#Traditional beauty remedies

[sammydigitaleu]

[choupicosmeticbeauty]

Dudu-Osun – hygienically sealed & individually packed – CLASSIC Black Soap.

[beeseverywhen]

you know how beauty products always make completely batshit claims? well it always annoys me cause I'm like. you've taken it too far now. I can't suspend my belief that far and now I won't get the benefit of the placebo effect. well I've found a convenient way around this where I now only buy muscle soaks with branding that's in a language I don't know. It says muskel it smells of something vaguely herbal, if I don't think too hard about it I can definitely believe the rest of that says something kind of believable about how this is gonna reduce muscle spasms. get ready for slightly increased symptom reduction from that hot bath.

[cyberclouddream]

The 6th House and Bad Fortunes

In Hellenistic astrology the 6th house is referred to the “place of bad fortune”, connected to disease and decline in vitality. Here it’s more associated with hardships and illness than daily routines and activities. This is due to it being twelve houses away from the 7th house, which would mean imprisonment to significant commitments, like our health and vitality.

It represents the challenges that arise when our creative and romantic aspirations meet reality. By addressing the issues related to health, routines, and service we can transform the challenges here into opportunities.

Aries Rising

- tedious jobs that demand grinding

- may clean up after others or work beneath your skill level

- burnout because of perfectionism

- overworking with little recognition

- hypochondria; frequent doctor’s visits or checkups

- nitpicky with coworkers

Remedies: balanced diet; prioritize and delegate tasks; activities that promote self-improvement; face issues head-on; eliminate distractions; learn to say no

Taurus Rising

- passive-aggressive co-workers

- people-pleasing overload

- headaches or skin problems

- jobs that lack beauty or creativity

- indecisive career path

- superficial relationship with colleagues

Remedies: make workplace aesthetically pleasing; distinguish supportive relationships from toxic ones; take proactive steps to manage burnout; stay physically active

Gemini Rising

- jobs full of manipulation, power struggles, or drama

- unhealthy or overwhelming intensity at work

- anxiety, digestive issues, or fatigue

- strong desire for control over work environment and tasks clash

- help others with hidden agendas

Remedies: stop avoiding hard tasks; let go of grudges; find a life outside of work; channel rage into work; get regular check ups

Cancer Rising

- dissatisfaction in routines

- overcommitting to responsibilities

- lack of exercise, weight issues, digestive problems

- conflict with traditions or authority

- too much optimism

Remedies: learn to focus on tasks; be wary of escapism; be honest about what you can handle; establish flexible routines

Leo Rising

- rigid rules or strict hierarchies in workplace

- relentless pursuit for success

- issues with bones, joints, or skin

- missing opportunities for joy

- feelings of isolation and loneliness

Remedies: drop guilt about labor and delegate tasks; don’t take work too seriously; reassess goals if feeling stagnant or underappreciated

Virgo Rising

- jobs that feel misaligned with values or ideals

- alienation at work

- inconsistent health practices; issues with circulation, nervous system, or sudden changes in well-being

- rebel against routine tasks or authority figures

- difficulties with structure or traditional methods

Remedies: make decisions instead of overthinking; engage more with colleagues; address and change when there’s discomfort; stop idealizing job or coworkers; embrace structure

Libra Rising

- neglect important tasks and responsibilities

- elusive health issues; frustration when seeking health solutions; often feel tired without clear reason

- sensitivity leads to overwhelming emotional labor

- lack of structure in workplace

- romanticizing hardships, sacrifices, or struggles

Remedies: stop dreaming and start doing; get real about health issues; don’t overindulge in pleasures; don’t let feelings dictate work ethic; confront conversations and conflicts head-on

Scorpio Rising

- rush into tasks without proper planning

- take on too much workload at once

- headaches, high blood pressure, or injuries over overexertion

- struggles with monotonous tasks

- inconsistent motivations

Remedies: think before you speak to not burn bridges; learn to collaborate; own your mistakes; get organized

Sagittarius Rising

- stuck in unfulfilling jobs that lack progress

- overindulge in comforts; overeating or neglecting physical activity

- resistance to new opportunities and changes at work

- jobs that offer little financial security

- neglecting mental health

Remedies: don’t cling to routines or methods; avoid complacency; don’t overindulge in comfort foods or luxuries; don’t expect people to read your mind

Capricorn Rising

- erratic work performance

- overwhelmed by too many projects

- headaches, digestive issues, or anxiety

- resist structured routines

- prioritize mental stimulation over exercise or proper nutrition

Remedies: don’t take on too many tasks at once; confront workplace drama; avoid procrastination; make time for resting well; think before you speak to avoid misunderstandings

Aquarius Rising

- difficulty separating feelings from workplace

- fluctuating health issues, like digestive problems or issues linked to their emotional state

- prioritizing helping others over their own needs

- home dynamics effect work

- lack of professional boundaries

Remedies: don’t play victim; set emotional boundaries at work; don’t beat around the bush; avoid overindulgence; be realistic about your limitations

Pisces Rising

- snuggle with recognition at work

- desires for leadership clash with authority

- neglect health for status and appearance

- difficulties maintaining routine

- dramatic responses to setbacks, like unnecessary stress

Remedies: quit trying to be the center of attention at work; limit drama and theatrics; don’t let your pride blind from constructive criticism; be a team player; avoid overcommitting because of your passion;

[sematarygirls]

The House On Peachtree Lane — Rafe Cameron.

pairing: serialkiller!rafe x fem!reader

summary: the abandoned house across the street had always given you the heebie jeebies, its crumbling foundation, and overgrown lawn looking like something straight out of a horror movie. however, when you began to notice a dark figure sneaking in and out of the house at odd hours of the night, you started to wonder if the house across the street was really abandoned at all.

warnings: very dark; viewer discretion adviced, male masturbation, sexual fantasies involving violence, icky rafe, stalking, mentions of murder, degradation, reader is a little freak, some manhandling

word count: 5.6k words !

a/n: starting off october right, yall. i have a strange fascination with writing characters that are actually batshit insane

The abandoned house on Peachtree Lane had a looming presence that seemed to overshadow the other houses on the residential street. Perfectly manicured lawns with each blade of grass a blindingly vibrant shade of green and cut to a perfect two and a half inches—never more, never less—lined the street of white picket fences and pristine white two story homes.

Peachtree Lane was the picturesque suburban neighborhood that you envisioned when you thought of that perfect, upper-middle class lifestyle. Each house was filled with a matriarch that had placed their entire self-worth into being perceived as the nuclear all-American family.

Then, there was that abandoned house. It threatened the image that had been so pristinely crafted to reflect the traditional values of suburban America. It was a blemish on the otherwise immaculate, postcard-worthy neighborhood. It stood tall and haunting in stature, casting a dark shadow over the neighborhood like a storm cloud foreshadowing the eventual fall of rain.

You, like the house across the street, were out of place among the families and elderly couples that lived on your block. You were a single woman in her twenties that had inherited the house after your grandmother passed away—a fact your mother nearly had a conniption over.

Your grass was a dull green, always too long or too short to fit neighborhood standards—both facts that you'd been reminded time and time again to remedy, but you didn't pay the PTA moms much mind. You knew they didn't have anything better to do than fuss over a strangers lawn, especially when they were so desperately trying to ignore the fact that most of their husbands were probably repressed homosexuals or fucking their secretaries.

You felt a sense of kinship with the abandoned house, an odd comfort with the fact that you both seemed to be peculiarly out of place. you often stared at it for hours, observing every detail.

It was a beautiful house with dark, Victorian architecture that stood out among the carbon copies surrounding it. The windows that weren't broken were boarded up, the tall, waist-length grass that surrounded the property and the animal carcasses hidden amongst it acting as a 'keep out' sign for potential trespassers. The roof looked like it was practically caving in on itself, and you couldn't help but wonder why the house was still standing. Why hadn't it been bulldozed and been replaced with another cookie-cutter American Dream Home? It was strange, intriguing even.

Even more strange was the fact that the house, at times, seemed to stare back at you.

Your fingers curled onto the edge of the windowsill, leaning forward and sticking your head out to feel the cool night breeze on your face. Almost instantly, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck perk up, bumps raising on the backs of your arms as the feeling of being watched crept up on you.

Your gaze immediately fell on the house across the street. The pit in your stomach that formed when your eyes darted from each shattered or dirtied window to the next seemed to confirm that your subconscious was almost positive that the pair of eyes on you was in that house.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as your eyes narrowed, trying to see past the darkeness and into the old house. You felt a strange vulnerability despite having checked and double-checked the locks on every door and window in your house atleast ten times that night.

Everyone knew of the serial killer that had been plaguing your town for months, brutally killing the fathers and occasional mother of the exact type of families that lined your street.

Knowing that you weren't his target demographic did little to ease your worry, though. There was always that nagging thought in the depths of your mind that you could be next, and that's what made this uneasy feeling of being watched all the more troubling.

Unbeknownst to you, the house on Peachtree Lane that everyone feared—whispers and rumors of monsters and decaying bodies inside keeping anyone from staring too long at the decrepit structure—was not abandoned at all.

Cameron Development owned the building, and when Rafe Cameron took over for his father, he made sure that the house stayed in his possession and that any attempts to renovate or demolish the property had fallen through.

The house, despite being an eyesore, had actually garnered significantly less attention than one may think. No bored, gossip-hungry housewives or nosey elderly couples with nothing better to do with their retirement than people watch would be intruding on his business and noting his presence if it was perceived as uninhabited.

Any spare glances at the house were brief and filled with distain. No one wanted to look at the rotting wood and trash-littered lawn for longer than they had to, which worked in the man's favor. No one would notice him entering and exiting at all odd hours of the night, nor would they think twice about the sharp, metallic smell that permeated the air around the house. It was the perfect cover.

He watched from one of the battered second story windows, sitting on a metal fold out chair with his legs spread wide, his presence hidden by the cover of night. A camera stood on a tripod in front of him, aimed strategically at your bedroom window.

He had been watching you since you moved in, and he knew that some deeply in tune facet of you was keenly aware of this fact. Subconsciously, like the way your eyes flickered to the 'abandoned' house when you felt your hair stand end, you knew someone was watching you, and he suspected that a part of you even liked it.

The way you pranced around your bedroom in your short nightgowns—fitted with a lace trim and small bows or flowers that made his dick twitch in his pants—and got changed carelessly with the windows open, blinds raised, and curtains parted for anyone to see. You were putting on a show for him; he was sure of it.

His bedside table was filled with pictures he had taken of you through your exposed window. In some of them, you were fully clothed—just having gotten back from work or the gym. In some of them, you were wearing those tempting, delicate little nightgowns that he was dying to rip off of you, and in the rest of them, you were completely naked—or naked adjacent. Pictures of you in nothing but a towel, in your underwear, and even completely nude with your tits or perfect ass on display made up most of his perverted little collection.

Nothing came close to the highs he felt when he came to your photos. He had tried, and failed, to find release in other women, fucking them hard and without reprieve to let out his pent up frustration. He even tried pretending they were you, pushing their heads into his pillows, so he didn't have to see their faces and be reminded that they weren't really you, but none of it worked. You were the only thing he wanted.

He watched your gaze dart from window to window, brows furrowing slightly as you searched for the source of that uneasy feeling that had settled deep within you. Strangely, you seemed more curious than you were afraid. He couldn't help himself as he ran his hand slowly up his thigh, fiddling with the button of his jeans and popping it open before pulling the zipper down.

He had a victim in his basement, probably screaming their head off and tugging at the restraints binding them to the chair, but he didn't care. His attention was fixed on you, and the way you seemed to search for him despite not really knowing that he was there.

He pulled his hard cock from his underwear, spreading his legs wider as he leaned back against the chair. His tip was flushed and leaking precum, just the sight of you working him into a frenzy. He swept his thumb over his aching head, smearing the evidence of his arousal across his hot skin. A sharp hiss tumbled from his mouth as he captured his bottom lip between his teeth, watching the way your gaze lingered on the very window he was in.

For a moment, as he dragged his hand down his throbbing length, the thought that you could see him flickered across his mind, and for that brief moment, he wished it was true. He wanted you to see him, to know that you had caused this.

But, then, just as quickly as your gaze had seemingly fallen on him, piercing into his soul in a way that had him groaning with animalistic need, it had retreated.

He watched with frustration, his movements speeding up, mimicking his inner strife for your actions, as you pulled back from the window and drew the curtains. You were teasing him, and he didn't like it.

Your curtains were sheer, so with the wind blowing in your window and the blinds still hiked up, they did little to actually disguise anything going on inside. This fact only fueled his annoyance because it meant that your act was out of defiance rather than self-preservation. If there was anything Rafe hated, it was when people defied him, especially when that person was you.

He tore his gaze from your house, head falling back and lips parting in pleasure as he continued to work his hand up and down his cock. He let his eyes flutter closed as he imagined all the things he'd like to do to you.

He pictured you, bound to the chair in his basement that so many had met their demise in. He would run his knife along your soft, smooth skin and watch you shudder in a mix of fear and anticipation. He wanted you teetering on the edge of terror and desire, never knowing whether he was going to fuck you or kill you.

He let out a low moan, imagining the tip of his knife dipping into your plush thighs. The sight of thick, hot blood dripping down your flushed skin as he carved his initials into your perfect flesh.

He could practically hear your soft whimpers and cries, his hand moving faster as he felt his pleasure building within him. You would beg and plead for him to stop, looking up at him with teary eyes that would only encourage him to keep going, to see how far he could go before he lost all self-control.

He couldn't decide what he wanted more: to hurt you or to pleasure you? Just as easily as he could see you in the basement of his murder house, he could imagine you laying in his bed, blissfully unaware of his dark side and the hundreds of pictures of you just beside your head. He could mold you into whatever he wanted, filling your pretty head with lies that he knew you'd eat right up.

The combined images flickered back and forth between domestic and depraved finally sent him over the edge with a cry of your name—which he'd learned by looking through your mail—as hot spurts of cum covered his hand and jean-clad thighs.

He panted, picking his head back up to look at your bedroom window. You had turned the light out, your room engulfed in a darkness that signified you had settled in bed and would soon be drifting off to sleep, if you hadn't already.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he let out a deep sigh, his brows furrowing as he tucked his softening dick back into his pants and stood, stretching his limbs as he wiped the sticky, white substance coating his hand onto his jeans. He walked to the door, giving your window one last glance before leaving and making his way down to his awaiting victim.

You had eventually brushed off that intense feeling of being watched after carefully examining the house and coming up empty. You had chalked it up to your paranoia surrounding the serial killer running amuck in your little town and settled into bed, letting your unease be washed away by the comfort of sleep.

It was only a couple hours later when something jolted you awake, your heart racing as your peaceful state was torn from you, replaced by an indescribable panic of unknown origin.

Your eyes darted around your bedroom, searching for any potential threats that could have been the cause of such a violent awakening, but you were greeted with nothing of note. You exhaled in relief as you confirmed that you weren't in immediate danger, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed, toes brushing the soft fibers of your plush rug, which provided a sense of comfort that grounded you to reality as you pushed yourself off the bed and into a standing position. Curiosity gnawed away at you with each growing second that you didn't have an answer for what had stolen you away from such a blissful dreamstate.

For reasons unknown to you, you felt a pull inside you, urging you to tiptoe over to the window. You moved slowly, tentatively, as if any sudden movements would somehow put you in harms way.

When you reached the window, curtains blowing wildly with the force of the wind, you hesitantly reached out, pulling back the sheer pink fabric so you could get a good look at the dimly lit street below.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, a cold feeling creeping up your spine from the mix of the chilly night air and the anticipation of what you might find.

You didn't truly expect to see anything. You lived in a safe neighborhood where the greatest crime to be committed was bringing a gluten dish to one of the neighborhood potlucks, but still, in that same part of you that feared being the Kildare Killer's next victim and always knew to look across the street at the abandoned house when you felt a sense of being watched wash over you, you knew something would be waiting beyond those decorative curtains.

You squinted, eyes scanning the sidewalk for a moment for anything out of the ordinary when suddenly, movement in the tall grass beside the old Victorian home caught your attention.

A figure, clad in a dark jacket with the hood pulled over their head, was dragging something heavy toward the street where a large, dark-colored SUV was idling. Your head cocked to the side, brows furrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity as you watched the person intently.

Even from this distance, you could tell they were tall and, judging by the size of the object they were lugging, strong, which led you to theorize that it was mostly likely a man. You couldn't help but notice how suspiciously human sized the trashbag seemed to be, your mind immediately jumping to the countless news stories detailing the crimes of the Kildare County Serial Killer you'd half-listened to while making dinner countless nights.

You were frozen in place, the rational part of you screaming at you to run to the phone and call the police, but again, that darker side of you prevailed, keeping you exactly where you were as you watched him load the person object into the SUV.

Your trance was only broken when the man lifted his head and looked directly at your window, almost as if he had known you were there. Your eyes widened as you quickly dropped to the floor, not even attempting to get a good look at his face as your self-preservation instincts finally kicked in, and you rushed out of view.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you sat there, waiting for something to happen. You half expected to hear glass breaking or knocking on your front door as the man tried to dispose of the only witness to his crime, but your house remained silent, eerily so now that you were thinking about it.

You stayed on the floor, your knees pressed to your chest, for what felt like hours as you mustered up the courage to peek out the window and see if the man was still outside. When you finally pushed yourself up, glancing down at the street below, you found it completely empty.

A relieved sigh fell from your lips as you braced yourself on the windowsill, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself as you tried to rationalize what you'd seen.

Maybe it was just someone cleaning out the old house. In the middle of the night? Your mind had nagged, despite your best efforts to push your doubts away. There was no way a serial killer was operating out of your neighborhood, and there was no way that you had just seen him. You wanted to remain blissfully ignorant as to what you'd witnessed, deciding against dwelling on it if you could help it.

The next day, around three in the afternoon, you were in your kitchen baking obsessively—your own little way of trying not to dwell on the possible murder aftermath you witnessed the night before—when a knock sounded at your front door.

You huffed, wiping your flour-coated hands on your jeans as you approached the door, expecting to see one of the mom's from the neighborhood that wanted to bitch at you about stuff you didn't care about or one of their children telling you that they accidentally threw a ball over your fence, and you had to retrieve it.

However, your eyes widened in surprise, a soft "oh" falling from your lips as you opened the door and came face to face with a tall, imposing man. He was incredibly handsome, clad in black dress pants and a white button up with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his forearms. His brown hair was fairly short and slightly tousled—a contrast to his otherwise put-together appearance.

"Um, can I help you?" You asked, your words laced with confusion. His smile seemed to widen as he took in your shocked expression, gaze darting to the white powder on your jeans before meeting your eyes again.

"I'm Rafe Cameron," he introduced himself, his blue eyes seeming to search yours for any sign of recognition.

"Nice to meet you, Rafe," you said, brows furrowing and tone uncertain. He found your confusion endearing in a pathetic sort of way, though, he was glad. This meant you didn't get a good look at him last night, and the lack of crime scene tape around the house across the street meant you hadn't called the police. Maybe you were more clueless than he thought.

You hesitantly introduced yourself because, even though you were completely unaware of who this man was or why he was at your door, it was the polite thing to do. You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side as the name Cameron echoed in your mind.

"Do I know you?" You asked suddenly, crossing your arms as you pondered. The name was so familiar to you, but you couldn't quite place it. A flicker of darkness crossed Rafe's features at your question.

"No, I don't believe so. I'd remember a pretty little thing like you," he flashed a charming, disarming grin and suddenly, it came to you.

"Cameron Development," you said, demeanor brightening as you finally recalled where you'd heard his name. That smile he gave you was the same one you'd seen on signs in countless empty lots throughout town. "I've seen your signs."

"Right, yeah," he nodded, visibility relaxing a little bit. "I'm just in the neighborhood asking around about that old house across the street. We're interested in renovating it, but we need to do our due diligence."

"Well, what do you want to know?" You asked. There wasn't much to tell about the house. It was old, practically crumbling, but you could see that just from looking at it.

"Well, have you noticed anyone hanging around, maybe squatting inside the house or loitering?" He asked, watching you with an eerie intensity. "I only ask because it could make our job more difficult if we have to fight with any unwanted guests."

"Yeah, no, I, uh, I get that," you cleared your throat, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You didn't like to lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth either. You were, undoubtedly, afraid, but overshadowed by that was this morbid fascination that you'd found yourself having for the house and the strange man you'd seen. "I mean, I haven't noticed anyone," you shrugged casually.

He smiled again, still regarding you intensely, but now, also with a glint of curiosity. He nodded, seeming satisfied by this answer. "Well, thank you for your time," he thanked you, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that made your stomach flutter. He said it so confidently, with a certain familiarity that put you strangely at ease for a reason you couldn't quite place.

"Of course," you smiled at him, your cheeks heating up as he stared at you for a few long seconds, taking in every dip and curve of your face, memorizing the way your lips quirked up and your eyes sparkled. He'd never seen you this close before, and it took every ounce of self control not to push his way inside.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," he nodded politely before hesitantly turning and heading back to his car, which was parked right in front of your house.

"You too," you called after him, leaning against the door and biting your lip as you watched him retreat. Once he reached the sidewalk, you reluctantly pulled back and pushed the door closed, not wanting to be caught staring and be perceived as some kind of creep.

Despite knowing where you'd seen his face, you couldn't shake this sense that you knew him from somewhere else, somewhere other than those advertisements posted around town. There was a strange nausea that settled in your throat as you watched him leave, a feeling of dread that perplexed you.

In the following weeks, that gnawing feeling only intensified as your paranoia did. Little things started to catch your attention, your perception of reality cracking with each slightly opened window or drawer, missing piece of clothing, and creaking noise that jolted you awake during the night.

You weren't sure if it was just your mind playing tricks on you or if something was really going on, but you felt like you were going crazy. You felt unnerved being in your own home, like you weren't safe. The feeling of watched had grown to something thick and suffocating, but for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

You should've called the police. You should've went to your mother's house or a hotel, anywhere to get away from the man across the street that you suspected was to blame for all the out of the ordinary occurrences, but you didn't. You stayed put, letting yourself be the mouse in whatever sick game he was playing because deep down, a part of you—that you wished desperately didn't exist—was enjoying the attention.

It was around two a.m., and you were tossing in bed, a restlessness settling over you. You'd been obsessing over that house, always staring and seeking signs of life now that you knew someone had been there, and it was starting to take over your life. You needed to know what was in there. You needed to know if it truly was a murder scene.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself up, leaning back on your arms as your eyes darted around the room. Were you really going to investigate a potential serial killer's house in the middle of the night? You pondered the question, briefly wondering if this would classify you as clinically insane.

Clearly, your survival instincts didn't fully develop as a child because you found yourself pushing the comforter from your body and getting to your feet.

You grabbed a plush throw blanket from your bed and wrapped it around your body for comfort and to keep warm as you traversed through your house, down the stairs, and to the front door. You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, slipping a pair of shoes on.

You sucked in one last breath before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Stepping outside, you found yourself pulling the blanket tighter around you as the chilly air brushed against your exposed skin.

The house looked even more imposing the closer you got to it. In the darkness, it seemed like it could come to life and eat you whole. It made you feel so small, so insignificant in a way as you looked up at the looming structure before you.

The wind whistled, echoing through the silent night, which set you even more on edge, but still, you didn't turn back. Your curiosity was stronger than your fear—an incredibly dangerous thing.

You seemed to shrink in on yourself as you stepped onto the pathway to the front door, the untamed grass reaching across the concrete to grab at you. Grimacing, you pushed the grass aside with one hand, the other keeping your blanket securely around you.

Stepping onto the porch, you were careful to step around the patches of collapsing, rotting wood. The front door stared back at you, daring you to open it and satisfy your gnawing curiosity, and you obliged, shaky hands reaching for the knob.

You turned it and pushed the door forward, a deafening squeak of the seldom used hinges reverberating off the ruined walls. The smell of rot immediately infiltrated your senses, making your face contort in disgust as you stepped into the house, eyes flickering from the delicate ground to the dusty furniture inside.

A deteriorated stone fireplace sat against the left wall, the mantle filled with dusty photos encompassed in cracked glass and broken frames. An old, red cabriole sofa—which looked more like a muted maroon color from all the dirt and grime coating it—sat facing the fireplace, a matching arm chair adjacent to it.

You could imagine how lively and warm the house likely once was, with children's feet pattering against the hardwood as they chased each other through the home, careful to avoid their parent's precious vases and other expensive decorative items.

It made you feel sad that such a beautiful home that once knew vibrance and love was now left to be forgotten to the unforgiving perils of time—all the priceless memories and moments that had happened within the walls obsolete when compared to the true vastness of the universe.

You continued your journey into the home, the scent of decay growing stronger with each step you took toward the unknown. You entered the kitchen, brows furrowing as you saw a small doll laying in the middle of the floor.

You crouched down, refraining from reaching out to it. It was a pale fabric doll with stringy, dirtied yellow hair and big blue eyes. What caught your eye, however, was the big splotch of dried blood on the front of her pink dress.

You shuddered, standing back up straight and letting your gaze wander the kitchen, taking in the beautiful antique architecture and color scheme. The cabinets were a rich brown with green accents, a chunk of remaining glass in one of them indicating that it was once a lovely diamond pattern.

Suddenly, a hand snaked around your waist, pulling you from behind into a hard chest. Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to scream, but the person behind you quickly clamped their other palm over your mouth.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said threateningly, his breath hot against your ear as he dipped his head down.

Your heart raced in your chest, breath quickening in shock and fear. Your fight or flight instincts took over, unfortunately deciding to freeze instead of doing anything helpful.

Through your panicked haze, you realized that you knew this voice. You had been replaying the short conversation you had with that handsome man since it happened, his deep, smooth voice that made your legs clench and your heart flutter echoing through your mind on repeat.

"What am I gonna do with you, hm?" he hummed, his fingers dancing from your mouth to your neck; meanwhile, his other hand stayed splayed on your stomach, keeping your body firmly pressed against his. His large palm wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently, which elicited a gasp from you.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" You could hear the amusement in his tone as he mocked you. "You're fuckin' sick, aren't you?"

In one fluid motion, he turned you around and shoved you back against the kitchen island. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth as your back collided with the edge of the counter.

You looked up at him, your eyes widened as your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You knew you should've tried to run, but when your eyes locked onto his cold, blue ones, you found yourself glued in place.

Your compliance seemed to please him. A sadistic grin tugged at his lips as he looked down at you, reaching out to grab your jaw roughly, his grip bordering on painful. "You saw me the other night, didn't you?"

Your breath hitched, and after a beat of silence, you hesitantly nodded. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you.

"God, you're fucked up," he laughed cruelly, causing your brows to furrow. Was the serial killer who gutted people and staged their bodies for their families to find really calling you fucked up?

"Aw, I'm sorry," he cooed mockingly, leaning so close that you felt his breath fanning your face and could smell the faint scent of beer and a breath mint. "Did that upset you?"

"You killed them," you finally spoke, your voice quiet and shaking with fear and uncertainty.

"Uh huh," he grinned proudly, his voice dropping as he spoke again: "Does that scare you?"

It probably should. You should be shitting yourself right now, screaming and crying while trying to escape. Instead, you were curious—an emotion you couldn't seem to shake lately.

You wanted to know more about him. Why did he kill, and more importantly, why mostly family men and father figures? You wanted to dive deep into his psyche. And, truthfully, the feeling of his hands on your skin was addicting. Now that you'd felt it, you wanted more.

"I don't know," you practically whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up as he regarded you with that same intense stare. His thumb caressed your cheek, feeling the growing heat against the pad of his finger.

He grinned at your answer, his grip on your jaw tightening as he pulled your face forward, smashing his lips onto yours in an aggressive, sloppy kiss. You gasped softly in surprise, allowing him to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to pull away, but you hadn't listened to the rational part of yourself at all thus far, and you weren't planning to start now. Your hands curled into the material of his grey t-shirt, pulling him closer as a small noise of pleasure bubbled up your throat.

His hand slid back into your hair from your jaw, gripping tightly as he tugged your head back a little. His other hand gripped your waist roughly, his fingers digging into your skin through your nightgown.

Rafe had been fantasizing about finally getting his hands on you for months, but never did he think that you'd walk right into his little murder house and practically serve yourself up to him on a silver platter. Something about you knowing what he truly was and fearing him but also desiring him made him want you more than he thought was possible.

When you finally pulled away, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, Rafe's grip didn't let up; in fact, he tightened it the slightest bit, as if he was afraid that you'd change your mind and try to run.

"You know I can never let you go now," he hummed, a hint of smile pulling at the lips. "Can't risk you exposing my little secret."

You looked up at him, your eyes widening slightly as you processed what he had just said. "What?" You asked, lips parting slightly and brows furrowing in confusion.

His gaze darkened as he imagined shoving his dick between your pretty parted lips. "You're mine now, doll," he clarified, leaving no room for argument. "If you're a good girl, I'll let you stay with me at home, but if you try to leave, I'll lock you in this very basement."

You swallowed hard, considering his threat carefully. You didn't want to know what was waiting for you in that basement if you decided to be difficult. "Okay," you conceeded, nodding as you sealed your fate and agreed to your new life under his surveillance 24/7.

As you watched his features soften slightly in satisfaction, you thought about all the barbaric things that had probably happened in this house, all the wonderful memories you'd imagined before now tainted by the sheer weight of what Rafe had done here. How had the once beautiful house on Peachtree Lane, filled with life and love, turned into a house of horrors?

tags .ᐟ @nemesyaaa

[plussizefantasia]

Fluttering Heart

Fluffober Day 13: Soulmates

Kili Durin x f!human!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: OMG! This has definitely been my favorite to write so far. I love Kili with my whole heart and that for sure came out while I was writing. I really want to see about making this a longer series once October ends, if anyone wants to see that leave a comment and let me know.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

The culture of the dwarves is much like their treasure, kept under lock and key. Histories, customs, and traditions all are played very close to the chest of the stubborn race. The only beings who are let in on the secret are those lucky enough to be a fated match. 

There are different names for these matches in every culture, Soulmates, true loves, twin flames. The dwarves called them Ones. To find your One was said to be the best day of your life. At least that is what Kili thought, he wouldn’t know though. He hadn’t met his yet. 

His uncle’s one had been the Hobbit, Bilibo took longer to fall than Thorin but fell just as hard if not harder than the dwarf. The two were very much in love, it was sickening. His mother’s One had been his father, and he doesn’t remember much about their time together. Fee’s One was a lovely lass that had come from the Blue Mountains to try and establish herself as a seamstress under the mountain. 

All of them had told him how wonderful finding their Ones was, even Thorin whose One was not of the race of Dwarf and thusly did not feel the same pull that he had. Thorin had to actually make Bilbo fall in love with him, which amused Kili to no end because of how much their two personalities seemed to clash. 

Kili hates spending time under the mountain now, he loves Erebor and takes pride in the fact that he was one of the brave few who had reconquered it, but everywhere he looked he saw people being happy with something he did not have. 

The feeling went much deeper than those childhood squabbles he had had with Fili when the two pebbles would play together. Jealousy over toys was easily remedied, the ache that had recently taken up residence in Kili’s heart was much more difficult to push aside or fix.

So he had taken to going for walks. He had volunteered himself too many times to be the point of contact for the King of Dale. He had told Thorin it was because he wanted to prove that he could be trusted with matters of diplomacy. He might not be next in line, but he was still a prince and could take care of these things. It was on one of these trips to Dale that Kili met the very person who would change his life.

She was of the race of men and seemed to work in one of the few taverns that housed the nightlife of the town. Kili was in a sort of informal meeting with Bard, his son Bain, and the Captain of the Guard. They were discussing a deal between the two kingdoms where Erebor would provide the army of Dale with iron-forged armor and weapons and in turn, Dale would pledge their allegiance to the kingdom under the mountain in any future battle. Kili couldn’t help but find the humor in the reversal of roles as if the company had not asked and pledged the same things five years ago. This clause was only one of the facets that made up the current peace treaty in the works. It was Kili’s idea to have the meeting in a less tense and stuffy room than they were previously held in. 

“Everybody has to eat Bard, why don’t we eat and talk at the same time? I’m sure we’d all be much more comfortable.” Bard had agreed at the behest of Bain who had laughed and reminded his father of the last time he had had a proper meal. After that, the men had embarked towards Bard’s favorite tavern. And judging by the way he had jovially called out to the man behind the bar, he was at least acquainted with the people who worked there.

Their waitress was a beautiful woman, who had skills like Kili had never seen, and he had been in a lot of taverns. She was able to carry three trays of piping hot food at the same time and at one point he had even seen her stack and move at least twelve pint glasses to a rowdier table towards the back of the establishment. And she did all this with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

If only he would actually get to talk to her. The tavern was busy and she seemed to be one of the only other people working besides the man behind the bar and whoever was preparing the food to be served. She was never in the same place for a very long time. After she had gotten their initial order she had placed their pints down and immediately zipped off to fulfill the next request. 

Without the ability to actually talk to her, Kili had to settle for second-hand knowledge. “So what can you tell me about the woman who served us?” Kili asked nobody in particular.

“Why, do you fancy her?” Came Bain’s reply.

“No, but any woman that can carry that much and move that fast without wasting a drop is certainly one I want to get to know.”

“Her name is y/n, She’s apprenticed to Brant, the man who owns this tavern. She arrived in Dale a year or two ago. I think she's from Bree but she's settled here. I think she has an arrangement with him, when he finally retires the place will be hers.” Bard had explained, throwing a somewhat scolding glance at his son. Kili might be young and more carefree than his uncle but he is still a prince and Bard did not wish to offend him.

“Interesting, any idea why she left Bree? It’s quite a long journey to take on your own.” Kili asked. 

“Why don’t you ask her?” A third, much more feminine voice replied. Kili who had not seen her make her way over to their table, had nearly jumped out of his skin. The other men tried and failed to hide their amusement at his predicament. “After all, I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you as long as she didn’t catch you talking about her when she wasn’t around.” She had said all of this with a smile spread across her face and delight in her voice. Kili wasn’t really sure how she felt about his impolite inquiries, but she hadn't chased him out of the establishment with a broom yet, so he thought he was okay.

“I’ve gotten everyone else settled and thought I’d come visit the King, how are you this evening King Bard?” her attention was firmly placed on the King of Dale now, and Kili longed for her piercing gaze to once again land on him.

“I’ve told you, it’s just Bard, all of this King nonsense will just go to my head,”

“Of course King Bard.” She smirked and turned towards the rest of the men. “Anything else I can get you, gentlemen?” With a firm nod at their newest order, she spun and headed back towards the bar.

“I think I’m in love.” Kili had said under his breath. 

“I think it’ll take you much more than that to win her over.” Bain had replied, hearing Kili’s self-confession. “Every time we’re in here I see her turn down men. Granted, most of them are usually drunkards but the principle is all the same.”

Kili was certain that the fluttering in his chest and the feeling of light-headedness had to mean something. And given that both the feelings had started right after she had spoken to him, he was pretty sure he knew what it was. 

“Here you are boys, four more pints and a basket of bread, on the house.” She had placed the basket of bread and little bowls of butter and honey on the table. When she pulled her hand away it bumped into Kili and sent a wave of shocks all the way up his arm.

[mokokone]

Hey. Sorry if I'm distracting. I would like to request a kusuriuri/reader yandere. I know the yandere theme has already been touched upon, but I would be interested in reading a specific plot involving the use of "medicines" on the reader. tysm in advance, love your writings!

A/n: No words can not describe the things I've written for this. Honestly, a Yandere!Medicine Seller/Kusuriuri scares me(😨). But hope you enjoy.

⚠Warning!⚠ This story contains sensitive topics, and may not be suitable for sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised.

The Apothecary's Obsession |Yandere!Kusuriuri x Reader Oneshot|

Kusuriuri gazed upon your sleeping form, his heart swelling with a twisted adoration. You're his everything, his reason for being, and he would stop at nothing to ensure you never left his side. As he watched your chest rise and fall, a sickening sense of possessiveness consumed him.

 With a careful hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering on her soft skin. "My beautiful (Y/n)," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous affection.

"You'll never leave me, will you?"

 Reaching into the obi of his kimono, he produced a small vial filled with a translucent liquid. Gently, he tilted your head back and parted your cherry blossom lips, allowing a few drops of the concoction to trickle into you mouth.

You stirred slightly, but remained in your deep slumber.

 "Shh, my love," he soothed, cradling you in his arms. "This is just a little something to help you rest a bit longer." He pressed his lavender lips against yours, savoring the taste of you, his embrace tightening possessively.

 When you finally awoke, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the small minka (a traditional Japanese house). Kusuriuri was by your side, a gentle smile on his face, and holding a tea cup and saucer in his lap.

 "Good morning, my dear," he said, offering you the steaming cup of tea. "You've been sleeping a lot as of late, so I made you some special medicine to help keep your energy up," he lied.

"Drink up."

"Oh, thank you, Kusuriuri," You accepted the cup, your brow furrowed in confusion. "I... I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope I'm not coming down with head-cold," You said.

 Kusuriuri chuckled softly, his hand caressing her cheek. "If you are, then I'll take care of you, my love. But perhaps you're just simply exhausted. Now, drink your tea and rest."

Voluntarily, you sipped the tea, the warm liquid soothing your throat. As the minutes ticked by, you felt a familiar drowsiness settle over your, your eyelids growing heavy.

 "That's it, my dear," Kusuriuri murmured, pulling your close. "Sleep now, and when you wake, everything will be alright~♡"

 Succumbing to the "medicine's" effects, you drifted off, unaware of the twisted obsession that consumed your lover.

Kusuriuri watched over you, his embrace tightening possessively, Carefully, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a possessive kiss. "You are mine, (Y/n)," he whispered, "and no one else will ever have you." He adds, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity.

"I'll make sure of that."

As you slept, Kusuriuri prepared a second remedy, one that would ensnare you very being to him. He poured the liquid into your mouth, ensuring that every drop was consumed before gently shaking you awake.

 "Wake up, my love," he murmured, his fingers tracing the contours of your face.

 Your eyes fluttered open, and you gazed blankly up at Kusuriuri suddenly feeling a newfound adoration.

"Kusuriuri,♡" you breathed, your voice dripping with love and desire, "I love you. I love you so much!♡"

 Kusuriuri smiled, his plan unfolding perfectly. The remedy he'd given you was similar to a love potion. "And I will always be here for you, my dear. Forever and always."

 And so the cycle continued, with Kusuriuri making medicine for you whenever he feared you might stray, his love for you twisted into a dark, unbreakable obsession. In his (twisted) mind, he was the only one who could truly care for you, the only one who could keep you safe and loved.

 As the sun set on the small wooden minka, the shadows seemed to grow longer, reflecting the darkness that had taken root in Kusuriuri's heart. And you, oblivious to the true nature of your lover's affection, continued to sleep, trapped in a nightmare from which you could not escape.

 ❁END❁ 

[vermilionsun]

Ais: Viking Era (about 800–1050 CE)

Description: The Viking culture emphasizes strength, independence, exploration, and a strong warrior culture. Ais' fierce and determined personality aligns well with the Viking ethos of bravery and combat prowess. The Viking Age's focus on personal valor and leadership in battle mirrors Ais' character strengths.

Leander: Victorian England (19th Century)

Description: The Victorian era is characterized by its distinct social norms, elaborate fashion, and a fascination with the occult and the supernatural. Leander's elegant and refined demeanor, combined with his darker, more mysterious undertones, align well with the Victorian fascination with both high society and the macabre.

Mhin: Edo Period Japan (17th Century)

Description: The Edo period in Japan is marked by its isolationist policies, the rise of the samurai, and a flourishing of traditional arts and culture. Mhin’s austere, reserved, and introspective nature fits well within the context of a samurai or an artisan during this period, reflecting the values of honor, precision, and a deep connection to family and traditions.

Kuras: Renaissance Italy (15th Century)

Description: The Renaissance era marks a period of great intellectual, artistic, and cultural growth. Kuras, with his intellectual depth, curiosity, and healing abilities, mirrors the Renaissance man – a scholar, a healer, and a seeker of knowledge and beauty.

Vere: Baroque Era (1600-1750)

Description: The Baroque era is characterized by its dramatic, detailed, and grandiose art and architecture. Vere’s flamboyant and theatrical personality, combined with his enigmatic and seductive nature, aligns well with the baroque emphasis on drama, emotion, and intricate details.

Bonus: Main Character (MC): Medieval Europe (12th Century)

Description: The Medieval era is known for its knights, castles, and chivalric codes, as well as a deep-rooted connection to mythology and folklore. It was a time when many individuals embarked on pilgrimages or traveled in search of remedies. This fits the MC’s background of seeking a solution regarding their curse. The era’s deep religious undertones align well with themes of faith and redemption, healing, and personal growth, honor-driven quests, meeting with different cultures, religions, and social classes.

[unseemingowl]

Saga Anderson, and Nordic rep in Alan Wake 2

Early on in Saga Anderson’s exploration in Alan Wake 2, she runs into Ilmo Koskela. Fiercely proud of his Finnish heritage, Ilmo gregariously makes note of Saga’s Nordic sounding name and the familiar design of her knitted sweater. Perhaps a fellow Finn?

Alas no, Saga’s mom is Swedish she informs him. Immediately Ilmo’s face falls. I’m not sure if it’s actually just the animated character defaulting to his resting face, but either way the timing is too perfect. Cue uproarious laughter from me. People in the Nordics are on friendly terms of course, but we gotta have the tiniest bit of… scornfor each other. All in good fun of course. It’s traditional.

Now, I’m Danish, not Finnish, but still, I feel right at home in the towns of Bright Falls and Watery in Alan Wake 2. All of the little nods to Nordic culture and mindset feel so wonderfully familiar to me. The melancholia, the irreverent sense of humor, the affection for the Finnish and Swedish quirks of the characters. The game feels all the stronger in tone and narrative for Remedy embracing the Finnish roots of the studio.

Which is exactly why it sucks that I almost immediately saw the charm of those narrative decisions weaponised against Saga.

I first watched the scene between Ilmo and Saga on a lets play when I was trying to figure out if I should finally dip my toes into survival horror and buy the game. Delighted by the writing I took a look into the comments to see if people were vibing as hard with it as I was. They were. But I also saw a comment that made me frown.

Paraphrasing, it basically went, come on, like hell a guy like Ilmo would make the assumption that a black woman is Finnish. There are a multitude of reasons why I think that person was wrong, mainly that Nordic people love it when we run into each other in other countries, but it also just made me sad.

Saga being black does not negate her Swedish heritage. Formally, she is American, sure (I assume, not sure how that works in the US), but she’s raised by her single Swedish mom, of course she’s going to identify heavily with that part of her herself. It’s a profound and essential part of who she is.

But hey, I’m a white potato Dane, so I’m not gonna argue that I know much about the experience of being biracial. I’m gonna stick to what I know, which is that Saga is a very moving and beautiful example of something that I’m actually not used to seeing much of - a story about connecting with your Nordic heritage and roots. And it’s part of why I love her so much.

When Nordic people show up in big, international productions, it’s usually as Vikings, and sure, it’s fun to see our wild ancestors, but contemporary questions of Nordic identity and heritage is not something I often see explored. Not even in our own productions.

So much of Saga’s story is about family. Fighting for her current one, Logan and Casey (and sure, David too, lol), and rediscovering her first one. Tor and Odin.

Her discovering her ties to Tor and Odin is profoundly moving and made me teary-eyed several times over. And sure, a lot of those ties are fantastical in nature, but they still feel very much grounded - and what makes us Nordic if not the ties to our myths and legends that Tor and Odin have made themselves the living avatars of.

While Saga’s mom, Freya, had good reasons for leaving the Anderson seer magics behind, seeing them as part of what made her family fucked up, she also cut Saga off from the fullness of her capabilities. It is only through Saga reforming her family, healing its scars and fully embracing the Anderson heritage that she becomes as powerful a parautilitarian as she is at the end of the game. That’s beautiful.

And in fact I think Saga being black only deepens the richness of those themes rather than negate them or make them irrelevant. Because yes, Saga’s story would have been moving if she was a white character too, but I am very well aware that a lot of biracial people of Nordic ancestry can feel alienated from that part of themselves. Not least because questions of who gets to claim a Nordic heritage can get pretty ugly around here. There are most definitely people who share the racist mindset of that commentator. It adds an extra dimension. Which is why seeing Tor and Odin’s eagerness to claim Saga as part of the Anderson heritage is all the more moving. Through her magics, she’s just so obviously an Anderson, and they’re so damn proud to call her theirs and fight alongside her. Because they all got that wild Viking blood in them. They’re part of her and she’s part of them.

Roger Ebert, the film critic once called movies empathy machines. I think games, when they’re at their best, can be an even more intense variation of that. Which is exactly why it baffles me that some people can play through Alan Wake 2 and still think Saga is a stunt-woke character rather than someone fully and beautifully integrated in the narrative. A narrative which, at its most basic level – in my opinion – is about the mystical bonds we form with each other and the rest of the world through art and love and blood and family and heritage. All the great horror doesn’t negate that either, it amplifies it. Kind of like that clicker.

[zenkindoflove]

Erixius Masterlist

New to Erixius? I suggest reading my one-shot "Carry You Home" as a good introduction to the ship if you aren't ready for a multichapter fic.

Multichapter Fics

Let the Light Linger (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

WIP, 1/4 chapters, 5,600 words Summary: High Lord Eris reluctantly attends the Winter Solstice party in the Day Court to visit his mother. He intends for this to be a quick visit, but instead he finds himself wrapped in a night filled with sexual tension and brazen flirtation with an alluring male named Alexius.There is something about this male that sinks under Eris’ resolve, making him question his duty and his future. Can he have him for just one night? Or will one taste ruin him for eternity?

Summer Heat (E) - Elain x Lucien, Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

Complete, 18/18 chapters, 114,890 words Summary: Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years. Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance

Pull Me in Deeper (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

Complete, 23/23 chapters, ~115,000 words Summary: Needing more alliances, Eris strikes a deal with Helion: go to the continent and find out information for him, and Day Court will support him usurping Beron. What he didn’t account for is the beautiful Day Court emissary accompanying him that makes his heart race while being such a thorn in his side.

Autumn Leaves and Day Dreams (M) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

WIP, 3/? chapters, 2,500 words Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and short fics for Eris x Alexius, a male OC from Day Court I created in my fic Summer Heat which you can read for longer form Eris x Alexius content. These are mostly from prompts submitted via Tumblr. Each chapter is its own story and some may have follow-ups in the future.

Short Fics

Taste of You (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 2,200 words Summary: Eris and his mate Alexius are on a tour of Autumn. Alexius is feeling cooped up in the carriage and Eris has an idea of how to release some tension. PWP

Caress Me Down (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 2k words Summary: Alexius pulls his hamstring and Eris has the perfect remedy: a massage. PWP. For Eris Week 2024 Day 3: Healing | Betrayal.

The Jewel of The Forest House (T) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 5k words Summary: Eris’ mate Alexius brings home a stray dog to the Forest House that Eris is reluctant to accept. Jewel is feisty, impolite, and most importantly, nothing like his smokehounds. For Eris Week 2024 Day 4: Tradition | Hounds

Carry You Home (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 15k words Summary: During the Hybern battle, Eris is mortally wounded and ready to die. Until a knight in shining armor saves his life. He isn’t sure how to thank him, but he has all night to try. Takes place during ACOWAR. For Eris Week 2024 Day 5: War | Adventure.

Fanarts, Commissions, & Other

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 7 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 12 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 16 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius commissioned fanart 🍂☀️ by @works-of-heart

Eris x Alexius PMID fanart by @thrumugnyr

Eris x Alexius blob fanart by @bonecarversbestie

Eris x Alexius commissioned end of PMID/Autumn Court fanart by @jennastokesart *banner art

Eris & Hounds fanart with TJOTFH inspo by @little-fierling

Free and unashamed: an Erixius playlist

Erixius at the beach commissioned fanart by @luciensdefenseattorney

Freddie Fox Eris fancast commissioned fanart by @evermorelore

OC Alexius fanart by @queercontrarian

Erixius Vampire AU fanart by @works-of-heart

OC Alexius Blob fanart by @bonecarversbestie

Erixius Stupid Ass Ship Chart

Erixius: Get To Know My OTP Chart

Eris Week 2024 Masterlist

Eris x Alexius Solstice fanart by @works-of-heart

Eris x Alexius Solstice/Holiday commissioned fanart with bonus unicorn painting by @jadedbugart

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

[goayda]

I just realized I’ve never posted any Christmas-themed what-ifs… I shall remedy that right now!

So what if in a s1 AU where Izzy joined Ed and Stede at the fancy party and there was no duel, it’s almost Christmas and Ed and Izzy are a bit baffled about how excited Stede is about it.

Ed and Izzy aren’t used to big celebrations and presents and decorations and when Stede and the crew start hanging Christmas ornaments (some of them handmade, some of them found in a recent raid) and tinsel everywhere, it takes Ed like five minutes to jump in and start helping with the preparations, excited like a child on… well, like a child on Christmas morning.

And then Stede is organizing an exchange of presents and Izzy is looking around horrified because they have also hung mistletoe EVERYWHERE, but Stede simply says ‘it’s a tradition’ when Izzy tries to complain that it will distract the crew even more from their tasks.

And soon there are people smooching in every corner at random moments and Izzy is having a hard time doing his job around the ship because he tries so hard to avoid stopping under any sprig of mistletoe and there are SO MANY.

(Also he might be a bit paranoid but Izzy thinks the crew is watching him more closely now. Even Stede, who is quite bad at pretending he is not staring at him, by the way.)

Izzy manages to avoid the mistletoe for a few days, but then when Ed calls him to check on some clouds by the railing, he makes a mistake.

(But he is distracted by how beautiful Ed is looking that morning as he points at the horizon in a red silk shirt, who could blame him?)

When he walks to stand beside Ed, Izzy sees him turning to look at him with a mischievous smile and then it’s when Izzy realizes there is a very small sprig of mistletoe right above them.

“It’s a tradition, Iz,” Ed says, his smile softening.

And then he is leaning down to kiss him and Izzy has stopped breathing for some reason and then… the ship is hit by a strong wave and it sways roughly, almost making them lose their footing and making the mistletoe fall into the water.

Izzy runs away, trying not to look as if he is running away, and the pain in his chest feels more like disappointment than fear.

Ed looks heartbroken and Stede and the crew try to cheer him up.

“Don’t worry, darling, there will be a next time,” Stede says, rubbing his shoulders. “You got a lot closer to get a kiss from Izzy than me anyway.”

“Sorry I didn’t knot the mistletoe better, Ed,” Frenchie apologizes.

“Do we have more around?” The Swede asks. “We could hang more mistletoe so the captains would have more chances.”

“We could move the ones we have to different places,” Wee John suggests. “He won’t be expecting that!”

“Why don’t you idiots simply tell him that you want to kiss him?” Jim says, annoyed.

But the captains simply ignore them and keep planning their next move.

[sappy-witch]

🗓️ Organizing Your Witchy Rituals 🌙✨

Hello darlings 🥰

It is easy to feel overwhelmed by all the witchy things you’d like to do, so creating a schedule for your witchy rituals can bring structure and balance to your practice. Here's a suggested weekly timetable to inspire you:

🌕 Monday: Moon Magic On Mondays, align your practice with the energy of the moon. Perform rituals for manifestation, divination, or connecting with your intuition. Charge and cleanse your crystals under the moonlight.

🌿 Tuesday: Herb and Plant Magic Dedicate Tuesdays to working with herbs and plants. This can involve creating herbal remedies, growing your magical herb garden, or connecting with the spirit of plants through meditation and nature walks.

🔥 Wednesday: Elemental Magic Explore the power of the elements on Wednesdays. Work with fire for transformation, air for communication and clarity, water for emotions and intuition, and earth for grounding and stability. Incorporate rituals that honor and connect with each element.

🔮 Thursday: Divination and Spellcasting On Thursdays, focus on divination and spellcasting. Use tarot cards, oracle decks, or other divination tools to gain insight and guidance. Perform spellwork to manifest your desires and bring positive change into your life.

✨ Friday: Self-Care and Enchantment Fridays are dedicated to self-care and enchantment. Take time to pamper yourself with magical baths, create sacred spaces, or explore beauty rituals that enhance your inner and outer radiance. Practice self-love and self-empowerment spells.

🌟 Saturday: Spirituality and Connection Saturdays are perfect for deepening your spiritual practice and connecting with the divine. Engage in meditation, explore different spiritual traditions, work on your energy healing techniques, or perform rituals to connect with your spirit guides or ancestors.

📚 Sunday: Study and Reflection Use Sundays for studying and reflecting on your magical path. Dive into books, online resources, or courses that expand your knowledge of witchcraft, spirituality, or esoteric subjects. Journal about your experiences, insights, and personal growth.

A healthy and effective schedule will always be unique to you, but I hope this guideline will inspire you to take more control of your time as a practicing witch 🥰✨ 

 ____

🌞 If you enjoy my posts, please consider donating to my energies 🌞

✨🔮 Request a Tarot Reading Here 🔮✨

____

With love, from a Sappy Witch 🔮💕

Blessed be. 🕊✨

[mothyandthesquid]

Chrysanthemum flowers have central tubular disc florets surrounded by layers of beautiful ray florets, which together create their distinctive appearance. They are native to East Asia, particularly China, where they are considered a symbol of nobility and purity. In Japan, they are a symbol of longevity, happiness, and the imperial family.

In Chinese traditional medicine, the chrysanthemum was used to make teas and remedies believed to have cooling properties that can alleviate ailments related to heat, such as fever, sore throat, and eye irritation. They are a source of antioxidants and have been studied for their potential anti-inflammatory and antibacterial effects.

Chrysanthemums, provide nectar and pollen for pollinators, such as bees and butterflies, which, in turn, help in the pollination of other plants. In terms of cultivation, chrysanthemums are relatively easy to grow and adapt to various climates and soil types. Their popularity in gardens and floral arrangements has led to the development of numerous cultivars with different characteristics, making chrysanthemums a versatile and colourful addition to gardens worldwide.

[taldigi]

How is the Amagi Inn holding up? The staff in the original game genuinely care for Yukiko, so are they worried about her?

Unlike kanji, who is not a delinquent as much as he's just trying to keep the peace, yukiko is actually causing problems. She is actively rebelling, going out late, getting into fights and generally being kind of a shithead. That being said she isn't evil. She isn't going to beat the shit out of some random townie, but she'll get into fights with people who pick fights with her or decide to exist in that same delinquent mind space (and are thus fair game.)

I think my main train of thought is a common misconception of her Arc in the actual game. Her story is not so much that she yearns to be free or that she laments her position as much she yearns to have the choice. So yeah, she does choose the inn in the end, but is happy with that choice because she chose it- not because she was obligated. She chose it because she does love her family, the staff, and she loves her Inn... And who says she won't take some time later on in her life to go out in the world and experience it? Nothing is stopping her from going to college for a few years or maybe taking some time away..?

I think a lot of people don't get that. So they express frustration and I thought... What if I actually followed that train of thought? 🧐

Here, she actively rejects and loathes the idea of inheriting the inn- and she loathes her role and The expectations that she has met with. She was pretty much the same girl as Canon up until a particularly traumatic event trademark ™️ when she was young- wherein she had been pinned down by some girls and had her hair cut off. Because to them, she had embodied the idea of... an unobtainable beauty standard. They had felt that she was flaunting it and that attitude needed to be remedied... Little girls are fucking mean and this is an au where she did not have Chie.

She came to the unfortunate reality that people often treated her a certain way because of how she looked. And now that she didn't quite look like that "traditional beauty" (Even though she had not actively chosen her new appearance), people started treating her worse. She doesn't know if she appreciates the new bluntness or hates the fact that she may have been treated differently due to her appearance, but she ends up sticking with the new hairstyle as well as developing a new attitude that is just as much rebelling as it is protecting herself emotionally.

Her family is worried about her and they do care about her. But they've stopped trying to 'fix her'. Even though she comes home with multiple violations when it comes to the dress code (which I don't think the school actually enforces that much so it's been mostly scoldings.), she actually has not been caught for anything, and she does keep her grades up (She wants to leave Inaba eventually after all.) she'll do menial labor tasks for her family but refuses to be a face for it. The inn is still the same inn. In fact, it ends up being where they access the TV as Junes was actually shut down due to the murders.

Most of her shenanigans happen at night. She's known as the Phoenix of Inaba (due to something fire related) in police records and no one is able to identify her (she somehow has managed to stay uncaught and unidentified due to the fact that she often hides out at Hanamura's, the small town grocery whom she is friends with the owner's son.) Until a news report manages to catch what seems to be one of her scuffles and runs a story on The delinquent problem plaguing the Inaba nightlife.

[brainrotbabe24]

OH MY DAYSSS CAN YOU DO THORINS COMPANY AND THE COURTING GIFT THEY'D MAKE FOR THEIR PARTNER???

Okay thanks love MWUAH MWUAH😙😙😙

Hi, omg, so I love this!!! I had so many ideas and I kinda rambled on and on lol! I also wrote a lot so i have to split this up into two part...I'm sorry 😭 Thank you for this request 💖💖

Courting Gifts: Part 1

Balin: Balin seems like the type of dwarf who would want to repurpose something as a courting gift. He wants to show off his skills, craftsmanship, and hard work to give you the best gift. Since falling in love with you he knew he needed to court you with the best he had. So, he would take his favorite belt buckle, the one he wore on his journey back to Erebor, and use that as his raw material. He would spend days in the forge crafting the most beautiful necklace. He beams with pride each time he sees you with it on your neck. 

Dwalin: This idea was inspired by the art book. Dwalin is not known for his words of affirmation or his romantic gestures. As a hardened warrior, his greatest skill is wielding his weapon. Because of this, he wants to give you something that he finds useful and demonstrates his strengths and values. Dwalin would court you with matching axes. He would spend weeks to months meticulously forging these beautiful axes, ensuring that yours was engraved with his name and his was engraved with yours. He would see this as a secret connection, thinking you are always looking out for him. You might even be able to catch him tracing his fingers over your name.

Óin: Oin would gift you a beautifully carved wooden box filled with herbs and other healing remedies. He would handpick each one to ensure that what he selected was the best option. The box would be intricately designed, maybe even with runes for protection. I feel like once he gave it to you, he would go over how to use each herb and even offer to prepare the remedies together so you felt confident using them.

Side note: I couldn't find a GIF of what I was thinking, but this was a cool idea of possibly the type of box he gave you, lol

Glóin: After reading the art book and seeing a whole bunch of people online saying braiding is a dwarf courting tradition, I would have to go with that. Gloin is a traditional dwarf who deeply values connection, heritage, and commitment. So, of course, hair braiding is how he courts you. It's a very personal event between you two. He wants to keep it sacred and sees it as a way to strengthen your bond. His family might use specific beads or braiding styles unique to their lineage. So, when he uses a particular style, it helps him preserve his heritage and family legacy. Gloin sees braiding as a way to express his devotion to you. It's a way for him to show his commitment to standing by your side, caring for you, and always loving you.

Bifur: Bifur is known for his skill in toy making. So his courting gift would be creating a wind-up dancing toy for you...like a jewelry box ballerina. He was captivated by the way you danced at Bilbo's house while the company played their song "That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates." The grace in your movements, the confidence you exuded, and your bright smile..oh, it melted him. He was smitten and regretted not having danced with you that night. Bifur designs a mechanical toy with the two of you dancing to recreate that moment of pure joy. When wound up, the toy plays the song from that evening, capturing his happiness. 

Bofur: He immediately fell for you and wanted to give you something meaningful but also unique. He spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect gift, enlisting both Bifur and Bombur to help bring the idea to life. He decided on a love spoon—a carved wooden spoon with beautiful intricate designs that symbolize his intention of courting you. He would spend hours whittling, going back to the drawing board, and making multiple versions until it was perfect. This wasn't just a gift; it was a labor of love that took time and effort to create. By offering you this love spoon, he's not just asking you to be with him but asking you to be a part of his family.

Bombur: He would be hesitant at first to court you, unsure how you would react to his gift. He didn't buy you something expensive or offer a family heirloom. Instead, Bombur, knowing that the way to someone's heart is through their stomach, decided to make you a plethora of cookies. You'd be shocked to come home and find your kitchen counter filled with boxes of different types. Each type would represent a meaningful aspect of your life together. One box in particular stands out to you. It would have moon and star-shaped cookies, symbolizing his vast love for you…A love beyond comprehension.

[unionizedwizard]

OC asks for Irma: bound, hunt, skin?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

she was made to take part in an attempted primal summoning as a child (as the catalyst), surviving only thanks to hydaelyn's intervention (whisking her away in the lifestream opening cutscene-style before irreversible damage to her soul could be inflicted). sort of like a reverse lightwarden corruption situation (this is a secret tool that will help us later!). her soul was flooded with umbral-aspected aether (lightning, specifically), and she was very notably not meant to survive - the fact that she did, as well as the circumstances in question (the triggering of the blessing of light), were unexpected, but deemed interesting by the ritual's instigator, which is why he let her get away :)

of course, although she lived, she didn't escape unscathed; her soul was stabilised and solidified by the power of stasis that hydaelyn embodies, but it was, as it were, sundered again almost all the way through, so her soul is "cracked". this manifests as an enhanced affinity for black magick & offensive spellcraft in general, but with a rather heavy drawback: she can't wield healing magick (at least not in the traditional way), a condition which she learned about when she tried to train as a conjurer post ARR (whenever she tries to meditate/enter the state that allows the caster to heal, she falls unconscious). (this was somewhat remedied right before EW). also, as a secondary (and minor) consequence, her eyes (which were originally green) turned black. this whole ordeal (as well as the years that preceded it) was wiped from her memory as a consequence of the enormous amount of energy that passed through her body so her earliest (and very hazy) memories are of the aftermath, when she was sent to ul'dah (or smuggled would be the more accurate verb lol), with no idea that the name on her passport was not her original name...

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

two things: the everpresent, looming shade of Duty; and the gnawing belief that she's actually a monster, deep down, because of her combat capabilities (and inclinations). (both are linked and feed into each other). zenos' monologue at the royal menagerie hit her, and badly so, because he expressed his lust for combat in the exact same terms she'd been using - privately, not speaking her mind to anyone, and she's always been terrified of having her most deeply-seated fears be confirmed, and she hates zenos (more than she ever hated anyone) because deep down she's convinced he's right about her, and about the both of them. she's always on the alert and has trouble letting her guard down long enough to fall asleep also :)

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

irma has always favored discreet, highly concealing, multi-layered clothes (fortunately, mage robes are generally fitting for this purpose). she has also never believed herself beautiful so she never really tried to pay attention to her appearance, though she does make a point of personal pride in wearing well-cut, good quality (and more importantly, clean) garments. she owns some perfume but doesn't have many opportunities to use it. if asked about it, she'll say in a very matter-of-fact way that "she knows where her strengths lie and acts accordingly". her only concession to vanity has always been her hair, which is an object of pride and that she takes great care of (as much as she can with the life she leads, anyway...). she almost always wears gloves (worn black leather ones) and refuses to show skin as a rule (she considers it a show of vulnerability). there is a deep, lingering shame about her as a whole, that she masks with rigid efficiency & a stoic mindset

as for the second part of the question: as indicated above, the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of herself has been thoroughly expunged from her memory (until post EW that is). denial and repression ARE her most practised skills at this point!