#Sulfur baths

[whereifindsanity]

Steve McQueen and his wife Neile Adams, taking a sulfur bath together in Big Sur, California, 1963.

Photo: John Dominis

[mercless]

the nose shape... 🥰

[kaerakapten88]

[suetravelblog]

Tbilisi Thermal Sulfur Baths Georgia

[morningbloodystar]

they arent to hot right?

they're amaaaaaazzzzinnnngggg. my mou' fee's like - like - sulfu' ba'!

[switchelsweets]

Y’all aren’t having your characters write on one of these?

Are you the "I have strong feelings about parchment" Tumblr user? If not, I feel like I saw you might know who they are. I was going to put parchment in a fic, but then I was like "no, I can't do that without asking the Parchment Person first because I don't want to get it Wrong."

...no, but I know the post you're talking about, and I too have strong feelings about parchment, esp because I've worked on it before.

I took an illumination course while getting my illustration degree and did an "H.M." in the style of a medieval manuscript on a small piece of the stuff.

Parchment is not paper. It's cured calf or pig skin.

It's thick, and HARD like non-corrugated cardboard. If it's been stored in a roll, it does not want to unroll. If it's been stored flat, it does not want to roll. It's got the same texture as skin, because it IS skin, and you have to account for that while working on it. It smells like rawhide. It actually takes ink in a really interesting way- there's a half-second to blend of fix something before it actually sinks into the parchment, but it doesn't bleed once it's in there. It also never comes back out. It's not bright white like paper, almost a buff color, and white stands out on it.

Fascinating stuff. Actually pretty fun to work on, but it's definitely a medium for highly polished and important pieces (like illuminated manuscripts), not for casual note-taking (because it's MAD EXPENSIVE to make)

I should go hit up the local art stores and get different paper-and-other-art-media samples to demo for everyone for fanfic purposes because they are VERY different things that have different purposes, prices, origins, and societal connotations, all of which can be used in your writing.

[gonzodangerfeels]

Classflow presentation keeps going to the first slide.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Battery rationality

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/06/shoenabombers/#paging-dick-cheney

After 9/11, we were told that "no cost was too high" when it came to fighting terrorism, and indeed, the US did blow trillions on forever wars and regime change projects and black sites and kidnappings and dronings and gulags that were supposed to end terrorism.

Back in the imperial core, we all got to play the home edition of the "no price is too high" War on Terror game. New, extremely invasive airport security measures were instituted. A "no-fly" list as thick as a phone book, assembled in secret, without any due process or right of appeal, was produced and distributed to airlines, and suddenly, random babies and sitting US Senators couldn't get on airplanes anymore, because they were simultaneously too dangerous to fly and also not guilty enough to charge with any crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/20/damn-the-shrub/#no-nofly

We lost our multitools, our knitting needles, our medical equipment, all in the name of keeping another boxcutter rebellion from rushing the cockpit. As security expert Bruce Schneier repeatedly pointed out back then, the presence of (for example) glass bottles on the drinks trolley meant that would-be terrorists could trivially avail themselves of an improvised edged weapon that was every bit as deadly as 9/11's box cutters.

According to Schneier, there were exactly two meaningful security measures taken in those days: reinforcing cockpit doors, and teaching basic self-defense to flight crews. Everything else was "security theater," a term coined to describe the entire business, from TSA confiscations to warehouses full of useless "chemical sniffer" booths that were supposed to smell out bombs on our person:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2010/01/airport-scanner-scam/

Security theater isn't just about deploying measures that don't work – it's also about defending yourself against risks that don't exist. You know how this goes: in 2001, Richard Reid – AKA "The Shoenabomber" – tried to blow up a plane with explosives he'd hidden in his shoes. It didn't work, because it's a stupid idea – and then we all took off our shoes for a quarter-century:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Reid

In 2006, a gang of amateur chemists hatched a plan to synthesize explosives in an airplane toilet sink, scheming to smuggle in different reagents and precursors in their carry-on luggage, then making a bomb in the sky and taking down the plane and all its passengers. The "Hair Gel Bombers" were caught before the could try their scheme, but even if they had made it onto the plane, they would have failed. Their liquid explosive recipe started with mixing up a "piranha bath" – a mixture of sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide – that needs to be kept extremely cold for a long time, or it will turn into instantly lethal gas. If the liquid bomb plot had gone ahead, the near-certain outcome would have been the eventual discovery of an asphyxiated terrorist in the bathroom, lips blue and lungs burned away, face down in a shallow sink filled with melting ice-cubes:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2006_transatlantic_aircraft_plot

The fact that these guys failed utterly didn't have any impact on the dramaturges who ran the world's security theater. We're still having our liquids taken away at airport checkpoints.

Why did we have to defend ourselves against imaginary attacks that had been proven not to work? Because "no price was too high to pay" in the War on Terror. As Schneier pointed out, this was obvious nonsense: there is a 100% effective, foolproof way to prevent all attacks on civilian aircraft. All we need to do is institute a 100% ban on air travel. We didn't do that, because "no price is too high to pay" was always bullshit. Some prices are obviously too high to pay.

Which is why we still get to keep our underwear on, even after Umar Farouk "Underwear Bomber" Abdulmutallab's failed 2009 attempt to blow up an airplane with a bomb he'd hidden in his Y-fronts:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umar_Farouk_Abdulmutallab

It's why we aren't all getting a digital rectal exam every time we fly, despite the fact that hiding a bomb up your ass actually works, as proven by Abdullah "Asshole Bomber" al-Asiri, who blew his torso off with a rectally inserted bomb in 2009 in a bid to kill a Saudi official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdullah_al-Asiri

Apparently, giving every flier a date with Doctor Jellyfinger is too high a price to pay for aviation safety, too.

Now, theatrical productions can have very long runs (The Mousetrap ran in London for 70 years!), but eventually the curtain rings down on every stage. It's possible we're present for the closing performance of security theater.

On September 17, the Israeli military assassinated 12 people in Lebanon and wounded 2,800 more by blowing up their pagers and two-way radios whose batteries had been gimmicked with pouches of PETN, a powerful explosive. This is a devastating attack, because we carry a ton of battery-equipped gadgets around with us, and most of them are networked and filled with programmable electronics, so they can be detonated based on a variety of circumstances – physical location, a specific time, or a remote signal.

What's more, PETN-gimmicked batteries are super easy to make and effectively impossible to detect. In a breakdown published a few days after the attack, legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang described the hellmouth that had just been opened:

https://www.bunniestudios.com/blog/2024/turning-everyday-gadgets-into-bombs-is-a-bad-idea/

The battery in your phone, your laptop, your tablet, and your power-bank is a "lithium pouch battery." These are manufactured all over the world, and you don't need a large or sophisticated factory to make one. It would be effectively impossible to control the manufacture of these batteries. You can make batteries in "R&D quantities" for about $50,000. Alibaba will sell you a full, turnkey "pouch cell assembly line" for about $10,000. More reputable vendors want as little as $15,000.

A pouch cell is composed of layers of "cathode and anode foils between a polymer separator that is folded many times." After a machine does all this folding, the battery is laminated into a pouch made of aluminum foil, which is then cleaned up, labeled, and flushed into the global supply chain.

To make a battery bomb, you mix PETN "with binders to create a screen-printed sheet" that's folded and inserted into the battery, in such a way as to produce a shaped charge that "concentrat[es] the shock wave in an area, effectively turning the case around the device into a small fragmentation grenade."

Doing so will reduce the capacity of the battery by about 10% or less, which is within the normal variations we see in batteries. If you're worried about getting caught by someone who's measuring battery capacity, you can add an extra explosive sheet to the battery's interior, increasing the thickness of a 10-sheet battery by 10%, which is within the tolerance for normal swelling.

Once the explosive is laminated inside its (carefully cleaned) aluminum pouch, there's no way to detect the chemical signature of the PETN. The pouch seals that all in. The PETN and other components of the battery are too similar to one another to be detected with X-ray fluorescence, and the multi-layer construction of a battery also foils attempts to peer inside it with Spatially Offset Raman Spectroscopy.

According to bunnie, there are no ways to detect a battery bomb through visual inspection, surface analysis or X-rays. You can't spot it by measuring capacity or impedance with electromechanical impedance spectroscopy. You could spot it with a high-end CT scan – a half-million dollar machine that takes about 30 minutes for each scan. You might be able to spot it with ultrasound.

Lithium batteries have "protection circuit modules" – a small circuit board with a chip that helps with the orderly functioning of the battery. To use one of these to detonate a PETN-equipped battery, you'd only have to make a small, board-level rewiring, which could deliver a charge via a "third wire" – the NTC temperature sensor that's standard in batteries.

Bunnie gets into a lot more detail in his post. It's frankly terrifying, because it's hard to read this without concluding that, indeed, any battery in any gadget could actually be a powerful, undetectable bomb. What's more, supply chain security sucks and bunnie runs down several ways you could get these batteries into your target's gadget. These range from the nefarious to the brute simple: "buy a bunch of items from Amazon, swap out the batteries, restore the packaging and seals, and return the goods to the warehouse."

Bunnie's point is that, having shown the world that battery bombs are possible, the Israelis have opened the hellmouth. They were the first ones to do this, but they won't be the last. We need to figure out something before "the front line of every conflict [is brought] into your pocket, purse or home."

All of that is scary af, sure, but note what hasn't happened in the wake of an extremely successful, nearly impossible to defeat explosives attack that used small electronics of the same genus as the pocket rectangles virtually every air traveler boards a plane with. We've had no new security protocols instituted since September 17, likely because no one can think of anything that would work.

Now, in the heady days when the security theater was selling out every performance and we were all standing in two-hour lines to take our shoes off, none of this would have mattered. The TSA's motto of "when in trouble, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout" would have come to the fore. We'd be forced to insert our phones into some grifter's nonfunctional billion-dollar PETN dowsing-box, or TSA agents would be ordering us to turn on our phones and successfully play eleven rounds of Snake, or we'd be forced to lick our phones to prove that they weren't covered in poison.

But today, we're keeping calm and carrying on. The fact that something awful exists is, well, awful, but if we don't know what to do about it, there's no sense in just doing something, irrespective of whether that will help. We could order everyone to leave their phones at home when they fly, but then no one would fly anymore, and obviously, no one seriously thinks "no price is too high" for safety. Some prices are just too high.

I started thinking about all this last week, when I was in New Delhi to give a keynote for the annual meeting of the International Cooperative Alliance, which was jointly held with the UN as the inauguration of the UN International Year of Coops, with an address from UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres:

https://2025.coop/

When I arrived in New Delhi, my hosts were somewhat flustered because Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi had just announced that he would give the opening keynote, which meant a lot of rescheduling and shuffling – but also a lot of security. I was told that the only things I could bring to the conference center the next day were my badge, my passport and my hotel room key. I couldn't bring a laptop, a phone or a spare battery. I couldn't even bring a pen ("they're worried about stabbings").

Modi – a lavishly corrupt authoritarian genocidier – has a lot of reasons to worry about his security. He has actual enemies who sometimes blow stuff up, and if one of them took him out, he wouldn't be the first Indian PM to die by assassination.

But the speakers and delegates gathered in the hotel lobby the next morning, we were told that we could bring phones, after all. Because of course we could. You can't fly people from all over the world to India and then ask them to forego the device they use as translator, map, note-taker, personal diary, and credit card. Some prices are just too high.

They took a lot of security measures. Everyone went through a metal detector, naturally. Then, we were sealed in the plenary room for more than an hour while the building was sealed off. Armed men were stationed all around the room, and the balcony outside the room was ringed with snipers:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54165263130/

We were prohibited from leaving our seats from the time Modi entered the room until he left it again, despite the fact that the PM was never more than a few steps from the single most terrifying bodyguard I'd ever seen:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54164805776/

And yet: the fact that we were less than two months out from an extremely successful, highly public demonstration of the weaponization of small batteries in personal electronics did not mean that we all had to leave our phones at the hotel.

After that, I'm tempted to think that, just possibly, security theater's curtain has rung down and its long SRO run has come to an end. It's a small bright spot in a dark time, but I'll take it.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Elephants In Love

Pairing(s): Inexperienced!reader x Inexperienced!Arisu Summary: This is basically a rewrite of Season two episode six, the elephant scene, except with the reader and smut. They’re both virgins and awkward as shit but they like each otherrrrrr Warnings: Fluffy fluff fluff, fingering, sex kinda in water (Don’t do that it’s kinda dangerous), unprotected sex (Def don’t do that, wrap it before you tap it), super soft fluffy sex. Word Count: 3,513

“Oh. My. God.”

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

“Arisu!” You called out to the boy. He was a ways away from you, checking out a puddle on the ground. He dipped his hand in but then flinched back. He faced you with wide eyes, realizing the same thing as you. “It’s a hot spring!” You exclaimed excitedly. “The water’s perfect over here! It’s hot but not burning, you know?”

He smiled at you sincerely, watching as you clenched your fists to resist the urge to jump up and down in joy. Although the smell of sulfur in the air made his nose twitch, he held back any complaints to not ruin your moment. “Really? Then let’s get in!” He prompted, running toward you and taking off the flannel over his undershirt. “When’s the last time we took a bath? We can’t pass this up!”

“You want to bathe together?” You questioned, looking away in embarrassment at the thought. 

“Huh? Oh,” he said quietly, realizing his words. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “How about I go over there,” you pointed to the part of the spring behind a rock. “And you can stay here?”

He nodded in agreement, a light hint of pink dusting his cheeks, covered just enough by the lack of light that you couldn’t see his visible embarrassment. 

Walking over to the rock, you took a glance back at Arisu but quickly looked away when you saw him taking off his shirt. You scolded yourself for having feelings for him, but it was just so easy. He was so easy to fall for, with his beautiful face, high cheekbones, and kissable lips. He was kind too; always sacrificing himself to help you and others. It was rare to see him so happy, so excited; it was beautiful and you cherished each moment he shared his happiness with you. 

You took off your clothes, setting them down on a piece of broken rubble near you for when you got out. Stepping into the water, you went slowly to adjust to the hot temperature until you finally settled down. You let yourself float on the water, soaking in the feeling of a bath after going so long without one and letting your head go under the water for a few moments before returning to the surface and smoothing your hand over your face to get rid of the water that collected there. 

You heard Arisu let out a pleased sigh. “I could die right now and I’d be happy.”

“Don’t go dying on me just yet, we still gotta get home so I can be your friend in the real world,” you demanded, half joking and half serious. 

He was silent for a moment before he replied. “Yeah, I’d like to be your… friend, too.”

You were about to reply when the strangest thing in front of you appeared. You let out a small sound of surprise. Arisu started calling your name, worry in his tone, but you just were unable to form any words. He appeared from behind the rubble and his eyes landed on the same thing that captured your attention. “That’s not possible,” he breathed out softly, stepping more towards you. “They can’t be real, can they?”

In front of you were two large elephants, their feet three feet deep in the water. You were absolutely mesmerized, so much so that you didn’t even realize how close he was to you and how naked your body was under the crystal-clear water. 

“They’re taking a bath too,” he said with a childlike wonder that was so precious. 

“I’m pretty sure there was an animal exhibit relatively close to here. Maybe they escaped there after everyone disappeared,” you theorized.

“If we hadn’t been brought here, we’d have never seen this,” he spoke again. The thought was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. You never wanted to be in the borderlands, you were just thrown in without any explanation. But if you never made it in, you would have never met Arisu. You would have never seen the elephants in front of you; never met the friends you made through the games. 

A sad smile made its way onto your face as you watched one of the elephants stick its trunk into the water. “Yeah,” you whispered.

“You know what’s kind of crazy?” He asked rhetorically. “I’m feeling emotional, and I’m not entirely sure why.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the exact same way. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

After a moment, you turned your head to look at Arisu only to find him already looking at you. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, just basking in each other’s presence and the calm atmosphere. Your eyes began to travel down his face to his chest. Water droplets collected on his skin as he stood tall. The lower part of his body was covered by the water and the thought brought you out of your haze. You turned around quickly, pressing your hands to your cheeks to calm the heat collecting there at the expense of your embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry!” Arisu apologized from behind you. You could practically see the awkward position he was probably in at that moment. “I didn't see anything! Just elephants! I’m only looking at them,” he reassured. “I love elephants.”

At the end of his rant of an apology, you turned back around to face him. “Arisu,” you called. He stopped in his tracks as he was walking back to his designated bathing spot. “It’s okay,” you said shyly. “I- I didn’t mind,” you confessed, cursing yourself for the lack of confidence you had in the words. They were true, you genuinely didn’t mind, but it sounded so hesitant when it came out of your mouth. “You can stay.”

He turned around slowly, looking at you for confirmation which you nodded at. He then lowered himself into the water until it met his broad shoulders. You had a small smile on your face as you watched him. He was just so beautiful you couldn’t believe it. Even if nothing came out of this, you would be happy just to stay by his side as a friend. 

Arisu slowly walked up to you until barely two feet were separating the two of you. Your eyes locked and it was like the world stopped at that moment, just allowing the two of you time to look at each other without any interruptions.

That is until one of the elephants collected some water in its trunk and sprayed it over its head and back. The two of you looked over in awe, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you unconsciously let your fingers skim against his. You didn’t even realize it until Arisu let out a soft gasp and looked down at your hands. You looked down as well but didn’t raise your gaze to meet his, too nervous to see what his expression would be. Instead, when you realized he didn’t pull away, you softly, with a barely-there touch, pressed your fingertips against his. Your lips formed a soft smile when he took the next step and interlocked your fingers. 

Finally looking up, his eyes, soft and adoring, stared back into yours. His smile mirrored your own: gentle, hesitant, hopeful. It was when his eyes drifted away from yours to look at your lips that you finally saw the signs in front of you. 

He liked you too. 

You’d had the thought of him returning your feelings fluttering through your mind on occasion, but you always pushed it away, thinking he was just being friendly. You should have just listened to Usagi, she always knew he liked you and encouraged you to confess your feelings. She was right, as usual.

You lifted your right hand to place it on his cheek, lightly brushing your thumb along the scar on his cheek. It was one he’d gotten during the whole fiasco during the Ten of Hearts game back at The Beach. You don’t like the memory that accompanies the wounded tissue on his face, but you always thought it was beautiful. 

He leaned his cheek more into your hold, letting out a deep sigh and briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them, he lifted his free hand hesitantly before placing his palm on the side of your neck, pulling you toward him ever so slightly. He gave you every opportunity to pull away but you didn’t want to. You just wanted him to close the distance between the two of you and kiss you. He stopped again when he was less than an inch away from your face, your lips brushing with each breath. Deciding to take it into your own hands despite your nerves, you pushed forward and pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss. It wasn’t a very long kiss but it felt like forever before you slowly disconnected yourselves. He didn’t let you stray far as he rested his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he confessed. 

You grinned, leaning back in to give him a short kiss and giggling when he tried to chase your lips as you pulled away. “Me too,” you admitted in a low voice. 

He gently disconnected your interlocked hands and you started to pull away, thinking the moment was over until he wrapped his - now free - hand around your waist. In a frantic and panicked attempt to stop you from pulling away, he pulled you toward him with a little too much force and your bare chest crashed against his. The hand that held his cheek fell to his shoulder while your other instinctively placed your palm just below his collarbone. His eyes were wide as he gazed into your surprised ones, his body stiff as a log when your breasts pressed against him under the water. The both of you stayed still, trying to figure out what to do in the unfamiliar territory. It wasn’t until you inched the hand on his shoulder to the back of his neck that you felt him relax, your own body relaxing as a result. 

You pulled him back in to connect your lips again, both of you feeling more confident with the situation. He gently started to lead you backwards until you met a large slab of slanted concrete that was halfway in the water. It was tilted just enough to make it so that you were still being caressed by the soft ripples of the water but you weren’t fully submerged as Arisu carefully lowered you onto it with a hand protecting your head. He pulled away from the kiss, looking to make sure each thing he did was wanted. 

It was.

You let a finger trace over his neck, smiling proudly when you felt the high speed of his pulse and the subtle shiver that ran down his spine. He watched you with such awe as your fingers skimmed up to his jaw, then his cheek, then his lips. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, caressing the dimples caused by the smile he was shining down on you. Pulling him down, the two of you kissed again, though this time it seemed more heated; more passionate. His mouth found its way down your neck, leaving soft pecks against your skin until he reached just past your collarbone. He leaned back to look at you as if just realizing your position. 

With the placement of your body on the rock, the whole of your torso was out of the water and put on display for Arisu’s eyes to roam freely. He blushed when his gaze settled onto your breasts, still dripping from the water of the spring and with your nipples slowly becoming pebbled from the growing excitement in your core, but he wasn’t able to tear his eyes away. 

“Are you just going to look at me all day or are you going to do something?” You asked him. Your tone was teasing but he caught the slight vulnerability laced beneath the words. He noticed the way your fingers twitched as if wanting to reach up and cover yourself from his judgemental - or at least, in your mind - eyes. 

“You never told me you had a body built by the Gods,” he said genuinely, hesitantly tracing a hand down from your neck to your breast, going slowly in case you changed your mind. Your body continuously tensed up and relaxed in excitement as he skimmed his fingers over your right breast. You let out a soft whimper and saw his eyes dilate, lust filling them. He got more confident and wrapped his hand around your breast, squeezing gently. 

“Arisu,” you moaned out softly as you grabbed the hand not fondling your breast, and moved it down your body towards your core. “Please-.”

He watched in awe as you led his hand under the water to where your cunt was slightly distorted from the water but wet for other reasons. 

You moaned out and dropped your head back on the rock as his fingers swiped through your folds, bumping your clit each time he went up. 

“I’ve never done this before.”

Your head snapped back up to look at him as he nervously looked into your eyes. You could see the fear of judgment and insecurity in his gaze; you could also see the confusion when you smiled at him. 

“Me neither,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to caress his cheek. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. 

“Do you want to?” He asked, being extra careful about making sure you wanted this.

“Arisu,” you deadpanned, but he quickly cut you off. 

“Ryōhei. Call me Ryōhei, please. If I’m going to be making love to you then I want you to call me Ryōhei,” he pleaded and you had no choice but to concede. 

“Okay, well, Ryōhei,” you started again and he let out a little moan of approval into your neck that made you blush. “We wouldn’t have gotten to this point if I didn’t want it,” you reassured and he raised his head to look at you. “I want you, I have since the day we met.”

He smiled at you before resting his head back into the crook of your neck. “Okay, then. Are you ready?” He asked as he lined his fingers up to the entrance of your core. 

You nodded and he gently latched his teeth onto your neck, making you gasp before he slowly entered his middle finger into your wet, warm cunt. The feeling was similar to what it felt like when you played with yourself but so much better. Ryōhei’s fingers were longer and hit places you could never find. He may have been inexperienced but he was obviously naturally skilled at it. 

He started to slowly pull it out before pushing it back in, rougher than gentle but not too rough. Your moans and whimpers encouraged him to continue and he did. He brought his thumb down to try and find your clit, finding it after a few seconds of effort. He was glad he at least knew a bit about the female body and how to properly please them (he partially had porn to thank for that). The choked moan you let out the moment he pressed his thumb to your bundle of nerves made him grin cockily into your neck. 

“That’s it,” he whispered against your skin and you breathed shakily. When he slowly pushed his ring finger into you alongside his middle finger, your legs, which had been wrapped around his waist for the majority of your activity, squeezed around him as your moans slowly got louder and your breathing picked up. You weren’t sure how he was able to make you reach the edge so quickly but you didn’t really care either. “I’ve got you, just let go,” he reassured you, pressing kisses along your neck and shoulder. It was the needed push for you to reach your high. He kept pumping, riding you through everything and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

Once you reached the end of your orgasm, Ryōhei slowly pulled his fingers out of your pussy and brought it over to massage your thigh as you breathed heavily. When you opened your eyes, you saw him looking at you with the most awestruck and lovesick look in his eyes, it built your confidence but also made you overly shy. You forced yourself to not look away from his intense gaze, staring straight back at him with a look that had Ryōhei grow harder than he already was. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asked you, having brought both hands down to your thighs to massage them and love on them. Your heart clenched at his sweetness and you knew this was the boy you wanted to marry someday. 

“Please,” you answered in response with a nod. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a loving kiss. He smiled into the kiss and slowly started to readjust you so you were higher on the rock, your - still dripping - core now on full display for him to see. 

When he pulled away, he immediately lowered his gaze over your body and eventually to the pussy he would be inside in a few minutes. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?” He asked rhetorically before letting his right hand leave your left thigh to grab his erection and drag the head through your fold, circling your clit with it every time he passed over it. “Are you ready? I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he reassured. You looked down at where he was still dragging his penis over your cunt and realized just how big he was. 

And you meant it when you said it was big. 

Despite your nervousness about his size, you nodded and pulled him down so this time you were hiding your face in his neck. “I’m ready.”

As soon as you said that, he slowly began to enter his dick in you, going so slowly as to not hurt you. You whimpered at the stretch, the pain mixing with the slightest bit of pleasure. When his hips pushed flush against the backs of your thighs and ass, he stayed still, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit to help you adjust to the pain. It worked. The pain morphed into a dull ache and the pleasure started to take over. “Please,” you whined and squirmed just the tiniest bit against him. He got the message and slowly pulled out until only the tip remained, only to push it right back in again. He was so deep, you swore he hit your cervix. The pleasurable pain of the feeling made your head fall back and your legs squeeze around Ryōhei’s waist. He kept one of his hands to press against your hip and keep you in place while the other rubbed tight circles on your clit. 

It was such an intense feeling that you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. You were losing your virginity, but most importantly, making love to Arisu Ryōhei, the boy you’d been falling in love with since the day you met him in this dreadful world. You wished the moment would never end, but you knew it had to.

Especially since you could feel your orgasm coming up on you very quickly. 

Almost like the two of you were in sync or he was reading your mind, Ryōhei said, “I won’t be able to last much longer. Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned out. 

“Me too,” you whined, bringing him down to your level again so you could messily slam your lips against his. The kiss was little more than the two of you breathing heavily into each other’s mouths until you could feel the warm feeling of Ryōhei’s cum painting the inside of your walls. Him cumming triggered your own orgasm and the two of you moaned into your interlocked lips. 

He continued to thrust the two of you through your highs until he slowed to a stop and gathered you in his arms for a cuddle session. You laughed under your breath and wrapped your arms around his as well to return his affection. 

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed into your ear from where his head was resting against your temple. His lips traced against the shell of your ear as he spoke and it made a pleasurable shiver run down your spine. You smiled at his confession of love and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“I am so in love with you, Ryōhei.”

You were quietly grateful for those elephants because they ended up being the whole reason you and Ryōhei found your way to each other, this time as lovers instead of friends.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Smutmas Day 5 - Stuff Your Stocking

Alastor x Reader Summary: You are in a brand new relationship with Alastor, so it concerns you when he dips out of the annual Christmas party at the Hotel. Only when you go to check on him do you find the reason for his disappearance...and his hard-on. Warnings: P in V sex, outfits(Stockings), established relationship, biting kink, cuss words, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Requested by the beautiful and my internet wifey @kewpikayo

The holiday event at the Hazbin Hotel was nothing short of dazzling. Strings of colored lights bathed the grand ballroom in a warm glow, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine mingled with the faint sulfur of the underworld. Guests of all shapes and sizes mingled, their laughter and chatter blending harmoniously with the jazzy holiday tunes being performed on stage.

Charlie had outdone herself organizing the event, and the staff—though reluctant at first(ahem..Husk)—had embraced the festive cheer. Y/N stood near the refreshment table, her eyes scanning the room. The outfit she'd chosen for the evening, a festive red mini skirt paired with thigh-high stockings and a cozy sweater, had drawn more attention than she'd anticipated. It’s not like she was the skimpiestly dressed in Hell but no matter. While different from her usual attire, the skirt had shrunk in the wash, the thigh-highs an attempt to cover the skin that would have been more bare. 

But she couldn't help noticing that one particular demon seemed distracted.

Alastor stood near the edge of the room, cane in hand. His typically sharp grin was absent, replaced with a contemplative expression as he watched the revelry from a distance. Y/N's heart twisted in concern. They'd only recently begun navigating the uncertain waters of their relationship, and she couldn't help but worry that something was bothering him.

Gathering her resolve, Y/N made her way toward him. Alastor turned slightly, catching her approach out of the corner of his eye, and his face did something unexpected—it softened, then quickly morphed into his more common unreadable smile. What she couldn't see was the way his fingers tightened around his cane or the way his mind raced as he caught another glimpse of her outfit.

Y/N tilted her head. "Alastor? Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He chuckled, the sound a touch higher-pitched than usual. "Oh, my dear, I'm quite fine. Just stepping away to enjoy the ambiance. These sorts of festivities can be a tad…much, don't you think?"

She frowned slightly. “Too much? I thought you loved entertaining."

His crimson gaze flicked to hers, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his usual composure. "Oh, I do, but there are... distractions tonight," he admitted vaguely, the smile never leaving his face.

Before Y/N could press him further, possibly asking whether it was the strobe lights or Angel’s very loud Italian singing, Alastor turned and began walking toward one of the quieter halls. Concerned, she decided to follow. 

"Alastor, wait!" she called, hurrying after him. Unfortunately, the polished floor was slicker than she'd anticipated, and as she tried to catch up, her footing slipped.

"Y/N, what are y—!" Alastor began to ask, but he didn't have time to finish. She collided with him in a flurry of movement, and before either of them could react, they ended up on the floor in an unexpected heap. Y/N was sprawled atop him, her hands braced against his chest, while Alastor lay beneath her, utterly speechless.

The world seemed to freeze. Y/N's face flushed a deep crimson as she realized the position they were in. "Oh my gosh, I—I’m so sorry!" she stammered, trying to push herself off him.

Alastor, for once, was at a loss for words. His usual confidence was nowhere to be found as he stared up at her, his cheeks tinted a rare shade of pink. "Y/N," he said finally, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "while I appreciate your enthusiasm, might I suggest a less... dramatic approach next time?"

Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking the tension. "I didn't mean to tackle you!" she protested, finally managing to scramble to her feet and offering him a hand.

Alastor took it, his long fingers wrapping around hers as he allowed her to help him up. His grin returned, though there was a slight nervous edge to it. "Perhaps it was fate," he teased, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Or perhaps the hazards of such an outfit? It’s positively... eye-catching."

Y/N blinked, realization dawning as she noticed his lingering gaze. Her cheeks burned hotter than before. "Wait... was that why you walked away? My skirt?”

Alastor coughed into his hand, his usual composure faltering once more. "Well, my dear, it would be remiss of me not to notice such a... striking ensemble.”

Her laughter rang out again, this time more genuine. "Alastor—,” she said, though her voice carried an affectionate lilt.

"Ah, but you adore me for it, do you not?" he replied, his grin growing wider as he offered his arm. “Now my dear, I do believe you owe an apology for cascading on me to the floor.”

“Oh, of course. I am so sorry, Al—“

“I did not mean with your words, cher.” Leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a more sinister octave, Alastor’s words spoke with an interesting promise. “Though I would not mind your noises.”

With a quick snap and a misting of green static, the pair appeared in Alastor’s room. Y/N’s hands came to grip the lapels of her boyfriend’s suit jacket, attempting to ground themselves after the sudden transport. No matter how many times they did it, Y/N could never get used to the sensation. 

The large king-sized bed lay promisingly in the center of the room, red and black linen sheets draped softly around the surface of the mattress. Small embroidered details lay within the pillowcases and bed skirts, though barely visible. Fitting for someone with Alastor’s aesthetic. Taking the hint, Alastor walked their bodies to the king-sized bed and laid Y/N’s down on the sheets. Now with back flush against the mattress, she wasted no time in capturing her lips to his, amazed by the darkened desire that lay within his eyes. 

Clawed fingers traced down the fabric of her skirt, fiddling with the hem before sliding it off her legs along with her underwear. Raising her hips in an attempt to help him also with her stockings, Alastor pushed her back down on the mattress. Breaking from the kiss for a quick moment, voice laced with a nearly untraceable growl, he spoke.

“The stockings stay on, my dear. You look ravishing,”

Working his way down, his face ended between her thighs. His eyes widened at the glittering slick that painted her hole. His hot breath on her already weeping cunt made her shiver in anticipation. Moaning at the sensation, Y/N brought her lips to kiss and nip at the corner of Alastor’s collarbone. They had never ventured this far in their relationship, and by all means, Alastor had never really brought up the idea of being intimate. But it was needless to say, the current predicament excited her to no end. 

Without warning, Alastor hoisted her legs up on his shoulders, unbuttoning his pants in a quick move. Carefully, as if it would cause him to bust just at the sensation, he massaged the tip of his cock against her hole. Squirming at the stimulation but not allowing a moment to think, Alastor sunk into her warm cunt with one stroke causing Y/N to bite Alastor’s neck accidentally at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck, cher—“

“Gosh, Al, you like that?” Y/N’s tone wasn’t harsh in the slightest, if anything, it was absolutely debauched at the thought her boyfriend liked to be a bit. Made sense considering his life choices but still. Her hands came to tangle themselves at the nape of his neck, tugging softly as Alastor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his thrusts became short and sloppy. 

“That’s it, darling~. Go on, you can do it—“

Her body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as her release hit like a freight train. Not mere seconds later did he find his own high; cumming hard into her tight cunt, enjoying the way her spasming pussy clenched around him with want. The room was silent save for the sound of soft squelching and heavy breaths, each allowing the other a moment of rest. 

Soon, Alastor slowly pulled out, already missing the warmth from the moment before. After conjuring a towel and cleaning both of them up, Alastor tucked himself back into his pants and extended a hand to his lover.

"Now, shall we rejoin the festivities? I believe I owe you a dance—one where you promise not to trip us both."

[thought--bubble]

The Tragedy of a Dragon

Canon Aemond X Wife Reader

Word Count: 1,545

For the 12 days of smuffmas (Prompts by @ewanmitchellcrumbs)

December 12th - candlelight and collaring

Smuffmas Masterlist

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Dividers & Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: Sad emo Aemond, Slightly dom Aemond, P in V smut, mentions of death, mentions of murder. short sweet and to the point

“Welcome back, love,” you say gently, lighting the last candle in your shared chambers. You had painstakingly laid candles all about the room to create an aura of softness and lightness. You knew your job: to be a sense of comfort, a sense of peace for your husband, a man who knew very little of comfort and even less of peace.

You breathe in the strong smell of sulfur and ash that emanates from your husband as he grunts his hello, landing with a loud thud on the edge of the bed and immediately reaching to remove his boots.

“Aemond,” you glide across the room, making sure your steps are light, nearly imperceptible. “Let me assist you.” You move closer and wait for his consent. You have learned through trial and error that Aemond will only accept help if he approves it; if you try to help him without his explicit permission, he is liable to burn you where you stand.

“I burnt an entire village to ash today, and still you surmise I cannot remove my own boots?” His tone is clipped and harsh, and his one eye glares at you, just waiting for a retort, something, anything he can use to set light to the kindling weighing so heavily upon his chest. Aemond is a dragon in more than name. He embodies that power, loyal, yet quick to cut you down if he's feeling weak or cornered. For the last few days, since his nephew was beheaded in his bed, a cruel act he feels entirely responsible for, he has been looking for a fight. With anyone, anywhere; not even you, his sweet wife, are safe from his wrath.

“No. I simply thought you might enjoy that I bear the weight of this one small burden.” You stand with your hands clasped in front of you. Do not react. No matter how much he lashes out at you, do not react. This mantra has been playing through your head for days. You maintain a gentle facade and an air of indifference, waiting for him to relent.

Aemond swallows audibly and finally waves you over. “Yes, yes, dear wife.” He lays back on the bed, looking up at the rich tapestry of the canopy above. “You are too kind when I am cruel.”

You kneel before him and dutifully remove his boots, slipping one off after the other. “Or you are too cruel when I am kind.” You lift your head and smirk gently, placing your hands on his thighs.

Aemond chuckles darkly. “That may be, for I am as cruel as they come… but alas, you know this… do you not?”

“I am afraid that I do not. I know a kind man, a man I call my lord husband.” You rise slowly from your knees. "Is there anything else, husband? Would you like me to have the servants run you a bath?”

“No, I would not,” he huffs, pulling his eyepatch off and tossing it onto the nearby end table.

“Hmmm…” You click your tongue as you watch him lay on the bed, clearly exhausted from the day's activities.

“Say what is on your mind, wife,” he breathes out, exasperated, rubbing slow circles over his temples.

“Burnt an entire village to the ground, you say?” You walk to a nearby chest and slowly run your fingers over the lid before pulling it open.

Aemond lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I do not require that tonight, wife.”

“Yet you tell me you burnt down an entire village!” You pull out the thick black leather collar, snapping the tough material with a quick tug. “That sounds an awful lot like a beast that needs taming to me.”

Aemond chuckles, his voice gravelly as you round the bed. “Does it now? Well, that could simply be a dragon's morning greeting. Nothing to get worked up about.”

You carefully lift your dress to straddle his lap. “Lift.” You hold the collar open before his throat.

He smiles to himself, eyes closed and humming slightly, ignoring your demand.

“Aemond Targaryen, I said LIFT!” You yank his head off the bed by his hair, and he gasps, a much wider smile gracing his strong features.

“Lykiri, my love, lykiri.” He holds his head, hovering above the mattress as you wrap the collar around the porcelain skin of his long, muscular neck.

“Good boy.” You push him back down with a light thump. “Now to get this disobedient dragon in order.”

“What makes you think this dragon would want to be tamed?” He brings his hands to your hips, pulling you tighter to him. “A dragon is never truly tamed, love… they simply allow you to ride them.” He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, and rolls your hips against his. He closes his eyes and moans as his breathing grows heavy, his hips thrusting upwards against your heat.

“Now, now, now. Stop that.” You slip your hands under his shirt, slowly sliding the offending fabric higher and higher up his torso.

Aemond loses his patience and quickly rips the shirt over his head, tossing it behind him to fall over to the other side of the bed. As soon as the shirt is off, he pulls you down to him, his kisses frantic and needy. “Trust me, love,” he growls against your lips. “You can tell a dragon to stop, yet if they want to do something, they will do it.”

He rolls you over onto your back, causing you to squeak, hiking up your dress to your hips. His fingernails scratch at your skin as he makes quick work of your underclothes, pulling them down the length of your legs.

“And this… this, I want to do.” He dives into the crook of your neck like a beast seeking sustenance, one hand buried in your hair and holding your head in place while he ravages the soft skin between your shoulder and neck, his other hand moving hastily between your spread thighs, pulling and tugging at his breeches, trying to move just enough fabric for his manhood to escape the suffocating clothing item.

“It is you who must be taught a lesson, my dragon!” You reach up and gently tug at the leather collar around his throat, but you know it's no use. When Aemond wants something from you, he gets it.

“I have learned all I wish to learn,” he pants heavily as he finally frees himself, lifting one of your legs around his hip and lining himself up with your heated core.

“That cannot possibly be tr—oh!” Your words are cut off as he thrusts into you with no preamble. Not that you needed much of a warm-up.

“Oh, but it is, sweet wife.” He pants heavily as he bottoms out. With a loud, throaty groan, he sets the pace, his hips moving rhythmically against yours, the subtle creak of the bed growing louder with every thrust as his pace quickly increases. He holds your thigh tight to his hip, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh. “I have learned the world is cruel and cold everywhere,” he leans down, bringing his face to yours without slowing his pace. “Everywhere in this entire blasted kingdom but here, between your thighs.” He groans and throws his head back while licking his lips, mouth wide open, surrendering himself to the physical sensations. “Here is where I should be,” he lets go of your hair to instead grip your hip, holding you in place, his thrusts growing harder. “Pounding your cunt every waking moment. This is the only place that is warm and good.” His eyes open and stare down at you as he chuckles. “My sweet wife.” He roughly tugs down the top of your dress, allowing your breasts to spill free. “Yes, right here is where I should be.”

You try to come back with a retort, a funny quip, anything, but your mind is blank, and the only thing you can do is whimper, “Aemond.” You reach up and grab at his chest, his sharp abdominal muscles flexing with each movement. The tightness under your fingers pushes you closer to the edge of bliss.

“Oh, Aemond! Ah!” You squeeze your eyes shut tight, your back arching off the bed. Your body temporarily goes numb; the only place capable of registering feeling is the heat between your legs. Aemond quickly follows you over the edge, yelling things in High Valyrian. You don't know what he said, but it didn't matter. You were filled with him, the warm sensation giving you tingles.

When you fall limp against the bed, Aemond is quick to drop beside you, his chest heaving, struggling to refill his lungs with the oxygen he so desperately requires.

The two of you lay in silence until Aemond breaks it with four quiet words that break your heart.

“It was my fault.”

You roll onto your side and pull him into your arms by the collar still wrapped around his neck, stroking his hair. You feel the hot and heavy sensation of his turmoil drip onto your shoulder, and you rub his back in silence, eventually falling asleep to the sound of his heavy, shuddering breaths.

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part I)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

After years of writing *literally nothing,* I never expected bald Austin Butler to inspire me again :)

Life does wonderful things sometimes.  Feyd Rautha is a fucking snack. And whoops it looks like I invented a planet and a culture :/

Summary: You're the daughter of the Duke of the House of Ronen, and your father and Vladimir Harkonnen have arranged a marriage between you and Feyd-Rautha to join your two houses.  When the House of Harkonnen pays a visit to your planet, Feyd discovers something unforeseen within himself during an assassination attempt…

Reader: she/her pronouns 

Warnings: innuendo/suggestive content, attempted assassination, blood, violence, multiple murders

Word Count: 4.2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

--

The hydraulics whirr as the black metal ramp of the Harkonnen vessel opens downward onto the stone landing pad on planet Youra and hits the ground with a low thunk. Feyd follows his uncle as he floats out of the vessel toward the doors of the Youran citadel, which is nestled in the center of a towering mountain covered in dense forest. Through the canopy, he sees the flickering lights from within the treehouses that adorn the forest cover. 

The fortress itself is bathed in a warm, yellow glow from the round floating lanterns that surround it.  As they hover, they seem to spiral upwards in a concentric spiral and extend their reach up into the night sky. A line of Youran soldiers flank the walkway, dressed in ceremonial garb of earthy, brown leathers with teal accents and intricate geometric patterns.  As the Harkonnens pass, the soldiers bow their heads to them, allowing the carved silver helmets to shine in the evening light. 

The environment here could not be further from that of Giedi Prime with its cold, industrial landscape devoid of color and the stench of sulfur and gas.  The jungle air here is saccharine and floral on Feyd’s tongue.  He feels the brush of the evening breeze flowing past him out toward the sea from the surrounding jungle. As he breathes in, he notices the richness of the air, imbued with the essence of all the flora that have made Youra a treasure trove for natural resources and experimental medicines, reminding him why he and his uncle have arrived on this planet.

The endeavor to secure spice on Arrakis had not gone as smoothly as the Harkonnens had hoped, especially with constant Fremen attacks sabotaging their forces and Rabban’s pitiful attempt at countermeasures. The current state of their operation and the number of soldiers they were losing daily called for acquiring a new tactical advantage.  As much as they hated to admit it, they would have been foolish not to seek one out. 

The advantage lay on Youra, the planet of island rainforests and the home of the minor House of Ronen, where an uncountable number of plant and animal species flourished, supplying the population with life-saving natural compounds the renowned scientists had been extracting from nature and developing for centuries.  Through this arranged marriage, the wealth of chemical knowledge and access to the raw materials would become House Harkonnen’s. Feyd could begin to taste his ascension to power. This was simply the next step necessary to turn the tides of this conflict on Arrakis, which would inevitably end in him assuming the title of Baron if not Emperor. 

With a low rumble, the double doors in front of Feyd open to reveal your father and yourself.  Laying eyes on you for the first time, Feyd stops in place, his heavy black boots almost stuck on the ground.  When the conversation of an arranged marriage came up with his uncle, he was beyond apathetic, knowing that this would be a political move in which he had no obligation to have any investment. The woman would become his wife only by title.  To his astonishment, he is entranced by your beauty, to the point of speechlessness. He almost completely ignores your father’s greeting and speech about the union of your two houses. You are radiant with your skin that glows in the light, unlike that of the Harkonnen women he is used to seeing. You look into his eyes, and he feels almost locked in, the rest of the world fading until all he sees is you. 

“Welcome to our home, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you say to him, not breaking eye contact from underneath your headdress. Your striking eyes bore deep into his soul. It’s almost as if they’re calling to him.  What’s most interesting to Feyd is that they don’t seem to contain a hint of fear or apprehension. He is used to making those around him crumple under the weight of their own terror with his mere presence so he can exploit those emotions and manipulate them as his own personal playthings.  In defiance of his reputation, you seem undeterred by him staring straight at you. As your eyes glimmer in the lamplight, he feels his breath almost catch as they taunt him, draw him. Snapping himself out of the trance, a smirk forms on his lips, remembering how his uncle taught him to behave. He forces himself to relish the thought of toying with your apparent resolve. 

As he looks down, he eyes your lavish, floor-length regalia. The same deep brown and teal that your father and the soldiers wear decorates the patterns on your cloak. He notices lines of gold thread woven into your hair, an appropriate show of the natural resources of your planet. 

Strange, he thinks. The cloak is rather large and heavy. Despite matching the designs of the other Youran garb, it seems out of place to be a traditional outfit for the aristocracy of a rainforest civilization where the warm and humid conditions should prove inhospitable for cloaks of this nature. 

The delicate, meek flower he was expecting to relish picking apart with ease you are not. He’s figured out you're a woman with something you’re intent on hiding from him.  You’ve put on this front either bravely or stupidly, and Feyd-Rautha will peel back every layer one calculated move at a time until you are finally entirely his.  

He steps forward and reaches down to take your hand in his. “My betrothed…” he whispers to you, his voice low and gravelly. “We finally meet, Little One. I must say you look exquisite. I expected nothing less.” He brings your fingers up to his lips and brushes his lips across them before pressing firm a kiss on the back of your hand�� His uncle seems most disgusted by Feyd’s tenderness, but Feyd keeps his gaze on you through hooded eyes, knowing that the first move in any game is imperative to the success of his endeavor.  He sees yours flicker for a moment as your body tenses listening to his praise. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

–

Dinner is filled with monotonous diplomacy, tiresome pleasantries, and planning of the wedding to take place on Giedi Prime, but Feyd hasn’t let his attention break from you. It’s as if the kiss he planted on your hand was the catalyst for the first crack in the wall you’ve put up, and now he’s waiting for the perfect moment to make his next move.

All of dinner he’s watched as you attentively listened to his uncle and your father exchange words and eat your dinner. He hasn’t failed to notice how your eyes dart over to look at him through your lashes. With every gesture you make and every word you say, he feels unequivocally enraptured. As much as he’s tried to suppress his emotions and stay faithful to his uncle’s teachings, grounded in violence and viciousness, his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what must it be like to have your touch flutter across his chest when he watches you delicately grasp your water goblet.  When you fold your lips around your cup to drink, he imagines what they must feel like on his skin if you were to drag them down his neck tantalizingly slow. What if you were close enough to him to have your breath fan out across his skin as your lips caressed his? What must it be like to hold your softness in his hands? The very idea makes his breath hitch. 

Of the many thoughts he has as he watches you, many of them becoming increasingly lewd as dinner continues, one remains in his head: if he is this captured by just your face and gaze, basking in the light of what you’re concealing under your cloak, must be heaven adjacent. 

His desire to use you and leverage your own will against you is being chipped away little by little. Feyd’s hardened persona that his uncle helped construct is withering with every second he spends in your presence. The notion is nearly frightening to Feyd, but with every single glance and gesture, his heart, which may have turned to stone long ago, is beginning to accept it.  

Feyd rips his attention away from you as your father stands to thank the Harkonnens once again for coming. “I shall have my servants show you where you shall be staying,” your father announces as he rises from his seat. “I have arranged for our head researchers to show you what progress we have had in our synthetic undertakings as of late. I guarantee you will be very interested in what they have to offer.” 

As you stand, he notices how your hands pull together the front seam of your cloak, preventing it from opening. Curious.

You bid him goodnight and turn away to head to your quarters as a Youran servant beckons him to the guest wing.  That night, Feyd cannot rest as he lays awake in bed in the opulent guest suite, images of you running through his head, and he almost smiles thinking about when you say his name so sweetly.

 “Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

–

The next day, Feyd sees little of you.  In the morning, he makes his way to your quarters only to be informed by a servant at your door that you have already departed for the day.  When he asks where you have gone, the servant provides a murky response about your duties as Lady of the House and wedding preparations, which he as her betrothed would “surely understand.” Just as he decides he will find you himself, he is seized by his uncle as to meet the Youran ministers of culture, science, and development to learn about their acquisition.

Feyd cannot deny that your homeworld is impressive.  It’s steeped in centuries of exploration and inquiry with unmatched record-keeping of not only science but tradition, too. The ceilings are vaulted and adorned with gold. The walls of the citadel are covered in elaborate murals painted on with vibrant colors or carved into the surfaces. Some depict traditional folktales, gods, and ceremonies while those opposite them describe the evolutionary lines of species, a true testament to Youra’s modernity and dedication to preserving your peoples’ history in living memory.  If only he knew which mural decorates the wall concealing you. 

As the picture of your world’s history becomes clearer, the air of mystery surrounding you only grows. Not once has he heard talk of you after his interaction with that servant, but throughout the day he has sensed hushed whispers that are almost certainly about him instead. As he passes soldiers, some of them almost seem to leer at his presence.

 A few times, he thinks he can almost see the hem of your cape disappear around corners, but when he goes to investigate, there is nobody there.  The anger he expected to have inside him due to your avoidance is nowhere to be seen, and only a burning intrigue remains. 

“What a little enigma my wife is,” he thinks to himself when he enters the banquet hall for dinner as the last ray of sunlight fades from the windows as the sun dips below the horizon. 

Almost on cue, the doors to the hall open again and to his gratification, it is you.  He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He cannot deny his own inclination when you smile at him softly, putting him at ease.  

“Good evening, Na-Baron,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Your dulcet tones go straight to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting long.”

“Not at all.”  He takes your hands in his once again, running his thumb along the back of them and savoring the feeling of your soft skin. This time when his heart swells, he lets it happen, surrendering himself to your charm. “I would wait an eternity for you,” he says, realizing you enjoy it when he romances you.  

“You don’t strike me as a man who likes to be kept waiting,” you reply, looking up into his eyes. “I am surprised you are not frustrated with me.”

“I make exceptions,” he replies, noticing how your lips curl into a small smile. “… for when it truly matters.  Since you’ve been absent all day, tell me, Little One, what have you been doing while you were hiding from me all day?”

You let out a gentle exhale. “I assumed you might be curious about that,” you say to him, as you clasp his hands in yours, beginning to tug him backwards to the doors.  “Would you join me outside before we eat, Na-Baron?  I have something I want to show you that I’ve been working on in preparation for our marriage.”  

Allowing you to lead him, he follows you as you pull him through the halls of the fortress.  He senses the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself are within his grasp.  You both head outdoors and descend a grand staircase toward a courtyard nestled in the center of the fortress that overlooks the ocean that is now a murky midnight blue. 

The nighttime lanterns light the way once again, and you both continue into the courtyard which is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. The ground seems to be a single sheet of rust colored stone that is marbled with shards shimmery metals.  The slab has massive circles cut into it spaced in a perfect grid.  Inside the circle is a golden pool of luminescent water.  Tall, half moon shaped walls cradle each pool with glyphs and carvings etched into them. 

“What is this place?” he asks you, basking in the light emanating from all of the pools that surround the both of you as you continue down the center aisle.

“This is my favorite place in the castle,” you explain.  “It’s where we keep one of every species our researchers are currently studying. The rock wall above the pools describes each evolutionary line and the discoveries about it we’ve made. There’s one I want to show you if you would allow me.”

He nods as you bring him to a pool whose accompanying slab remains blank. Looking down into the water, he spots a single indigo fish with long, delicate fins that trail behind it in the water. He watches as it circles the pool. It slows and shudders momentarily. A single incandescent scale breaks off and floats to the bottom of the pool. You kneel to gather the scale from the bottom, holding it so that he can see how the light flickers off its surface.

“Does it intrigue you?” he hears you ask, and he nods in return as something he thought he lost long ago begins to emerge inside of him: his sense of wonder.

“I have never seen such a creature. Would you tell me about it?”

 “It would be my pleasure,” you grin. “This fish was discovered on an archipelago on the other side of the planet. I’ve been studying this fish with our most expert researchers. The pools it lives in almost disappear during the dry season, but we’ve found that they survive to the wet season because of their scales somehow.  My father doesn’t know any of this. He still thinks we know nothing of this creature.”

“It’s marvelous,” he whispers to you, eyeing the small bubbles floating to the top of the water from the fish’s gills. 

“I wanted to show you this fish because this is at the heart of our culture on Youra.  Our people are on a constant mission to learn and discover, so we can help and care for those we hold dearest.  With our marriage, the House of Harkonnen will be a part of that endeavor. I’m showing you this fish because when the fish shed their scales at the beginning of the wet season, they contain a high concentration of a novel compound that allows living things to retain water.”

He sees you fidget with your own hands as you explain. You’re nervous, he realizes. 

“We have been able to extract it from the scales they drop,” you say with a slight waiver in your voice. Here you are bearing your hard work and dedication, your soul to him. Your vulnerability is evident.  Before you were so confident with your gaze and now your eyes never stay on him for more than a fraction of a moment. If you were anyone else, he would have taken full advantage the opportunity to leverage your weakness, but he cannot bring himself to do so.  “This knowledge is my gift to you na-Baron. I have been aware of your endeavors on Arrakis. I realize you may not be as invested in this arrangement as we are, but I wanted to give you this to mark the beginning of what is to come… I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Only wanted to communicate my intentions.”

His heart quivers as his mind darts back to the countless times his uncle has “gifted” things to him as rewards for doing his bidding.  The concubines, armor, and weapons all fall to the wayside; now they’re all tainted in Feyd's mind by his uncle's conniving ways.  They were never gifts in earnest, always being transactional or part of another of his uncle’s Machiavellian schemes. Never in his life had he been given something so thoughtful, something intended to truly protect him. The previous notions he had before of possessing you are bitter on his tongue. Now, he could never and the shame he feels for maybe the first time in years begins to burn into his psyche. 

“Na-Baron,” you plead, bringing him out of his own thoughts.  “Say something, please.”

“Thank you,” he finally says, taking your hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I am grateful for your generosity, my little flower.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a relieved sigh before your emotions bubble out of you.  “You cannot fathom how happy I am to hear you say those words,” you say, bringing your hands to his again. “I was so worried about showing you this!”

Right when he opens his mouth to respond, his instincts as a warrior kick in as he hears the soft whistle of something flying through the air towards the both of you. In a flash, he’s grabbed you by your shoulder to force you to your knees as you let out a bewildered yelp.  The sound lights his veins on fire and fills him with rage.

Against the blank stone slab of the fish’s pool he sees it: a green splatter of a sinister substance that drips down the stone in long tendrils. Below, the shattered remains of a poisoned dart sinking into the water.  You’ve seen it, too. He swivels himself around in the direction the arrow came from. A hooded figure is emerging from behind another one of the stone walls, a serrated dagger in hand, poised to strike you down.  Feyd reprimands himself for leaving his weapons behind in his room in the name of diplomacy, but he’s prepared to fight empty handed to protect you and punish your assailant.

Before he realizes, you’ve shed your cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor behind you and Feyd can finally see what you’ve been hiding. You’re wearing a sage green dress with a bodice plated in iron that’s been secured to in place with intricate leather straps and golden loops that wrap deliciously around your figure. The symmetric slits in your dress that extend almost to your hips reveal your garters where two silver daggers that curve into formidable hooks are secured to your outer thighs.

As soon as he realizes you’re armed, you’ve already grasped the leather wrapped handles of your weapons and drawn them from your thighs with a flourish, launching yourself at your attacker. The ground reverberates with your power, and your blades ring out as they clash with your opponent’s. The man grunts upon impact and with a vigorous push, you knock his weapon upwards and away from you as you swipe at his face with the other hand. When he stumbles backwards, his face covering is swept to the side. 

“Ozran!” you growl as the man regains his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Traitor!”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Ronen, revealing our secrets to that Harkonnen!” Ozran snarls at you, his eyes wild as he begins swiping sloppily at your head, which you dodge with ease. Feyd knows the man is getting desperate. Ozran is quickly realizing running away would have been the best option after his poisoned arrow missed.

Ozran attempts to shake off his regret by hurling himself at you, trying to recover the situation now that he’s committed to one-on-one combat with you. “I will not stand by and have the rewards of our peoples’ work reaped by them.  Without a daughter to marry off, our intelligence will remain ours, and I will protect it to the end, even if that means killing you.”

Feyd hears you tisk at his pitiful attempt at your life as your heel makes contact with his nose.  Blood gushes from his nostrils and drips down his chin in thick droplets.  He staggers back and loses his footing as you drive your blades into him, your footsteps smearing his blood on the floor as you move.  Ozran’s hope drains from his eyes, and he coughs as you pull your knives back, his blood spilling onto the stone floor from the gaping hole in his body. He drops his weapon and it clatters on the ground beside him.

“Too bad you couldn’t get close enough to actually do any damage,” you say sweetly to him as he wheezes. “You were never a man worthy of battle. I’m surprised you even worked up the courage to merely attempt to kill me.”

“D-don’t worry, dear Lady,” he sneers as his knees hit the floor.  “There are more of us who don’t appreciate our leaders betraying our ideals. They will avenge me, and you will join me in death.”  With that, his body crumples in the pool of his own blood. Drawing his last breath, Feyd sees Ozran’s consciousness fade.  From the shadows and behind the other stone walls, he senses more figures lurking.

“Na-Baron!” you call, as you throw Feyd your second knife, which he catches with a flick of his wrist as you pick up Ozran’s weapon.  Your dagger is robust and extraordinarily crafted, truly a weapon worthy of your status Feyd thinks. With that, he joins you in battle when Ozran’s allies pounce, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. One by one, he cuts the treasonous soldiers down with you by his side, slashing their throats, stabbing them in their backs, hearing their bones break, and tendons tear.  It’s exhilarating, fighting not just for you, but with you in perfect synchronization.  

When the last one falls, their mangled bodies are piled around you.  He looks at you with complete admiration in his eyes.  Without a second thought, he pulls you close with desperation. Cradling your face in his free hand, he kisses you roughly and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the familiar tang of iron. As you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his senses sing, he uses his other arm to pull you close, if he’s worried that you will join the souls of the dead around you and leave this world, something he can’t bear to think of now.   

Reluctantly, you both break away from the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another.  Your breaths are thick and heaving.  You look down at his dominant hand, which still holds your second dagger.

“Are you going to kill me now, Na-Baron?” you ask as you look up at him, and he instinctively throws the knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He shakes his head.

“I never anticipated my betrothed to have such prowess in battle,” he whispers lowly, returning his hand to your body.  He drags his fingers across the places where the straps of your dress make indentations in your skin, making you shiver at his touch. His grip on your waist tightens when he palms your supple skin. You hum a sigh of satisfaction that is almost music to Feyd’s ears, and he could listen to it all day.  “Watching you cut down each of them… What a lovely surprise it was… You are truly an unexpected paragon, my dear.”

“Unexpected…” you chuckle, blushing at his flattery. “May I ask another question of you?”

“Of course,” he replies, peering down at you with an ardent stare.

“Before coming here, were you aware there are many dangerous things in the rainforest, Na-Baron?” He nods. “Then why would you assume I am not one of them?”

“Clever girl,” he grins, pressing another kiss on your forehead. 

“From now on, my blades will fight for you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“And mine for you, my love,” he replies as he dips his lips back down to yours.  What a fool he was before, anticipating so little from his future wife. Now he knows better.  He realizes who you really are, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough.

--

Thank you for reading!

Knives Dance Part II OUT NOW!

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[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter Three- The Coronation

Summary- The coronation has come about on an even day.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Incest. Mention of (dragon) depression. Bitchy Cregan Stark. Cunnilingus. Fingering. P in V sex. Descriptions of child sexual abuse. Aemond’s brothel trauma. Still angsty babes.

Author's Note- This chapter is a beast besties (10.3k😬) brace yourselves. Link to the full story belowwww

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This high up, surrounded by nothing but the mist of the clouds and the frigid air, she feels as though she could go anywhere. It would be easy. One word and Silverwing would turn and fly across the Narrow Sea, deliver them both to the Free Cities. She could live well enough in Pentos or Myr, surviving off the good will of others and the menace that comes from her dragon. It would be an easy life, one that is becoming more and more appealing as the descent brings them lower, but she does not have Silverwing turn. Instead they continue their descent over Blackwater Bay, casting a dark shadow over the half repaired city below them before landing before the ruins of the Dragonpit.

It has yet to be touched since the storming of the pit, only the bodies having been cleared away, graves dug for the Dragonkeepers nearby. Being here makes her feel sick but it is the only place near enough to the Red Keep that can accommodate a safe landing. Even here though, it is difficult, Silverwing hovering in the air for a moment before finally managing to find a place clear enough of rubble to land comfortably.

Ser Willis Fell is waiting for them nearby, sitting proud atop his horse with the reins of another clutched in his fist. He inclines his head in greeting when she looks his way but she takes her time in dismounting. She stays in the saddle for a moment too long, only coming down when Silverwing lets out a mildly irritated huff, more than prepared to return to her nest after flying for so long. Though she loves to fly, she has noticed her dragon longing more and more for her nest these past few months. She has assumed that the loss of Vermithor, of her mate, has made her melancholy and she cannot find the heart to push her when she is so clearly devasted. They are two fragile beings now, broken and battered, and she can do nothing but pray that their bond will help get them through this.

Silverwing drops her head when she finally dismounts and she raises a hand to her muzzle, running it over warm dragonscale. Silverwing lets out another huff, bathing her in the smell of sulfur and ash with her breath and she lets her forehead rest on the dragon's nose for a moment. She breathes in the comforting smell of dragon, not quite ready to return to the Keep yet but knowing she has no choice, before stepping back with a nod. Though Silverwing hesitates for a moment, eventually she manages to depart, the beat of her wings sending the dust around them swirling.

With a haggard sigh, she turns on her heel and makes her way toward Ser Willis and the horses. They both balk somewhat when they smell the dragon on her, taking small steps back to distance themselves, but they are well trained enough not to run. Ser Willis dismounts at her approach, inclining his head, and she manages a small smile.

"Ser," she greets, acutely aware that this man was present on her wedding night, the memory forever lodged into her mind like an axe in a tree.

"Your grace. I trust you had a pleasant ride," he says, ever the picture of duty, one hand offered to her while the other holds the reins steady.

"I always do," she sighs, taking his hand and allowing him to aid her in mounting her horse.

She turns her chin up to watch Silverwing as she leaves, wings spread wide as she returns to the caves above the sea. Already there is a longing in her chest, wanting nothing more than to go with her, but instead she looks toward Ser Willis and offers him a nod, allowing him to lead the way back to the Keep.

With the coronation scheduled to happen the following afternoon, the main streets are far too chaotic to attempt to travel them. With so many lords and ladies still scheduled to arrive throughout the day, they are too crowded to so much as walk through, much less ride through on horseback or, Gods forbid, in a wheelhouse. Instead, Ser Willis takes them through the backroads, riding so close that their horses are all but pressed chest to flank. It is a poorer part of the city so she knows what he is expecting. For some cutthroat or beggar to come lunging from a dark corner in an attempt to slit her throat or steal his money purse, but other than a few bewildered stares followed by hasty bows, no one comes forward. She assumes they are all too busy watching the arriving lords, the current retinue making their way through the opposite street to so much fanfare she feels she may go deaf.

She looks over her shoulder to glance at Ser Willis, eyes still locked on the opposite street. "Who's arriving, do you know?"

He follows her gaze to stare through the awnings, squinting in an attempt to make out the heraldry. "House Karstark, I believe. No doubt Lord Stark is not far behind."

That gets her attention. She looks at Ser Willis for a moment, knowing her disbelief is palpable. Jace had written to her about Lord Cregan, every word filled with admiration and respect. He had gushed about how she must meet him, how after the war they would take their dragons and fly north so he may show her everything he had experienced there. He had raved about the weirwood forests, the Old Gods, the people who lived there. He had loved all of it but he had loved Cregan most of all. They had gotten on so well she had half the mind to believe they were brothers separated in the womb from the way he spoke of the young lord. When we go north together, he had said, you will see what kind of man he is. You will love him as I do.

She had wanted to meet him.

Jace had wanted her to meet him.

Read the rest here :)

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[suetravelblog]

Tbilisi Georgia

[shmreduplication]

HAPPY MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Please try to have a few good moments for my birthday by:

listening to jazz at kcsm.org (and consider donating a little 🙏 [they're a local radio station to me and they also broadcast worldwide online, it's almost entirely listener-funded and they have some jazz history educational programming with the music, and the music sounds so nice with the lab machinery noises at my job])

watching some cute cat videos by heidiwranglescats (instagram link)(and consider donating a little 🙏 [she's my brother's friend and does cat TNR in Brooklyn and rescues the kittens and adopts them out. The videos of the kittens getting sulfur baths are my favorite because they don't know what's happening and then they're covered in yellow soup, it's adorable])

looking at baseball hats from a small artist on kickstarter (and consider purchasing 🙏 this one has a nice koi fish design as their next stretch goal link [i collect baseball hats and kickstarter has a lot that fit my design requirements of nice embroidery, no text, and something I'd actually wear and supporting one kickstarter will encourage other artists to also do baseball hat campaigns on kickstarter and then I'll get to support even more small artists worldwide by buying their hats!])

[42ap]

I remember that day when we arrived at the beach—it was already too late. Everyone had left, leaving behind only the remnants of fireworks scattered across the sand. Colorful confetti, soaked by the sea, made the advertising print on them nearly illegible. Among shards of broken colored glass and seaweed, you found an already opened condom wrapper in the muck and excitedly pointed it out to me, while I felt nothing but disgust.

At the time, I didn’t love this filthy backyard excuse for a scenic spot. I hated how dull, backward, and utterly empty it was. I especially despised how other small-town residents saw it as some romantic haven, drawing teenagers who wandered the damp sand like pilgrims. They’d come meticulously dressed, as if convinced their destined love would emerge from the sea, birthed into the arms of a lonely soul like a newborn from its mother’s amniotic fluid. But this was the 1970s—the moon was already covered in steel machines. Even Venus ought to emerge from a delivery room by now. The beach was no place for romantic miracles.

You nudged me and told me to take off my shoes. I didn’t. You burst into laughter and, with no regard for the risk of being cut by glass, walked barefoot onto the damp sand. I watched your feet, but you didn’t step on anything—not glass, not anything else. You kept walking into the sea, farther and farther, fading into the growing darkness. Soon, I could barely make out your figure in the vast, dark ocean. Then you stopped, raised your arms, and shouted toward the opposite shore, your voice swallowed at the edges by the white noise of the waves. You sounded happy.

When you came back, you said, disappointed, that you hadn’t expected everyone else to leave so early. You strained your eyes toward the other side but saw nothing—not even the lights of New York. Because it’s already four in the morning, I said, swallowing the second half of my sentence. We were late because I wouldn’t leave the house until I finished an assignment I was deeply invested in at the time. You never interrupted my studies.

We leaned against the car, watching sparks crawl along the fuses of the fireworks you’d set up, and you cracked open a can of beer. I declined when you offered me one, immediately regretting it. The fuse took far too long to ignite the firework. I had nothing to do but look around and again caught sight of the torn condom wrapper. Not long ago, someone had made love here, I thought. Then you moved.

We were standing so close that I could feel your body heat in the gaps between the sea breeze. Someone had made love here, right on this beach, and now we stood on the very same sand where they had.

The firework exploded—yellow and orange. You shouted in excitement, but I was lost in thoughts of what happens when people make love. They take off their clothes. They touch each other. They whisper sweet words. Smoke rolled up from the firework casing as I turned to look at your face, bathed in orange-red light. Then, with a jolt of horror, I realized that lovers also kiss on this beach.

As the yellow sparks faded, they turned the color of calcium chloride. The purple ones, I thought, must be from strontium salts and copper chloride. These burning metal salts streaked through the air, their brilliant colors dyeing the smoke that trailed behind them. I tilted my head and lowered my gaze, pretending to examine the firework casing but really sneaking glances at your face from the corner of my eye, trying to study the shape of human lips.

Kissing. I thought about the word. I didn’t know how to French kiss, but at that moment, I knew nothing could stop me from leaning forward and pressing my lips to yours. A chill ran down my spine.

I asked myself why I would think such a thing, but a more terrifying voice asked why I wouldn’t. Maybe it was a kind of high-place phenomenon, like wondering whether touching the firework would hurt. I wanted to know what it felt like to jump from a great height, to drink sulfuric acid, to press a blade hard enough to slice my finger open, to walk into the sea and let myself be submerged. I wanted to know what would happen if I kissed you. It was all just idle thoughts, but in that moment, I felt dizzy, hyperaware of every part of my body as though I might forget to breathe if I didn’t focus.

I started to feel trapped inside my own small body. I thought I saw you glance at me, and I was terrified you might know. I was even more terrified that you didn’t, because that would mean we weren’t close enough.

I wondered what excuses I could use if I did it, and that thought pained me because I wanted to be honest with you. Sitting beside you on that New Year’s night, watching the fireworks turn purple, all I could think about was how intensely I felt that if I didn’t kiss you at that moment I might die,I would never have another chance. Summoning all my courage, I finally turned to look at you, overwhelmed by thoughts and realizing I might start vomiting if I didn’t speak. Just then, you turned to look at me too. In your eyes, I saw the reflection of the fireworks.

You said, “After we finish the fireworks, can we go to my friend’s house and watch a movie? There’ll be a bunch of people—it’ll be fun.”

I said, “Sure.”

We finished setting off all the fireworks we had. It was fun. We even tried to use the fireworks to light the surface of the sea. On the way back, we saw other people—they had just gone elsewhere to hang out. You stroked the steering wheel, musing about how great the car’s engine was, and that was the first time in my life I felt shame.