#Traditional beauty remedies
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sammydigitaleu · 8 months ago
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choupicosmeticbeauty · 2 years ago
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Dudu-Osun – hygienically sealed & individually packed – CLASSIC Black Soap.
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beeseverywhen · 2 years ago
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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.
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helen-with-an-a · 27 days ago
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Beautiful Girl - New Year’s Eve(18+)
Happy New Year, everyone. I hope all your dreams come true, and I wish you well for the next year. Here is a totally indulged, dirtier-than-I-intended New Year fic with Alexia to help you welcome the new year in the right way. Also, will I ever learn how to write short smutty things? Probably not. This is the fic that started the Beautiful Girl series and yet I've already released so much for it ahahaha. For the anon back in August who told me I need to make my fics less ambiguous, this is for you. R IS A WOMAN. Have the day u deserve anon 😘✌️
Alexia Putellas x Reader
Beautiful Girl Masterlist
Description: Thank god the New Year's party was cancelled.
TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, strap (R giving - dom R; Sub Alexia)
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You had never been more grateful for food poisoning. Watching Patri and the rest of the girls fall sick was hard, it seemed almost cruel to relish in their misfortune. Whilst is was undoubtedly horrific to feel so ill over Christmas, it did mean one thing. One thing you were so, overwhelmingly happy about.
Missing Patri's New Years' Eve party.
With so many of the team members now laid up with various degrees of illness, it was quickly decided that the party wouldn't be happening. Given the circumstances, it was the best choice for everyone, but it also meant you could spend the evening with Alexia alone.
It wasn’t your first year ringing in the New Year with Alexia – this would actually be the fifth you were welcoming in together. Up until now, each new year was brought in surrounded by friends, clinking glasses and a swift kiss at midnight before munching on some grapes. Whilst you loved the parties, the thought of just snuggling up at home was always niggling at the back of your mind.
This year, however, was different. For the first time, you had the chance to bring in the New Year alone.
“Ale,” you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper. She was engrossed in the countdown on the TV, her gaze locked on the screen as they ticked away the last minutes of the year.
“Hm?” she responded, lifting her head from where it had been nestled comfortably against your chest.
“Will you be my New Year's kiss?” you asked softly. It might have been a silly question – but it was something you asked each other every year, a small tradition of your own. It had started your first year together, when you were unsure about how the Catalan celebrated New Year's. The next year, she asked you - the pair of you celebrating in England this time, surrounded by your friends and family and Alexia had been unsure of whether you wanted to kiss in public. By Year 3, it felt strange not asking, even though you knew she would never say no, it felt odd, just assuming.
Alexia's heart softened as she met your gaze. A wide, warm smile spread across her lips, a dusting of pink settling on her cheeks.
“Sí, mi amor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will be your beso de año nuevos.” Her smile was radiant now, a wide, joyful grin that seemed to light up the room. She added, with a playful glint in her eye, “As long as I can be yours?”
“Of course, my beautiful girl,” you replied, your fingers carding through her hair. “No lo querría de otra manera.”
“Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the TV. She leaned closer, moving up your body with a grace that seemed almost dreamlike. As her lips brushed against yours, the world outside dissolved, leaving just the two of you, curled up in bed, without a care in the world.
She tasted like honey. Warm and smooth nectar that eased your soul. It was the perfect remedy for any issue. Her lips were soft as they worked in time with yours. A throaty hum bubbled up in her chest as you tightened your fingers in her hair.
As you finally pulled away from the kiss, the sudden burst of fireworks outside startled you, their vibrant explosions lighting up the night sky. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as Alexia's hand drew you back to face her.
“Feliz año nuevo, mi amor” Alexia whispered against your lips.
Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at you, her expression full of love. “Happy New Year, my beautiful girl,” you replied softly, tugging her back to you, your lips finding each other again with perfect ease.
When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged, deep gasps. She took a moment to let her gaze wander slowly over the length of your body, her eyes moving with deliberate slowness. You watched as she took in your form, bare legs intertwined with hers, a hoodie she was fairly sure used to belong to her on your top half. To Alexia, you had never looked more beautiful. You were the epitome of quiet beauty - a radiance from within that made you glow.
You gently lifted a hand to her chin, your touch tender and deliberate as you guided her back to face you. Her gaze met yours with an almost innocent intensity, her eyes wide and doe-like.
"T'estimo molt, Alèxia Putellas i Segura." You mumbled, your voice thick. It was true, you had never felt like this before. So loved, so safe, so happy.
"I love you, Y/N Y/S/N, so much." Alexia whispered back, her words just as emotional.
You didn't know how long you spent, lying there kissing Alexia. But you didn't really care. All that mattered was the woman above you, the way she rocked her hips against yours, the way her hands explored your body, the way she gasped and moaned as you tugged at her roots and trailed your fingers under her pyjama top.
“What do you need, Ale?” you asked gently in between kisses.
“Tú,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Te necesito.”
“What about me do you need, my beautiful girl?" You smoothed her hair away from her head, eyes searching hers. "How can I give you what you need?” Y
“I need … necesito … I …” Alexia’s words faltered. She was slipping into a state of mind that only you could bring out in her – a headspace where she shed all her external responsibilities. She wasn’t Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barça, or the face of Spanish football. She was simply Ale, your Ale, your Beautiful Girl.
“I need your cock, por favor.” Her eyes slid sideways, avoiding your gaze. You hated how she hated being vulnerable around you. It was something you had been working on together, her voicing her desires to you, whether it be as simple as what to make for dinner or as hard as voicing her deepest fantasies. She was doing a lot better, in the early days it had been exasperating to watch her flounder whenever you asked what she needed. But now, the pride welled in your chest as she spoke with relative confidence. You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“Okay, beautiful,” you said softly, smoothing your hand against the skin on her hip. “Do you want me to get the strap? Or would you prefer to?” You reached up to push a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose.
Alexia's response came with a hint of hesitation. “You,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she made her choice, taking a steadying breath as she did so.
“Alright,” you acknowledged, nodding with a soft smile. “The big black one or the smaller purple one?”
“B-black one,” she whispered shyly. There was a noticeable blush on her cheeks. The black one was her favourite, the one that stung in the best way, the one that made her arch and squirm as you split her open, the one that could leave her limping for the next few days.
A smile spread across your face at her words, your heart swelling with affection. “Okay,” you said gently. “Take off your clothes while I get the strap.” You let your fingers wander underneath the hem of her joggers.
“When you're finished, lie back on the bed with your head on the pillows,” you continued.
Normally, you knew her favourite way to take any strap was on her knees, you lying back beneath her, taking in the glorious sight above you as she moved without restriction. The way she would roll and rock, bounce and shift. The way she seemed so free as she took what she needed from you, as your hands rested on her hips or trailed up her body to grope and squeeze as you pleased. But you had other plans for tonight.
You reached up and pressed your lips against hers in a deep kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate, you let your lips linger on hers a moment longer, savouring the taste of her before gently unwinding yourself from her embrace.
As you moved away, you went to the wardrobe, shedding your hoodie as you went. The cool air of the room met your skin as you tugged the material over your head, feeling her eyes follow your every movement as she went about her tasks. The sensation of her gaze on you made more goosebumps appear on your skin than any cool breeze ever could.
You opened the drawer and began to gather what was needed. You smiled as you looked down at the contents. The big, shiny black strap with a wider girth and a fake vein running underneath that she needed time to work up to glinted up at you in the dim glow of the lamp. You shuddered at the image of Alexia, hair splayed against the pillow, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you sunk into her again and again.
Turning back around, you were met with the sight of Alexia having perfectly followed your instructions. Her t-shirt was folded neatly on top of the dresser, the soft fabric arranged with meticulous care. Next to it, her joggers were laid out in a similar fashion, creating a small, organised pile. You couldn't help the smile, Alexia, ever the neat freak.
What immediately caught your eye, however, was the unmistakable sign of her arousal: her knickers had been removed and set aside. The grey fabric was marked by a noticeable wet patch. You hummed appreciatively as you clambered onto the bed next to her.
“Well done, beautiful,” you said, your voice filled with admiration. “Such a good girl for me."
Alexia’s response to the praise was immediate. She visibly preened, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction as her body relaxed into the bed below her.
“So pretty,” you cooed softly as you moved to position yourself above her. The warmth and tenderness in your voice made Alexia feel even more cherished and adored. As you spoke, your gaze lingered on her, your eyes raking down her body with reverence.
Your eyes took in every detail with a slow, deliberate appreciation. You started with the swell of her breasts, noting how they were perfectly shaped and inviting, their natural curve accentuated by the soft light of your bedroom. Your gaze then travelled down to the ridges of her abs, the defined muscles revealing the strength and dedication she put into caring for her body. Each contour and line told a story of her commitment and vitality, making her all the more captivating.
Continuing your exploration, your attention shifted to the strong muscles of her thighs. You observed the powerful yet graceful curves, appreciating the balance of strength and femininity they represented. The way her thighs connected with her hips and the subtle play of light on her skin added a golden glow to her already-tanned skin.
“G-gracias, mi amor,” she stuttered, her voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and shyness.
You responded with a warm, affirming smile, “look at you, using your manners. Una niña buena y bonita.”
You shifted closer, your face centimetres from hers. “Can I kiss you, Ale?” you asked, your voice laced with a tender reverence.
She met your gaze with a shy but eager nod, her eyes shimmering with anticipation . Her fingers, warm and reassuring, slipped around your hips, gripping them lightly. You slowly leaned down, your movements deliberate and unhurried, valuing the moment.
She hummed softly as your lips met hers, a contented sound that had your heart quickening. The warmth of your touch was immediately reciprocated, her hips pressing up against you eagerly. The contact of your lips made her skin tingle with anticipation.
As you continued to kiss her, you allowed yourself to ease more of your weight onto her. The gentle pressure of your body against hers helped ground you both. Alexia’s fingers, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly trying to draw you even closer. The world outside faded once again, leaving just the two of you.
You let your hands explore her body with thoughtful slowness. The touch was gentle yet deliberate as if you were memorising every curve and line of her form like you were discovering her for the first time. Each movement was tender and explorative, your fingertips lightly grazing her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in their path.
As your hands made their way across her skin, a delicate shiver of goosebumps followed in their wake, spreading out like a ripple of water. Her breath hitched slightly, a soft, involuntary sound that had you smiling against her lips.
“Por favor,” she whined softly as you parted, your lips trailing down from her mouth, moving with careful slowness down her jawline until they found their way to her collarbones. The touch of your lips on her skin was a teasing promise, making her shiver.
“Apresúrate,” she urged, her tone full of frustration and desire.
You leaned back slightly, a playful glint in your eye as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Patience, Ale,” you said. “If you’re going to rush me, I’ll stop.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed her face at your teasing warning. “Ho sento, ho sento,” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing.
You softened your expression, letting a reassuring smile light up your face. “It’s okay, beautiful,” you said soothingly. “Just relax for me.” Your touch was gentle as you placed a tender hand on her cheek, guiding her focus back to you. ���Focus on what you’re feeling,” you continued, your voice warm and encouraging. You added a playful wink, watching as she nodded eagerly.
As she closed her eyes, settling into the sensation of your touch, you took a moment to appreciate her trust and vulnerability. With her eyes shut, you began your descent down her body again, your movements slow and sensual. You placed a series of delicate pecks along her skin, each touch a soft whisper of affection. Gradually, you shifted to sharper nips that made her breath hitch, and then to more fervent, intense sucks that drew out a deeper response from her.
You relished the way her chest heaved with each breath, the subtle quiver of her smooth stomach rippling beneath your touch. The contrasts between your tender pecks and the sharp bites you applied created a rhythm that had Alexia writhing beneath you. You cherished every reaction, every shiver, and every sigh as you made your loving way down her body.
“Mi amor,” Alexia gasped, her voice breathless. The sound of her voice sent a thrill through you as you settled between her thighs.
“Yes?”
“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity that made your heart swell.
“Te amo,” you replied with a soft, heartfelt smile.
You watched with careful curiosity as Alexia moved her hand hesitantly, as if uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. Smiling, you took her hand, letting your thumb smooth over her knuckles. “Hand or hair?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“Hand,” she answered, her voice slightly trembling. With a loving smile, you gripped her hand tightly. It always amazed Alexia that you knew exactly what she needed. She had never had a partner that understood her so well, that knew everything she could even want without her having to ask. It overwhelmed her sometimes, thinking about how much she loved you.
“Am I okay to carry on, or do you want a moment?” you asked. Your eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation.
“Un momento, por favor,” she replied, her voice a little unsure.
“Of course,” you said immediately. You nodded reassuringly, placing a gentle kiss against her thigh.
After a few heartbeats of shared silence, she gently squeezed your hand. Her eyes met yours with a shy but confident smile, a silent affirmation of her readiness.
“Are you sure?” you checked.
“Sí,” she replied with a definitive nod, her voice firm and steady.
“Ok,” you said, your face lighting up with a warm smile. You leaned in and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her hip bone, right above the little '66' tattoo. As your lips touched her skin, you let them linger for a moment longer. You took in a ragged breath, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin mingling with the coconut of her moisturiser. The smell was dizzying in the best way.
Leaning down, you took your time to savour the moment, your movements deliberate and tender. You placed a long, gentle stroke across the entire length of her pussy, your touch firm yet soft. The caress was slow and purposeful, your mind relishing in the taste of her against your tongue.
You repeated the action with careful speed. As you ghosted across her clit, you took a moment to appreciate the way her hand gripped yours, her fingers tightening as she sighed.
You decided to show a touch of mercy on Alexia, with a gentler approach, less teasing than you normally would. Your lips carefully enveloped her clit, the warmth of your mouth a welcomed contrast from the cool air outside. As you began to suck softly, your lips moved, alternating pressure and occasionally swiping over the nerves with your tongue.
Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped sharply, the sound escaping her in a breathless rush as her body responded to the new, more tender touch. Her hips bucked instinctively, lifting toward you as you continued your ministrations.
You loved eating Alexia out. The way she enveloped your senses, the mix of her arousal on your tongue and the softness of her thighs around your head as she twitched and writhed beneath you, succumbing to her body's desires. You had never had that before, the casual hookups you had had before Alexia weren't the same. Going down on them had felt like an expectation from you, an accompaniment with your fingers, or like you were returning the favour. But with Alexia ... with Alexia, you were more than happy to spend the rest of your life between her thighs.
It didn’t take long for Alexia to transform into a moaning, squirming mess. You revelled in the rich sounds that filled the room, each one a unique note in the melody that was her pleasure. The gasps that punctuated the air, the moans that rose and fell in rhythmic waves, and the soft, needy whines. You could feel the sticky mess growing between your own thighs. The warmth that spread through you was a deep, satisfying heat.
Carefully, you eased finger into her, your movements precise and slow. You took your time, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion You slowly drew it back out until just the tip was still inside, before pushing back in again, trying to find that perfect spot.
When you finally found it, her reaction was immediate and intense. She squeezed your other hand tightly. From your angle, it was difficult to see the full extent of her expression, but you could vividly imagine her face – her eyes tightly shut, her features contorted in a mix of bliss and focus. One hand clutched yours with a desperate grip, while the other twisted into the sheets, her head pressing down on the pillows beneath her as she succumbed to the pleasure filling her body.
Sensing her increasing need, you added a second finger with practised ease. You could sense that she was nearing the edge of climax when her body began to twist and turn. The way she started to clench around you more forcefully. Her breathing, once steady and controlled, became fast and shallow. The grip on your fingers tightened as well, her hand's clasp around yours becoming almost painful.
“Si us plau,” she begged, her voice strained and trembling as she fought to hold back the powerful wave of her impending orgasm. Her tone matched the tightrope she was walking between control and surrender.
You didn't stop, humming lightly as you continued to work your fingers against her. She shivered at the sensation, her toes curling as she teetered closer to the edge. Her body tensed and arched in response to the wave of ecstasy that swept over her in a series of shudders and spasms. "Amor," she moaned, her voice hoarse.
You guided her through the aftermath, your fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as you savoured the taste of her. The tanginess of her essence was a distinct and cherished flavour. It was one of your favourite tastes – something that only you got to experience.
“Good, my beautiful girl. So, so good for me,” you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate praise as her body finally stilled.
Her cheeks flushed deeply at your praise, the colour spreading across her face as she turned her head, avoiding your intense stay.
“Don’t go shy on me now,” you chuckled with a warm, encouraging smile, waiting for her to look back at you.
“Do you still want the strap?” you asked, your voice low as she locked her eyes with yours. The intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.
She nodded eagerly, but you weren’t going to let her off that easily. You raised an eyebrow at her, she knew your rules.
“Sí, your cock, por favour,” she finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of that earlier shyness but also with the undeniable need that only you could satiate.
“You want my cock, Ale?” you teased, each word dripping with lust. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to put my dick in you? Split you open? Make you cum for me?”
As you spoke, you slipped into the harness with practised ease, the leather straps sliding smoothly around your hips. The click of the buckles echoed in the room, a final, satisfying sound.
“Sí, mi amor,” she replied with quiet confidence.
You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you positioned yourself between her legs. “Bend your knees for me, beautiful,” you instructed gently, hands rubbing gently up and down her thighs. She complied without hesitation, drawing her legs up and opening herself to you with a trust that made your heart swell.
With a careful hand, you lined yourself up, the smooth plastic gliding through her wet folds with ease. You took your time, dragging it up and down. The slickness made the movement easy, but you were in no rush – this was all about her.
“I’ll go nice and slowly,” you promised, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s the big one, remember? Take as much time as you need.”
You offered your spare hand to her once again. She gripped it eagerly, her fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of her hand in yours was grounding you both.
As you began to press forward, you kept your gaze fixed on her, every subtle change in her expression magnified in your focus. You moved with deliberate care, inching forward slowly, ensuring that every movement was as comfortable for her as possible. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her eyes widened as she adjusted to the sensation of the strap inside her, the stretch more intense than she had anticipated.
“Grande,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, you froze, your concern for her immediate and palpable.
“Do you want to stop? I can get the oth–” you began, already preparing to ease back, ready to swap out for something smaller, more manageable. Before you could finish, she interrupted, her hand tightening around yours in reassurance.
“No, no,” she insisted quickly, her voice a little firmer now, but still soft. “Me gusta,” she said conspiratorially.
“Is that so? You like being stretched out, Ale? You like feeling every inch of me?” you teased, relaxing at her words. Your voice was playful as you began to push forward again, ever so gently. You drifted your thumb up to brush against her clit, smiling as she sighed softly.
You could see the effect your teasing and actions had on her immediately. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the sensation, the deliberate, slow stretch filling her completely. The way her body responded, the subtle arching of her back, the way her hips shifted to accommodate you, was all the confirmation you needed.
As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.
You continued your slow movement, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction as you pulled back only to push straight back in again. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, making your breath hitch just as much as the way the strap rubbed against your own clit.
“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. A veces… when we’re both away… en el camp ... campamento…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw emotion. “Sometimes ... Yo tomo ... I take it with me so I can immmmmm" she broke off in a moan. "Imagine you're with me.”
Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. You sped up your thrusts, torn between watching the pleasure on her face or where the plastic met her flesh, seeing her stretched out around you.
“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling, her legs moving to press against your arse. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, me hace feliz por dentro. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She pressed her heels into your arse again, urging you to go deeper and faster.
Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness, The image of her, away at camp as she worked herself up, so desperate for you, burned into your mind's eye. You thanked the lucky stars you were an athlete as you picked up your pace.
You dropped forward onto your hands, your chest pressing up against hers.
“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.
You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”
With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement pushing her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You smiled at the the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic with every stroke.
Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand twisting into your hair while the other squeezed your bicep. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.
“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice a commanding whisper. “I want to hear you. I want to know how good I make you feel.”
Her response was immediate, her hips bucking up to meet yours. The sounds she made were intoxicating, each moan, each gasp sending waves of pleasure through you as you continued to thrust, your movements precise and controlled, drawing out every bit of pleasure you could from her.
You could tell she was close. Her walls clenching around you tightly, her hips meeting yours with every thrust. You were close too, the strap providing just the right pressure against your clit. Her moans were breathier now, toes curling against the small of your back."So sexy, Ale," you breathed, your voice hitching at the wave of pleasure that buzzed through you.
You moved against her, you lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Now, Ale. Cum for me. Show me how much you need this. Cum with me.”
The effect was immediate. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her trembling beneath you. The sound of her release, the way she called out your name, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard, and it sent you spiralling into your own pleasure, the intensity searing itself into your memory.
You held her through it, your movements slowing but never stopping as you rode out the waves of your orgasms together, your bodies entwined. As the tremors of her release gradually subsided, you felt her body soften beneath you, her limbs going limp with exhaustion and the kind of satisfaction that made everything else fade away. The room was filled with the suddenly deafening silence; the only sounds were your mingled breaths as you both caught your breath.
You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, a kiss that was gentle and tender, a total 180 what had just happened.
Breaking the kiss, you hovered just above her and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy, content smile spreading across her face as she gazed up at you, her fingers still lightly tracing patterns on your back.
You pulled out gently, using one hand to release the snaps on the harness and throwing it somewhere in the room to be dealt with later. “If this is what it’s like every New Year,” you murmured, your voice playful but laced with sincerity, “We are never going to a party again.”
She chuckled softly, the sound a low, throaty hum that made your heart swell.
“I think I can live with that,” she replied, her voice sleepy but filled with contentment. “Sólo tú y yo, mi amor. That sounds ... maravillosa.”
You brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, your thumb gently caressing her cheek as you leaned in to place another soft kiss on her lips. “That sounds absolutamente perfecta,” you whispered against her mouth, your heart full of the quiet joy that only moments like these could bring.
She sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to you as you lay down, her body fitting perfectly against yours. “T'estimo,” she murmured, the words barely audible as sleep threatened to take her.
“I love you too, Ale,” you whispered back, holding her close as the world outside faded away once more, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.
“Happy New Year, my beautiful girl.”
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cyberclouddream · 4 months ago
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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;
521 notes · View notes
thewitchblue · 8 days ago
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"Get your hands off that, Richard John Grayson!"
You stole your potion back while swatting his curious hand away. You sternly say,
"This will liquefy your bones. What if you tripped?"
You were about to continue your worried rant, but Dick cringed at the words liquefied bones. You decided he's had enough of a punishment. He'll forever be cursed with the knowledge you can liquefy bones.
You sighed. You had not anticipated Tim's siblings to be so... grabby, so to speak. They don't leave anything magical alone. Jason has been caught reading a "spell book" (he didn't know it was a baking book with cute Halloween themed baked goods, but you kept that knowledge between the two of you), Dick has tampered with your potions, Damian had read all your dark witchcraft books, even Cass has meddled by touching your hex powder. Tim is the only good one, as expected.
"Can't you leave my potions alone? Do you not remember what happened last time? You had to live with backwards joints for a week while I made a remedy."
Dick rubbed his elbows subconsciously. How could he forget? He had to learn how to fight like a contortionist instead of an acrobat.
You sighed. The wedding is in a couple of hours, but you've been running everywhere trying to control Bruce's borderline feral children for months now.
"Tt. Remember when Todd tripped and became a pile of glitter?"
You frowned at Damian. Jason has been a lot better since then. He's still covered in glitter six months later. You noticed an empty beaker to Damian's left and immediately asked in a warning tone,
"Damian, what did you drink?"
He was holding his hands behind his back too innocently. You narrowed your eyes at him. He retained his innocent act by saying,
"Nothing. Why do you ask, ummi?"
You raised your eyebrows at him. Yeah, right. His legs are starting to fuse together.
"I don't know, maybe because your legs are turning reptilian."
Damian, now caught, began to beg,
"Ummi, help me. I don't want to miss the wedding."
You almost laughed as you walked to your bookcase and pulled out the right spell book. You looked at Damian and then at his now merged legs. You grimaced as you said,
"Anguis mutationem."
Damian hissed in pain as his legs split in two again. You winced. The bones had fused then. They were cracked in half like a christmas cracker. You said sternly,
"Nobody is allowed in the magic room until they can prove they can be responsible."
You ushered them all out of the room as you put up spells. Nobody is allowed in except Jason and Tim, as they are the only two to respect magic. Not even Bruce is allowed in.
Once satisfied with your wards and spells, you left the room. You need to get ready with your girls.
You had no idea why Bruce insisted on a normal wedding, but you humoured him. You allowed the girls to fuss over you like the wedding means something more than a lavish party. You left Bruce to do all the planning, who then left it all to Alfred, who handed it right back to Bruce with a fatherly glare, so then Bruce pawned it off to the girls, who then pawned it off to Dick because he's the oldest. Steph said with a grin,
"You're so beautiful."
You sighed. You look like a swan, in your opinion. You told Tim to order you whatever because you didn't care. In your eyes, you and Bruce are already married, so why bother with a wedding? You both signed the contract to merge your souls together.
Maybe that is why you don't care. Bruce's soul is moody and broods more than speaks. Like a broody hen trying to awkwardly engulf your own soul in the weirdest hug ever. His very essence was nestled alongside yours.
Tim also didn't care. He knew getting you to care about the wedding would be like giving a feral cat a bath: it just won't happen. You cared for Bruce, deeply at that, but you can't care about silly traditions like weddings.
"Can I at least set up runes to keep out criminals?"
You had asked Bruce the night prior. He countered with raised eyebrows,
"You can do that?"
You nodded like that wasn't a game changer for Gotham as a whole. Maybe you could reverse some of the curses on Gotham.
"Yeah, of course. Runes are picky when it comes to interpreting what does and doesn't count, but I can easily do that."
Tim wanted to help, to your delight. He made sure all the runes were correct as you set them down. He was even double-checking the designs in the book to you and reading the runes as you placed them. You taught him basic witchcraft as a kid, but he shined when it came to runes. It's like learning a language, and you helped him become fluent.
Within the hour, you had placed a long list of runes all over where the guests will be and around the alter currently set up.
Now you're here in all your swan glory. Everybody already walked down the aisle, but you, and suddenly you were anxious. Your runes covered everything, and your wards protected every innocent bystander from harms way. Why were you nervous?
"Are you well, my dear?"
Alfred asked at your side. You weren't, but you nodded. You hesitated but slowly walked down the aisle.
You acted almost as if you were trying to approach a cornered animal with every tentative step forward.
The entire family looked wonderful together, despite none of them looking uniformed. Nothing looked like it matched, but you loved the chaos of everything.
If you didn't know better, you'd think the wedding was circus themed with all the bright saturated colours and the cake Dick insisted on designing after Jason baked the tiers.
Jason, at the time, sighed heavily but allowed it and immediately regretted the decision when the clown sprinkles came out from behind Dick's back. Dick thought he did a pretty good job, but Jason winced when he saw it. Bruce would have been furious if it hadn't surprisingly fit.
Damian set up the decorations, and it showed. Everything was set up in a way that nothing could be used as a weapon, and there was nowhere to hide. When questioned by Bruce about the odd arrangement, Damian had said he would be the only weapon allowed. Bruce didn't bother questioning him further.
Bruce's colleagues showed up to the wedding in civilian clothes as well. Clark and Diana were ecstatic to see Bruce find love despite his loner nature.
Oliver was surprised Bruce would ever marry someone, especially a civilian. What else is the Bat hiding from him? That you're a witch? Ha! Bruce hates magic. He would never date, let alone marry a witch.
Diana fell in love with you immediately and told Bruce to marry you before she does. Bruce, evidently, took that as a threat and married you magically that night.
Martian Manhunter is the only one who knows about your witch background, and that's solely because he accidentally read your mind when he met you. He knew Bruce had the tendency to chase after women who were generally unobtainable, so it was unsurprising to him.
Hal was the last to know about a wedding happening. He has no idea Bruce was even in a relationship. Who is crazy enough to marry Batman? The stoic Batman revealed nothing.
Clark was the one to let it slip, and Bruce gave him the silent treatment for weeks. Bruce even hid his heartbeat from Clark, which caused a panicked Superman to go on a hunt for the stealthy Knight. How does he do that? WHY does he do that? He knows Clark will panic. He knows Clark likes listening to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive and relatively safe.
"The League can leave my relationship alone."
Bruce had grumbled as they pestered him. He was reluctant to invite them to the wedding at all. He had hoped they would leave him alone, and Diana would stop threatening him if he brought you to the watch tower. He was wrong. He was forced into inviting them all. With a combination of Tim and the League pestering him to marry you, he conceded to pushing the wedding along faster than he would have liked.
Tim was about to cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. You are his mother, and he was so happy to see you permanently join the family.
You smiled fondly at your family. You raised Tim, but you felt like you became their mum, too. Who knew you'd become a mother of eight?
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sematarygirls · 4 months ago
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The House On Peachtree Lane — Rafe Cameron.
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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
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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?
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tags .ᐟ @nemesyaaa
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mokokone · 5 months ago
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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|
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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❁ 
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plussizefantasia · 1 year ago
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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.
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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.
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vermilionsun · 7 months ago
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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.
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unseemingowl · 9 months ago
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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.
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zenkindoflove · 3 months ago
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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. All fics are independent stories and there is no order for how to read them.
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Multichapter Fics
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.
Let the Light Linger (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)
Complete, 5/5 chapters, 29,856 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
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.
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Short Fics
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.
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. Established Erixius.
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. Established Erixius.
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. Established Erixius.
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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 @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
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Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears
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goayda · 2 months ago
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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.
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sappy-witch · 2 years ago
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🗓️ 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.
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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 🥰✨ 
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✨🔮 Request a Tarot Reading Here 🔮✨
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With love, from a Sappy Witch 🔮💕
Blessed be. 🕊✨
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mothyandthesquid · 1 year ago
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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.
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taldigi · 6 months ago
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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.
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