#egypt pounds

[milkywayrollercoaster]

Libras Egípcias

foto cjmn

[bookskittychad]

it's beyond disgusting that palestinians who want to escape to a country that is right next to them have to pay to what amounts to 150000 egyptian pounds for a single person.

[andithiel]

Horrible Goose fest fic: Pubic Relations

Three years ago I started writing a gift fic for my lovely friend @sassy-sassy3 where I took inspiration from Lil' Nas X song "Montero (Call me by your name)". Unfortunately, I wasn't able to finish it, and then it's been left on the shelf, collecting dust and making me feel guilty (so much that I wrote Sassy another gift fic as a placeholder). So when I saw the @horriblegoosefest I took it as a sign for me to finally get my shit together and give Sassy all the first time goodness she deserves. I was so happy and relieved to be paired with the amazingly kind and talented @nv-md (who I've admired from afar), and she's been gently honking me on while finishing this fic. Thank you so much Ali, I really appreciated you as my goose and having you yelling at me in the doc.

I also want to thank @etalice for the encouragement I needed to do a massive sprint and for keeping me writing company. And @crazybutgood for offering to beta for me when I was struggling to meet the deadline. And of course, massive thanks to the mods for hosting this fest and all the work you've done with it (not to mention the patience and understanding you showed when I needed extensions).

Read Pubic Relations on AO3

[witekspicsbanknotes]

Egypt >>> designs of 50 pounds notes.

[nottogetpoliticalbutwtfisoatmeal]

i swear it just came outta nowhere

uhm im feeling good enough to be able to look at bright screens again but uh gimme a second oatmeal is recovering from the. the plague

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mother! Cleopatra x Reincarnated Reader

Getting Reincarnated as the daughter of Cleopatra was the last thing you expected to happen to you.

The woman had you with a lover and decided to pass you off as the daughter of her first husband, Ptolemy XIII.

Let us get one thing straight, you were proud to be Cleopatra's daughter, as you saw her intelligence and chrismatic nature.

Being her first child, her overprotective attitude showed as you grew up.

She seduced Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to secure your safety.

There's no denying that you are her favourite child.

You tried to convince your mother to take different paths to avoid her demise.

But in the end, the paths still led to her demise.

However, the last female Pharaoh of Egypt decided to take you with her, refusing to leave you in the mercy of Augustus Caesar like the rest of her children.

Cleopatra’s gaze burned with a frenzied intensity as she clutched the your trembling hands, her voice trembling with emotion.

"My dearest daughter," she whispered, her tone a mix of desperation and conviction.

"Rome’s chains will not touch us. If Augustus dares to take us, we will not give him the satisfaction of parading us as spoils of war. You and I are above such humiliation, we are divine!"

Her grip tightened, her nails pressing into your skin, and she gestured toward a small, ornate chest on the table.

Within it lay the deadly asp, coiled and waiting.

Cleopatra’s eyes shone with determination as she drew the you closer, her words laced with a terrifying calmness.

"Together, we shall ascend to the gods. You belong with me, forever."

You stumbled backward, your heart pounding in terror as Cleopatra’s words sank in.

"No! I don’t want to die! Please, Mother, we can escape! There has to be another way!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face.

The idea of experiencing death once again, a foreign, unimaginable concept for someone pulled from a different world sent you into panic.

Cleopatra, however, dismissed your protests with a soft, almost pitying smile, as though the your fear was a child’s naivety.

"Hush now," she murmured, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that only deepened the dread in her heart.

"You don’t understand yet, but you will. This is the only freedom left to us. The gods will welcome us as one."

Desperation clawed at you as Cleopatra reached for the asp, her movements slow.

You fell to your knees, clutching Cleopatra’s skirts, your voice breaking as you begged,

"Please, don’t do this! I’m not ready, I don’t want to leave, I need to be here for my siblings"

For the first time, Cleopatra hesitated, her hand trembling as she looked down at the your tear-streaked face.

For a fleeting moment, something human flickered in Cleopatra’s gaze, doubt, perhaps, or sorrow.

But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the unyielding determination of a queen who believed she was saving her beloved daughter from a fate worse than death.

"You don’t need to be afraid," Cleopatra whispered, pulling the reader into a suffocating embrace.

"We are leaving this world together. You’ll thank me when we are free."

However, when the asp bites you then Cleopatra...you miraculously and barely manage to survive.

𓅁 𓅂

When you woke, the oppressive weight of Cleopatra’s arms was gone, replaced by the cool silk of Roman linens.

The air felt heavy, and the low murmur of distant voices sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your body weak but alive, and saw a figure seated beside your bed, his presence radiating authority. Augustus.

His smile was unnervingly calm, his piercing eyes watching her as if you were a prey ensnared in his trap.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Augustus said softly, his voice like honey laced with venom.

He leaned closer, his hands clasped as though he were greeting an honored guest, not a survivor of a tragedy he orchestrated.

"You’re even more exquisite than I imagined. Cleopatra spoke of you so often, a divine child, she called you, her most precious treasure."

His gaze darkened slightly, a possessive edge creeping into his tone.

"And now, you’re mine." Your heart raced as you struggled to sit up, your body shaking under the weight of exhaustion.

Augustus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of Cleopatra’s tender touch.

"You don’t need to fear me, I will protect you, as she couldn’t. No harm will come to you… so long as you remember who owns you now.”

[prosolitude-alyaasabbagh]

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[versupital]

Stuffed Full 'a Rubber!

you've been a naughty little thing - and if you thought you deserved his cock, well, your stupid is showing.

content. degradation, dumbification, masochism, dacryphilia, overstim, impact play, toys, gn!reader (sukuna, gojo)

word count. 2.3k

incl pairings. sukuna, gojo, nanami, geto.

‧₊˚ʚ :: ꒷꒦ 🌸 ˖˚˳⊹

A RIVER IN EGYPT. | r. sukuna

Sitting above you, high and mighty, is your new husband. He’s in one of the black hotel chairs, his suit jacket discarded, tie loose, buttons popped. A clear rocks glass of brandy swirls lazily in his fingers, and his eyelids hang low as he stares at your tear-streaked face.

“Can I please—”

“No.”

Your little cunt slides up and down on a lilac-colored rubber cock. You’re dripping so sloppily that your previous rounds of cum are all over the hotel room floor as you plead for mercy. 

But Ryomen does not know remorse.

Your legs begin to slow. Your hands are bound tightly behind your back by your own underwear, so all you can do is lean your chest against Ryomen’s pant leg and whine hopelessly onto his knee.

He sits up, taking another swig of his drink, before he cracks a harsh palm across the side of your already sore cheek.

“My stupid wife, keep it up,” he says, palm cupping your jaw as he spits in your face, “I'll bet you waited the whole reception for my cock, and now look at you. Stuffed with a fake one.”

You whine, but your cunt throbs in response to the spit and contact of his hand. You’ve been at this for thirty minutes at least, riding your toy for your husband’s viewing pleasure while his cocks bulge against his suit pants.

He’s so incredibly drunk and you’re a different kind of intoxicated. You want to be in a mating press with both holes filled, but he’s torturing you instead, forcing you to please yourself with a skinny piece of rubber instead of his double dicks.

The dildo slides up into you angrily, bending and curving deliciously into your g-spot while Ryomen degrades you for how fucked out your face looks.

“You understand how pathetic you look?” he grunts. “You’ll never look this way for anyone else, Mx. Sukuna.”

“Mmh,” you cut yourself off before making a bold move. 

You slide off of the toy and use your chin on Ryomen’s knee to pull yourself into a standing position. His back flies off of the chair, but you’re already grabbing the little purple toy with your bound hands and whirling on him.

He falls into your trap and grabs your waist harshly, “Brat, what the hell do you think—“

You use his grip on you to slide back against him until you have the dildo placed on his clothed lap. Now, all you have to do is stick the landing.

You hear Ryomen gasp; you suspect he hadn’t intended to, but when you’ve perched yourself on his thighs with the dildo back inside of you, he can’t hide his noises of surprise.

“Shit,” he zips through his teeth. His brandy crashes to the floor, brown liquid running across the carpet and pooling around the feet of the chair. Neither of you care.

His hands have no choice but to fall on your hips, sharp nails digging into the crease of your thighs. You expertly begin to pounce like a cagey little bunny, toes digging into the wet carpet for stability between Ryomen’s large dress shoes.

“Hmm, keep it up, cunt,” he groans maliciously, making sure his nails draw blood from your soft skin. "Two more orgasms. Then I'll consider fucking you, pathetically."

It takes everything in you not to jerk away. You fight the pain by hissing through your teeth and focusing on the rubber cock that fills you. Even as overstimulated as you are, feeling Ryomen’s heartbeat pound into your back and his breath glide along your spine turns you on all over again.

“H-Hate you s’much,” you whine, knowing it couldn’t be farther from the truth. You aren’t sure why you spit out that corny lie each time you fuck your husband, but you’re reminded when his next words come from his mouth.

“You hate me, huh, stupid bitch?” His laugh is demeaning and chilling. “Now you owe me three.”

“But–” “Nah, brat,” his fingers come up and tangle themselves in your hair, “eventually, you’ll learn to stop talking back to your husband. I own you. You are below me. And you will remember,” he yanks your head back, arching your spine painfully against him as you keep gliding the dildo against your slick walls, “your place.”

HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! | s. gojo

Your one leg that remains on the ground is about to give out. Your knee bends each time your boyfriend’s cockhead rams itself into your cervix, sending painful signals up through your belly and down the nerves in your body.

You only have one free hand, and it’s splayed flat across the mirror in front of you that’s now covered in fingerprints and smears from drool. Your head goes back and forth from resting on the reflective glass to being yanked back against your boyfriend’s chest.

He holds one of your legs in the air. Red marks litter your thighs from the events previous to the two of you landing where you are now. Bite marks, claw marks, slaps.

And with his free hand, he holds your tiny red rose against your clit. Air vibrates over the bud and makes your toes curl while you’re simultaneously getting stuffed up like a holiday turkey. 

“Oh, it’s so drenched, pretty thing,” Satoru grunts deeply into your ear. His breath rides down the pulse in your neck and stops on your chest, making you shiver. “Covering me like a good slut, yeah? Sucking me up with your tight little hole.”

“I-I can’t,” you whimper, unsure what it is exactly you can’t do. Your brain is so jumbled, you don’t understand the words flowing out of your own mouth. 

“Can’t what?” Satoru purrs. “Can’t say you can’t handle it, cause you’re taking me so well. I’m so deep, feel me?” 

You do; buried deep in your guts is his fat, pink cock that threatens to shred you apart. 

The rose alone has taken you through two orgasms, and it seems Satoru and his cock pumping into you from the other side are determined to guide you through two more. He holds the toy to your clit with intention, dipping his head over your shoulder to get a better look at your arched body in the mirror.

Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead and his blue eyes are nearly illuminated with lust, all for you, staring at the way you drool and contort your face with every stroke, knowing it’s bringing you closer and closer to the finish line. 

“Being so good, aren’t you?” he whispers needily, “Unlike earlier. Though you could walk around naked and I would just ignore you?" He cuts himself off to whimper. "You’re gonna pull the cum right out of my cock so I can fill you up. Isn’t that right?”

“Ngh- yes, Satoru,” his name comes out breathy and soft, and you watch the effect it takes on him in your reflection.

His knees nearly begin to buckle as he applies more pressure to the toy, which is all covered in your slick and his precum. His thick balls are abusing your taint as he picks up his pace to drive his own orgasm out - but it’s not his first, either. 

Yet feeling his hot, salty semen shoot into your cervix makes your own orgasm come, filthy and hard, legs shaking you nearly to the point of collapse as he forces you to ride it out on him, his strokes still long and steady.

“Satoru, no,” you whine, but you know you don’t want him to stop, that much is evident in the way you keep throwing your hips back to fit his rhythm. 

“Yes, baby,” he replies softly, “hold it right there - just like that.”

NO, YOU HANG UP! | k. nanami

“Miss you s’much, pretty.”

The words are lost under your moans as you shake. Your knees are angled in the air, your laptop open to the video call that displays your husband’s face from thousands of miles away.

His damned business trips were always terrible, but him insisting on torturing you with a vibrator that he could control in another country was even worse. 

“Ken…” you begin softly, knowing when you whimper out his name, he turns unnervingly obedient.

Not this time, though.

“You almost had me, darling,” he mutters into the mic. "Sending me such a naughty photo when you know I can't do anything to you. Tsk, tsk."

You watch as his thumb circles his screen, taking the vibrations from the lowest to the most extreme in mere seconds. He repeats this, even despite your legs shaking, or your cries for him. 

“The moment I get back, you wanna give me a reason to start decorating the spare bedroom? Hmm?” He coos your name softly, “Wouldn’t a crib look lovely in there, honey?”

In your cockdrunk stupor, all you can do is agree. He could fill your womb twenty times if he wanted with the way the toy is massaging your walls, draining you of all common sense. 

“I-It… yes, Ken.” Your head spins.

He lifts the phone higher to show you exactly what he’s doing, dragging the scale up and down, strategically stopping before he gets to the point that he knows would make you cum. 

“Really?” he questions slowly, leaning further into the screen as if that would give him a better view of his pussy - splayed out before him. “How would we decorate it?”

“We- uh…” your voice trails off. Of course you can’t answer at a time like this. Your brain feels smooth and mushy. And for fuck’s sake, you miss your husband.

“I’m listening,” he yawns, but you can hear his belt buckle moving, and see his shoulder shifting as he reaches into his pants to take himself out. His arm muscles start to flex as he strokes to your pathetic, whiny moans. 

“B-Bees and,” you stutter and struggle to find words, “flowers and…”

“Mm, a little honey for my honey?” Nanami questions, punctuating it with a grunt. He’s clearly working hard to pump his fist over his needy cock. 

“A-As many little honeys as you want,” you whimper, feeling the vibrations go back up, just so Nanami can hear you let out a cry. Just so he can use your pathetic noises as fuel to fuck his hand. 

“As many as I want?” Nanami echoes, voice still soft and guiding, even as he tortures you with the vibrator controls, even as he takes himself towards his own edge. “J-Just like, you’ll cum as many times as I want, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Mmh- d-dunno if I can, sir,” you say, knowing the nickname is enough to drive him mad.

“I think you can take it,” he says, finger rotating back to the very highest vibration setting that his phone will allow, making you scream and leak spurts of clear liquid all over your couch. 

Nanami watches in silence, aside from his wanton moans, eyebrows furrowed over the brim of his blue-light glasses. 

“So fucking beautiful. I need you,” he complains, voice deep and begging.

“Hurry up and come home so w-we can start painting the walls,” you mumble, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “y-y’know, of the nursery.”

“Right. The nursery.”

AYE AYE CAPTAIN. | s. geto

“I can’t hear you,” Suguru purrs from above. “You said, what? Stop? Speak up.”

Your thighs are forcefully parted by a heavy, black bar that cuffs to your ankles. Your boyfriend has an iron grip on it while he flushes a thick, curved toy in and out of you as you stare up at him hopelessly. 

You’re gagged. Tears are covering your sore cheeks. You keep trying to connect your thighs, but it’s no use with the bar. Meanwhile, he keeps pushing the toy inside of you. In and out, with the same smooth rhythm he usually pumps his hips.

Well, it would have been his cock, had you not decided to tease him all evening at the meeting. Taking a little longer to kiss him, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip, dropping your hand so that your knuckles accidentally grazed his dick through his robes.

“G-Geto, please, I can’t take another,” you breathe around your cloth gag, approaching your third orgasm already. He always recognizes it in your breath pattern, the way your moans pitch themselves up, so he knows exactly how to respond.

“Sorry, I wish I cared,” he fakes a yawn before quickening his wrist to fuck the cum out of you that much sooner.

Your back is off of the mattress, arching to the ceiling as you fight the spasming that has overcome you all over again. You break into a sweat and more tears brim your eyes, but there’s nowhere you’d rather be, than under him as he takes advantage of your cunt.

“This is what you wanted,” Suguru reminds, “this is what you spent all evening punishing me for, isn’t it?” He smiles, and laughs inaudibly, “You look fucking awful.”

You bite down on the wet cloth and let out a cry, some noise between fighting back and displaying how good it feels to be made fun of while there’s tears coming out of your eyes. 

“You look so helpless and stupid,” he coos, “and desperate and used.” He takes his hand off of the toy momentarily to crack his palm on your sore clit. “As if you deserve to not have your orgasm ruined. Hm. The nerve.”

And he cracks his palm down again, and again, and again - before he starts stroking the toy again, which at this point is being swallowed up by your abused hole.

You plead with him through the cloth, but the lack of remorse in his eyes is doing unnerving things to you. 

“Cum again and show me that you deserve to feel me,” he spits, and you obey immediately, flooding the bed and his wrist while he watches in disgust. “Nasty little monkey. All wet for me now.”

He pulls the toy out and examines your pulsing hole with his bottom lip between his teeth. You make eye contact for all of two seconds before he smacks your cunt again. 

“Stupid you for believing me.”

‧₊˚ʚ :: ꒷꒦ 🌸 ˖˚˳⊹

hello guys, long time no see <3

sorry for flaking in October i was in the trenches, mentally and also with my lack of creative juices but

we are so back. I have a few things planned for this next holiday season and i hope I don’t disappoint <3

love always!

~ pennjammin

[cbs-scorpion-coffee-shop]

Our economy is a subject of marine science.

[linopls]

kinktober day thirty

overstimulation jeongin x fem!reader warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, sex toys, slight bondage, multiple orgasms, p in v, squirting 0.5k words

you’ve vowed to never tease jeongin again.

you had made one joke about a time jeongin didn’t make you finish in front of his friends. granted, you were both exhausted and probably shouldn’t have indulged in anything that night. you both didn’t even fully undress, jeongin had pulled your pj shorts to the side and slid his pants down just enough to free himself. he finished pretty quick and took a second to rest which ended up with him falling asleep inside you.

he just kept going, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you.

“innie, its too much!” you whine and tug at his belt that’s tied you to the bed frame. 

“oh,” he snickers. “i thought i didn’t ever make you finish.”

his attention is turned back to your cunt, where he has a vibrator pressed against your clit. his laid on his stomach between your legs as he watches your leaking cunt with awe. 

“no you do, every time! you’re so good in bed, innie! i’m sorry for saying anything.” tears stream down your face and your legs shake like never before.

“no, no, no. i owe you for every time we’ve had sex and you didn’t finish.” 

you feel yourself reaching the edge, could be anywhere from the seventh to hundredth time, you’ve completely lost count. a loud moan erupts from your throat and your thighs tighten around his arm as your release spills onto the sheets below you.

“innie, please, need a break,” you cry, trying to pry him off you with your feet. 

“okay, okay,” he laughs as he turns the vibrator off and sets it on the bed next to you. 

you sigh with relief and try to reground yourself. jeongin props himself up on his knees and reaches to the belt that’s restraining your hands. as he places the belt next to the toy, he soothingly rubs your reddening wrists. 

before you can fully appreciate his comfort, jeongin grabs your hips with his large hands and pulls you down until you're flat on your back. before you can even realize what’s happening, his aching cock is pressing at your entrance and sliding in with one swift motion.

“innie!” you wail, your hands scratching at his forearms.

“what? we’re taking a break from that and doing this!”

with no warning, he begins to drill into you at an insane pace. your head falls back and your back arches off the bed, hands still clawing at his arms. you catch a quick glance at his face and see a smirk painted across his lips. 

you feel another orgasm quickly brewing and before you can even warn him it washes over you. this one more intense than any of the others, if that was even possible. you vision goes white for a second and all your muscles cramp. the squelching sound of jeongin continually pounding into you fills the room alongside a laugh from him. 

“i though i didn’t ever make you finish. and now you’re squirting all over my cock, hmm?” he cackles.

you look down to see remnants of your release shown on jeongin’s jeans, which he has just pulled down enough to free his cock. your face flushes red with embarrassment as your arms come up to cover your face. 

he scoffs and interlocks his hands with yours, pinning them above your head.

“come on baby, give me a couple more.” 

jeongin blurb hehe

@rockstrhanji @hyunjinhoexxx @mixtape-racha @euphoric-univers @haruharu-egypt @shit-why-what @twiggoblin @kookiesbunny @virgohannie @nataliee10 @ihrtlix @aaasia111 @lolli4me @lilcutieana @changbinsrightboob @hanjisunglover @chansducky10 @elissasimp @boi-bi-ahaha @lilquokka04 @anglerfishiey @sirenscall1031 @might-be-a-rat @jihyun2monster @kpflyn @samsmitty @imwithurmother @meilix @summer3sworld @mysweethannie @kittykattime @linoots @yaorzu-blog @sofiaeli 

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[fel-09]

Emperor Geta x reader

Words: 1.1K

Part 1 Part 3

Second life 2

She stood by the desk, sorting through a pile of documents. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as her gaze landed on yet another stack of papers. The autumn festival was fast approaching, yet the tasks before her only seemed to multiply. To make matters worse, complaints from the Senate continued to pour in, accusing her of indifference. The day felt like an endless nightmare.

The sun’s relentless rays streamed through the windows, flooding the room with golden light. Thick columns adorned with intricate inlays reflected the brilliance, filling the space with a blinding radiance. The oppressive shimmer pressed down on her, the heat muddling her thoughts.

“When will there be an heir?” The question echoed again and again, especially from the Senate advisors. Suppressing her irritation, she flipped through the documents, her expression indifferent. Dynastic matters were of no interest to her. All she desired was for the endless chaos of the day to end. An heir could come from anyone—even from his mistresses. What did it matter who ascended the throne? Yet this tiresome issue had become unavoidable, especially after she left Geta humiliated and empty-handed in the corridor, his fury palpable.

Ink dripped onto the parchment, leaving dark stains. The faint murmur of the city wafted through the open window, amplifying her tension. She ran her fingers through her hair, her nerves stretched taut. But the most unbearable thing was how even her allies in the Senate begrudgingly sided with Geta: "An heir is essential." The words reverberated endlessly in her mind.

Her consent had already been given. The meeting with the emperor was set for the day after tomorrow. Her heart pounded erratically, her thoughts a tangled mess. She clutched at the fabric of her gown, trying to suppress the rising tide of despair.

Admitting the truth to herself was the hardest part. The man who had caused her so much pain in the past was now persistently vying for her attention. She hated him for everything he had done, yet she couldn’t completely extinguish the remnants of love still smoldering in her heart.

“No!” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Anger surged through her, and she slammed her hand down on the desk. Papers scattered as the desk overturned. Her fury boiled over at the realization that she would soon be forced to share a bed with him. Her head throbbed, and a sharp ringing filled her ears.

Late that evening, she sat at dinner with Geta and Caracalla. The food was delicious, but the atmosphere was strained and suffocating. Caracalla made a valiant effort to ease the tension, but it was in vain.

“Tomorrow, silks and jewels will arrive. I hear they were brought from Egypt,” Caracalla began, propping his cheek on his hand. “I’d like to personally select a few for you.”

The empress, masking her irritation, offered a sweet smile.

“Oh, I would love to see them. Egyptian goods are always so exquisite.”

Caracalla nodded enthusiastically, pleased by her response. Their conversation grew lively, with topics shifting quickly. Meanwhile, Geta sat in brooding silence, his gaze burning into her. The anger simmering within him was palpable, his jealousy ignited by the empress’s cheerful smile as she engaged with his brother.

At last, his temper snapped. He slammed his hand against the table, silencing the room.

“Leave us,” he said coldly, directing his words at Caracalla. Though reluctant, Caracalla understood and excused himself, leaving them alone.

The moment the door closed, Geta crossed the distance between them. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly, the pressure enough to bruise.

“Do you enjoy playing games with me?” he hissed. “I am your emperor. I am your husband. You owe me respect. Ignoring me won’t solve anything!”

His voice thundered through the room, echoing off the walls. He shook her, forcing her to steady herself against the table to avoid losing balance.

The day had already been fraught with stress, and now his overbearing presence added to her exhaustion.

Geta exhaled sharply, his anger unabated. His skin was flushed as his piercing gaze scrutinized her frightened expression. His grip softened, his fingers trailing down to her cheek. His voice lowered, but the menace remained.

“Don’t push me to do something you’ll regret even more. My patience is wearing thin,” he muttered, his hands trembling—not from fear, but from restrained fury. He leaned forward, pressing his face into her hair, his breath warm against her temple.

“Forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t want you to hate me any more than you already do. But you must understand—” his voice wavered, tinged with a hint of desperation, “I am not a man to be trifled with.”

His lips brushed against her temple in a fervent kiss, lingering as though he could absorb her defiance. The empress remained frozen, pale as marble, her breath shallow. His hands roamed over her sides, his touch possessive, tracing the same spots repeatedly. He buried his cheek against hers, the roughness of his stubble grazing her skin.

Her thoughts spiraled in chaos. This man was losing control, teetering on the brink of madness—and she was trapped in his grasp.

He released her in the same moment, locking his deep brown eyes onto hers—eyes of a shade so rich, like the heart of ancient wood, that one could lose themselves in that endless forest.

The emperor hesitated only briefly before closing the distance between them. He pressed another firm kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering on the spot as if to mark it. Then, with a deliberate nod, he stepped back, his gaze never wavering.

“Do you understand?” he asked, his tone steadier now, but still laced with a subtle threat that hung in the air like an unspoken warning.

The empress could only nod, her throat tight with the weight of her silence.

This was her second life, yet even here, she was powerless against him. Her strength faltered every time he stood before her like this—imposing, unyielding, and utterly in control.

Geta turned and left, the heavy doors closing behind him. As they swung shut, he paused for a brief moment, glancing back over his shoulder. But the hesitation was fleeting. He quickly looked ahead again, the doors sealing her solitude with a resounding finality.

_____

I apologize for the mistakes

I don't know if Part 3 will be final, but I know it will be 18+

[marylxvrr]

The Pharoah's Claim 🔞

[ play this song while reading lol ]

NSFW 🔞

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐇 — a sovereign ruler who commands the entire kingdom with divine authority, but when it comes to you, his obsession knows no limits, using manipulation, threats, and even cruelty to bind you to his side, ensuring you never escape his unrelenting control . . .

Trigger Warnings: Obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, non-consensual behavior, , power imbalance, NSFW content, adult themes.

In the heart of ancient Egypt, the grand palace of Pharaoh Rafael stood tall under the relentless sun. The golden walls reflected the heat, making the air shimmer with the promise of a lover's touch. You, a humble servant, moved through the palace, your bare feet silent on the cool stone. The tray of fresh fruits in your hands was forgotten as the deep, commanding voice of the ruler echoed through the corridor.

"Y/N."

Rafael, the pharaoh, was a man of power and authority. His gaze, as sharp as a falcon's, bore into you, making your heart race. "Your Majesty," you bowed low, your trembling hands barely visible beneath the tray.

"Rise," he commanded, his voice low and deliberate. You obeyed, your gaze still fixed on the floor, your breath hitching as he moved closer. The scent of myrrh and lotus oil enveloped you, intoxicating yet suffocating.

"I've noticed you, Y/N," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You are unlike the others. So obedient, so quiet... and yet, you try to avoid me."

"I-I would never, Your Majesty," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest.

Rafael's hand reached out, gently lifting your chin. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to feel your body beneath mine, to hear your cries of pleasure as I make you mine."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to his desire. You could feel your nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of your dress, your pussy aching for his touch.

Rafael's lips captured yours, his tongue exploring your mouth with an urgency that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples through the fabric. You moaned into his mouth, your hands reaching out to grasp his thick, hard cock through his kilt.

He broke the kiss, his eyes burning with desire. "Strip for me," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. You obeyed, your hands trembling as you removed your dress, revealing your naked body to him. His eyes roamed over you, taking in your curves, your full breasts, your wet pussy.

Rafael dropped to his knees before you, his hands parting your legs. His tongue darted out, licking your clit, making you gasp. He continued to lick and suck, his tongue probing your pussy, making you writhe with pleasure.

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with anticipation. Rafael's fingers found your g-spot, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Rafael stood, his cock hard and ready. He guided you to the edge of a nearby table, bending you over it. You could feel his dick at your entrance, teasing you. With one quick thrust, he was inside you, filling you completely.

He fucked you hard and fast, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back to meet each of his thrusts. You could feel your second orgasm building, your body trembling with anticipation. Rafael's hand reached around, finding your clit, rubbing it in circles.

You cried out, your body shuddering as you came again, your pussy clenching around his dick. Rafael groaned, his body tensing as he came inside you, filling you with his hot cum.

He pulled out, his cock still hard. "I want more," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. He turned you around, pushing you onto the table. His fingers found your ass, probing it, preparing you for what was to come.

You gasped as he entered you, his dick stretching you in a way that was both painful and pleasurable. He fucked you slowly at first, letting your body adjust to his size. But soon, he was pounding into you, his hips slapping against your ass.

You could feel another orgasm building, your body shaking with pleasure. Rafael reached around, finding your clit again, rubbing it in circles. You cried out, your body shuddering as you came, your ass clenching around his dick.

Rafael groaned, his body tensing as he came again, filling your ass with his hot cum. He pulled out, his dick still hard. "You are mine," he said, his voice firm and possessive.

You smiled, your body still trembling from the pleasure he had given you. "I am yours, Your Majesty," you said, your voice breathless.

And so, under the watchful gaze of the sun god, you became the pharaoh's lover, bound to him by desire and pleasure. Your days of blending into the background were over. From now on, you would be the one who would make the pharaoh's heart race, who would make him moan with pleasure. And you couldn't wait.

btw i asked some authors to help writing the nsfw so credit for them 🙏🙏🙏

for the dividers, credit to the owner :p

[witekspicsbanknotes]

100 pounds notes designed for Egypt.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Two large flatbreads. The one in the center is topped with bright purple onions, faux chicken, fried nuts, and coarse red sumac; the one at the side is topped with onions and sumac. Second image is a close-up. End ID]

مسخن / Musakhkhan (Palestinian flatbread with onions and sumac)

Musakhkhan (مُسَخَّن; also "musakhan" or "moussakhan") is a dish historically made by Palestinian farmers during the olive harvest season of October and November: naturally leavened flatbread is cooked in clay ovens, dipped in plenty of freshly pressed olive oil, and then covered with oily, richly caramelized onions fragrant with sumac. Modern versions of the dish add spiced, boiled and baked chicken along with toasted or fried pine nuts and almonds. It is eaten with the hands, and sometimes served alongside a soup made from the stock produced by boiling the chicken. The name of the dish literally means "heated," from سَخَّنَ "sakhkhana" "to heat" + the participle prefix مُـ "mu".

I have provided instructions for including 'chicken,' but I don't think the dish suffers from its lack: the rich, slightly sour fermented wheat bread, the deep sweetness of the caramelised onions, and the true, clean, bright expressions of olive oil and sumac make this dish a must-try even in its original, plainer form.

Musakhkhan is often considered to be the national dish of Palestine. Like foods such as za'tar, hummus, tahina, and frika, it is significant for its historical and emotional associations, and for the way it links people, place, identity, and memory; it is also understood to be symbolic of a deeply rooted connection to the land, and thus of liberation struggle. The dish is liberally covered with the fruit of Palestinian lands in the form of onions, olive oil, and sumac (the dried and ground berries of a wild-growing bush).

The symbolic resonance of olive oil may be imputed to its history in the area. In historical Palestine (before the British Mandate period), agriculture and income from agricultural exports made up the bulk of the economy. Under مُشَاعْ (mushā', "common"; also transliterated "musha'a") systems of land tenure, communally owned plots of land were divided into parcels which were rotated between members of large kinship groups (rather than one parcel belonging to a private owner and their descendants into perpetuity). Olive trees were grown over much of the land, including on terraced hills, and their oil was used for culinary purposes and to make soap; excess was exported. In the early 1920s, Palestinian farmers produced 5,000 tons of olive oil a year, making an average of 342,000 PL (Palestinian pounds, equivalent to pounds sterling) from exports to Egypt alone.

During the British Mandate period (from 1917 to 1948, when Britain was given the administration of Palestine by the League of Nations after World War 1), acres of densely populated and cultivated land were expropriated from Palestinians through legal strongarming of and direct violence against, including killing of, فَلّاَحين (fallahin, peasants; singular "فَلَّاح" "fallah") by British troops. This continued a campaign of dispossession that had begun in the late 19th century.

By 1941, an estimated 119,000 peasants had been dispossessed of land (30% of all Palestinian families involved in agriculture); many of them had moved to other areas, while those who stayed were largely destitute. The agriculturally rich Nablus area (north of Jerusalem), for example, was largely empty by 1934: Haaretz reported that it was "no longer the town of gold [i.e., oranges], neither is it the town of trade [i.e., olive oil]. Nablus rather has become the town of empty houses, of darkness and of misery". Farmers led rebellions against this expropriation in 1929, 1933, and 1936-9, which were brutually repressed by the British military.

Despite the number of farmers who had been displaced from their land by European Jewish private owners and cooperatives (which owned 24.5% of all cultivated land in Palestine by 1941), the amount of olives produced by Palestinians increased from 34,000 tons in 1931 to 78,300 in 1945, evidencing an investment in and expansion of agriculture by indigenous inhabitants. Thus it does not seem likely that vast swathes of land were "waste land," or that the musha' system did not allow for "development"!

Imprecations against the musha' system were nevertheless used as justification to force Palestinians from their land. After various Zionist organizations and militant groups succeeded in pushing Britain out of Palestine in 1948—clearing the way for hundreds of thousands of Palestinians to be dispossessed or killed during the Nakba—the Israeli parliament began constructing a framework to render their expropriation of land legal; the Cultivation of Waste Lands Law of 1949, for example, allowed the requisition of uncultivated land, while the Absentees’ Property Law of 1950 allowed the state to requisition the land of people it had forced from their homes.

Israel profited from its dispossession of millions of dunums of land; 40,000 dunums of vineyards, 100,000 dunums of citrus groves, and 95% of the olive groves in the new state were stolen from Palestinians during this period, and the agricultural subsidies bolstered by these properties were used to lure new settlers in with promises of large incomes.

It also profited from the resulting "de-development" of the Palestinian economy, of which the decline in trade of olive oil furnishes a striking example. Palestinian olive farmers were unable to compete with the cheaper oils (olive and other types) with which Zionist, capital-driven industry flooded the market; by 1936, the 342,000 PL in olive oil exports of the early 1920s had fallen to 52,091 PL, and thereafter to nothing. While selling to a Palestinian captive market, Israel was also exporting the fruits of confiscated Palestinian land to Europe and elsewhere; in 1949, olives produced on stolen land were Israel's third-largest export. As of 2014, 12.9% of the olives exported to Europe were grown in the occupied West Bank alone.

This process of de-development and profiteering accelerated after Israel's military seizure of the West Bank and Gaza in 1967. In 1970, agriculture made up 34% of the GDP of the West Bank, and 31% of that of Gaza; in 2000, it was 16% and 18%, respectively. Many of those out of work due to expropriated or newly unworkable land were hired as day laborers on Israeli farms.

Meanwhile, Palestinians (and Israeli Palestinians) continued to plant and cultivate olives. The fact that Palestinians do not control their own water supplies or borders and may expect at any time to be barred by the military from harvesting their fields has discouraged investment and led to risk aversion (especially since the outmoding of the musha' system, which had minimized individual risk). In this environment, olive trees are attractive because they are low-input. They can subsist on rainwater (Israel monopolizes and poisons much of the region's water, and heavily taxes imports of materials that could be used to build irrigation systems), and don't require high-quality soil or daily weeding. Olive trees, unlike factories and agricultural technology, don't need large inputs of capital that stand to be wasted if the Israeli military destroys them.

Olive trees are therefore the chosen crop when proving a continued use of land in order to prevent the Israeli military from expropriating it under various "waste" or "absentee" land laws. Palestinians immediately plant olive seedlings on land they have been temporarily forced from, since even land that has lain fallow due to status as a military closed zone can be appropriated with this justification. The danger is so pressing that Palestinian agronomists encouraged this habit (as of 1993), despite the fact that Israeli competition and continual planting had lowered olive crop prices, and despite the decline in soil quality that results from never allowing land to lie fallow. In more recent years, olive trees have yielded primary or supplementary income for about 100,000 Palestinian families, producing up to 191 million USD in value in good years (including an average of 17,000 tons of olive oil yearly between 2001 and 2009).

Israeli soldiers and settlers have famously uprooted, vandalized, razed, and burned millions of these olive trees, as well as using military outposts to deny Palestinian farmers access to their olive crops. It prefers to restrict Palestinians to annual crops, such as vegetables and grains, and eliminate competition in permanent crops, such as fruit trees.

This targeting of olive trees increases during times of intensified conflict. During the currently ongoing olive harvest season (November 2023), Gazan olive farmers have reported being targeted by Israeli war planes; some farmers in the West Bank have given up on harvesting their trees altogether, due to threats issued by organized networks of settlers that they would kill anyone seen making the attempt.

The rootedness of olive trees in the history of Palestine gives them weight as a symbol of homeland, culture, and the fight for liberation. Palestinian olive harvest festivals, typically celebrated in October with singing, dancing, and eating, have inspired similar events elsewhere in the world, aimed at sharing Palestinian food and culture and expressing solidarity with those living under occupation.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund, and donating to the Bay Area Anti-Repression Committee bail fund.

Ingredients:

For the dish:

2 pieces taboon bread, preferably freshly baked

2 large or 3 medium yellow onions (480g)

1 cup first cold press extra virgin olive oil (زيت زيتون البكر الممتاز)

1 Tbsp coarsely ground Levantine sumac (سماق شامي / sumaq shami), plus more to top

Ground black pepper

For the chicken (optional):

500g chicken substitute

5 green cardamom pods, or 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

4 cloves, or pinch ground cloves

1 Mediterranean bay leaf

1 Tbsp ground sumac

For the nut topping (optional):

2 Tbsp slivered almonds

2 Tbsp pine nuts

Neutral oil, for frying

Notes on ingredients:

Use the best olive oil that you can. You will want oil that has some opacity to it or some deposits in it. I used Aleppo brand olive oil (7 USD a liter at my local halal grocery).

If you want to replace the taboon bread with something less laborious, I would recommend something that mimics the rich, fermented flavor of the traditional, whole-wheat, naturally leavened bread. Many people today make taboon bread with white flour and commercial yeast—which you might mimic by using storebought naan or lavash, for example—but I think the slight sourness of the flatbread is a beautiful counterpoint to the brightness of the sumac and the sweetness of the caramelized onions. I would go with a sourdough pizza crust or something similar.

Your sumac should be coarsely ground, not finely powdered; and a deep, rich red, not pinkish in color (like the pile on the right, not the one on the left).

For this dish, a whole chicken is usually first boiled (perhaps with spices including bay leaves, cardamom, and cloves) and then baked, sometimes along with some of the oil from frying the onions. I call for just frying or baking instead; in my opinion, boiling often has a negative effect on the texture of meat substitutes.

Instructions:

For the onions:

1. Heat a cup of olive oil in a large skillet or pot. Fry onions on medium-low, stirring often, for 10 minutes or until translucent.

2. Add 1 Tbsp sumac and a few cracks of black pepper and reduce to low. Cook for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are sweet, reduced in volume, and pinkish in color.

For the chicken:

1. Briefly toast and finely grind spices except for sumac (cardamom, cloves, and bay leaf). Filter with a fine mesh sieve. Dip 'chicken' into the pot in which you fried the onions to coat it with olive oil, then rub spices (including sumac) onto the surface.

2. Sear chicken in a dry skillet until browned on all sides; or bake, uncovered, in the top third of an oven heated to 400 °F (200 °C) until browned.

For the nut topping:

1. Heat a neutral oil on medium in a small pot or skillet. Add almonds and fry for 2 minutes, until just starting to take on color. Add pine nuts and fry until both almonds and pine nuts are golden brown. Remove with a slotted spoon.

To assemble:

1. Dip each flatbread in the olive oil used to fry the onions, then spread onions over the surface.

Some cooks dip the bread entirely into oil; others press it lightly into the surface of the oil in the pot on both sides, or one side; a more modern method calls for mixing the olive oil with chicken broth to lighten it. Consult your taste. I think the bread from my taboon recipe stands up well to being pressed into the oil on both sides without tearing or becoming soggy.

2. Top flatbread with chicken and several large pinches more sumac. Bake briefly in the oven (still heated to 400 °F / 200 °C), or broil on low, for 3-5 minutes, until the sumac and the surface of the bread have darkened a shade.

3. Top with fried nuts.

Musakhkhan is usually eaten by ripping the chicken into bite-sized pieces, tearing off a bit of bread, and eating the chicken using the bread.

Some cooks make a layered musakhkhan, adding two to three pieces of bread covered with onions on top of each other before topping the entire construction with chicken and pine nuts.

[thebibi]

Please Donate to Asma's family's fundraiser

My friend Asma is desperate to help her family evacuate from Gaza.

I have posted a link to her fundraiser before. They are the Mushtaha family consisting of 8 members, the youngest being just 13 years old. Three of Asma's relatives need surgery for the injuries sustained in bombing and being trapped under the rubble.

Its been over 2 months since they started this GofundMe. They have managed to raise 40% of the total money, 20,000/50,000 pounds, but they need to secure all the funds to pay and cross into Egypt.

She shared this video of where her family is currently living in a tent in Gaza (no sound):

And here is what their daily living situation is like:

Lastly, here is an aerial photo of their original home, bombed to smithereens:

They used to live in North Gaza, and one of their neighbors still living there took this picture. They cannot go back even if they wanted to. Since October they have been displaced 7 times!

Please consider donating, even if its a few pounds. If we all can contribute a little bit, we can help many people's fundraisers.

@fairuzfan @nabulsi @feluka @el-shab-hussein @sar-soor

@90-ghost @plomegranate

Proof of our conversation below cut: