Health Benefits: Relieves colds, numbs the skin, especially muscles, joins, and oral pains. Reduces swelling and the appearance of ageing on the skin,
heals and prevents acne, repels lice, boosts the immune system, helps allergies, warms the body (add to the tub), treats indigestion, stress, headache, neuralgia, repels insects, and improves brain function and aids in mental fatigue.
Beauty Benefits: Treats acne, corrects topical skin imbalances on all skin on the body, dissolves age spots.
Magickal Uses: Protection, banishing hostile/negative forces, gaining what is sought, attracts riches, stops gossip, attracts opposite sex, cleanses aura,
chases away melancholy and to helps one to sleep soundly, divination, love, lust, banishing, releasing, inspiration, helps one become more sensitive and aware of others, common for rituals.
Interesting Facts: During the 15th century, clove oil was used by grave robbers to protect against the black plague.
The name clove came from the Latin word â€“ clavus, meaning nail.
People of Moluccas believe in performing certain rituals at the time of planting and cultivation of cloves. In past people used to plant a clove tree to celebrate the birth of a new member of the family.
’According to Buddhism, our fundamental problem is not sin or some moral failing. We suffer because of our ignorance; because we do not understand the actual nature of reality.
The medicine that heals this illness is insight or wisdom, which we can develop through the practice of meditation. Meditation means working with our mind, the source of all we experience and do. Through the practice of meditation we become familiar with all that goes on in our mind, both in its confusion and inherent wakefulness. We tame the upheavals, conflicting emotions, and mistaken views that cause so much suffering for ourselves and others, and come to know the mind’s true nature, which is enlightenment. While many religions practice some form of meditation or contemplation, what’s unique about Buddhist meditation is that it doesn’t involve doing, changing, or creating anything. It’s about stopping and resting - about relaxing at least for a moment Â our endless struggles and cogitations. The basic Buddhist view is that we are fine - perfect even - just the way we really are. The practice is simply letting go - of all the ways we feel we have to improve or solidify ourselves. It’s so simple, yet so profound and so difficult.’
- Melvin McLeod, from the Introduction to The Best Buddhist Writing 2007.
Hello! To start off your Ambassador work, can you tell us about any words in your native language that you think are pretty? Thank you! (If you would like a different question, let me know)!
Ah, the question is alright! I’ll gladly take it!
How about I speak of the language first, so we’d get you used to what the Romanian language is!~
To start off, the Romanian language (Limba română) is classified within the Romance family of languages (alongside French, Italian and Spanish) and it’s spoken by approximately 24-26 million people as a native tongue. It is also an official language of the EU as well as the Latin Union.
The earliest documented history regarding the roots of the Romanian language date back to the first centuries AD, during the settlement of Dacian peoples over present-day Romanian land.
Romanian is widely considered to be the closest Romance language to it’s root, Latin, as there are many words in modern Romanian that are closely akin to what Latin words sounded like, thanks to the influence of the Latin spoken by the military of the Roman Empire during the the conquest of Dacia.
After the withdrawal of the Romans, along came a flow of foreign influence from neighboring languages which affected Romanian in various ways: such as the influence of Finno-Ugric languages, like Hungarian, or the Slavic languages within the Middle Ages (Bulgarian, Russian, Ukrainian, Serbo-Croatian); and to some degree, there are traces of Greek and Turkic influence, too.
The only text which showed the oldest trace of early Romanian was a document named “The letter of Neacșu of Câmpulung” (Română: Scrisoarea lui Neacșu de la Câmpulung)
Written using Cyrillic, it was sent by Neacșu Lupu, a peasant from Dalgo Pole, Wallachia (now Câmpulung, Romania) to Johannes Benkner, the mayor of Brassó, Kingdom of Hungary (now Brașov, Romania), warning him about the imminent attack of the Ottoman Empire on Transylvania. The letter contains a phrase which comes from Old Church Slavonic, namely “I pak” which roughly translates to “And again”.
The Romanian language is mainly a phonetic language, meaning it is spelled the way it’s written, but there are a couple of letters which have a different pronunciation, thus having no exact equivalent in English:
ă , ț , ș , î , â . (I advise you to look up a spoken spelling of these letters, as I would have a hard time describing how they sound exactly!!)
Now, onto the actual subject matter of your inquiry! The most beautiful words in Romanian are prevalent in poems!~ They’re very pleasing for a Romanian speaker to hear, or at least that’s what I think.
Făptură - “fragile being” or “critter”
Văzduh - “forest breeze”
Ibovnic - “lover”
Oacheș - “swathy”
Dor - this word is unique to the Romanian language, as there’s no English translation to it at all! What it’s supposed to mean is the description of a feeling of melancholy and loneliness, akin to when you’re missing someone’s company!
A/N: Hey guys! I haven’t uploaded an imagine in a while but tbh I’m so fucking busy it’s driving me mad.
Warnings: smut, kinda (male masturbation, Stiles has an overly active imagination 😉), mentions of blood if that kinda stuff creeps you out (not anything major)
Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader
Words: 1500 ish
By the time Stiles finally drags himself back to his dorm, the sun is slowly rising and his hair is starting to stink with drying slime from the Kanima (most likely) blood that he’s had the unfortunate displeasure of coming across.
Honestly, he thought that when he went to collage he would finally be away from it all, finally be safe. God knows that he’s put his dad through enough stress with all the shit he and Scott pulled.
The guilt gnaws at his insides at night.
It seems like all this shit just keeps following him around. Not that he’s complaining or anything, but it’d be nice if the monsters were a bit more considerate of Stiles’ upcoming exams.
So, all things considered, seeing his roommate, (Y/N), up at the ungodly hour of fuck-that-o'clock making pancakes naked in the kitchen is probably number 12 on the list of Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week. (Y/N)’s got her back to him and in the low light of morning, he can only just make out her soft curves and smooth skin.
“Um,” he says, sounding a like a fucking moron who can’t pull four words together to ask *‘what are you doing?’* Luckily for him, his roommate turns around and saves him the trouble.
And suddenly, this entire thing goes up a few spots on the Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week list because (Y/N)’s not naked. She’s got a scarf wrapped around her neck that only just covers her chest bits and a - ridiculously tiny, *oh good lord* - pair of black panties on that makes her ass look absolutely. In a second he realizes that the scarf is the one he asked his dad to send over last month.
And oh, *oh* doesn’t that just make whatever blood Stiles still has in his head go south. Because it’s *(Y/N)* and she’s got his scarf sitting atop her bare chest, the only thing shielding his eyes from the glorious view of her naked body.
He feels weirdly possessive.
Stiles very pointedly shoves those thoughts down along with any other inappropriate images that his mind tries to conjure up. It’s a failed attempt.
“Are those pancakes?” He eventually finds the mental capacity to ask, because now that his upstairs brain’s caught up with the situation, this doesn’t seem that odd compared to all the shit (Y/N)’s pulled in the past. The girl in question nods as Stiles continues to stand in the middle of the kitchen instead of getting the fuck out of there.
“They’re shaped like Mickey Mouseâ„¢,” She informs him and Stiles tries not to be jealous when she flips a pancake and it lands back in the pan, and not on the ceiling. “You want?”
“Pass.” He says, knowing full well that the Kanima blood was drying and if she noticed he’d have some explaining to do. He pointedly tells himself that he’s not running away to hide the tent that he’s now sporting in his jeans. “What are your wearing?” And then something else occurs to him. “Did you just say â€˜â„¢â€™?”
(Y/N) shrugs. “It’s laundry day.” She says lightly, her full attention turned to the pancakes now. “Gotta get it all done. Hope you don’t mind. I stole your scarf.”
Her saying it so casually makes Stiles fell scarily possessive, and his brain is already thinking of the best way to get out of this situation right now. “Keep it.” He says, and clears his throat because his voice is suddenly deep and raspy. “It looks better on you.”
(Y/N) looks at him, as if she knows all the filthy little thoughts running through his head, before putting the pan on a cold plate and walking over to him. It takes a great deal of effort for Stiles to maintain eye contact.
“Really?” She quirks a brow. Now, she’s standing right in front of him, so close that he can see the gorgeous tint of her eyes, can smell the remnants of perfume and vanilla extract on her skin. Stiles gulps. “Honestly Stiles. You put your dad through all the trouble of sending it over only to give it to your roommate so carelessly?”
He should look away. He wants to, because he knows (Y/N), knows that she doesn’t do relationships and loves to play games and, if her screams at night are anything to go by, loves to fuck hard and wild until she can’t walk properly the next day. He should walk the fuck away because he knows that if he does, (Y/N) won’t try it again.
But right now, all he wants to do is fuck her senseless, preferably tied to the bed with that damned scarf.
“Umm,” is what he stupidly replies with instead. (Y/N) raises a brow, but Stiles can’t worry about that because she’s got *hands* and suddenly those hands are being placed delicately on Stiles’ shoulders so that her thumb grazes gently over the dip of his collar bone.
He stares at her for a moment, and Stiles quickly realized he could do it forever. She’s so beautiful, she doesn’t even know it. The set of her bright eyes, the smell of her body, that shade of her skin that Stiles could spend years looking for but never actually match, the way her nose fits perfectly onto her face, the arch of her brows and swell of her lips; it drives him mad.
But then those gorgeous eyes are filling with surprise and she’s laughing slightly when she asks him: “Why is your shirt wet?” Suddenly, Stiles is reminded of the reason he’d come back late in the first place, of the blood and gore and *danger* that seems to come along with his life, and he can’t help this primal instinct within him that begs Stiles to *protect* and *fortify* and he knows it. Stiles knows he just can’t.
Even if it was just for one night, he can’t drag her into the hell hole that is his life.
“I need a shower.” He says and pulls away and it takes everything inside of him to ignore the hurt look on her face as he does.
He practically runs to the bathroom, not even bothering to strip down before he stands under the harsh spray. The water’s freezing cold and it turns his face red, but Stiles knows that blood washes off better this way (he also acknowledges that it’s a fucked up thing to know) and honestly, he needs it.
It takes a full five minutes under the freezing spray before Stiles actually strips down. He piles his dirty clothes in the corner and knows that those jeans are probably ruined. As he turns the heat up, Stiles closes his eyes, enjoying the way the water feels cascading down his sore and taut muscles.
And for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to picture what it would feel like to have (Y/N) in there with him.
It’s wrong, he knows it is, but Stiles can’t stop the thoughts from entering his mind. She’d come in after him, the thinks. Probably when he was just about to step out. He can imagine the way she would look through the frosted glass, the way he would see her delicate hands pull the clothes off her body. He imagines her, finally pulling the shower door open and standing before him, as bare as the day she was born.
Stiles reaches bewteen his legs and strokes his length swiftly, unsuprised to find that he’s already hard. He goes back to the images he’s created in his head. Pictures the way (Y/N) would smirk at the flustered and confused look on his face, and - no.
In his head, this isn’t the first time they’re doing this. In his head, she walks forward with a smile, the genuine kind she gives when she’s high or when Stiles tells a dumb joke. She wouldn’t even wait for him, she’d just step forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders - Stiles pictures the way she had done it moments before - and joining him under the warm water.
He pictures the way the water starts to wet her hair and face, pictures the droplets running down her body. He squeezes himself at the base. He imagines the way her soft skin would feel under his touch, hears her soft gasps and quiet moans as he dips a hand between her legs. Stiles strokes his dick faster, picturing the look of ecstasy on her face when he slides his fingers into her wet opening. His hand’s moving fast now as he imagines pulling away and silencing her moan of disapproval with a kiss as he slides his length into her cunt.
Stiles gasps slightly as he pictures how she would feel around his dick. He hears her moaning gasps as he slides into her, presses love bites to her neck and breasts and she pants and screams and finally, *finally* Stiles is the one making her do so instead of all those guys she brings home. He feels the way her legs would tremble and her body shake as he reaches between them to press a thumb to her clit, he pictures the way she could clench around him as she comes, gripping onto his shoulders and moaning into his ear and -
Stiles almost let’s his shout slip as he comes in his hand.
It takes him a long while to gather himself. He takes deep breaths and tries to fight away the guilt at what he just did. (Y/N)’s his friend and he’s an ass for thinking about her like that, but goddamn* the way she looked and spoke and laughed - it all made Stiles’ head spin.
It is with a belated sense of worry that he realised he’s fallen for her.