[scent meme] crackling fire, the ocean, and flowers [also hello ily]
F i r e .
The smell of burning was not unfamiliar to Violet; nowadays the smoke of seared flesh clung to every item of clothing she owned, to the point that it barely registered any more, although on her worst days it felt like it could come up and choke her. It brought back no memories in particular, just a blur of blood and hot flames in the dark. Woodsmoke, however…The more delicate scent of woodsmoke never failed to make images of one specific night resurface, a night she’d spent cowering behind her brother as he took on the Black Shuck, a demonic ghost-dog that had had reported sightings in the British Isles for centuries. Little Vi had never liked dogs, really. This one didn’t improve her opinion much.She’d fully expected a berating for crying, too, but instead James had wrapped her in his coat and thrown as many dry branches as he could find onto the burning bones until she couldn’t see any white and the cloying smell of meat was overpowered; thankfully the dancing of the flames was engaging enough that her brother was able to slip away, returning minutes later with a bag of marshmallows. Perhaps it was grim, to toast them over the corpse of a possessed hound, but it served its purpose- death (and dogs) were no longer nearly as much of an issue, although it would take a few years for her to build up the stony demeanour she’d now mastered. Besides, they were the best marshmallows she’d ever tasted.
O c e a n .
The bitter tang of brine was an undercurrent to the breeze as Violet stared blankly out to the sea; although the waves churned and frothed beneath the pier she was so precariously leaning out over none of this energy or turmoil was shown in her expression, instead reflecting in the storm brewing somewhere further out. She had never been to the beach much as a kid and had barely bothered since, only venturing near to one when the job required it - never for pleasure. What fun had they ever brought anyone? The appeal was lost on her. Sand clinging to wet skin for hours and embedding itself in all her possessions sounded simply awful.Of course, there were other factors that doused her desire to go to the beach, but they weren’t needed to justify her avoidance of it as far as she was concerned. Childhood wasn’t a time she visited often on a trip down memory lane, and the unexpected flashback wasn’t doing her any favours; it was nothing awful, no traumatic sand incidents, but the reminder of afternoons spent in near-silence at a place intended to be so loud and playful just made her angry. Had her father thought that that was how you healed broken kids? Send them to the beach and let them run loose?Thankfully her brother had been pretty fucking great, and that had made every quiet afternoon a little more interesting, yet even he hadn’t been able to lift the grey haze the sea seemed to roll out with every wave, the same one her father seemed to exude constantly. Perhaps, had they gone on brighter days, to better beaches than those found in the dullest parts of Britain, they would have created happier memories. Perhaps no external factor to the family itself could have improved its mood. Either way, the salty invasion of her nose and, consequently, the back of her throat, held little joy or discomfort: it held only emptiness, a feeling she was happy to avoid.
F l o w e r s .
There had always been something about the smell of summer flowers that had lifted Violet’s spirits; the days in the sunshine spent with her brother had been the brightest of her youth, and, consequently, elicited the most smiles from her as a grown woman, even after her brother passed away. Unfortunately, his death in the springtime tainted their budding slightly, but as they came into bloom it always felt like a new beginning, like the world had been loaned a new lease of life, one that would burst forth only after the bleakest time of her year. The delicate scent of jasmine had long been her favourite - it had grown up the wall of their first house, she’d been told, and although that made their beauty bittersweet it was impossible to dislike a bloom that so closely resembled fallen stars amongst the greenery. James had found another jasmine plant at the very end of the garden of their next house, so it had also permeated the memories of their best place to meet, to play and to hide in the rare months the sun was not cloaked by the seemingly constant blankness of a London sky. The sweet pea came a close second, as their crumpled pink petals appeared so beautifully dishevelled and held a delicious scent she could never get enough of. Her brother said she liked them because they reminded her of herself - scruffy but quite pretty anyway, with a good essence despite it all - but she only ever hit him when he used it as a nickname. As an adult, passing either flower always brought the feeling of warm grass between her toes and a gentleness to her face that little else could, along with the brief conviction that everything would, in fact, be alright.
