   obfuscation   wrought   by   the   passage   of   time.   Inoue's   faint   breaths,   scarcely   louder   than   a   sigh,   serve   as   a   subtle   testament   to   the   pressing   nature   of   their   quest. "We   must   unearth   something,   anything."   She   entreats.   "An   arcane   mark,   a   neglected   notation   that   has   escaped   prior   scrutiny."   Even   as   the   candles   dim   and   time   blurs,   her   resolve   remains   steadfast.

[archivestarlyht]

✩ — 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE?   lex is 5'9,  average height for a human.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?  yes.  he's a bit on the taller side in, like, the feywild, though, which is kind of awkward. but it's otherwise fine. 

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE?  thick,  dark brown,  wavy,  and styled out of his face.  worn long-ish so that it's just above his shoulders.

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING?   not really.  i mean,  he tries to put enough effort in to look decent,  but he isn't super preoccupied with how he looks.  when in an adventuring party he definitely tries to bathe whenever he can and is uncomfortable if he can't at least do that.

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ?  not really.  he's not super self-conscious.  that said if he knows he stands out,  he does get self conscious of his appearance.  

✩ — 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS?   indoors.

▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE?   sunshine.

▸ FOREST OR BEACH?   beach.

▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS?  gems.

▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES?   perfumes.

▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE?   personality.

▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD?   alone.

▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY?   the ordered chaos of the feywild,   actually.  <3

▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES?   painful truths.

▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC?   magic.

▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT?   peace.

▸ NIGHT OR DAY?   night.

▸ DUSK OR DAWN?   dusk.

▸ WARMTH OR COLD?   warmth.

▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS?  few close friends.

▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME?   reading,  then playing the game of 'how do i decode this wizard's spell notations?'

✩ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS?  he can be easy to walk over.  he can be conflict avoidant.  even if he disagrees with something,  a lot of the time he would prefer to just get over it and avoid conflict,  unless it's something extremely pressing to him that he can't just leave alone.

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM?   not necessarily.  except.  he does have a complicated relationship between knowing that he isn't from the feywild and would have had human parents that he can no longer remember.  he does wonder what that life would have been,  even if that would have been a completely different person.  

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS?  being gifted his spellbook.  the satisfaction and joy of successfully casting the first time.  he struggles a bit and isn't a prodigious caster,  but he does like to hold on to that initial feeling.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL?   no.  lex isn't a killer.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN?  quiet anxiety attack.  he'll stutter out some excuse to be alone,  then go off and try to calm himself down.  it's not necessarily that he dislikes being seen as vulnerable,  he just doesn't want to burden anyone with his problems.  he needs to be alone if he's seriously broken down over something because he knows he can get overstimulated and lash out.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE?   yes.  lex doesn't have any hangups or issues with trusting,  though he isn't immediately trusting,  either.  if it's earned,  it's earned,  though.

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE?   lex is, as he is with a lot of things, shy about love but open to it.  he is a bit hesitant of rejection.  he’s also sensitive to the fact that his memory problems might not be ideal in a partner,  and he’s worried about it being burdensome etc.  he still has a soft open heart and can be open with his affection.  he isn't shy about telling you that he cares about you,  nor is shy about showing you that he cares about you,  for that matter.  he's very attentive.

[lovelychoso]

There Are Whispers Behind My Smile

(Geto x Reader)

Chapter 2

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49898215/chapters/125969605

Look down, listen, look up, look away. Look down, listen, look up, look away. Look down, listen, look upㅡ

Freeze.

... He was looking this way.

Look away.

That was your cycle for almost every lunch period. An articulate pattern you acted upon to listen and observe Geto and his wretched friends. Though honestly, you felt a little bad for thinking about them like that. Especially Shoko, she wasn’t so bad. You two would talk every month or so in passing and she was quite friendly. And every time you saw her, it revamped your curiosity as to how she, Gojo, and your Geto became a tight-knit circle of friends. There were a few others that came around every now and then ㅡ particularly the girl who wore a bow in her hair, the sweetheart with big eyes (you sat beside him in third period), and the blonde boy with structured features ㅡ but those three were a solid defined trio.

Where you currently sat was in the main, central hall of the building. Because high schools were on the larger side, it was big enough for everyone to have their own hangout spot they would customarily spend the lunch hour in. So even though the main hall was big, it was only occupied by the same batch of 100 or so students. Geto and his friends were always part of this number and… so were you. He typically hung out at the tables next to the floor-to-ceiling windows and you would sit off to the side of the room a good 15 meters away. This made you close enough to watch him but far enough to never be caught. But honestly, the few rowdy tables that stood in between you both would’ve made it hard for him to notice your watchful eyes anyways. After Geto had been gazing in your direction of the hall, you didn’t feel like resuming your attentive cycle. Instead, you pulled out your phone when a notation made it buzz. It was from your dad:

Dad <3: Oh yeah? What made

you change your mind

(11:20am)

You couldn’t stop the huff from leaving your lips. He had every right to ask, honestly. Because the day before you were quite adamant that the blasted trip was something that would take years off your lifespan. Too many things had to be thought about and it was hard to come up with something to say. Unable to fight off the overwhelm you were feeling, you stared at your phone blankly while your mind ran a train.

The camp trip,

Geto,

what to pack,

Geto,

his hair looks good today,

Geto,

what should I wear,

Geto,

does he actually have a girlfriend…

Geto,

it’s gotta be a fling,

Geto,

what does he sleep inㅡ

Your rampaging thoughts put you in such a daze that you didn’t even see them coming in your direction. You froze and suspended your thoughts when a particular trio walked past your lonesome spot in the boisterous hall. A familiar warmth spread through your body when the expanse of Geto’s sensuous legs crossed your vision and after a short moment, you could smell the warm blend of expensive perfumes that wafted after them. A deep breath had to be taken through your nose to settle the overwhelming clash of excitement and agitation brewing in your body… you let your eyes trail after him until he turned the corner, sadly exiting your vision. When they were gone, you looked back down at your lap and started typing on your phone:

You: I just had a change of heart.

Someone convinced me to go

with them.

(11:22am)

After hitting send, you felt like you had enough of being in the main hall (jeeze, you wonder why?) and grabbed your bag to leave. You left the area and decided to go to your third period class early. The walk to class enabled an endless stream of chatter, laughter, mischief, bickering, and more to come from all sides of your surrounding radius. You couldn’t understand how people had the energy to be so enthusiastic in such a daft place like this. School in itself wasn’t necessarily a bother for you; there were particular classes you enjoyed and you were of the few who understood that in the long run, education had its importance. What inconvenienced you was the environment. Ever since you started high school three years ago, nothing brought you more distaste than the atmosphere of your surroundings.

The students here were as fake as they could get. Girls showed affection to one another while they simultaneously talked shit behind the backs of their friends, they were unbearably two-faced. You found it concerning how they would throw anybody ㅡ including their closest friends ㅡ under the bus if they thought it would validate their own selves. It was sickening really, the way flaws and insecurities were pointed out without a care because laughs would be received from those they wanted to impress.

The boys were no better. Were they ever aware that the brains in their heads could actually be used for something useful? Perhaps they thought brains were a mere accessory, a conclusion that was just as shameful. Not only did they have the mindset of incels, but they simultaneously believed they were prizes that women had to prove they were good enough for. News flash: they were lucky if a girl allowed herself to breathe around them. Boys would rather pursue girls to impress their loser friends than out of genuine affection for her. It was an agonizing thing to witness because those girls would never know better until it was too late. Furthermore, boys were like sheep; they all had sheep mentality and would only allow themselves to be influenced by the majority of men who behaved boorishly.

Of course, your Geto was extremely beyond compare to the fools that took up the space here. You were convinced that god sent him down as an apology for the imbeciles you were surrounded by.

Your introspection was put to a close when you got to third period. There was still about 30 minutes to go until the end of lunch break and with nothing else to do, you took out your headphones to pass the remainder of time. Your assigned seat in this class was closer to the front. You didn’t mind because unlike the classes you previously shared with Geto, he wasn’t here for you to keep an eye on him so in the end there was nothing to brood over. As you sat waiting, your phone buzzed again.

Dad <3: That’s completely fine.

Did you let your mom know?

Dad <3: Megumi might miss you

(11:30am)

And you were definitely going to miss him too. It was disappointing that you had to sacrifice a weekend with your family for something this stupid but at the end of the day, you didn’t have a choice. If you let Geto go on this trip without you around to watch him, he would surely do something stupid. And if he were to have the company of his friends, especially that halfwit Gojo, there was no telling what was going to happen. And if what Gojo said this morning was true, about Geto having the company of some girl ㅡ whose identity was never revealed during that time ㅡ then you were in for a ride. Why did everything have to be made so difficult for you?

You: I’ll miss him too :’)

And no I didn’t, I’ll

tell her at home

(11:31am)

You released a tired sigh after hitting send. You started to contemplate if there was anything even remotely good about this idea. Perhaps you should just skip… because when it actually came down to thinking about the grand scheme of things, you found yourself stuck in a block. What were you even going to do there…?

For starters, the school and the camp officials would create schedules for everyone to follow accordingly. And according to the information seminar that was carried out weeks ago to discuss the details of the camping trip, students would be put into groups for portions of the outing. What if you and Geto were put in separate groups? An instant pain was sent to your chest at the mere thought of the possibility. You couldn’t ignore the obstacles this would immediately pose for you; not only would you be kept away from him for hours at a time, but much of your time would be wasted if you weren’t around to keep an eye on him. And that was the main goal, to make sure he wasn’t up to anything that would hurt you.

Oh gosh, who were you kidding?

… that would hurt him.

Whoever the girl is, surely she can’t be any better than you. She was obviously a student here and if the reputation of the girls at this school was anything to go by, it puzzled you as to why Geto would waste his time like this. Your worth was unreachable in comparison to the wenches here and you had much to offer when given the right chances. You knew that if Geto would just open his damn eyes he would not be disappointed in the slightest.

In a multitude of ways, you felt bad for him. It was hard to explain actually…

For starters, Geto was smart. Not just in academics, but you could tell he applied logic to his life in a variety of ways. You fully felt that he wasn’t one to let societal pressures get the better of him, despite his status in and outside of school. Oh, right. Was it mentioned that Geto was an all exclusive package?

He came from money. Not that you cared for things like that, but inevitably it added to his value as a societal member. From what you knew ㅡ after stalking him and his family online ㅡ his parents were both well known in the field of politics. His mother was a renowned lawyer who was seemingly really good at what she did and won case after case in her field of criminal law and defense. Geto’s father was even higher on the political scale for he worked as a provincial (state) judge. So… yeah. Geto came from money money and had a form of status that kids like you dreamed of.

On a normal basis, you never would have cared this much about a rich person because you felt like they all had a personal spot in hell.

So then what made Geto a heaven’s boy? For starters, he was an attendee at a public school. It was one of the few things about him you weren’t sure you understood. If his parents had that type of money, then surely they could have afforded to send him off somewhere fancy and private, so why exactly was he here? You ultimately decided that Geto ㅡ and maybe his parents too ㅡ were modest and humble people despite their status and wealth. It made sense after all. For almost three years you’ve done nothing but watch him with your full attention and not once have you seen him act spoiled or unclassy. He’s only ever been smiles and elegantly charmful to everyone…

Which was another thing that attracted you to him; he was a very pleasant person. When you attend high school, the first thing you notice that people talk about are, in fact, other people. You’ve heard your peers talk crap about others and you’ve also heard the odd praising here and there. Yes, “the odd praising” ㅡ it was high school, why would students be kind when they could just be mean, you know? During your time here, you have never once heard Geto be a victim of anybody’s ill feelings. And it might sound far-fetched considering this was a big building filled with just over a thousand people; everyone is always talking even when you’re not around to hear them. But you’ve heard people talk about Gojo many times, not always nice things of course ㅡ someone even went as far as to wish death upon him once, not that you could blame them for thinking that. Shoko had been the topic of discussion a couple of times (it was safe to say that she had way more pleasant things to be said about her than Gojo). So when it was Geto that people found time to discuss, negative remarks were never spoken.

You’ve heard girls praise his charm and kindness. You’ve heard boys compliment his academic skills. One time somebody was gushing over the fact he spared them a bandaid straight out of his bag (your cheeks tinted pink upon hearing this, that was your Geto after all, so selfless). He really did deserve every praise he got from those who knew of him.

He was certainly a heaven’s boy.

So how did this contribute to the sympathy you held for Geto? The boy had the looks of divinity. You often pondered what deal was made with the devil for him to look so beautiful. His modesty, courtesy, and benevolence showed he had the charisma of a saint. He was smart and logical in and outside of the classroom. And finally, he had the wealth that any father would want for their daughter. So what was there to be displeased about? It was simple. All these blessings and he didn’t have the crown jewel.

You.

Geto may be living a satisfactory life, yes, but what was the point of him living if he didn't have you around?

When you live in a city where the surrounding 10 hour radius is dense in trees and forests, wildfires happen a few times a year. When the coarse smoke finally reaches the city, it's hard to see the beauties of the night sky. Normal stars are concealed and the brightest ones are just barely visible. But what always shines through? The moon. Still big and bold amidst the smoke. Sometimes, the toxins in the air give it a red hue, but that only adds to the beauty of its perseverance.

A blood moon.

You were Geto's blood moon.

People like Gojo and Shoko were stars that were barely visible through normal pollution. And the fucking sleaze they joked about Geto spending time with on the trip? She was lucky to be considered as space dust (of course, you still had to figure out just who it was they were talking about). And you felt terrible because despite him being as smart as he was, he was obviously failing to realize that he was missing something so crucial. Without you, his life was nowhere near perfect. It was simply moderate with a few blessings.

And you would be the last blessing he'd ever fucking need—

*BLARE*

You flinched when the bell rang because you were so lost in your thoughts… the remaining 30 minutes of the lunch hour had unknowingly slipped away and you were left with the aftermath of your intrusive introspection. Despite your firm beliefs about everything having to do with Geto, deep down, you knew this wasn't exactly normal.

Were you going crazy? Probably. You put away your headphones and waited for class to begin, sitting silently as the students slowly poured into the classroom. You took this time to clear your head of the mass intrusive thoughts that just took over. Even going as far as to harshly push a couple fingers into the side of your head to… to what? To relieve whatever demon is forcing you to think this way?

It was laughable, really. A demon, an angel, God himself.. whatever was making you have these twisted feelings was honestly welcomed to stay. It might even give you the answers to make Geto yours once and for all. The more you thought about your goal and the reasons for going on the wretched trip, the more you realized how amusing the whole situation was. Who knows? You just might actually have a little bit of fun. After all, you were quite smart. Surely you would think of something to make Geto yours...

Eventually, the students of third period had gathered and class started after the arrival of your teacher. You had managed to suppress the crazy enough to focus on the lesson. Math was an easy-ish subject for you, all that had to be done was follow the given formula and boom, there's your answer. Logic was important too, not everything could be solved by a step a)b)c)d) formula. Sometimes you had to work backwards from d) or even from the middle of the equation. As long as you understood the process in its entirety, what was stopping you from getting the right answer?

An hour or so had passed and your teacher finished completing the lesson. Now, there was 15 minutes until the end of the period and your class was given their usual free-time to work on practice equations assigned by your teacher. You were nearing completion of your questions when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Ah, excuse me.."

Hm?...

You maneuvered your attention to "the sweetheart" ㅡ which is what you called him in your head. His name however, was Haibara. He was a part of the selected few you tolerated here at school. But not only did you just tolerate him, you were happy to admit that you actually liked him. He reminded you of rainbows and sunshines, seeing as he was always happy about something. Genuinely happy that is. He had a good heart and you knew it.

"Yes?"

He was a mixture of nervous and sheepish before gaining the courage to speak up.

"Could you help me with this one, please? If you don't mind." You could see him struggling to maintain eye contact with you, opting to keep his gaze down on his worksheet instead.

Cute.

You nodded, leaning in to help him out.

"You kind of have to work backwards here. Notice how you have the numbers of the mass and the height? So what you gotta is… "

You spent the next couple of minutes explaining the procedure to Haibara. You couldn't help but take pride in the switch up of his demeanor. He was shy and timid when he first requested your help, but he was quickly coming out of his shell the more you explained the process of the math question to him. By the end of your little session, he had answered the problem confidently.

"109!"

He stated joyfully. Unable to restrain yourself, you gave him a few small claps to feed his excitement.

"Yes! Good job."

You congratulated him with a smile, a genuine smile at that – something you almost never did here at school. Haibara was still writing down the answer and when the thought crossed your mind, you couldn't help but ask.

"Random question, sorry, are you going on that camping trip?" Haibara nodded his head while turning to look at you.

"I want to. That's actually why I asked for help; my parents won't let me go unless I do well on the upcoming test.." he laughed awkwardly before sighing with a tense smile. "All my friends are going so I really don't wanna miss out." He slouched in his seat.

You gave him a nod of understanding. You couldn't help but recall the numerous times you've seen Haibara interact with Geto, maybe he's one of the friends he has in mind?..

And it was like a flip had been switched in your head

... Haibara could be used to your advantage.

"I see.. and how are you doing with that?" You asked, casually feeding into the conversation for potential leverage.

"It's going alright." Haibara said with a shrug before continuing. "My performance in math is average at best but my parents think I can do better. This is how they decided to push that theory.." he sighed with a tired smile before looking at you again.

"Are you going?" He asked you. You made a gesture with your hand that signaled you were still contemplating, all the while recognizing that it was crucial that you played your cards right.

"I'm still undecided. I feel like it'll be a fun getaway but I don't really have anyone to go with." You replied with a shrug and Haibara nodded his head.

"I see… things like this are best with friends so I can see why you'd be hesitant to commit to a whole weekend of it." He paused before continuing, "but don't let it stop you! It'll be a good experience and you'll be given the chance to make memories for yourself. That's actually why I'm gonna force my friend Nanami – you might know of him – to come too…"

You watched Haibara smile to himself at the mention of his friend.

"He'd rather not come on the trip because he thinks it'll be a waste of our time. But how can you be so sure if you haven't taken the opportunity to see for yourself?" Haibara finishes and looks at you thoughtfully.

You were a little speechless to say. When you wanted to bait Haibara into giving you leverage and information, you wanted to lure him into talking about Geto or something having to do with him. You never expected to be given a motivational lecture on why you should take chances for yourself. You smiled a bit shyly because you couldn't help but feel a little bad. Your main intentions for feeding into the conversation were for absolute, selfish reasons and it felt like you were slapped in the face when Haibara hit you with his selfless nature in return. Did this make you a cruel person? You surely felt like it.

He must've noticed the change in your demeanor because he tried to diffuse the tension he felt he unintentionally created.

"B-but do what you want..! Taking chances… that's just what I think people should do from time to time. I know it's easier said than done and…" he trailed off slightly.

"... and I know things are harder when you don't have someone to lean on. You could maybe use the trip as a chance to connect with someone? I know I'll try my best to go so if you ever need somebody, you can come to me. And not just on the camping trip, but in general! I've already noticed that you're usually alone… I'm not sure if that's by choice or if there's any particular reasoning for that, but seriously, I'll always be around if you ever feel like you could use company."

For a number of moments you could only look at him with a hint of disbelief. It didn't help that he was no longer panicking but instead, his face was calm. He was noticeably relaxed in his chair and your eyes couldn't help but focus on his smile. It was no longer beaming but instead soft and genuine. You found yourself in need of looking away…

Gosh, he really was such a sweetheart. If you weren't so obsessed with Geto you'd probably fall for Haibara instead. As you kept your gaze off to the side, you sighed and nodded your head. It was like you were in defeat. But why? It felt like he was trying to break down a wall that you unknowingly built around yourself. You couldn't take this feeling anymore. The tension, the exposure. You forced yourself to chuckle and look back at him with a reluctant smile.

"I thought I was supposed to be the teacher here." You gestured to the math problem you helped him solve. It felt like a dumb thing to say but you didn't know how else to respond. If anything, you were just desperate to ease the tension. He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry… it just slips out sometimes. I guess I got a bit carried away there. I really shouldn't have dumped that all on you huh?" His words were genuine and you knew it.

"It's alright, you only meant well." You said in your best attempt to reassure him but you couldn't ignore the strange feelings that overtook your body. The bell eventually rang and everyone simultaneously packed up their belongings so they could leave for their last class. Still unsure of how to feel, you decided not to give in to the rush and took your time.

... you immediately noticed that Haibara was doing the same.

When you didn't say anything else, he took it upon himself to end things on a better note.

"Thanks again for the help. And... sorry again." he smiled awkwardly and got up from his seat. You followed him out of your own chair.

"It's okay, really. I appreciate you trying to make better of my situation ㅡ and I'm honest when I say that" You said with a genuine look on your face, hoping it'll stop him from stressing out. You were happy to see that in a way, it worked, because Haibara looked relieved.

"So I didn't make you uncomfortable?" He asked and laughed in relief. You found that laughing along with him came naturally...

"You didn't." At this point, you were both exiting the room and it was a surprise to find that you and Haibara continued to walk in the same direction. He didn't necessarily stray away from you either… hm. When you were going to ask him what class he had next, there was a sudden drop in your stomach when a familiar, sultry voice came from behind.

It couldn't possibly be…

"Ah Haibara, a new friend?"

But it was…

The blood was quick to drain from your face at the realization that Suguru Geto, your Suguru Geto, was referring to you.

Then when you and Haibara turned around to look at him, the air was fast to leave your lungs at the sight of a girl hugging his arm.

__________

Even though your Geto was standing right in front of you, your eyes couldn't leave those of the girl. They were rich in hazel and almond in shape. Her face was slim and defined which made her features prominent. Her skin was light and her cheeks bones were dusted with rose. Long, dark hair delicately framed her face and the ends pooled over her chest. You couldn't stop your eyes from trailing to her lips… they were plump and toasted with a sheer auburn.

With a familiar pain in your chest, you couldn't deny she was pretty.

Her beauty put you in a trance and for a short moment, you weren't necessarily mad. In fact, she had a form of beauty that was able to take your attention away from what exactly it was you were looking at. It didn't help that her lips formed a smile that signified there was a gentleness in her grace. And what was that smell? It smelt like their were flowers all around you. But the haze you were in was short lived, however, because you couldn't stop your eyes from trailing down to where her manicured fingers rested around Geto's arm. Immediately, anything neutral you felt about her beauty was diminished and replaced with an ill-feeling chill.

Who...

Who exactly does she think she is?

The girl was familiar to you of course. You recalled her transferring to this school about two months ago ㅡ which was odd considering that less than half of the year was left until you all were set to graduate. You didn’t think about it much at the time because you didn’t really care. The girl and her family must’ve had their reasons.

Oh how you wish you cared now. You probably could’ve stopped the arrangement between her and Geto before it had the chance to even start. You were unable to proceed with your inner dilemma because Haibara started to speak up.

"Ah, Geto!" He said with excitement. He momentarily looked down at you before looking at Geto again.

"We're in math together, we were talking about the camping trip. Are you still attending that?” Haibara asked him and, to your relief, Geto nodded in confirmation.

“I am. So you better do well on that exam because I’m expecting to see you there, Haibara.” He replied with that familiar hint of amusement laced in his tone and it was possible you were floating at the sound of his voice so up close. Haibara ducked his head down a bit in embarrassment before grinning back up at him.

“Yeah yeah, that’s why she’s gonna help me.” He nudged his head in your direction and in a sudden instant, Geto’s eyes were on you.

You felt if it were possible, your stomach would have definitely dropped out of your ass because when you woke up this morning, you never would’ve guessed that after so long, you would be in the grasp of Geto’s vision. Even though the words ‘keep it together’ replayed in your head like a mantra, you felt like it was hard to breathe. Geto was standing right there and he was looking at you.

Despite the nerves and the odd sense of dread forming in your gut, your face remained casual and you turned your head to give Haibara a look that countered his statement. He only laughed at you.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” You said with humor. And to your complete surprise, Geto laughed. You made Geto… laugh? An odd feeling overtook you and you suddenly felt warm all over. The feeling only worsened when Geto began addressing you directly.

keepittogetherkeepittogetherkeepittogetherkeepittogether...

"Careful with Haibara, math was never his strong suit.” In the back, Haibara made a sound like he was offended. You shook your head in rebuttal.

Play your cards right.

“He wasn’t bad, actually. You did perfectly fine back there.” You finished by addressing Haibara directly, making sure to smile up at him. You felt this was the best way to reply; Haibara wouldn’t feel bad for himself and Geto would take notice of your… kindness? If that was even the right term considering the situation you were in.

“Just a nudge in the right direction and the rest he does by himself.”

You felt good, actually. Haibara was looking confident at your words of reassurance and even Geto was smiling along. It felt like you were making a good impression on everyone here ㅡ including the wench. But enough was enough and soon you would all have to part ways because the beginning of last class was about to start and you all needed to move along soon. You decided this was a good time to address the bitch who thought she could take what was yours.

“What about you? The camping trip I mean.” You asked her with calculating eyes, unsure of what to make of someone you have never spoken to before. You were oddly pleased when she met your watchful eyes with her own, she also had the gall to smile like something was oh so delightful.

“Yes I am, Geto invited me.”

Oh yeah. You were definitely going on that trip now.

[the-joyful-abyss]

عملت حبة برفيومز امبارح والنهارده مخلييني سعيد ونفسيتي كويسة الحمدلله وريحتهم ماليه الأوضة عندي من امبارح وده شيء كفيل يغير مودي 180 درجة.

إن شاء الله نوتات تكبر والبرفيومز تتصدر بره مصر كمان.

أي نعم أنا بشتغل حسب المزاج والغزالة ومش بعمل ماركتنج بس مفيش حاجة بعيدة على ربنا 😂❤️

جزء من البرفيومز اللي عملتها النهارده، ونسيت أصور بتوع امبارح ودخلوا مرحلة التعتيق خلاص 😂😂🤍

[ammywill19]

What Perfume does Celebrities Wear?

Introduction

There's a good possibility that you have at least one favourite fragrance in your house, even if you don't pay attention to the subtleties of beauty care, hair, or makeup trends. Everyone has (or should have) that unique trademark perfume that immediately makes them feel more grounded and confident — more like themselves. It may be a treasured classic you frequently fork over money for or a compelling drugstore choice to throw on whenever you need a pick-me-up. The perfumes that celebrities enjoy working similarly. Others have more scents in rotation than a department shop counter, while some stick to their teen favourites.Try borrowing a few A-listers' strategies if you want to try something new or are simply seeking for another perfume that will go well with your current scent.

1.Emma Stone - Chanel Gardénia

You might be perplexed to learn that Emma Stone apparently sprays her Chanel Gardénia at bedtime every night to promote restful sleep if you reserve your favourite scent for special events only. We all like to spritz a sleep spray on our pillows to help us unwind, and Chanel's exquisite concoction of white blossoms and orange blossom would be sure to ensure the sweetest of dreams.

.2.Megan Markle -Wild Bluebell by Jo Malone

TIG, Meghan Markle's lifestyle website, is sadly no longer operating. But that doesn't mean we can't keep all the previous beauty advice that was previously posted on the website.

One of them is Wild Bluebell, a floral favourite from Jo Malone, which Meghan wears every day as her distinctive smell.  Clove, bluebell, flower of the valley, jasmine, and musk are among the fragrance's notes.

3. Angelina Jolie- 1969 Eau de Parfum

One of Angelina Jolie's favourite perfumes is 1969 by Histoires de Parfums, a niche offering. A scent for both men and women that starts off with peach notes before moving on to cardamom, clove, and a lingering gourmand trail of dark chocolate and coffee.

4.Rihanna - Love, Don't Be Shy Eau de Parfum

Many A-listers, including André Leon Talley and Jennifer Lawrence, have remarked on how lovely Rihanna smells, igniting a controversy about the perfume she uses. It was recently discovered that the mysterious bottle was Love, Don't Be Shy by Kilian, a sweet and appropriately indulgent gourmet blend of neroli and marshmallow. (However, it's safe to assume that she now uses her own Fenty Eau de Parfum.)

5. Hailey Bieber-West side by Bond No.9

In an interview with Elle Australia, Bieber stated, "I wear a cologne from Bond No. 9, which is a fragrance store out of New York, like genuinely on Bond Street. I have no idea what the name of my bottle is, but all the bottles are shaped like stars; mine is crimson and has musical notation on it. It has a great aroma. It's not very frilly, so either a boy or a girl may wear it, which is why I like it. And in private, I know what the scent is because I decided to use it after a boy had been using it and I liked it for myself.

[ultravires]

The Sicilian Defence

Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

AO3 Link

Summary || You and Edward are both accounting students at Gotham University. After one particular night, you teach him to play on the offence, inadvertently inspiring him to become the Riddler.

Word Count || 3.6k

Warnings || Fluff, slow burn, betrayal, love triangle, implied violence, soft yandere(?), uni student shenanigans, Canadian English

The spring comes again with promises of a sun rising earlier and chasing away the previous night, yet yesterday’s rain persists, shrouding the City of Gotham in grey skies again. Your daily routine is the same; a milling sea of bodies suffocates you in the morning rush. Whizzing through the guts of the city at a smooth, quick pace, you are jostled and struck without any regard while the apologies that follow are cheaply doled out immediately. The usual blend of low energy suits, caffeine-addicted university students, and the few dropheads coming down from their last night’s high, together in one confined space. Wedged shoulder to shoulder, a can of fish springs to mind, packed together tightly, but rather than in a revolting alkaline brine, the sweet miasma of sweat, perfume, and mild annoyance saturates the air. Your eyes settle on the thick glass of the train car, resting on your familiar reflection and the flickering blackness just beyond.

You’re still the same. A fourth-year accounting major approaching graduation at Gotham University hoping to land a practicum position at a Big Four firm. Your duties as a TA for the Introduction to Statistics course had kept your final year busy and your CV well decorated. But to put it plainly, you were simply just ordinary. 

Tall, reserved, and awkward were your first impressions of Edward Nashton. Having initially met him during orientation week, grouped together to perform an icebreaker activity. You couldn’t recall anything remotely striking about him from that first meeting. If anything, you completely forgot about him until his name appeared on your course roster. Your preconceived notions had led you to believe that Edward was probably another stupid senior repeating ‘intro to stats’ for the third time or something. But you couldn’t have been more wrong. You haven’t noticed the extent of his intellectual gift until you began grading his exams; his methods were deliberate and cerebral, a true art form expressed solely through perfect mathematical functions, algebraic notations, and elucidatory exponents. It was almost an intimate experience, seeing his entire operational process splayed on the paper like a blueprint of how his inner mind processes each calculation.

“So, why is someone like you taking an intro class in your final year?” Genuinely curious, you crane your neck to look at him. Edward looks around at first, for a moment, wondering if your question was directed at him.

“It’s not challenging enough to be enjoyable, and that determining the required statistical significant figures are typically more arbitrary than standard accounting figures that only find relevance towards the second decimal place… No, actually, I just forgot that statistics is a required core, and I won’t graduate on time if I miss registration, again…” Bashful, he pushes his oversized glasses higher on his nose bridge, the glare obscuring his eyes.

Edward Nashton was once in a lifetime. To simply describe him as brilliant would have been an understatement. And you weren’t too bad either, as he would often remind you. The both of you became fast friends, working together on every group project during your final year. You both could usually be found in a small 24-hour diner tucked in between dilapidating apartments, seated in your usual booth and playing chess on your phone. Edward usually plays black; despite moving second being the fundamental disadvantage, he doesn’t mind. You open white while dominating the centre, and you break where you are strong and he is weak. Edward was excellent at solving puzzles and problems, it was no doubt that those skills would translate into being a proficient grandmaster. He was very good, but not against you.

Typically, your conversations float between graduation and logic games, the topics switching whenever an ad pops up on your phone. You both spoke at length about practicum placements and interview week. Both of you share interviewing tips and your dream placements. Edward was top-tier talent; you couldn’t fathom not a single firm rejecting him even if he interviewed poorly.

“Okay, so we have Deloitte, KPMG, Ernest & Young, and PwC, only the crème de la crème places with them,” You list the accounting firms placing the different one-use jam spreads in a neat line representing the Big Four, “and then here’s everybody else.” Dropping a haphazard pile of mixed sweetener packets onto the middle of the table.

“I will never understand your obsession with the Big Four. Huang & Associates and Gotham City Central Tax, for example, are just as good. Just because they don’t have offices in Blüdhaven doesn’t mean they’ll be reductive to your experience.” Edward replies quietly, looking up from the latest crossword in the Gotham Gazette.

You gather a white packet of sugar between your index and middle finger, pointing at him knowingly. “Okay, tell me that they’re ‘just as good’ when you get placed at GCCT, and I’m overlooking your broom closet at Ernest & Young.” You tease him wistfully.

“Also, I think it’s actually ‘KTMJ,’ Klynveld Takahashi Marwick Jefferson.” Edward corrects you shyly, plucking the sugar packet from between your fingers and combining it into his latte.

“Oh, is it?” You were sure it was Klynveld Peat Marwick Goerdeler…

The following week, he sheepishly reveals to you that three out of the Big Four firms had already reached out to him, offering him an immediate position out of the two available placements. Ultimately, he decided to sign with KTMJ for no other reason than it was closest to the diner. You enthusiastically congratulate him, immediately ordering his traditional slice of pumpkin pie with a latte and an iced coffee with a chocolate croissant for yourself. You couldn’t stop smiling.

The diner used to be just Edward’s nightly haunt until you wandered in after a particularly terrifying girls’ night out at the Iceberg Lounge. You had quickly spotted him at the counter, but he didn’t recognize you immediately. Not only because of your club outfit but your familiar form that radiated confidence was eclipsed by the abrupt reminder that you are still a woman roaming in a man’s domain. Self-consciously, you asked him to drive you home. Edward wordlessly agreed, not bothering to pack up his half-finished slice of pumpkin pie. The ride home was mostly silent, awkward too. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Edward asked you a riddle. His mouth hung open in embarrassment right after he announced the premise as if he could breathe it all back in. He tried to say something else, anything else, but then you responded with the correct answer to his riddle. The answer was ‘Madrid.’ Rolling the window down, you stuck your hand out, feeling the cold breeze cut by your fingertips; you joked that this was the last time you’d be picking the Iceberg over an iced coffee. Edward looked over at you, how wanted to call you over for a kiss, but he knew better than to force anything onto an intoxicated woman. He resigns to his reserved nature. The next day, you thank him for taking you home with a homemade pumpkin pie, feeling a bit guilty as he lived so close to the diner.

Edward liked you – more than a friend; it was apparent to everybody else. Especially when he would steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, when the tips of his ears would flush, and when he would sit a little straighter, hanging on every word you said. Or, demonstrably, when he would come early to stat tutorials being the only student in the whole room sitting quietly and listening to you half-heartedly teach – not because you were a poor teacher, rather you couldn’t reconcile the absurdity of teaching topics and subjects that he already knew better than you. Often, Edward would have to repeat or rephrase his riddles and word games a few times just to get the set-up right. It was so very obvious. But he hadn’t found the time, words, or courage to ask you or tell you anything related to that manner.

You wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming that he likes you without him telling you that he likes you because, of course, you would say that you like him if he asked if you liked him but to like?

Above all else, yes – you would say that you like him.

But why should you be capable of defining it and navigating through the nebulousness when he, himself, does not?

And why should you make time for such logical fallacies?

Fuck.

During your last semester, you had swiftly found yourself an appropriate college boyfriend who wasn’t Edward, but someone who was straightforward and spoke freely from his heart. He nicknamed you ‘Peaches’ and referred to Edward as just ‘Nashton.’ Your newest boyfriend was affluent, popular, charismatic, blue-blooded, and entirely carved out of marble. Metaphorically – you’ve gotten close enough to check. 

Accounting projects no longer exclusively involved just you and Edward. The newest addition to your duo had substantially slowed your work progression, but you liked him a little, and Edward didn’t mind at first. Like the social elites and social climbers that birthed his existence, your boyfriend was nothing but opportunistic. But could you blame him? You were too. You liked eating at top restaurants in Gotham Bay, shopping in the luxury community of Crest Hill, and pretending, even for a moment, that you were anything more than just ordinary. Edward didn’t like him, and he didn’t enough care to hide his obvious disdain. You weren’t sure if he was jealous, if he genuinely despised your boyfriend, or if it was both. 

You and Edward sit familiarly across from each other at the diner, playing chess on an actual board your boyfriend had purchased for you. “He’s just using you. Why can’t you see that? Haven’t you noticed that his grades only started going up when he began signing his name to our work?” Edward breathes out while taking your rook.

“He’s not like that, I promise. Maybe if you tried to get to know him better….” You reply, promoting your pawn into a queen. 

“I don’t need to; I know all about his type.” Edward pauses, about the length of a breath. He misplaces his knight, exposing his king, and you catch the mistake before he does.

“Checkmate.” You proclaim. Edward sighs distantly. His sandy blond hair falls in front of his glasses as you have trapped his king in a mating net. His lips collect into a slight frown.

You check your e-mail to find a nomination for the second open position at KTMJ. You schedule the interview after your other interviews with smaller local firms. Relaying Edward the good news as you jump to embrace him on his side of the table. An earnest smile settles comfortably on his boyish features.

“I always knew you were a smart girl.” He gazes directly at you, pausing for a second to completely take you in before his eyes shift away in slight embarrassment.

If the past year of working together was any indication of your stellar teamwork, you were excited to work closely with him during practicum too. The good news is soon relayed to your boyfriend as well. As it turns out, he was also nominated for the position, and he set his interview thirty minutes after yours. He was sharp, but you had the edge over him in everything – and he knew that. You both agreed not to let competition ruin your relationship and simply let the best candidate win.

Your boyfriend had invited you and Edward out for drinks to celebrate before the firm interviews. Edward had declined but wished you a fun and safe evening, his typical response when your boyfriend would invite him to any group activity. Remembering your last drunken haze, you promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to the Iceberg Lounge, but what was one night? You drank a little bit too much and danced a little bit too hard. The Iceberg was like a siren luring you in, and like the men that sirens would seduce, you never stood a chance. Your boyfriend leads you back to his apartment, lying together in the bed you shared with him; you wondered how the warmth of his body felt so much colder than love.

Jolting awake, you attempt to blink the sleep from your eyes. You find your phone missing, your boyfriend was gone from the bed, and the sinking realization that you would be late for your interview. You struggled to get back to your apartment on time to shower and change, and you were confident that you brought your phone back from the Iceberg, but now you weren’t too sure. 

Your boyfriend was finishing his interview with the KTMJ recruiter as you arrived. His mouth sets into a line when he sees you, but he otherwise does not react any more than one would see a stranger. He expresses his gratitude towards the recruiter with humbleness you didn’t know he possessed, and finally, he leaves without ever acknowledging you. The recruiter stops you before you begin to explain; she expresses deep disappointment and berates you like a child. A promising candidate who did not bother to perform even the most straightforward of tasks by simply not showing up on time absolutely does not deserve a place here – not ever. Of course, this wasn’t your only practicum offer, but it was the only offer you have received from a Big Four firm. You watch your only opportunity slip away as she slams the door in your face.

Back at the main university campus, your boyfriend is undoubtedly celebrating his victory. Seeing you, he smiles and beckons you to come to a small round table he grabbed near the large windows. He hands you an iced coffee from the canteen and your missing phone as he boasts languidly about his interview. Biting your lip, you don’t speak a single word. Noticing your attitude, your boyfriend firmly reminds you of all your previously successful practicum interviews, so you should be just peachy about his successful interview. He thanks you for your sacrifice and that he’ll be sure to take you to a much-needed lunch later to make up for the humiliation. 

Your boyfriend pauses as you still don’t react. He blames Edward for making him do this to you. If Edward had accepted an offer at PwC or Deloitte instead, then everything would’ve been different. Then he finally admits, blaming you. Insecurely, he admits that your perfect grades, extensive TA experience, and how well you performed at your previous interviews would have profoundly threatened his chances at this placement. That’s why he had to do this to you. Don’t you understand?

Your boyfriend attempts to move to embrace you. Seething, you steer from his reach and splash your iced coffee on him. The cold liquid drips from his face and hair, marking his attire. You’ll cherish the look of surprise on his face forever. Without exchanging any words, you determinately march away on your heel as he calls out your name behind you, insults at first, turning into begs of forgiveness, then finally threats on your well-being, until you finally couldn’t hear him anymore. Even though he admitted to sabotaging your chances, you still couldn’t believe your own boyfriend cheated you out of your placement and how he wouldn’t just let the best candidate win. It wasn’t fair, and you couldn’t stop crying about it. 

Distracting yourself seemed to make you feel a little better. Busying yourself with the mental gymnastics of your coursework and TA responsibilities kept your thoughts away during the day. But at night, the memory of loss and betrayal floods your mind until you fall asleep exhausted. You started making Edward stay up late with you at the diner to keep those thoughts at bay. He didn’t mind at all; not with you. Edward bought you both a new chessboard after your old one was destroyed with all your other physical memories left of your ex-boyfriend. He orders the table’s usual staples while you open white, advancing your pawns to the centre of the board, setting up an aggressive Giuoco Pianissimo.

“Eddie, I-thank you, by the way.” You said, tentatively, although you’re not sure why you are thanking him; rather, it just feels right to. “Not just for my coffee or agreeing to stay here even though you know you’ll have to drive me home at 2 a.m. Just… thank you for everything….”

Edward looks up from the board for a second, and you think that he really sees you right at that moment. “It’s fine. That’s what friends are for….” Offering you a reassuring grin. He looks back and misplaces his bishop at c4 instead of d5. “Shit.”

“Right. Friends… Check.” You’re closing in on him. You pressure his king and chase it around the board until finally, checkmate.

The familiar victory comes easy. You’ve been winning consistently for months straight unless you were playing blitz. You wondered if he was throwing all your recent matches. Yet, he was a killer against anyone else he played against, usually checkmating within twenty moves. Edward praises you on your win and starts to clear the board for your next game. You catch his slender wrist before he resets any of the chessmen. You move over to his side of the booth, forcing him to focus on the board.

“It annoys me to no end that you can easily see every single possible move on the board, yet you always make at least one fatal mistake. Even the way you play, it’s such a passive playstyle. You’re so focused on protecting your own king that you forget all about taking mine. How are you supposed to ever win if you never play on the offence?” You scoff at him.

“You’ve been studying me?” He gulps, swallowing his nerves. His ears turn a familiar colour, the same one whenever you are near.

Of course, you have been studying him. Trying to determine patterns or weaknesses in the way he played. Sure, Edward’s playstyle was effective to someone who hasn’t played against him before, but you knew him through and through. Honestly, you’d be surprised if he didn’t study you the way you studied him.

“And you always make these dumb, stupid moves when you’re distracted. What has you so distracted?” You question Edward, but you don’t wait for an answer as it doesn’t come fast enough. “If you played the Sicilian Defence, maybe then you could’ve won. It’s aggressive, very aggressive, and not like how you normally play – never like how you play. The queen captures the knight on g6, then you force a checkmate in seven moves.” Demonstrating the effective opener, you move his black pieces around the board with deft sophistication.

Edward studies the board, his breathing slows, and his shoulders drop releasing tension he did not know he had. It’s that traditional look you’ve grown accustomed to. His mind runs a thousand moves at once before he gracefully nods and thanks you for the game strategy. He won’t forget the Sicilian Defence now. You set up a new game, not wanting to move back to your original seat across from him; you turn the board to accommodate your new seating arrangement. This time, Edward stakes a domineering claim at the centre set up with a Sicilian Defence negating your early advantage of moving first. Edward crowds the board, shifting between flexible pawn structures. He isn’t playing the way you’re used to, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed as he maneuvers through your flanks. Edward checkmates you in seven moves, just like you said. The aggressive playstyle suits him, and he isn’t distracted anymore.

Defeated, you breathe out a sigh leaning back into the vinyl booth and finish off Edward’s latte. The hot liquid blooms from inside your chest, first soothing your throat then warming you immediately. Finally, you admit to Edward that you’ve accepted an accounting placement with a small family-run firm across from the University. Sure, it wasn’t Deloitte, Ernest & Young, PwC, or KTMJ, but it was fine. You’ve come to terms with it, and you know that it will be just as sweet.

“They’re going to love you – like how I love you. You’re unbelievably special. Every day, you impress me with your sheer intellect, determination, and ambition. KTMJ would have absolutely wasted you.” His voice was so sure, assertive, and uncomplicated. 

Edward would always say that his mind made up for anything he lacked in the physical department, but you never needed to complain about that. Instead, you’d argue that his resolve was the most remarkable trait about him. You sit together with Edward on his bed, gently taking off his glasses and green cold-weather mask, revealing green eyes that wince from your touch. The beginnings of deep purplish-red bruising juxtaposed his pale skin, littering his torso and arms. You palpate the extent of his injuries tenderly and shudder at the sight. Edward lets out a light chuckle and jokes that your ex-boyfriend was riddled with worse contusions tasting the concrete between two dumpsters. Your thumb carefully glides over each of his knuckles as you massage Edward’s sore, swollen fists, and he reassures you that your ex most likely won’t be able to make his placement. Edward was different now, maintaining his gaze on you as if he was unable to turn away – not like he wanted to anyway.

Suddenly you’re on the verge of close. Too much gravity pulls you two together, and the rest of the world falls away. Then it’s just the both of you in this extraordinary space. Edward’s hands find your face in a delicate hold, and he kisses you, and you kiss him. 

[prvtocol]

ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?    brianne always smells clean, showered, with the slightest hint of what she used to wash her body/hair along with the hair products and body oil and lotion she uses. she does not like cloying scents so these products are lightly scented if at all. she gravitates towards diverse scents of orange blossom, clove, occasionally rose as well. if she wears perfume, it is an incredibly small amount and only for special occasions such as going to galas. you could imagine she has a classic fragrance like chanel no. 5 in her collection. she actually dislikes when someone comes into her office with or leaves a strong smell of perfume or cologne. she might sneeze and it gives her a headache.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?     like she hasn’t done a day of manual labor in her life. silkie soft, no callouses, youthful despite her age. if you catch her at a time when neurostims are not running her day, they are warm to the touch. If she is on stims, they might have a chill to them.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?     biomonitors regulate calorie intake and she stays strict within her limit or under. after waking, she has a glass of warm water and a squeeze lemon to hydrate plus an excess amount of supplements (bc she’s bougie). but it’s not until she’s at the office does she “break her fast.” usually breakfast includes a piece of fruit, museli, porridge, rarely yogurt, and her first cup of english tea. lunch/dinner (a combined meal since she has no time for both) will include protein (she enjoys fish, chicken, tofu), salads are a go to, all vegetables cooked any which way, brown rice or quinoa as base, healthy fats from nuts (often for snacks in between meals), avocado, olive oil. (I imagine either she orders in from nice restaurants or has it brought from the in-house cafeteria). If she is still hungry in the evenings (calories intake is low) when she returns home, there’s small things to pick at (crackers and cheese, hummus and carrots, etc.). she only cooks on a day off and sometimes purposefully makes leftovers to take to work or eat the night after. usually she’ll have one glass of wine. maybe a square of dark chocolate. (no biscuits/cookies in her usual diet but there’s always an unopened box or two in the pantry for reasons).

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?    I will default to my fc’s singing voice, so she can sing. she is more likely to hum (such as in the shower) than sing when alone. the only time I can ever imagine her singing is perhaps when soothing a baby to sleep.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS?   she’s an overthinker. she constantly notates personal info people tell her into her chipware datafiles (she needs to chill on that). she’s very particular on how you make tea. she doesn’t like people making tea for her, especially in nusa. she needs to stop worrying about others and care more about herself. she needs to check her neurostim use, especially when sleep aids are being used to offset the side effects.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR?   ridiculously put together (hair always styled/in place, flawless face, natural feature-enhancing makeup) but incredibly subdued in terms of style. her aesthetic can be housed in “neomilitarism” for it’s lack of ostentatious add-ons. no fashionware exists on her body. she prefers neutrals (blacks primarily make up her wardrobe which also feels like a uniform for it’s simplicity and sameness). more form fitting work dresses and pencil skirts than suits and slacks. modest cuts that cover. always in 3-4 inch heels. 

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO?    she is a giver and tends to be the one who gives the most in relationships. she’s attentive to another person’s needs, their likes, their dislikes, what makes them happy, sad, etc. and she adjusts herself for them. she shows her affection through acts of service. stocking someone’s favorite brand of coffee beans in her pantry, for instance, cause she knows they will be over for a stay (like her sister is set to visit). bringing someone their favorite drink on her way for a meeting with them, buying a loved one something they think they’ll like/need, giving a partner a massage cause they look like they had a hard day or cooking them a meal cause they will enjoy it, etc. just selfless acts to show she cares, she’s paying attention, she is there for them. physical touch-wise, only with her partner and mostly while in bed. otherwise, she is not the type to hug or be touchy; it feels impolite to intrude on another’s personal space as such.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?    little spoon on her side, knees slightly bent, pillow semi-hugged between her arms. left side since it’s best for circulation. nothing interesting about it.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?  brianne can project her voice in a boardroom or in front of a conference arena. but overall, brianne is softly spoken.

tagged by: @scmuraimerc​ (tysm <3) tagging: @badtrigger (vaas) ; @valheri​ ;  @mindsmade (vince) ; @mercysought (viv); @cyberpawn​ ; @vishapsking​ ; @cartesianduelist​ ; @korctyshka ; feel like i’m very late to doing this and am double tagging so please take you like!

[amazingmaeve]

Babe ↠ Draco Malfoy

━ “i deserve better. i deserve someone who loves me.”

summary ━ y/n and draco had an arrange marriage ever since they got out of hogwarts. y/n thought that they would learn to love each other at least for her. y/n also catches him cheating more than once but he always has an excuse.

warnings ━ cheating, angst, fluff, eating disorder, social anxiety

a/n ━ babe by sugarland feat. taylor swift

word count ━ 3.5k

“You may now kiss the bride,” The priest says closing the bible.

Draco leans in and kisses Y/N while wrapping his hands around her cheeks. She on the other hand wrapped her arms around his neck kissing him back.

Even though this was one of the biggest days for Y/N she knew Draco didn’t want to kiss her. That he didn’t want to marry her.

Y/N’s parents and Draco's parents made an arrangement that they would get married. The two had no say. She thought she would grow feelings before the wedding and she did. But Y/N also thought Draco would be able to stand to be around her, but that wasn’t the case.

While trying to get to know Draco, Y/N tried everything. Doing things that peak his interest but it always ended with him snapping at her to leave him alone.

Y/N understood in the beginning. He didn’t want to get married neither did she. But Y/N dealt with that face that she had to do it.

She caught feelings fast since she’s had a crush on him ever since hogwarts. But she didn’t have the guts to do anything while at school and always felt sad when she saw him with Parkinson.

In Hogwarts Y/N wasn’t exactly known. She just tried keeping to herself so she didn’t bother anyone. She had one friend though. Rose, someone that kept by her side for everything, even the marriage.

For the rest of that night Draco didn’t even speak to Y/N. Nor did he look at her. She tried to keep smiling so people would think she’s happy.

And on the wedding night Y/N lost her virginity. It wasn’t everything everyone loved it up to be. It did hurt though and she thought Draco had the decency to stay and comfort her but she was wrong again.

Draco left the bed soon after to go to his study to do god knows what leaving Y/N alone. She wrapped the blanket around her naked body trying to get warm. Draco didn’t even seem to care about asking if she was fine.

She rested her head on the pillow letting a few tears fall out before squeezing her eyes shut. Y/N would not cry over Draco. She would not let herself be heartbroken.

But it didn’t stop the way she felt about him.

Y/N kept the perfect wife image up. Cooking and cleaning for him but he didn’t even seem to appreciate the food she cooked as he never even thanked her.

At nights he would silently come into bed late while Y/N wondered where he had been. She shook the thoughts out of her head trying to go to sleep.

The first of many arguments they had was a big one.

“Draco I’m tired of being treated like crap,” Y/N snapped putting her hands on her hips. Draco glared at her.

“I don’t care, I didn’t even want to marry you,” He screamed, throwing his arms up in the air out of frustration.

“You think I did,” Y/N chuckles out of amusements.

“I. Don’t. Care. You’re just one of those needy wives always want to be around their husbands, who are annoyed by them,” Draco slowly snapped at Y/N. She felt tears threaten to escape as she looked at the ground.

Y/N nodded continuing to chop up the vegetables for the food she was making. When she looked up she swore she saw some cult floating in his eye but she ignored puttering attention on the meal.

When food was done they ate in silence. Y/N finished first and went to go work on a painting she started before Draco got home.

Y/N got ready for bed an hour later putting her nightgown on and brushed her hair. She used a wipe to take the makeup off and finally went to lay down.

Draco returned to bed a couple minutes later slowly waking in. In reality Draco felt bad for treating her that way. It wasn’t her fault they got married so why’s he taking it out on her? He ponders as he takes his tie off and then the rest of his clothes.

He got his pajama pants on and climbed into bed laying down behind Y/N who was facing the wall. Draco wrapped his arm around Y/N spooning. The contact made her jump out of surprise, Draco had never even touched her at night.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Draco apologized. “I know it’s not your fault and shouldn’t take it out on you,” He states.

“Can we at least try to be a married couple please,” Y/N begged, wanting him to care about her. He did but he didn’t want to show his feelings to her.

“We can try love,” He promises putting his face in the crook of her neck leaving a kiss there before falling back on the pillow behind him. He kept his arm around her as they both fell asleep.

Maybe this could work out. Y/N thought before she fell asleep.

Everything seems to be fine for the next few months. Draco was finally warming Y/N and starting talking and spending time with her. And she couldn’t be even more happy.

He seemed more happy now and now she was happy and that’s all that mattered.

“So how are you and Draco,” Rose asks, taking a sip of her tea. Rose was over at Draco and Y/N’s house for some girl time with her.

“Everything seems better ever since we had that talk a few months ago. Everything seems to be going fine,” Y/N says happily as she takes a sip of her tea after she finishes talking. It was true Draco seemed like he at least cared about her now.

“That’s good I was worried that he was going to break your heart but I guess I was wrong,” Rose shrugs putting the cup down looking at Y/N.

“I had that feeling too but it subsided when he realized what an ass he was,” Y/N replies, grabbing the tea cups and putting them in the sink so she could wash them later.

“That’s great Y/N. I’m so happy for you,” Rose smiles at how happy her friends seemed to be now.

Rose soon left after a few more conversations and she started to get dinner ready. She put the noodles in the bowl as she was making spaghetti. When the dinner was almost done Draco came in the house happily whistling to himself.

“I’M HOME LOVE,” Draco yelled as he took his jacket off and walked to the kitchen where Y/N was preparing the table.

“Hey love,” Y/N greeted as she ran over to him and planted a kiss on his lips. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she smelt some perfume.

“What’s wrong sweetheart,” Draco asked worriedly.

“Nothing,” Y/N lied leaning her head against his chest, his heartbeat calming her down and her suspicions as well.

Draco rested his chin on her head letting out a content sigh. He felt happy right now even though he did something that could ruin their relationship a few hours ago.

Meanwhile Y/N let go of Draco and went to put the spaghetti on plates. He sat down at the head of the table and she sat down next to him eating the spaghetti neatly.

“How was your day love,” Draco asked after swallowing some of the food. He grabbed the napkin and wiped his face.

“It was good Rose came over and we had some girl time,” Y/N replies with a smile looking up at Draco. He put his hand on hers which was on the table. He massages the top of her hand with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s good love,” Draco replies satisfied with her response. “You need to get out more,” He took a drink of wine after he finished the sentence.

“I know,” Y/N sighed looking at the plate of half eaten food. Her stomach grumbles for more but her head didn’t want it. She knew that she should get out more and make new friends but Y/N gets social anxiety when she talks to people she doesn’t know.

She also has a problem with her eating habits. Y/N tends not to eat when she thinks she’s gaining too much weight. Most people would say that’s wrong, you shouldn’t do that but Y/N doesn’t listen to them, only the voice in her head saying she isn’t right for Draco.

“I just hate talking to new people, Draco,” Y/N grumbles, putting her fork down.

“I know how bout this you come with me to a party that I’m planning,” Draco asks, putting his elbows on the table and wringing his hands together.

“I don’t know,” Y/N says doubtfully.

“I’ll be with you the whole time love,” Draco reassures by putting his hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“Fine but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay all night,” Y/N agrees reluctantly. Draco gives her a big grin making her smile at him. As long Dracos by her side everything will be fine.

The party was in two weeks which gave Y/N the time to find a dress. Rose helped her with that.

In those two weeks Draco has been really suspicious. He came home really late and when he was home he spent most of his time in his study. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t talk to her. Usually at dinner and during breakfast.

When he did come home he reeked of perfume. And not hers. But Dracos probably has a lot of women with his job; this doesn’t mean anything. She keeps reminding herself also that Draco loves her and would never cheat on her.

Y/N hasn’t brought this up because she was certain that nothing was going on. But what if something did? She couldn’t get divorced since her parents would also disown her. Y/N would be stranded.

Now she shook the ideas out of her head putting her earrings on. She looked at herself in the mirror with a smile. She had put some makeup on and her dress. Y/N looked at herself all dolled up with a smile. A real smile.

Draco came behind her and put his hands on her arms and kissed her neck.

“You look beautiful love,” He whispered in her ear, making shivers go down her spine.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Y/N giggles, turning around to put her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket.

She presses her lips against his and he hesitates for a second but Y/N misses that. He moves his hands to her hip and gives them a squeeze while Y/N moves her hands to his neck.

“I love you darling,” Draco whispers against her lips.

“I love you too,” Y/N repeats her heart skipping a bit at the notations.

The two had a mansion that was big. They got it from their families. Only 50 people would be at this party since the party room.

Y/N takes a sigh as Draco takes her hand and leads her down the stairs where the faint hum of music is played. People are dancing and having fun with one another.

Draco gives her a squeeze to reassure that everything will be fine. They both walk to the bar where only a couple people were.

Y/N ordered herself some while Draco ordered some bourbon. The two chatted about their days and or weeks. Y/N soon forgot people were even there as she sat comfortably with her husband having a good time.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Draco blurted out and before Y/N could even say something he was running off to the restroom.

Y/N sighed taking a sip of the wine. Draco would be back soon she reminded herself. She felt lucky people didn’t talk to her since she probably would’ve stuttered herself out of it.

Draco hadn’t returned after 25 minutes and Y/N was starting to get worried that her husband had passed out. Or he lost his way to her by talking to the party guests.

She tapped her painted nail against the hardwood of the bar table. She was starting to get nervous and her heart was beating fast. Y/N let out a breath trying to calm down and it worked but that didn’t stop her worry for Draco.

Y/N had enough and grabbed her purse, walking around the room she would be running if it wasn’t the heels that were ruining her feet. She decided to see if he was in the bathroom and fast walked over there.

She put her hand up to knock on the hardwood just in case someone was in there. But she stopped when she heard something.

“Draco,” Y/N heard somebody moan as she heard heavy breathing on the other side of the door.

It felt like time froze for Y/N. Maybe she got it wrong but she knew, she knew that Draco was cheating on her.

She sighed as she walked back to the bar with tears brimming her eyes. She sat down on the stool as the bartender noticed her sad look and poured her glass.

Y/N let out a sad sigh taking a drink and another and another. After about 3 drinks she felt the effects of the alcohol coming. She laid her arms on the table and buried her face in them.

She wanted to sob. She wanted to let it all out right now. But she couldn’t do it right not in front of so many people. Y/N could tell people were leaving since there were only a few more people left.

“Y/N love are you okay,” Draco worriedly asked, putting his hands on her back as he noticed how drunk she was.

She jumped at the contact and nodded her head but not lifting it. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion since she barely got drunk and when she did it was only when he was there.

Draco lifted her from the table to see a few tears rolling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb.

“What happened,” He asked confused and worried.

“Just got overwhelmed with everything,” Y/N lied pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to divorce Draco; she loved him so much. And plus her parents would disown her, leaving her all on her own.

“Come on love the parties over let’s go to bed,” Draco grabbed her waist and wrapped his arm around it. She let him help her to their shared room where he sat her down.

Y/N gave him a fake smile to reassure him everything was fine. Luckily he believed it. Draco went to the bathroom to undress himself while Y/N undressed herself on the bed.

No one was here except for the house elves who were probably sleeping. She helped out the elves not wanting to hurt them like her parents did. She thought they deserved to be treated with some respect.

Y/N got her nightgown on and laid her head down on the pillow. She didn’t even feel anything towards it. She just felt numb.

When Draco exited the bathroom she closed her eyes pretending to be asleep. Draco laid next to her putting his arm around her and pressing a kiss to her neck.

“Love you,” He whispered. Yeah right she thought. She kept the tears inside til Draco fell asleep.

She let the tears fall on the pillow as she sobbed silently. Why would draco lie to her and tell her loved her when he was fucking someone else. No wonder why he hasn’t slept with her in a few weeks.

She wanted to believe Draco was good. But she kept seeing Draco with this mystery woman. All Y/N knows is that she would never cheat on Draco even on her worst day.

Y/N eventually fell asleep after some crying and shoving the thoughts away.

The next morning Draco wasn’t there and left her a note saying that he had to go to work early. Y/N bit her lip to stop her from crying. She wondered even if he was going to work.

Y/N got dressed and went to go cook herself some breakfast to get her mind off the situation.

This happened for the next week. Draco left early and came home late leaving Y/N crying herself to sleep wondering what she did wrong. Luckily she fell asleep before he got home. And the situation repeated itself over and over.

Y/N was lucky since she really didn’t want to see Draco since if she did she would probably break down crying.

One day Draco woke up the same time she did. Y/N talked trying to convince him he didn’t know anything. Draco gave her sweet smiles and said they should schedule a lunch date which Y/N nodded reluctantly.

She couldn’t help but feel giddy as she got ready in a cute outfit. Still the sadness lurked around her head but she pushed them back so she could have fun with Draco.

Y/N was welcomed into his workplace and she opened his office door slowly with a smile. But frowned when she looked through the creek of the door.

She saw Draco and Astoria kissing. She was on the desk while he was standing up. Of course Astoria.

She was Dracos girlfriend before he broke up with her for the wedding. Y/N thought he was over her since he told her he loved her. Was it all a lie?

Her lip trembled as she closed the door and ran out the building. Tears cascading down her cheeks as people gave her weird looks. When she was out of the office she put her hand on her mouth to keep the sobs in.

Still the sobs kept coming.

Astoria was everything Y/N wanted to be. She had a good job, good friends and she had Draco's heart and Y/N reminded herself of that.

She was so stupid to believe that his feelings changed so fast. So stupid. Was it just a joke to him?

Still crying Y/N walked to Roses flat wanting to seek some comfort from someone and that person would be Rose. She felt bad for not calling her friend for the last week.

“Y/N,” Rose exclaimed, surprised seeing her best friend at her door with tears running down her cheeks. “C’mere love,” She whispered knowing something was wrong.

Rose helped Y/N to the couch and sat her down while she went to go make some tea to calm her down. Y/N was still trembling from the crying and Rose was worried about her friend.

Once Y/N calmed down she explained everything to Rose. Hearing Draco fucking Astoria and her catching them kiss in the office. She told her all about the suspicions before she even knew she was cheating.

“I always knew he was a backstabbing cheater,” Rose snapped angrily at Draco for breaking her friend's heart. “You have to divorce him,” She advised Y/N.

“No I can’t my parents will disown me and I’ll have nowhere to go,” Y/N rambled, putting her face in her hands.

“Come live with me,” Rose offered, finishing her tea and putting it down.

“You’d do that for me,” Y/N asked, surprised looking up from her hands.

“Yes you’re my best friend now go and dump that piece of shit,” Rose grabbed her friend's hand pulling her up.

“Fine I’ll go do that and I guess I’ll come back at night,” Y/N sighed, getting her bag and running off.

When Y/N got to his house now, she packed all of her stuff and waited in her bed room for Draco to show up. She cried silently wondering what she did wrong.

He finally did after two hours. She was still crying when he entered the bedroom with a confused look on his face.

“Darling what’s wrong,” He asked concerned

“Why’d you do it,” Y/N sniffed standing up crossing her arms across her middle. Draco sighed realizing what she had found out.

“You know,” Draco says nonchalantly.

“Yes I just want to know why,” She whimpered a bit out as tears silently came out.

“I love her,” Draco admitted looking at his feet. He still cared for Y/N and he didn’t want to hurt her but he loved Astoria. “I love Astoria.”

Y/N nodded biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing and falling to her knees. She grabbed her bags as Draco grabbed her arm looking down at her.

“I’m sorry love,” Draco says sorrowfully.

“I deserve better. I deserve someone who loves me,” Y/N snaps crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know and I’m sorry again,” Draco pinches the bridge of his nose frustrated.

“Yeah I’m sorry too,” She snapped glaring at him through her tears. “I’m sorry I even agreed to marry a snake like you,” She walked out slamming the door, making him flinch.

Y/N sighed as the cool air hit her face. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

She didn’t have to deal with the pain anymore.

[musicainextenso]

4. Olivier Messiaen: Catalogue d’Oiseaux

Olivier Messiaen was not only an influential composer of the 20th century, but also he was a passionate ornithologist. He was fascinated by the world of birds, and he studied and incorporated birdsong into his compositions from the 1950’s. Birdsong required an intricate system of musical notation, so Messiaen used very complex rhytms and tonal systems, from which the latter is rather difficult to be replicated on the piano because of its fixed tuning. Catalogue d’Oiseaux (Catalogue of Birds) was written between 1956 and 1958, and premiered by his second wife, Yvonne Loriod.

The composer said:

’’Each piece is written in honor of a French province. It bears the title of the bird-type of the chosen region. It is not alone: its habitat neighbors surround it and also sing (...)-its landscape, the hours of the day and night that change the landscape, are also present, with their colors, their temperatures, the magic of their perfumes.’’

The first book contains three pieces.

Cochard des Alpes (Alpine cough)

Le Loriot (Eurasian golden oriole)

Le Merle Bleu (Blue rock thrush)

From this three birds, the Alpine cough lives in the Northern region of France, the Eurasian golden oriole is present in most parts of the country, and the blue rock thrush lives in the South of France, near the Mediterranean Sea. I decided to write in detail about the second piece.

The Eurasian golden oriole is a passeringe bird which spends the summer in Europe and Western Asia, and migrates to Africa for the winter.

From the 3 pieces Le Loriot is the longest, and, in my opinion both musically and technically the most demanding one. It requires virtuosic abilities to create the sounds that Messiaen imagined. I find it very interesting that how the song of the golden oriole is very close to the music which humans make, so it is pleasant to the human ear, and for this reason, the composer uses tonal systems which are closer to the tonalities used before the 20th century. It can not be ignored either that the name of Yvonne Loriod rhymes with the French name of the golden oriole. For this reason, obviously, I chose her recording of this piece.

@une-barque-sur-l-ocean - Baki-Szmaler Noémi, guest editor

[coalitiongirl]

Regina’s glower deepens. “Explain.” She holds the calendar up again, jabbing her finger against a day next week on which Emma had scheduled a math test. “My day.” Below Emma’s clear 6th grade math notation is a smaller notation, 6th grade vocabulary quiz, and someone had drawn a line through it. “You crossed out my quiz and wrote in your test!”

“False!” Emma says, only mildly outraged. “I scheduled my test weeks ago. And why does it matter, anyway? You’re allowed to give quizzes on test days. Or just, like, move it a day. No one’s going to know the meaning of quixotic whether or not you give them an extra day to study.” She addresses the class. “What does quixotic mean? I thought he was the windmill guy.”

“That’s Don Quixote.” It’s Henry who speaks, his voice unfriendly, incapable of leaving a question about literature unanswered. Emma is overcome with a wave of affection that might make her cry if she isn’t careful.

Instead, she swallows through a lump in her throat and says. “Oh, you know what I always assumed it was? Like a really nice but interesting scent.” She takes a step closer to Regina, who looks alarmed when Emma inhales deeply. “Your perfume is just…quixotic today.”

“Tell me about it,” Grace sighs, and she grins and shrugs when Henry gives her a wounded look.

[perditious]

sudden urge to do some highly unnecessary notating and calculating to figure out what note occurs most in my perfume collection even though it is patchouli.