#to have its bowels cleansed

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Been making some edits to The Swim Upstream to get myself interested in writing more and…uh

…totally forgot that I surreptitiously wrote Reyes Vidal into my Dragon Age fic, as an Antivan smuggler captain picking up Rex’s drunk ass in a bar…

[heavenbloom]

🇵���� BEFORE YOU READ: BOYCOTT TLOU • HELP TODAY • DAILY CLICK.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒊: 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒓

knight!abby x princess!reader

you can find chapter one here! and the series masterlist here

songs: (act one) main yeh sochkar uske dar se utha — mohammed rafi, (act two) ang laga de — aditi paul, (act three) sealed in fire and blood — ramin djawadi

summary: in the aftermath of your crime, one is eaten alive by regret and the other is consumed by vengeance. the innocence of a blooming love lies dead and from its ashes rises something raw and sweltering.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and angst, fingering (r!receiving), grinding (?), betrayal, typical fantasy and monarchal political themes, typical period-piece misogyny, mentions of death and a funeral, extensive descriptions of blood, violence and death, nightmares, enemies to lovers, threats made with both words and a weapon, side character deaths, profanities, derogatory language used, please read at your own discretion. semi-proofread

wc: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the wait!! i hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The turned over soil was dark with its upheaval. The drag of earth, the thud of it, was the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that called for grief and received no answer in turn. The only ones to mourn poor Asha were the other servants. Her mother’s wails cut through the air, a skull-rattling cry of anguish. The others did not allow themselves to weep. The workers of the Palace had seen enough bloodshed within its cold, white walls, now numbed to its horrors. Only exhaustion engulfed their features. Another one…

Asha understood this pain as much as she did the thump of her own heartbeat. That was why she decided to work with you, to be a gatherer of secrets. You could still remember the lightheartedness that graced her features, her lopsided smile when she said, whose eyes are all-seeing if not a maid’s? 

You were the reason for this girl’s demise. It may have been that nobleman’s blade that sliced to the bone, but it was your promises of hope and security that led her to an untimely grave. 

You, a coward. You, a murderer.

You slipped back into the Palace as the rosy shades of dawn swaddled the figures of the grieving, before the welling of tears threatened to fall. Your weeping would have been a mockery, something disingenuous to those who would bear witness. Did you have the right to wear mourning white and feel emotions strong as the beating sun, throat dry and body weak?

Another face flittered into the forefront of your mind, freckled and sharp-lined. Grief clung to the inside of your ribcage. If only you could crack it open and pour this ugliness of yourself out, become pure and benign. Become something worthy of any of the graces you had been given.

You could taste bitter salt on your tongue, feel warmth drip from nose to lip to chin. You could pray and cleanse yourself of your sins all you liked, but it would never be enough. She would look upon your heart with fondness no longer. She saw you as you were, now. Treacherous, rotten, worm-eaten.

☾𖤓

You still adorned funerary attire when you arrived at the Palace’s holding cells. It was located deep within its bowels, lacking its upper cleanliness. The bricks here were haphazardly laid, and an oppressive dampness had seeped itself into each nook and cranny of the place.

The guards had sputtered at your presence, choked words of you not being allowed down here falling from their lips in a weak attempt to deny you entry. But you knew them well. Their loyalties lay at the feet of the Crown’s coin, not at the throne of the King. All you needed to do was shove a necklace and a few bangles their way, and their lips were sealed.

The soft leather of your soles caught slightly with each step, made for marble floors and not the rough and dusty ground beneath. The only sounds present were that of your jewellery chiming with each step and a distant drip, drip, drip.

There were no other prisoners within the holding cells, long since shipped off and never to be heard from again. Icy tendrils ran up the length of your spine as you made your way down the cramped hallway, eyes frantically searching.

She was in the cell at the end. Her back was turned, silhouetted from the little light that encompassed the space. Her outline looked equally defeated and taut, as if she was grappling with what was and what should have been. 

You stepped closer, an exhale forcing its way past your trembling lips.

”Abigail.” Relief tapered the ragged edges of your voice. Your intricately stained hands clasped around the rusted metal of the bars as your entire being lurched forward.

Her body snapped tense, bowstring-tight, the set of her shoulders alone divulging the bitterness that simmered just beneath the surface. There was a moment of palpability as you let your presence hang over her, as unwelcome as pelting rain.

”Abigail,” you said more urgently when she remained unfacing. Softer, “Look at me, please.”

At your coaxing plea, she turned her head to the side. Her familiar profile was illuminated by the weak, flickering flame upon the wall. The sight of her was faint, but there was a certain fatigue about the set of her brow, something restrained in the pinch of her lips. 

”You...” The word was pushed out on a weak breath, hazy as if pulled forth from a dream. Then, she gathered her bearings, shoulders rolling back and straightening so her broad frame swallowed up more space. Acrid venom coated her vocal chords as she squeezed the word, again, through the grit of teeth. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

You crouched to your knees with the hesitance of somebody trapped at the whims of a beast. Her sclera shimmered violently in what little light there was. Those eyes had always been a weapon against your resolve. Each glance of hers was a nocked arrow aimed at the fortified centre of your heart. Now, it was as if she had dipped the arrowheads in oil and set them ablaze.

Your voice tumbled, an unfamiliar bubble of uncertainty rising within it. Carefully chosen, sweet words would not work on Abigail. You were disarmed by her, at the mercy of your own foulness that had been laid so bare before her.

So instead you decided to speak a truth, one that would not gut either of you so quickly. “Asha, my… the handmaid. She’s dead. She was killed by that nobleman.”

You waited for a response but Abigail remained silent, eyes pinning you in place and searching for any sign of trickery. Your fingers tightened around the bars as you stared back, seeking any crack that she bore, any fissure you could slip through and work to your will, but none sifted to her stony surface. Perhaps she just relished in watching you squirm.

“Her burial was this morning,” you spoke gently, the image of the lively girl flickering across your mind, seared there forevermore. “I came here immediately after. I knew that�� I was overcome with an urgency to see you.”

Her eyes drifted to your white clothing. A hateful, bitter smile split the plaster of her features. 

“Will you blame that poor girl’s death on me as well?” she asked in a mocking tone, voice laced with amused contempt. “Oh, I can hear it now, what they will say about me. Abigail, so faithful a knight that she struck down feeble noblemen and maids alike for her princess.” 

Heat crept up your neck as you bristled at her mockery. There it was, the stinging lash of the truth coming to strike once more. 

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who took the fall for the crime. This is on you, Abigail, and your own foolishness. You have… you have no right to scorn me for it.” 

Her body dipped forward, closer, and it was the first time you heard the weighty rattle of chains. They were fastened onto her ankles. Normal conduct for an alleged killer, yet they looked so misplaced now. Such a far cry from the shining knight she was only days ago.

The derisive tone she had moments ago slipped away to reveal a nakedness, a rubbed-raw thing that clawed its impatient fingers up her aching gullet. “And you did not fess up to your crime. You watched like a helpless little lamb as they dragged me away, all the while you were bathed in that man’s blood.” 

Her voice shook with the vulnerability of leaves caught within a storm, but it was not tears that she tried to reign back. It was rage, pure and sharp as the edge of a diamond. 

“Where is your honour, princess?!”

The same dormant fury that she held close to her sparked to life in your chest. If it were anybody else, you would have shoved the vile emotion down, but it was her. She had already seen the violence, the pulsing and ever-malleable wrath, that consumed your entire being. For once, you could be outwardly wretched. You could be honest.

Honour this and honour that. The blood of a hundred monarchs shaped the very drum of your heartbeat and she wished to speak of honour? You would laugh if it weren’t for the tightening fist around your lungs.

The colour seeped from your knuckles as you pressed yourself closer to the iron bars, as if you could melt into them with the very ferocity racing within you. “You forget yourself,” you reprimanded firmly. “If you dare question my honour again I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Her chin jutted out, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. The possibility of challenge hardened her features. “My title has been stripped, my morality brought into question– all on the basis of a lie. There is no worse pain that you can inflict upon me.”

Yet your life remains intact, you thought viscously. Yet I let you sit here and lick your bloody wounds, unharmed. 

“You should know my capabilities well by now,” you whispered, your words drifting to her like opiate smoke; low, heady, perilous. You were not subtle in the ribbon of a threat you wrapped around your words, tightened noose-like in the way your eyes pinned her in turn.

She rose to her feet then, the clank of iron ringing in the air as she dragged herself closer to the bars. She stopped just out of arm’s breadth from it as the chains screeched in protest. 

You had never felt threatened by her presence, but now you could at last understand the notoriety of her legacy that followed her like a shadow. As she looked down her nose at you, you felt a dull pang of sympathy for the long list of her opponents on the battlefield. Even restrained, she was a formidable sight.

“And you remain ignorant of mine…” she spoke lightly despite all things. “You would do well to remember them, princess.” 

There was a pointed promise in the way her lips shaped around each word, as if each one was loaded with the very essence of vengeance.

You lifted yourself from the ground, elegant as ever as you straightened your back and met her eye, drawing the veil that had slipped onto your shoulders over your hair once more. A princess. Her superior.

A smile curled on your lips, the cloying quality of milk beginning to sour. “We shall see, then, how… proficient you are from within a cell.”  

Your head dipped forward slightly, a hand pressed to your left breast. There was a taunt in how respectful the gesture was. It was one only exchanged between equals.

“May the gods smile upon your determined spirit, Abigail.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were dreaming of it again. Metal in your hands, metal in a gut. The bubbling groan of a man mere moments away from death. And, oh, the crimson, everything red-slickened and raw. His eyes were no longer his own, but rather beads of boundless contempt, staring and staring and—

Reality slammed its fists into your chest, awakened with a choked gasp squeezing its way out of your throat. Your eyelids flew open to the deep blue near-dawn. The crooning of first birdsong flitted through the arched doorway, eerie in its solitary note. You blinked up at the roof, the carvings of deities and flowers shifting and mingling, one and the same, in your unfocused vision.

The man you killed was not owed any sympathy. He was egotistic and wished to be as close to your brother as a cat curled on its owner’s lap. He would have done anything to garner the love of a tyrant, and you felt a nauseating amount of hatred for him even in his demise. There was no remorse for killing him, and you reminded yourself that it was an act of rooting out bad weeds before your reign, but your subconscious disagreed. 

It was still taking a life and it was a defiling rake of nails beneath your skin. No matter who the man was, he was still human.

You wanted to be ruthless, to cleanse yourself of any feeling and barrel towards your goals with cold, uncaring resolve. But then you would be the spitting image of your brother. The thought of it made your stomach turn.

You sat up then, the sheets slipping off of your torso and heaping onto your lap. You dragged your shaky hands down your face until your fingers traced the soft outline of your lips. 

Your thoughts parted then drifted back to Abigail. At this hour, they seldom didn’t

You recalled the strength in each of her actions even as she moved about with an easy fluidity. The glimpses of raised white scars that littered her body, one that you had never known the complete bareness of. 

What were her feelings when she first killed someone? Was she now plagued by a thousand phantoms in the world of her dreams, still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted upon them? Did she feel nothing at all?  

Your rumination was cut short when a faint breeze wafted through the curtains, fragrant from the foliage below. You lifted your head to it as it stirred the loose hair that brushed against your forehead. The action should have been soothing, but what you spotted turned the blood in your veins glacial. 

You had no idea how long Abigail had been here. She was sitting on top of a floor cushion in front of the balcony doorway, one knee propped just beneath her chin and the other leg stretched outwards. The position would have looked regal, akin to the uncaring languidness of a ruler, if not for the way she watched you. Chin pointed towards her chest, a blue glare slicing through long brown lashes. 

She was motionless in the purpling hues of morning, more beast crouched in wait than leisurely empress.

The fear you felt seeped marrow-deep, but something else lurked beneath it. swirling in the pit of your gut. It had been months since you had seen this face last, yet it was stitched into the seams of your every thought, conscious or dreaming. 

Something within you lurched.

For once, words eluded you. Ambition was a potent drug, you knew, and paired with vengeance it became absolute. How could you placate such a resolute mind?

Your throat dried as you watched her stand. There was no preamble as she crossed the room in a few long strides. This time, there were no chains and bars to keep her sequestered. The truth of this should have sent you scrambling, but astonishment buoyed you to the bed, quiet. 

Her freckled cheeks were awash with a rosy red, almost cherubic despite the face that she wore. A hateful expression. A hate so powerful, it teetered on a look of pain.

Your thumb twitched as she stopped mere inches away, the desire to smooth out the uneasy crease of mouth and brow shoved back into the depths of yourself. Why did her presence, the mere concept of her, steal away all reason and substitute it with something so sickly vulnerable?

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wilted on your tongue when you felt the cool press of steel against your neck. There was no tremble in the blade. Her grip on the hilt was certain. 

Understanding came as steadfast as the morning unfurling itself to the earth beyond your chambers. You, lovesick. Her, loathing you for it. For all of it.

“If you utter a single word…” she warned through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of the blade closer to your skin, the pressure of its presence imminent. 

Her eyes drifted down to the column of your throat, eyeing the stable heaving of your chest. A scowl fractured her features. “I should end your vicious little life right here and live up to the title you've cursed me with.”

You could sense it, the unspoken however. The wraith of the word settled over you like the gauze of a veil. If she wished to kill you so badly, she could have left you gutted on the fine sheets and fled before buttery sunlight engulfed the room. 

Why hadn’t she?

“I expected the same amount of goodness in response to my sacrifice. I expected you to come clean or… or to at the very least free me from that miserable cell!” Her features contorted at the remembrance of the dark, cramped space, the stifling silence, the numbing solitude. 

Then, the more chilling memories. Your face, flitting behind each blink. Your laugh, heard in the heavy rhythm of her own breath. Your lips, whispers and kisses and bites, felt only in the slumbering hours of a place that remained in stasis. Her hand flexed around the weapon.

Her voice took on the timbre of fervently plucked sitar strings. “The very thing I pledged my life to, the very thing I killed for, left me to rot. My King and his supposed sweet, saintly sister… how do you think such a wound festers, princess?”

You could not dignify her question with an answer. You had known no such discomfort, no such betrayal or ache. 

“Abigail…” Her name, spoken again with the quiet of a clandestine prayer. What else was there to do but acknowledge her through these three sweet syllables?

A prick of pain. The warmth of lifeblood trickling down the length of your throat. Just a nick, a rivulet. Abigail drew in her breath. Her irises seemed to shiver in their anger.

“I told you to be silent,” her voice sank into an exacerbated whisper. “Or would you rather I skewer you now?”

Gone was the radiant, gentle-hearted knight, eclipsed by the moon of this new vindictive creature. You were enraptured by the jaggedness of her being. Hair uncharacteristically dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Dilapidated sleeves rolled up to the elbow. 

“How angry you are…”

“Insolent–”

“Your beauty shines like this.”

Silence, thick and saccharine as flowing honey, settled over the moment. 

Abigail looked as if you had snatched the dagger from her and plunged it bone-deep. The first tremors of uncertainty twitched beneath her sure, calloused fingers. 

The wanting, besotted thing within Abigail gnashed its craving teeth. No. She would not let you disarm her of this, the one vein of conviction that pumped purpose into her battered heart. I will not waver.

But it was another thing entirely, to resist the beckoning call of surrender when you reached for her.

The moment your sleep-warmed hands came in contact with her own, she knew that fighting was futile. Her grip loosened, the blade slid from between her palms and into your own grasp. 

It was without a doubt stolen. It was weighty and intricately engraved with motifs of the sun and moon. The crest of your kingdom. How ironic.

Your gaze flickered from it to Abigail, whose eyes chased every movement of yours. She was waiting for you to return the favour, to press the blade to her own throat.

It never came. 

The blade was placed on the low, wooden bedside next to the bed, its mass clattering against the varnished surface. Surrender.

“Why…?” she breathed through the constriction of her lungs. Where was the familiar fire, that arrogance she came to despise?

“We were not destined to be adversaries.” Spoken as if this rivalry was something you alone could decide. 

Your features were aglow as first rays of dawn crept its way into the room. Brilliant eyes, straight spine, parted lips. In the liquid, shifting gold, you looked incorporeal. Coaxed from the most bereft parts of her mind.

A large palm cupped the softness of your cheek, a thumb running over the bending bone of your jaw and leading up to the bridge of your nose. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that you were flesh and bone beneath the title and crown. 

They say that the royal blood carried on the legacy of a fallen deity, who perished for nourishing this very kingdom. She never considered herself a particularly pious person but it rang true to her, especially now. 

“Then, enlighten me, princess,” she spoke softly. “What path have the gods carved for us?”

“The gods have no hand in this.” Blasphemous words that cut into her. “No, I won’t accredit this to divinity.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself melt into the coolness of her touch. “I want you, Abigail.” 

A litany of pleas that danced, unsaid, on your tongue. Love me, love me, love me. 

Begging was unnecessary, for the same thrill of need sang in her own bones. She tilted your head up slowly, admiring the way grandiosity slipped from your being as swiftly as it came.

Her lips against yours were a beckoning. They moved with a sure rhythm, gentler than the last time. Her kiss told you to unveil yourself to her. Give me sincerity, it whined. Give me an honest place to lay this love.

You fell back against the plush pillows, pulling her down with you. Her weight crashed against yours, hefty and unknown, yet comforting in its corporeality. She smelled faintly of mildew and rain, a scent splintered with the sharp tang of rust.

Your tongue ran across the bottom of her plump lip gently, asking for entrance. If she wanted the truth, you would offer it in its entirety.

Your searching fingers found her blonde tresses while hers skimmed down to the hem of your nightgown. She slowly drew the airy fabric upwards from your ankles to your knees and then the middle of your thighs. The contact of the calloused drag of skin sparked something within, warmth coiling in the pit of your belly like a slumbering dragon.

You broke away from her to sit up, pulling the piece of thin cloth up and over your head. Abigail watched, sitting back on her haunches, as each inch of your skin was bared to her patient gaze. The softness found in each curve was a marvel to her, a body unmarred by the outside world. She observed you like one would an intricate tapestry, each whorl and knot revealing more depth with each second passed.

A hum of appreciation reverberated through her chest as she began to focus on discarding her own threadbare clothing. First, the tunic and then the tight hose that stuck to her skin. 

Her body was a thing conjured from epic poems and scriptures. Robust and sunkissed, with the new dawn melting over her back and haloing the outline of her body. A hero, draped in the splendour of victory… a god, blessing the mortal realm with its incomprehensible presence.

You reeled Abigail back towards you, the searing heat of her heaving chest pressing against yours. Her lips trailed dulcet kisses along your jaw as her fingers splayed against the flesh of your thighs. 

Your bodies melded together, pressing as if through the sheer force of passion, you could become one. Your bodies sang with pleasure, thrumming out an ancient and gasping melody. 

Hands and eyes, dilated with velvet-black pits of ecstasy, explored. You traced over the scars that ran down her body, transforming them into rivers and pathways, her body an entire world that they occupied. 

Her fingers grazed over the wet, sensitive flesh between your legs, silky and petal-like. They found the sensitive bud there, rubbing gentle circles upon it with her thumb while two of her other digits prodded for entry. 

You arched into her, a sweet noise dancing off of your parted lips as she slid them in knuckle-deep. She lured bliss from your body with each thrust and curl, each sweet word and absentminded, drunken press of her lips against yours.

Your writhing figure against hers was enough to make her own cunt throb with pure need. You felt, even through the haziness, her broad body rocking against yours, her pelvis gently seeking friction against the plushness of your thigh.

A symphonic crescendo of moans swelled in the morning air as you both neared shivery climax. Her ministrations grew more frenzied, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth. 

The pressure snapped, swift and blinding. You held onto Abigail tightly as she shook along with you, shallow breaths mingling together. The hard planes of her stomach were now sweat-slicked and she felt almost feverish against you.

As the throes of orgasm subsided, you raked a hand through her hair and pressed a dry kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She was still panting, slumped on top of you.

 This was a first, this contentment that wound itself through her being. There was not an ounce of tension in the sculpted divots and muscle. 

You pressed another kiss to her temple and you exhaled as she buried her nose further into your collarbone. 

Vulnerability rose up within you, and this time you loosened your grip on its reigns. Insatiability had always been your greatest weakness. You wanted her, you realised, not just in passing but always. You wanted to wake up to golden hair fanned across your pillows and a freckled nose pressed up against yours. You wanted the surety she guaranteed and the devotion that it promised.

 You wanted to love with all of yourself, and not just through the confines of the mould that you had been trapped in since birth. You wanted to be loved, no matter how many times you were forced to bloody your hands.

For that, however, you would have to peel back one last layer.

☾𖤓

Abigail was turned away from you as you told her your plans of usurpation, her face tilted up towards the heat beating in as she gathered up her scattered clothing. She pulled each piece on with a languidness, the nape of her neck still flushed beneath curling blonde baby hairs.

The lack of reaction turned the sweetness of your post-lovemaking haze sour. Your thoughts raced and tangled together in an incessant bundle as you forced the words leaving your mouth to remain a steady stream.

Would this revelation swing the pendulum of rivalry into motion once more? With your prior actions, you could sympathise, but this… this was grander than her. It was the ember that would flare the kindlings of hope; a prosperous future assured.

No remorse could be felt for that.

“Abigail…” you spoke slowly, the shape of her name dripping with solemnity. “My conviction is stone.”

You drew breath into your lungs as you watched her drag her bottoms up her legs, as if you were whispering sweet nothings and not outright treason. 

“If you are not my ally… if your heart's not in this, I will declare you my enemy.” 

You touched the dagger still resting at your bedside, precious and half-forgotten. “Do we have an understanding?”

She turned to face you then, absentmindedly fastening the ties of her tunic. Tousled but bright as noonday, she was beautiful enough to crush the new bloom nestled in your heart. 

She gazed at the weapon before looking at you directly. Clear blue and milky white, unwavering and unreadable.

Not so much an arrow now, her eyes were a roaring blaze, and your resolve was the aftermath of something swallowed whole.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

The wind wailed into the silence, crashing its invisible body against the looming Palace and whistling in the gaps of the sun bleached stone. Chaos roiled in the underbelly of the night, the closing notes of summer felt in the lashing heat that lingered.

Despite the late hour, the oil lamps in the throne room and surrounding hallways burned low and perilous. Servants scurried out of the way, prostrating themselves on the ground as a cloud of white and gold glided past them. 

The tremendous, ancient doors opened with a loud groan, making you swivel around. Encased in the rigid formation, like an egg warmed by a hen, was your brother. He spared you so much as a glance as he climbed up the stairs leading to the throne, his footfalls muffled by the plush, richly coloured carpet. The knights dispersed to their positions as he did so, silent and armed witnesses.

“My King…” You knelt low to the ground, your head centimetres from the cold marble. You were his subject first, his blood second. 

You heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of a feather-stuffed cushion being squashed beneath weight. 

“Rise.” His voice was clear and authoritative. You lifted your head to your mirror. The same eyes beneath a cruel set of brows. Same mouth, pressed into a thin line. The same hands, enclosed around the sheath of a sword, merely ornamental. A dutifully polished thing that had never tasted violence.

You stumbled onto your feet, and noted his clothing; a plum-coloured robe and a necklace of pearls and rubies dripping down his throat, like bone and blood congealed. Ever opulent, ever the lavish King, even in the privacy of nightfall. 

“State your business,” he spoke with a now bored inflection. “Tell me why you have disturbed me at so late an hour.” 

There was a hum of warning beneath his tone. If the reason for this disruption was frivolous, you knew he would not think twice about spearing you through.

 After all, what was an imperial daughter? Your value was held in your capability to be married off, to secure alliances, to fawn and charm and pamper. You had proven long ago that you would not be a bargaining chip in the game of monstrous men. 

You may have been worthless in that regard, but perhaps there was a way to regain his favour…

Eyes wide and lips quivering, you huddled your arms to your chest. Weak, small, inferior tohim in every way.

 “I caught her, Your Grace. The knight that escaped her cell,” you spoke through the warbling tones of fear. “She… she made an attempt on my life, but, blessed by the gods, I was saved.”

This piqued his interest. Your brother rested his chin on a thickly jewelled hand, his body leaning forward. Frankly, there was no love in his heart for the nobleman that lost his life, nor was there a thirst for vengeance because of it. Nonetheless, Abigail’s escape had tarnished his punitive, unbested reputation. 

For that alone, her head deserved to roll.

“Ah… finally a useful word you speak.” He smiled, his lips still wrapped around his teeth. Its mirthfulness stopped short of his eyes, still as shrewd as ever.

You watched as he gestured around the room, turning his head this way and that in mock confusion. “Well? Where is the unloyal cunt?” Joy trickled down into his demeanour now and, like a child anticipating gifts, his body straightened and his eyes shone. Only in his cruelty did the more human parts of himself show from within. 

You turned to the guard standing beside the entrance, and inclined your head deeply. 

There was a whirl of feather-white silk as he left the throne room, and mere moments later, the clang of metal against the marble floors reverberated through the vast space. It was different from the cheerful, jingling song of the anklet bells of dancers that typically graced these halls. This was weightier. It held no rhythm or reason.

Abigail was dragged in hastily, adorned from waist-to-toe in chains. The men who pulled her along dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and her form sprawled with no resistance. The dry scratch of her voice, pain, left her lips. Her golden, knotted hair clashed with the deep red of the carpet, spilling across it as she tried to right herself. It was one last shred of dignity, to rise upon trembling knees.

A low, appreciative whistle shot through the air, drawing your attention back to your brother. A grin now split his features, a thing with too many teeth. Each gemstone shimmered as he stood, a wave of light as he clutched his sword tightly by his side.

“You’ve done well, sister,” he praised as he descended the stairs slowly. His eyes were trained on Abigail as he spoke to you, his steps were punctuated with the chime of finery. He had a likeness to a predator in this moment, something feline slinking towards its prey.

“Very well, indeed.” Deep purple pooled at his ankles, his finely crafted shoes just centimetres from Abigail’s form. He looked down his nose at her, undeterred by the glare she shot up at him. 

There was a hiss of steel being drawn. Your brother’s sword was an elegant thing passed down to the new King when the old died. Golden hilt and flowering carvings that twined up the blade, it gleamed prettily in the lamp light. Despite its deadly point, it had never been used for battle, only a symbolic cementation of status.

What was he…

He tossed the sheath away and its impact rang hollow across the cavernous room. Then he turned away from Abigail, his attention on you. 

Instead of blinding pain, you were met with the handle being held towards you. His eyebrows softened, you supposed, in an act of what he believed was familial fondness. If I cannot exploit you as a flower, I will make use of your thorns.

“I believe this victory is yours.” 

You had no choice but to take the sword in shaking hands. The surprisingly lightweight hilt felt like fire, burning in your grasp. In all your years, you had only ever gazed upon this ancient relic.

Your brother rested a hand on your shoulder, as if to soothe your nerves. You were a skittish animal, always, in his mind. 

“Even a fool can do this if the blade is sharp enough,” he whispered, lullaby-soft. “Get your vengeance, my sweet sister. Honour our blood and let the final image of her life be the throne that she betrayed.”

Your fingers pressed into the cool metal. Abigail’s eyes were trained on you, her mouth parted ever so slightly. You watched as her body shifted. Lungs expanding, throat constricting.

“Now!” 

In an instant, disarray seized the room. The clang of armoured bodies sounded everywhere and so too, the squelch and roar of men dying. The resounding whine of the doors being closed and barred. Trapped in the midst of massacre.

You kept your gaze trained on your brother’s face. First, you watched as he recoiled with shock. The curtain-lift of realisation.

Finally, anger.

The hand on your shoulder tightened and bunched the fabric of your nightgown. His teeth were bared and the veins in his throat protruded with rage.

“What have you done?! You spineless little bitch!”

Your brother was wrenched away from you with full force, curses and spittle still flying from his mouth as he was forced onto his knees. Abigail was out of her chains, never completely restrained to begin with, and she eyed you with a tight expression as she held him down.

“What have I done, brother?” Your voice now trembled with the venom of restraint snapping. “I have done what is right. Our people deserve a true ruler, not a coddled man who plays at one.”

A wet laugh bubbled from his mouth, hysteric over the symphony of steel around you. “And you think you have what it takes to be a ruler?” His eyes were open, drinking in the light, wide pools of disdain. “If I am so coddled, what does that make you? Tell me, what do you know of history? Of warfare?

“What are you but a woman? You were raised for marriage,” he continued, his amused mask slipping to reveal the undercurrents of fear that roared within him. “I was raised to be King! This is my birthright and you cannot simply snatch it away!”

“Princess.” Abigail’s voice was stern over your brother’s prattling. A simple reminder. 

You stepped closer and watched as he faltered.

“W… Wait and heed my words. There is an order to these things,” he spoke desperately. “Disposing of me won’t alter it. Do you think the masses will warm up to you just because you are soft-hearted? They will still starve and slave their lives away, and they will hate you all the more for your gentleness. See things as I do, sister. When their hunger grows, will they look upon you kindly? You struggle, even now, to hold a sword. 

“They won’t view your weakness as benignity.”

Even in the act of begging for his life, he managed to crush you beneath him, like wilted petals in the palm of an enclosed fist. You brought the blade close to your face and inspected each silver bud of jasmine and rose. 

“Should I care about whether they view me as strong?” you asked, the cadence of your voice sounding distant and foreign to your own ears. “You forget that within the hour, I will control your army.”

You held out the sword in front of you then, the steel glinting. Your ancestors were right not to use it. It felt like a sin to have to dirty it.

No matter, you supposed. Today, history will be rewritten. With its rebirth, it was inevitable that some traditions would rot. Best to start with this one.

“What was it you told me before? ‘If the blade is sharp enough…’”

The wailing of a man defeated pierced your ears. His eyes were unseeing and yet so filled with despair. He slumped against Abigail’s grip and she let him fall to the ground with a thud. 

You loomed over your brother, sword raised over your head.

“Goodbye, dear brother. We will meet again, I’m sure, in the land of the damned.”

It was as clean as the business of death could be. A splash of vermillion against the desolate white. A whimper, followed by cloying silence. 

The deed was done.

[tahyal]

Hey! Hope you’ve been well. I know you smell incredibly well, so I need your tips. Please, what do I need to smell good all through the day, everyday? How do I know what scent I like and would fit me? What steps do you take and what are your favourite scents? Thank you!

Hi! I love this question

Smelling good starts from the inside : make sure your gut is functioning properly (are you having daily bowel movements?), support lymphatic drainage by moving everyday even if its just walks, drink water and other mineral rich drinks such as herbal infusions or broths, add chlorophyll to your water from time to time, and have a mindfulness practice that you do everyday (stress greatly impacts our body odor!)

Then, when it comes to your daily hygiene, use soaps/gels that don’t interfere too much with your skin’s microbiome, as that can also cause bad body odor, even if the soap/gel smells nice! I recommend the oil cleanser by la roche posay « Lipikar », followed by a neutral shower gel for further cleansing. Use a feminine unscented wash for your intimates and don’t forget your butt too lol, the Rael gel is lovely for that. Exfoliate your body once or twice a week.

Do armpit detoxes : clay + acv and rinse when it dries. You can do this once a week, and then bi-weekly or monthly for maintenance.

Instead of using deodorants, I suggest swiping a very gentle aha/bha toner it neutralizes odor and helps with brightening your underarms. I tend to use pure musk after that as well, just for the scent.

As for knowing which scent suits you, try out different perfumes until you find one that literally merges perfectly with your natural body’s scent. When you find it you will know, because it’ll actually feel like second skin, you won’t be able to get enough of it. Once you find it, look up the notes and start experimenting with other perfumes that have similar notes, then you’ll have found your « niche » :)

[ampleappleamble]

—

Sleep Drifter

(a love story, told in five parts)

—

Part 1: Dusk

—

Vatnir woke up in his berth on the Watcher's ship, and he felt terrible.

This came as very little surprise to him. He always felt terrible, especially just after waking. He couldn't recall a single night's sleep from which he'd woken feeling "refreshed" or "energized" or any of the other crisp, peppy little adjectives so often applied to the freshly roused. Probably, he figured, because he'd never enjoyed a full night of uninterruptedsleep. Of course, for one's nightly slumber to be split into two distinct phases was quite natural and evidently common amongst kith all over Eora– he'd recently learned that the Aedyrans actually had a word for the short period of wakefulness between these two periods of sleep, which turned out to be the nonsensical and ridiculous-sounding "midderlings"– but his tortured and broken sleep patterns were a different matter entirely.

More often than not, it was pain that woke him prematurely, in his head or his chest or his joints, or if he was particularly unlucky, his bowels. Other nights he'd startle awake only half an hour or so after drifting off, his snores catching in his throat as he choked on the viscous mucus that constantly collected in his sinuses. Certain peculiarities of his physiology necessitated that he sleep exclusively on his back, and so the horrible gunk would ooze down into his throat as he slept, and subsequently he'd wake in a panic, thrashing wildly in his haste to sit up so he could clear his airway. And to add insult to injury, getting back to sleep would then be cruelly waylaid by his traitorous body demanding that the next few minutes be spent expelling more foul, thick sputum from his badly abused upper respiratory system. It was a bit like certain forms of worship, actually: a sort of daily rite of purification, to be performed meticulously, dutifully, grudgingly. Judging from their utter lack of sympathy for his condition, he supposed that’s how the Harbingers must have seen it. Or perhaps they saw it as his inevitable penance for the blasphemous and unforgivable act of still being alive.

And so, as liturgy dictated, Vatnir sat up as soon as he realized he was awake, swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, and began his ablutions. First, the Scourging of the Throat– a cavalcade of violent, body-wracking coughs that ripped up through his chest like a flaming lash, bringing up great gobs of greenish-grey phlegm streaked liberally with blood. Fortunately, this was always the most difficult and painful of his labors, and once it was over he could move on to the next trial secure in the knowledge that at least it wouldn't be getting any worse from here on out. Next– the Purging of the Cavern. Although his nose was but a distant memory, his nasal cavity was not, and neither were its contents. He patted his pockets in search of a length of dirty linen bandage or one of his less useful scrolls into which he might deposit his burden, and finding none, elected instead to simply slip his bare hand beneath his mask while clamping the other tightly over his mouth and exhaling as forcefully as he could manage. The resulting mess was discreetly smeared across the underside of his bunk– no one would look there, he was certain– and he repeated the maneuver a few times, the pressure in his ears and behind his eyes easing up with every loathsome handful. Finally, he made sure his hands were clean (or clean enough by his standards, at least) before finishing the job with the Scouring of the Lashes– scrubbing vigorously at the dried muck encrusting his three sighted eyes with the side of his fist before carefully picking the resulting bits out of his long, white eyelashes and the crevices of his eyelids. The remaining eye beneath the bandages on the other side of his head got little more than a cursory rub, blind and useless as it was, and the two empty sockets on that side– well, those had a cleansing ritual all their own, a more intensive and arduous one that he could put off until later. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.

The harrowing ritual complete at last, Vatnir sat on the edge of his bunk for a long moment, catching his breath and letting the fresh pain throb throughout his body until it finally receded to the familiar dull ache that served as his baseline. This sloop– apparently the selfsame ship aboard which the Duskspeaker had arrived in the Deadfire– was much quieter than the galleon she'd brought to the Dead Floe and Ukaizo, even more so now that she'd set sail for the Dyrwood and most of her old companions had elected to remain amongst the islands or else chart their own courses elsewhere. For better or for worse, the little woman lead a skeleton crew now, and in comparison to the buzzing hive of activity the Hyridth ix Ensios had been, the Defiant was as quiet as snow fallen on a grave. Gone was the lively din of the mighty galleon– the bold and bawdy shanties being belted out from the rigging, the clatter of wooden plates and pewter tankards in the mess, the shouts and curses and laughter of sailors gambling on dice and cards belowdecks. Gone were Serafen's dirty jokes, Tekēhu's melodramatic performances, Edér's tuneless whistling. All gone, and replaced with the gentle crashing of the waves against the hull, the steady creaking of the boards, and the somber mutterings of what few crew remained, speculating about the fate of the world now that Ukaizo and her secrets had been laid bare and the Wheel torn asunder. What would they do now, they wondered? What could they do?

The unnatural silence made Vatnir's ears ring, and for the thousandth time since they'd departed from Ukaizo, he wondered what he ought to do now, now that he'd cut his Harbingers loose and the Duskspeaker– the Watcher– didn't need him anymore. And for the thousandth time, just as he had the first, he came back without even the faintest hint of an answer. He heaved a heavy sigh and stared into the middle distance, his throat still raw and tender.

Gods, I could use a smoke.

Well. That was a start, anyway.

Although his earlier search of his pockets had not produced what he'd been looking for at the time, he had rediscovered his whiteleaf pipe, a sturdy little wooden bauble carved to look like the head of an aurochs, complete with holes in the snout where smoke might escape. The sight of it never failed to tug the corners of his lipless mouth into a wry smile, and not only for the novelty of its design or the comfort its contents promised– it had also been a gift from the Watcher, one she herself had crafted specially for him, and every time he used it he recalled the events necessitating its creation.

The Duskspeaker and her crew had just settled down in the fur piles for one last night among the living before setting off for the Vytmádh, and he had snuck outside for a smoke to calm his nerves– gods forbid a Harbinger should witness Rymrgand's Chosen enjoying such a base and worldly pleasure– all the while unaware that Axa had secretly followed him. She'd thought he was attempting to flee his responsibilities again, this time reneging on his promise to guide her to the temple, and she had intended to creep up behind him and ask where in Hel he thought he was going. But the icy winds of the Dead Floe had crept up on her instead, had torn the doorknob from her hand as she'd made her approach, and slammed the heavy door against the side of the building, very nearly startling the souls out of them both. In his shock, he had dropped his pathetic little clay pipe, watching helplessly as it shattered on the unforgiving ground, the last of the whiteleaf he'd pilfered from Valbrendhür's stash scattering across the ice. He'd expected the Duskspeaker to react as coldly and pitilessly as she had when she'd interrogated him about the dragon and the temple, especially as he'd then had to stand there and watch her silently fill and light her own pipe right in front of him. But to his great surprise, she'd puffed on it only once before then holding it out to him, an apology accompanying the smoke on her breath. He had accepted both.

Later on, she'd promised to carve him a new pipe, and eventually she'd delivered on that promise. But he always remembered that first moment fondly, for that had been the turning point between the two of them, the point where they'd finally seen one another as two kith on equal footing, not just as host and guest, con man and mark, supplicant and potentate. He turned the memory over in his mind again as he stepped out onto the deck of the Defiant, the pipe clenched between his bared teeth, the golden-red light of the dying sun painting the little sloop in brilliant orange highlights and dusky brown shadows. Yes, that had been the turning point, although quite a lot more had passed between them since then, even putting aside their terrifying jaunt through the White Void together: he had hidden and protected her daughter while she'd led the fray against a hostile boarding party, he had taught her Wending repetitive epics and she had taught him Ixamitec divination chants, she'd tended to his wounds and helped him change his bandages, shared countless meals and drinks and smokes with him, taken him to the Luminous Bathhouse in Neketaka and scrubbed years' worth of filth off of him with her own two hands. They were– well, they were somewhat close now, he supposed. They were friends.

Yes. Friends. Nothing more.

Vatnir took a long drag from his little wooden aurochs and planted his elbows on the starboard railing, sighing a plume of bluish-grey smoke out over the sea. Friends. It should please him, to have a friend. He'd never had a friend before. Admirers, yes. Followers, worshippers, caretakers. A congregation. But never a friend. And she was a powerful friend, too, a strong, principled, generous friend. Passionate and clever. Bold. Kind.

Beautiful.

And, of course, spoken for.

He genuinely bore no ill will for Aloth Corfiser, though the two of them had never quite seen eye to eye. It was worse when he'd first joined the crew– their initial struggle against Neriscyrlas, directly caused by Vatnir's feast invitation ruse, had no doubt still been fresh in the wizard's memory back then, and he could understand the other man's general distaste for his faith and his standards for cleanliness (and Vatnir very much returned the sentiment). And yes, he could admit that he... well, that Aloth had perhaps caught him casting a few too many lingering looks at the Watcher, particularly during their visits to the bathhouse, which certainly did not endear the priest to him. But after he'd risked his life to keep little Vela safe while the rest of the crew fought off that boarding party, he'd seemed to soften toward Vatnir a bit– albeit, he suspected, with not insignificant prompting from the Watcher. And so before long, whenever Axa was indisposed, the two men had started passing the time on the long sojourns between islands together, teaching one another their favorite games of skill and intellect, commiserating about the tribulations of the adventuring lifestyle, on one occasion going so far as to split a bottle of palm wine and overshare about their respective miserable childhoods. He'd even encountered Iselmyr once or twice, much to Aloth's consternation and Vatnir's profound discomfort. But despite their budding camaraderie, Vatnir still spotted the occasional flash of disgust cross the Aedyran's face when they interacted, especially when they ate together. And he certainly still bore the wizard's icy glares when Axa smiled at him a little too warmly, when she sang in harmony with him, when she patted his hand or squeezed his elbow or dabbed at his perpetually slobbery chin with her handkerchief. And his bashful fidgeting and stammering in response to these intoxicating little doses of affection probably didn't help.

But could Aloth blame him, really? He had her all the time, and he had all of her. How could a man with a feast in front of him possibly begrudge the beggar his crumbs? Although, he supposed, if their places in her heart were swapped, Vatnir couldn't deny that he'd probably guard her against Aloth's attentions just as jealously. Moreso, even, maybe. Too bad he'd never truly know, especially now that their travels together were drawing to a close. I should probably try and find her, he thought, grunting with annoyance as he realized his pipe had snuffed itself out. Ask her where she'd like to drop me off. Or perhaps I should just keep my mouth shut and slip away next time we make port for a resupply. The Dyrwood can't be too far away now, and Beast knows she and Aloth won't want me settling anywhere near–

"There you are!"

It all happened in a flash. Her voice was unmistakable, she'd spoken as boldly and clearly as she always did, he knew it was just her. But his body, decrepit as it was, was somehow still quicker than his brain, already reacting to the sudden noise before his conscious mind could fully recognize what it was hearing. And so he startled, so he yelped, so his hands spasmed and his little wooden aurochs went tumbling over the railing and into the sea, whiteleaf and all.

For a brief moment they both just stood, mouths agape and eyes wide, blinking rapidly in shock as they stared at the spot in the air where the pipe had been, almost as though they half expected it to just jump right back up on deck and laugh at them for believing it so foolish as to leap overboard like that. And when, of course, it didn’t, when the moment had fully passed–

"Oh, for frost's sake, Duskspeaker!" Vatnir cried, gritting his teeth as he slammed his bandaged palms against the railing and leaned over it as far as he could, gawking stupidly at the churning waters below as though he might somehow spot the pipe and suddenly devise some way to rescue it. "I just– I've only– You can't–" He sputtered impotently for a few seconds more before hanging his head low and falling silent, resigning himself to his ill fortune.

"Gods damn me, I've got to stop doing that," Axa groaned, wincing as she joined him at his side. "I'm sorry, Vatnir, truly. I only wanted to talk to you, and now look what I've done–"

"Again," he snapped, drawing his upper half back onto the safe side of the railing before sagging despondently against it.

She chuckled ruefully and shook her head, her loose burgundy curls bobbing to and fro as she did. "Again," she agreed. She reached into a pouch on her belt and produced her own pipe, a fine little piece of intricately carved dark red wood. "Well, as my father used to say: where there's precedent, there's protocol. You know the drill. Shall we get to it?"

He narrowed his tripartite eyes at her for a long, tense moment. His heart was still racing from shock and outrage, but all the same he could feel it also beginning to soften toward her, just as it always did.

"I get first go, then," he grumbled.

She scoffed, smiling as she stuck the pipe in her mouth and started rummaging through her belongings for her whiteleaf and flint.

"Like Hel you do," she retorted.

And so they stood together for a while, smoking and enjoying a rare comfortable silence. Vatnir had realized the first time they'd shared a pipe that there was definitely something... different about her whiteleaf compared to his own. That it was better, that was so obvious as to go without saying, but that wasn't all there was to it. The dry, brittle dross he'd been sneaking from Valbrendhür's barrel all these years– the old man knew, he suspected, but he either didn't mind or he didn't dare confront Vatnir about it– it was as though it had come from a totally different plant than the plump, sticky buds Axa packed her pipe with. And it acted differently on him, too– when he smoked back on the Floe, it seemed to lay a thin but pleasant layer of fuzz over his senses, easing his tension and quieting his incessant meandering thoughts just enough for him to be able to relax a little. But out here on the sea, smoking with Axa, it was like a whole new layer of reality was revealed to him every time he lit up. Time itself became a strange and unmanageable morass through which he either had to wade laboriously or else give up and simply allow himself to sink into. His thoughts still wandered, but they now seemed to do so faster than he could keep up, and he might spend hours on one train of thought only to look up and realize it had barely been five minutes. It still made him feel good, of course, eased his pain– if it didn't, he'd have no reason to partake– but he'd had to learn to be cautious not to overdo it, and this time was to be no exception. Or, it shouldn't have been an exception. But, well, seeing as this was probably to be their last smoke together...

Time passed, and he hummed with pleasure as the weight of his own body seemed to lift from him somewhat, thin tendrils of smoke slowly slithering out from between his teeth. Aloth didn't smoke whiteleaf, didn't like how it made him feel. Vatnir supposed that was one aspect of Axa that he could enjoy that Aloth couldn't. That, and singing. And speaking Ordhjóma. The thought made him feel oddly triumphant, and he regarded Axa admiringly, a thin thread of saliva streaming from his ruined smile.

The Watcher peered back up at him, her own sloppy grin plastered across her face. "What?" she drawled, holding her pipe out to him again. "You want this?"

He looked past the pipe, letting his eyes wander over her. Her words had struck him in a way he couldn’t quite articulate to himself, and he felt a peculiar nervous warmth surge up through him from somewhere beneath his navel as he held her gaze. Oh, gods, alright, time to stop. Come on, man; none of that, now.

"N-nae, nae," he stammered, waving away the proffered pipe and wiping at his chin with his sleeve. "I've had plenty, I think." He very quickly and deliberately turned to look out over the waves again. "Uh, you said you– you came out here to talk to me?"

"Ah! Yes." Axa snapped her fingers, nodding a little too vigorously. Had she been smoking before coming out here? "Yes, I did. I had a question I wanted to ask you. An important one."

So it had been on her mind, too? Good, good. Better to get this over with sooner rather than later. "Ah. Yes. Where would I like to disembark," he sighed. "Of course. Well, actually, I had just been out here thinking on that before you–"

"Woah, hey, wait, what? Stop.” Axa's brow furrowed, her grin swiftly replaced with a concerned pout. “What are you talking about? Disembark?"

He peeked at her out of the corners of his eyes. "Well. Yes," he mumbled. "We'll be landing in the Dyrwood any day now, I imagine, and you– the two of you won't want me following you around once you've–"

She turned fully toward him then, adopting the familiar defensive stance he'd seen her use in battle so many times. "Where in Hel did you get that idea?" she demanded. "Who told you I wanted you to leave?"

Vatnir looked away from her again, a memory of Axa and Aloth embrace passionately even as the storm winds of Ukaizo whipped around them flashing before his mind’s eye. He cleared his throat. "I thought it obvious," he admitted. "I mean, y-you've got your life to return to, haven't you? Rebuilding your keep, your duty to your subjects– well, what's left of them, I suppose." He cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but she dismissed his unspoken apology with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand, urging him to continue. "A-and... and Aloth. You have him. And he has you. You don't need my dead weight dragging the both of you down. You've been generous with me, more than I ever deserved. Why wouldn't you simply part ways with me before I burden you further?" Gods, he had overdone it. He always ended up talking too much when he overdid it with the whiteleaf...

Axa was quiet for a moment, her eyes darting to and fro beneath her knitted brow as she considered his words. "You're right," she replied at last, her voice soft but stern, "in that I'd wager gold that what I have to look forward to when we get back home is probably gonna be nothing more than a lot of godsdamned work. I can't imagine the immediate consequences of a giant statue bursting out of the ground only a few dozen miles from Defiance Bay and stomping across the country to get to the ocean, tearing the land apart and killing hundreds if not thousands of kith, was something resolved in any way quickly or efficiently, especially considering what the government is like in the Dyrwood. Not to mention the people." She took a long toke off of her pipe, looking about as tired as she had since the day they'd landed on Ukaizo. "And we're still only barely starting to recover from the Hollowborn Crisis, and that's on top of the losses suffered during the Saint's War that we’re still dealing with. I'd be surprised to find myself not mired neck-deep in some sort of crazy geopolitical turmoil as soon as my boots hit Dyrwoodan dirt. And you know what I'll need most of all to get through it?"

"More whiteleaf?" he quipped. He became dimly aware that somewhere in the middle of her speech, he’d started trembling.

"Friends," she asserted. "Loyal friends, kith I can rely on who'll stand by me, fight at my side, support me against my detractors– and trust me, I will have detractors." She huffed out a mirthless little laugh. "I need people who know me well, who'll celebrate my victories with me and, more importantly, who'll bring me comfort and cheer in my darker hours."

He scoffed, his hands unconsciously gripping the railing a little more tightly. "And you think that's my specialty, do you? Comfort and cheer?"

"Well, you make me laugh, don’t you?" She shrugged and smirked, but her voice betrayed just how earnestly she’d meant what she’d said. He didn't quite know what to make of that.

So he pressed on instead. "And Aloth. He agrees with all this?"

Her smile broadened at the mention of her elven beau. "That's what he told me when I asked him. I know you probably find it hard to believe, but he really is quite fond of you, you know. In fact, he suggested we ask you to officiate our wedding ceremony when we get home, seeing as the captain usually does it, but, well." She chuckled, gesturing vaguely to herself. "Deflated him a bit when I told him most Wending cultures don't–"

"He asked you to marry him?" he blurted. It had taken him a moment to process what she'd said.

"I asked him, actually." She looked him over, trying to gauge his reaction, but his emotional state was utterly indiscernible.

He didn't quite know how that news made him feel, either. He lifted a fist to his mouth, coughed into it. "Congratulations," he managed stiffly. His trembling was worse now, noticeably so. He cursed his weakness, cursed himself for having been so childishly obvious, for having dared to hope for just a second that–

The sudden presence of her warm little hand atop his nearly made him jump out of his own skin. "Vatnir," she murmured. "I came out here looking for you so I could ask if you'd given any thought to what you were going to do next, where you were going to go. Because if you hadn't, I– I wanted to ask whether you might stay with us. With Aloth and I. And not out of guilt or pity or duty, but because we'd like you to. I'd like you to."

Another long silence passed between the two of them, and this time it was anything but a comfortable one. He had to work hard to keep his gaze fixed on the sea, he couldn't look at her, couldn't or else– or else he might– he might–

Her hand squeezed his, gently. "So. Will you stay with us?"

Oh, gods. Oh, this– this is a mistake. This will be a mistake, I know it–

"If–" He forced the words out quickly, before he could convince himself not to. "If you're certain."

He chanced a glance at her at last. She smiled at him warmly, a smile of pure relief, and it brought to his mind the feeling of watching the sun finally break through the clouds.

"I am," she said.

[everythingisgr4y]

"with love, kisses and hugs "NOTHING TO LIVE FOR..."

petrified, cold hands, chain bracelets on both wrists.

Each one of them hangs over my hand, they weigh, they burn, they hurt.

each chain in my brain, each one, an emotion, some feeling, several goodbyes, a lot of pain.

I used to dance to the rhythm of the wind, I used to be that petal that shone when that ray of hope reached me.

The ray of hope stopped being warm, the wind stopped being comforting, now only dark light... spiders instead of courage, blood instead of purified water.

darkness, rubble, all in one place... my mind, me... that beautiful place, which was a refuge, a beautiful house, is just a collapsed and dark house .

Denial is something that few understand, happiness neither, fear will always be surrounding me, pushing me away, I saw it face to face, I kissed it.

Every time I whisper it becomes a sentence, one more cut, a cut so deep, that at times it terrified me.

The sentence is sometimes so strong that all my air leaves me... the air I kept in a safe... my life supply, Vitamin A, a cleansing drink, warm light, everything I didn't have.

I hide, I run away, used to rejection... it's not rejection, it's not fear... maybe it's my way of surviving.. People are so inhuman, incapable of feeling, of seeing beyond... Could you break through that wall for me?

I could have immersed myself in drugs, really, they breathed down my neck... for so long, several Christmases... several Halloweens.. Could drugs revive me, allow me to escape, be able to breathe, escape from the void, rise to the surface... If I try them, will I be sure I can breathe?

At least I will see the sunlight run over my skin, illuminate and reflect on the bracelets on my wrists..

Now I'm standing in front of a black railing, next to the stairs, the sun shines on them, there are dark parts that the sun doesn't touch.... But why? Why don't they light up that elegant color? ... You only see what you want to see, what I want you to see... and yet, I don't see myself, you don't see me..

They're thinking of banishing me... to hell... in fact I'm already there... I'm exploring the cavities, the tunnels, its bowels, it's so "beautiful..."

It's beautiful, I love it, I would like to stay here forever.. Hell has burned all my skin, left me scarred, and blinded me... but it hasn't killed me yet? But why?

I've walked for days here, in some places, I've seen the sunlight, and I've stayed, but then the lights go out, the oxygen turns to acid, and every time I think it's going to be okay.. it withers..

I managed to reach the tower... I went up with her, I saw the devil... he's kind, comforting, but such unusual behavior...so unusual, I live with him.. I've fought with him, he burned a certain part of hell for me... something the angel in golden armor didn't do.

The devil is so stupid... so stupid, but no one understands him, he pretends to have dominion and understand everything... You may be the devil, but you don't know your demons...

In my nightmares I left the tower, I left... but still the lack of emotion, of air, of white clouds, clear sky, sunset, and birds flying...

nothing was easy, not for me, this is about me... about me either, It's about my soul... I can't purify myself... there's no one here, I'm alone, no grey days or in-between, just black...

with love and kisses... there's nothing left to live for.

(Writing this was so... refreshing, soothing, taking a break in a tropical forest. I wrote this in just 3 hours. I wrote an extra one, but I'll post that one after this one.. 💓)

Gracias por leer, tqm, sigueme para más ✨

[darkmaga-returns]

Somewhere in the bowels of the CNN Building in Atlanta is a video clip that has been on file since the channel began in 1980. The footage is of a military band performing “Nearer My God To Thee.” The explicit instructions are that this particular tape is not to be released for broadcast “till the end of the world confirmed.”

Morbid perhaps, but Ted Turner can’t be disparaged for thinking of the big picture. His CNN was going on the air with the then-traditional national anthem and would stop for nothing until the apocalypse. This being the dawn of the Eighties it was far easier to imagine the end of history descending with an inevitable conflagration of nuclear holocaust.

Thankfully, those fears abated a little more than a decade later. But the “end of the world tape” still exists, ready to be deployed in circumstances that can not be readily calculated.

CNN might well be broadcasting until the final moments of humankind. But its clout as a prestigious news leader has certainly met its demise. A network that boasted of an audience of millions during the Persian Gulf War is today measured in tens of thousands. It’s not even shown in most airport terminals anymore. CNN is now profusely bleeding staff, particularly in the months since the 2024 election.

CNN and much of the rest of the legacy news media, if not outright dead, are being held aloft by what medical staff would call “heroic measures” to stave off the inevitable. And they have only themselves to blame.

[abnormalpublishing]

Commentary – The Death of a God (Wasteland Bear God, Ep. 12)

If Episode 11 was a fiery “get stuffed,” then Episode 12 is the cosmic hangover that follows a night of bad decisions, too much divine liquor, and an inappropriate grope or two by a fictional Bear God. Don’t worry, it was consensual.

This one’s another turning point (again, you’ll see more of these because that’s what life is—an unhinged GPS leading you in circles). So, the Bear God died unexpectedly by his maker, which so happens to be, oh right, me. And as expected, he gets better because I wasn’t going to end the story there. Still, it was important to note that around this time I was writing and revising Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle, did some Requiem for Lilith, and was also doing some early Bob, early blues (shameful plug and self-promotion on many levels, and a nod to Morphine/Treat Her Right’s own Mark Sandman’s – “Early Man.”). Also reading that back seems like I did a line of cocaine, ha, if we could only be so lucky. I think I’ll keep it in. Also, pre-orders for This is Bob: A Guide to Not Dying (Mostly) are now open!

So, initially, this episode was meant to be a silent period—a “what now?” moment. A smoldering hole in the ground. Mourning. Reflecting. You know, emotions and stuff. But nah. That didn’t last long. If you’ve ever played WoW, or some MMORPG where there are players that play as DPS (damage per second), then you’ve likely heard something akin to “DON’T STAND IN THE FIRE!” I like to think that the Bear God did so, even though he got f-bombed and should have had the plot armor to stay alive. Damn, am I on a roll with song puns! So if you ever wonder where we go when we bite it, I made a “nothing,” although it’s more along the lines of it’s just space. Still, the Bear God existed in this space as an annoying purple, black, amalgamation of annoyance that, like any DPS in a damn PUG (pick-up-group) says, “Rez.” Over. And over. And over. Seriously, why should I rez you when you’ll—oh look, someone wasted our battle rez and sure as shit, you’ve gone and died again. I hope you’re happy; we could have saved that for a tank or healer who isn’t being a clown.

Yes, the Bear God refuses to stay dead, and honestly, I wasn’t even given a choice. Like any good character that a writer makes, he barged into the writer’s room (read: my skull) and demanded a rewrite. Or a refund. Now, what better way to further divulge an internal bromance that isn’t falling apart like . . . whatever that mess is . . . anyway, I digress, and usually, my mind is all over the place—thinking on this, that, and the those, keeping these, maybe throwing those, and inadvertedly going “ha, that’s also a song plug, isn’t it?” Yes. Heads up, I’ve enjoyed the absolute hell out of Skeletá since Ghost dropped it, and its inclusion on my playlists.

Moving on, I figure in any good bro-lationship, we got into some divine banter, interdimensional sass, and a scolding from The Maker, who needs a therapist… or a drink… or both. Which is true, because I was going to a therapist and my alcoholism was riding that crazy train (ha). I suppose having another drink back then would have been a bad idea. Not that I couldn’t hold my worth, I just spiraled around the drain a lot. So, there’s always been this meta-thread of the Creator and Creation having a toxic, hilarious, passive-aggressive relationship, and this episode dives headfirst into that dynamic. It’s just a bonus. Similar to when I did a wannabe TV promo spot, which I haven’t re-re-released.

The resurrection scene is peak absurdity—glorious light, howling wind, a majestic new shiny mecha-body, with luscious brown fur (because who doesn’t want to be reborn into a younger, more fit, and agile body). Almost golden fried. Oh, and a bowel cleanse for good measure. Because, of course, the episode is going to end with him being reborn with upgraded tech and spotless insides. After all, he’s a bear and a god. He demands comfort, glory, and fiber. And maybe, just maybe, some lotion applied to his bits.

As always, thanks for trudging through the ash, nonsense, and divine dick jokes with me. Episode 13 may or may not involve more chaos. (Spoiler: Does a bear shit in the woods? No, it does whatever it pleases.) Also, “CRAB BATTLE!”

Until next time,

RJM

 P.S. I loved this shit.

[wastemanjohn]

🔥 i don't have topic in mind just go off

oof that's dangerous lol. i'll leave the heavy unpopular opinions for another time.

so i'll go with a softer one - cw frank poo talk

people who say they have IBS bc they take a long shit after a heavy meal, or more than one shit a day: talk to me when you've attended your friend's wedding (as a bridesmaid no less) with like the worst stomach pain of your life, belly ballooned out so far you have to pose for pretty photos while looking eleven months pregnant, having to run to the bathroom at least once an hour but you just CANNOT for the life of you take that shit. so it sits in there and gurgles especially loudly while your friend's dad is giving an emotional wedding speech to the point where people around the table are looking at you like you can fucking control your gastric system singing the song of its people and you end the day feeling exhausted and feverish and STILL can't pass the damn thing. you spend the entire celebratory breakfast the next morning in the bathroom in this tiny cafe where its so obvious where you are and what you're (trying to) do, struggling through the two hour train ride home with cramps like hell, get home and go straight to bed and take five laxatives and pray for that shit to pass (literally) - still no joy, just more cramps, gurgling and what feels like the crown of a pineapple nudging at your arsehole. so you literally almost crawl to the pharmacist across the street and beg for something to get you going. pharmacist takes one look at you and goes into the back and silently places a box of sachets on the counter, tells you to take one "and wait." doesn't explain what they are, you're so desperate you don't care, you go home and mix that up with some robinson's squash and then go back to bed. and so intensifies the cramps, so grows the pineapple, and you feel so fucking ill you're convinced at this point that you're dying, so you look at the packet again and see that mr edgelord pharmacist has given you a PRESCRIPTION ONLY BOWEL CLEANSE intended to be given to people the night before a colonoscopy. AND IT STILL ISNT FUCKING WORKING.

so at this point you call 111 crying bc you're convinced the pineapple arse baby is going to explode inside you and you're going to die of poo sepsis which is just a really unsexy way to go and you can't deal with that being your cause of death, and they tell you to get yourself to a&e right away which you do at like 5am at this point, so you get an uber to the hospital and the receptionist TRIES to tell you to go home and wait for it to pass but you're not having any of it (your memory is fuzzy aside from being taken into the back and pacing around wailing bc you can't sit down, have you ever tried to sit down on a pineapple arse baby, it's like what i imagine using a potato as a butt plug without lube would feel like), and you are probably left pacing and wailing for like 2 hours, bc this is the UK at 6am on a sunday and there's probably one doctor in the entire hospital who (understandably) doesn't think your pineapple arse baby is comparatively important; and your vitals are all fine which buys you probably another hour of pacing and wailing, and when the doctor finally comes through they brusquely finger your arse without even buying you a snack first and declare that "the rectum feels empty" like you're here for fun, and then return with a box of movicol (powdered laxatives) and tell you to go home. in what is possibly your finest and coolest moment to date you beg for an enema because you already sank a half pack of movicol (you always have a supply in your IBS cupboard bc you have one of those) and a prescription only fucking bowel cleanse and the doctor looks at you like you've come to a&e with a cut finger and tells you "it's just your IBS, wait for it to pass and see your GP tomorrow."

so you go home in an uber crying your racing heart out and sitting on your thighs while the concerned driver asks if you want to go back to the hospital and you declare no because its JUST YOUR IBS AND YOURE OVERREACTING (you may have told the driver this) and you crawl back up the stairs to your flat and go to bed and wait to die

three hours later the things my bathroom saw - well, sensitive readers may find the details disturbing so i'll omit them. but the pineapple arse baby passed over a period of about four long hours and i did not leave that bathroom the same person i was when i came in. i am actually only half joking. this was such a horrendous experience i actually had a nightmare or two about it. and now every time i have a bad ibs-c flare up, i get so anxious about this happening again i have had actual panic attacks.

... do all of this THEN come tell me you have IBS. take some imodium for your carbonara, white wine and gelato induced loose stool and stfu you little bitch.

[wortcunningwitch]

Book Review - Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer

I’ve seen a few reviews on this book already, but I wanted to share my own opinion, as I finished Wild Witchcraft quite recently. Everything is under the cut!

*Note: writing with proper capitalization in this post because the content’s more formal :)

I would rate this book a solid 8 out of 10. I’ve seen some people rate it a bit higher, but I’m sticking with this score for a few reasons that I’ll explain.

Overall, Wild Witchcraft is a great resource for people who practice (or want to learn about) green witchcraft and herbalism. The author, Beyer, includes profiles of many different herbs common in America, including poisonous ones (on which she designates a separate section for). She gives information on their magical uses, their folklore & history, and their medicinal uses. Additionally, she has a lot of information on growing & foraging herbs, handling poisonous plants safely, and crafting different recipes (tinctures, salves, oils, etc.). Another thing I really like about Wild Witchcraft that’s especially important to mention is that Beyer repeatedly stresses the respect for Indigenous people & POC that white witches & herbalists living in North America should have; she also notes that their traditions have contributed largely to American folk magics and herbalism in general. Lastly, the bibliography for Wild Witchcraft is quite large and well put-together — a wealth of resources in itself.

Unfortunately, Wild Witchcraft has its drawbacks, and should be read critically like any book on witchcraft. I take two points off out of ten for two reasons — one point for the unnecessary emphasis on the Wiccan Wheel of the Year, and one point for an instance of potential medical misinformation. Beyer spends a lot of time going over recipes and spells that correspond with dates on the Wheel of the Year without explicitly denoting it as a Wiccan calendar. This incorrectly assumes that the reader is Wiccan or follows the Wheel of the Year, as well as perpetuates the conflation of witchcraft and Wicca. Also, there is one (perhaps more — I’d have to reread) instances where Beyer recommends an unnecessary and unsafe herbal remedy. She recommends ingesting a tincture made from black walnut as a “parasite cleanse”. You do not need to cleanse your bowels of parasites unless you have a parasitic infection, in which case you should speak to a licensed doctor for further testing and prescription medication.

That's all! Feel free to add your own thoughts about Wild Witchcraft to the post :)

[deuterosapiens]

So, the foreshadowing in this game is again, subtle as always. Cid's near-fall on the bridge was the moment where I said, "yeah, Cid dies here," and lo!, Cid dies here.

Joshua's return is really not too surprising. Phoenixes aren't exactly known for staying dead, are they? His discount-Roxas look works for me.

Am I cursed to enjoy every single Ifrit fight this game has to offer? Because once again, Ifrit v. Typhon brought me so much joy, and it's a wonderful palate-cleanse after the Akashic Dragon which, while not a particularly unenjoyable fight, the Cannonier before it can bite me, simply lacked the scale necessary to scratch that particular itch my lizard brain demands.

Speaking of itches my lizard brain demands, and actually, the Akashic Dragon, Typhon, Ultima, and so forth. Praise be to the Flame Imperishable! If I haven't mentioned this ever, my favorite trope in all of fiction is the Awakening of Buried Evil through the Actions of the Greedy and slash or, the Stupid. Think, dwarves discovering the Balrog in Moria. This means that bar none, my favorite locations in video games tend to be mines and extensive underground structures. Think the Mines of Moria. The greatest joy for me is having a party venturing into the bowels of the earth and discovering horrors beyond their kenning which would have been best left undiscovered. Imagine if you will, the Mines of Moria.

I hear mention of a Guardian in these Mines, guarding the Heart of the Mothercrystal, and so naturally, I'm hoping to see an eldritch otherworldly monstrosity. Chained gods to a wall with poison dripping in their eyes, locked away because someone had a damn good reason to lock them away. My disappointment upon discovering, oh, it's just a dragon (a cool dragon, don't get me wrong, it's glorious) might have been a bit preemptive. You know what makes these sorts of creatures really, really cool? A distinct lack of context! So, Typhon with its really slick discount Ozzy Osbourne look, followed by the reveal of Ultima, more than made up for this to me.

I did not cry at Cid's death.

I did, however, cry hideously at the reveal of Ambrosia. First off, how the hell did she survive the beginning? I questioned Torgal's reunion but gave it a pass because why would I be angry at the dog coming back? But seriously, I cannot imagine any conceivable reason of all things that Clive's Chocobo survived Phoenix Gate. At this rate, I'm beginning to suspect his father's not really dead because let's do a quick tally:

Torgal- never presumed dead, but inexplicably alive

Joshua- definitely murdered, quite brutally, but alive through Phoenix magic

Ambrosia- presumed dead protecting Clive during the massacre at Phoenix Gate, but defying all logic, inexplicably alive.

Not complaining though. The reunion was heartwarming. And I find it interesting that this is actually a completely optional side quest, that you could theoretically miss. You would think this little plot would be integrated in with the main plot a bit, but I suppose having a Chocobo mount doesn't exactly tie into the Martha's Rest plot, or the larger plot of the Valisthean civil war very well.

But yes, this entire scene had me inexplicably ugly-crying.

Things are certainly shaking up a bit. As a side note, I'm guessing Jill doesn't make to the end. Why? Because, upon obtaining Ramuh, there's room on the Ability menu for five more Eikons. There's only one Eikon for each Element, and Jill uses Ice. So, unless she freely gives Shiva to Clive as a personal sacrifice, in order for him to gain access to Blizzard Magic, Jill will die.

I'm ignoring the possibility of there being a second Eikon of Ice for the simple fact that the fact that a second Eikon of Fire exists is such a major world-altering revelation that it would have incredible consequences to the world building as a whole if another element were shown to have two (or more) Eikons. Ifrit is special because it shouldn't exist at all- a second Eikon of Ice would detract from that.

[cortisolcocktail]

Revitalize Your Health with Duck Flower Detox: What You Need to Know

In the quest for optimal health and wellness, detoxifying the body has become a popular practice. One intriguing method that has gained attention is the Duck Flower Detox. This natural approach to cleansing offers a unique blend of benefits, from supporting digestion to promoting overall vitality. In this article, we'll delve into what the Duck Flower Detox entails, its potential benefits, and how you can incorporate it into your routine. Additionally, we'll explore an adrenal cocktail recipe that complements the detox process.

What is Duck Flower Detox?

Duck Flower Detox is a holistic approach to cleansing and rejuvenating the body. It involves the use of duck flower, a flowering plant known for its detoxifying properties. The duck flower, scientifically known as "Ardeola ralloides," has been traditionally used in various cultures for its health-promoting effects. The plant's leaves and flowers contain a blend of nutrients and antioxidants that support the body's natural detoxification pathways.

Benefits of Duck Flower Detox

Supports Digestive Health: The duck flower is rich in fiber, which helps promote healthy digestion and regular bowel movements. By including duck flowers in your detox regimen, you can support a healthy gut environment.

For more Information Visit: Duck Flower Detox

Antioxidant Power: The antioxidants found in duck flowers help combat oxidative stress and free radicals in the body. This can contribute to cellular health and overall well-being.

Liver Support: As a detoxifying agent, duck flower aids the liver in eliminating toxins from the body. A healthy liver is essential for overall detoxification and optimal health.

Boosts Energy Levels: Detoxifying with duck flower can help remove toxins that may contribute to fatigue. Many people report increased energy and vitality after completing a Duck Flower Detox.

Skin Health: Some individuals notice improvements in their skin's appearance after incorporating duck flower into their detox routine. Clearer, more radiant skin can be a positive outcome of the detoxification process.

How to Prepare Duck Flower Detox

There are various ways to incorporate duck flower into your detox routine. One popular method is to make a refreshing and nutritious duck flower tea. Here's a simple recipe:

Duck Flower Detox Tea Recipe:

1 cup of fresh duck flower leaves and flowers

1 teaspoon of organic honey (optional)

1 slice of lemon

2 cups of filtered water

Boil the water in a saucepan.

Add the duck flower leaves and flowers to the boiling water.

Reduce heat and let it simmer for 5 minutes.

Remove from heat and strain the tea into a cup.

Add honey if desired and a slice of lemon for extra flavor.

Enjoy your revitalizing Duck Flower Detox Tea!

Adrenal Cocktail Recipe for Added Benefits:

To further enhance the benefits of your Duck Flower Detox, consider adding an adrenal cocktail to your routine. This cocktail is known for supporting adrenal health, which can be beneficial during detoxification. Here's a simple adrenal cocktail recipe:

Adrenal Cocktail Recipe:

8 ounces of coconut water (unsweetened)

1/4 teaspoon of Himalayan pink salt

1/4 teaspoon of cream of tartar

1 tablespoon of fresh lemon juice

Mix all the ingredients in a glass.

Stir well until the salt and cream of tartar are dissolved.

Drink the adrenal cocktail alongside your Duck Flower Detox for added electrolyte support and adrenal nourishment.

Incorporating Duck Flower Detox into Your Routine

Now that you know the potential benefits of Duck Flower Detox and have a recipe to get started, it's time to incorporate this cleansing practice into your routine. Begin by sourcing fresh duck flowers from local markets or health food stores. If fresh duck flowers are not available, you can also find dried duck flower leaves and flowers for tea preparations.

For optimal results, consider doing a Duck Flower Detox for a set period, such as a week or two. During this time, focus on consuming whole, nutrient-dense foods, staying hydrated, and practicing self-care activities such as yoga or meditation.

Conclusion

Revitalizing your health with Duck Flower Detox can be a rewarding journey towards a cleaner, more vibrant you. By harnessing the natural detoxifying properties of duck flower and complementing it with an adrenal cocktail, you can support your body's natural cleansing processes and boost overall well-being. Whether you're looking to improve digestion, boost energy levels, or enhance skin health, Duck Flower Detox offers a holistic approach to detoxification.

To learn more about the benefits of the adrenal cocktail recipe and how it can complement your Duck Flower Detox, visit Adrenal Cocktail Recipe. This simple yet powerful combination of ingredients can provide essential nutrients and support for your adrenal glands.

So, embark on your Duck Flower Detox journey today and experience the rejuvenating effects of this natural cleansing method. Your body will thank you for it!

[livebedbugcontrol]

The Ultimate Guide to Bed Bug Treatment Kissimmee

Bed pests are actually tiny, blood-feeding pests that have been actually an annoyance to humans for centuries. Their potential to conceal in little cracks and gaps, combined with their quick recreation price, makes all of them challenging to exterminate. Having said that, along with the ideal technique as well as understanding, it is actually possible to properly manage a bed bug invasion. In this detailed overview, our company will look into one of the most helpful strategies as well as strategies for Kissimmee bed bug treatment.

Pinpoint the Concern

The primary step in dealing with a bed bug treatment Kissimmee is to verify its own existence. Seek signs including small reddish-brown pests, lost skin layers, bowel places (very small black dots), or even bites on your body after waking up. Examine your bed joints, garden frame, headboard, and close-by furnishings for any kind of indications of these insects.

Prevention and Early Detection

Deterrence is actually regularly better than taking care of an invasion. To stay away from bed infections, check any sort of used household furniture or second-hand products prior to carrying them right into your home. In addition, when journeying, inspect accommodation bedrooms as well as home furniture, and maintain your travel luggage raised as well as out of the bed.

Early detection is actually essential in stopping a tiny problem coming from coming to be an enormous issue. On a regular basis check your sleeping area and various other high-risk regions to capture bedroom bugs early.

Non-Chemical Bed Bug Treatment

For moderate invasions or even for those that favor to steer clear of chemicals, non-chemical treatment choices are actually readily available:

a) Vacuuming: On a regular basis vacuum all possible hiding places, including your bed, bed frame, as well as household furniture. Make sure to use a comb attachment to remove eggs and also nymphs coming from their hiding places.

b) Heavy steam Cleansing: High-temperature steam may kill bed insects and also their eggs. Make use of a vapor cleaning service on infested places however steer clear of soaking the bed mattress as excess wetness may bring about mold and mildew.

c) Encasements: Frame your bed mattress as well as mattress along with mattress bug-proof encasements. This avoids mattress bugs coming from infesting the cushion additionally and also makes it simpler to identify and also treat the infestation.

Chemical Mattress Pest Treatment

When dealing with a serious invasion, chemical treatment may be necessary. Having said that, it is actually vital to make use of pesticides safely and sensibly:

a) Insecticides: Opt for a pesticide especially classified for bed insects as well as comply with the directions carefully. Administer the pesticide to cracks and also crevices where bedroom pests conceal, and prevent splashing directly on the bed mattress or even places where you rest.

b) Specialist Elimination: For substantial or hard-to-reach problems, it is actually best to consult with a specialist pest control specialist. They have the competence and access to more strong chemicals, ensuring effective Kissimmee bed bug treatment while prioritizing safety.

Heat energy Treatment

Heat treatment is actually a considerably popular method for getting rid of bedroom pests. Professional heat energy treatments entail heating in the infested region to a level that gets rid of bed infections and their eggs. This technique is actually very efficient as well as non-chemical, yet it requires specific devices and ought to be actually performed through professional service technicians.

Replay and also Screen

Bed bug treatment is certainly not a one-and-done procedure. Adult mattress bugs as well as their eggs can be tough, as well as some may endure initial treatments. Consequently, it is actually essential to duplicate treatments as needed as well as keep track of the situation closely for any type of indicators of rebirth.

Result

Managing a bed bug invasion may be a demanding and also irritating adventure. Nonetheless, with the ideal expertise and method, it is actually feasible to properly alleviate as well as get rid of these insects. Whether you decide on non-chemical or even chemical substance strategies, avoidance, early detection, and routine surveillance are essential to avoid future infestations. If the scenario ends up being frustrating, do not wait to find the support of qualified parasite control pros to help you reclaim control of your house as well as sleep comfortably once again.

All American Pest Control

1101 Miranda Lane, Suite 131

Kissimmee, FL 34741

(321) 337-0919

Kissimmee Bed Bug Treatment

[abeyasinghe]

"Dietary Remedies for Candidiasis: Managing Yeast Infections through Healthy Eating"

Candidiasis, generally known as a incentive infection, is caused by an overgrowth of the Candida fungus in the body. While specifics are frequently specified to treat candidiasis, salutary changes can also play a significant part in managing the condition. In this composition, we will bandy colorful salutary remedies for candidiasis and how they can help palliate symptoms and promote overall health.

Reduce Sugar Intake Candida feeds on sugar, so it's pivotal to minimize your sugar consumption. Avoid meliorated sugars, including sticky potables, delicacies, goodies, and reused foods. Also, be aware of retired sugars in products like seasonings, gravies, and packaged snacks. conclude for natural sweeteners like stevia or small quantities of raw honey rather.https://rb.gy/mt8bj

Avoid High Glycemic Index Foods High glycemic indicator foods fleetly increase blood sugar situations, which can complicate candidiasis. Minimize or exclude consumption of white chuck , white rice, potatoes, and other refined carbohydrates. rather, choose whole grains like quinoa, brown rice, and whole wheat, which have a lower glycemic indicator.

Incorporate Antifungal Foods Certain foods retain antifungal parcels and can help combat Candida overgrowth. Include garlic, onion, coconut oil painting, gusto, turmeric, oregano, and cinnamon in your diet. These foods contain composites that can inhibit the growth of Candida and support the vulnerable system.

Consume Probiotic- Rich Foods Probiotics promote a healthy balance of gut bacteria and can inhibit the growth of Candida. Include fermented foods similar as yogurt, kefir, sauerkraut, kimchi, and kombucha in your diet. These foods give salutary bacteria like lactobacilli and bifidobacteria, which help restore the natural microbial balance in the body.https://rb.gy/mt8bj

Increase Fiber Input Fiber aids in digestion and helps exclude waste and poisons from the body, including Candida. Consume a variety of high- fiber foods like vegetables, fruits, whole grains, legumes, and nuts. These foods promote regular bowel movements, precluding the overgrowth of Candida in the gastrointestinal tract.

Stay Doused Drinking an acceptable quantum of water is essential for flushing out poisons and supporting overall health. Aim to drink at least eight spectacles of water daily to help maintain proper hydration and support your body's detoxification processes.

Limit Alcohol Consumption Alcohol can weaken the vulnerable system and contribute to Candida overgrowth. Minimize or avoid alcohol consumption, particularly beer and wine, which frequently contain high quantities of sugar that can fuel incentive growth.

Identify Food perceptivity Candidiasis can be associated with food perceptivity or disinclinations. Certain foods may spark inflammation and complicate symptoms. Consider keeping a food journal to identify any implicit food triggers and exclude them from your diet. Common lawbreakers include gluten, dairy, soy, and reused foods.

Support Liver Function The liver plays a pivotal part in detoxification. To support its function, incorporate liver-friendly foods similar as lush flora, cruciferous vegetables( broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts), beets, carrots, and failures. These foods contain antioxidants and nutrients that help cleanse the liver and aid in poison elimination.

Manage Stress habitual stress weakens the vulnerable system and disrupts the microbial balance in the body, making it more susceptible to Candida overgrowth. Practice stress- operation ways like contemplation, deep breathing exercises, yoga, or engaging in pursuits to promote overall well- being and reduce the threat of candidiasis.

Flash back, while salutary changes can be salutary, it's important to consult with a healthcare professional for a comprehensive treatment plan. They can give substantiated guidance and address any beginning health issues contributing to candidiasis.https://rb.gy/mt8bj

[lapetitecreme-com01]

home made diaper rash cream

Nurturing Naturally: The Best Organic Diaper Rash Creams for Delicate Baby Skin

Every parent’s mission is to ensure their baby’s comfort, safety, and well-being—starting with the basics of skincare. One of the most common issues faced by newborns is diaper rash, a red, inflamed irritation of the skin that can cause discomfort and distress. The good news? With the rise of organic and natural skincare, parents now have access to healthier, gentler alternatives. At the forefront of this revolution is LaPetiteCreme.com, the trusted name offering one of the best organic diaper rash cream solutions on the market.

This article explores the benefits of choosing organic over synthetic, what makes La Petite Crème a top pick, and how even homemade options compare for parents who love the DIY route.

🌱 Why Go Organic for Diaper Rash?

The skin of a newborn is significantly more delicate than that of an adult. Harsh chemicals found in conventional diaper rash creams can sometimes do more harm than good—clogging pores, triggering allergies, or worsening the rash. Organic creams, on the other hand, rely on natural, non-toxic ingredients that soothe without side effects.

La Petite Crème was founded with this very philosophy: to treat your baby’s skin with the same gentle care you would use for your own. Inspired by a traditional French formula, their products skip the harsh preservatives and additives, opting instead for natural oils, beeswax, and healing botanicals.

🍼 The Science Behind Organic Diaper Rash Creams

So, what makes a diaper rash cream truly effective—and safe?

Zinc Oxide: A natural mineral that creates a protective barrier.

Beeswax: Helps lock in moisture and creates a shield against wetness.

Coconut Oil & Olive Oil: Possess natural antimicrobial and moisturizing properties.

Calendula Extract: Known for its anti-inflammatory effects.

La Petite Crème’s formula includes a unique blend of these ingredients—ensuring that the cream not only treats existing rash but also prevents future occurrences.

🏆 The Best Choice for Newborns

When it comes to newborns, there's no room for compromise. That’s why parents around the world trust the best organic diaper rash cream for newborn offered by La Petite Crème. It provides instant relief while nurturing the skin over time.

Here’s what sets La Petite Crème apart for newborn care:

Certified Organic Ingredients

Pediatrician & Dermatologist Approved

Made in the USA

Hypoallergenic & Fragrance-Free

These features make it the perfect choice for parents who are especially cautious with what touches their baby’s sensitive skin.

🏡 What About DIY? The Appeal of Homemade Diaper Rash Cream

For the hands-on parent who prefers full control over every ingredient, home made diaper rash cream is an appealing option. You can create a simple and effective cream using common household items like:

Coconut oil

Shea butter

Cornstarch

Beeswax

A few drops of lavender or chamomile oil (optional for calming scent)

While these recipes are effective and budget-friendly, they can’t always match the tested, consistent results of a professionally formulated cream. La Petite Crème bridges the gap by offering an organic solution that feels homemade, yet is backed by science.

🧴 How to Use Diaper Rash Cream Effectively

Applying cream correctly is just as important as choosing the right one. Here’s a quick routine:

Cleanse your baby’s skin gently using warm water and a soft cloth.

Pat Dry—avoid rubbing the sensitive area.

Apply a thin layer of cream to the affected area.

Repeat at every diaper change, especially at bedtime or after bowel movements.

Consistency is key to preventing recurrence. With La Petite Crème’s convenient pump and mess-free application, parents find daily use easier than ever.

🛡 Preventing Diaper Rash: Tips That Work

While treatment is vital, prevention is ideal. Here are a few practical tips:

Change diapers promptly after they’re soiled.

Use cloth diapers or breathable disposable brands.

Let your baby have some diaper-free time daily.

Use barrier creams regularly to protect against wetness.

Regular use of an organic cream like La Petite Crème not only treats irritation but also builds a protective barrier for long-term comfort.

💬 What Parents Are Saying

“The only cream that worked!” – Jessica, CA “My baby had relief in just a few hours.” – Ahmed, TX “Feels like a homemade cream, but works even better.” – Sara, NY

With hundreds of 5-star reviews, it’s clear that La Petite Crème isn’t just a product—it’s a parent’s peace of mind in a bottle.

🛍 Where to Buy

La Petite Crème is available for purchase directly from the brand’s official website, ensuring you receive a fresh, authentic product every time. With fast shipping, excellent customer support, and satisfaction guarantees, the shopping experience is as smooth as the product itself.

🎯 Final Thoughts: Choose What’s Best for Your Baby

Whether you're buying a ready-to-use organic product or experimenting with your own blend, the important thing is to prioritize your baby's comfort and safety. In a world full of choices, La Petite Crème continues to stand out as a gold standard in baby skincare.

If you’re searching for the best organic diaper rash cream or specifically looking for the best organic diaper rash cream for newborn or even weighing the benefits of a home made diaper rash cream, La Petite Crème gives you the best of both worlds—natural care, with professional peace of mind.

[author-dr-partha-protim-banerjee]

Top Health Benefits of Papaya Leaves You Should Know

In the world of natural remedies and herbal wellness, papaya leaves are gaining the attention they rightfully deserve. While the papaya fruit is well-known for its digestive benefits and sweet taste, the leaves of the papaya plant are now being recognized for their numerous health-enhancing properties. From boosting immunity to aiding digestion, the health benefits of papaya leaves are vast and scientifically backed. In this blog, we explore the top reasons why you should consider incorporating papaya leaves into your wellness routine.

🌿 What Are Papaya Leaves?

Papaya leaves come from the Carica papaya plant, a tropical species native to Central America and widely cultivated in many parts of the world. These large, green, and serrated leaves contain a wealth of nutrients including powerful enzymes like papain and chymopapain, as well as antioxidants, flavonoids, and vitamins A, C, and E. These compounds are the reason behind the many health benefits of papaya leaves.

💪 1. Strengthens the Immune System

One of the most popular health benefits of papaya leaves is their ability to boost immunity. Rich in antioxidants such as vitamin C and beta-carotene, papaya leaves help neutralize harmful free radicals in the body. These antioxidants reduce oxidative stress, which is a major factor in weakening the immune system. Regular consumption of papaya leaf juice or extracts can help the body ward off infections and stay resilient against seasonal illnesses.

🤒 2. Fights Dengue and Malaria Symptoms

Papaya leaf extract has become a widely recognized remedy for patients suffering from dengue fever, especially in tropical countries like India and Sri Lanka. The juice of papaya leaves is believed to help increase platelet count—a key concern in dengue cases. Clinical studies have shown that consuming papaya leaf extract may significantly improve the platelet count in patients. This is one of the most researched health benefits of papaya leaves, especially in the context of combating viral infections.

🍽️ 3. Improves Digestive Health

Papaya leaves contain a special enzyme called papain, which assists in breaking down proteins and aids in better digestion. This is extremely helpful for individuals who suffer from constipation, bloating, and indigestion. The presence of fiber in the leaves further promotes regular bowel movements. The natural digestive enzymes and anti-inflammatory compounds work together to soothe the digestive tract, making this one of the more immediate and noticeable health benefits of papaya leaves.

💉 4. Regulates Blood Sugar Levels

Another impressive benefit is the anti-diabetic property of papaya leaves. The high content of antioxidants and flavonoids help reduce blood sugar levels by improving insulin sensitivity. Some animal studies have shown that extracts from papaya leaves can regulate glucose levels and protect pancreatic cells from damage. This makes papaya leaves a potential complementary remedy for managing type 2 diabetes, although consultation with a doctor is always advised.

🦠 5. Fights Inflammation and Infections

The anti-inflammatory properties of papaya leaves are due to compounds like tannins, flavonoids, and saponins. These bioactive components help reduce inflammation in joints and muscles, and can be particularly beneficial for individuals suffering from arthritis or other inflammatory conditions. Moreover, papaya leaves have antimicrobial effects that make them helpful in fighting off bacterial and fungal infections. These qualities further underscore the health benefits of papaya leaves in managing chronic and acute health issues.

🧬 6. Supports Liver Function

A healthy liver is vital for detoxifying the body and maintaining metabolic balance. Papaya leaves are known for their hepatoprotective properties. They help in cleansing the liver and preventing liver damage caused by toxins and oxidative stress. This is particularly helpful for people who are recovering from liver-related ailments or those looking to support overall liver function naturally.

🌟 7. Promotes Skin Health

The health benefits of papaya leaves extend to skincare as well. Rich in vitamin C, papaya leaves promote collagen production and protect the skin from damage caused by UV rays and pollution. Papain, the enzyme found in papaya, also helps to exfoliate dead skin cells and treat acne, pigmentation, and eczema. Whether consumed or applied topically, papaya leaves can contribute to clearer, glowing skin.

🩸 8. Helps with Menstrual Pain

For women experiencing painful periods, papaya leaves may offer a natural form of relief. Their anti-inflammatory and muscle-relaxing properties help ease menstrual cramps and regulate menstrual flow. Drinking papaya leaf tea during menstruation is a traditional remedy that continues to be practiced in various cultures for this very reason.

🧠 9. Enhances Overall Wellness

Last but certainly not least, one of the most holistic health benefits of papaya leaves is their overall impact on wellness. With their combination of antioxidants, enzymes, and nutrients, papaya leaves help rejuvenate the body from the inside out. Whether it’s through detoxifying the blood, aiding digestion, or improving skin health, papaya leaves offer a natural, low-cost, and highly effective way to support day-to-day health.

✅ How to Use Papaya Leaves Safely

There are several ways to use papaya leaves:

Papaya Leaf Juice: Blend fresh leaves with water and strain the juice. Consume 1-2 tablespoons daily.

Papaya Leaf Tea: Boil chopped leaves in water for 10-15 minutes, then strain and drink.

Capsules/Tablets: Available in health stores as supplements for convenience.

Topical Application: Crushed leaves or juice can be applied to the skin for acne or inflammation.

Note: Always consult a healthcare provider before starting any herbal remedy, especially if you are pregnant, nursing, or taking medications.

🌿 Final Thoughts

The health benefits of papaya leaves are undeniable and supported by both traditional use and modern research. From strengthening your immune system to supporting digestion and even promoting healthy skin, this humble leaf is truly a powerhouse of wellness. If you’re looking to adopt a more natural and holistic approach to health, incorporating papaya leaves into your daily routine may be a great start.

[lapetitecreme-com]

home made diaper rash cream

Nurturing Naturally: The Best Organic Diaper Rash Creams for Delicate Baby Skin

Every parent’s mission is to ensure their baby’s comfort, safety, and well-being—starting with the basics of skincare. One of the most common issues faced by newborns is diaper rash, a red, inflamed irritation of the skin that can cause discomfort and distress. The good news? With the rise of organic and natural skincare, parents now have access to healthier, gentler alternatives. At the forefront of this revolution is LaPetiteCreme.com, the trusted name offering one of the best organic diaper rash cream solutions on the market.

This article explores the benefits of choosing organic over synthetic, what makes La Petite Crème a top pick, and how even homemade options compare for parents who love the DIY route.

🌱 Why Go Organic for Diaper Rash?

The skin of a newborn is significantly more delicate than that of an adult. Harsh chemicals found in conventional diaper rash creams can sometimes do more harm than good—clogging pores, triggering allergies, or worsening the rash. Organic creams, on the other hand, rely on natural, non-toxic ingredients that soothe without side effects.

La Petite Crème was founded with this very philosophy: to treat your baby’s skin with the same gentle care you would use for your own. Inspired by a traditional French formula, their products skip the harsh preservatives and additives, opting instead for natural oils, beeswax, and healing botanicals.

🍼 The Science Behind Organic Diaper Rash Creams

So, what makes a diaper rash cream truly effective—and safe?

Zinc Oxide: A natural mineral that creates a protective barrier.

Beeswax: Helps lock in moisture and creates a shield against wetness.

Coconut Oil & Olive Oil: Possess natural antimicrobial and moisturizing properties.

Calendula Extract: Known for its anti-inflammatory effects.

La Petite Crème’s formula includes a unique blend of these ingredients—ensuring that the cream not only treats existing rash but also prevents future occurrences.

🏆 The Best Choice for Newborns

When it comes to newborns, there's no room for compromise. That’s why parents around the world trust the best organic diaper rash cream for newborn offered by La Petite Crème. It provides instant relief while nurturing the skin over time.

Here’s what sets La Petite Crème apart for newborn care:

Certified Organic Ingredients

Pediatrician & Dermatologist Approved

Made in the USA

Hypoallergenic & Fragrance-Free

These features make it the perfect choice for parents who are especially cautious with what touches their baby’s sensitive skin.

🏡 What About DIY? The Appeal of Homemade Diaper Rash Cream

For the hands-on parent who prefers full control over every ingredient, home made diaper rash cream is an appealing option. You can create a simple and effective cream using common household items like:

Coconut oil

Shea butter

Cornstarch

Beeswax

A few drops of lavender or chamomile oil (optional for calming scent)

While these recipes are effective and budget-friendly, they can’t always match the tested, consistent results of a professionally formulated cream. La Petite Crème bridges the gap by offering an organic solution that feels homemade, yet is backed by science.

🧴 How to Use Diaper Rash Cream Effectively

Applying cream correctly is just as important as choosing the right one. Here’s a quick routine:

Cleanse your baby’s skin gently using warm water and a soft cloth.

Pat Dry—avoid rubbing the sensitive area.

Apply a thin layer of cream to the affected area.

Repeat at every diaper change, especially at bedtime or after bowel movements.

Consistency is key to preventing recurrence. With La Petite Crème’s convenient pump and mess-free application, parents find daily use easier than ever.

🛡 Preventing Diaper Rash: Tips That Work

While treatment is vital, prevention is ideal. Here are a few practical tips:

Change diapers promptly after they’re soiled.

Use cloth diapers or breathable disposable brands.

Let your baby have some diaper-free time daily.

Use barrier creams regularly to protect against wetness.

Regular use of an organic cream like La Petite Crème not only treats irritation but also builds a protective barrier for long-term comfort.

💬 What Parents Are Saying

“The only cream that worked!” – Jessica, CA “My baby had relief in just a few hours.” – Ahmed, TX “Feels like a homemade cream, but works even better.” – Sara, NY

With hundreds of 5-star reviews, it’s clear that La Petite Crème isn’t just a product—it’s a parent’s peace of mind in a bottle.

🛍 Where to Buy

La Petite Crème is available for purchase directly from the brand’s official website, ensuring you receive a fresh, authentic product every time. With fast shipping, excellent customer support, and satisfaction guarantees, the shopping experience is as smooth as the product itself.

🎯 Final Thoughts: Choose What’s Best for Your Baby

Whether you're buying a ready-to-use organic product or experimenting with your own blend, the important thing is to prioritize your baby's comfort and safety. In a world full of choices, La Petite Crème continues to stand out as a gold standard in baby skincare.

If you’re searching for the best organic diaper rash cream or specifically looking for the best organic diaper rash cream for newborn or even weighing the benefits of a home made diaper rash cream, La Petite Crème gives you the best of both worlds—natural care, with professional peace of mind.