TO EXIST IS TO BE EATEN.

Horror-themed multi-OC blog written by Lisette. contains mature content. Be sure to watch for any passing monsters; they are certainly watching for you.

[carnivorarium]

PINNED. This blog is going inactive in terms of roleplay. The following muses are being migrated to @phantasmaw:

Micah

Candle

Aoki

Lenore

Annabel

Mai

I won't be abandoning the others housed on here-- I'll just be taking my time with the migration, especially since I'm in a state of permanent semi-hiatus with tumblr roleplay. The others not listed above will always be available for request on phantasmaw as well.

[carnivorarium]

Hrm I've been thinking about merging this blog with my other one since I just don't really have the time to be on multiple blogs but I also like having a separate space for my guys here... much to think about

[tenkoseiensei]

@carnivorarium asked : “It sounds kind of dumb when I say it, but it’s true. I would do anything for you.” - micah. // meme.

' it's not dumb . ' he nips the bud of that remark quickly , the jade of his eyes fast turning into a stern pierce . micah had never been dumb to him . reckless , careless , in too deep and with a heart ripe on a sleeve sometimes , all the time , but never , ever , dumb . it didn't matter who might have tried to say otherwise , nor did it matter what micah's own actions might have tried to express about himself . the sense of flattery and dedication ends up briefly lost somewhere --- slipping in between the alarming cracks of a self-defacing , spurring yan qing to fumble for the other's hand and to try to keep and hold it . ' ... i hope you aren't saying any of this because you think you have to . ' whatever panic rushes through his veins he tempers into a taut grip , hoping the warmth of it and his miserable , worn palms would somehow still travel and make it through the other's gloves . ' there's no debt between us . not as brothers . not as friends . ' he knew that micah would have done anything because micah already had . who else would accept a half-there thing into their life ? and what choice did yan qing have but to return the favor ? in the end , he had tried to accept it gratefully ; more like a human , less like a monster . deadbeat , leech , thorn-in-the-side parasite --- he's felt like one from the very beginning , until micah had told him a little more history , and yan qing felt that he finally understood . so much between them , fear perpetually intermingling with their giving and taking . yan qing shakes the thought of it out of his head .

' i'd do anything for you too , y'know ? because in this whole entire world , you're the only one i can really talk to . that's something nobody else has given me before . ' he doesn't say anything else , even if he thinks : i hope it's the same for you . instead , he laughs a little --- a weak , bashful chuckle of sorts . ' that you don't run away screaming is enough . y'know , no matter what happens --- if we can promise to just stay close by each other , i want to believe everything will work out . i feel like as long as i'm with you , i can get through it . ' even at his worst , when his insides felt to reverse and something tried to pull his throat out from his mouth , he could still shut his eyes , cling to the other's grip , and wait for the malaise to ease away , somehow still remaining himself . ' i don't know if it's too big of a promise or not to ask of you . i don't know ... if it's selfish , either . but it can't be impossible . i don't need anything grand . i don't want it . all i want ... i just want your company . even if we don't know what our lives are or what they become , i still want to live it with you . ' and so , his own dumb , meek requests . ' is that fine , micah ? if it's anything , really anything --- can't you stay ? '

[carnivorarium]

↑ DUMBASS.

Nah but what I'm thinking about on this fine Sunday afternoon is trait he has of not letting people go and he's so stupid for that. And I don't mean that in "his best quality is he never gives up on you!!!!!" which yes it's true but it's a fatal flaw more than a good quality about him. It lends itself well to those that need someone with thick skin and a strong grip who won't back away when he gets bruised in the fight to have a meaningful lasting companionship. Once someone's there he doesn't know how to get rid of them. He's carrying the ghosts of so many people that were transitory. He doesn't know how to put that weight down. Arguably he doesn't want to. It's terrifying to because he feels he has no weight at as a person at all by himself, he has to prove he's worth the effort, and he's not worth the effort if he drops everything he had with someone as soon as they walk out the door-- or as soon as he walks out the door. The past doesn't get in the way of his present so much as it's more than just the foundation for it, it's the predictor. And what kills me is he knows it's not a healthy way to live but god what is he if he can't be the record of someone else's existence! What is he if he can't hold the memory of someone against him like they're still there! Because he's not a whole person, not without something or someone else occupying that extra space inside him. And what kills me about it is that's also what's unraveling him at the seams-- he's right, he's not a real person, but his insistence on being the witness and the holding hand rather than that plus just being Micah is what's digging the proverbial grave faster.

[carnivorarium]

I am still on hiatus here, but I'm going to be starting to inch my way back on over the next few weeks with plotted/pre-established stuff. See y'all around, or on my other blog if we're mutuals there too <3

[carnivorarium]

✖.   —  [ @emvry / plotted starter. ]

    *〔  ❖。〕———  Lenore awakens from a nap she has no recollection of laying down to take with a groan, one hand pressing to her forehead while the other blindly feels around for her phone. She winces when the bright light hits her eyes. 7:27 PM. Weird. Not only does she not recall deciding to take a nap, she also doesn't recall it still being Thursday. Her good eye narrows when she checks the date. March 26th. With another groan, she rolls off her nest of rumpled sheets and tugs her boots back on. She would very much like to stay inside. She's had more than enough socialization for the week. But it doesn't matter what she wants; her body moves of an accord not entirely its own, feet following a pre-determined path down the rain-slicked streets, hands already knowing to pull the hood of her patched-up leather jacket over her head to avoid the sudden increase in precipitation.

     It only takes 13 minutes to reach the same diner she always ends up at on however many March 26th's she's trudged through. Because she knows to avoid the older man who reeks of cigarette smoke that will attempt to solicit her for a charity that doesn't exist, and to turn right and cut down the alleyway instead of wait for the main street's crosswalk that's running behind by a few seconds. She would like to count this as a small victory. Something changed. Inevitably, though, there's an obstacle to ensure she doesn't enter the diner any later than 8:02 PM on the dot: a stray cat that takes a fancy to weaving itself between her ankles as she takes refuge under the entryway's crooked awning. Irritation crackles along her nerves when she finally does slip into the ambient light and warmth of the little diner. A quick glance at the vintage clock hanging crooked on the wall across the bar sours her mood further. 8:02 PM.      Before she can spend anymore time having a staredown with the clock, a shock of fair hair and dark clothes snags her attention. Her shoulders tense further. Of course. Sitting on the third stool from the end, just as always. And, just as always, the waitress who never fails to take his order is too caught up in chatting with the linecook through the serving window to notice there's a new customer to welcome. Lenore eyes the stool by the man. The crackles of irritation begin to snap and pop like embers sputtering in a smoking firepit. Against her will, her body starts to turn towards a two-seater booth at the opposite end of the diner. Fog starts to creep in on her psyche, whispering that what she really wants out of this is a good, strong black coffee and some greasy cheese fries to stave off the hunger pains her empty fridge won't take care of (even though she got groceries yesterday- but she didn't do that last time, did she?). She blinks rapidly, then unfocuses. The lone man sitting at the bar becomes less of a person and more of the painted smear of one. The tension in her body dissipates.

       When she slides onto the stool one away from his, she keeps her gaze turned down. If he recognizes her, he doesn't show it. She runs her tongue across the flats of her teeth while she waits, a heavily scarred finger plucking idly at the string of her eyepatch. Once the waitress takes her order as well and bustles off to the other side of the diner, she leans forward on her elbows and remarks, "Mushroom burger, huh? Pretty good choice. They usually get it just right." Lenore pauses to offer the waitress a tight, fleeting smile when she delivers the cup of steaming coffee. She raises the cup to her lips, puffing on it as if meaning to take a drink and leave it at that. Her eye stares back up at her from the dark liquid. She frowns. "But it's not that good, is it? You get it every time you come here. And I always get a black coffee and cheese fries. Except, I don't really want either right now. Huh." A humorless huff ripples across her coffee. Her tone falls flat when she asks, "How many times are we gonna have to eat the same damn thing? I'm getting sick of it."

[carnivorarium]

TEMP PINNED + TEMP HIATUS

Due to the very low activity here right now, I'm temporarily making this a friends-only/highly selective blog! Things will likely be quiet here for a while longer while I work on revamping a few things and figuring out how I'd like to handle the activity and selectivity of this blog once I've hammered out the details.

[carnivorarium]

     *〔  ❖。〕———  "You noticed too, right? We're not really in the same place anymore, I think." They ask as calmly as the mist settling over the wide, empty street. A street that was bursting with activity mere moments ago. Aside from the echoes of voices and footsteps still fading away, all is silent. Eerily silent.

[harbiinger]

@carnivorarium​ asked: "It ain’t anythin’ worth worryin’ about,“ Micah insists for what feels like the hundredth time that night, though he still sits nice and still as Sylas helps him wrap up his raw, bloodied knuckles. Sylas hadn’t asked what happened so much as given him a knowing look before dragging him off into the bathroom. Truthfully, he’s grateful for it. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck- and he knows he looks like it, too. So he tries his best to be good. But the more he looks at the way Sylas’s brows pinch together as he concentrates on packing in the gauze, the way the corners of his lips tug down just so when he frowns down at his handiwork, the way wisps of hair fall into his eyes… really, he can’t help himself. He leans forward and, without warning, gently cups Sylas’s chin and prompts him to look up. The moment they meet eyes, Micah grins with a drawl, "Hey handsome.”

             Sylas had familiarized himself with how frequent bruises and bloody scrapes would bloom across Micah’s skin. Purples, blues, that ugly yellow, as if he were a canvas to a troubled artist. Red paint never quite dry whenever the work was presented to him— and oh, how often was Sylas given a fresh, still drying painting. One he tries his utmost to handle with care. 

But it was hard when accusations lay heavy on his shoulders. When the question ‘why do it alone? Why do these things without me there to protect you?’ burns like vomit in the back of his throat. Still, Sylas bites his tongue. He was good at that. 

The hypocrisy of being frustrated with Micah and his predicament did sit somewhere in the back of his mind. Sylas knows he’s not always innocent, for he does the same exact thing. Showing up on Micah’s doorstep looking like roadkill, and he’d always grin because Micah’s worried. Because Micah scolds him and bandages him up as gently as he can. Later, maybe he’d laugh at how well they mirror each other. Like two pieces snapping together on some unfinished puzzle. 

“It ain’t anythin’ worth worryin’ about…?” He mocks back with a tsk. His eyes flicker up to Micah only briefly, the furrow of his brows deepening before he focuses right back to Micah’s knuckles again. He tears the bandage, ending its train when he determines it good enough. He was no doctor, but with how often they both found themselves on the receiving end of blunt force trauma and gushing wounds, he’d surely have all the experience of one by the age of 30. “Ass..” Sylas murmurs, but he doesn’t entirely mean it. At least Micah still showed up alive. Anything less than that, and he wouldn’t be forgiven. 

Sylas says nothing more, fixated on the mission at hand ( an unamused twist of his lips. He hated his own pun ). He thinks nothing of it when he catches a glimpse of Micah’s movement from his peripheral, chalking it up as his ass getting sore from sitting too long. Good, suffer, Sylas thinks with the briefest of smirks, but it’s wiped clean the moment he feels Micah’s hold on his chin. Already his skin feels warm, color painting otherwise pale cheeks in a bright amber glow. Sylas doesn’t want to look up, because he knows what awaits him. His brows pinch together, his lips fastened into a small frown ( pout ) as he doesn’t fight it, no matter how much he wants to. 

And there it is. Micah’s southern charm; Playing Sylas like a fiddle. That orange burst of color spreads rapidly to his ears, down his chest, luminant enough to be used as a nightlight. ‘Handsome’ rings in his ears embarrassingly loud, and dark eyes go from Micah’s own, to the shit-eating grin he has plastered across his face that works like a charm. Sylas feels like he’s back in highschool, working up the courage to just spare the boy he was infatuated with a single glance. His heart stutters, his stomach twists in knots, his voice gets caught in his throat— Humiliating how one simple interaction was enough to knock Sylas dead. 

“Don’t— I know what you’re doing,” his voice teetered on the verge of cracking, "quit tryin’ to act all cute. One day it’s not gonna work.” They both know it’s a lie, or at least, Sylas does. His own hand cups gently around Micah’s wrist, but instead of pulling him away from the hold he has on Sylas, the Aster glides his palm up Micah’s arm. The touch is feather light, careful to not knock against anymore bruises or scrapes. Fingers tap against the soft skin along the crook of Micah’s arm, prodding for a mere moment before drifting the tips of his digits back down his forearm. “If you’re feeling alright enough to flirt with me, that must mean your knuckles don’t need my attention anymore.” He finally smiles back, at ease now that Micah’s in his care. As it should be. “If you ruin all the work I put into this, I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself.”

[carnivorarium]

Very slow inbox call I’ll work on through the week nights! Muse selection is optional but if there’s no selection made I’ll default to either Aoki, Lenore, or Micah.

[carnivorarium]

just a little scratch, it’ll go away on its own. 

This lovely two-version c0mission of Aoki as he’s normally seen vs the first stages of his more ‘natural’ form was drawn by my friend racadekle on twitter! Click each for a more detailed viewing. 

[carnivorarium]

I think one of my favorite things about Micah is he doesn’t have to get it in order to empathize or come to someone with open-handed generosity despite what meager luxuries/necessities he can honestly provide. He’s not the type to demand total understanding before extending an olive branch or a helping hand. Of course he won’t turn a blind eye to things that go directly against his morals or that he just thinks are objectively fucked up-- but I don’t have him labeled as a bleeding heart for no reason, he’s bullheaded but not closed hearted (which is a flaw as much as it is a virtue, especially considering he has that whole eerie liminality thing going on where the more he’s part of someone’s life, the more he accidentally takes from that person’s sense of self and the more he loses himself, among other reasons wanting to be subjective about understanding people can be more harm than good, but that’s a post for later). Idk! I wouldn’t call him a 100% good person, he has his issues and his history, but he’s absolutely a safe person. Perhaps dangerous when it comes to some lifestyle aspects and all the liminal monstrosities that tend to pop up around him and by extension anyone he closely associates to, but interpersonally he’s like a living safehouse. 

[carnivorarium]

✖.    —  [   @laplacemail​  / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬  ]

"hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like you to have." kissing you and sending this for aliah and annabel

    *〔 🔪。〕——— A gaze as sharp as a knife cuts upward to meet Aliah’s, and for a moment all the girl does is stare. She has not forgotten the slight she received as a greeting the first time they met, and she has no doubt that this, too, is meant to be an insult. But the beast inside starving for attention has been fed, and so she smiles with a flash of pearly teeth. 

      “Why shouldn’t it be?” Her head cocks to the side a little, reminiscent of a puzzled pup trying to understand a new command. Feigned confusion draws her brows together and tugs her lips into an inquisitive little ‘o’. Something flickers in her eyes, a slant of light akin to sunlight catching on steel. “It’s tiresome for aspirations to be innocent and meek. That’s how they get crushed, after all.” And she would know. Weak girl, incapable of even the most basic of spells, a slip of a woman waiting to be snatched up when she least expects it. She knows how the world sees her: a pretty gem that will be worn until the newest trend comes along or she loses her luster. He likely views her that way too. Possibly as even less than that. But she’ll never really know, and it makes her want to squirm. It makes her want to tear her own skin off and inspect it for any flaw or avarice that would mark her as so unworthy. That’s why she must--- that’s why that’s why--

      She blinks, and the shadow of hunger that had been creeping across her face retreats. Soft hands covered in freckles clasp in front of her, mimicking the gestures of an eager student ready to receive their mentor’s infinite wisdom. “Since you’re so knowledgeable in the area... what else would be dangerous for me to have?”

[carnivorarium]

✖.   — [ frczenwaters​ ]

               Like a shark hypnotized by the smell of wounded prey, Niles saunters out of the shadows with easy steps. A devilish smirk and an all too pleased glint in his eye, there’s a brief flick of his tongue across his lips, hungry, devouring the sight of Yamai bruised and bleeding. His boots barely make a sound as he circles the other, and he cocks his head in mock sympathy. 

        “— It’s a sixth sense. I can’t help but be attracted to things that keep me… interested.”

       And he’s reached out, palm against the back of Yamai’s neck as Niles’s gaze lingers on him fondly. “You look worn out, poor thing. Let me make it all better, hm?”

   *〔    ☤  。〕——— A torrent of shock misfires through revenant’s system the moment living touch cups the back of his chilled neck. His own hand shoots up, claws curling around the other’s wrist with startling strength for someone who was a corpse mere moments ago. Yamai stares, unblinking, through dark eyes glinting with the same distrust a wounded animal would harbor. Those claws twitch against a warm pulse with intent to tear down to the vein. He swallows. The bitter aftertaste of death scrapes down his throat. It stirs noise like a growl, like a painfully empty stomach, rumbles out from somewhere so deep down inside Yamai, not even he’s sure where it comes from. Stiff claws twitch, sharp edges pinching, almost slicing.

     Then– he lets out a tired sigh. His grip relaxes, but not before he administers a none-too-gentle squeeze to Niles’ wrist with a pointed look: Let’s not get too cozy when I’m not sure who’s friend and who’s food, shall we?

    “Mmn… sweet talking me already?  Bring some wine and a few pillows next time,” he quips between shallow, gurgling breaths while struggling to sit up all the way. The corners of blood-smeared lips quirk. An ember of fondness attempts to light itself inside dead eyes, but can’t quite seem to catch fire. The rest of his expression remains as stiff as his death-addled limbs. “Since you’re offering so nicely… pop my neck for me? Not too hard– it did just get snapped.” And then he adds, as if it’s just a conversational afterthought and not the whole reason for the night’s events, “I’m assuming the job got finished?”

[batorchids]

Eyes 6

[carnivorarium]

✖.  — [ otanagare​ ]

@carnivorarium​ asked : ❛ you  will  be  safe  in  the  right  hands .  ❜ genpact aoki…

      and what should those have looked like ?  when he tries to imagine them ,  he’s left with vague ,  phantom limbs .  from ritou to narukami ,  all the way to yashiori and watatsumi ,  inazuma’s populace seemed to bear infinite arms ,  leaving the likes of yoshikatsu to bitterly scowl at the sight of it ,  swords and waving banners within the confines of every town .  when would these horrible wars be utterly over ?  only when everyone was dead ,  and there were none left to squabble against each other ?  when could he trust another person to hold ,  protect  ,  and not grip and grasp and ruin in the midst of so much desperation and militaristic tyranny ?  yoshikatsu was certain that aoki thought himself unworthy of any ideas of safety ,  but the boy’s trust had already found itself magnetized to the other .  it was enough to save him once ,  and not promptly bruise or strangle .  it was enough not to shove or throw stones at someone that others perpetually believed to be possessed .  

      wordlessly ,  his eyes staring up at the other from behind the confines of his scarf ,  an empty palm extends itself up towards the other .  yoshikatsu merely blinks .  ‘ can i …  see your hands ,  aoki-san ? ‘  regardless of their owner’s ideas of them ,  yoshikatsu felt them to be worth remembering .  ‘ i just …  want to compare . ‘  the other’s complexion was darker ,  their skin no doubt tougher —  and how was their temperature ?  was it warm ,  unlike the otani’s own cold chills ?  ‘ i don’t know about —  anyone else’s ,  just yet …  but to tell you the truth ,  i’m not really afraid of yours . ‘  and didn’t that mean something ?  didn’t they still feel safe ,  regardless of wrong or right ?

    *〔  ✕。〕———   That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? The boy doesn’t know any better than to reach for the hands that are the closest, believing that surely they cannot cause harm because they had offered help first. But hands can be washed, bandaged, covered. His are no exception. If anything, they are a perfect testament to that: wrapped almost entirely in bandages, the innumerable scars and calluses that cover every inch of his hands lay hidden from view and touch like carefully guarded secrets. Any good they ever bring, any benevolence they ever bestow, is shaped by the litany of wrong written across his them. Abyss-kissed, world-torn, able to point out the way for the lost but not to lead them there. If the boy were to take even the tiniest peek or feel the slightest of touches, perhaps his illusion of safety would shatter. He would discover the man safekeeping him for the time being is not a man at all, but something any sensible man would fear. Nobody deserves that. Least of all this lost slip of a child. 

     The hollow eyes of a perpetually-worn mask stare back down at the boy, dark as void and just as distant as the eye of omniscient thunder scrutinizing all of Inazuma. He stands as stagnant and unmoving. For a few moments, it seems he’s made his mind up to deny the boy’s request. It would be better, Aoki thinks, if he doesn’t understand just yet.

      Even so, with a faint rustling of fabric, the towering oni squats so his masked face is just about eye-level with the child. He stays that way a second or two, examining his ward more closely. The scarf all but swallowing the younger’s shoulders and neck has listed to the side, leaving some of that pale column exposed. Without a word, Aoki reaches out and adjusts the fabric. When he pulls his arm back, he stops halfway. His gaze falls to that little hand still reaching out. Slowly, he presses his palm against the other’s. Warm against cold, soft against rough. It’s not unpleasant, he finds. He breathes out in an audible huff.

      “...What do you feel?” he asks, voice rumbling like a distant storm heard from one’s bed deep in the night. “Is this safe to you?”

[lunememes]

🌙  *  ―     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒  (  prompts for the five senses. add [reversed] to reverse the action. feel free to change wording as needed & add details )

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇.

[ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 ] ― sender wraps a soft blanket around receiver’s shoulders [ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 ] ― sender and receiver fall into bed together on silk sheets [ 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋 ] ― sender pulls receiver’s hair ( gently / hard ) [ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 ] ― sender strokes receiver’s hair [ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender brushes receiver’s hair [ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 ] ― sender paints a picture onto part of receiver’s body ( specify what & where ) [ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 ] ― sender traces their fingertips over receiver’s body [ 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 ] ― sender traces a scar on receiver’s body [ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 ] ― sender reaches out to hold receiver’s hand [ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ] ― sender worships receiver’s body

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄.

[ 𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 ] ― sender feeds receiver something they’ve never tried before ( specify what ) [ 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑 ] ― sender feeds receiver something sour ( specify what ) [ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 ] ― sender feeds receiver something sweet ( specify what ) [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄 ] ― sender feeds receiver something spicy ( specify what ) [ 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender kisses receiver to taste the lingering flavour of what they ate or drank on their lips ( specify what ) [ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood [ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 ] ― sender feeds receiver soup when they’ve fallen ill [ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 ] ― sender makes receiver a cocktail to try [ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender cooks receiver their favourite meal [ 𝐓𝐑𝐘 ] ―  sender gives receiver a taste of what they’re cooking / baking for their opinion

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[ 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 ] ― sender blindfolds receiver [ 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver see each other again after a period of being apart [ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 ] ― sender notices something different about receiver ( injury / haircut / tattoo / piercing / etc ) [ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 ] ― sender greets receiver in formal partywear ( feel free to add detail ) [ 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐒 ] ― sender takes receiver to see lanterns in the sky [ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ] ― sender and receiver lay under the stars to stargaze [ 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver lock eyes across the room [ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 ] ― sender and receiver see a shadow move out the corner of their eye [ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 ] ― sender and receive watch as something burns ( candles / a building / a campfire / etc ) [ 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender takes receiver to the aquarium to watch the sea life [ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊 ] ― sender recognises receiver at a masquerade party

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.

[ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 ] ― sender puts on the radio to listen to music with receiver [ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 ] ― sender plays receiver their favourite song on an instrument ( specify what ) [ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 ] ― sender and receiver are in bed together while rain lashes against the windows / tent / etc [ 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender whispers something in receiver’s ear ( specify what ) [ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ] ― sender asks receiver for a dance upon hearing a song [ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐘 ] ― sender and receiver hear a sound when they should be alone ( footsteps / creaking floorboards / a scream / etc ) [ 𝐇𝐔𝐌 ] ― sender hums a lullaby to lull receiver to sleep [ 𝐌𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐃 ] ― sender comforts a temporally deaf receiver after a loud sound ( gunshot / explosion / etc ) [ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐌 ] ― sender calms receiver down from a panic attack in a loud place [ 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 ] ― sender and receiver hear a muffled sound from another room / outside ( music / people / creature / etc ) [ 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 ] ― sender hears receiver crying and approaches comfort them

𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋.

[ 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇 ] ― sender puts a scented bath bomb into receiver’s bath [ 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 ] ― sender lights a scented candle for receiver [ 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ] ― sender puts perfume / aftershave on receiver’s ( wrist / neck / cheek ) [ 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 ] ― sender inhales receiver’s scent [ 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊 ] ― sender is drawn to the kitchen by receiver’s cooking [ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒 ] ― sender steals an item of receiver’s clothes because it smells like them [ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender notices receiver smells of their shampoo / shower gel [ 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ] ― sender gives receiver flowers [ 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender helps clean receiver after a long day / stressful situation [ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐘 ] ― sender and receiver walk through the sewers to escape capture / avoid detection / chase someone [ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 ] ― sender massages receiver with a scented oil