#Buy wood-pressed oils

[naturelandorganic]

Buy wood-pressed oils near me

Are you looking to buy high-quality wood-pressed oils near you? Wood-pressed oils are extracted using traditional methods that retain the natural nutrients, flavor, and aroma of seeds and nuts. These oils are cold-pressed without chemicals or excessive heat, making them a healthier alternative to refined oils. Whether you’re looking for wood-pressed coconut oil, sesame oil, or groundnut oil, you can find a variety of options at local stores or specialty shops that focus on natural and organic products. Incorporating wood-pressed oils into your diet can boost your overall well-being while adding rich, authentic flavor to your meals.

More info: https://naturelandorganics.com/collections/organic-oil

[woodpressedoilbygaonsey]

Experience the Purity: Wood-pressed Black Mustard Oil

Wood-pressed black mustard oil is a special kind of cooking oil made from black mustard seeds. It's different because it's extracted using a traditional method with a wooden press. This means no heat or chemicals are involved, which keeps all the good stuff from the seeds inside the oil.

[healthyfly]

What Makes Mustard Oil An Essential For Kitchens?

Explore the essential role of cold-pressed mustard oil in West Bengal kitchens. Discover its unique benefits and culinary versatility. Learn more by visiting our website!

[trohpi]

@regulily-microfic • july 13: time • 824 words

cross-posted on ao3

Regulus fiddles with the Lego in his hand, staring fixedly at the half-finished Millennium Falcon on the coffee table, illuminated only by the fairy lights Lily brought with her when she moved in. His eyes droop, anxiety pressing in on the outskirts of his mind and keeping desperately needed sleep away. The ungodly early time blinks at him from the oven display, taunting Regulus from the kitchen.

He wishes he could sleep, he really does. He just can’t stop thinking. So much is happening tomorrow, so many things will change—

“Love?”

Regulus blinks. Lily is standing in the hall entrance, the throw from their bed wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair is sleep-mussed, auburn curls frizzy where they frame her face. She rubs at her eye, suppressing a yawn.

“Did I wake you?” Regulus sets the Lego down with a click against the wood, his voice nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry, you should go back to bed—”

Lily shuffles over to the coffee table, plopping down on the floor next to him and nudging him with her shoulder. “No, shut up. I’m awake now.”

“Lily…”

She ignores him, blinking quickly to rid the sleep from her eyes. “So, what step are we on?”

Regulus sighs in defeat and hands her the pamphlet with the instructions, and they get to work, slowly piecing together the Millennium Falcon shoulder to shoulder like a well-oiled machine.

This isn’t new. They’ve done this many nights, have been doing this for years. It started when he was sixteen. Those first few months after Lily and her parents took him in following his transphobic mother’s disownment, he could barely sleep. More often than not, he’d wake in a cold sweat with tears in his eyes, memories and nightmares alike haunting him. It was Lily’s dad who started buying him Legos. ‘Something to keep your mind busy,’ he had said.

And Ciarán Evans is a brilliant, brilliant man, because it worked. The tedium and concentration keeps his mind occupied and hands busy, letting him build and build until finally, he can sleep. Lily helps, too. She insists on joining him on nights like this, keeping him company while she helps him work on whichever new set he’s started. He has fewer nightmares now, seven years later, but whenever he does, well. He has his Legos, and he has his Lily.

She’s quiet where she sits next to him, sticking two grey bricks together with a soft click. She hasn’t spoken a word, hasn’t even acknowledged the fact that Regulus should be in bed, tonight most especially. He’s having surgery tomorrow for Christ’s sake, she should be reprimanding him. He knows that she won’t. Lily always waits until he breaks the silence, lets him decide whether he wants to at all. Regulus loves her even more for it.

A beat. Maybe two. “I don’t know why I’m scared.”

Lily hums in acknowledgment, eyes still glued on the model before them. Regulus sighs shakily and sets down the pieces in his hands. “I’ve wanted top surgery forever, you know? I need it, really. I just…”

“Maybe that’s why you’re scared,” Lily offers. “Maybe you’re scared of the possibility that something will change in a bad way, that this magical idea you have of how everything will go won’t happen.”

He swallows, drumming his fingers on the table. “Maybe. I just feel stupid.”

“Regulus,” she says, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes are bright and determined, and his breath catches at the sight. “You’ve never done well with change, you’re not stupid.”

“I know, but—”

“Nope, no buts. Do you really think I wouldn’t tell you if you were being stupid? Because I love you, but I would.”

Regulus huffs a laugh, leaning his head on her shoulder. “I know you would. S’why I love you so much.”

“Regulus Black being sappy? The world must have ended.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, nudging his girlfriend’s shoulder with his own. She chuckles, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. Regulus sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut.

Lily presses a little kiss to the top of his head. “Think you can sleep now?”

“Mm, yeah, probably.”

“Good.” She sits up, disrupting their impromptu cuddle. “Because you need to sleep. You have surgery tomorrow at ten, and look at the time—”

“I was wondering when you would go mother hen on me,” he says with a small smile, and Lily rolls her eyes fondly.

“Worrying for your health is not mother henning.”

“Of course, dear.”

She scoffs lightly and stands, offering her hand to Regulus and pulling him to his feet. Before he can do anything else, Lily tugs him into a tight hug, a hand cupping the back of his neck and pulling him close. He buries his face in her hair, eyes fluttering shut.

Lily kisses him on the head again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, despite your mother henning.”

[impala-dreamer]

Colder Weather

A Supernatural Story

~Dean's always been the one for you, but his life - hunting, fighting, almost dying constantly- it hasn't given you a chance to try. Until one day, things seem to change...~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester (briefly)

2858 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Romance, Angst, Glossy Smut. - Set somewhere inside the SPN Finale - S15E20, Carry On. - Just so beautiful and painful and ... damnit. I did, in fact, cry a few times while writing... 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

It’s the strangest thing. His skin is so incredibly soft in some places, so rough and tortured in others. He’s covered in scars, lines thick and faded to a dull white; holes where bullets have torn him through, but around those imperfections lie a universe of freckles covering the softest skin she’d ever felt.

His fingertips are forever calloused but so tender when they’re caressing her flesh, scooping up into her, even roughly holding her down. There’s fire in his soul but his kiss is pure love, lips so cracked but plush, smooth and tingling as they trail across her cheek, slide down to taste her.

Everything about him is a contradiction. He’s brave yet scared, strong yet fragile, quiet but so loud when he’s in her arms. He could talk forever with one cheek on the pillow they share, green eyes staring into hers as if blinking would break the spell.

He talks of forever, of leaving his life and settling down somewhere in the woods by a stream. He wants to spend his days fishing and learning to finally play the guitar for real. He wants to stand in the sunshine and breathe deeply, close his eyes for once and not be worried about something attacking from the shadows. He wants to put down his blade, lock up his gun, put it all behind him. He talks of nights spent by a little fireplace wrapped in her arms, fighting for space beneath a handmade blanket while the wind howls against the old windows. He wants to wake to her sleeping face, to brush the hair back from her cheek and kiss her delicate eyelids. To wake her with love, not an alarm. He wants to take his time, ride out the rest of his life by her side.

She teases him that they’d be bored after a while, that a fantasy like that would never last, but he swears that it would. Says with her, he could never be bored, he’d never want for anything ever again as long as she was there. Her cheeks burn from smiling and she bites her lip to hold it all in, but that only makes him want to kiss her, and they roll under the sheets once more.

Every time with him is the same.

There’s a text, maybe a call if he’s desperate to hear her voice.

‘I’m nearby. Wanna buy me a drink?’

‘Passing through on Tuesday, you around?’

She’s always around it seems, life hitting pause when her phone rings. She would put aside the entire world just to see Dean Winchester walk through her front door. And she does.

It’s a Thursday the last time she sees him darken her front steps. The sky is a deep oily gray with lighter clouds than makes sense. It’s been raining on and off for hours and the midday sun is lost behind the airy cover, lighting the edges of the world but only enough so that he didn’t have to turn the headlights on.

She heard the car anyway, didn’t need to see the familiar sweep of light across her front windows.

She’s at the door before he’s even got the driver’s side door shut and she hears the creak of metal, wonders why he’s never oiled the hinges. Everything else about the car is perfect; from the sheen on the tires to the way the raindrops slick off the hood and slid down the windows in a race to the ground. She can close her eyes and smell the old, worn leather in her dreams. Something comforting and warm even on a chilly day like this. She can feel the springs in the backseat give as Dean lays her down. Remembers the feel of the felted roof beneath her fingertips, the cool chrome pressing into her back. So many nights spent driving out into the middle of nowhere and finding bliss in the backseat together.

Dean looks up as he closes the door and a smile tugs at his pink lips. Realization catches in her stomach and Y/N wonders if he’s ever looked happier. His hair is a bit longer than last time they met, his face a little fuller, features more relaxed. He looks good, content. She dares to think: happy.

Even in his lighter moments, there’s always a darkness in Dean’s eyes. Something nagging at his thoughts, some horror lurking that she can’t get near. She would, if he’d let her. She would dig down deep into his soul and scrape away all the pain, all the scarred bits of him until he could breathe again. But he keeps her just far enough away that it’s always a mystery to her. She knows of his life, of the things that lurk in the night, but he never lets it touch her. Not once has she feared for her life, never have the monsters of the world knocked at her door. She’s his secret. His lifeline to normal. His good dream.

But now, he smiles so easily it almost scares her. Her cheeks twitch and she bites her lip, watching as he gallops up the walkway and takes the steps two at a time until she’s in his arms.

He smells like tacos from the road and is so warm she melts right into him, her face in his chest, her arms sliding around to hold him close.

“Dean.”

She looks up and he beams down at her, green eyes fresh and clear, cheeks rosy with a grin.

“You gonna invite me in or we gonna do this out here?”

She laughs at his assumption and slaps his chest as she backs away. She turns to go inside, but he grabs her arm, spins her back to him. His big hand catches her cheek and his thumb curls beneath her chin, lifting her face gently. His kiss is familiar yet striking, wet and hungry. She breaths him in too deeply and stumbles when he lets her go, dizzy and so in love.

“Won’t you please come in, Mr. Winchester?” she teases, bowing her head to invite him inside.

He chuckles softly and takes her hand, fingers slipping in between hers so easily it’s like they’ve been there forever. He kicks the door shut behind him with one muddy boot and the rain is left to carry on without them.

She shoves the jacket from his shoulders, nips at the tip of his ear. He kicks his boots off, paws at her chest.

They stumble through the living room, desperate for the empty expanse of her bed while they strip the road from his back. Naked and shivering, they fall together onto the blankets with searching hands and warm, hungry lips.

He’s starving for her, but he takes his time. Slowly savoring every inch of delicate flesh, he drinks her in, tastes everything she has to give. Relentless, he doesn’t stop until she’s breathless and begging for him.

His name reaches Heaven, pushed like a prayer from her kiss-swollen lips.

When it’s done, they lay tangled in the sheets, fingers laced, hearts synced.

She stares, counting the flecks of gold in his gorgeous eyes, pondering the changes she feels in him.

“You’re starin’ right through me,” he says, blushing like a fool.

Y/N shakes her head gently and lays her hand on his cheek. The stubble sparks against her palm and she rubs her thumb across his cracked bottom lip.

“Not through you,” she answers honestly, “never through.”

He kisses the pad of her finger and smiles. “Hope you like whatcha see.”

“I do.” She leans in, fingers sliding back to scrape lightly over his scalp. “I really do…”

Their kisses are soft and lingering, lazy. Leading nowhere. There’s no urgency, no push to overtake the other. It’s just peace and love and wanting to be close.

Dean catches her in his big arms, closing his hug around her head and kissing her hair. She laughs against him, captured and terribly, wholly happy.

She can hear his heart beating, feel it ticking beneath her cheek. It’s steady and calm, so different from the hundred times before.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, her words slipping out before she thinks them.

He sighs, relaxed. “What do you mean? I’m good. I’m… really good.”

“That’s… kinda what I mean.” Pushing back, she looks up at him and lets her head rest on his bicep. “You just… You seem different. So happy. There’s no… I don’t know, you’ve always got this dark cloud over you and today… it’s gone.”

Dean’s smile falls but it’s not for sadness. His lips pucker and smooth out, the dimples pop above his lip as he thinks about her words and how to answer. Thick lashes distract her for a moment as they flutter over a constellation of freckles and his deep whisper almost makes her jump.

“Something happened, Y/N. I’m still not sure if it was good, but I think it was. I really do. And… things are different now. There’s… hope. I have hope for the first time. I can see a future for me… for-” He takes a breath and brushes his fingertips across her cheek. “-for us, maybe. A real future. Not random hookups every few months. I mean… a real, honest life together.”

Shock washes over her and bubbles up into tiny laugh. She swallows it down and stares at him, her eyes flickering between his, in awe and surprised.

“Dean, I-”

Suddenly shy, he pulls his hand away, but she grabs it, puts it back against her cheek.

His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to just assume-”

She kisses his palm. “Dean… I have never wanted anything more than to be with you. I hope you know that.”

The smile that spreads across his face is true and stunning and Y/N can’t help but trace it with her fingertips.

“You are so beautiful, Dean.” Her eyes float across his lips, his crooked nose, the deep seated crease between his eyes. “If you are happy, so am I. I mean that. And if… whatever happened has opened something up for you to be able to be with me… then- I mean- of course, I’m yours, Dean. Of course I am. I always have been.”

He crushes her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, breathes her in as if she’s the only air in the room.

When the moment settles, he tells her everything. He talks of God and how they defeated the biggest evil in every universe. Of Jack saving them, bringing the world back and setting everything right. Wipes away tears when he tells her about Castiel and how he gave up his soul to save him. He smiles, amazed at how he and Sam finally broke away from fate and their horrid lives. He talks about feeling free for the first time in his life and how he’s thought of nothing else but being with her, of running away and starting their life together.

Y/N clings to him, listening with all of her being. She’s confused but grateful that he’s opening up, nervous to hear some parts, but happy that it all ended well.

Silence holds them close as they drift off to sleep, promises made and minds at ease.

He’s going to take her away for a while, somewhere with sand and sun and little rum drinks with neon umbrellas shoved in their tops. He wants to rub sunblock on her shoulders and run through the waves, feel the world around him, feel alive and safe.

He just has a few things to finish up back home.

One more hunt.

Then he’s out for good.

It should be easy, he says as he kisses her forehead and squeezes her hand. “More like one last road trip with my brother, really. Do what we do best, ya know?”

“Do you have to?” she asks, sad to see him go. “You could just text him. Doesn’t have to be such a dramatic farewell.”

He laughs and sucks his tongue against his front teeth. “Nah. Sammy deserves more than a text. Besides, I want to tell him all about you and that’ll take a while. And I gotta pack up my room, give the car a tune up and then-” He reaches down and wraps an arm around her back, tugging her close. “Then it’s you and me and clear blue waters, baby.”

He grins and she pushes up on her toes, sealing it all with a kiss.

She watches from the door until the brake lights are faded, until the glint from the chrome doesn’t catch her gaze anymore.

Days pass without a word.

There’s no answer when she calls, no reply to a text, nothing.

Worry stirs in her gut and Y/N spends the third night pacing her livingroom, running a trench into the hardwood with her barefeet. There’s an aching fear deep inside and she jumps whenever headlights strike her window.

It’s never him.

Panic wraps itself around her and she grips the phone, calling every number she has for him, listening to every voicemail intro like they’re ripping her soul open.

“Dean, please- whatever is going on, just call me. Please. I just need to know that you’re alright.”

It’s two in the morning when the line picks up. Her heart stops midbeat and pain webs across her chest. She takes a breath and presses the phone to her ear.

“Dean?”

She’s near to fainting waiting to hear his voice, but it’s not Dean who answers.

He clears his voice, takes a breath. “Uh- No, it’s… This is Sam.”

“Sam.” She says his name and her hands start to shake so badly it’s hard to hold the phone. “Um… Hi. I don’t know if you know who I am, I don’t know if Dean ever- well… My name’s Y/N. Dean was- We were-”

Sam exhales quickly and she can hear the tears on his breath. “I know who you are. He… Dean told me about you.”

“Oh. Good.”

This is wrong, she thinks. Something’s wrong.

She closes her eyes, blocking everything but the white noise in the background and Sam’s heavy breath. “Is he there?”

The pause is painful. She holds her breath, ready to scream, to run, to collapse in on herself.

“Sam?”

She can hear his hard swallow, a swipe of fabric across a wet cheek.

She can’t stand it.

“Is he dead?” she whispers. Her eyes are flooded already, jaw clenched so tightly against her trembling that her teeth ache. “Sam-”

“He’s… He’s gone.”

She can feel herself falling, takes the crash of her knees into the floor like it’s nothing. Her limbs go numb, her eyes blur.

She doesn’t want to ask but she has to know, has to understand.

“What happened?”

Sam’s voice is so low she has to strain to hear him.

“It was… it was so stupid. We, uh- It was just a milk run.” He hangs there for a long moment as memory washes over him. “I tried. I wanted to get him to the hospital but it was too late. I couldn’t- I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save him.” He trailed off, losing against his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d laid there on the floor but it felt like forever. Her back was aching, body craving water after shedding so many tears.

She crawled to the bedroom, struggled up onto the bed and hid her face in his pillow. He always took the left side when he was there, always nuzzled deep into the down, said he loved her pillows.

The sheets still smelled like him and she pushed her face into them, wondering how long it would be before his scent left her for good. She clawed at the pillow, crushed it to her face, wanting to suffocate, die with him on her last breath.

“Dean…”

It’s the strangest thing. The sand is soft and yielding but rough between her toes. It’s hot too, like the sun has penetrated every tiny grain with heat and its pushing into her with each step.

It feels good.

She walks along the beach, skirting the waves as they breach the shore and threaten to overtake her. She stares out into the waves, squints at the sun. She sees the ocean for the first time and thinks of him. Of how tanned his face would be under the tropical sun, of how silly he’d look slathering lotion on his nose when he started to burn. She dreams about watching the sunset over the water, their asses sinking into the damp sand, the breeze tickling their cheeks.

Her heart aches for him but the tears never come anymore. She hugs her arms over her chest and closes her eyes, imagining his warmth, his love. If she tries really hard, she can feel his lips on her cheek, his firm chest pressing into her back, holding her close.

In some small way, he’s always with her.

And she holds onto that until the day she can see him again.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library 

[itlivesproject]

What are the signature scents of the LI's, Connor, and Noah? What shampoos, conditioners, lotions, colognes, and perfumes do they use?

Abel

Abel usually smells like cinnamon and coffee, because he loves cinnamon cookies and drinks way way way too much coffee. His preferred scents are more citrus and fresh scents. Things that smell clean and bright, like fresh laundry and oranges. His favorite products are his hair products, which are many and varied. He loves his shampoo the best, though. He spent years finding the right kind that wouldn’t damage his hair. He takes a lot of pride in it, and it smells like olives.

Amalia

Amalia likes ocean and tropical scents. Usually her products smell like coconut, banana, kelp, things like that. She has a particular fondness for things that smell more natural and less chemically, so she doesn’t usually buy cheap products. Her hair care routine is extensive, and she doesn’t skimp on what she likes. She likes her products to smell good, but also to do their damn job. She also has a favorite perfume she uses almost daily that smells like the beach.

Connor

Connor usually smells like motor oil or woodsmoke, but that’s not what his soap smells like. His soap is very much cedar/pine/timber, all kinds of woodsy smells. The Westchester woods have not been kind to him, but he loves the outdoors. He works with his hands, with metal and cars and fire, and he likes to be outside when he does it, so he likes to smell like the outdoors too. His favorite product is his amber and cedar cologne, which ends up on all his clothes so they always smell like him.

Lincoln

Lincoln is a very clean guy, the kind of guy who never goes to bed without a shower and brushed teeth, likes fresh clothes, and who loves getting a bed with clean sheets. He doesn't skimp on the products he uses and has very particular hair and skin care routines. So he usually smells like his soaps, which he prefers warm, fresh, woody scents for, like sandalwood, pine, and cedar. He also frequently smells like disinfectant, due to frequent use and close proximity at his tattoo shops, and ink, because when not tattooing he enjoys doodling with pens.

Jocelyn

Her scents are a mixture of the products she uses as well as the smell of the outdoors. While she goes with pretty basic products, she prefers warm, floral scents, particularly that derive from plants of Chinese origin, like lotus and lilies. She likes the smell, and it makes her feel close to her heritage. In addition to the scents of her soaps, shampoo, and perfumes, she doesn't have a car, so she walks everywhere and she enjoys going on long runs outside. Because of that, she also smells like the trees of the Westchester woods and sunlight.

Noah

Noah is a smoker, so probably the most identifying scent of his is cigarette smoke. The products he uses are also pretty basic. He doesn't think too hard about the products he uses for his hair or bodywash. Probably uses head and shoulders, honestly, primarily odorless products, and then uses a woody-scented old spice deodorant.

Matthias

He smells like money and betrayal babyyyy. Just kidding. I'm just tired. He's very clean and pristine with always freshly pressed clothes. He smells fresh and crisp, with a spicier type of aroma like mint.

[royai]

hi y’all

i wrote a piece for @fmatriozine and it’s finally time to share!! leftover sales are open so don’t miss out on one of the most beautiful zines i’ve participated in.

my piece is here, for anyone interested, and there’s an excerpt below the cut. toodles~

A little girl sat ramrod straight at her granny’s table, eating chunks of bread and jagged apple slices. Afternoon light freckled the whorled tabletop. The little girl (known as Winry to most) made a game of covering the dots of light with her fingers as she watched leaves blink in and out of view through the window. A rare wind, her granny would say, because summers are sweaty beasts which come without reprieve.

Winry sat alone at this table.

Two brothers lay out under the sun like saguaros. Separated from Winry by layers of brick and plaster and wood beams. A granny was in town buying flour and tins of oil and trading metalwork for goat milk. The house pressed in on Winry at her table, a deafening kind of quiet folding her like Origami until she moved, restless, and popped the fold.

continue here

[sunriseverse]

KISS MEME!!! 47!!! OUT OF SPITE!!!

out of spite, you say? mmmmyes.

-

The wood gives easily beneath the blade of the pocket knife. In the long, twilit hours of the evening, the shop hasn’t seen hint of customers in hours—though, then again, most of the business he conducts isn’t with people wandering in for something to buy. Lounging in the deep, worn leather chair behind the counter, Pangzi pulls the knife away from the block of misshapen wood, and tries to decide if it looks like a qilin, or just looks like a very lumpy snake. He should get up, close the shop up, but the weight of memory holds him in place, pressed against the supple leather. In the low light—he’d been too lazy to get up and turn on the lights when it had started to get dark—, if he lets his eyes go hazy into the middle distance, he can pretend he’s not alone in the shop, that he’s not the only point of what once was a stable triangle.

“You’re getting sad, old man,” he murmurs to himself, and sighs; snaps the blade of the pocket knife closed; turns the attempt at the qilin over in his hands, his fingers each almost wide enough to match the width of its body, and just as rough from decades of hard work. The pocket knife goes into his jacket pocket, and he pats at it just to try and feel the weight of a hand against his skin. He should get up—means to, really, because he may be sad, but he’s not pathetic, but he can’t. Instead, his fingers, with a mind of their own, reach for the desk, pull open the drawer. Within it, amongst the detritus of papers, a single, worn, photo lays face down, its identity marked only by a scrawl as familiar as the back of his own hand. When his fingers touch it, for a moment, it feels like they’re touching an open flame, charing and electric. It doesn’t abate so much as diffuse when he brings the photo out, flips it over.

In the photo, they’re young. Only newly minted as the Iron Triangle—only newly minted as something more than their parts. Xiaoge is squished in the middle between the two of them, his hood half drawn, but the camera has caught a single eye, a spot of red marking it. Feline, Pangzi has always said, fond. Now, as he traces his fingers over the aged, worn photo, all he can do is wonder if his memory of the moment has faded—if he can truly remember the weight of Xiaoge against his side, of Wu Xie’s hand brushing against the nape of his neck. If the memory will preserve itself, and for how much longer he can keep it alive.

From the photo, Wu Xie grins out, and even Xiaoge has a barely-there aura of a smile. The last time Pangzi had seen them—well. Xiaoge had gone, and then Wu Xie had disappeared. Pangzi had tried to convince him to stay, that they were better together, and Wu Xie, eyes sunken into his skull, had laughed at him. Trust me, he’d said. You’ll be better off without me.

“Fuck you.” The sound bursts from his lips without really registering it properly—it takes a long moment to connect the thick, choking sensation in his throat with it. He blinks, fast, eyes stinging. The time they’d had—it feels like nothing in the weight of their absence; flimsy, gossamer wings. Each time he touches this photo, the oils of his skin damage it just a little bit more. One day, even this will be gone. He swallows thickly, and then, without thinking, presses his fingers to his lips, and then caresses their forms—a phantom of a kiss, or something approximating it, anyway, because they had never—because Wu Xie had always pulled away, because Xiaoge had never stepped closer. Xiaoge had left without telling him, and Wu Xie had told him not to follow. It raises something ugly, dark and raging within his chest, clawing and sharp. For once, he wishes he could have stopped it—any of it. Wishes he were someone else, who loved them less, so he could have a justification for this sensation. “Fuck you,” he murmurs, again, and presses his fingers against their forms, and imagines they can feel it, somehow, somewhere.

[theundertalenebulartheory]

Dream Catcher, Nightmare Snatcher (A Symbiote Nightmare!Sans Fic)

((I’ve had this idea rattling around in the back of my brain for a while, inspired originally by @zwagyzonk and their little comic of Nightmare as a sleep paralysis demon that gets captured by a dreamcatcher. https://zwagyzonk.tumblr.com/tagged/sleep%20paralysis

But @mothiepixie and the Nightmare Revival she’s inspired with her Symbiote Nightmare https://www.tumblr.com/mothiepixie/tagged/symbiote%20nightmare

gave me the kick in the pants I needed to finally put something a little more coherent together.))

DREAM CATCHER, NIGHTMARE SNATCHER CH1

You’re cursed.

Utterly and completely, hopelessly cursed.

It was the only explanation. You’d been having night terrors for weeks on end. Spooky voices following you through the woods. A cyan eye. Falling. Running. Your pants missing at your commencement ceremony. Teeth falling out. A cheshire smile. You’re late to the most important event of your life. It’s your birthday and nobody shows up. Even the kind where everything seems normal but it’s just wrong in ways you can’t actually articulate nor even strictly identify, but in ways that become oppressively more intense until you’re screaming and crying as you come-to from something so horrendous as the ice cream man asking you what flavor you wanted. Ink-black oil-slicked tentacles lashing out from the shadows and dragging you into the dark.

Needless to say, you’re also desperate.

Utterly and completely, hopelessly desperate.

You’ve tried everything. Melatonin. Warm milk. No TV before bed. A break from social media. Researching dream meanings online. Avoiding fast food. A warm bath before bed. Staying up for a full night and not sleeping until the next night to try to exhaust yourself past the point of being even capable of experiencing nightmares. Alcohol. Reading silly stories. Buying different laundry detergent. Changing the thermostat. Checking for carbon monoxide.

More nightmares.

You dragged, quite literally if the scraping sound of the scuff of your shoes is anything to go by, yourself through a Farmer’s Market you’d had on your calendar for days. You were excited to be here. You’d wanted to come. There were colors and people and sounds and smells. But you were so, so tired you could barely focus on anything happening around you. Even the strongest espresso you could buy was barely keeping you vertical. You were clutching it like a life preserver and trying to look at the art and you reached for a little sample of cheese. Your mouth told them (someone) it’s amazing even though you couldn’t actually remember if it made it past your teeth. You’re exhausted, incoherent, and in danger of falling on someone or something if you keep going even though you’re barely halfway through. It was warm and sunny and not even the brightest summer sunshine could keep you upright so you reached for another sample of something. The nice lady behind the stall asked if you could only please take two and you don’t even remember taking the first one. So, you admitted defeat and turned around. You just had to get back to your car. You have to drive home without getting into an accident. You have to...

You sat. It was shady. And still shiny. Colorful. Someone asked you a question and you answered. Then kept talking. Until there were tears. Something was pressed into your hand and you reached into your wallet, grabbing what was in there and trading everything you had for whatever was in your hand before fleeing.

You’d forgotten your espresso somewhere before arriving home, clutching your new prize as if it could save you. As if it had answers to questions you couldn’t even ask. You flopped into bed on your back, your prize resting over your heart (your soul) as you passed from consciousness.

It’s the dark and spooky woods again. You’re breathing quickly, great gulps of air giving you barely any reprieve as you dodge trees and stumble over their roots. Roots that reach for you, oil-slick and glistening eerily as they grab for your legs and ankles. You don’t even know what you’re running from, only that It’s Coming. And if you stop, you’ll be caught. Dragged away. So, you run. Your blood is pounding in your ears and tears are streaming down your cheeks, or maybe it’s the blood from catching a branch across your face. All at once the roots grab at you and you hit the ground hard enough to bounce, knocking the wind completely out of your lungs. You lay there gaping, suffocating, drowning, and over your shoulder there’s that cyan eye and the cheshire smile. The roots have you trapped, winding tighter around you like a boa constrictor. They wrap around your neck, your face, holding you completely immobile as that menacing smile grows closer and the cold chill of terror seeps into your very bones.

A black, skeletal hand reaches for you and catches your face.

There’s something in your hand.

You wrench free of just one tentacle and shove it at him. He easily catches your hand, prying your prize from your desperate clutches. It’s a... net. And you aren’t letting go. But then again... neither is he. The smile falters as the skeletal hand draws back, caught fast by the fingertips in the delicate weave of the net, and then by the wrist. The entity jerks back fully, the tentacles around you instantly dissolving and you choke out a wheezing gasp as they struggle against the threads that seem to be materializing out of the shimmering beads embedded in the net that’s still held fast in your hand. It’s arm is fully caught, and then it’s ribcage. He shouts in distress and disbelief as he’s fully entangled, and not even all the tentacle roots surrounding you can wiggle free.

Something in the dreamscape shifts and changes and suddenly you’re... yourself. It’s you. Awake and lucid and staring wide-eyed at this... being. Creature. Monster.

He’s trapped.

The threads grow thicker and stronger until they’re chains holding HIM immobile and he’s shouting a loud string of archaic curses as he thrashes in his bonds. Bonds that stretch across the small clearing and lead right back to your hand.

He, too, follows the lines and discovers YOU to be his captor. He snarls, bares his fangs and strains will the full might of his power. Roars with a multi-layered voice that growls deeply enough you think you feel your bones rattle, “What Have You Done!?”

“ME?” You ask incredulously, still reeling from this turn of events. You blink at him, utterly flabbergasted and honestly a little offended. “You were the one chasing me! Are YOU the reason I’ve been having nightmares for weeks? What the hell, man!?”

The skeleton snaps his teeth at you, thrashing regardless of how useless it seems to be. “Silence! I’ll not be spoken to in such a manner! I am a demigod! Nightmare, Guardian of Negativity. You are a mere human. Kneel when you speak to me, peasant!”

You raise a single eyebrow at him. “Kneel. To you. Uhhh... no thanks. You’ve been terrorizing me for weeks, I don’t have to do jack shit. If anything, YOU should be the one who’s kneeling! I’ve fallen asleep at work like 10 times this month. I’m probably one more infraction away from getting fired. I could have died, dude. If I’m driving to work and I fall asleep at the wheel, I could kill other people AND myself! YOU kneel! YOU say sorry!”

Nightmare actually verbally sputters at that, glaring at you with hatred, disgust, and vitriol. “I do not kneel to anyone. The insolence. Your unmitigated gall is reason enough for me to end your pathetic life this instant. No ties can truly bind a being such as myself. I do not know what tricks you have devised to hold me this long, but you stand there and speak to me in this manner no longer. Perhaps if you beg, I may take pity enough on you to end you quickly and painlessly.”

You blink at him, your expression deeply unimpressed. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Ok. Well. That’s nice. You seem pretty stuck there, though.”

It’s now Nightmare’s turn to give you a flat, unimpressed look. The root tentacles begin to undulate and thrash in earnest now, his teeth gritting as he strains against his bonds. He growls with the effort, attempting to pull them back underground, slip between the cracks, even flex against the chains to try to break them. But they hold fast, almost as if they’re somewhat elastic and sticky. He thrashes harder, growl raising to a snarl and finally to a howl of frustration when it becomes clear that he’s absolutely stuck fast and cannot break his confinement.

“Blast these chains! How have you done this!? What is that in your hand!? What device have you crafted that has fastened me so!?”

You drop your gaze down to the thing in your hands and you’re surprised to see it’s a dreamcatcher. You’d call it ordinary since you’re pretty sure most people where you’re from are at least familiar with what it is and how it’s made but it’s actually far from ordinary. It’s stunning. You can feel the care and attention to detail put into it, and what little bit of silver light filters through the trees catches beautifully in the moonstone beads carefully woven into the design. Its small size is more than made up for by its intricacy, and you’re half wondering if it’s some kind of lace inside of the hoop. It isn’t, of course, but such delicate and intricate weaving is certainly reminiscent of lace.

“Huh. You know... I don’t actually know how I got this. I think maybe I bought it? Or someone gave it to me? I don’t really remember, it’s all a bit fuzzy.”

“You don’t...” Nightmare shakes with fury and the chains rattle ominously. “You aren’t even aware of how you came to possess it? What kind of dullard are you? You half-wit! Blundering Trollop!”

You couldn’t help but snort at him a little. “Wow. Go back to the 1400’s, my man. They want their speech patterns back.” You shake your head as he shrieks about your insult, and you go back to inspecting your super cool prize.

“Alright, here’s how this is going to work. This thing caught you because you’ve been giving me nightmares. I’m going to wake up, and then I’m going to look online to see how you like... cleanse it or purify it or whatever. That should banish you back to wherever it is you came from. And then I’m going to keep this thing with me for a very long time. If you like being all tied up, feel free to come back and try again, but I’m going to give you the suggestion that maybe if you would prefer not to get stuck like this again... don‘t come back. Alright? I don��t care who you are, I don’t care what your deal is, I don’t care about any of that. I want my sleep back, and that’s it. I don’t have any beef with you, I don’t want to fight you, I don’t want to be mortal enemies or anything. I’m not going to hunt you down or whatever. No grudges or anything. I just want to sleep. And this thing seems to be capable of helping me not wake up in the middle of the night screaming. So... begone with you or whatever.”

You waved your hands at him in a ‘shooing’ manner, and he continued to tremble with rage. “To think you even could fathom to hunt me,” he spat, “is laughable at best. Hear me now, human. Your little ‘device’ may have saved you from my wrath in the realm of dreams. But should you ever cross my path again, I’ll not hesitate to destroy you. There will be no preamble. There will be no mercy. There will be no begging for your life. You will cease to exist.”

“But why,” you whined. “I didn’t even do anything! YOU showed up and bullied me in my sleep for weeks for no reason. I found a solution that isn’t even hurting you, told you that I’d set you free by banishing you back to wherever it is you come from once I wake up... and your reaction is to threaten me with imminent death!? What if I just... don’t ever free you, then? Hmm? Wouldn’t that be smarter of me? If the reward I get for finding the most peaceful resolution to all this is imminent death, then why bother with trying to find a way to release you!? Or... banish you. Cleanse the... the thing. What if I just go bury it somewhere instead? Wouldn’t that be better AND easier for me than trying to research how to release you?”

Nightmare seethes in his bonds, glaring at you with his one piercing cyan eye light, but you can see the wheels in his head turning. You only stumbled there in the end because if this guy is a real thing, you probably shouldn’t be telling him about what a dreamcatcher is. That seems to be your one deus ex machina at the moment and you definitely don’t want to give him information he can use against you later. The less he knows, the better. And if that means you look like an idiot that’s stumbled on something they don’t really know how to use, all the better. Because that might give the impression that maybe this is the minimum power this “device” might have, and if you knew more about it you could use it even MORE effectively. That’s not actually how it works, but you like giving the impression of that being a possibility.

“Fine,” he spits eventually.

“Fine?” You fold your arms over your chest. “Fine what?”

He growls lowly, a dangerous rumble that shakes your very soul. “Release me, and I shall trouble you no longer. I shall reward your... mercy... in kind, and depart peaceably.”

“You promise?”

His upper lip curls as if he’s smelled something particularly foul. “You have my word.”

You squint at him. He seems like the kind of being that trades in deals and favors often, but this Nightmare (literally) hasn’t exactly given you a lot of reasons to trust him at his word. “And what happens if I believe you and then you double cross me and come back for revenge later or something?”

He sputters again, indignant, and shakes in his chains. “I gave you my word! Do you have any idea of how rare a thing it is? How many beings across the multiverse have begged on their hands and knees for such an assurance?”

Even kneading at the space between your eyes isn’t doing much for expressing just how deeply conflicted you feel. “Alright. Alright. I’ll wake up. Find a way to purify this thing. Banish you back to where you belong and never see you again. But if I catch you in this thing again because you came back for revenge, I’m just going to bury it somewhere. You’ll be stuck in it until someone else comes along and stumbles on it, however long that might be. Got it?”

“I agree to your terms.”

The light filtering through the trees is taking on a more golden tone than silver and you shift to try to find its source. “Guess maybe it’s morning now?”

Nightmare doesn’t deign to respond to your rhetorical question, but you feel a little weird about just leaving without saying something. “Well, uh... I guess it was pretty cool to meet you in person after everything. Maybe stop doing that, though. The whole ‘terrorizing people’s dreams’ thing. Or at least just like... pick a different victim each night. Share the misery or something. Anyways. Uh... take care of yourself, ok?”

He rolls his eyes and groans in exasperation. “Just take your leave, for stars’ sake. Listening to your aimless prattling while trapped as I am is more punishment than I deserve.”

“Tch. Fine. Bye.”

You blinked awake, staring at your ceiling for a long moment while the memories of your dream clung to your consciousness. It was strange, actually. Usually you didn’t remember much about your dreams. Little snippets of moments here and there. But this one was actually sticking. And the fact that you could remember most of it had you looking down at your hand, where it was resting over your heart.

Huh. There really was something in your hand. You lifted it up and inspected it, half surprised but more intrigued that the very same dreamcatcher you’d dreamed about was held tightly in your palm. Well... it was mostly the same as it had been in your dream. Black ooze was tangled in the threads of the delicate weaving. THAT certainly hadn’t been there before. But it did look eerily like the iridescent slime that the Nightmare creature had been covered in. You touched a bit of it, and it moved, which made you jump. You tried again, and the goop flinched away.

“No way.”

You pinched and pulled a bit of it off of the fibers, and you jumped when it sounded like the slime made some teeny little sound of protest. “Oh hush,” you admonished, “I’m trying to get you out of there. I’m trying this first.”

It was wild to think that the Nightmare creature was so tiny. The amount of goop stuck in your dreamcatcher probably wouldn’t have even filled a thimble all the way, if you had one nearby to stick it in. He’d seemed so huge and powerful in your dreams. But, then again, this was the waking world and perhaps you couldn’t really expect everything to be exactly how it was when you were sleeping.

It took some effort, but after a few minutes you’d managed to remove most of the goop from the dreamcatcher. It trembled a little in your hand before stretching experimentally and wrapping around two of your fingers. It slipped, almost snake-like, in and around the gaps, like it was blindly trying to get a feel for the world around it. “Well, hello to you too.”

It was kindof cute, if you were being honest. And a little bit puzzling. You’d said you would purify the dreamcatcher (you vaguely remembered something from when you were a kid about putting them in direct sunlight) but you’d sort-of expected that all that would happen is you’d leave it in your window sill, and whatever banishing or purification was going to happen would happen in the dream world. You hadn’t expected the Nightmare creature to join you in the waking world. But then again, maybe it was better this way. Maybe this would give you some kind of visual cue as to when the banishing/purification had finished. Maybe the little blob creature would slowly vanish through the day or maybe it would suddenly disappear.

You picked up the dreamcatcher and moved to put it in the window, but startled a little bit to see more ooze seeping out of the threads. Ah. So... perhaps the rest of him was still in there, then. You plucked the new goobers of ooze out of the threads and they easily joined with the small mass in your hand. “Alright. Well. Clearly that’s not going to be enough to get you free, then. Let me do a quick internet search to make sure I’m doing this right and then we’ll get you out of there.”

The mass shifted a little, moving to your wrist where it wrapped around it like a bracelet before settling against your skin. You turned your hand a little to look at it from both sides, but it seemed like the goop was content to rest on your wrist, so you left it alone. A quick internet search revealed that you’d at least remembered somewhat correctly, though the few websites you’d found all talked about how the bad dreams or bad thoughts that had been captured in the dreamcatcher would be “destroyed with the light of the morning sun,” which seemed a little bit... harsher than you really wanted to be. But maybe that was just the phrasing some older website had used and everyone was just citing the same source (or each other.)

“Alright, little guy. Let’s see if this works.”

You took your dreamcatcher to your east-facing window and pulled up the blinds. The reaction was horrifically instantaneous. The goop bracelet constricted painfully tight and squealed, and the little beads of goop that had managed to leak out of the threads in the dreamcatcher during your internet started shriveling up with a soft hiss. Cursing, you yanked the hoop out of the sunlight and clutched it to your chest. Guilt and anxiety clawed their way up your throat and you whispered while furiously petting the slime still squeezing your wrist.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. We won’t do that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, honest. I’m just doing what the research said, but if it’s hurting you then I’ll find something different to try. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Uhhhhh... Here!”

You rushed to your bathroom and turned your sink on cold, trickling it carefully over the bracelet and the beads of goop that had been affected by the sunlight as you continued to murmur your apologies. Slowly the goop on your wrist relaxed, and the knot of guilt in your chest eased a little.

Well... this was maybe going to take a little longer than you’d expected it would.

Nightmare was NOT going to be happy about that.

[[ You can read the rest of the fic on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48671317 ]]

((Tagging @velvetwyrme because I was telling them about this fic idea the other day. If anyone who follows MothiePixie ends up reading this fic, I’ve been trying to be a little more active with other UTDR / UTMV blogs by commenting on posts and sending asks and stuff but uhhh, you’ve probably been seeing me around under the main blog name accioturtur - Hi! It’s me. Lol. This is the sideblog I’m using for UT stuff. AO3 is down for maintenance today but maybe at some point I’ll get this over there.))

Disclaimer: For anyone unfamiliar with Native American Dreamcatchers, there are actually several different versions of the beliefs surrounding them corresponding with the different tribes that use them. Some tribes believe that the webbed netting of the dreamcatcher actually captures GOOD dreams, to keep them close to you. Some tribes believe the net captures bad thoughts and dreams to keep them from troubling your mind. The different parts of the dreamcatcher are symbolic and very important to the cultures that use them. For the opening chapter of this idea, I only reference a couple of parts AND I will be the first to admit I’m taking a few artistic liberties for how the interaction in the Dream World might go down. This fic is just for Fandom Funsies - please only ever purchase dreamcatchers from actual Native American sources.

THAT SAID - the basic premise therefore could be used for either a Nightmare Gets Caught fic OR for a Dream Gets Caught fic, both of which have fun and silly implications. Since I’m blending the Dreamcatcher and Symbiote ideas, mine will be using Nightmare. Anyone is welcome to playing around with the idea, though!

THIS fic takes place about 50-100 years after The Tree and Dream is still trapped in stone. Nightmare is still trying to learn about his powers and his place in the multiverse and because he’s still a bit less experienced and on his own, he gets caught somewhere he really doesn’t *technically* have any business being in the first place.

[illusivesoulgaming]

Prompt time (please): TLOU - Pristine Condition?

Hi there! Thanks for the ask, and sorry it took me so long to finish it.

.

"Come look at this" 

Anna tugged at Marlene's arms and led her down the corridor in the flea market, moving at a snail's pace as they waited for the people to move forward.

Finally reaching the stall, Anna smiled.

"Look at it"

Marlene groaned as she saw what Anna was pointing at. A switchblade with a brown metallic handle was resting on the floor carpet along with several other trinkets.

"No"

"Come on! Look at it. It looks brand new"

"The last one you had was actually new. You'd still have it if you hadn't decided to use it as a house key" Marlene said in a reprimanding tone.

"But I had lost my keys. As much as it pained me to do it, sacrificing my switchblade was the only way to get inside"

"Sacrificed the switchblade and the lock. That didn't come cheap either"

"Come on, baby. Please" Anna gave Marlene the best puppy eyes she could as she took the woman's hand and placed it on top of her pronounced belly "I need it to keep our baby safe"

Marlene chuckled "What are you going to do? Cut the hospital bill with it?"

"I might" Anna laughed.

Marlene sighed "How much is it?"

"10 bucks"

"Buy it then"

"I need 5 more"

Marlene sighed as she opened the wallet and gave Anna the bill.

"Look at it. It's perfect" Anna said as she toyed with the blade, pressing the button to bring it out as she ran her fingers along the brown handle. It was clearly old, but proper maintenance had kept it pristine. A kiss on the cheek, and a few more words "Thanks, love"

The tap of the rain against the glass made Ellie's eyes drift to the window every now and then. Having to be ready to hide everything in case someone walked into the room had her slightly on edge.

With one eyed closed, she turned the small bolt in the handle with care until it came loose. Carefully spreading out the disassembled pieces on the table, Ellie blew the dirt in them and wiped them clean with a small cloth.

"Boo!"

The dry thudding sound of wood hitting the ground and the sound of Ellie's ouch sound filled the room as she fell to the ground.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Riley!" Ellie said as she stood "I could have fucking gutted you"

"Sure thing, Angel Knives" Riley stretched her hand forwards, helping Ellie get up “Sorry for scaring you. Here. Winston found it in the mall"

Ellie grabbed the small red container, the faded and torn tag in it still clear enough to read the words ‘Knife Oil’.

“I forgive you” Ellie said shortly before hitting Riley in the arm “Asshole”

As Riley laid on the bed and listened to, as she often put it, “Ellie’s shitty music”, Ellie carefully dropped some of the oil into the inner parts of the handle, coating the inner parts and the small bolts.

“Hell yeah. Awesome” Ellie said proudly several minutes later, wielding the reassembled switchblade in her knife, retracting and making it shoot out again as she did a few playful swipes in the air.

“Could pass off as brand new” Joel was surprised at how well kept the switchblade was. Using the limited light coming off the fireplace, he passed the sharpening a couple of times across the edge of the blade, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake Ellie. After a few minutes, he stood up with a hushed groan and walked towards Ellie’s bag, opening it quietly and placing the switchblade inside.

Zipping the bag close, Joel walked away and sat back on the rock, keeping a watchful eye throughout the night. Ellie, who was pretending to be asleep, smiled.

[hadeschan]

item # K22D08

RARE Pra Somdej Lang Yant Na Tor-rá-hòt, Luang Phor Noi, Wat Thammasala, Nua Pong.  A Buddha amulet with a bas-relief of a meditating Buddha seating on a 5 tiers platform, in the back is with an imprint of a Na Tor-rá-hòt Cabalistic Writing. Made from many types of holy powder blended with tabby (plaster cement made from seashells), holy water, and tung oil or China wood oil, oil obtained by pressing the seed from the nut of the tung tree. Made by Luang Phor Noi of Wat Thammasala, Nakhon Pathom Province around BE 2510 (CE 1967). Luang Phor Noi of Wat Thammasala was a Sahathammik (alliance of Theravāda Buddhist monks who follow the same Buddhist path) of Luang Phu Toh of Wat Pradu Chimphli, Luang Phor Ngern of Wat Don Yai Hom, and Luang Phu Seng of Wat Kanlayanamit.

…………………………………………………

BEST FOR: Pra Somdej Lang Yant Na Tor-rá-hòt makes you a tough person, strong, determined, aggressive, high-powered and ambitious, and can tolerate difficulty or suffering. This amulet would grant your wish to have glorious future in your career, business, with success plus wealth and prosperity. This amulet has a tendency to draw positive energy. Kongkraphan Chatrie (it makes you invulnerable to all weapon attack), Klawklad Plodpai (it pushes you away from all danger), Maha-ut (it helps stop gun from shooting at you). Nang Nieow, a rock-hard skin that is completely impervious to damage with bludgeoning or piercing weapons. It signifies continuous growth and multiplication in wealth, money luck, and good fortune. Wealth Fetching, Maha Larp (it brings lucky wealth), Metta Maha Niyom (it helps bring loving, caring, and kindness, and compassion from people all around you to you), Mahasanay (Magic Charm) it helps turn you to prince charming in the eyes of girls, Maha Larp (it brings Lucky Wealth / wealth fetching), and Kaa Kaai Dee (it helps tempt your customers to buy whatever you are selling, and it helps attract new customers and then keep them coming back. Ponggan Poot-pee pee-saat Kunsai Mondam Sa-niat jan-rai Sat Meepit (it helps ward off evil spirit, demon, bad ghost, bad omen, bad spell, curse, accursedness, black magic, misfortune, doom, and poisonous animals). It helps protect you from manipulators, backstabbers, and toxic people.

…………………………………………………

Yant Na Tor-rá-hòt

Yant Na Tor-rá-hòt, a cabalistic writing, a unique style of a single cabalistic writing created by of Luang Phor Noi of Wat Thammasala, it is believed that Yant Na Tor-rá-hòt makes you a tough person, strong, determined, aggressive, high-powered and ambitious, and can tolerate difficulty or suffering.

…………………………………………………

Buddha on 5 tiers

The amulet with Buddha seating on a 5 tiers, the 5 tiers refers to Benja-sean / Benja-tham which is  Buddhist five precepts.The Five Precepts are the Buddhist version of a code of conduct or rules to help people behave in a moral and ethical way. Buddhists should follow the Five Precepts to ensure they are living a morally good life. This helps them to get rid of suffering and achieve enlightenment.

The five precepts are as follows:

1. Refrain from taking life. Not killing any living being. For Buddhists, this includes animals, so many Buddhists choose to be vegetarian.

2. Refrain from taking what is not given. Not stealing from anyone.

3. Refrain from the misuse of the senses . Not having too much sensual pleasure. For example, not looking at people in a lustful way or committing adultery.

4. Refrain from wrong speech. Not lying or gossiping about other people.

5. Refrain from intoxicants that cloud the mind. Not drinking alcohol or taking drugs, as these do not help you to think clearly.

It is important to practice the precepts over time as they are not always easy to carry out. The main aim of a Buddhist is to get rid of suffering, and therefore following the Five Precepts is important as they help Buddhists to avoid causing others to suffer. Following the Five Precepts is linked to karma, as these count as skillful actions, which produce good consequences.

…………………………………………………

DIMENSION: 4.10 cm high / 2.60 cm wide / 0.70 cm thick

…………………………………………………

item # K22D08

Price: price upon request, pls PM and/or email us hadesamulet@protonmail.com

100% GENUINE WITH 365 DAYS FULL REFUND WARRANTY

Item location: Hong Kong, SAR

Ships to: Worldwide

Delivery: Estimated 7 days handling time after receipt of cleared payment. Please allow additional time if international delivery is subject to customs processing.

Shipping: FREE Thailandpost International registered mail. International items may be subject to customs processing and additional charges.

Payments: PayPal / Western Union / MoneyGram /maybank2u.com / DBS iBanking / Wechat Pay / Alipay / INSTAREM / PromptPay International / Remitly / PAYNOW

*************************************************

[naturelandorganic]

Buy wood-pressed oil near me

If you are looking for high-quality wood-pressed oil near me, look no further than Natureland Organics. Their range of oils is sourced from the finest organic ingredients and extracted using traditional methods to preserve all the natural nutrients and flavors. Whether you prefer coconut oil for cooking or sesame oil for skincare, Natureland Organics has a variety of options to choose from. Each bottle is packed with the goodness of nature, ensuring that every drop delivers pure and authentic flavor. Say goodbye to artificial additives and chemicals – with wood-pressed oil near me from Natureland Organics, you can rest assured that you are getting only the best for your body and soul.

More info: https://naturelandorganics.com/collections/organic-oil

[woodpressedoilbygaonsey]

Gaonsey makes peanut oil the old-fashioned way, using wood pressing. This method is supposed to keep the oil tasting good and all the healthy stuff inside. The oil is made in villages in India by women's groups. They use special machines made from neem and babool wood, which are said to be good for your health too.

[healthyfly]

Why Should You Use Wood-Pressed Groundnut Oil?

Learn about the benefits of Wood Pressed Groundnut Oil online in West Bengal. Discover the health benefits of premium quality oil. Find out more by visiting our website.

[clementinefight]

cold summer

My stress this summer is so bad, my neck is permanently stiff. Rigid, nervous, stone. A girl wakes in the middle of the night, she's alone in a deep world of empty houses, and in the dispossessed sleep of her childhood branches have started to grow from her arms, limp orange muddy leaves have overcome her hair, and she is rooting from toes down into floorboards. Nobody to ask a thing, like whether or not her experience of life is normal. So the branches grow, gather, then she is this isolated nature in her isolated bedroom, turned over to a cyclical light of day or night she sees only through gaps in her own weather, and so big with bushiness she can’t get out the manufactured door and enter the wood where, unbeknownst to her, are the others just like her, made of branches and leaves and who have solitary spirits also, though still need their roots to touch the roots of another. Or something. Sometimes, and I’m not proud of this, I look out at the green backyard and I see the peach-juice sun in the sky and I see the invisible breezes of July curling with tendrils of dark flora and it seems not like I'm here, but like I’m watching television, something bright and far away. I forget it’s my day, that I can even go over there and touch if I wanted to, I could even pee on the land like a dog would, if I wanted to, and claim this in some way.

Haven’t swam enough, haven’t walked enough, I’m becoming a little suburbanite cruising around in my dented car, seeing everything through eyes of windshield. The bushes, the houses, the pink sinking light—it’s all over there, and nothing is here but the music. This puts a strange layer of distance between me and summer, me and real things. I will make a point later to stick my toe in some mud – or press my bare hand into black pavement, will the asphalt to deflate like it’s a hot chocolate cake. Wouldn’t you like for the parking lots to liquify and sink below ground every summer, and for the black waves to rock our heat glistened cars around, up towards the marshmallow clouds; or for the greenery to not stop where it stops but extend until it’s like a shag of shining lime hair over the shopping mall, the movie theatre. If you don’t have a car, good for you, stay pure

Something else I’ve noticed — I’m such an impulse buyer. Buying feels close and friendly, like putting on some leather gloves. I would never want to see me at an auction. Stressed, my emotions lift to a crescendo where they then collapse from jitters into an almost hysterical net around my entire body—a pantsuit of stress, and it’s three colours: blue, red and purple, the baby. Feels warm, then cold. Here I either go to the grocery store to buy new condiments, shortbread, or jarred vegetables in brine or oil; or I’ll buy books online.

Today it was books. A small NYRB haul. I guess this is a fairly tame impulse, but I’d really rather be that one who stresses out and goes for a walk, or a swim, or a bike ride, or a scream into their pillow. Instead I just fill my cart, and it’s like filling a hole for a little while. Hate my methods. Look forward to the books. The Liar by Martin A. Hansen (“and for years now Johannes has lived alone”), My Friends by Emmanuel Bove, Machines in the Head by Anna Kavan and The Juniper Tree by Barbara Comyns. I’m drawn to stories with the desperate or resigned thud of loneliness in them; it’s what I relate to most; or maybe it’s not; it’s funny, even when people reach out for connection, I still want to believe it’s being alone I’m most capable of, even made for (I say that in a soldierly way, which makes it even more embarrassing). Björk was in a movie called The Juniper Tree, which was inspired by the Brothers Grimm fairy tale as was the novel by Comyns. Maybe I’ll read that too.

Today I’m in Montreal. I'm visiting my little brother. His balcony looks out onto other nondescript buildings, and he leaves the door wide open while he naps and I work on my laptop out here on the couch; trucks and cars roar a kind of grating metal noise down below, this noise feels prehistoric rather than modern, like out of sight the earth has split under lava and now we are getting not the sight but the noise, the noise. I decide to welcome it. The noise is not a fixed feature of my life anyway, but of his life, in this way it’s easy to welcome. Brief everything. Brief and body me. Bonobo plays on the television, then Seabear, and last night we watched some episodes of King of the Hill—the tornado episode had some beautiful red and green skies. My coffee this morning brought on nausea and I thought I could wave this dislocation off by eating a raisin croissant, but that made it worse, though at least it was good. Now I sit here with a foggy head taking forever to get my work done. EEEEEK

Later going to meet my brother’s girlfriend for the first time over some ramen! Then going to see the 10:15 show Oppenheimer with both of them, all three of us together.

In two weeks I leave for my trip! Ireland, Scotland, London, Iceland!

[jjungkooksthighs]

“Forgive me, m-master.” Those sweet, delicious words have his hips undulating even more torturously against her own. “You thought that would be enough to stop me? To stop this?” He emphasizes his question by gripping her neck tight, his other hand squeezing even more around the both of her wrists that he has trapped between it. “You have developed quite the tongue, omega. It wouldn’t surprise me that you are able to muster the courage to say that name when it so seldom leaves your lips in any other situation.” She yelps when his iron-clad hold begins to hurt. She doesn’t try fighting her way out of this, though. She knows better than that. He never liked it when she tried that. She wasn’t going to do it now, either. Instead, she begs. Begs for him to give her mercy. Mercy that will not come. Not this time. Instead of granting it, he growls low into her ear. You dare beg when you are the one who let another man’s words have more power over you than my own?” He scoffs, letting his cock rest against her ass for a moment as he stills. “Have you any idea how fucking infuriating that is? I can hardly get you to listen without the Bidding, but when he tells you of those stupid, useless little pieces of shit, you actually do?” His teeth graze at the shell of her ear as he asks, “What do you think that says about you, you little brat?” “I… I-“ She can’t finish. He doesn’t let her. The fingers around her throat press in, her brain going fuzzy as air is cut off for the briefest of moments. His sharp teeth bite down on the cartilage of her ear, “You’ll show him just how well you mind me, though, won’t you, omega? Because when I call everyone for a fucking gathering, you’re going to be a good fucking girl for once and obey everything I say. Don’t,” he threatens, his fingers closing even more around her neck, “I will make good on my threat and keep my cock to myself for days, weeks… maybe even months. We will see how well you mind me when you don’t have a knot in you during your heat.”

"I.. I didn't let another man's words have more.. power over me, alpha." She tries reasoning, faces downtrodden, little whimpers continually leaving her every now and then. "I.. I just wanted to try, alpha.. i just wanted to be.. bolder.. i wanted to surprise you! I didn't let Jin's words overrule yours, alpha! You can't say that!"

“Can’t I?” He challenges. “You have been told you do not need those useless pieces of shit to satisfy you. What do you do? You fucking buy them. Then,” he steps forth again, and in her prone position on the floor, all she can do is try to scramble back with both anticipation and intimidation stirring in her chest as he rounds on her. “You lie to me. For four fucking months. I waited so patiently and tried to give you every opportunity to tell me. You never fucking did.”

The thump of his footsteps are thunderous as he moves toward her while she scrambles to get back. “Only when you were fucked up with that aphrodisiac and I made you come six times did you finally fucking let it slip. And even then, you begged for forgiveness.”

He stops when her head bumps into the single leg of the decorative little circular wooden table, his hand grabbing its edge and hurling it straight into the fire. It breaks into pieces on contact with the stone set in the back of the fireplace, its remnants becoming a feast for the fire as it roars in thanks.

The golden light turns red with the addition of the dark, oil infused wood, and his features are sharpened in it as she stares in equal parts of desire and fear at him.

“I would have thought your little book would have taught you many ways you females can tempt us.” He crouches slowly until he’s on her level. “Clearly, that needs to be fed to the fire just like those internal contraptions were.”