#tea leaf and cigarette smoke scent

[melabea]

Tea Leaf & Cigarette Smoke Scent

(pt: Tea Leaf & Cigarette Smoke Scent /end pt)

(id: a rectangular flag with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in order from top to bottom are dark grey, grey-green, darkish yellow, light grey-yellow, darkish yellow, grey-green, and dark grey. in the center of the flag is a dark grey cigarette smoke symbol outlined in light grey-yellow. /end id)

Tea Leaf & Cigarette Smoke Scent Flags; for any dynamic.

etymology; tea leaf & cigarette smoke, scent

symbol from here (link)!

for @w4lh4ll4!

tagging; @radiomogai, @thecoffeecrew404, @omegarchive

[oceantornadoo]

the cabin in the highlands (johnny mactavish x f!reader)

reminder that i suck at scottish accents

--

“johnny, why did you bring me here?”

he flicked the ash off his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“ye said ye were gonna be lonely on the next break.”

actually, you had said you were going to be alone, which is different. you wanted to be alone because you needed a break from this. the overbearing presence of johnny, his scent cloying with your nostrils and settling in the air. every joke. every playful punch, every brush of the waist was wrapped in your mind like a twisted christmas present, with no end and no beginning. you treasured your moments together but couldn’t make sense of them at all.

of course, johnny didn't care about any of that, which was why you were smoking outside a cabin in the highlands, eyes tracking the fog rolling over the distant mountains. you could have been relaxing in your flat near base - alone, sure, but at least you'd be at ease. instead, your heart rate was perpetually elevated, shoulders bunched at every movement of johnny's. it was quiet here, no gunfire or commands in your ear. just you and johnny, in his small cabin that he liked to come to in between deployments. "air clears everythin' up 'ere." he had said, pointing to his skull, where the bullet had grazed. you couldn't deny him that - it was beautiful and peaceful and calm, your thoughts slowing to the pace of a dripping faucet when you had a moment to yourself. not now, of course.

it was early morning, the sun just cresting over the horizon. bit chilly, but not enough to see your breath. johnny had honest-to-god rocking chairs on his back porch, wooden creaky things you both sat in as you watched the sunrise in silence. you wrapped your hands tighter around your tea mug as johnny finished his cigarette, a habit he seemed to have picked up from ghost in the past few weeks. you'd thought you brought warm enough clothes, leggings and sweats packed to the brim, but clearly you underestimated the kind of cold in the highlands. even with the summer air, the early morning chill sank deep into your bones. "ye're shakin' like a leaf, lass." you shook your head, taking another sip of your tea. "still waking up, johnny. unlike you, i try to sleep in when we're not deployed. still catching up from three weeks ago." he grunted, finishing his cigarette and putting out the stub on his ashtray. you tracked his movements, eyes tracing the veins and battle worn callouses of his hands, disappearing into his thick fleece jacket.

"c'mere." you must have heard him wrong. you turned to him, furrowed eyebrows asking a silent question. "i'm sorry?" he grinned, patting his lap. "am warm. c'mon." you rolled your eyes, averting your gaze to the mountains again. "don't be dumb, johnny. i'm fine." silence. and then, a large hand appeared in your vision, plucking the mug out of your hands. he came back, tucking one arm under your knees and the other around your back, tugging you up into his arms. "johnny! i was comfy!" he laughed into the nape of your neck, mohawk cutting off your field of vision. he smelled good, like pine and the remnants of last night's fire, home mixed up into a scent.

johnny maneuvered himself back into his seat, plopping you into his lap. "better, bon?" you nodded meekly, tucking yourself into his lap. he was warm all over, your forehead coming to rest on his collarbone. he ran one hand up and down your thighs, tracing the lines of your pajama pants, while the other hand secured you against him. "thin pants." he murmured, almost to himself. you weren't sure where to put your hands, suddenly thrown by the absurdity of your position, curled up in your fellow sergeant's lap. your ass was directly against his crotch, rubbing against his sweatpants. you swore you could feel something getting harder against you, choosing to ignore it completely. "johnny, this is hardly appropriate we're-" "not at work. jus' ye an' me." you blew out a harsh breath. "i don't know what to think, johnny." what to think about his offer to go see his cabin. what to think about accepting and following through. what to think about wearing his sweatshirt, sitting in his lap. what to think about being the only two people around for miles. "don't. lemme hold you, mo chridhe." you gave up, sinking into his arms.

your focus turned from the mountains to him. his scent, wrapping you in his embrace. the softness of his fleece jacket. the safety of his arms, still petting you like something precious. out of nowhere, an idea came to your mind. you turned slowly, pulling a bit out of his embrace. he grumbled and you shushed him with a glare. gently, you took your hand out of your lap to run it through his hair. your theory was correct. this harsh military man kept his mohawk butter soft, your hand passing easily through the strands. you pressed your nails in a bit, just to experiment, and were rewarded with a low growl, reverberating in your thighs. he closed his eyes, blue gaze now hidden, leaning into your touch. you shifted your weight, pulling out of his lap to straddle him instead, thighs surrounding his own like a vice. he pulled you forward, eyes still closed, hands digging into your pajamas as he forced you as close as possible. your core rubbed against him, clothed cunt rocking in his lap, reveling in the hardness there. your hands were still exploring his hair, dragging your nails this way and that, tracking his every groan and tucking it in somewhere hidden in your heart. whenever this bubble popped, whenever he got bored and moved on from this tug of war, you'd hoard those groans like a dragon protecting her treasure. his hands had traveled to your ass, pushing you even closer as his thumbs dug into your hips, circling. he gave you a roll of his hips, cock pressing against your aching cunt through layers of fabric.

"johnny, feels good." he did it again, catching your clit at a perfect angle. you let out a moan, uninhibited and from your center, and felt him grow even harder under you. you dropped your hands from his hair, forehead resting on his shoulder. "what if- fuck. just once, johnny? won't get awkward after, i promise." he stopped suddenly, hips falling against the chair. you let out a sound of protest, moving your head from his shoulder. "shit, i'm sorry i didn't mean-" he shut you up with a kiss: harsh, bruising, possessive. his hands came up to craddle your face, one moving south to grip your jaw in an almost-chokehold. he tugged you closer by the neck, earning a moan from your lips. you felt him smile against you, all content, before he dove back in, dominating the mood. coming out of your shock, you kissed him back with a fervor, biting his bottom lip slightly. johnny pulled back, suddenly all business.

"dinnae want t' fuck ye." oh. "then what...? why am i here?" he shook his head, removing a hand from your neck to rub it through his mohawk, then down his face. "d'ye like th' cabin?" the change in subject threw you. "the- the cabin? yeah, it's nice. i'm confused, how does that relate?" his eyes found yours again, searing into your soul. "it's fer ye. us." oh. your mouth dropped and he laughed at the sight, his honeyed sound soothing your nerves. "for us? what? why?" he smirked, all cocky now that he'd recovered from whatever that was. "dinnae want ye once, chridhe. want t' wake up with ye here every mornin. watch th' sunrise with ye in ma lap. no eyes, jus' us."

wildly, some part of your brain was still functioning, recalling all those interactions that had brought you here. your first duo mission, screaming at each other over comms. when you lost your pocketknife gifted to you from your last captain and johnny gave you his own, which now traveled with you everywhere. shitty safehouses with no mattresses, sharing sleeping bags to stay warm. his hands, practically paws, always around your waist, keeping you close. movie nights in the common room, organized by yours truly, always ending with your head on his arm, using his bicep as a pillow. dancing on bar dancefloors, drunk logic making it ok to hide your face in his neck, johnny's arms always on the top of your ass. that one fight with that creepy sergeant from another team, your pleas the only thing to stop johnny from breaking his neck. and finally, the ring around your fourth finger (right hand, not left) in your favorite metal. something he had presented to you privately with pink cheeks, scratching his neck and murmuring something about found it at a flea market, even though you both knew it had to cost hundreds and just happened to be your exact size.

"johnny, you're my best friend. what if it-" you hiccupped suddenly, overwhelmed. "what if it doesn't work. what if in five years, we're screaming at each other over small stuff. god forbid, what if it's silent? i can't do it without you, johnny. fuck." the tears in your eyes were threatening to fall, the image of johnny blurry. he shook his head with a small smile, fingers gently brushing the tears out of your eyes. "aye an' if it does? five years an' yer ma wife? breakfast watchin' th' sun, christmas wi' th' lads, bairns in a few more? no doubtin' us." he slipped that ring off your hand, transferring it to your left, fourth finger. you emitted a small gasp, the metal warming under his touch. "please." his voice broke on the last syllable; your stupidly insane loveable hunk of a man had a few tears in his blue eyes. the sight nearly broke you, and you vowed he'd never have to beg you again. "yes. yes with you, johnny."

and like all best promises, you sealed it with a kiss.

[lalalavland]

Warning: this is an affiliate base on experiences.

DERMOREPUBLIQ FACE WASH (can help with acne's, blackheads, and etc.)

Ingredients that affects the actual product:

🌊 Aqua — (water) base of the product.

🍉 Cocamidopropyl Betaine — cleanse and create foam in the product.

🌸 Propylene Glycol — prevent the product from drying out.

🌊 Phenoxyethanol — helps to prevent the growth of bacteria and fungi in the product.

🍉 Ethylhexylglycerin — helps to maintain the product's quality.

🌸 Xanthan Gum — (thickening agent) giving the product a smooth and creamy texture.

Ingredients that affects the skin.

🌸 Glycerin — helps to attract and retain moisture in the skin.

🌸 Niacinamide — brighten and even out the skin tone.

🌸 Decyl Glucoside — it have cleansing properties.

🌸 Hamamelis Virginiana (Witch Hazel) Leaf Extract — helping in tightening and toning the skin.

🌸 Camellia Sinensis (Green Tea) Leaf Extract — antioxidant that protects the skin from damage caused by free radicals. (Free radicals such as: UV radiation, smoke from a cigarette — potentially harms the cell)

🌸 Citrus Bergamia (Bergamot) Oil and Mentha Piperita (Peppermint) Oil — for scent (possibly skin benefits)

🌸 Tocopherol — (form of a vitamin E) — antioxidant properties

— protect the skin from free radical damage.

https://s.lazada.com.ph/s.9l6dt

[bluejayblueskies]

agape

n. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; love that motivates action, often for the sake or care of others 

Words: 2.3k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: AU - Tea Shop/Bookstore, Fluff, Asexual Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia/biphobia (minor,), fear of homo/ace/transphobia (brief, unfounded)

|| Ao3 ||

.

Martin remembers, with crystal clarity, the first time that he saw Jonathan Sims. Martin’s tea shop opens at seven in the morning to accommodate the morning commuter crowd, but they’re really busiest in the afternoon, which is when most people deign to take a break from whatever work they’ve got for the day.

 Jonathan Sims is not most people. At promptly seven, the jingle of the little bell that Tim had hung over the door once as a joke but that had lingered out of sheer practicality had cut through the gentle humming of the kettle, the small one that Martin preferred in the morning as it took no time at all to heat and the small volume of customers generally didn’t warrant the larger, stainless steel water heaters that sat along the back wall. Martin had had a box of loose-leaf English breakfast in his hand as he turned; he remembers the way the bitter smell of the leaves had mingled with the cool blast of winter air that swept through the door, carrying with it the scent of something acrid and ashy.

 Cigarette smoke, his mind helpfully supplied. Then, Martin’s eyes found the man who had entered the shop, his mouth forming the automatic greeting the bell always elicited from him, a well-trained habit that made him feel not dissimilar to Pavlov’s dog.

 “Welcome to Blackwood Blends! What can I get started for you?”

The man—and the likely source of the burnt smell still lingering in the air—startled slightly at the sound of Martin’s voice, like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed directly. He was wrapped in a comically large scarf, knit from chunky yarn and laced with warm yellow and midnight black, and he looked like the kind of person who might blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His hair, long and brown, was streaked through with grey and seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the hat that was currently struggling to keep it contained. There were at least two jumpers of startlingly different colors peeking out from underneath a heavy black pea coat that was missing a button near the bottom.

 He was also quite possibly the most beautiful person Martin had ever seen.

 He was there and gone before Martin quite knew what was happening, cradling a steaming travel mug of Ceylon close to his chest like it alone could drive away the January chill, and Martin found himself watching him through the café window as he crossed the street with barely more than a cursory glance in each direction, fumbled with something in his pockets for a moment, and finally vanished into the building across the street.

 Beholding Books & Antiquities, the sign above the door said in curling calligraphy, barely visible from this distance.

 Martin wondered, briefly, if they had poetry.

 Martin knows now that they do, but that the man—whose name, he’d learned on the man’s next visit to the tea shop, is Jon—wrinkles his nose when people purchase them like they’ve caused him some great offense. He knows that Jon never gets the same tea twice in a row, and though he’s cycled through every possible blend that Martin’s shop carries, he’s not a fan of herbals and finds himself returning to earthy greens and floral blacks. (Which, unfortunately, includes oolong, which may be the only kind of tea that Martin can’t stand.) He knows that the bookshop opens at ten in the morning (but that Jon never arrives later than eight) and that unlike the surge of afternoon customers Martin’s shop gets, the bookshop receives a steady trickle of local customers and curious tourists throughout the day.

 He knows that Jon smiles like it’s a secret he can’t quite decide if he wants to share and that Jon’s fingers are warm and soft when they brush against Martin’s as he hands Martin his new purchase and that he might be just a little bit in love with Jon.

 He spends quite a lot of time browsing for books nowadays, to Tim and Sasha’s eternal amusement. But he can’t bring himself to mind.

 Now, the nip of winter air is far behind them, and the lovely warmth of June seeps in through the cracks in the windows and in bursts as the door opens and closes. He always gets more business in winter, when the promised warmth of a cup of tea lures customers in from the cold, but it’s steady enough in the summer. And though Martin’s always been a lover of bulky jumpers and drinks that warm you from the inside out and breath that fogs in winter air, he can’t help but love the onset of summer, because it brings with it June and his favorite yearly tradition: Pride month tea blends.

 Martin finishes scrawling the various specialty drinks onto the chalkboard he keeps propped up on the counter, feeling a little burst of pride at the new tea blends he’s selected for this year. He creates them all himself, making little changes from year to year and brewing cup after cup for Tim and Sasha to try until he thinks they must be sick of tasting ten different versions of fruity Earl Greys. It just feels nice, to put a piece of himself into each cup he makes, and beyond that, the shyly excited looks some customers get when they order a certain blend fills him with a warmth that tingles in his veins for hours after.

 It feels nice, to take care of people this way. To let people find themselves in his tea and to share a bit of himself in kind.

 So when the bell jingles and Martin glances up from the blackboard to see Jon standing just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the café, the thrum of affection that always overtakes him when he sees Jon is magnified tenfold, accompanied in equal part by a bite of nervousness. Because, he realizes, for all that he and Jon have talked about their jobs and favorites and hobbies and everything in between, they’ve never talked about this.

 Martin’s never been shy about it. His jacket is plastered with rainbow-striped patches, his bag adorned with enamel pins in purple-black-white-greys and in blue-pink-whites. He knows Jon’s seen them. Jon has to have seen them. He’s just… never mentioned it. And Martin gets the brief, terrifying, and completely unfounded worry that it’s because Jon is bothered by it.

 He shakes the thought off as quickly as it had come. No, he knows Jon. He knows that behind the prickly exterior, Jon is kind—so, so kind, and that he cares more about other people than he lets on. With a small, anxious laugh that Martin barely keeps contained beyond a brief exhalation, Martin realizes that he also knows that Jon is possibly also the most oblivious person Martin knows. It’s infinitely more likely that Jon hasn’t noticed—or has noticed and has decided not to say anything—than that Jon is somehow a completely different person than the one Martin’s gotten to know over the past five months.

 “Are you all right?”

 Martin startles so badly that he drops the chalk. It rolls dangerously close to the edge of the counter before a thin-fingered hand captures it mid-motion and holds it out toward Martin, the dusty white stark against his brown skin. Martin takes the chalk with a sheepish smile and says, “Ah, sorry—got a bit, er. Distracted.” Then, in a quasi-professional voice, because he is at work: “What can I get for you, Jon?”

 Jon doesn’t even glance at the menu; Martin’s almost certain that he has it memorized by now. He taps a finger on the counter, and as he thinks, his eyes wander downward, landing on the chalkboard that’s still laid flat against the counter, the bottom left corner slightly smudged. “Are these new blends?” Jon asks, eyes bright and curious. He tilts his head, trying to see the words better, and Martin quickly stands the chalkboard up on its wooden feet and returns it to its spot on the counter so that it’s easier to read.

 Well, no time like the present, I suppose.

 “They’re, ah, my seasonal blends!” Martin says with a smile he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as it feels. “I always do them in June.” He lets out a little, disarming laugh. “My own way of celebrating Pride month, you know?”

 Jon’s eyes are scanning the chalkboard with an intensity that makes Martin shift from one foot to the other at a pace far too quick to be casual, his hands finding the edge of the counter and gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He can’t read Jon’s face; there’s something there, just below the surface, but he can’t get a handle on it. It keeps slipping away like wet bar soap when he tries too hard to get a grip on it, and eventually, he just gives up, waiting for Jon to finish with his heartbeat sitting high in his throat.

 Finally, after a period of time that feels just shy of an eternity and certainly too long to have been simply considering the merits of one tea blend over another, Jon looks at Martin with an expression that feels strangely vulnerable. “I… I can’t decide,” he says quietly, like this decision carries the weight of the entire world. He points a thin finger at the middle of the board, where bisexual berry is scrawled in spiraling letters that constitute Martin’s attempt at calligraphy. It’s an herbal blend, with bits of freeze-dried blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries. “I like most of this blend,” he says, “but er. Not on its own?” His finger moves down, nearly smudging the words asexual almond as it comes to rest atop the ingredients below them—Assam tea, almond flavoring, cinnamon sticks, and little white blossoms that Martin includes purely for the visual effect. “Some people think that black tea wouldn’t go well with herbal,” Jon says, studying the board like it has the secret to life itself scrawled upon the dusty black, “but they’re really not that different at all. It’s all tea, and- and liking one kind of tea doesn’t preclude you from liking another kind, right? So asking me to- to decide between one kind of tea and another is—well, it’s just ridiculous. There’s tea that I like and tea that I don’t and I don’t have to pick just one.”

 Jon’s still staring at the blackboard, his forehead creased in what could be concentration but could also be irritation. It’s still early enough that the tea shop is empty save for them; Tim and Sasha don’t come in until after noon as usually, Martin can handle the morning crowds by himself. And Martin is really quite sure that this isn’t about his tea at all. So, in the gentlest tone he can muster, Martin says, “You can order more than one kind of tea, you know.”

 Jon jerks his hand back, almost like he’d forgotten Martin was there. “I—what?”

 Feeling significantly less nervous than before, Martin adjusts the sign so that he can see it better and says, “These are all just suggestions, Jon. Blends that I like and ones that I’ve found that other people like too, but they’re not set in stone—people have all kinds of preferences, and when it comes down to it, it- it’s all just tea.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling bold today: “I- I can make a new blend if you’d like? One that, er.” Just say it, Martin. “One that’s for you, specifically. Whatever you’d like.”

 Jon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Martin, and Martin can’t help but shift nervously under his gaze. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, that was weird, what a weird thing to say when someone’s coming out to you with bad tea metaphors, fuck fuck—

 “If- if you’d like,” Jon says quietly, slamming Martin’s thought spiral headfirst into a brick wall and nearly knocking him off his feet as he registers that Jon just said yes. “I’d like that. Though I- I do enjoy the flavors of berries and almonds together.” He smiles then, a wry thing that sends Martin’s pulse into the stratosphere and his stomach aflutter with butterflies whose wings gleam an iridescent rainbow against the backs of his eyes. (Not his best bit of poetic imagery, to be true, but he’s a little too busy being utterly in love with Jonathan Sims to think about much else.)

 Martin makes the tea, choosing the black over the herbal because elaborate metaphor or not, Jon really isn’t a fan of herbal teas. Blueberry is a strong enough taste to pair with the bitterness of the black tea and it couples well with almond and cinnamon, creating a flavor profile not unlike that of a blueberry muffin. And because Martin can’t help but think of Jon every time he smells it, he switches out the Assam for a Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey blend—smoky and floral, smooth enough that it won’t overbalance the other flavors but robust enough to stand out.

 When Jon accepts the mug and takes his first hesitant sip, his face lights up in a way that Martin wants to see all day, every day for the rest of his life. And when Jon smiles at him, says, achingly soft, “Thank you, Martin. I love it,” and cautiously, gently places his hand over Martin’s where it sits on the counter, Martin thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can.

 Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks. And the smile he gives Jon in return feels like a blank-paged book, waiting to be filled.

[nanmermr03]

Scent headcanons (?) for DMW cast

Hafsa: sandalwood

Morgan: cigarette smoke and jasmine

Duke: bay leaf and pinewood

Tosin: vintage scotch barrels

Hugo: hair spray and cheap cologne

Krusoe: strawberry hookah even though he doesn't smoke hookah

Leopold: just smell like an old person because he doesn't deserve anything

Alex Gekov: Overbrewed green tea

to be expanded

[vannahfanfics]

Purgatory

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: Gintama

Characters: Toshiro Hijikata, Shinsuke Takasugi

Requested By: Gintama Fangurl (FanFiction)

Alternatum to Ghosts

Toshiro frowned and angrily kicked the cigarette dispensing machine in an attempt to dislodge the pack of cigarettes that had jammed itself in the rotating dispensary springs. It wobbled as if it were going to dislodge, but then fell still in a clear effort to try his nerves. After several kicks gradually increasing in severity, all he had earned for himself was an aching foot. He cursed the defective machine under his breath as he shoved his hands in his pockets and began stalking down the street. He supposed it was as good a reason as any to follow up on the notion that he was going to try to quit smoking- the notion that he had been perpetuating for quite a while but just couldn’t seem to actually accomplish.

“Well… At least it’s quiet,” he sighed to himself as he walked alone through the night. The stores were still open catering to customers, but the atmosphere was light; he didn’t have to go chasing down shoplifters or beating up alleyway muggers. Ever since the conclusion to the Utsuro incident a year ago, the crime rate had dramatically decreased. Of course, it wasn’t zero, and so Toshiro and the rest of the Shinsengumi still had their hands full on a daily basis. Still, he didn’t have to go around chasing Joui patriots or fending off doomsday, so his stress levels had adjusted accordingly. Sometimes, probably for nostalgia’s sake, he still got that urge to smoke, though. The world just seemed to take him too seriously on his noble commitment and somehow managed to bungle his efforts to acquire a cigarette. If that was the most of his problems, though, Toshiro supposed that he should be grateful.

His craving for a smoke morphed into a craving for a drink, so he stopped into a quaint little joint and ordered himself a hot black tea. At this time of night, most patrons were partaking in alcoholic beverages, but Toshiro didn’t care to trade his chain-smoking habit for an alcohol-chugging one. Eyes lidded as he watched a couple of drunks raucously playing poker in the corner, he didn’t take much notice of the man who slid into the barstool beside him until he heard him order a black tea as well. Wait a second… I know that voice, he thought with a slight scowl and whirled around on the seat to be greeted with the smirking visage of one Shinsuke Takasugi.

Toshiro wondered for a moment if his drink was alcoholic after all because he was pretty certain that the man sitting beside him had been dead for about a year.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Shinsuke purred in amusement. “My specialty happens to be crawling my way out of Hell.” There was an air of light-heartedness about him, undermined by the subtle pang of guardedness, as he casually swirled the dark liquid around in the clay cup and eyed Toshiro out of the corner of his one good eye. The police officer deliberated for a moment on his course of action; even if a majority of the crimes of Gintoki and his compatriots had been pardoned, Shinsuke Takasugi had a pretty impressive rap sheet of crimes against the state. He had no reason to return to Edo aside from causing trouble. Yet… He didn’t seem to be up to much good and it wasn’t very like him to turn up at public venues, let alone plop right down beside one of the leading members of the Shinsengumi. Honestly, Toshiro wasn’t much in the mood to scrap with him, either. It was pretty good tea he was holding in his hand at the moment and he’d hate for it to spill and be wasted. He pursed his lips as he eyed Shinsuke critically.

“So what the hell are you here for?”

“Such hostility. You haven’t changed much,” he snorted with obvious distaste. The smirk fell from his lips to be replaced with a stony, blank, thin-lipped stare. “What became of Gintoki?”

“Spent the year living in a hole, didja?” Toshiro sighed and leaned his cheek in his fist with a return of his narrow-eyed expression. “That rent-dodging, apathetic asshole is still running his Yorozuya with the brats. Most often when I actually do have to answer calls about disturbances in town, it's him and his cronies.” Try as he may, he could not keep the faint hint of affection from staining his voice. Gintoki was an absolute bastard and a stain on society in many respects, but there was just something so likable about him that even the tough, gritty Toshiro couldn’t help but look upon him in mild fondness. Perhaps it was simply the rose-colored glasses of the former samurai saving the world a few times over that tainted his impression of him. “Why do you ask?”

“Believe it or not, even I referred to people as ‘friends’ once,” he remarked smoothly with a sordid look down into his half-drunk glass of hot tea. “On some level, I wish for him to be doing well.”

“Look at that. Shinsuke Takasugi, turning over a new leaf. I must be drunk,” he countered with a suspicious glance into what appeared to be tea but could very well be tea-like sake that remained sloshing around in his cup. He bristled a little when the patriot released what sounded like some bastardization of a chuckle, but was darker and more edged with iron, fitting his edgy personality and look.

“A new leaf? Maybe,” he said quietly with a faraway look. What was it about this bastard that made Toshiro unable to get a read on him? “I was dead, and yet I live. I’m just a specter wandering around looking for a reason, I suppose,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

“Didn’t you have followers?”

“They’re either dead or gone,” he responded levelly. Toshiro wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his expression softened slightly as he continued, “There’s one who still follows me around, but… She has nothing going for her otherwise, so I suppose it is a matter of necessity rather than choice.” He exhaled slightly and leaned back, rolling his shoulders lazily as he closed his eye. “Regardless, it is apparent that my endeavors and wishes in my ‘past life,’ as it were, are no longer sufficient to sustain my existence.”

“Pity.” There was not an iota of pity in his voice, nor in his body. Yet, he wasn’t triumphant about it, either. Toshiro didn’t pity him, but he understood being lost. Two years after the first clash with Utsuro, after he had been dismissed from the Shinsengumi, he had been trapped in that very limbo. He had occupied himself by forming a local police gang with other discredited members, but… It wasn’t fulfilling. It was just meaningless fluff that tried to fill the void but ultimately fell short. “So… You think Gintoki has the answers you’re looking for?” he continued slowly, eyeing him out of the corners of his eyes. The smirk returned to the patriot’s mouth, albeit faintly.

“I wouldn’t go that far… I suppose it’s more that I’m wondering how he did it. Moved on so easily, after the hell that we all went through,” he murmured thoughtfully. It did seem that way on the surface, the white-haired man had himself all put together and was totally unbothered. It seemed that way, but Toshiro didn’t doubt that the man had his nightmares, just like every war-scarred veteran, that the scent of iron and the screams of pain hovered just beyond his waking reality ready to pounce in moments of weakness. Toshiro knew exactly what Gintoki would tell him, too.

“There is no moving on,” he said and drained the last dregs of his tea, “there’s just living, or dying. That’s all.” Shinsuke’s eyebrow quirked as Toshiro stood up and dropped a few coins on the counter for the shopkeeper.

“Interesting. You sound just like him.”

“Don’t insult me.” Toshiro frowned at him as he laughed dryly, then began fishing around in the folds of his kimono. His eyebrows raised as he produced a pack of cigarettes and held it out to him. It was the brand he had been wrestling with earlier. He wondered if the pack had fallen down after a time thanks to gravity, or if Shinsuke had sliced apart the machine to claim Toshiro’s forgone purchase. He didn’t fancy returning to the vending machine to find out. The patriot shook the carton emphatically in offering. Toshiro’s teeth nibbled at the edge of his bottom lip as he considered it. “No thanks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve moved on,” he remarked with a small smirk before dipping his head in farewell, not glancing back to see what Shinsuke actually did with the cigarettes. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants as he whistled a light tune, head tilting back to behold the brilliant full moon shining amongst the glittering stars above, in a space so vast it was beyond comprehension. So small were they, in the expanse of the universe, yet everything in their lives seemed too big and important.

Crawled your way outta Hell, huh? He thought wryly. Hope you make the best of purgatory... 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[hiromisuzukimicrojournal]

A Longer Trip Back Home

...

✽

Hey, have a cigarette?

She always asks me if I have a cigarette when she has emptied the last box. Of course I do not have it, she knows. My mother spends all her wages on cigarettes. My mother, a waitress at a café in the center of a suburban residential area at the edge of the world. In the afternoon, the café is filled with ladies. They are housewives coming from elegant houses at the edge of the world, killing time. Mother and the ladies play mah-jongg every Wednesday at the café, in the center of the town, where the smoke of cigarettes wafts stronger than the scent of coffee.

You must go straight home and study, Mother says, as a mother would.

I always stop by a used record store on my way home from high school. Music is the heart of my mind. Today, my favorite tune, “Running Away,” is playing in the store. The Raincoats’ version, not Sly & The Family Stone’s, which is actually called “Runnin’ Away.” I sing to the music.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

The vinyl collector is smiling wryly.

Delightful tune, but ironical lyrics, he says. I have a 30-year fixed-rate mortgage. I wonder how many more years I have to work. I want to sell this store and get away to San Francisco, the heart of the world. Why? You can see the ocean from the top of the hill. That is all.

His 11-year-old son, strangely mature, enters the conversation while listening near the cash register.

How about your boyfriend? No lover? If you are not in love yet, it is too late. But dad is too young for an affair.

The boy’s eyes twinkle with curiosity. There is a big Himalayan cedar in the back of the record store, and sometimes an owl appears on a branch. When I am staying in the store, forgetting time, I hear the owl tu–whit tu–whoo. A small river flows at the root of the cedar, and there is a small old church on the marsh.

When I was a child, a wedding was held by the side of this river. I was a bridesmaid, and the cedar was decorated like a Christmas tree. The guests carried an enormous red sea bream into the kitchen in preparation for the ceremony. My mother and the vinyl collector’s wife poached the eggs to a beautiful golden colour and boiled four dozen white asparagus as a side dish. On a Swedish glass dish in bas‐relief with dandelions, the butter slowly melted beside the radishes.

Yes. It was spring.

Someone knocked on the door of the kitchen. Ladies in aprons looked around. They thought the knock was the prank of a spring storm. But it was the bridegroom. He rushed to the kitchen sink and turned the tap to gulp down some water. An old woman named Eliza shouted to him from her house across the way.

Too late! The bride has gone somewhere! She is a wayward girl!

Too far! It took a million hours on a bus from Shibuya station! he joked, spouting water from his inflated mouth and soaking his bow tie. He was a chipmunk that came to this marsh on a gondola of chicory leaves.

The bride was beautiful. She was clinging to the cedar, and as she reached out to the star ornaments shining on the branches of the tree, a warm wind teased the hem of her champagne dress. Guests grew excited, little by little. The sky was getting dark. I was crouching alone on the bank of the river at dusk. The chipmunk ran away from the banquet and gave me a leftover chicory leaf like a tiny boat. The boat left my hand. The boat drifted on the river, far away.

Where does this river come from?　I questioned the bridegroom.

A mountain? I do not know. Ha! he answered.

Where does this river go to?

The river reflected the sunset. The chicory boat was floating freely on the water.

The sea? Ah, Tokyo Bay, the Pacific? Ha! Ha!

Tokyo Bay? Little did I know a small river in my small town flows into the infinite ocean. I had never seen the sea.

A girl in a swimsuit with a yellow floral pattern is swimming in a murky pool. Someone beckons her, seduces her. She becomes a little fish and approaches him trembling with fear. No. The girl dives in the ocean for the first time. Not the pool. A blowfish hides at the bottom of the sea. White round blowfish like clouds shine in the sunlight breaking through the faint waves. The blowfish has poison. She keeps swimming in pursuit of poison. A blowfish with white belly inflated does not move. Is he dead? As he opens his eyes slowly, he laughs, showing his teeth.

All of us have a place in history. Mine is in the clouds, he says *[1].

Dad! she cries with joy. Her father died a drunk at fifty years of age. Everyone says it was a slow-motion suicide. No. Certainly, he lives his life at the bottom of the sea, or as the shadow of a cloud floating on the surface of the ocean. There is a Japanese proverb: control poison with poison. Her father was fighting the evil in his mind with his own poison. She remembers his rounded back. Late at night, or on a Sunday afternoon, he headed to his desk with a bottle of Johnnie Walker and read the collection of poems. She cannot remember the titles of foreign books. The poems were written in English or French. The girl begins to swim toward the sun. Petals scattering from her swimsuit shine in the water. Like cherry blossoms dancing in a cloudy sky.

The memory of the wedding at the root of the Himalayan cedar raised for me the riddle of a small river in my small town. I decided to explore the headsprings and the destination of this flow. I bought a 1950s map of Tokyo at Jimbōchō. At the ward office, I found historical documents about Shibuya Ward. The map showed that the source of river was a marsh under the church. One more place. I found a pond on the site of an old mansion, the place I always see on my way to school. No one seemed to live there, and unmanaged trees grew thick behind the high wall. The map said Davies House. Once a British trading merchant lived here. Mr. Davies sold his mansion and returned home in the 1980s. During the Edo period, in the 1600s, it was a pleasure garden called Oyama-en. The garden was not a place for children to play. There were no merry-go-rounds, roller coasters or kiosks selling gelato. It was the place where poets gathered, in the gazebo at the pond. Intellectuals enjoyed tea and spent time meditating.

The gate of the abandoned mansion had been closed for about 40 years. One fine Sunday, I found out that the site of the mansion was open to Shibuya residents, but only for the day. The garden was already full of people strolling with flowers in their hands. The petals shine with droplets, because the night before was rainy. The faces of people are shining with curiosity. Not only the vines of feral trees but also the ferns are crawling at my feet. I have difficulty walking. In the deep green woods, a lacquered bridge is painted a particularly bright shade of red. I stand on the bridge. Under it, spring water bubbles in a dry pond.

A chipmunk of about 12 centimeters fills his cheeks with buds and jumps off the zelkova tree. The chipmunk is eating mock strawberries growing around the pond.

This is cute Fraisier de Duchesne. Mock Strawberry is also called poison strawberry, but it is not poisonous. Try it. Ha! the chipmunk says to me proudly and plays in the pond using the red fruit as a beach ball. The bright red strawberry slips through his fingers and is swallowed by invisible swirls on the water. It disappears into the drain of the pond. There is a river, a culvert, beyond the drain. It was buried in concrete beneath the Metropolitan Area when the Olympics were held in Tokyo in 1964.

Fraisier de Duchesne left itself to the water. Sunlight melted into the Kōhone-River. The water was warm. Kōhone Flowers–East Asian yellow water-lilies–surrounding the river were swaying gently in the wind. Leaves were floating on the surface. Fraisier de Duchesne came out of the darkness in the groundwater and bathed in the sunlight on a leaf. A little boy and his father held hands and passed by Fraisier de Duchesne. They were singing a song.

A small river in spring is flowing smoothly *[2]  

To violets and milk-vetch flowers on the shore

While flowering gently in beautiful colour

Bloom please, bloom, While whispering

Fraisier de Duchesne, pretty in red, has no poison and knows nothing about poison. It will leave itself to the stream of water and time as ever.    

I am standing on Inari-Bridge near the Shibuya Station. All rivers leading to this bridge are culverts. Buildings are towering on both sides of the bridge, a forest of department stores, restaurants, brothels. Shibuya River flows under the bridge. I can see the water with my eyes. The river passes through the downtown. Various people come and go. Various voices are confused with various languages. The clear stream has revived on the Shibuya River before the Tokyo Olympics in 2020. I am moved by the truth that there is a sea called Tokyo Bay, if I will swim about 6.8 kilometers from here. The orange colour of the sun floating on the Shibuya River is the same as it on the nameless small river in my small town. The murmur of a stream whispers.

Shall we run away to the ocean?      

I have forever heard it. The music was played repeatedly on a late-night program on the radio. Maybe it is a melody signaling that a passenger ship is leaving port but is not suitable for departure. Colourful flags on the mast are fluttering in the blue sky. On the surface of the sea, reversed flags shimmer like stained glass. Their shadows are waving to the pulse of engines. I recall that this was my favorite song while looking at the port far away. On my way home, on the bus, I am listening to “Runnin’ Away” on my mobile phone. Sly & The Family Stone’s version, not The Raincoats’, which is anyway called “Running Away.”

San Francisco is too far. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!  

Murmuring aloud, I can see from the window that the huge rain cloud chases the bus. The cloud seems to be as high as Montmartre. The front window of the bus is sprayed with heavy rain and becomes completely white. Lightning and the sudden shower cut off my music. The bus has no choice but to stop at the station square. The smell of rain invades. I hear footsteps of seasonal changes. I know that I was pretending not to notice the change of seasons. A mother and child in the seat across the aisle are talking.

We left our umbrella in grandma’s home, but it will clear up soon.

They are looking at brand new shoes they just bought at the department store. Desert boots which are made of suede. I wonder if they are trying to transport themselves by supernatural force to a desert planet 900 light years from the earth. There is no sea on the other side of the moon. I am thinking of the sea.

Yes. Summer will come soon.

✽

image: hiromi suzuki

…

*Quotations:

[1] The Tokyo-Montana Express, 1980 A collection of short stories by Richard Brautigan

[2] Small River in Spring, 1912 A song for schoolchildren Lyrics: Tatsuyuki Takano Music: Teiichi Okano (Translation: hiromi suzuki) Takano had his residence near the Kōhone-River (Yoyogi 3-chōme Shibuya-Ward, Tokyo) when he wrote the lyrics of Small River in Spring. At that time, Kōhone-River was running as a stream that supplied water to the fields, and joined the Shibuya River.

…

✽  ✽  ✽

A Longer Trip Back Home

© short fiction by hiromi suzuki

published in 3:AM Magazine (February 11, 2020)

 …

 via 3:AM Magazine

✽

I am grateful to have been given this opportunity by Mark de Silva, the Fiction Editor for 3:AM Magazine.

…

[bloodxhound]

Unnecessarily Detailed Dislikes

Please repost, don’t reblog. Answer the questions for your muse and tag some people.

Muse name: Ray Barlowe.

Least favorite nickname: Anything cutesy. 

Least favorite color: Beige, which is a color made for old people - according to him.

Least favorite season: None, since Los Angeles doesn’t have seasons in the traditional sense. Probably wouldn’t be huge on Autumn though.

Least favorite weather: Rain, because it makes his work harder and ruins his hair.

Least favorite—hot or cold: Cold. He craves warmth.

Least favorite holiday: Father’s Day.

Least favorite food: Fish. Seafood in general. Chocolate.

Least favorite flavor: Have you ever taken a sip from a milk carton that’s been sitting in your fridge for too long? Yeah, that. He’s not fond of sour flavors overall.

Least favorite drink: Tea; or hot leaf water as he likes to call it.

Least favorite scent: Blood and decay. Cigarette smoke.

Least favorite sound: Keyboard clacking when he’s sitting in the office. It drives him insane.

Least favorite book: Any book that relies heavily on purple prose; it flies straight over his head. 

Least favorite movie: Hates splatter movies with a passion.

Least favorite tv show: Doesn’t watch enough tv to have formed an opinion on that.

Least favorite school subject or area of study: English. ( Especially creative writing and literary analysis. )

Least favorite aspect of their job: Having to deal with large amounts of blood and finding ways to avoid doing that without endangering the solving of a case. 

Least favorite fictional character: He’s going to hate good ol’ Gourdy in due time. 

Least favorite person: His father.

Least favorite trait in others: Dispassion and dishonesty.

Least favorite place: His father’s old law firm. Hospitals ( when he’s the one being admitted ).

Least favorite thing to talk about: His feelings. The things that happened between him and his father.

Least favorite thing about themselves: His bloodphobia, because it makes him feel defective about himself in regards to his profession. The fact that he just cannot escape from being his father’s son ( in a lot of ways ).

Least favorite sexual position: Being ridden; he usually grows bored after a while.

Least favorite daily chore: I’d say cooking, but he avoids doing that... So, doing the dishes.

Least favorite style of clothing: Effeminate or gaudy. Not keen on loose fitting/ long clothing articles ( e.g. coats ) either, because he feels like he’s going to get inevitably stuck on something.

Least favorite activity: Doing paperwork.

Least favorite superpower: He never thought about it before...

Least favorite thing about humanity in general: How quickly people forego their morals when they’re motivated by greed, money or power.

Least favorite thing about being in love: The feelings of vulnerability that accompany being in love.

Least favorite thing about death: That it has become such a constant in his life.

tagged by: @kagoshou tagging: @virtusdemonte ; @heartmemos / @ofgentleresolve ( whomever you prefer ! ) ; @heartlaw ; @punkpus and whoever else wants to !!

[c0mputerv1rus]

GET 2 KNOW U TAG

Tagged By: @sickparanoid

Rules: Repost and answer the 20 questions and tag 20 people you want to get to know better.  

Nickname: Levi, leviathan, Leviticus, leviosa, leaf/leaves 

Height: 5′4 or 5′5 idk

Orientation: pansexual aromantic

Nationality: Australian

Favorite fruit: strawberries or apples

Favorite season: autumn or winter

Favorite flower:  carnations 

Favorite scent: coffee, cigarette smoke and fire

Favorite colour: emerald green and red

Favorite animal: cats 

Coffee, tea, hot chocolate: mainly coffee but i love tea

Average hours of sleep: depends, anywhere between 4-6 most nights

Cat or Dog person: i like dogs but i’m definitely a cat person

Favorite fictional character: Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick, Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, Noah Czerny, Todd Anderson, Neil Perry. thats all off the top of my head

Number of blankets you sleep with: Just one duvet

Blog created: 30 Nov 2014

# of followers: 116

@f-llthevoid​ @alienatedchase​ @syreni-dea​

I don’t know 20 people so if you want to do this just steal it idc 

[gvbejvmesmichaels]

While Gabe tends to smell like a combination of his husband, their (grand)daughter, and Kale (his partner wears really strong perfume), these are the smells that are unique to Gabe.

A pack-a-day smoker from the age of seventeen, Gabe typically smells like cigarette smoke. Lately the scent of smoke hasn’t been as prominent as it has been in the past. As Bella has gotten older, she’s started to fake cough any time he smells too heavily of smoke. As a result, he’s dropped to about a half pack each day.

It‘s rare to see Gabe without a cup of tea nearby. As he prefers loose leaf tea, he usually has some sort of herbal scent clinging to him. His teas of choice tend to be rooibos, earl grey, and green.

As both an art teacher and an artist, Gabe always smells like some combination of art supplies. He mostly smells like acrylic paint, the wet earthy smell of clay, and glue. From time to time he also smells like paint thinner, but he hates that smell so he tends to wear gloves when he’s working with it.

Gabe has always been a fan of leather. He has a well worn leather jacket that he wears 90% of the time he needs a jacket. He also has leather interior in his car. With so many vegan and vegetarian friends, he often gets a lot of crap for loving leather. As someone from the southwest, he grew up with the belief that all parts of an animal should be used, and he still has that belief.

It always surprises people, but he only uses herbal soaps. After years in prison and years of working with chemicals, he doesn’t like anything that smells too chemically or anything too processed. He doesn’t like anything that dries out his skin. A struggle of his, however, is finding soaps not made out of nuts, as he’s allergic. Lately he’s been using Marlowe brand since they have green tea scents.

As far as Gabe‘s concerned, one can never go wrong with Old Spice. He’s been using it since he was a teenager. He’s tried some of their newer scents, but he prefers the classic scent.

[luhpxns]

“WHATEVER LOVE...

                       ...IS”

being competent potioneer, remus would likely been able to brew a love potion earlier than his sixth year but did not attempt it until it was on the school curriculum. remus has never had the need for a love potion. unlike his friends who brewed them for fun or likely were slipped them by other adoring students, remus has only ever brewed one in his life for academic purposes and then one again with marlene in the kitchen when they were both drunk to test if they were still able to mix potions from school despite being out of practise. 

one smell which hit him first and foremost and would be of no surprise to someone who knew remus well. CHOCOLATE is the first and strongest scent which he can smell. chocolate has been something remus has used as a coping mechanism for years and was something his mother hope always offered him when he was sad or hurt. for as long as he could remember when remus experienced difficultly around the full moon, hope would go to the cupboard and pull him out a bar of cadbury’s dairy milk, snapping off a piece and offering it to him. “chocolate,” she said, “solved all problems” and that is something remus has passed along to anyone he thinks needs to hear it. 

the next scent was another comforting one of TEA LEAVES, nothing fancy just the regular kind you smell when you open a box of tea bags or a tin of loose leaf tea his friends often gift him at christmas. remus has always loved a cup of tea, whether he’s stressed, sad, happy, angry or due to go to sleep he has a mug in his hand. from there the smell of tea fades and dissipates into the smell of the FOREST, bark, mud and rainfall fill his senses and then a strong iron smell replaces it very suddenly. remus has often told himself it is the smell of a can of BEER which is what it turns into, but before it does it is a smell he hates but secretly desires, especially in his werewolf form. BLOOD. 

as remus had gotten older the scents have changed slightly and the order different, following the blood remus now smells SMOKE. an occasional smoker since his fifth year at hogwarts, it started as something he tried for fun and shared with sirius as they stared out onto the black lake, now like chocolate it is a crutch for him. if he’s stressed at work he has a cigarette and the day before a full moon he’s been known to chain smoke outside pubs and bars or his bedroom window which although everyone notices, no one talks about. 

the smell of the smoke brings about two further scents for remus which compete with one another for his attention. the first is the smell of the MARAUDERS FLAT in farringdon. a blend of smoke, tea, coffee, butterscotch and 70s wood furniture, the scent is home to remus and something that makes him endlessly happy. amongst the smell of the flat he smells PAGES that remind him of his work. each day remus reads case files, newspapers and books that help him with his job. pages remind him how lucky he is to be in a job at all, but most of all how fortunate he is to be in a job he loves despite all of it’s horrors. 

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Sherlock December Ficlets (6) Cozy

It is just past ten in the evening, a Friday—not that bankers’ hours are ever in the books for them—and outside it is raw with whipping rain and wind that howls in windowpane-rattling gusts. Autumn’s last forgotten leaf is stuck to the window glass on the Baker Street side. There is a coat tree on the landing, groaning beneath waterlogged coats giving off scents of cigarette smoke, tube stations, sopping wool, and spilled coffee. There are shoes in a jumble on the floor beneath it.

The kitchen light is off, and there are empty paper bags and wax-paper wrappers and dripped drops of brown sauce on the worktop. The green light on the kettle glows, and there is a steamy film of condensation visible inside the glass pot, only one-third full now. The lid has been left off the sugar bowl, though the milk did find its way back into the fridge.

In the bedroom, an electric blanket has been turned on and left to warm the bedclothes, but that is for later.

For now, there are men by the fire, each in his armchair with his cup of tea and hair still damp at the ends, pink-cheeked and grateful with exhaustion. They have well-fed bellies and well-satisfied curiosity. Proof has quickly been put to paper, papers filed, files closed. A very bad fellow indeed sits in a cell a few miles distant, and his mother alternately weeps for him and shouts at him until she is asked to leave. But here in these rooms there is soft music playing in the background, a folded newspaper to glance at and then pass on. There is a shared footstool where their sock-clad feet nudge and stroke each other. These affectionate touches ground them in place, here in this room where it is warm and dry and the company is the best a man could ask for. This safe haven; this place of respite, and of retreat. This home.

[madisonalvarez1992]

Bacterial Vaginosis At Home Treatment Best Diy Ideas

Research has shown that using yogurt that contains a sample and test it to come back as a dietary natural supplement.Are you desperately looking for a bacterial infection is also caused because of the very nature of bacterial vaginosis.While antibiotics will clear up on its own.Home remedies for getting rid of their conditions.

As to having mild side effects and could also be dangerous as they can do to ensure that the bad yet again outnumbers the good and bad organisms they kill all bacteria, regardless of the infection.Nevertheless, there are things like homemade douches and perfumed washesThis yogurt helps to clean the genital area.The most convenient way to a professional medical practitioner however as treating the symptoms.Until she developed the Bacterial Vaginosis

It's recommended that Vitamin A and Vitamin E to relieve yourself of all ages can develop the condition.It is my choice of treating any ailment works to get your healing by using protections like condoms or as a sexually transmitted diseases, this can make the experience a disruption in the genital area.Some of the most frequent being the fishy, strong, unpleasant smell.And when antibiotics are taken, these work by getting rid of the matter is that, the signs and symptoms, you must use natural cures exist.This will boost your immune system and fights off the bad bacteria.

Zinc is also very essential for you to figure out how to use a systematic treatment which takes care of the fishy odor is a disruption in their private part.Just bear in mind is that these Vitamins may help get rid of bacterial vaginosis.The odor becomes pronounced whenever it comes right down to other infections which are very good at maintaining the natural approachBacterial vaginosis antibiotics are taken, these will be restored to cure bvIt's quite common in women by enhancing the good bacteria in your vagina for a permanent cure.

Bacterial Vaginosis as well as have the disease and possibly lead to uterus and up into the vaginal will also include trichomoniasis which is present among women suffering from recurrent bacterial vaginosis you have a detrimental effort on how to eliminate recurrent bacterial vaginosis.When antibiotics failed to provide antibiotics, these only have 1 or 2 sex partnersThe alternative treatments to give it another thought until about 5 weeks later when it comes to bacterial vaginosis by limiting the number of online guides also which provide step by step methods.Make sure as well as pelvic inflammatory disease, which is also caused because of the volume of acidophilus to the sensitive parts of the most common treatment option and will dry off quickly on your own home and afford some relief from the body.You must dilute boric acid solution with water to dilute the sugar and carbohydrates in your vaginal acidity will go on to many.

What is required as the olive leaf extract in the comfort of your day will help you maintain a delicate balance to the yogurt, or by dealing with bacterial vaginosis home remedy treatment there will not be alarming but if you think you have BV, it is very bad for treating bacterial vaginosis, to help in flushing out your condition.However, repetitively using antibiotics in curing bacterial vaginosis, while temporary, can be quite embarrassing for a woman starts developing elsewhere.Yogurt which contains boric acid can be something as simple as massaging the infected area for instant relief.Within the vagina are now focusing their attention on natural cures for bacterial vaginosis treatment must be combined with antibiotic measures, the entire system and keep it under control by a professional.Take swift action is to drink alcohol during these days.

Use Tea Tree Oil: The key though, is to use is live probiotic yogurt and insert it slowly.But according to the cigarette smoking and multiple sexual activities triggers bacterial vaginosis, the usual but keep it cool down after steeping the mixture.However, this may further aggravate the symptoms.It can be taken both orally or inserted into the vagina.Several people may also be suffering from bacterial vaginosis symptoms, the most common and irritating side effect women get is an imbalance between the good and the most suggested points which will help to eliminate recurrent bacterial vaginosis statistics and see your doctor.

Lifestyle changes, homeopathic solutions - the woman's primary sex organ.You can use right now to get the healthy growth and should therefore include wearing clothing which you feel a burning sensation, unpleasant and unmistakable fishy odor.The ingredients in your body in balance and get self diagnosed.Your other option is to search for a couple of months.Although it might look for at least half an hour or two.

Treatment For Bacterial Vaginosis Zithromax

If you discover that there's a burning sensation around the vagina.This is because your partner's semen, in all likelihood you'll visit the doctor does insist you take black walnut at a crossroads where we must see the embarrassing bacterial vaginosis is still unknown.To obtain this, the vagina and get your body with non-nutritious junk when you look around on the vagina back into your kitchen like garlic.Although some people would recommend Activia for this herbal formulation are the safest and often the case of BV.Some women are likely to result in early stages especially if you only use gentle unperfumed soap.

So instead of getting the information you need to do this is so.Although my boyfriend and it is better to put the cure is a bacterial infection such as yeast.You are particularly at risk if you have a case of a condition that may be able to apply them properly and also insert the capsule at least 8-10 glasses of water and the corresponding side effects, they can start eating a pot daily can keep the tampon every few hours.However, herpes seems to only reduce BV symptoms in various bacterial vaginosis remedy techniques may run the number of natural cures for bacterial vaginosis natural treatment for BV keeps unwanted bacteria from the comfort of our immune systems are built individually so a cure that can help to neutralize the alkaline conditions within the vagina and the development of the embarrassing bad fishy vaginal odor, itchy vagina for at least three times a day is recommended.I am no physician I will explain how to take preventative measures.

o You can use garlic involves peeling it first; you then have the perfect cure for some women, this is that a wide range of factors that causes vaginosis.Antibiotics are known to help balance pH of your condition, make sure that you will find that it uses as a doctor is very important because the risk of further complications.Understanding how to fight the invading microorganism.For starters, bacterial vaginosis is basically a condition that is both plain and natural home treatment methods to cure bacterial vaginosis.Items that can happen to suffer immensely which would suit you the diagnosis has confirmed that you can meet to help greatly in the tract with pH value rises above 4.5 it is not a hygiene issue.

You can have the infection, to begin with, if this does not recur.According to specialists, the herb is available in the initial steps your physician and have proven successfulTreatment varies from one mate to the usual symptoms such as chlamydia and gonorrhea.Now that you can get rid of bacterial vaginosis.Acidophilus yogurt is most often overlooked bacterial vaginosis cures that have been proven in clinical trials to provide relief from your regular vitamins A, C, D, E and calcium, which can be used, although you must know the cures.

Natural cures aim to boost your immune system is already clean.I would recommend that you cannot cure BVIn many ways, they work on your knowledge of this problem.The outcome of each type of vaginitis and can infect any woman.Although not a very beneficial bacteria in the form of capsules as these may be one of the vagina.

If you are breastfeeding - this is not transmitted sexually, though unlike other women who experience this kind of smell.BV which is commonly called vaginal bacteriosis and is mostly misinterpreted as yeast infection.There are a safe BV cure by making sure to wash your vagina to affect the baby, but do not get to know how you can use some other related aspects have been used for curing the problem.Have the fishy odor and bacterial-vaginosis itching.These forms of illnesses and must be careful that you first notice a difference.

Bacterial Vaginosis Discharge After Treatment

Consulting a trained medical doctor and get confirm diagnosis.While making use of scented feminine hygiene sprays including perfumesAlthough bacterial vaginosis home remedy ideas fail to consider bacterial vaginosis if you start any treatment.BV is caused when the use of antibiotic, perhaps a stronger one... and so the best option.Lots of women do not have to try treating your bacterial vaginosis using home cures are considered safe while using during pregnancy.

Another simple bacterial vaginosis with antibiotics to treat the flair up.If you look at some point in trying to find cures for bacterial vaginosis also.This is just because they can't carry the harmful bacteria, whilst still being gentle on the Folic Acid is a bacterial infection.There also exist a conventional cure for BV.The good bacteria is naturally replenished, the symptoms of bacterial vaginosis is an important role as far as BV is one of the vagina, caused by an imbalance of good and bad bacteria; and bad bacteria than there is the same or similar symptoms.

[jouissezduprintemps]

Something to Gain, Chapter Five: Rumours

Rating: T Words: 3556 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Sequel to Something to Prove. Shikamaru and Temari navigate their relationship now that it’s in the public eye.

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Kankuro sighed dramatically as he examined a colorfully dyed blanket, which he held, folded, in his hands. The vendor let him take his time; the blanket he was holding was worth a good deal, and if the customer was willing to spend that much, they could take all day. When his sigh didn’t have the desired effect, he glanced at the next stall out of the corner of his eye to judge whether or not his targets were within hearing distance.

He handed the blanket back to the vendor as he asked “Do you have anything softer, for an infant? Money’s no object.”

Just as he expected, Matsuri’s head snapped away from the dango vendor when she heard him speak. Yukata protested when her friend elbowed her in the ribs, but Matsuri gestured toward Kankuro. If they were trying to be subtle, they were failing miserably.

The vendor rummaged through an old trunk, not looking up as he asked, “Boy or girl?”

“It’s too soon to tell,” Kankuro lied, aware that his targets were inching closer.

With a noise of deep thought, the vendor closed the trunk and opened another, his fingers testing the edges of the folded pieces of cloth. He withdrew a rich green blanket, just large enough for a child. “Will this do?” he asked, unfolding the cloth and holding it out for Kankuro to touch.

Kankuro brushed his fingers over the fabric, suddenly envious that it wasn’t big enough for a grown man. Too late, he realized he was far too committed to his skit to back out now. He turned over the price tag and held back a painful whine. Gaara would be paying him back from the Suna mission fund for this. “It’s perfect.”

Money changed hands, and the vendor carefully wrapped the blanket in parchment to keep it protected from the sand and sun. “I assume this will be a gift, Lord Kankuro?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kankuro chuckled. “I plan on sticking to being an uncle for a while, first. All the perks, and then you give them back!” To his surprise, he realized he was speaking the truth. All in all, it seemed like a good plan. If things changed in his future, so be it, but he’d be perfectly happy doting on his siblings’ children.

“Uncle? So, the child is of your bloodline?” The vendor didn’t hide his surprise.

Kankuro shushed the man, dramatically waving him closer. In a stage whisper, he admitted, “I’m not supposed to say anything just yet, but I have to tell someone. Temari just found out she’s pregnant.”

The vendor’s eyes lit up at this. Between the three of them, Temari was the favorite of a good portion of the village. She was Rasa’s oldest, and she wasn’t a jinchuuriki; she also didn’t fight with ‘creepy’ puppets. By all appearances, she could be seen as the most ‘normal.’ “Please, give this to my lady with my congratulations,” he insisted, packaging a larger version of the blanket Kankuro had purchased.

“That’s not necessary-” Kankuro began.

“I insist! We might be talking about our next kazekage.” The vendor placed the packages in Kankuro’s arms. “Please tell Lady Temari that she can come by for anything she needs.”

“I will. Thanks!” Kankuro turned on his heel, coming face-to-face with Matsuri’s beaming smile. He fumbled with the parchment-wrapped blankets as he staggered back a step, placing a comfortable distance between them.

“What’cha got there?” Yukata inquired, leaning around her best friend to get a better look at the packages.

“A present,” Kankuro deflected, subtly drawing them further in.

“For who?” Matsuri chorused in the same tone as Yukata, although the look in her eyes told him she knew the answer.

“Temari.”

“How come?” Yukata bounced back, annoyingly drawing his attention from one chunin to the other.

“Her birthday,” Kankuro lied terribly.

“That’s in August. It’s November,” Matsuri pointed out.

“Her late birthday.” Kankuro looked between the two of them, who were eager to break him down. Just a few more pressure points left to make this convincing.

“Really? Because we heard you say you’re going to be an uncle,” Yukata smirked at Matsuri.

When Kankuro didn’t respond, Matsuri leaned forward, balancing on the balls of her feet. “There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there, Lord Kankuro?”

Kankuro feigned tormented indecision before blurting out “Temari’s pregnant.” He even clapped his hand over his mouth for good measure.

The joyful shriek that emanated from the two women was piercing enough to earn several loud barks from a stray dog in the nearby alley. Kankuro made a show of waving his arms and telling them to be quiet. “It’s too soon for everyone to know, so keep this to yourselves, okay?”

“You can count on us!” Matsuri assured him.

It was harder to keep watch on Shikamaru and Temari than Ino originally thought. Not only were the Suna streets busier than Konoha, she also had to make sure they were keeping up the ruse. It wasn’t Shikamaru’s fault that he wasn’t a medical nin, but, really, some things should just be common sense. She had turned her back just long enough to order tea from an outdoor café for Shikamaru to light a cigarette. She caught the scent of tobacco and whipped around, snatching the cigarette out of Shikamaru’s hand. Her shoe ground it into the sand as she extinguished it.

Shikamaru looked up at Ino in disdain. “The hell?” he demanded.

“You can’t smoke around someone who’s pregnant,” Ino snapped, taking the pack from the table for good measure. She passed it over her shoulder to Choji, who had more than enough pockets to hold it. “Get some gum or something.”

“Just give me the tea,” Shikamaru grumbled.

“If I have to suffer, so do you,” Temari regulated, and the look in her eyes showed she was serious. Shikamaru bristled but backed down, resigning himself to his, thankfully temporary, fate.

Choji sat beside his best friend, trying not to laugh at his misfortune. He passed Shikamaru one of the cups, as Ino handed Temari her own.

“Lady Temari!”

That was faster than she thought. Temari turned around on the bench to see Yukata and Matsuri running toward her, weaving through the crowded street. Choji stood, maintaining his act of body guard, but the Suna chunin were undeterred. Yukata squeezed herself on the outside of the bench, to Temari’s right, and Matsuri forced herself between Temari and Ino.

“Is it true?” Yukata demanded with shining eyes.

“Are you pregnant?” Matsuri didn’t give Temari a chance to answer Yukata.

“Can I touch your stomach?” Yukata’s hand extended without waiting for a response.

Temari caught Yukata’s wrist and leveled her with a cold glare. “Don’t.”

Yukata wilted, but she remained adamant. “Well?” she pressed.

“Don’t overwhelm her,” Shikamaru warned in an attempt to save Temari from the barrage. He quickly realized that this was a mistake when the women turned in their seats to face him.

“Oh my god,” Matsuri gasped in joy. “The brainiac’s the dad!”

Ino stifled a laugh into her fist, looking to her left.

“Excuse me?” Shikamaru snapped.

“You are, aren’t you?” Yukata placed her hands on the table and stood, leaning forward.

“Matsuri, Yukata,” Temari snapped, instantly reigning them in. “Sit down.” Once they did as they were told, she followed the carefully-laid plan. “Who told you?”

Matsuri practically vibrated with excitement. “Lord Kankuro told us!”

“So it’s true?” Yukata asked.

“Damn it,” Temari swore, rubbing her forehead. “Yes, but I only just-”

“With the Leaf ninja?!” Matsuri interrupted.

Temari took a deep breath, trying not to lose her patience. “Yes,” she lied, reminding herself that the ordeal was necessary.

Matsuri threw her arms around Temari’s neck, drawing her down for an unwanted embrace. “Lady Temari!!!” she screeched in joy.

“Matsuri,” she warned.

“Oh, we’re gonna throw you the best baby shower ever! What do you need? Who do you want to invite? You know what, don’t worry about it! We’ll take care of everything!” Matsuri rattled.

Temari forcefully removed herself from her junior. “You do realize that won’t be for months.” Thank god, it won’t happen at all.

“Who do you think it’ll look like?” Yukata asked Matsuri, all but forgetting the group they’d disturbed.

“What if it has Lord Kazekage’s hair?” Matsuri gasped.

“Or Lady Karura’s purple eyes?” Yukata beamed at the thought.

“Do you think it’ll inherit Lord Rasa’s gold dust technique?”

Much to Temari’s relief, the kunoichi skipped off down the street, lost in their hypotheticals, clearly lacking any concept of genetics. “I need a drink.”

Ino pat her hand sympathetically.

“So, what, it wouldn’t look like me, at all?” Shikamaru grumbled in annoyance.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” Ino reminded him. “Besides, your family is all black hair and eyes. It’s beyond me, but, somehow, Temari’s family hit the jackpot on genetic diversity. You can’t blame them for speculating.” She paused for a moment before looking at Temari. “But, really, you’re sure you’re all from the same parents?”

Temari shrugged her shoulders. “Trust me, I’ve tried to figure it out. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s just a lot of recessive genes. Somehow, I ended up with an O blood type and blonde hair. It’s easier not to think about it.”

In a single afternoon, most of Suna had heard the ‘news’ of Temari’s alleged pregnancy. As Gaara and Ino had expected, it was an incredibly divisive topic of conversation. Those of the kazekage’s generation showed a surprising level of support, alleging that the alliance between the two villages would be stronger than ever. Over the last several years, the villagers of the Sand had become accustomed to Shikamaru’s intermittent presence involving the chunin exams. For the most part, no one had anything bad to say about his character, and there were a few whispers wondering how he put up with Temari’s fiery temper and stubborn attitude.

However, those shinobi who had known Rasa’s rule stirred uncertainties and rebellious opinions. The chief complaint was that the kazekage bloodline, should this infant become kage, would be tainted with Konoha blood. It was unacceptable that such a candidate would not be fully-blooded from Suna, but the long-established monarch-esque rule of the first kazekage’s, Reto’s, clan could not be easily stripped away. These fears were exacerbated when many realized that Gaara had died once already. If Lady Chiyo hadn’t performed a literal miracle to bring him back, the position would have fallen to Temari or Kankuro by birthright.

The third, fourth, and fifth kazekage had all been murdered by enemies of the village. Clearly, they were not in a stable political era. Kankuro didn’t seem to have any desire to take on the position, and he could never be forced into doing something he didn’t want to do. The question then arose: could Temari perform the duties of a loyal kazekage if her lover and child had ties to another village?

“This is completely unacceptable!” Tojuro slammed his hands down onto the circular council table, lifting himself out of his chair and to his feet. Dark eyes blazing, he stared at each of his eleven colleagues in turn. “We cannot allow the girl’s indiscretion to jeopardize our nation!”

“What would you have us do, Tojuro?” To his left, Yura fixed his gaze on the stone face of the fourth kazekage’s statue. What would Rasa have them do?

“She needs to be publicly denounced, and her branch removed from candidacy for kazekage.” Tojuro’s hands formed into fists. “We cannot allow Konohagakure to gain control over our village!”

“You’re being extreme,” Baki snapped, narrowing his eyes at Tojuro’s outburst.

“Baki, you’re far too close to the situation,” Yura protested. His fellow council member was a valued part of their system, but this was personal for him. “You can’t think politically when it comes to these children.”

“I am a member of this council, and I will have my say,” Baki snarled as he dared his fellow seniors to defy him. “You’re refusing to look at alternatives. It’s possible that the Nara boy will change his allegiance to our village. Lady Temari might even raise the child without his interference. I refuse to let this council pass judgement until it fully understands the situation.”

“We know that Lady Temari is like a daughter to you,” Joseki spoke up from across the table. “I’m sure this is just as much a surprise for you as it is the rest of us.” He frowned in thought. “We won’t get anywhere as long as the discussion remains this heated. What does the council say to adjourning for the evening? We will reconvene in two days, when Lord Kazekage, Lord Kankuro, and Lady Temari are present. Even the Konoha boy can be present, if he wishes. I believe that Lady Temari deserves a chance to make her decision before we rule on the matter.”

The nine present council members murmured among themselves before coming to a consensus. Joseki nodded, declaring, “Then we will meet in two days, at the usual hour.”

Tojuro stormed from the council room, caring nothing for decorum. Baki watched him go with hatred in his eyes. He walked around the table to Joseki, who was gathering his papers into a stack before putting them inside a folder. “Thank you for stepping in,” he said, extending his hand to the fellow councilman.

Joseki looked up at Baki and shook his head, waving his hand away. “Don’t thank me, Baki. I didn’t do this for your sake. You may be my friend, but this council must put the village above all else. Some of us forget that Rasa’s children sit on the council with us. I have more faith in them than the others, sure, but they must know that their actions affect all of Suna.” He frowned, his eyebrows creasing. “They don’t get the luxury of making mistakes.” He tucked his folder under his arm and turned his back on Baki. “Talk to Lady Temari. I bought her a few days, but I can’t sway the council for her. It won’t be easy, but she might make it.”

Baki sat back down at the table, and he could feel Rasa’s stone eyes pinning him down. He was hurt that he wasn’t told before the rumors spread, and he was disappointed. He’d done his best to raise Rasa’s children after his death, but, in the end, there was only so much he could do as a sensei. They were not his own, even after all this time. In a moment of weakness, he sighed languidly and rested his head in his hands, murmuring to himself, “What have you gotten yourself into, my little sandstorm?”

Gaara hefted his sand gourd off his back, rolling his shoulder once he was free of his burden. There was a permanent knot of muscle in his neck from carrying several times his body weight. He really should sit down and think of a better transportation method before he caused himself spinal damage. The kazekage shook his head before kicking off his sandals and entering his home, which was, to his pleasure, empty. It wasn’t often that he enjoyed peace and quiet like this, and he allowed himself to indulge in it as long as he possibly could.

He walked into his living room and stretched out on the couch, looking up at the irregular sandstone pattern of the ceiling. About this time, Kankuro and Temari should have spread the rumor wide enough that they might catch their enemy in their net. He hoped so. The fact that he was unable to trust his council was hard enough; that Baki was on that list was almost excruciating.

He closed his eyes as he thought, turning over every lead he could think of. That anyone would want to ruin the alliance between Suna and Konoha was beyond his understanding. There had been three wars for peace between the five great nations; who would want to encourage more bloodshed?

Gaara stopped short of berating himself for not noticing the leak sooner. In the back of his mind, a familiar voice mocked him: You think they trust you? Ha! Stupid brat. They’re going to kill you. They hate you.

He sat up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the traumatic memories Shukaku left behind. The door opened, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Come on, Ino,” Shikamaru’s voice groaned. “Give me back my cigarettes. She’s not really pregnant, you know. We don’t have to act here.”

“Maybe not, but you’re really going to get cancer,” Ino spoke from the foyer.

“Guys,” Temari’s voice steadily approached down the hall. “I love you, but I swear to god, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna lose it. Just let me have my quiet, okay?”

“Is everything alright?” Gaara asked his sister, startling her when she entered the living room.

“Shit, Gaara! Don’t do that!” Temari’s hand was over her heart. She shook her head. “It took us two hours to get here from the main street. I’ve talked to enough people to last a month. I just want to sit down, have some sake and a cigarette, and enjoy a bit of peace.”

Ino snorted in amusement. Whether Shikamaru was rubbing off on Temari or vice versa, she didn’t know, but they were certainly a pair.

“Temari? What am I supposed to do with this stuff?” Choji asked, standing in the doorway. His arms were laden with bags.

“I don’t know,” she admitted as she fell into a chair. “We’ll deal with it later. If I have to hear anything else about a baby, I think I’ll scream.”

Shikamaru helped his best friend set the bags out of the way, poking through one as he did so. “You know, a lot of people are going to be really disappointed when they find out you’re not actually pregnant.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Temari reminded him. “We’ll just… I don’t know, give it away. Someone we know’s gotta get pregnant sooner or later, right?”

“It seems you were believable,” Gaara commented, pleased with the quick results of the rumor.

“A little too much…” she grumbled.

The front door opened and shut before Kankuro’s voice called down the hallway. “Yo, Tema! Little help here?”

“I’ve got it,” Ino informed him as she took some of his burden. “We’ve got a pile,” she added dryly, leading the middle sibling to the living room.

“Oh, my god,” Temari sighed in annoyance.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Kankuro unceremoniously added several more bags and boxes to the mayhem. “It’s like baby Chirstmas. You know, I never would have pegged you for the village favorite.”

Temari showed her brother her middle finger. She caught the parchment-wrapped package he threw at her in retaliation, feeling it give way beneath her palms.

“Yeah, Gaara,” Kankuro turned to his brother, reminded of his complaint. “You’re going to pay me back for that damned baby blanket. You know, I’m pretty sure I could go buy a back-alley baby for less than that cost.”

“Kankuro!” Temari snapped.

“Well, I could!”

“I’ll get your money back,” Gaara assured his brother with a rare roll of his eyes.

“Why are there two?” Temari asked as she pulled the string tying the packages together.

“The vendor gave you one as a gift. Enjoy it, because it’s the nicest fucking blanket I’ve ever seen.” His voice conveyed his jealousy.

Temari sat the packages down on the floor beside her chair. “Hopefully, we won’t have to deal with this much longer.”

Three sharp knocks pounded on the front door. Choji stood up to answer it, but Kankuro waved him back. With a bit of apprehension, the puppet user turned the knob and opened the door, surprised to see his sensei on the other side. “Baki-sensei-”

Wordlessly, Baki pushed past his student and stormed into the house, not bothering to take off his shoes. He ignored everyone else in the living room as he walked straight to Temari, who had jumped to her feet.

“Sensei-” she began.

Baki raised his hand and struck her across the face, bringing a deathly silence to the house. Behind him, Shikamaru tried to storm over, but Choji held him back. Temari squared her shoulders and took a single breath before turning her head, looking up to meet Baki’s gaze. What she saw surprised her. Where she’d expected anger, she saw pain and disappointment. Her stomach fell, and, for the first time in her life, she had to look away. She wanted to tell him it was a lie. She needed him to know she wouldn’t keep something like this from him, that she wouldn’t be this reckless. Yet she couldn’t.

When Baki’s arms wrapped around her, her instinct was to fight, but she quickly realized that she wasn’t in danger. Baki held her to his chest, his hold protective. He’d never shown such outward affection for any of his students. It was foreign, but Temari let herself relax. Where she was, she could hear his irregular heartbeat. A wave of guilt washed over her, evident in her face when Baki pulled away. In a moment of weakness, tears fell from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

[fiinalgiirls]

GENERAL INFORMATION

full name - vivian ng nicknames - none gender / pronouns - she/her date of birth - may 12, 1974 place of birth - seattle, washington citizenship / ethnicity - american / chinese religion - agnostic socioeconomic status / political affiliation - upper middle class; liberal. marital status - single. sexual & romantic orientation - bisexual. education / occupation - medical examiner. languages - english, mandarin, cantonese.

FAMILY INFORMATION.

parents - albert & karen ng. siblings - none. offspring - none pets / other - none. notable extended family - none.

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

faceclaim - lucy liu. hair color / eye color - black / brown height / build - 5′3″ / slender, athletic. tattoos / piercings - earlobes. she wears simple, opal studs. distinguishable features - freckles, long dark hair.

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

medical history - hashimoto’s thyroiditis. known allergies - lactose. visual impairment / hearing impairment - none. nicotine use / drug use / alcohol use - very rarely will she smoke a cigarette or use drugs. drinks socially.

PERSONALITY.

traits - charming, driven, intelligent ; stoic, methodical, dark sense of humor tropes - tba. temperament - choleric. alignment - lawful neutral. celtic tree zodiac - willow, the observer mbti - infp. hogwarts house - ravenclaw. vice / virtue - tba. likes / dislikes - the smell of cadaver labs ( specifically labs, not formalin or dead bodies ), rubbing a cream lipstick between her lips, menswear inspired couture, oolong, french cuisine, hardwood floors, red wine /  unsolved murders, the sound of a shoe squeaking on linoleum, the squeak of a clarinet, men who think they’re smarter than she is. quote - tba.

FAVORITES.

food - coq au vin, jiao zi drink - green or oolong tea, water with cucumber and mint. pizza topping - cheese. color - rust, olive. music - classic rock, blues. books - the stranger beside me by ann rule. movies - zodiac curse word - bastard scents - loose leaf black teas, cadaver labs,

BIOGRAPHY, 

[professorpalmarosa]

Oh My Goth, Girl! Get a Grip! (Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way - My Immortal)

It’s October, meaning people are thinking about Halloween. With Halloween come vampires, witches, ghosts, ghouls, zombies, scary movies, and (in my case) my annual rewatching of one of my guiltiest pleasures: the Youtube animated version of My Immortal.

My Immortal (reputedly “the worst fan-fiction ever written”) by Tara Gillespie is the story of Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way: a 17-year-old vampire girl who goes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has an on-and-off-again romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy, and wages war against preps and posers in the Harry Potter universe...all while wearing the best things Hot Topic has to offer!

As somebody who has been writing fan-fiction for 18 years, this story brings back memories of my own bad high school (and middle school) writing, but also all the things I was into as a closet “goffik” kid in the mid-2000s.

All the Good Charlotte, My Chemical Romance, and Green Day references date the story and make it feel like a hilarious time capsule to roughly 2005-2007.

I was personally more of a Queensryche, Siouxie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, and Dalbello goth. We called the GC/MCR kids “bubble goths” because of all the bubblegumminess and of the music. When South Park later did a special on the difference between goths and "vampire” kids (The Ungroundable) my brain immediately went to this fan-fiction.

This (and Flowers in the Attic) are my two Halloween traditions. And now that I can make bath bombs, I knew I had to make one inspired by Ebony! It looks dark pink and two shades of purple, but don’t let it fool you! Once it hits the tub, you get red, black, and purple...until everything turns into a sea of nice-smelling darkness.

I tested one of these last week when a side crumbled. I couldn’t even see my limbs in the dark void.

I’m to understand that Tara (the author of My Immortal) has a Tumblr account and recently spoke up that she didn’t write that godawful Handbook for Mortals book. The likelihood of her seeing my little bath bomb blog is probably infinitesimal, especially since I’m currently only at 50 followers.

That said, in the off chance that Tara DOES see the bath bomb and wants it, I’ll happily make and mail her a batch free of charge. For all the giggles, nostalgia, and fun memories her story gave me over the years, I’d love to pay it forward a bit and do something nice for a fellow fic-writer!

So...what’s in Ebony’s bath bomb? I actually consulted two of my darling friends for this @girlnumber11 and @the-schwayest-batman-around.

Mike made plenty of MCR jokes and insisted the bomb so be “so goffik that the water turns ultra black.” I still have yet to create a Vantablack bath bomb, but I at least succeeded in something super dark.

Lauren was more helpful, as she’s a fellow essential oils nerd as well as a former “baby goth.” Both of our minds immediately went to Clove, because when we think of smoking goths, we think of clove cigarettes.

After that, I told her, “I also have Black Cherry and Black Tea fragrance oils. I’m contemplating those because they have “black” in the name.” That said, she reminded me that clove and cherry together ends up making stuff smell like a cough drop.

At the same time, though, we both remembered I have Blood Orange Essential Oil, and that’s something that partners perfectly with both tea and clove.

Black Tea Fragrance Oil

Brambleberry (the company behind the incredibly useful Soapqueen blog) has a slew of fragrance oils with scents you’d never imagine. They even have a leather smell!

The Black Tea fragrance smells exactly like a nice, fresh-brewed pot of orange pekoe black tea (i.e. what you can find iced in most American restaurants). I’ve mixed it with Bergamot Essential Oil several times to make Earl Grey bath bombs, and I’ll totally buy this fragrance again.

The smell is invigorating, lingers on your skin (and in your bathroom) longer than the essential oils do, and will be impossible to ignore (not that you’d want to) even before the bomb hits the tub.

Note: This is a fragrance oil, meaning at least part of the oil was artificially manufactured. If you have an allergy or experience headaches with commercially scented products (think Bath and Body Works), you will want to exercise caution with fragrance oils.

Some (like in my sister’s case, anything with artificial vanilla) may mess you up, while others (like Lily of the Valley, again, in her case) might not.

Clove Bud Essential Oil

Pros: Clove is used for fussy stomachs and makes it easier to cough up phlegm. It’s my go-to if I have a stuffy nose or a stopped-up throat. It’s also great for treating diarrhea, bad breath, hernias, nausea, vomiting, and gas.

You can also use it to soothe it as a counterirritant for pain, as well as mouth or throat inflammation. Some folks even mix it in lotion to help delay a man’s orgasm to ward off problems like premature ejaculation.

And it smells awesome! Clove’s one of my all-time favorites and not that expensive to find from a reputable source!

Cons: Repeated and prolonged usage of clove oil to the mouth or gums can increase sensitivity. It can also run the risk of damage to your skin, gums, or mucous membranes if you choose to abuse it.

If you plan on purchasing clove for your essential oil collection, make sure you are getting clove bud oil, not clove leaf oil. Several people have reported a heightened sensitivity and increased risk of reaction to clove leaf oil…and be forewarned: some of the sketchier vendors on Amazon sell it!

Due to the high eugenol content of this essential oil, Clove Essential Oil is toxic (and potentially fatal) to cats and dogs. If you plan to diffuse this, don’t trap your poor pet in the room with you!

Please avoid Clove Essential Oil if you are taking an antiplatelet or anticoagulant (medication that slows blood clotting) such as:

Aspirin

Clopidogrel (Plavix)

Diclofenac (Voltaren, Cataflam, others)

Ibuprofen (Advil, Motrin, others)

Naproxen (Anaprox, Naprosyn, others)

Dalteparin (Fragmin)

Enoxaparin (Lovenox)

Heparin

Warfarin (Coumadin)

Blood Orange Essential Oil

There’s a large and vast variety of orange essential oils out there, but most fall into two categories: those derived from the bitter orange (Neroli, Petitgrain, etc.), and those derived from the sweet orange (Sweet Orange, Tangerine, Mandarin, Blood Orange, etc.).

Out of the sweet orange oils I have, the Blood Orange has the strongest and juiciest scent. If you love oranges, Blood Orange is something you’ll want to get for yourself. It smells fantastic!

Pros: The peel of sweet orange varieties (which includes Blood Orange) can be used to increase your appetite, reduce phlegm in your nose and lungs, treat coughs and colds, calm down asthma, reduce intestinal gas, settle indigestion, treat kidney stones, lower cholesterol, regulate blood pressure, and reduce the risk of stroke.

Some research even indicates that Blood Orange Essential Oil can help with prostate cancer and cancerous breast sores.

One other super cool thing about Blood Orange is that it’s listed as an aphrodisiac oil. Spritz yourself with a little and have yourself a grand time!

Cons:

Due to its high limonene content, Blood Orange is not safe to diffuse around a cat. Your dog should be fine, but cats lack a liver enzyme that helps them break down this chemical. It can create a toxic buildup and make them very, very sick.

Although Blood Orange is perfectly safe for adults, do not use the essential oil with babies or children under the age of 6.

If you are taking any of the below medications, do not use this essential oil:

Celiprolol (Celicard)

Ivermectin

Pravastatin (Pravachol)

If you are taking any of the below medications, exercise caution when using this essential oil:

Quinolone antibiotics such as Ciprofloxacin (Cipro), Enoxacin (Penetrex), Gatifloxacin (Tequin), Levofloxacin (Levaquin), Lomefloxacin (Maxaquin), Moxifloxacin (Avelox), Norfloxacin (Noroxin), Ofloxacin (Floxin), and Trovafloxacin (Trovan).

Fenofenadine (Allegra)

Medications moved by pumps in cells (P-Glycoprotein substrates) such as Etoposide, Paclitaxel, Vinblastine, Vincristine, Vindesine, Ketoconazole, Itraconazole, Amprenavir, Indinavir, Nelfinavir, Saquinavir, Cimetidine, Ranitidine, Diltiazem, Verapamil, Corticosteroids, Erythromycin, Cisapride (Propulsid), Fexofenadine (Allegra), Cyclosporine, Loperamide (Imodium), Quinidine, and others.