#Cleanse lungs naturally

[mudassir160]

Detox Your Lungs Naturally: A Comprehensive Guide

In today’s world, our lifestyles and environmental factors can lead to various respiratory issues, making lung detoxification essential. If you’re experiencing mucus build-up, phlegm in your throat, or seeking recovery strategies after smoking, this guide offers natural remedies and lifestyle adjustments to help cleanse your lungs.

Common indicators include:

Excess mucus or phlegm in the throat.

A persistent cough, particularly with yellow, green, or bloody mucus.

Shortness of breath and chest congestion.

Read More>>>

[harmeet-saggi]

Breathing Clean In The Hazy Urban Landscape: 5 Herbal Drinks To Nourish Your Lungs

Have you ever wondered how your lungs cope with the relentless assault of environmental pollution in our urban jungles? The hazy air we breathe in cities can take a toll on our respiratory wellness, but fear not! In this blog, we'll explore five herbal drinks that not only detoxify your lungs but also provide a refreshing escape from the hustle and bustle of urban living.

[styllwaters]

KNIGHT DEITIES

It's been a hot minute since I posted Vivere 44 art. Been intensely busy with school for the past few months but now that I've graduated I've got a lot of time to kill! Since the Knights post surpassed 1k notes I figured I may as well elaborate on them more. I'm so blown away by how much love they're getting already! Thank you all <3

I'm gonna talk a bit about Mountain and Plains Knight religions, mythology and a snippet of evolutionary history. I will cover Polar Knight religions in another post. The focus is on two gods in particular, Uwet-Jana and Kiraiarik.

_______

Uwet-Jana is the demigod of good health, vitality, and inner balance. In some regions they are also the god of fertility. The name of their Host is Uwetsil, and their Helmet is Serrjana. Mainly worshiped by Mountain cultures, Uwet-Jana takes the form of a Knight whose Host and Helmet are physically merged into a singular being.

Kiraiarik [pronounced ki-rai-ah-rik] is the personification of the host-helmet symbiotic relationship. They are the god of symbiosis, rebirth, and love. Kiraiarik was the name given to two immortal partners, a Host and a Helmet, who began as a singular being born to the sea in Ettera’s prehistoric era. Ettera decided to make them Two, one half (the Helmet) ruling over the sea and the other (the Host) having domain over the land. The story goes that in every form they take, they try to find each other - for their body remembers being One.

Both gods have lots of lore to their name. Further information below!

UWET-JANA

Uwet-Jana's Host body has long spines and red stripes like a Pike, and long fingerlike paws like a Helmet's manipulators. The Helmet section sports two long horns and elegant facial markings. Uwet-Jana has an iridescent sheen on their golden fur, catching the rays of the sun in a shimmering glow.

The story of Uwet-Jana is as follows: Both Uwetsil and Serrjana were born as runts, in a dark time when sickly Knights were seen as curses and not worth caring for. Their Order, believing them to be bad omens, cast them out to wander the tundra alone. They believed that the natural forces of Ettera (the Knight’s homeplanet) would quickly end them. However, Ettera took pity on the castaway, sending them three blessings. The first gift was a bone with marrow inside that ensured one is never hungry or thirsty again. Then, Ettera sent a warm, sweet wind into Uwet-Jana’s lungs which warded off all sickness and disease. Finally, a sun shower fell, the rains cleansing them and blessing them with a coat made of ivory and gold.

Transformed into a demigod with a hybrid body, Uwet-Jana was offered a place among the deities in the sky - but they refused, preferring to stay on the ground to share their gift with the mortals. Unbeknownst to them, their Order who had exiled them was struck by three curses from the Gods to mirror Uwet-Jana’s blessings: all the rivers in the area dried up and all their hunts were unsuccessful, leaving them with no food or water. Infections and diseases picked them off one by one, and a great storm ravaged the land, destroying their home and all remaining survivors. Uwet-Jana now blesses Knight Orders who take care of their sick and ailing members, and ignores those who don’t, leaving them to the wrath of the Gods.

Although they are nomadic and always on the move, many Mountain Orders will refuse to leave any sick members behind. They may also keep ivory statues of Uwet-Jana in their bags as a token of good fortune. Sometimes these statues are filled with bone marrow, or have holes which make a whistling sound as wind passes through it as a reference to Ettera’s gifts. Occasionally Pike Helmets are born with an extra long ‘horn’ spike, and are considered a child/reincarnation of Uwet-Jana. Additionally, whenever it rains while the sun is still shining, it is seen as a blessing from the demigod.

_______

KIRAIARIK

Kiraiarik's Host is depicted as a small creature with a striped pelt to mirror its ancestral form, and the Helmet as an aquatic beast with long, trailing red fins. It is frequently shown twisting around the Host, sharing its blood. Kiraiarik is also often simplified as two disembodied eyes looking at each other. (And yes, the artstyle is a nod to medieval depictions of heraldic beasts!)

To understand Kiraiarik, one must be aware of how much Plains religions are intrinsically tied to concepts of evolution and paleontology.

Digression on the origins of Etteran symbiosis: 

Large stretches of Plains Knight deserts and scrublands were once submerged beneath the sea. As a result, there are countless fossil hotspots which have been unearthed over the centuries. These high concentrations of fossilised remains have lead to Plains cultures basing their religions around said discoveries. Although many features have been warped, the general timelines are strikingly similar.

For instance, a mass extinction event occurred on Ettera millions of years ago, caused by a series of catastrophic volcanic eruptions on a worldwide scale. This event is known in Plains culture as The Remaking, traditionally interpreted as the planet shedding its skin. Many species were decimated, but some groups survived; these happened to be phyla who possessed an exposed ‘Interfacer’ organ, a precursor to the specialised Integrator organ which connects the Host’s brain to the Helmet’s. Before The Remaking, there was no prior record of the deep symbiotic connection which Knights possess (scientifically deemed ‘Hyperadvanced Mutualism’). The Interfacer organ was used in the phyla for species to communicate simple stretches of data to each other, such as health and reproductive status. After the extinction, populations of these species were dwindling. To ensure their survival, an odd phenomenon occurred in which many individuals began to interface with different species who possessed the same organ - strangely enough, some were able to successfully exchange information. These individuals survived and passed on the practice to their offspring, eventually culminating in what would be discovered as a very primitive form of mutualism. Host and Helmet ancestors (pictured above) were some of the first species to achieve this.

As the planet recovered and populations increased, the relationship continued to solidify and become more complex, with symbiotic species sharing memories, emotions and complex thought. In modern times there is now an entire class of organisms on Ettera which possess an Integrator organ for Advanced Mutualism, including Knights.

Kiraiarik is said to be a manifestation of this relationship. After The Remaking, their two halves finally managed to find each other again, eternally locked in a joyous dance of love. (Side note: the love in question is not platonic nor romantic, but a deeper kind which is indescribable and not easily understood. Due to their intricate nervous systems, Knights have a higher degree of emotional intelligence and can experience sensations we would consider alien). When a Plains Knight is experiencing inner turmoil, they will often pray to Kiraiarik to restore a healthy connection. The god’s blessing is also called upon when an infant Host and Helmet first Assimilate.

Note: Many Plains ‘saints’ and deities have palindromic names which can be read both forwards and backwards, an indicator of holiness. Fun fact, the word Kiraiariku means “Your heart and mine are very old friends.”

Thank you for reading! More Knight content coming soon ;)

[reality-detective]

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🍃 Mullein: Known for its lung-cleansing properties, mullein supports healthy breathing and clears mucus from the lungs, making it perfect for respiratory relief.

🍃 Clove: Packed with antimicrobial properties, clove helps fight infections and relieves sore throats, while also boosting overall immunity.

Together, this tea blend provides a soothing remedy for respiratory symptoms, cough, and overall immune support. 🌱 Sip your way to better health! 🤔

[adolin]

I want to start running...any tips?

I WAS BORN TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION. Thank you so much for asking! Unfortunately, I am a nerd about my hobbies so this got quite long.

Keep it simple ✨

Running is easy to get into; our bodies are built for it. Don’t stress over technicalities and just do what feels natural to you. My local races are full of 70-something white-haired pensioners who are kicking ass at it. Don’t let anyone tell you that running is meant to feel like dying, that’ll harm your knees, or that you absolutely need to have that specific smartwatch model to get into it. All you need is a solid pair of shoes, everything else is optional.

Medium effort is the way to go

The ideal aerobic running pace is a speed at which you’re able to hold a conversation, even if a bit winded. NO faster. If you’re able to sing along to your playlist or chat with a friend, that’s your ideal running pace. If you’re gasping or wheezing, slow down! You’ll get a bit faster as your lung capacity gets better, but that shouldn’t be a priority unless you want to train for a race. You get most of the health benefits of running just by keeping up a steady, sustainable, conversational pace.

Walking breaks are fine, actually

That’s the reason why I don’t love C25K as a beginner program — the way it’s structured sort of implies that walking breaks are something you should grow out of to become a more experienced runner. If you need to walk for a bit, go ahead.

If possible, jogging is preferable, just because the mechanics of even a glacial-pace jog are more similar to running than those of a faster power walk, so you might try switching to a jog after a bit of a walking interval. But walking is not a failure; there are serious marathon training plans out there that use walk/run intervals as a viable strategy.

(Related: picking up speed helps you keep going! If you feel like you are completely drained, try speeding up for a very short interval, then slowing back down. It’ll often give you an energy boost to keep going)

Run for time, not distance ⌚

Especially for beginners, I find that getting fixated on numbers can be counter productive, and the most important thing is to listen to your body. If you’re aiming to hit a certain mileage, you might get the urge to speed up at the end to get done faster. Instead, set yourself time-based goals and end every run with a cool down jog or walk.

SHOES!! 👟

Good running shoes are essential, and pretty much the only fitness-related purchase on which I’ll always support dropping money. If you get to the point where you’re consistently running 10 km (6 miles) each week, you’ll want to go to a running store — the kind of place where you’ll get fitted, and they’ll have you try on models and jog on a treadmill to evaluate your gait and let you know which characteristics your ideal shoe needs. I can’t stress enough how useful running store staff can be. They’re all running club nerds who LOVE getting new people into running, and they really want to help you find your ideal fit. Also get good running socks while you’re at it.

Be prepared to drop at least 100€ (or equivalent currency) but they usually have a great return policy if the model isn’t a good fit for you. Take care of your running shoes — maintenance, wearing them only for running, gentle cleansing etc — and the cushioning will last for quite a while (600km / 370miles at least). If you decide that you hate running, they’re still great for walking around. Once you find your ideal shoe model, it gets a lot easier to shop for it during end-of-season sales, or looking for online bargains etc. I love stocking on end-of-series shoes and rotating them so they’ll last even longer, and I buy online quite often! Just make sure your FIRST pair is fitted, for ideal injury prevention and joint health.

Injury prevention 💪

I’d love to still be running 10k races when I’m 70, but it takes some care to get there. When you run, you’re slamming your body weight up and down with every stride, and that might be hard on your joints if you’re not used to it. If you’re completely new to running, cap your runs at 15/20 minutes every other day. Do that even if you feel like you could keep going! If you have a good aerobic base already, you need to give your joints time to catch up with you lung capacity, and give your body time to recover. Do bodyweight exercises like lunges and planks and glute bridges to strengthen your core, legs, and hips. Dynamic stretches are great for warmups, and static stretches are better for cooling down. If you have the option, running on softer surface like grass or dirt is better than asphalt, which is better than concrete and pavements.

(If nothing of what I’ve said here makes sense to you, shoot me another ask, or look at some of the resources I’ve linked down below!)

Don't get bored! 🎶

I love running in groups. Running clubs are great. You can learn so much in a hands-on way from seriously experienced people, you can chat about gossip over a running job, and you can make some interesting friends. If you don’t have access to a running community, then personally I love just chilling on a run by myself listening to an audiobook or podcast or exploring a certain area.

Running form❓

Don’t stress about it. Just go out and move your body. Attempting to modify your ‘running form’ too quickly can do more harm than good. There ARE a few things you could pay attention to — I recommend trying to focus on one of these at a time for a minute or so, and alternate between them. After a while, it’ll start to feel natural to keep track of all of them:

1. Don’t slouch! But a slight lean forward is great.

2. Keep your shoulders pulled down and your upper back tense.

3. Swinging your arms in a way that helps with your stride is good, but I shouldn’t feel forced.

4. Even breaths, inhaling through your mouth and expiring through your nose.

5. Take turns to check with every part of your body, and relax them in turn: are your jaw and neck too tense? Are your fists tight?

6. Don’t overstride! shorter strides with quicker leg turnover are better than huge strides that feel awkward to you.

7. Use your glutes to drive up the motion of your legs, not just your quads. This can take a while to get used to, but it’s a game-changer.

8. ENGAGE YOUR CORE. This is a great skill to develop whether you work out or are just existing in the world — basically, let your inner abdominal muscles help you carry your weight forward. This is VERY intuitive once you know how to do it, but it’s hard to get a grasp of it if you don’t know what it means, so here are some resources about it.

an extremely fucking comprehensive article that improved my life and eased my big-boobs back pain

similar content but in video form

a running-specific form video

Personally, learning to do this made me feel like I unlocked a superpower. Go forth and brace.

Accessories and tips 🤓

Like I said above, the only thing I really suggest spending money on for real is running shoes. Everything else is details! However, I’m nothing if not wordy I have Thoughts about those details, too.

Run tracking: I suggest downloading Runkeeper if you want to keep track of your runs — it’s free, intuitive, and solid! If you decide to get into wearables, a low-level Garmin >>>>> anything else.

Self-care: use sunscreen and/or thick face cream as needed. Stop to sip at a public fountain if needed. Get a small fanny pack to hold your phone, keys, or lip balm if needed. If chafing is an issue, anti-glide gel is relatively affordable.

Outfits etc: I get all my running gear and clothes from Decathlon — they are in most countries and ship worldwide. I especially love this thermal shirt for colder weather

Safety: if you’re running on the road, make sure to run in the opposite direction from traffic and to wear something bright. If you run with headphones near traffic, keep the volume down, or get over-the-ear conductor headsets. I love shokz, they're fantastic.

Post-run snack: eating something small and carb-heavy within 30 mins of a workout is great for kickstarting recovery. I love dried fruit personally.

Various resources 📝

Routine basics: check out the r/running order of operations, which is a great “how to” guide to building a basic running routine. I also recommend that subreddit's wiki! Running programming gets exponentially more involved the more advanced you get, etc — if you ever have any questions, hit me up!

Dynamic stretching warmup: a quick leg swing workout to get your legs ready to go. If you’re feeling overachieving, here’s a lunge warmup routine and a how-to bodyweight squat video.

Cooldown routine! Check out Strength and Mobility, a great post-run quick cooldown routine that includes some bodyweight exercises to strengthen your hips and core. Video included.

that's all, folks! 🏃‍♀️

Sorry I got carried away! I love running. I love getting people into running. My mental health, cardiovascular system and my popping quads also love running. But FYI, some people hate running and that's also fine! If you decide it’s not for you, find something you like more. There are a lot of misconceptions out there and a lot of guilt-tripping and body shame-y rhetoric around exercising, especially aimed at women, and I want to make clear it’s all bullshit. Just have fun <3

[1313ablackcat1313]

Herbs and Their Purposes

Going through some of my witchy journals and sharing things that I have collected over the years.

Amaranth: reduces swelling, helps stomach flu symptoms, repairs broken hearts Angelica: aids colic, helps hepatitis symptoms, protects your home and garden Basil: eases stomach cramps, eases insect bites and stings, helps reduce fevers, banishes negativities, aids in keeping love Bee Balm: makes a sedative tea, attracts fairies Calendula: helps gum disease, encourages psychic development Chamomile: helps insomnia, eases sores, attracts money, protects home, aids meditation Comfrey: heals wounds, bruises, and broken bones, provides travel protection Daisy: helps headaches, brings good luck Dandelion: detoxifies liver, promotes circulation, aids clairvoyance Eucalyptus: works as insect repellent, aids health, provides purification Garlic: works as a natural anti-biotic, dispels negativity, protects the house Heather: suppresses coughs, aids sleep, guard against violent crime Hyssop: aids lung ailments, used in purification baths Lavender: eases nervous tension and stress, used in healing incenses and sachets Lemon Balm: eases bee stings, headaches and colds, used in healing and friendship spells Marjoram: helps asthma symptoms, cough, strengthens intestines, eases grief, protects home Myrrh: works as a powerful antiseptic, used to consecrate and purify ritual tools Patchouli: eases dysentery, diarrhea, and nausea, wards off evil Rose: nourishes skin, purifies blood, aids in love spells Sage: eases laryngitis symptoms and stomach troubles, aids in spiritual purification, banishes evil Soloman's Seal: helps tuberculosis symptoms, helps diabetes symptoms, used in cleansing Spearmint: makes a facial astringent, used in spells for courage Star Anise: eases stomach disorders, wards off evil eye St. John's Wort: helps depression symptoms, heals wounds, banishes negativity Thyme: used as an antiseptic, if used in a pillow it wards of nightmares Witch Hazel: eases insect bites and burns, twigs used for diving, mends broken hearts Wormwood: helps ease liver and bladder symptoms, aids clairvoyance Yarrow: stimulates the liver, eases toothache, wards off negativity, repels fear Yellow Dock: purifies blood, aids in spells for happy homes

****DISCLAIMER**** Do NOT take internally with out a doctor's supervision. Misuse can be FATAL. Do not ingest if allergic. Please see a doctor for all ailments described above.

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

[conretewings]

One For The Road

-He'd told her to break the cycle. To make a change. His last words of wisdom to her, a parting gift, the only kind he could give. But now with the floor soaked in gasoline another voice cuts through, one that offers it's own hard-earned advice. Basically I wanted to do a mirror scene of where Silco talks to Jinx except with Vander sue me.-

It stinks. It burns her nose, her lungs, her skin, the pungent liquid she's spreading all over the rooms, the floors, the walls...everywhere. Everywhere memories, fragmented bits of glass, shattered and exploded just like everything else. Maybe the gasoline will wash it away, so she doesn't have to see them, jagged and tearing at her mind and broken anymore.

Well, not that it matters much now. Fire will cleanse as well as water.

Break the cycle. Start anew.

Or just tear out the rotten pieces and the whole thing will un-break.

She's doused the upper floor, that chair that stupid pompous chair his chair, had to be the first to be baptized, followed by the rest, snaking a trail down stairs still creaking with every step-she knew exactly where to step to be quiet as possible but it was pointless now-down to the main room. So quiet. Too quiet. There should be noise, music and conversation and rough laughter and arguments, clinking and scraping and thunks of mugs on tables. It was a song she'd once loved, then loathed, then now just felt...nothing.

"Psh. Probably still some good booze around here. Maybe I'll add that. Or have some. It worked for Vi. Kinda. Not really."

She's not even sure who she's talking to. Herself? The ghosts still lingering in the tables, the jukebox, behind the-

Her heart skips a few beats, stomach clenched and chest aching more than she thought possible now.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him. His usual spot so much of the time behind the bar counter so natural but so very very wrong now. She dares not to look directly at him, unsure of what pain or nightmare she'll see, her hands frozen on the container handle.

"Sweetheart, what ya doin'?"

The voice, his voice, so familiar, so far away, his tone questioning while full well knowing the answer. It was always something he was good at.

"Breaking the cycle..." she offers, as a matter-of-fact, as if this was a simple inevitability.

"Ah. I see," he taps his fingers on the counter and she swears she can hear it, "Now, in my experience, there's an awful lotta ways ya can break somethin', but...there's also a lot of ways to fix it, too."

She doesn't answer at first, staring at the floor before going back to the task at hand. Only when the container lightens a bit more does she respond, "Yup. And this is how I'm fixing it."

"You sure this is the best way?"

"Uh huh."

"No changing your mind?"

"Nope. Sorry..."

There's a deep, rumbling sigh, then a soft clunk, "Well...don't suppose I could interest ya in one for the road?"

Her tired eyes flick to the side. There it was sitting on the bar counter. Was the cup that cup her cup always there? Was she imagining that too?

Well. Why the fuck not.

The container drops from her hand with a dull thud, falling over and slowly bleeding it's contents as she steps around busted furniture and drags herself onto one of the remaining stools.

A bitter laugh cracks her throat as she snaps her fingers, "The usual, barkeep. And make it quick I've got an appointment."

"Yes ma'am." there's a chuckle, bemused but tinged with sadness. Suddenly her cup is filled with that familiar gold liquid, the sweet tangy scent catching her nose, surprising with the acrid stench of the fuel everywhere. She can almost taste it so many times they did this-she never got a chance to ask where he'd managed to find it.

She stares at it, still not quite sure if this is real or not who could tell anymore. Her fingers trace from memory where she had carved her and Vi's names into the counter-Vander had been pissed at first but let it go just as quickly. Silco had had the counters refinished, another piece of herself scrubbed away. It was okay. He didn't know.

"Hope I made it to your liking," his deep voice cuts through, "I also hope you'll reconsider, but I know ya; once you got your mind set on somethin' there's no stoppin' it."

The heat blooms in her chest, burning and aching, and she's momentarily at a loss from the swirling, churning thoughts before she slams her fist on the counter so hard the cup nearly topples.

"Why aren't you angrier with me?" she all but snarls, "You're dead because of me!"

There's a long silence, and for a minute she's sure this was it, that was all there was, until there's a hum.

"Love...just because something happened because of you, or you were involved somehow, doesn't mean it's your fault."

She swallows, hard, the acid rising in her throat until it burns, or maybe it was still the gasoline, and she laughs, bitter and sorrowful all at once, "That's just it...even if it's not my fault, it's still because of me somehow."

"I really wish ya wouldn't blame yourself s'much."

"I really wish you'd blame me more. That you'd be fucking furious. That you'd yell at me! Tell me if I had just listened-!" As she speaks her voice rises in pitch and sarcasm until it cracks, culminating in a shaky, frustrated exhale and she grasps her head, forehead touching the counter.

He cracks a tired smile, "Well...I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"That's the problem," she sniffles, "You never did."

There's quiet again, then she says more softly, more tired as she raises her head again, "It'd be better, if you were angry. You and Silco and Vi-well she's always angry so maybe that doesn't count. And...Isha..." she squeezes her eyes shut for just a moment, "It's easier, when someone's angry. You can fight that. Or leave. But when you ruin things and the person you hurt just...smiles at you, like it's okay like they don't hate you. What are you supposed to do with that?"

Now she looks up, staring directly at him with red, tear-streaked eyes, "I'm sorry, dad...for everything. I don't want to hurt anyone I care about, or who for some reason cares about me, anymore."

She expects to see some twisted, bloody, monstrous version of him, she'd fully deserve it-but no. He looks much as he always did in her memory, scruffy beard and steel-blue eyes, worn rag tossed over one shoulder. Somehow it's worse that way.

"You still sure you won't change your mind?"

"No. I have to."

"Well..." he sighs, picking up a couple toppled items for a job he'd never do again, "You're all grown up now, I suppose...you do what you have to, sweetheart. Just know...when it looks like you're down to just one option...you usually end up findin' another ya didn't know was there."

"....thanks for the advice and the drink, old man..." she says, a ghost of a smile on her face.

Then she's alone.

@barbersjoy @immortalbumblebee @vander-affectionate @band--psycho @committingcrimes-2047 @catgoblinchelly @grumpyoutlaw

[dark-and-kawaii]

-slides paper towards you-

I want Haarleps dick to nudge and lick on my cervix, I want to be whining and confused as my the pain turns into such sweet pleasure. I want to scream I'm sorry at the top of my lungs as I think I'm about to pee on them but it's actually me just squirting for the first time. I want them to have me lick up my mess at them as they call me such a sweet little pet. Then torturously make me cock warm them while they wash themselves in the healing bath as they wait for Raphael to come home. I want to be their pet.

check

_yes or _no

*slowly takes said paper and unfolds it*

*reads it* Mhmm mhmm… Okay… o-oh!! Okay!!!

✓ YES!!! Absolutely yes!!! *stands and applauds you*

I don’t know who you are anon, but I love you. I’m here for this. I’m here for you. I love this. I admire this. I praise this highly.

I can picture just making an absolute mess on Haarlep’s cock from squirting so damn much, crying and begging them to stop because it’s too much. But we all know Haarlep would never relent. That’s just not in their nature.

I can also totally picture Haarlep’s nails digging into your scalp forcing your head down to clean your mess up, because everyone knows Raphael would be furious to come home to a messy floor. And besides, you look so beautiful like this with tear stained cheeks obeying Haarlep’s every word. You’re such a good little pet for them.

Haarlep’s so caring though that they’d make sure to cleanse your pallet afterwards. Your eyes lidded and twitching as your lips descend along the incubus’s fat cock. Inch after agonizing inch would enter your throat, stretching it out so nicely. You could feel your delicate little neck bulge from their length and girth, Haarlep watching in awe before reaching up with their tail to massage their cock through your filled airpipe.

Just when you think you have a moment of respite, Haarlep lifts you in their strong arms walking over to the healing waters. And just as you are about to close your eyes and drift off to sleep you find yourself straddling their lap, their cock sheathing back into your sloppy cunny to warm them as they bathe. Thrusting into you when you least expect it simply because the noises you make are just so delightful.

[comfortless]

syl you can not casually mention blacksmith König and leave it at that!

sighing… ok, yes, i will talk about blacksmith! König more..! ^^

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. violence, physical/emotional abuse, descriptions of injury, death, angst, marriage on the gallows au.

Before König, there was his father, his father’s father and so on. Hardened men who were left to rot on the outskirts of the little village: sharpen blades, birth something from slabs of iron and silver. The work was tedious, but never dull. Scrape, burn, turn and roll- over and over until the smoke rose from the pit to sting at his eyes. Birth by fire wasn’t only in myths of dragons and phoenixes; he witnessed it each time he held pure malice in his hands as his hammer struck. Nothing became something, deadly and cruel. Day and night his life and lungs were filled to brimming with hellfire.

Accidents happen, naturally. No matter how careful he’s been, there’s nothing to keep the flame from entirely taking back after giving so much.

König’s father lost a finger while mentoring him.

His blue eyes were fixed on the man’s callused hand as the freshly smithed blade sliced through the digit like it was little more than a dollop of honey, no blood. There had been nothing but the crack of bone carved cleanly through, then the wet sizzle of meat cooking as it fell into the pit.

His father had screeched like a starved demon then, a barrage of insults tossed his son’s way like little more than passing pleasantries: oaf, useless cur, bitch.

König hadn’t been concerned, he sat on the stone bench looking up at his father and told him so, that he was fine: it had been cauterized, cleansed by the fire.

König lost the same finger that day.

His mother had fallen ill sometime last winter. The last memory he had of her was the look of frailty on her face, how her skin felt so cold and yet she lie dampened with sweat.

The dogs and buzzards had gotten to her grave, but it wasn’t them he felt any of the fire’s malice for.

Just his father.

The villagers didn’t know what became of the blacksmith, but König could recall it every night; how even with his dying breath he had only thought to curse his only son.

So, he wears the hood of the last executioner now, and the people shy away. They don’t like the look of death unless they can participate in it as a divined audience.

The dogs are never hungry, there’s illness all throughout the valley, and sometimes it only shines through in shimmering eyes while the villagers stare and giggle at the next withering soul led to the gallows.

König knows he should be there; like mother and father, his bones should be shared between panting mouths and blood-stained beaks. Sometimes the boars come sniffing too, and he’s always hated them, maybe even more than the birds. They’re ugly and sturdy, squealing and snarling like his father.

The villagers looked at the boars, though, because they were useful. Their eyes were hungry and happy each night the men set out on a hunt, unaware that their sons and daughters lurked in the bellies of the very beasts they starved for.

It’s cold even during the summer months in his shack.

There are blankets, a kitchen, a hearth, but it’s empty. The winter makes its wastelands each coming year, envious of how he can accomplish such with fire instead of ice. He doesn’t need to clean. The ash blackens the wood, cleanses all. One day, maybe, it would scrub him too.

The fire is a womb, but it’s never birthed anything truly alive. Not until her. A wildfire swept the field where travelers had gathered. With their supplies reduced to the very cinders König had come to adore, the surviving members sweep right into this cursed place like it’s a holy temple.

And the fire gave her to him.

König doesn’t know where this woman came to settle from; she isn’t like the other villagers, not even the travelers with their items and skills for selling. There’s still life in her eyes. He watches her as she wanders down the street with a smile on her face, one that speaks of a kindness that not a single one of these people deserves.

She introduces herself to them too, without a title to her name, and all at once any interest fades as the ghosts wander away from her.

His mother used to force him into the church when she was still alive.

She would take him by the hand as he lumbered after her, sticking out amongst the crowd of parishioners who would sing their hymns and stare at him with contempt behind their eyes. He hated going, but he did it for his mother; father was much too busy to spend his time with her and her fantasies. But König learned of angels there, fragile feathered things, all eyes and wings that wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade.

He didn’t think delicate things could be holy until her sweet, gentle smile is cast upon him.

This lady walks right up to him, doesn’t bat an eye at his hood when her lips curl up as she introduces herself. She doesn’t mind the sack of weapons thrown over his shoulder to take to the marketplace— the swords, the daggers, none of it. Her eyes don’t even glance their way; she looks only to him.

Women like this don’t want their homes and beds covered in ash, cinder in place of incense, fire instead of honey. But still she smiles while he says nothing.

König isn’t the only man who’s heart she steals, either.

The village is all gray, smoke and rot except where she walks. Flowers spring up for the coming spring, the deer and foxes are calling out for mates, and it’s all because of her— everyone must know it.

The farmer’s son brings her fresh fruit and whispers into her ear while they pass by his shack on a stroll. The man’s arm curls around her waist so naturally that König can only be reminded of the way that dagger sank between his fathers fingers, tore off a bit of him to feed back to hungry flame. If there were any god above he knew right then that it wouldn’t want him to allow that to happen to her. Not to an angel.

When the rest of the men, dogs and seraphim sleep, König tears the farmer’s boy in two— split down chest to abdomen and left as food for the pigs, right there in the middle of the field.

He doesn’t pray, he hasn’t since the last time he knelt by his mother’s sickbed, but he closes his eyes and breathes out a wish when he leaves that bloodied dagger at her doorstep.

He doesn’t pray, but he weeps when he rallies the villagers to apprehend her. She cries and fusses, face puffy from sleep and hair a mess. There isn’t a speck of blood on her, but the vultures take her anyway. König didn’t want to see her hurt; when her eyes find his, he turns away.

The day of her execution arrives like a festival ceremony. It’s been some time since the last, the scavengers are hungry, so famished he thinks he can almost hear them lick their teeth. There would be no death today, it’s already been decided. In distant places, a single act of devotion is all it takes to save a life, one that the beasts didn’t have the right to take.

The hunger wasn’t always just for death, but for something… a turn and change like steel in fire.

When the angel is taken to her death, rope dangling from her neck like a lead meant for cattle, he steps forward, parting the crowd with an ease. He’s practiced this a time or two in the smoke already, a lonesome and loathing god in the fog. The others scurry from him, looking up at him with pinched brows and bared teeth as if to goad he take her life instead.

Instead, he only catches her eye, smiles and lowers himself on one knee.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART llI

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 1,602

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: The endless wait is over and your ceremony continues, alongside ill awareness of your future.

A direful verdict.

There is no other way to see the path that lay afoot. In the recesses of your mind, you see a refraction of yourself suffering; buried beneath the earth and screaming. The sound saddens you, as your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The beldams burn their concoction of herbs. Smothering every inch of the room, it offers as a cleansing ritual. The smell is of sage and wood, perhaps even spice. The smoke consumes your lungs, making it harder to breath in your corset.

There's too many faces around you, all catering to the necessities that require you to be ready for the ceremony. It's been several days since your arrival, and more passed until the appropriate arrangements were deemed satisfactory.

This is to be a spectacle for the masses.

Standing on the pedestal, the servants dress you in a gown made of black cloth. It's simple with its layers, and hardly what you'd expected given the occasion. None of this feels as special as your younger self had once imagined. It truth, it feels more sacrificial; all too dark and grim for your taste.

The beldams mutter wickedness beneath their breath, "иблфщё."

A servants pale hand reaches steadily towards you; fingertips coated from a pot of black ink. Marking a line down your lower lip and chin, she continues to block in the simplistic design. The meaning of it is lost to you - this isn't your way.

It's their tradition.

The few unions you've witnessed on Caladan are far removed from your own tragedy. On your planet, they most often choose the harvest season. A time where all of nature is at its most beautiful. The peak of creation.

The orchards are in bloom and the ocean is at its bluest. Even now, you can taste the salty air on your tongue and breath the fresh scent of flora. The memory depresses you, in the likes you most probably will never take part in it again.

If so, it'll be decades.

The guttural echo of a horn brings you from your senses. The vibration is enough to churn the pit of your stomach. It blasts deeply, not once but three times; signaling the beginning of your end.

It's time.

The servant holds an an oval mirror, allowing you to peer briefly at the stranger in its reflection. A woman you barely recognize. The knock to follow is brash as it sounds from the guards on the other side of your chamber. They're waiting to escort you and your entourage to great hall.

The walk is long and tedious, but the others pay no mind along the journey. Despite the swarm of company, you feel dreadfully alone. The beldams continue to chant beneath their breath, whilst swaying their thuribles with wafts of smoking incense.

A lamb to slaughter.

It isn't until you arrive at the closed metal door to the great hall that you finally see your family and kin. Your father stands with Gurney, along with a handful of others from your planet. They're all here to bare witness.

Your entourage of women rearrange themselves in an orderly fashion, allowing you to finally be at the forefront and by your fathers side. His presence sooths you from the nerves shuttering down your spine. A stroke of fear.

"When those doors open, when they say the words - it doesn't matter," utters your father as interlocks your arms. "You're still an Atreides. You're still my blood."

Your lips quiver, "I'm afraid."

As strong you are and as you've tried to remain all this time, your hardened self can't help but crack in realisation. The man on the other side of that door is to be your life forever. There is no revoking him. Even in death, you'll be his widow.

"Keep your eyes forward and mind sharp."

The guards opened the heavy doors, slower than you last recounted. As if this terrible charade isn't enough, the universe must make you suffer within the warped hands of time. If only you could blink, and it all be over.

On the other side, you see the Barron sitting upon his elevated throne. The rest of the room is crowded with the bodies of unspecified Harkonnen's; most of which you will never have to associate. It's all purely for formality.

Walking down the clear aisle, you don't pay any mind to the sea of a thousand eyes; all hollow and black. They all watch in uniform as you draw closer to the epicenter. It lasts for a short while, and soon you're forced to look up.

A sinister noise plays faintly in the background, like the turning gears of one of their vile metal machines. It disturbs you, like cracked nails along a sheet of steel. It has to be their own eerie way of attempting to fill the void of silence.

Nearing the end of the aisle, you catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. They too are shrouded beneath shaded robe and veil. Silently, you acknowledge the older woman's presence. The formal representative of the Benne Gesserit.

Reverend Mother Mohiam.

Halting at the end of the aisle, you breathe shakily as you're forced to confront the inevitable. A priest awaits mid-way on the slabbed staircase, and next to him - the man you're to amalgamate.

Feyd-Rautha.

A gentle squeeze of your hand brings to the present. Your father is to join the others, leaving you alone. The duke gives you a subtle nod. It's enough to encourage you to ascend the steps, until your level with priest and the man.

Feyd-Rautha stands tall and intimidating, and although he isn't as broad in size as his older brother, you can tell he's still strong. He could kill you just as easily as Rabban. Mercifully, he isn't able to lay eyes on you through you veil; your one last barrier of protection.

"Atreides," he rumbles through blackened teeth.

The guttural voice forces your heart to pound. He sounds as savage as those piercing black eyes portray. The priest begins his prayer. A foreign chant envelopes the audience, giving you a moment to observe your counterpart.

Sinister thoughts creep into your mind, and like the slow cold hands of the devil; they wrap their fingers around your throat. He's a man dripping with poison. A creature that'll constrict and corrupt if given a moment of weakness.

"...may thy houses unite."

A servant steps forth, offering the priest a silver platter; holding the intricate blade of a dagger. The site of it unease's your nerves, and even more so when you see Feyd's eyes flicker slyly to the weapon.

"One oath," he vowed whilst looking back at you . The priest pressed the edge of the blade to his pale palm. Feyd didn't flinch as it sliced across his flesh. "One blood."

All eyes turn to you, silently goading for you to allow the same mutilation. There's little choice other than to obey. Holding out your arm, you swallow a wince as the tip of the blade drew a line of blood.

"One oath," you repeated. "One blood."

The Harkonnen extends his bleeding palm, and the two of you join hands; thick blood intertwining with a sting. The touch of his rough flesh against yours is enough to disgust you, knowing those hands have been covered in more blood than his own.

Murderer.

The priest chants as your blood melds. Oozing between your palms, it drips to spot the marbled floor. There's enough of it for you to smell and taste. The tang of iron stains the air like an open arena.

Ghostly.

A subtle force compels you to gaze over at the crowd. Swiftly you lock eyes with your father. The man stands brave in your moment of grief. Despite his words, you can't help but feel yourself being erased; like a fading memory.

The Barron levitates from his throne, "History will remember this day."

The room of men gave a saluted cheer to the Barron's declaration. At long last, after traversing distant stars and waiting with baited breath, the decree of your match is now complete and your people safe.

As safe as you could offer.

Releasing your hand, the fresh air stings the open wound. In the eyes of the known universe to which your Emperor governs, you are now a Harkonnen. Another pawn to join their ranks and their property by law.

There isn't anything to stop the hands that reach the edges of your veil. Feyd-Rautha has earnt his right to see your face. And a part of you wonders what he's to think of you. His hooded eyes remain emotionless and critical as they roam your features.

Your appearance is unconventional by their standards. Although pale, your skin is still warmer compared to theirs, and hair is certainly not a trait to be found in any corner of the planet. Silently, you hope he finds the variation to be distasteful.

Repulsive.

It might stave off his unwanted attention. It might save you from the consummation. No doubt, the thought has crossed upon every one of their minds; including his. You know it takes more than vows and blood to consecrate a political match.

It's sickens you to the core.

It twists at your insides, knowing that the duties of a noble woman aren't in the least bit dignifying. After the celebration of your marriage, you know what is to follow. The part where he'll take you, in front of watchful eyes; some more eager to see your pain than others.

It's the fuel that ignites your nightmares.

[harmeet-saggi]

Breathe Easy In The Midst Of Smog: 5 Herbal Drinks To Cleanse Your Lungs

Do you find yourself grappling with the relentless smog that engulfs our cities? Does the polluted air make it feel like you're breathing in a toxic cocktail? Fear not, for nature has bestowed upon us a treasure trove of herbal remedies to cleanse and rejuvenate our lungs. In the quest for clean air and healthier lungs, join us as we explore the world of respiratory detox teas, lung-cleansing herbal infusions, and smog-relief beverages. Let's dive into the realm of herbal drinks that act as natural smog defenses, and discover how Peppermint Tea, Eucalyptus Infusion, Licorice Root Tea, and the Thyme and Honey Soother can be your allies in the battle for fresh air. But first, have you ever wondered about the power of herbal elixirs in cleansing your lungs naturally?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for yelling at my mom because of incense?💭

( emoji so I can recognise my submission and this is a hella long post so be warned)

So I (16F) really hate smoke. And I mean beyond the regular hate, I mean like the moment I smell smoke I instantly become very, very angry. I'm not sure why exactly, I suspect it might be because I'm on the autism spectrum but I haven't been officially diagnosed so take this with a grain of salt. Also just to clarify, I have no lung issues which would cause me to be extra effected by smoke, it's almost entirely psychological.

My mom (50F) got into this whole spiritual circle stuff about a year ago and does meditation thingies. Involves a lot of rituals, crystals and incense. Not entirely sure the exact reason why but the important thing is this means she is lighting incense almost everyday. As a result, on most days the house smells like smoke. I have told her quite a few times to ventilate properly if she's going to use it but I feel like every time I enter the main room of the house it smells like smoke. However I can manage this by simply shutting my door to avoid getting a lungful of smoke. No, the thing that pisses me off are her "cleansing sessions." This is where she goes through the house waving an incense stick everywhere to "purify the bad spirits." This means I have absolutely nowhere in the house to escape from the smoke and often get forced outside to escape. I have tolerated these "cleansing sessions" a few times but on the most recent one, it happened to be raining extremely heavily. This meant that I was stuck. In a house FILLED with the smell of smoke.

I tried to keep myself calm for a while by ventilating the smoke from under a blanket but even then I could still smell it and it made me raging mad. So I then proceeded to stomp up to my mom and yelled at her. I said some very nasty things which I'm not proud of saying. They were very personal insults mostly pertaining to how her beliefs were bullshit and about her insecurities. We had a shouting match over it which ended in her telling me to go back to my room.

Why I think I could be the asshole here is because:

A. I could have more clearly stated beforehand that I wanted her to stop cleansing my room or at the very least she needs to turn the aircon on when she burns incense.

B. She didn't really deserve the things I said to her. She's a sensitive person and I know it probably deeply hurt her even if she didn't act like it in the moment.

C. I didn't mention it earlier but I have a brother (17M) who has athsma. He has never had any problem breathing or any complaints about my mom burning incense. If anyone would be affected by this the most it would be him and yet he doesn't care. So I feel like I just really overreacted.

Why I think I might not be the asshole here is because:

A. I have asked her before that she ventilate the house properly when she does her meditations and yet every time I can smell it. Sometimes she wont even open the windows so I have to do it myself.

B. She knows how much I dislike the smell of smoke. I have said multiple times how I hate it and every time I have smelt it in the house I've been very obviously annoyed. There was even once incident where our neighbours were having a bonfire and I literally could not sleep in my room because I could smell smoke and had to sleep on the couch. Every time she's done one of these "spiritual cleansings" I have also made it abundantly clear how much I hate this but she doesn't seem to care because it usually forces me outside.

C. As before mentioned, my brother has athsma. While it may not seem like it bothers him I don't know what the long term consequences may be for his lungs. And for my lungs too! Like, I'm not an expert but I don't think regularly breathing in smoke is very good for you. She argues it's "real natural smoke" so it's fine and I told her she should try breathing near a wildfire to see how she liked "real natural smoke."

Anyways, with all these facts considered, random strangers on the internet, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[adelaidedrubman]

[ CLEANSE ]  our muses have sex in the bathtub from this prompt list + faith/jenna

notes: *scrambles in on the literal last day of pride month with the faithjen fic i swore i would post before its end* omg hiiiiiiiii hi hii. requested so long ago i won’t leave anyone on the hook for it even by my timeliness standards but. it’s here  wordcount: 4k (almost) even  warnings: NSFW, naturally. soapy boobs and thigh riding and all. bliss and cult stuff mentioned in passing. undertones of passive aggressiveness, less than healthy relationship dynamics, and emotional repression. local woman won’t just tell her girlfriend she smells like shit and she misses her but needs her alone time after work. faith smells like shit trutherism implied. (maybe to the point of unsanitary warning, but not really.) probably chemistry inaccuracies even with the intentional vagueness. prose over dialogue heavy. editing is not my strong suit, nor is conciseness

Jenna didn’t mind the smell of bliss, really. 

At any stage in the production process. 

A floral perfume heavied by its own decay, as the leaves dried. Fruit rotting and baking beneath unforgiving sunlight. 

Antiseptic saturated air that stung Jenna’s nostrils with its chemical burn on the most gentle, tentative inhale as plant matter dissolved. A bite deepened by the dry, earthy crackle of burning leaves, the heavy stench of gas coughed and spit from bunsen burners ignited by unsure, newly trained hands. 

A subtle brine beneath it all as the product was poured and stirred into vats of preservatives to be stowed away, like sea air that had soured. 

She didn’t mind the smell. She really didn’t. If anything she liked it. 

It meant things were rolling along successfully, after all. She particularly liked when she could pick up a note of each individual scent at once. Smoothly blending together, yet as distinct upon inspection as the stages of the process itself. A sign her lab was becoming a well oiled machine. 

No, she didn’t mind the smell of bliss. 

She did, just a bit, mind that it clung. 

That it settled heavy into every fiber of her hair and clothing to follow her. That it managed to find her nose no matter how tightly sealed her mask, the creeping knowledge lurking in the back of her mind that it surely seeped into the soft pink tissue of her lungs as well. 

She sighed at the thought, peeling off the last of her clothing and dropping it into the hamper — one built just for her, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a biohazard container, with its plastic lining and sealed lid. 

And it might as well be, she thought, soles of her feet adjusting to the lightly glossed grain of the hardwood as she slipped out of her shoes and stepped towards the bathtub. 

Not that she minded that either. 

The mere fact that she had a proper, safety proofed bin to dump her potentially contaminated clothing in was a stark improvement from her former research lab days. As was the fact her laundry would ultimately be left to someone else at the conclusion of her long work day, taken care of by one of the Project members assigned to do their part by washing and returning her clothes. (And far be it for her as a neutral observer to question the group’s organization of labor.) 

Jenna rolled and cracked her neck as she tugged at elastic band and allowed her hair to fall freely, trailing fingers along ends dried and frayed from exposure to the harsh chemical smoke. Another reminder of the unavoidable damage Bliss production did to her body. (But what kind of scientist would she be, if she wasn’t willing to put her own body on the line as readily as anyone else’s?) 

She brushed a hand through her curls, then brought the fingers to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of latex and disinfectant. She glanced down at her palm, tracing eyes along the powdery residue settled in its creases. 

Very much like her old research lab days, in the way it wore on her body. 

But better in every other sense, really. 

Better in that she was making real progress with her work, not jammed up with red tape. In that her journey from work to home was a short stroll down the hall of the Conversatory’s manor rather than just shy of an hour’s worth of bumper to bumper traffic to creep along all of ten miles. That her home had a deep clawfoot tub to soak the day away in, as opposed to the tiny shower stall of her old studio apartment. 

Yes, superior by every measure she could conceive, she assured herself as she turned the knob of the faucet, mixing a blend of bath oils into the water as steam rose. 

It was its own small bit of chemistry: mixing a concoction that would soothe and moisturize without settling into greasy film, building a sweet and potent perfume that didn’t too closely resemble the honeysuckle nectar of Bliss flowers. 

And a particularly pleasant application of the science, warmth of the water melting the tension from her muscles as she slipped into the tub. 

She sank down, dipped her head back to submerge, splashed water over her face before rising to sit again, droplets trickling down her back. 

She rinsed, repeated the motion. 

A creak of rusted hinges crying out in complaint cut through the soft sloshing of bath water to draw Jenna’s attention towards the opening door, joined by a gentle hum in a slow searching rise and fall, as if attempting to find harmony with the metallic screech. 

Jenna tilted her head to better view her intruder, identity well known to her before her cheek ever pressed against cool porcelain. 

Faith continued humming under her breath, smoothing out the tune with the settling of the door back into its frame at the gentle press of her fingertips, padding footsteps weaving left and right in something of a half dance on her path towards the tub. 

It was Faith’s own way of slowly washing off the day, Jenna thought with an amused smile, the gradual easing out of the public persona into something more organic and relaxed — and no less captivating. 

Faith’s song bubbled into a laugh (muted, not rising with the pitch it did around others) as she bent at the waist to hover over the tub. Jenna met her with a low, flat hum of her own and a wordless nod of acknowledgement. 

Faith held the silence, reaching a hand out to drop dried flower petals to float atop the water. Not Bliss flowers — a collection from their private gardens. A smattering of primroses and poppies. She was well aware of Jenna’s stance on compartmentalizing. That Bliss, however pleasant, was business, the very business she was washing herself of at the end of her shift. 

Basket emptied and set aside, Faith smoothed her skirt to prop herself seated at the edge of the tub. She leaned down to skim her fingers along the water — crowding Jenna’s senses with the syrupy perfume of Bliss that clung to her as she did. A more natural, softer version of the scent, lacking the sharp chemical notes, but familiar enough to wind the tension of work back into Jenna’s muscles nonetheless. 

“You shouldn’t,” Jenna said plainly, gesturing with her eyes to the fingertips cutting ripples through bathwater. “Touch the water directly,” she clarified. “Because of the chemical residue, that is. Miniscule risk of harm, but not absent.” 

Faith pulled back, blinked slowly. Then dropped her head with eyes closed, corners of her mouth stretching outward to allow a full and bright ringing laugh to spill from rosy lips.  

A bit of residue, Jenna thought. 

“From the Bliss, Jenna?”

A nod. “And every ingredient that goes into its production,” she answered, stretching her arms to rest along the sides of the tub. “It’s less dangerous than the sum of its parts, in ways.” 

“There’s nothing I could possibly fear,” Faith dismissed, propping herself on her hands and lifting to spin on the porcelain ledge, draping her legs over the width of the tub with heels propped on the opposite side. “Not from the Bliss. Not from being near you.” 

Jenna sighed, lifting her hand to trail damp, quickly pruning fingertips along the length of the woman’s leg in subtle acquiescence, feeling the small scrapes and caked dirt texturing the skin, signs she’d spent the day hard at work herself. 

It was its own form of exposure risk Faith faced. Working with the end product. Being in the public eye. One Jenna couldn’t as easily mitigate with rigid safety protocol. 

“It’s not about feeling fear or not,” Jenna countered, straightening her spine to sit more upright. Closer, she could smell past the perfume of Bliss to the subtle musk of sunbaked sweat. “It’s a… practical risk analysis. Strict probability.” 

Faith giggled, softening again, but with a practiced dismissiveness all the same. 

“Is that really all you can think about?” Faith questioned, now dipping a foot into the bathwater, flakes of dirt dissolving from the calloused skin to float alongside the petals as she rolled her ankle to stir. “Let’s be more practical by saving time and bathing together, then.” 

“Practical doesn’t always mean efficient,” she answered plainly. “Again, the risk of —” 

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash from Faith dropping her feet to the base of the tub, pulling her dress over her head in the same fluid motion.

Ah. So it was that kind of soft prodding suggestion, the kind Faith gave to signal a foregone conclusion — a particularly unavoidable one, it seemed, given she apparently hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath her dress.

Jenna sighed. 

“I don’t anticipate it will actually make things faster, either,” Jenna offered, affectionately placing hands at the backs of Faith’s legs to steady her nonetheless. “I think if anything it will lengthen the time we spend —”

“I hope it does,” Faith interrupted, settling atop Jenna’s lap. “I wish this moment could stretch on for eternity,” she said, wrapping arms around Jenna’s neck. “I wish it could last long enough to make up for every second that I’ve missed you.”

With that Faith leaned forward to close the remaining distance — a firm, steady pressure until she was seemingly satisfied Jenna’s lips would remain still, then melting into something more fluid and delicate. 

“I have missed you, Jenna,” Faith parted ever so slightly to whisper against her lips. “I miss you, when we have to spend so much time apart.” 

Well. As far as Jenna was concerned that was as good a qualitative factor for consideration as any, enough for her to stop bothering with explanations in favor of brushing aside the lightly misted curtain of blonde hair to kiss along Faith’s neck, subtle saltiness of dried and rewetted sweat clinging to her tongue. 

But her nose nudging against golden locks also jostled loose a fresh perfume of honeysuckle, thickened by dewdrops of bathwater splashed onto her hair. 

A pleasant smell, but not conducive to the head space Jenna sought — one temporarily, clinically insulated from the Bliss. 

Jenna reached past Faith to lift the handheld showerhead from its brass mount, raking fingers along Faith’s scalp and her head to tilt back with a dreamily defeated sigh, “Well, we should at least be productive about it then, shouldn’t we?”

Faith’s fingers did not seem particularly set on productivity as they stirred to trace the curves of Jenna’s body, brushing featherlight along the dip of her collarbone and down to caress her chest, then seeming to disappear and reappear to tease along her thighs. 

It would be better, to not have to rush it, Jenna thought to herself as she willed her own hands to work lathering shampoo into blonde hair rather than reach towards the places she truly longed to touch. 

She didn’t like to rush anything with Faith. 

She liked to sit with the sensations, savor each unique ache and dizzying jolt of pleasure she stirred inside her. She wished she could do so then and there, forget anything else to spend the rest of the evening basking in her. 

But with the lurking nuisance of a rigid schedule tugging demandingly at her attention, Jenna reluctantly kept her attention focused on bundling a bar of soap into a washcloth to methodically slide along Faith’s body, despite the shiver fingers brushing far too lightly along her inner thigh brought in turn.

Until delicate phantom touch congealed into a more solid pressure, fingers involuntarily squeezing down on the nipple they’d been teasing as Faith tensed and shuddered with Jenna bringing the showerhead’s stream evenly between her legs. 

“Mm,” Jenna intoned in something between an observant hum and an aroused moan. “Enjoying that, are we?” 

Jenna paused just a single heartbeat longer to savor Faith’s shaky sigh of affirmation before angling the showerhead away to rinse the suds clinging to splayed legs instead, then shift upward to continue washing away sticky sweet Bliss to dilute in pooling water. 

Faith shot her an indignant look that in turn quickly faded into pleading, slant of her brow rising to soften its furrow. 

“I was enjoying it,” she answered, an extra breathy huff accompanying the soft ring of her words that Jenna knew meant angry warning no matter how sweetly it was dressed up, the sharp chemical bite beneath the perfume. 

Yes, she recognized it just as easily as she recognized the punishing intent buried in the teasing slide of her fingers, staying spaced at such distance so as to avoid pressing against the places she ached most. 

It was what first attracted Jenna to Faith, that too gentle conniving, as candied as it was calculated. It would be ungrateful, hypocritical to allow herself to feel frustration — to feel anything but admiration — for it now. 

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to keep you from enjoying yourself,” Jenna replied calmly, bending forward to just barely grind herself against Faith’s teasing hand as she set aside the showerhead and squeezed a glob of shampoo into her palm. “But unfortunately I can’t be of much assistance at the moment.”

“But don’t you want to make me feel good?” Faith questioned, pressing a line of kisses to the ridge of Jenna’s jaw, threading the fingers of her free hand into Jenna’s hair. “Don’t you want to —”

“If I only had the time,” Jenna answered, briefly intertwining their fingers in the tangle of her curls as she worked in shampoo. “But I certainly won’t be offended if you use the opportunity to take care of yourself, while we’re together. I’d quite welcome it.” 

“I want you to make me feel good,” Faith amended in sing-song, finding something between arguing with Jenna and expanding on her own statement as she worked her fingers faster, still without allowing them to make proper contact. “I want —”

“A compromise, then?” Jenna replied, sliding her right leg beneath Faith’s so that she straddled the left. “Go ahead,” she said with a flex of her hips to grind upward, coaxing Faith to meet the pace. “Use me as you’d like.”

Faith gave a pouty humph of complaint, breaking into a sharp intake of breath as Jenna placed the hand not busied with working in conditioner at Faith’s hip to guide her along the length of her thigh, angling her knee upward so that the blonde slid down her leg. 

“J-Jenna,” she gasped, loosening the hand in Jenna’s hair to grasp the ledge of the tub, other hand flexing to curl just barely inside Jenna with the same tense of her body. 

Jenna answered with no more than a vague hum, leaning back against cool porcelain to sturdy herself as Faith rocked against her, admiring how drawn out, soft strides slowly exploring the friction offered by Jenna’s thigh gradually grew shorter, more forceful and snappy. 

The rate of the heavy breaths falling against the crook of Jenna’s neck followed a similar pattern, and she indulged herself a moment to slide a thumb along the gentle dip beneath Faith’s lips to feel the heat as she lifted the washcloth to her neck. 

And blessedly, the strokes of Faith’s hand kept pace, giving Jenna just enough stimulation for pleasure to crest in the backdrop as she dutifully continued the task of washing herself. 

A task that was no longer completely unassisted — Faith’s spare hand reached to join Jenna’s as she dragged her washcloth down to her chest, idly caressing and rolling a nipple beneath the now deeply shriveled pads of her fingers, just enough teasing pressure to make warmth flush along Jenna’s skin, mirrored in the hot pitch of Faith’s cheek pressed against hers. 

The water itself felt set to boil — logically, it should have long past grown tepid during their luxuriating soak, but as it sloshed and licked its way up Jenna’s ribs from the force of Faith’s movement it brought nothing but delicious heat she so desperately wanted to sink down into. 

“How much — mm, how much longer, Jenna?” Faith panted out in a plea as melodic as it was breathless, as impatient as it was gentle. “Before you can pay attention to me?” 

“There’s never a moment you don’t hold my attention,” Jenna cooed with a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “I promise it will be undivided very soon.”

She punctuated the statement by submerging her washcloth to brush between her thighs, taking the opportunity to cover Faith’s hand with her own, guiding it to quicken, increase force. 

Jenna allowed herself one more impractical indulgence — turning and craning her neck to brush her lips against Faith’s as she hiked her free leg to prop atop the tub’s ledge. 

And she admittedly drew out the task of running the washcloth along the length of her leg for longer than was strictly necessary, savoring the gentle vibration of Faith’s eager moans against her mouth, the way the angle drew her tighter around lithe fingers, made her cling to the pleasure from their strokes. 

And the warmth of the water soothed away any tension threatening to settle into her muscles as they clenched harder, the delicate, fluid movement of Faith’s fingers quickly conducting the symphony towards an inevitable crescendo. 

Still, it took more effort than it should have to lower her leg back into the water, pull away from their kiss. 

“I only have one part left to wash, love,” Jenna whispered, ragged and low. “Do you need me to finish things up for you, so I can have my leg back?” 

There was an ‘mmhm’ hummed against Jenna’s jaw as lips kissed up towards the apples of her cheeks. 

“Go on and say it, then. Tell me, in that lovely voice of yours,” Jenna used her last bit of calm patience to press, pulling back to admire the sight of her lover — face flushed to match the primroses petals floating in the water and clinging to her skin, bare chest heaving. “Tell me what you’d like from me.” 

“I want you to touch me,” she said in layers of dreamy sighs like spun sugar melting in the water. She angled her hips towards Jenna as if to direct her attention, gentle suggestion finally sharpening itself into a proper demand. “I want you to make me cum. Now.” 

It was all Jenna needed to appease, bringing her thumb to Faith’s clit without delay and brush aside damp, wispy blonde curls to stroke. 

The perfectly calculated angle at perfectly calculated pressure, the familiar contours of swollen flesh she used to gauge just how near she was to the edge, the expected burn in the expected places of her flexing arm as muscle memory did its work. 

Down to a science.  

Pink flush painting itself in brighter blotches on Faith’s face before crawling down to spread along the slight curve of her chest, the damp glisten of her brow that was fresh beading of sweat rather than bathwater, the telltale ripple of muscles at her middle in racing buildup as the jerks of her hips grew more erratic, the increase of the subtle drumming of her pulse in the the wrists resting atop Jenna’s collarbones as nails dug into her shoulder. 

And there it was — a last gentle coaxing of Jenna’s exacting touch, all it took for her lover to find that long sought release with a surrendering toss back of her head and drawn out gasp, faint twitches of her finish barely detectable reverberating against Jenna’s leg as she rode it out. 

And with the rush of the accomplishment, Jenna felt the need she’d allowed to fall to the backdrop quickly reassert itself, snatching the reins of her rational senses to drive her to grind determinedly against the hand between her legs, the fingers inside her slowly returning to life to resume a light, unsteady stroke, climax weakened tremble only increasing the thrill.

A thrill so strong that pushing herself to her own finish was just as easily done — a well-timed snap forward and downward drag of her hips, the last spark she needed to saturate every hungry nerve ending into overload. 

Her ears burned and whooshed with the sudden rush of blood, so full with pressure it felt as if she’d dipped her head back to submerge in water. It faded, slowly, the heat in her chest flaring to a cool rush of relief as she came down. 

As Jenna began grounding herself back into her body, she found the tightness had eased from her muscles entirely, tension worked away more thoroughly than the longest and most relaxing of soaks in a hot tub could ever grant her. 

Which was quite fortuitous, because with no more internal heat to dominate her senses, she could feel just how much the bathwater had chilled since they had abandoned the pretense of cleaning up. 

A final pleased sigh fell past Jenna’s lips as she shifted the leg Faith straddled to slide beneath her so that she rested between them, giving her final unwashed limb a quick, lazy wipe with the washcloth tightly wadded in her fist, followed by a hurried splash to rinse before she stretched the leg forward and used a toe to pull the plug from the drain. 

Then one last strain of her limbs to reach for the towel hung to the side, pulling Faith in closer as she wrapped it around them. 

“Consider me thoroughly corrected,” Jenna broke the comfortable silence to muse as she pulled slightly back, pressing her forehead against Faith’s. “You proved your point about the value of bathing together.” 

She trailed her gaze down to the subtle, satisfied smile curving along Faith’s lips as she brought the towel to drape over the blonde’s head. 

“Oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine,” Jenna recited as she rubbed terry cloth against blonde locks. “And a steady stream of serotonin in the comedown,” she mused, sitting back to blot gently at her own curls. “All chemicals released in the body from orgasm. And that greatly benefit the human brain — improving mood, cognition, and productivity. An efficient use of time, in the end, all things considered.” 

“And is that all?” Faith pressed, the furrow of her brow in would-be hurt betrayed by the delighted twinkle in green eyes. “What about the closeness it brings us? The human connection?” she offered. “Don’t you think there’s something more, something deeper to it than just chemicals?” 

“I failed to state a crucial axiom,” Jenna replied apologetically, lifting Faith’s hand from atop her shoulder and holding it between them. “There’s nothing deeper in the world to me.” 

She brought the hand to her lips, pressing a kiss just above the knuckles. 

“And I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to raise my oxytocin levels as effectively as you.” 

Faith shook her head as if in tired resignation, but Jenna caught the soft upward curve at the corners of her mouth in understanding, vanishing from her field of vision in the same heartbeat as she pulled Jenna back into her, tangling their limbs together and reclining. 

Such a brilliant woman, so perceptive. Such a privilege, to catch those glimpses of incisive, profound understanding she would carefully dress up as she moved through the day with eyes on her, pretense slowly washed away as the world faded to nothing but they two. 

Enough of a marvel that she felt justified in allowing herself to linger, to let the minutes tick away lazing with Faith snuggled at her side. 

Because there really was no one who raised her oxytocin levels quite as effectively. 

No one she’d rather have her brain rewired to facilitate enduring social bonding with, no one she’d rather anoint with every indication of adoring commitment in present sociocultural practice. 

“I love you too, Jenna.” 

More than anything, there was no one she’d rather wash the day off with.

[reality-detective]

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