#young living essential oil

[upthespiralstaircase]

Nature’s medicine by Amanda Creamer Via Flickr: Part of our essential oil stash in the cupboard. So thankful for the many ways essential oils have helped my family and me and for their help with my mental health. Nikon FE, Portra 400 Developed & scanned by The Darkroom Lab

[dayevolunteer]

Click the link below or message me for help!

[lichromantic-reblogs]

I could expand on this topic all day, but I think I'll just provide some coverage.

This meme is a MURDER ATTEMPT.

I am absolutely fucking serious. The original meme, without the big red denial, is someone's attempt to fucking kill people.

There is NO SAFE DOSAGE of pennyroyal oil. Even Mother Earth News says there's no reason to use pennyroyal essential oil for ANYTHING, even topically or as a fragrance, for fuckssake! That should give you some idea about how dangerous it is!

Pennyroyal tea, plant matter in hot water, is a traditional abortifacient. It is *incredibly* dangerous, induces abortion by bringing the body close to organ failure (and frequently pushing the system right over the edge, because dosage is impossible to meter), but I would drink a gallon of it before I took a half-teaspoon of pennyroyal essential oil.

Two teaspoons, taken across 48 hours, has successfully killed someone.

Three teaspoons taken as a single dosage killed the consumer within THREE HOURS.

There is NO SAFE DOSAGE! FOR PENNYROYAL OIL INTERNALLY! NONE!

The person who made this meme is PURPOSEFULLY, ACTIVELY, trying to get desperate people killed!

[essentiallybetterliving]

Top 10 Life-Changing Young Living Products

I sat down to make a list of my top 10 Young Living products, and ended up with a list that was 30+ items long! Asking me to pick my favorite oil or Young Living product is like asking me to pick my favorite child. It’s not really possible because I love them all differently, and for different reasons! However, I made the attempt. To narrow it down to TEN, I set some criteria. I made a web and…

[pokeybananas]

Welcome to Utah: where some folks are extremely conservative, AND we love our MLM/essential oils founded by a man who drowned his new born infant daughter

One of my favorite memories from living here is sitting in a restaurant, and hearing a baby obviously sick/crying their lungs out. Mom was having a lunch date with a friend. She leans down, pulls out a rectangular case, baby still obviously not having a great time. She opens the case, which I can see is full of bottles of essential oils, she grabs ones out. Opens it up, and waffs it under her baby's nose. The baby does not stop crying, but mother keeps going and waffing.

[emmytolly]

How Diet Affects Mosquito Attraction: Tips for Bug-Free Outdoor Fun

Hey there! Ever feel like mosquitoes have a personal vendetta against you? You’re not alone. These tiny, annoying creatures can detect us from over 150 feet away. But did you know that your diet might be making you more attractive to them? Let’s dive into why this happens and how you can turn the tables on those pesky bugs. The Diet Connection So, here’s the deal: eating foods high in sodium…

[tymegems]

[santaluciasalve]

Best Essential Oils for Skin Santa Lucia Salve's Natural Remedies

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[ms-demeanor]

I appreciate you starting a conversation about the harms of homeopathy, and I just want to mention that homeopathy/alternative medicine is also largely BS when it comes to treating our pets. A lot of essential oils and herbal remedies are toxic to cats and dogs even in small quantities, but people still try using them as flea and tick prevention because they don’t want to use “toxic” medicine that actually works. CBD isn’t FDA approved for dogs because it’s not been proven to be effective and safe, but a lot of folks have pushed me to try it for my dog because he’s on medication for extreme anxiety. Some folks will seek out animal chiropractors to “treat” their dog’s IVDD or hip dysplasia instead of pursuing pain management or surgical treatment. People think that vets look at their pets and see dollar signs instead of an animal needing treatment and turn to snake oil salesmen instead. It’s maddening.

Yeah that makes me fucking crazy.

@drferox and @why-animals-do-the-thing are great resources on tumblr who have spent a ton of time discussing animal woo in the past; both have slowed down on posting because life is hard and tumblr is tumblr, but both have done a lot of excellent writing about things like animal training, raw pet food, vaccination, and how to be a good human to your pets. If you've got questions about animals, search their archives and you're probably going to find a ton of useful information.

Folks, I swear veterinarians aren't coming for your wallets and they are generally criminally under-compensated for the work that they do. They're brilliant professionals who are driven by passion and fucked by the market.

Sorry i went to go find some studies on dogs and cbd and i ended up finding a reprint of a small study from the american holistic veterinary medical association and I found this on the pdf and i'm going to murder somebody

for those who are not aware young living is an essential oil mlm largely targeting mormon housewives that was started by a man whose child died being drowned at birth in an at-home-water-birthing incident and who himself likely died of cancer he tried to treat with essential oils.

This is one of those things that's like a big flashing neon sign that the study/journal you're looking at is a hot pile of bullshit.

Anyway. Yeah. Research supporting the safety and effectiveness of CBD on dogs is pretty thin on the ground. Your pets depend on you. The choices you make determine their health and wellbeing.

Listening to woo-peddlers who tell you not to vaccinate, or who hype up untested "healthy grain free diets," or who promote and sell cbd in absence of evidence of its effectiveness is putting your pets hands in the health of someone who doesn't care about your pet, they just care about profit.

Also, while I'm here: don't feed your dog grain free foods unless they have a diagnosed allergy, grain free foods can lead to liver and kidney problems, dogs are more omnivorous, not obligate carnivores like cats and grain is not bad for their diet nor unnatural for them to eat, and there are very few brands that have done decades of feeding tests on dogs (Royal Canin, Hills Science Diet, Pedigree, Eukanuba, and Iams) and none of them are Blue Buffalo.

Appeals to nature are extremely common in online woo discussions of pet food and vet care. Your dog is not a wolf and does not need to eat like a wolf. Your cat is not a lion and does not need to claim territory like a lion.

Vaccinate your pets, don't let them wander, feed them tested diets, and listen to your vet's advice on their care.

[sailornymph]

Hello! I was wondering if you could wip something up for either Minato or Madara :3 Thank you!!

blessing; madara uchiha

synopsis — child birth is one of the scariest, yet beautiful things in the world

a/n — literally a super random idea that came to me, but please leave a short summary. i am not asking for an essay, just an idea of what i am writing

"don't stop, not yet," you held onto madara’s hands. your belly swollen, nine months pregnant, you would pop any day now. you loved how clingy your husband had become, enjoying the process of his heir growing.

madara spoiled you, making it a habit, rubbing different essential oils onto your belly, lifting it in the process. what he didn't realize is how much of a relief it brought to your back and hips. he would be in his own world, speaking to the growing fetus, oblivious to the comfort he brought to you.

"you look so beautiful, you are growing so strong, my child, you have your mother glowing, how do you feel?" he spoke to the both of you. you were glowing, your skin flawless, carrying his baby.

"hm, you don't want know how i feel," you told him, taking deep breaths, holding them, before exhaling.

you had been dealing with contractions, and were preparing for the possibility of going into labor. your midwife had been prepping everything, wanting to ensure a smooth home birth.

"what you have done for me, nothing i’ve accomplished can live up to this standard of honor," he said, rubbing your stomach, as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“it's not the same, i’m not defeating anyone in battle, madara,” you smiled, biting back the discomfort.

“but you will be birthing my child, one of many more who will have the strength of both, you and i”

“many more?”

“maybe eight more, six should be the minimum-

“who's having all those babies, madara?”

“my dear if i could carry them, then i would help, but i have a lot of things i want to share with you,” he chuckled.

“let’s think about the first born for now,” you shook your head, rubbing your bump.

“fine, we’ll move on your time, but when you're prepared, he will be up and ready for you,” he said, leaning back.

"could you help me stand, and stop talking about mini madara, i think i need to go again," you told him, watching as he stood, carefully helping you up, when you heard a small pop, liquid soon running down your leg.

"i think my water just broke," you told him, cupping the bottom of your stomach. as he wrapped his arms around you, helping you sit back down.

his eyes widened, before he called izuna, yelling that he go retrieve the uchiha midwife, while he carried you to your shared bedroom. she, along with the young intern, rushed into the room. stripping you from your kimono, you would soon directed to prepare for the birth of your child.

pacing back and forth outside of the room, for the first time in a very long time, madara was nervous. the screams you released made his skin crawl. he wanted to help you, yet there was nothing he could do to stop his beloved wife from being in such agony.

"miss y/n, you can do this"

“no, i need madara, please,” you cried, and in an instant, he ripped the door open, rushing to your side.

“i’m right here, i am here with you, be strong,” he tried to encourage you.

"i can't do it, it hurts," you cried, shaking your head. you felt like you were being ripped apart, from inside out. your body was on fire, it was all becoming too much.

"you can, y/n, you are like no other, i know you are hurting, but you must endure," he kissed your tear covered cheek, holding your hand.

nodding your head at his words, you kept trying to accept his and the interns words of encouragement, telling you to keep pushing, but their voices soon became muffled. his voice was the only thing your eyes managed to catch.

he kept telling you to keep pushing, kissing your cheek, every few minutes. after what felt like an eternity of pain, you heard the crying, as she was lifted from between your legs.

"a girl," your midwife smiled, as izuna soon ripped open the door, madara’s father, along with your family following, giving their congratulations, as she was placed in your arms.

"she's so beautiful," you whispered.

“the heiress has arrived,” madara’s father spoke, as everyone cooed at her beauty. even minutes it was obvious, she would be the epitome of the clan’s beauty, as the clans first heiress

"she is beautiful like her mother," madara told you, turning your head towards him, he pecked your lips, before he furrowed his eyebrows, looking concerned. he began speaking, but you couldn't hear a word he said.

you were about to question him, along with the midwife, worried at your muffled ears, when you began seeing dots, and just like that, you were out cold.

waking up, you felt overwhelmed with stress, when madara touched your shoulder.

"it is alright, relax," he pecked your lips.

"what happened? where's the baby?" you felt yourself panicking. you had been changed into a new kimono, lying down comfortably, wrapped in the warmest blanket.

"you passed out from exhaustion, and she is with izuna, your mother helped feed her, while you slept, and he is very excited about being an uncle, so he hasn't let her go, are you strong enough to get up?" he asked when you nodded, he helped you sit up, adjusting the pillow behind you, before he left the room.

watching him, you smiled at how gentle he was acting. he wasn't the clan leader solely because of how strong he was, he could be so kind and gentle, especially once you got to know him.

a few minutes later, he entered, izuna following him into the room, your babygirl bundled up, in his arms. "she was wrapped by her perfectionist of a father," izuna joked, backing out of the room, when madara scowled at him. carefully placing her in your arms, he sat next to you.

"did you name her?"

"i figured you deserved to make the final decision, since you did all the hard work," he shook his head, biting back his smile at the beautiful scenery in front of him.

"megumi? she caused hell getting here, but she's our little blessing, the first heiress of the clan,” you smiled, glancing at him, as she held onto his finger.

"it is perfect like she is"

[essentiallybetterliving]

Lavender Essential Oil: Nature's Swiss Army Knife

Most people know to use lavender for sleep, calming, and relaxation, right? It’s everyone’s aromatherapy go-to. For the lavender you pick up at Walmart or Target, this is perfect. However, what many people don’t realize is that a little drop of high quality lavender, like Young Living or DoTerra, contains many different constituents. These constituents benefit the body in many different ways,…

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

[p3ndeja6]

₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🔮

n.amaro x reader

summary: you were younger then nick by a couple of years, and sometimes he’d come over to your apartment after late nights at the precinct, he’d come over to just enjoy peace and serenity

content: fluff, reader is in school (2nd or 3rd year of college) suggestive acts (nothing extreme), age gap!, mentions of sexual abuse due to svu cases, nothing too triggering, just a fluffy one shot overall

super short

✧ ✧

it was late at night, you were working on an essay that was due by the end of the week.. you were getting strained and decided to take a break and call it a day.

You made yourself a quick meal, spicy buldak noodles, a sandwich and your favorite drink that was saved in the fridge. You prepared your meal as you were watching your favorite show. you were almost done preparing your late-night snack when you heard the doorknob shake.

You lived a pretty safe vicinity so the chances of a burgler were slim, but you still were vigilant about your safety, you quickly grabbed your broom and held it tight.

Upon your discovery, the door opened and you saw your boyfriend… nick.

You sighed of relief, and he looked at you worried

“Jesus Nick, you scared me!” “geez sorry, i thought this neighbor was safe?”

you put the broom down, “I mean it is but you never know” “yeah.. tell me about it”

he walked to you as you went back in finishing preparing your ramen, he went behind you and grabbed you hips and nuzzled his head in between your neck, kissing you, making you giggle due to his stubble

he continued and you moved your head slightly to give him more access, he took this as a sign to continue. You tried not to get distracted but you let a soft moan escape.

he laughed,and started moving up your body; cupping your boobs. You laughed and finally pushed him away

“stop Nick” you laughed “I want to eat, I’ve been working on an assignment for the past 5 hours.” he let go and laughed “my hard working girl, okay okay I’ll let you eat but next time, you’re all mine!”

you shook your head in sarcasm, he took of his jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt a couple of buttons down, and took off his shoes. He adjusted himself on your couch, and laid there with his eyes closed taking in the aroma therapy essential oils diffuser thats going around your room.

you look at him, now realizing that he’s here strangely. Nick stops by late nights most weekends or if it’s a weekday he’ll let you know earlier in the day if he’s stopping by, but it’s currently a Tuesday at 12:36 am.

“hey Nick?”

he hummed in response, most likely getting sleepy

“not to sound rude or anything.. but why are you here? It’s late on a Tuesday night, shouldn’t you be at your place?”

He opened one eye and looked over at you

“do you not want me here?” He said a bit suspicious

“oh god, no like yeah I do, but I just realized what day it was and you know you usually let me know when you’re coming over and it’s usually weekends you spend the night with me, I just found it odd you came to visit me tonight” “I love it when you’re here really”

you finally finished your ramen and took it towards the couch where Nick was, and started eating as you waited for a response.

he was hesitant in his answer, he seemed stressed and frustrated.

“today we had a tough case.. a rape case..”

you look at him attentively, making sure you are hearing him and that he has your fullest attention.

you nod in continuous

“and well… it’s about a 8 year old girl who’s after school teacher has been acting inappropriately with her.. you know like touching her where she shouldn’t be touched”

“oh my god” was what you let out

“yeah, and her home life isn’t easy, this one was a bit tough to work on dude to how young and bright this little girl is. I hate to see anyone take it away from her”

you put your ramen down and get close to him, caressing his hand.

“and being here.. with you just brings me peace. All is perfect here, so sorry i came unexpected but i really needed to see you”

you smiled at him

“awe baby, you know you are always welcomed here, I love having you here, never goes a day where I don’t miss you”

you make him look at you and caress his cheek, looking so attentively at his eyes, leaning in and kissing him so gracefully.

he takes you in, and guides a hand on your neck. You move to his lap and continue to kiss him, sucking on each others lips, and you slightly grinding on him

he groans a bit and you continue to bit his lip. You pull away with his lip in between your teeth and stare at him and run a finger across his now plumped lips

“thank you for coming over”

“thank you for having me”

[ratsarecute4]

Some Hatchetfield Headcanons

Richie had a Warrior Cats phase in elementary school

Ruth owns a pet chameleon named Yoda

Max thinks that Pizza Pete's is owned by Pete, and that is where he gets the money for his rich kid bowtie

Mayor Lauter pays Steph's allowance in cryptocurrency

There was a month where the Clivesdale Chemists and the Hatchetfield Nighthawks had an even higher amount of hatred for eachother than usual. The Chemists accused the Nighthawks of stealing their mascot (they didn’t, the kid just moved to Hatchetfield)

Because of the mascot stealing allegations, the Chemists decided to steal the Nighthawks mascot for ransom, but they let Richie go after an hour because he wouldn't stop explaining the plot of One Piece

The problematic puppy Steph got in a Twitter fight about was the cop dog from Paw Patrol

Ziggy owns a couple of pet snakes

The Smoke Club has a rule that you must wear at least one weed-patterned item of clothing to meetings or else you're out of the club

Ted is one of those guys whose bedroom has just a mattress on the floor and a TV sitting on a bunch of cardboard boxes

Also Ted gives big lives in his parents' basement vibes

Steph had a creepypasta phase

No one at CCRP ever knows what to get Paul for work holiday parties so now he owns a bunch of gifted mugs and he's starting to run out of cabinet space because he doesn't want to get rid of anything that was gifted to him

The Hatchetfield High theatre department has never payed for the rights to a play. The students don't know about this. Ms Mulberry is fully aware of how illegal that is but continues to do it anyway. Hatchetfield is a small town, they won't get caught. Also the theatre department has like no funding

Grace was a horse girl in elementary school and she used to eat grass

Charlotte sells DoTERRA essential oils on the side. Everyone at the office has tried to tell her its basically a pyramid scheme but she doesn't believe them

Miss Holloway was a famous rockstar in the 80s, but after she made a deal with the Lords in Black, her past existence was wiped from everyone's memories and no one ever listened to her songs again

Grace has OCD, specifically religious scrupulosity

Richie owns so many body pillows that he no longer has room for himself on his bed

Ruth and Sherman Young have beef with eachother from Ruth's middleschool My Little Pony phase

Kyle is autistic and I will die on this hill

Max's mom dissapeared after being crowned Honey Queen. She wanted the prize money to support her family because Max's father was layed off from his job

I just know Brenda and Stacy are super into astrology

Local teens describe Paul's aesthetic as "cardboardcore"

Ted has one of these tattoos. He doesn't remember getting it and it took him forever to notice because it is on his back. It is a miracle that it never got infected

[dazedblackwolf]

Hey pack

Here’s another list of wolf therianthropy-related activities, crafts, and prompts to deepen your connection with your therian self in recognition of the wolf moon:

### **Activities**

1. **Therian Walks or Runs**: Go for a walk or run in nature, letting your instincts guide your path. Focus on the sights, sounds, and smells like your wolf self might.

2. **Den-Building**: Create a cozy space in your home or outdoors that feels like a den. Include blankets, pillows, and natural items like stones or branches.

3. **Howling Sessions**: Practice howling to express yourself or communicate your feelings. You can do this alone or with trusted friends.

4. **Stargazing**: Spend time under the night sky, imagining yourself in a wild, natural habitat. Reflect on your connection to the universe and nature.

5. **Tracking and Foraging**: Practice tracking animals (non-intrusively) or foraging for plants, connecting to your instincts and surroundings.

6. **Scent Exploration**: Use essential oils or natural scents that remind you of the forest or other environments that resonate with your wolf therianthropy.

### **Crafts**

1. **Wolf Totem Art**: Paint or draw a totemic representation of your therian self. Incorporate symbols or colors that resonate with your identity.

2. **Nature Jewelry**: Make necklaces or bracelets with stones, feathers, or wood that reflect your connection to the earth.

3. **Therian Journaling Kit**: Design and decorate a journal to document dreams, shifts, and therian-related reflections.

4. **Wolf Paw Prints**: Use clay or other materials to mold paw prints. You could also carve or paint them.

### **Prompts**

1. Write about a dream or memory where your wolf self felt most present.

2. Reflect on what "pack" means to you as a therian. Is it about community, chosen family, or a deeper connection?

3. Describe your ideal habitat as a wolf. Where would you roam, and what would you need to thrive?

4. Explore the meaning behind your therianthropy. How does it shape your connection to the world?

5. Write a short story or poem from the perspective of your therian self.

6. Imagine a day in your wolf form. What would you do, and how would you feel?

7. Reflect on how the line "Let me wrap my teeth around the world" resonates with your therianthropy.

### **Ideas**

1. **Therian Altar**: Build a small altar with objects representing your therian self—feathers, bones, natural elements, etc.

2. **Wolf Meditation**: Try a guided meditation where you imagine yourself in your wolf form, roaming through your territory.

3. **Create a Playlist**: Compile songs that resonate with your wolf side or therianthropy. Include "Eat Your Young" by Hozier for that animalistic vibe!

4. **Nature Photography**: Capture images of landscapes or wildlife that feel like home to your wolf self.

5. **Therian Collage**: Make a visual collage with images and textures that represent your connection to your wolf therianthropy.

6. **Wolf Shadow Dance**: Move and express yourself through dance, embracing your wolf instincts.

7. **Write a Pack Code**: Create a list of values or principles that resonate with your wolf self and how you live as a therian.

[santaluciasalve]

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