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[perlelune]

Young God | Feyd-Rautha

The mercy you show towards an enemy in the aftermath of battle yields tragic consequences for you and your people.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen!Reader, Kynes!Reader, Kidnapping, Unrequited Love, Mentions of cannibalism, Knife Play, Masochism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The aftermath of battle is often the same ritual. Corpses are taken away to scavenge for bounty and salvage the water in their bodies. Moisture is too precious, too rare in the air and the dry desert sand covering your home world to be wasted. Harkonnen foot soldiers especially. No sympathy is spared for the cruel beasts who slaughter your fellow fremen, ravage your land, and bleed your beloved home planet Arrakis of its most valuable resource. The Spice. 

Today is one of these days. After fending off another attack by the Harkonnen army, your entire tribe is sifting through the desert fields. The proud white-skinned soldiers weren’t expecting the swarm of Fremen that unleashed upon them. Thankfully Muad'Dib had a vision of the attack and managed to convince enough of your people to raise their blades in unison to stand against their oppressors. While you balk at violence, preferring to stay back and sink into your role as a healer, you still wish to offer assistance in cleaning up the battlefield and checking for any potential injuries. You were a little shocked when you arrived and were struck with the realization that there is so little for you to do, the number advantage having been so overwhelming.

Still, you find a few warriors that require medical attention. Their injuries are deeper than you expect. Apparently one of the Harkonnen soldiers wouldn’t let himself be slain, unleashing a storm of fury all on his own and taking several down with him. You gingerly finish dressing your last wound, lifting your head as you notice your cousin heading north. 

Wiping the blood on your hands with a rag, you get to your feet.

“Chani, where are you going?” you inquire.

She stares ahead, crysknife in hand, determined.

“Some may have survived and slipped away from us. We’re checking the caves nearby.”

You give a nod and follow after her. “I’ll come with you.”

While your voice didn’t waver earlier, your stomach is in knots as you join the search. You and Chani split up. She points in a direction and you acquiesce, rushing the opposite way. You sneak underground, climbing down a row of steep, slippery rocks before you find a small cave.

You practically have to crawl the rest of the way inside, the lichen-draped overhang almost too bent and crooked for you to advance any further. It’s no wonder no one thought to check this place. It’s hard to imagine any wounded Harkonnen soldier gathering the strength to hide in such a place.

You’re forced to swallow your words however when you find the outline of a pale form lying across the cave floor. 

Your jaw drops. You inch closer to the corpse, already planning on calling another Fremen to help you extract the water from the body.

But the man’s chest lifts, his mouth shuddering ever-so-slightly.

Tamping down your fear, you hunker down and inspect his armor. Your brows knit. A long, deep jagged cut slashes his side. The kind of deadly injury that makes you wonder how the man is still breathing, as it’s impossible no internal organs haven't at least been nicked. 

Yet, somehow he is, still breathing that is.

Though you gather not for long based on the way blood gushes from the wound. 

You hear your name called from outside the cave. Pulse soaring, you climb your way out of the concealed shelter with haste. 

You’re faced with Chani’s questioning stare. She must be done with her own search. You note the tinge of crimson on the tip of her blade. Your insides wrench. 

The lie flows from your tongue with frightening ease.

“I already checked that one. It’s empty.”

She nods and walks away. You wait for her to be at a safe distance to return inside the cave.

As your slow, fearful steps bring you closer to the wounded man, your mind rages, at war with itself.

You are of two worlds. Daughter of the fallen Liet-Kynes, imperial planetologist, and a member of the Sietch Tabr. The Harkonnen are your people’s ancestral enemies. Oppressors who annihilate whoever stands between them and their unquenchable thirst for more wealth and power.

They are monsters. There is only one rational thing to do when one is faced with one of the pale-skinned warriors. Only one thing that is right to do.

You unsheathe the crysknife at your thigh from its scabbard. The blade is shimmery and new. So perfectly sharp. For you have never used it. Not even once.

You approach his unmoving form and lift the blade high in the air.

The crysknife in your hands quivers above his chest. It’d be so easy to end it. So quick. Over within a few minutes. You’ve seen countless members of your sietch do it, not a sliver of hesitation in their smooth, practiced motions. Some even enjoy it, reveling in seeing that spark wither in their enemies’ eyes. 

For a moment, you let yourself wonder, picture yourself snugly gripping the blade and driving it through the Harkonnen’s alabaster throat. The watery coughs he’d let out. The blood seeping from his neck and pooling around him. The light in his onyx orbs flickering before going out.

It should satisfy you. After all the evils they’ve inflicted upon your people, upon your planet, the prospect of retribution should fill you with immeasurable joy. 

Yet it doesn’t. Chest heaving, you slowly lower the weapon until it slips out of your hands, its clattering echoing in the cave.

Your shoulders sag as you unleash a tremulous breath, one you didn’t notice was even caged inside your lungs.

An unyielding truth swaddles you as you watch your pale-skinned enemy draw feeble, dwindling breaths. You can’t take a life. You are a healer, through and through.

You gasp when you suddenly feel the cold bite of metal against your throat.

Your eyes widen. The Harkonnen is awake, heavy, wheezing breaths bursting from his chest as he presses the blade against your neck.

“I-If you kill me, you will not survive,” you stammer, your chest clenching in fear. 

He shocks you by flipping the blade and handing it to you.

“Then give me a warrior’s death,” he says, his gaze unwavering. You study him. He looks worse than before. What he just did must have taken his last bit of strength. 

Steadying your hammering heart, you glower at him.

“The glory you seek isn’t in a dank cave, Harkonnen.”

As soon as he collapses over the cold, hard stones, you get to work. First, you check his pulse. Though it’s faint, you find a steady heartbeat. He must be quite strong, you surmise. You’ve never seen anyone survive this long with an injury this deep. Logically, he should be dead. 

But he isn’t. So while you shouldn’t feel this way, every fiber of your being craves to pull him from the brink. 

You peel the layers of his armor off him. Heat nestles inside your cheeks as your gaze roams over the hard, defined planes of his muscular form. You shake off the sensation, reminding yourself that you can’t proceed unless you have complete access to the wound and need to assess for other potential injuries.

You reach for your medpak and pouch. You use a mix of wound sealant and medicinal herbs to curb the bleeding. You then clean the wound with antiseptic and press onto it firmly. Eventually, it stops. Once the bleeding is under control, you pull out a needle and thread from your pouch and begin sewing the wound. Every stitch is nice and neat, so tight that you know he will barely scar. You squint as you work, the dim lighting of the cave making you miss the right spot in his skin a few times. You keep a cool head the entire time, simply starting over whenever necessary.

After the wound is sealed, you set up a hypovial with a plasma bag. Finding the bulging vein in his arm isn’t too hard. It’s quite easy in fact, as every part of him appears carved from stone. You slip a dash of spice melange in the IV. A potent cinnamon smell fills the air. Just the right amount to keep him awake. Now that his life isn’t on the line anymore, his peculiar body chemistry should do the rest and recover.

You unleash a deep breath and wipe the sweat doting your forehead. You sag against the cave wall.

Your eyes drift to the night sky, visible through a small opening in the overhang.

For the first time since you snuck inside the cave, the tension woven through your limbs comes loose.

Nights on Arrakis are a thing of beauty. You are willing to bet there are no more beautiful skies in the entire galaxy. None so clear and vast and with stars twinkling this bright. Mother used to say the same thing, that the boundless empyreans of Arrakis were the most beautiful sight she ever laid eyes upon. And as an imperial envoy, your mother traveled far across the known universe. So she must have been right.

You cast one last glance at the Harkonnen warrior. He’s stable. Or stable enough at least. 

It’s time for you to return to your sietch before too many questions are asked.

“You were gone a while,” your cousin blurts out when you return to your sietch. You weigh her tone. There is no suspicion laced in it, just curiosity.

“I was just making sure we didn’t forget any of them,” you casually reply.

Chani heaves out a deep sigh. “You don’t have to. You have no heart for killing, cousin.” She turns her focus to the rest of your tribe. “We need you here, tending to our wounded. It’s where you shine best.”

You nod in acknowledgement. No one in the sietch ever expected you to fight but you often wish that you could do more. You think of your mother’s untimely death, of the way Fremen laid down their lives today. Your heart sinks. If anyone learned of what you did, you would be exiled. Rightfully so. Your eyes wander to your cousin, now besides Paul Atreides. Longing gazes lock and fingers twine before they disappear into their shared tent. You look away.

You hope one day that twisting inside your chest whenever you see them will cease. You are happy for them; you truly are. Nevermind that you felt a pull towards the heir of House Atreides from the moment you met him, that you felt it was returned when his gaze rested upon you. That all of it vanished the moment his eyes crossed Chani’s.

A seer from your tribe foretold that a woman in your family would have a great destiny, one that will change the fate of worlds. You now understand, that woman is Chani, and she and Paul aren’t just destined to one another. They are fated.

And who are you to stand in the way of fate?

“You must be insane, girl,” the Harkonnen soldier scoffs as you remove the needle in his arm. Since he appears to have regained some color…or whatever consists of “color” for a Harkonnen, you elected to remove the plasma bag this morning.

A sliver of shame flutters through you that you were almost relieved to find him alive. You saved a life. Perhaps not the most worthy one, but a life nonetheless.

“Striking an enemy while he’s down isn’t brave,” you reply with nonchalance.

A crooked smirk cants his plump lips, baring a hint of the black teeth underneath.

“Insane and stupid then,” he sneers, the gristly echo of his voice resonating in the cave.

Ignoring the way his comment chafes you, you retrieve the little vials you packed this morning.

“Drink that.” He sits up, humming low in his throat with the movement when you’d expect him to wince or groan at the pain. It’s almost like he’s enjoying the pain he surely must be experiencing, but you discard that thought, because it’s ludicrous. What kind of person enjoys pain? “It’s water.” He studies you, making no move to grab the water. You fidget, unnerved that you can’t read his expression, his lack of eyebrows making it even more difficult. “I could only steal a little from the deathstill. It’s all I could get before anyone could see me.”

You briefly considered trading your mother’s water rings, the ones you inherited upon her death. The symbol of her standing and wealth within the Sietch Tabr.

Though while you may have saved your enemy, you want to hold on to that piece of her for as long as you can.

“I also have some food.” You rummage through your pouch to pull out dried fruits, slices of meats, bread and spice honey. It’s the best you could gather on short notice without drawing suspicion.

His dark gaze flicks over you as he taunts, “Perhaps I shall eat you. You look far more appetizing than…whatever this is.” You shudder, acutely aware that while cannibalism isn’t widespread amongst the Harkonnen…it’s also not unheard of. 

He snickers at your expression. “Do not fret, desert rose.” His gravelly voice drips with suggestion as he licks his lips. A chill runs through you as his black tongue and teeth are bared to you. “I’m not quite that hungry…yet.”

Your shift, discomfort slithering through you. There is something profoundly unsettling about the Harkonnen, even more so than a typical one. The blood leaking through the bandage draws your gaze.

“I should dress your wound and redo the stitching,” you offer, clearing your throat.

When your hand stretches towards his wound, he growls at you.

Your heart leaps and you retreat your hand.

“Please,” you insist. “You’re bleeding.”

When he doesn’t make another threatening sound, you take that as your cue. You quickly gather your supplies and approach him. The drumming of your heart inside your ears is a clamor, but you pretend it isn’t there, removing the bandage and driving the needle through his wound to sew it shut again. He doesn’t flinch, showing no hint of even feeling the needle. His sizzling scrutiny sears through your flesh, almost causing your usually steady hands to quake. You sharpen your focus, remembering your grandmother’s teachings. Steady heart, steady hands.

He tilts his head, dark gaze trained on you. “I threaten to eat you and you tend to me still. What a peculiar creature you are, desert rose.”

The days fly by in a strange haze, your days spent preparing for the new Reverend Mother while you sporadically check on the stranger. He recovers faster than you expect, even without you needing to use the spice melange again. Considering he was at death’s door when you found him, you can’t help but be a little amazed.

You sense the time to go your separate ways is near. You have done a lot, likely more than you should. The alabaster-skinned warrior is well enough to roam the desert and find his way back to his people through his own means. You brought him supplies, food and a stillsuit. Whatever befalls him will be up to fate and his own wits. You don’t plan on returning after tonight.

“You’re looking better,” you note, checking his wound for the last time. You leave the bandage for good measure even if it’s clear he doesn’t need it anymore, the wound having begun to fade since you removed his stitches yesterday.

He pins you with that unsettling stare once more.

“That song you sang…” he rumbles.

“A song?” Your head tilts as you comb through your memories. It comes back to you. You sometimes hum it to yourself. It calms you down. You didn’t even realize you’d done it in his presence. “Ah, that song.” You shrug, a small smile sneaking onto your lips. “It’s just a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me before she passed, to teach children about the Shai-Hulud.”

He looks at you in what you believe to be confusion at the name, though you can only assume.

“Your people call them… sandworms,” you explain. “They are sacred and should be revered.”

Silence hangs between you and the Harkonnen. His deep raspy voice shatters it after some time.

“Songs…I had a blade in my hands from the moment I could walk.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, unsure what else to say. He doesn’t seem sad, more reflective, but it seems you should say something. “Do you…Do you ever think of what your life would be like if you weren’t Harkonnen?” When he looks at you blankly, a nervous laugh peals from your lips. “I’m sorry. That was a silly question.”

Your crysknife materializes in his hands from behind his back. Your blood runs cold as you pat your thigh. You don’t remember ever leaving it around him.

“My older brother...He took me from our parents when I was a baby,” he utters, sounding detached, almost as if he were recounting someone else’s life. “My uncle raised me. I don’t remember my father. And my mother…” His lightless gaze slams into yours as he smiles, exposing his glistening, black teeth. “I killed that whimpering, meddling bitch.”

Your breath snags in your throat. Perhaps…you let yourself get too comfortable around the Harkonnen. The crude reminder of who he is, who they all are, yanks you back to reality.

You bolt to your feet, coaxing a tremulous smile onto your face.

“It’s getting late. I should return home before the sandstorms grow too strong.”

As you prepare to leave, the muffled pitter-patter of footsteps above you freezes you in your tracks. Your eyes bulge. Dread sinks within you as you realize someone’s right above you.

Before a single sound can make its way past your lips, the Harkonnen’s large hand envelops your mouth. He pulls you flush against his bare chest as he whispers into your ear, “Quiet.”

His muscles go taut against you. You catch him twirling the blade with smooth precision, clearly ready to fight if need be. You hold your breath, bridling your stuttering heartbeats.

Two men in full Harkonnen livery leap inside the cave. Panic rushes through you.

However, instead of a fight breaking out, relief fills the soldier’s faces as they see him. 

“Na-baron. We received your beacon.”

Na-Baron…The air is knocked from your lungs. The title isn’t that common amidst the known universe. In fact, it’s quite unique and you only ever heard of one man from one specific house using it. Na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the heir-designate to Baron Vladmir Harkonnen. 

He is a monster, a ruthless killer…and you nursed him back to health. Allowed him to get well enough to hurt, maim and kill as he pleases. The cave seems to twirl off its axis around you.

Perhaps he was right that night. You might be an insane idiot.

You feel the subtle lift of his lips against your scalp.

“Right. Did I forget to mention my name?” he taunts, as if he could read every thought zooming across your head. Giving you no time to even try to run or fight him off, the na-Baron slams your head against a nearby wall.

Pain explodes inside your skull. Your vision dims as you grow too weak to stand, your knees buckling beneath you. You fall into his arms and he holds you against him. He strokes the side of your face, a fire burning in his onyx orbs. Consciousness slips from you, his last words reverberating inside your ears.

“You and I are going home to Giedi Prime, my desert rose.”

You awake startled, jarred by the softness of the sheets and the largeness of the bed around you. This is nothing like the cot you used to sleep on in the desert. You leap from the bed, clutching your face and hugging your frame, stunned to note you are without your stillsuit and face mask.

Instead, you are wearing a sheer white tunic that hugs your curves in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. The outfit is unlike you, impractical in every way. Your pulse escalates.

You rush to rise and nearly crash down on the bed again. 

Your forehead creases.

You wobble around, struck by the difference in gravitational pull, humidity and atmospheric pressure. Every breath you take exerts you, bearing heavily on your lungs.

Your head spins as you glance at the unfamiliar room. Every single detail of it is cold, somber, opulent.

Horror twists your insides.

You’re not on Arrakis anymore.

“You’re in the Harkonnen keep, darling.” 

The gravelly voice erupting at your back has you whirl around. A half-exposed Feyd-Rautha fills your sight, his carved alabaster muscles and bald head shimmering silver in the low light.

You swallow hard, fighting to keep yourself breathing normally in the brand new air.

“The Harkonnen Keep on…”

“Giedi Prime, yes,” Feyd-Rautha finishes.

While you understood it on your own, having it uttered out loud sends you in a renewed state of alarm. You are away from your family, your friends, your home. You are alone on a foreign planet. A hostile, enemy planet.

“In secluded apartments away from my other concubines,” he further informs. A shadow of mirth lurks in his gaze. “They’re quite the jealous kind. They may even try to take a bite out of you if they learn of your existence…” He leers at your shivering frame, making no effort to hide his lust, the evidence already bulging in his pants. “Though I don’t think I could entirely blame them.”

He inches closer to you. “How does the weight of a real planet feel?” he asks, a twisted excitement swaying in his dark orbs. “Is it crushing your bones? Is every cell in your body screaming in pain, my desert rose?” He grips your chin, studying you oddly, almost as if he wishes he could absorb every bit of your agony and discomfort.

You glare up at him, your insides white hot with rage.

“H-How could you do this? I saved you.”

He frames your chin, squeezing tightly. “Oh darling, you should have killed me…” A squeak spills from your throat as he drags his tongue across the side of your quivering cheek. His lips brush over your earshell as he mumbles under his breath. “Because there’s nowhere in the galaxy you will ever be able to hide from me now.”

“I belong in Arrakis with my people. You have to let me go,” you plead. 

You search his impassive face, scouring for an errant ounce of humanity. The emptiness you find has tears rushing to your eyes. You mourn the tragic loss of moisture, willing yourself to stop crying. Ever since you were young, you were taught never to waste your precious water...especially on something as trivial, as painfully unnecessary as tears.

...But you can't quell your weeping.

He tilts his head.

“You belong with me…No, to me, desert rose. In my arms, screaming as I ruin that pretty cunt of yours with my cock.”

Fear floods your entire being. Your eyes scan the room. A faint spark of hope blooms inside you as you spot a long, sharp knife on a stone table nearby.

Pushing past the queasiness you experience every time you move on the unfamiliar planet, you race across the room and grab the knife.

You point it at him. Instead of cowering, Feyd-Rautha opens his arms, smirking.

“Do it,” he urges, making no effort to protect himself from the sharp blade in your hand, inviting you to strike him as his tongue darts across his lips.

His uncanny anticipation coats the air. Confusion fills you.

“I will,” you say, trying to appear braver than you feel. Still, the blade quakes in your hand.

“Please. I beg of you,” he purrs, gliding towards you. As he watches you hesitate, he cruelly reminds you, “You will never go home, never see your beloved planet again. In fact,...” He hums, his eyes lighting up as if a wonderful idea just occurred to him. “I think I might slaughter some of your family and friends just for sport.”

A wave of wrath surges through you. Bereft a thought behind it, your hand slashes across his chest, a small cut forming there. Droplets of blood so dark it appears black drip down onto his alabaster flesh. 

“More…” he rasps, pleasure leaking from his gravelly voice.

The sight of the bleeding wound rattles you, causing you to retreat.

But he doesn’t let you remove the blade, his fingers cinching around your wrist and keeping its sharp tip over his bulging pec. You sob as he forces you to drag the blade across his chest, a blissful expression spreading across his features. A long dark cut oozing dark red blood decorates his body now, going all the way to his defined abs.

Terror and confusion tangle within you. You stagger backwards, the dagger slipping from your lingers and hitting the floor.

“You’re sick.”

“I didn’t realize there was such a fire inside you, desert rose. If I don’t have you now, I think I’ll go mad.” His hoarse, lewd tone scrapes against your eardrums, causing your insides to twist in dread. He cracks his neck, black tongue sweeping over his lips as he approaches you. “No, I definitely will.”

It’s the only warning you get before he tosses you on the bed and rips the clothes off your frame. Tears brimming your lashes, you squeal in protest, scratching and punching every part of him within reach. You slap him hard and he cackles, baring his black smile in sheer delight. 

“Come on, desert rose, I’m sure you can hit even harder,” he sneers. 

To make him eat his words, you hit him again. Harder than before. His laugh gets louder as you watch a faint bruise form on his cheek.

Pinning your wrists besides your head, he bends over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipples, his cool tongue causing you to hiss and shake. Sharp teeth graze your breast and the breath hitches in your throat. You squirm on the sheets, completely at the mercy of Feyd-Rautha as he licks, bites and kisses every part of your flesh. As if he wanted you covered in marks of his ownership, wanted to ensure there wouldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind that you were his if they stole a glance at you. You loathe the way your traitorous body writhes and pants, a disgusting dampness gathering at the apex of your thighs. 

The tears in your eyes swell. Your body is divorcing your frazzled mind little by little, yielding to his rough, wanton touch. 

He grabs your thighs and dips between your legs, diving straight for your center. He licks a long stripe up and down your folds and you tremble. As his devilish tongue swirls around your clit, your eyes flutter, blinding pleasure building in your core. Hot waves of delight engulf you as he gathers your arousal with his tongue and drags it around your tender spot. The slow, unrelenting patterns he traces with his mouth have you fight the urge to buck your hips into his jaw. Your juices drench the entire bottom of his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind, greedily devouring your cunt as if he’ll never get to do it again.

As you quiver against him, your orgasm flowing through you, he chuckles against your wet cunt.

“Your body can’t even deny how much it craves me, desert rose.”

Shame pulses through you with his words.

He crawls over you, cutting his pants loose with one aggressive shove downwards. Only a glimpse of his thick alabaster cock, glazed with his need at the tip appears in your vision before he shoves the entirety of himself in you. The pain is so intense, flames alongside your walls, that it robs the words from your throat. He sinks inside you until his tight balls chafe your cunt, his hand wrapping around your throat while the other keeps your wrists above your head.

You whimper beneath him, defenseless against his sharp, piercing thrusts. Pleasure builds within you, his cock overwhelming you with shameful sensations each time it grazes your sensitive places, making you see stars. Gargled sounds pour from your throat as his girth splits you apart.

He grunts as your walls constrict around him, slamming into you even harder.

“You’re so delightfully tight around me, darling.” He bends over you to whisper, “I bet I’ll turn you into my perfect little cock-hungry whore in no time. Have you on your back and knees for me whenever I wish it.”

The Harkonnen heir’s pace fastens, his cock hitting spots that have you question your sanity. So delicious that you can’t help but let pathetic little moans escape from your throat.

He buries himself inside you even deeper, the pain and pleasure blending in crescendo. Your eyes roll back as you near your peak. Meanwhile, Feyd Rautha’s hunting his own release, his quick thrusts growing sharp and slow, his bald head grazing your bare chest.

Pleasure rolls over in a tidal wave, your back curling alongside the sheets. His own release comes after yours, thick ropes of his seeds painting your sore, sensitive walls. 

As you crash in a boneless heap on the sheets, he wraps his hand around your jaw and steals your lips for a sloppy, heated kiss. 

You cry out in pain as he sinks his teeth into your neck, placing a visible puncture wound that won’t disappear for a while.

Still nestled in your warmth, he scatters more bites along your shoulder.

“Any man would be insane to let you go after tasting such a sweet cunt, desert rose.”

You know he wants you to see, doesn’t want you to miss a single second of the spectacle. It was a split second moment, one that could have easily resulted in his death. 

But at the very last second, Feyd-Rautha prevailed and dodged Paul Atreides’ attack. He then proceeded to stab him in the heart in front of his heartbroken mother and your cousin. 

You don’t want to believe it. It must be an awful dream, one you will soon wake up from. One that lasted entirely too long. While seeing Paul’s body sink to the floor, your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces…Watching Chani glare at you with pure hatred in her eyes from across the room is almost worse. You want to run to her, embrace her, tell her you never meant to leave, tell her you aren’t a traitor to your people despite what clothes you may wear now, what marks may brand your skin. 

But it’s all for naught. Paul is dead and with him the hopes for your planet, for your people have died as well.

And you are left with nothing, no one. A stranger in a strange world. 

It’s what he reminds you as he has you caged beneath him that night, burying himself inside you again and again with abandon. 

“You’re mine, desert rose. And nothing, no one can take you away from me. Not my uncle. Not Paul Atreides. Not the Emperor.” He chuckles darkly, whispering against your ear. “...And not even you, darling.”

He is right. You are his. And with no one to challenge the rule of the now Baron Feyd-Rautha, ruler of House Harkonnen, it is as he said…There is nowhere in the galaxy you can hide where he will not find you.

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[sadoeuphemist]

Slymphs are aquatic parasites commonly found in brackish water, such as estuaries and coastal swampland, though certain species of freshwater slymph may be found inhabiting the shallow regions of lakes and slow-moving streams. They typically range in size from a few inches to roughly a foot long, with the largest specimen on record measuring just over three feet.

Slymphs feed via the suckers on either end of their body, marked by two or three concentric rings of teeth. Once a slymph latches on to a host, it injects a cocktail of neurotransmitters that serves to convince the host's nervous system that the slymph is a perfectly healthy part of their body. The host will subsequently react negatively to any attempt to remove the slymph, with similar intensity to the proposed amputation of an arm or a leg.

If the slymph is killed or otherwise removed, the conviction that it is part of their body will remain, and the host may seek medical attention for the detached slymph, or try to reattach it themselves. This delusion will fade over the next day or so as the slymph's saliva is flushed out of their system.

If, however, the slymph is allowed to remain attached, it will gradually integrate its circulatory system with the host's over the course of several months, its mouthpiece dissolving to meld with the host's flesh. This new appendage seems to have little deleterious effect on the host, other than potentially being cumbersome or unsightly, in addition to the periodic urge to go wading in brackish water in co-incidence with slymph mating season. Those possessing this organ treat it like any other part of their body and attribute to it a panoply of useful functions, such as helping to filter the toxins out of their blood, or making them more sensitive to moisture in the air. So far, any such effects have yet to be empirically proven.

A similar adaptation can be observed in the so-called "emperor slymph", which despite being closely related to the slymph is a different species altogether. The emperor is known by a number of regional names, some of the more colorful ones including: the brackwife, godsflesh, Tom's Lost Scrote, the crown-of-limbs, and twinning folly. The emperor slymph will ambush its prey using its multiple proboscises, which it can fling out like harpoons to inject its prey with a potent dose of neurotransmitters in order to pacify them. Unlike its smaller cousin, the emperor slymph will only feed until satiated, unlatching after it has had its fill of blood.

A person who has served as nourishment for an emperor is under no delusions about its physical characteristics. They will be perfectly capable of recognizing it as a multi-headed beast about the size of a walrus, with snaking necks and sucking toothless mouths designed to seal around a wound, sluggish and territorial, spending hours submerged beneath the water waiting for unsuspecting prey to come wading through its swamp. They will simply be convinced that this bloated creature is somehow a part of their own body, its hungers as natural as their own stomach grumbling at them, and must be provided for and taken care of as such.

Those afflicted by an emperor slymph will return to it for regular feedings. If the emperor has been hunting poorly, and they are its only source of blood, they will take their own anemia as a sign that the equivalent of a blood transfusion is necessary to stay alive. How they go about acquiring someone else for the emperor to feed on will vary greatly from person to person, depending on the severity of their situation and the morality of the person involved.

Multiple cults and communes have grown around the appetites of an emperor slymph, as a surplus of people to feed on means the quantity of blood drawn from each is reduced to a mere tongueful, almost ceremonial. Some adherents of this faith will claim that their mutual feeding has created a bond closer than love or kinship. As their philosophers and theologians propose, not entirely without merit: the slymphs' compatibility with our biology suggests a shared design that runs through our disparate natures, as if all the strange and wondrous creatures of the earth are more fundamentally the same than we realize, each of us an outstretched limb of divinity, flesh of flesh and blood of blood.

[skythighs]

Goddess of Caladan: Follow

Warnings: 18+ content, cw inc*st, unhealthy relationship dynamics

Word Count: 3.9k

Part 2

Paul gives me my space and doesn’t push for me to spend my days with him. Although I knew he was restless with the distance after having me so frequently before. During the day I was distant but late into the night I would find myself wrapped around him making up for hurting him with my absence. I noticed our mothers eyes were watching me less. Her look, less severe and she seemed content to leave me be, once again.

When we arrived on Arrakis, the dry heat felt as if it weighed down upon my flesh and bones. The wind blew dust rapidly around us as we walked to the thopter. It felt so surreal finally being here. This wasn’t a dream. This was real, and I nearly lost my footing in a particularly strong gust. Nearly. Paul latched onto me, saving me the embarrassment of falling with the natives watching us, shouting at us. He didn’t let go of me until I climbed in ahead of him and found a seat in the back of the ornithopter. 

“Lisan al Gaib” They’d called out. Pointing fingers at us. 

The term was familiar to me, and yet I could not recall what it meant. Once seated and buckled in, we flew to the palace. Paul once again spoke my thoughts. Asking our mother what they were shouting out.

“Voice from the outer world. It’s their name for messiah.” Says Lady Jessica.

“It means the Bene Gesserit have been at work here.” She continues.

“Planting superstitions?” He questions.

“Preparing the way, Paul. These people have waited for centuries for the Lisan al Gaib. They see you, they see the signs.”

“They see what they’ve been told to see.” He looks away from her. Done with the conversation.

As far as the eye could see, there was sand. Sand on the land, sand in the air swept up by wind. I felt my skin shriveling up at the dryness. Perhaps I took the rain for granted. Once inside my new room, I was left to get settled. My servants took their time unpacking my things. Hanging beautiful gowns at the front of the wardrobe. Putting my nightgowns in drawers. My perfumes and hair oils were being organized meticulously on the vanity. 

 I slipped away after freshening up and changing into comfortable clothes. It was much cooler in the tawny colored palace. The stones aided in keeping cool air trapped inside while keeping the heat locked outside. They were cool to the touch and inviting as I dragged my hand along them, exploring my new home. The further I explored, the more the place grew on me. I stumbled upon an airlocked door with a palm reader as the only access. I wasn’t sure what was behind the door, but I pressed my palm onto the reader, curious if I’d be granted access.

The door whooshes open, and the smell of dirt and moisture caresses my nose. I push the door open, further revealing countless plants green and vibrant growing so tall they touched the ceiling. It was so different from all of Arrakis, and it must have required so much water to keep all of this greenery thriving in this secret room.

I walk about the room, taking stock of every plant, most unfamiliar to me. It dawns on me then. What this room actually represents. After seeing the state of Arrakis, after seeing the people outside flesh and brittle dry bones, this room didn’t seem so lovely anymore. It felt like a slap in the face to those who die of thirst on this brutal planet daily, no doubt. I leave the room slowly, closing the airtight door behind me. I feel unsure if I’ll ever come here again. 

After a couple weeks passed, we were deemed to have been settled in well enough. It was now time to begin hosting the Arrakeen aristocracy. Among others, of course. Nobility didn’t matter any more than money and resources, whether it be honestly earned or otherwise. I was instructed to wear my finest dress with simple jewelry. I was even permitted to wear red lipstick and other touches of makeup. Mother wanted to make an impression tonight, so I must follow suit, of course. The red lipstick matched my silken red gown. 

I was the embodiment of elegance and womanhood. My mother was proving to my father that I was no longer a girl. A knock on my door followed by Paul sticking his head in is my signal it’s time to go. Paul takes me in from head to toe appreciative of the vision before him. 

“Did Mother put you up to this?” He asks as he approaches me. The maid servants make themselves scarce.

“Put me up to what?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, reaching out to fix his collar. 

He was dressed in his fine military garb that matched fathers, but with less shiny metal pieces. He grabs my hand before I can retract it, placing a lingering kiss on my wrist. His pink lips felt like the petals of a sweet flower. Such a simple gesture but so wholly intimate it ignited a want within me. He doesn't let go of my hand as he pulls it away from his lips. He strokes the back of it gently.

“Every man present tonight will surely be distracted by you. Especially me.”

There was a furrow in his brow. Placing my hand in the crook of his elbow, he leads me out of the room without another word. For the first time, I couldn't quite read him. His mood was a mystery to me, but as we reached the balcony overlooking the guests, mother and father were already waiting for us. I wouldn’t be able to address him about it now. 

As I said before, Duke Leto and his heir matched one another. What was surprising is that my mother and I were also matching. Her gown was the same red as mine, but she didn’t add a lick of makeup to her face. Only one of us would be on display tonight. 

“My darling Claud, you look beautiful.” Leto said, sounding awe struck.

He kissed my cheek and looked down at me with shiny eyes. Pure adoration that only a father could muster shined down on me and calmed me. She could put me on display all she wanted. I had my fathers love, and he would never cast me aside for political gain. After a brief summary of who’s who, we descend the staircase. Father escorting mother and Paul escorting me. His grip was tight as he led me down the stairs, almost as if he was afraid to let me go. As if he wasn't sure he would find me again once I left his side.

At the banquet, I mingled seamlessly with the crowd always moving from one group to the next politely, giving everyone their fair share of my time. I was by popular demand speaking with several men all at once now. Some were younger men, handsome with strong physiques and lingering stares. Others were old and nearly grotesque in their size, and not very subtle with their attraction for me. 

“You are a rare beauty lady, Atreidies. Even surpassing your mother, it seems, as you are the embodiment of youth.” He took it upon himself to kiss my hand, bowing for show. Of course, one of the old gross men decides to flatter me with kisses.

I fight back a grimace and smile instead. 

“Thankfully beauty is not all my mother was able to bestow upon me.”

That was code for get your filthy hands off of me, or I would do it for you. They were all aware of the power the Bene Gesserit held, and I was subtly telling them I possessed the very same. I was not a helpless daughter, I was Jessica’s daughter.  

It sounded sweet, sealed with a flashing smile of red lips. He removed his hand from mine but didn’t stray too far from my side. I could feel Paul's eyes on me the entire time. I could sense his displeasure at seeing me here with a group of men, but he himself was surrounded by beautiful women. All eager for his attention flirting shamelessly for his favor. What they had yet to learn was that my brother could not be moved by beauty and sex appeal.

He was not like other boys his age. They would learn soon enough. I wanted to see their disappointment first hand when he rejected them. Their plans failing hopelessly before them, for how would they spy on him if they couldn’t even get him in their beds. Suddenly, Father excused himself, urging Paul to take over as host. I mingled more learning bits of who could be trusted and who was an enemy.

I was approached by a tall, striking woman in a dazzling royal blue gown. The short demure beauty on her arm smiled flirtatiously at me as they approached.

“Your brother must be very protective of you, Lady Atreides. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you yet. Even with a gaggle of beautiful women before him.” She smirks at me, in a way that suggests she knows what I do not.

“You must be Soo-Soo, the guild banker.” I smile cheerily at her, showing teeth.

 She looks me up and down with hungry eyes before responding.

“I am.” 

“My twin is perhaps a bit unsettled by all the male attention I’m receiving tonight, but he knows I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

I glance over at Paul finding his emerald eyes. 

‘This one can’t be trusted.’ I sign to him behind my back.

“You’ve not just commanded male gazes tonight lady.” 

She reaches for a lock of my hair, framing my face while the rest is swept into an elegant updo. She strokes my hair softly before pushing it behind my ear.

“I heard a tale, you were just a child. A girl, beloved by her father and spared the reality of her birthright.” Soo-Soo sneers down at me.

“What reality would that be?” I probe. Standing my ground against the giantess. 

“Marriage of course. A truth all daughters must face. However, it seems House Atreides is quite content, keeping you in the nest.” She hisses out borderline threatening.

“I’m afraid I must steal my daughter away for a moment. I hope you don’t mind.” Lady Jessica swoops in and ushers me away.

“Claud, you look unsettled.”

‘Do not show fear here, Claudia.’ She signs in battle language.

‘She is a Harkonne agent. I’m sure of it.’ I respond.

Jessica nods to her daughter, knowing and understanding. They rejoin the party remaining side by side for the remainder of the gathering.

Later that night, she was brushing her hair at her vanity before bed when Paul entered her chambers abruptly. He was still dressed in his fine clothing.

“You haven’t changed.” I comment half heartedly. In the mirror, I could see a look in his eye. Something foreign and unfamiliar to him and I alike.

“What’s the matter?” I stand as he walks towards me.

He looks at me with those sea green eyes, a storm brewing in the depths.

“Tonight was - I’ve never felt rage like I did, seeing you being used as bait by our own mother.” He grips the back of my neck, stroking my smooth skin gently. Just touching seemed to calm him enough that the storm passed in his eyes. It was still lingering there, but much less worrisome. 

“I believe it would be common if Father had not forbidden it until now.”

“Why would he allow such a thing? It’s not like him.”

“Tonight was important for us, Paul. It was necessary.”

His hands are stroking my cheek as he shakes his head. 

“It reminded me of my worst fear. Seeing you paraded about tonight.”

“Tell me.” Perhaps this was what troubled him so earlier this evening when he first laid eyes on me. 

“I saw you in a dream once.You were dressed similar to tonight, but you wore black. You were being pawed at by hairless men with pale sickly skin. You were on Giedi Prime.”

His words hang between us in the air. His dreams were my dreams, so how did I not see this? I feel confused. Would this dream come true as so many others have in the past. Tears shine in my eyes as I look up at my brother. That would surely be a fate worse than death. The Harkonnen were known for their brutality against women. Hell, their brutality knew no bounds men, women, and children alike experienced it. 

“Did Father tell you about the marriage proposal he was sent?” I question hesitantly. It was something we’d never spoken of. His Adam's apple bobs.

“He didn't need to. I saw it in his office.” A piece of his dark waves falls into his eyes.

I nod my head.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” He asked me, pained and squinting his eyes. 

His grip on my face increases in pressure. 

“It will never happen, Paul. Father promised me. He won’t bend to their will.” 

“Why didn’t you mention this dream until now? I didn’t know.” I shake my head as I speak. I was totally blindsided by this, and it left me feeling insecure in our relationship. I was so sure I knew everything, only to learn it’s not true.

He looks struck by the idea. He was confused because he knew I saw his dreams alongside him every night.

“I thought you knew, and I thought it disturbed you so much you never wanted to talk about it.” He says.

“I had it once and never again. It was a year ago. Now I feel you alongside me when I dream of the Fremen. You’re there too, we’re together. We’ll always be together. Promise me, Claud. Promise me you’ll never leave me.” 

He’s nearly frantic now, clutching me to his chest. Leaning his forehead on mine. Begging me to say the words he so desperately needs to hear now.

“Nothing will ever separate us, Paul. I swear, I’ll never leave you.”

He kisses and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his narrow waist. I cross my ankles behind him to keep from sliding down his tall frame. 

“I need you Claud.” He murmurs between kisses. 

Whatever he needs, I will always provide. We don't even make it to the bed before he trips over his own feet in his haste. The fall to the floor is hardly noticed as he begins ripping away my nightgown. He sucks and nips at my brownish pink nipples. He feels satisfaction seeing me bare beneath him, but it's not enough. The storm in his eyes is back, and it's raging again. 

I help him remove his military jacket, our hands fumbling and shaking. Both of us are so eager and needy for this. I leave him to remove his shirt while I work at his belt buckle, it falls loosely and I push his trousers down gasping as his cock springs free. It nearly looks angry, all veiny and rigid.

Our lips and teeth clash as he rubs himself against my slit. Not nearly wet enough he pulls his lips from mine and spits on my cunt vulgarly. As he pushes inside me briskly, I whine out my displeasure. Without proper preparation it burns as he forces his way in. 

“Shh.” He hushes me with a sweet kiss. But he doesn't stop. He can't stop. 

He's relentless in his strokes going balls deep each time. Never giving me a moment to catch my breath, never giving me a second to adjust. His hands find their way into my hair pulling roughly exposing my neck to his assault. He bites me harshly before sucking as if to alleviate the pain. 

“Fuck you're gripping me so tight.” He groans out. 

This was so unlike him. He was always sweet and tender and vulnerable even whenever we made love. This was a new side of him. A rough demanding side. A side I love just as much as any other. 

“I need to feel you cum wrapped around me Claud.” He hisses into my ear. 

He reaches between us, finding my bud pressing against it almost to the point of pain. I moan out, twirling my hips beneath him, chasing the ecstasy he so eagerly sought to give me. His thrusts grow sloppy but he never stops massaging my clit bringing me to the brink. My eyes close rolling to the back of my head. 

“Look at me, Claud. I want to watch you while you break apart on my cock.” 

His words push me over the edge. I feel my brows furrow as I look into his eyes. Brown meets green. Green like the living trees and tall grass of Caladan. So full of life, so fresh and vibrant with promises of what's to come. 

“You know where.” I say to him, knowing what's next. 

His cum spurts hot and velvety inside my quivering walls, but he doesn't stop stroking. He prolongs his pleasure until he's sensitive and shivering inside me. We're drenched in sweat and I feel a soreness in my back as we come down from our high. Sensing my unease he removes himself from me slowly. He was the Paul I knew again, the sweet, careful Paul. As we settle into bed he holds me close. His touch is gentle as he strokes my back, attempting to remove the redness he caused.

“I love you.” He whispers out as we fall asleep clinging to one another like scared children. 

We settled into a routine in the Arrakeen palace. Paul was often occupied with meetings and strategic planning alongside our father. We met up in the courtyard walking arm in arm, stealing a moment for ourselves for the first time today. It was almost unbearably hot.The palm trees were the only living plants visible on Arrakis’ surface, and they intrigued Paul. They were being watered meticulously as the Fremen pilgrims watched on. It felt wrong to me, but I did not comment on it.

 Paul spent much time learning the Fremen ways. He watched the projected images about sand walking, and I was sprawled across his bed in my nightgown as usual while he absorbed the information before him. I did not feel the same thirst for knowledge of their ways as he did and found myself slowly drifting away into a dreamless sleep. The sounds of the audio aiding in my relaxation. 

Pauls POV

I got off the bed enticed by the little desert mouse on the holoscreen. Claud was sleeping soundly, breathing deeply in a constant rhythm. Looking at the images projected before me nearly distracted me from the slight drilling noise coming from the wall behind the bed. The very bed Claud slept on. I look at my sister, praying she doesn't move and draw the hunter seekers attention. As it moves away from her, observing the rest of the room, my heart slows down as I disguise myself amongst the projected image. 

The hunter seeker flies towards me, but I don’t flinch as it hovers in front of my eye. The door opens, and Shadout Mapes stands with linens in her hand as I crush the hunter seeker against the solid door. I look at Claudia, and she doesn’t even stir from the commotion. I knew the hunter seeker had a short range, so the assassin must be nearby in this very palace. Mapes alerted the nearest guards, and I watched over Claud. My father found us. He had alerted the entire palace guard to search for the assassin.

He walked in slowly, looking from me to the sleeping figure in my bed. He looked genuinely fearful. Fearful for his children. Seeing Claud on the bed, totally unaware of what had transpired nearly broke him, but he is a Duke. He refused to let his emotions get the best of him now. He would make sure the assailant was found and dealt with properly. 

“It flew right over her, father. I felt like the world fell from beneath my feet.”

Leto clutches his shoulder. Understanding his fear for his sister at that moment. 

“It didn’t see her. She was sleeping so soundly it flew right past her.” Tears fell from his eyes then. As the reality of it all settled in. He could have lost her tonight. He could have lost his other half. He knew he would not be whole without her here. Before his father can respond, he hears a shout from the doorway.

“Your grace! The assailant has been found.” 

Leto hurries after the guard leaving Paul and a sleeping Claudia. 

I look at her with tears falling from my eyes, but I don’t speak. I can’t speak. She’s sleeping so peacefully it would be wrong of me to wake her. Once she wakes, her peace will surely be destroyed. This place was more dangerous than we could have imagined. Even in these very walls, danger lurked. I feel something inside me, something dark and unfamiliar. Similar to the night of the banquet when she wore a crimson dress. Crimson like the sheets the day she became a woman. The day everything changed for me as she assured me it was okay, it was normal. But seeing my sister bleeding out on her crisp white sheets was anything but normal to me. 

Seeing my sister inches away from a hunter seeker while she slept was a turning point for me. I needed to see her safe. Always safe. After that night, I sought her out during the day despite our mothers suspicions, interrupting her training. I had to reassure myself she was okay. Nothing else mattered. It was all I could think about, and it began consuming me from the inside. There was no me without Claud. We were born into this world together. I followed her into this world, unsure of what lay ahead. I just knew that I had no choice. I was born two short minutes behind her. It’s been said that my whaling would not stop until I could feel her nearby. If she were ever to leave this world, I would surely follow her then, too. 

I arrive late to the strategy meeting, barely beating my father here. I lost track of time amidst the blooming petals between my sister's supple thighs. I could still smell her on my lips and fingers, and it was enough to keep me temporarily satisfied. Even now, I can feel her tight heat gripping me and pulling me inside her as deep as our bodies allowed. I could feel her milking me for every last drop of my cum as I emptied inside of her. The feel of her is unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life. The taste of her so bitter and sweet on my tongue makes me crave her unlike any other. She was made to be mine, as I am hers.

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

[oralmisery]

Horny for Horsepower

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 2511 | tags: Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Humor, Crack, Steve is a car, Sex with a Car, Masturbation

Week two prompt: Backseat

Steve is a transformer and Eddie is the mechanic in love with him. Dustin accidentally spills soda all over Steve’s backseat and Eddie has to clean it up. In spite of Eddie's best efforts the sticky situation only gets stickier.

(in which Steve IS the backseat)

From his crouched position on the ground, Eddie shifted to the right, barely avoiding the car door that swung open. He wobbled in place and stuck a hand out to regain his balance. His hand smacked into the car's exterior, where he was scrubbing with a soapy sponge.   

“Hey! I wasn't even close to scratching your paint, this stuff is sticky, Dude. It's gonna take some elbow grease to get it out”, Eddie said. He swiped a forearm over his face, not sure if he's getting sweat or suds, but wanting to stop the trickle of moisture from getting in his eyes either way.

The door slammed shut in a huff but didn't move again when Eddie continued his scrubbing, notably with more care this time.

The 1983 733i maroon BMW was by far the most unique car Eddie had on the lot. The competition wasn’t steep, considering Munson Mechanic was a repair shop and junkyard in one. Most of the rusted cars around them were missing doors, side mirrors, engines, and decidedly not fit for the road. But, even if every hunk of junk on the property was in mint condition there would still be no competition. No, the maroon beamer was exceptional because it was actually a he . An alien–part of a race of autonomous robotic organisms that were hiding on earth disguised as human vehicles. And his name was Steve. 

Eddie sighed, “Ya know, this would be easier if we went to a car wash”.

The car’s radio turned on, 𝅘𝅥𝅮 shot through the heart and you're to blame 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Okay! okay! drama queen”, Eddie said with a laugh. “I'll spend my afternoon handwashing you”.

𝅘𝅥𝅮 You're the best around, Nothing's gonna ever keep you down 𝅘𝅥𝅮

“That's more patronizing than encouraging”, Eddie muttered. He swiped the last of the dark residue from Steve’s sparkling maroon. “They don't do interiors anyways, and, ah, Dustin really got it everywhere in there”. Eddie looked into the backseat where soda was lazily dripping from the ceiling and drying on the leather seats.

Steve opened and shut all his doors in a synchronized angry click. Eddie was reminded of a kid stomping their foot.

“ I know , but he swore he didn't know Lucas shook it up before he handed it to him so it's not really his fault”.

Steve honked but Eddie knew the car wasn't actually mad, just like Eddie wasn't that annoyed cleaning up the mess. 

Steve loved the kids, he just had a grumpy way of showing it. Like, locking the doors on them when they tried to get in but driving them around the entirety of Hawkins anyways. Steve almost drove them into a ditch running down Billy Hargrove when he threatened the kids, but wouldn't move an inch until everyone's seat belts were fastened. Even this afternoon when Dustin doused the entire backseat and whatever got out the open window with an exploding can of grape soda, Steve still drove him home and did not start back up until the kid was safely in his house. He did pretend to run over the young teen’s foot but Eddie knew Steve wasn't even close, no matter what Dustin said.

Eddie grabbed a clean towel from the stack of cleaning supplies next to him and opened the back door wide. Steve started playing the only station that played metal. Truly a softie.

“Alright Stevie, let's get you shiny and new again”. 

Steve rocked side to side, in anticipation or impatience Eddie can't tell. Maybe both.

Eddie started wiping down the wet areas. He mopped up the ceiling and the puddle on the floor first. He then used both hands to drag the towel along the grooves of the leather seats, digging in with his fingers to get every seam. 

The radio cut out with static then stuttered back on.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, surprised, looking toward the dash.

Steve’s fuel gauge needle shot to FULL, meaning yes. A system Eddie had proposed when he and Steve first met.

“Okay…” Eddie said. Maybe Steve was more upset about being dirty than Eddie thought.

Eddie continued his movements, trying to be thorough. Steve was high maintenance at times. He’d let Eddie know, promptly and loudly , if he needed an oil change or his tire pressure was low and he refused anything but premium grade gasoline. Eddie honestly didn't mind that Steve was kind of a brat. He liked spoiling the automobile.

Finished getting all the wet soda, Eddie threw aside the ruined towel and grabbed a fresh one to dunk in the bucket of soapy water. Eddie got down on his knees on the ground beside Steve’s open door, bent over and with hard, fast motions started scrubbing the shit out of the carpeted floors.

Steve honked. A quick, seemingly accidental beep.

“Dude, are you sure you're okay?”, Eddie asked again. He paused and sat back on his heels, starting to worry. 

Steve’s fuel needle jumped back and forth a few times before shakily landing on FULL. 

[ continue reading ]

[popcornoncemore]

I'm so sorry for cutting the deadline so close!

Here is my gift to the amazing @wilwywaylan for the Les Mis @drinkwithme-exchange 2024!

They requested Joly & Jehan, so here's a angst and fluff fix of them supporting each other through their struggles with mental health problems:

I just want to say that this exchange was amazing and that I was so honored to write for someone that I just love in this fandom. I hope that you like this!

Full work under cut: (tw raw chicken, panic attacks):

The morning started out as usual, a good day, a slow turn from night to day, Bossuet and Musichetta pressing a light kiss to Joly’s forehead, slightly interrupting the fog of his sleep. As their footsteps and hushed conversations retreated further into the apartment, Joly turned over once more in the bed and let himself drift off again.

The second time he awoke, Joly was much more alert. While he loved sleeping in, curled in the duvet that Courfeyrac had gifted them as a housewarming gift, cozy in the dappled light streaming through the curtains that had once belonged to Musichetta’s grandmother, it was hard for Joly to truly laze the day away. Spending too long in bed tended to summon a quiet yet incessant internal chatter about the merits of a rigid sleep schedule and the dangers of a lack of daily progress and simple movement, a nagging sense of conscious that refused to let Joly sleep past nine in the morning. Joly needed to start out on the right foot.

With the urging of the voice, Joly disembarked from the safety of his bed. Musichetta had left early to cover her coworker’s shift at the laundromat where they worked so that the other woman could visit her ailing mother. Bossuet, in a typical bout of his characteristic misfortune, had managed to do a great deal of damage to a neighbor’s fence the day prior in an incident involving Gavroche, a lawn mower, and approximately $15 worth of clear fishing line. Today, he had taken it upon himself to do the necessary repairs in hopes of smoothing things over with the disgruntled elderly couple.

This left Joly alone in the apartment with only his thoughts and the growing heat of the summer morning. Joly obeyed the near-instant urge to brush his teeth, making a beeline from the bed to the bathroom. When that was finished, he closely inspected his face, taking note of every new spot of acne and mentally listing off the names of the medicated creams that he needed to acquire. He tried not to pick at the spots, it would only make them worse, but it was so difficult when it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Joly then washed his hands, showered, washed his hands, put on moisturizer and sunscreen, washed his hands, dressed himself in a button-down and khakis, debated whether or not the day would be hot enough to give him heatstroke wearing a long-sleeved shirt, decided to change into a light-weight cotton t-shirt, and tried to style his hair which absolutely refused to lay correctly on his head.

Joly was overcome by a sense of dread as he tried to will his hair into place. He was not going to be able to get the results that he wanted, but he almost certainly was not going to be able to stop rearranging his hair until it was perfect. This devolved into hurried breaths and lightly pulling his hair. If Bossuet was here, he would have taken Joly’s hands in his own and told stories of his and Grantaire’s latest outing until Joly could get control of himself and move on to the next task. Today, Joly had to make do with imagining his boyfriend’s words and trying to manage his breathing. Joly squeezed his eyes shut and washed the remaining hair product off his hands, then quickly fled the bathroom before he could accidentally get a glimpse of his reflection.

Crisis averted.

Joly distracted himself with the daily cleaning, re-making their large bed and adjusting the incredibly large number of pillows that had been brought into bed by the culmination of Musichetta’s search for tasteful decor, Joly’s interest in the medical benefits of different shapes of pillows, and Bossuet’s near constant need to prop up one injured limb or another. Then it was a quick vacuum of the living room to limit the dust and potential allergens in the apartment, emptying the trash and recycling from every room, and reorganizing the perpetually undone shoe rack, lest Bossuet trip over a lose high heel coming in the door.

The next order of business was making sure to eat a hearty breakfast. As Joly checked the dates on all the food packaging in the refrigerator, he notices that the egg carton was empty. In general, there was hardly any protein in their apartment. Joly furrowed his brow. He was very tempted to resort to eating just a bowl of cereal and moving on with his day, but something inside him knew that that was a bad choice.

Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, he had to eat a balanced meal, or the rest of his day would be thrown off and who knew what could happen if Joly introduced that sort of chaos to his life. While he didn’t have class today, he was supposed to meet up with Combeferre to study. If he neglected a nutritious breakfast, his hands would shake while he took notes, and his attention span would be affected. It was only natural that the consequence of that may be failing the next test, putting him behind in the class, behind in his degree, and behind schedule. No, it was best to eat an appropriate meal.

Nothing in the refrigerator was suited to food that one would generally categorize as breakfast food, but Joly was willing to sacrifice that for nutrition. He opened the freezer, hoping to find some sort of meat that could serve as his protein.

To his disappointment, the only thing that he found was a bag of frozen chicken breasts. He cringed at the sight. It wasn’t that Joly wouldn’t eat chicken, on the contrary, Bossuet’s family recipe for lemon baked chicken was one of his absolute favorites; it was just that the idea of raw poultry was beyond revolting. In addition to its odd texture and appearance, Joly couldn’t help but imagine all the illnesses that could be caused by the raw or undercooked meat. In particular, the sight of the chicken brought up hurried thoughts about the dangers of salmonella and the image of a documentary he had once seen that tracked how the germs from poultry could be accidentally transferred about a cooking space.

There was an instant conflict between the voices in his head, debating the dangers of handling raw meat and not paying attention to nutrition. Joly desperately wished them to shut up but resolved himself to making a choice. He could cook chicken, people did that all the time and it was fine. He was being stupid, he couldn’t let his anxiety stop him from being a normal functioning person. Joly snatched the bag of chicken from the freezer, dropped it on the counter, and then immediately washed his hands.

Defrosting the meat was a nightmare. Joly removed the chicken from the bag with a pair of tongs, resting it on a plate, and then microwaving it until the it defrosted. When he took the plate out, Joly gagged at the sight of the raw poultry, sitting on the plate in a pool of melted frost and juices. He moved the chicken breast to the cutting board specifically designated for meat, leaving him with the disgusting plate of liquid.

He knew that he was supposed to dump it down the drain. It wouldn’t congeal like bacon grease and unfortunately, Joly lacked a way to incinerate it like food waste in some sci-fi film. But pouring it down the sink would contaminate the basin, the germs would spread when the water turned on, then there was no stopping the salmonella from moving to other surfaces. He put the plate down, it was a dilemma he would deal with later.

The next part was arguably the hardest. Joly had to cut the chicken into smaller pieces in order to properly seer it. How was he supposed to do that without directly handing the raw meat? With the tongs in one hand, he stabilized the breast, cutting it slowly with the knife in his other hand. It was going to be okay, it was going to be okay, he could do this, he had to do this. Normal people did this.

Joly’s trembling hand slipped on the tongs suddenly, the piece of chicken sliding across the cutting board and making contact with the hand that was still holding the knife.

Everything immediately went dark, then the color and sound and light and fear all rushed back into Joly’s perception at a lighting pace. God. God. It had touched him and… The knife slipped from his hand, narrowly missing his foot as it clattered to the floor. Joly whipped around in his panic as his breathing became more and more rapid. He made for the sink, but only managed knock the discarded plate of germs he had been avoiding to the floor, spilling its contents all over.

Joly was dying, there was nowhere to go. The situation was consuming him, he was going to pass out. His hands scrambled at his face, wiping through his tears to pick at the scabbing acne, scratching his cheeks with his fingers… His fingers that had just touched the chicken seconds before.

Oh god. His breathing got worse as he sank to the floor, to the puddle of yet more germs. He was going to throw up. He was going to die.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

There was a knock at the door.

Jehan had started their morning off noticeably poorly. Their melancholy was far past the point of being poetic, rather it was consuming and disheartening, destroying his creative thinking. While a passing phase of downcast and remorseful feelings was an important given in the life of a romantic, a rain spell that spoiled the weather but watered the crops, this was less of a rainfall and more of a tropical storm of sorts.

The morning sun was too bright as it cut into his bedroom, waking Jehan from their rest early. His body was sore for no good reason, as if his back had just taken a sudden disliking to the mattress, and the street outside was unusually loud for the time of day. The blankets had partially fallen off, leaving their legs cold.

Jehan did his best to right his mood, but to no avail.

From the bedside table, they pulled their current poetry journal, a beautifully bound thing that had been gift from Grantaire last Christmas. In an attempt to channel his feelings into something appropriate, they scribbled out lines of poetry onto the creamy pages of the book, scrambling to find a way to put a voice to the way he felt. Nothing took form from the words though, no matter what he wrote, the paper just became more and more marred by messy lines of bleeding ink. It was ugly, not in a way that inspired deep thought, but in a way that forced Jehan to angrily turn his eyes from the journal, to snap it shut and throwing it to the cluttered floor.

Getting dressed proved just as frustrating. Nothing fit right, Jehan’s body just looked incorrect in anything they put on. The limey cardigan that they picked to go over their floral-print sundress and stripped slacks itched in a way that made him want to just melt into a puddle on the bedroom floor. Jehan slumped and let himself lay down on the carpet, pulling the awful sweater off and throwing it as far away as they could. He moped on the ground, trying to reason with himself. It was silly to let this pessimism get them, but it seemed just as silly to blatantly ignore it. Why was this so complicated? Why did he feel so absolutely under the weather?

Rolling to get off the floor, they spotted the book they had discarded prior. He apologetically picked the journal up and set it back onto the nightstand, brushing off its cover with care. Jehan ran their hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at it and scratch at his scalp. They couldn’t just waste away on their bedroom floor, let themself drown in this floor of bitter sadness that was trying so desperately to sweep them away.

Using the last of his strength, Jehan dragged themself to their feet and promptly made straight for the door of the apartment. He couldn’t just sit here alone feeling bad for himself, letting himself drown.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered it. That was odd, Jehan could have sworn that Joly at least was home, it was part of the reason they had come here, apart from the fact that the apartment the trio shared was the closest to his own. Maybe he was wrong, of course, that would follow the pattern of the day. Maybe some of Bossuet’s bad luck had accidentally brushed off on them the last time that they went for drinks together.

Jehan shook off the thought. They were here to fight their pessimistic spiral, not feed it. He knocked on the door again, listening for the sound of movement in their friend’s apartment. Instead of someone approaching the door, Jehan heard what almost sounded like sobbing, muted, but definitely still present. Without a second thought, Jehan grabbed one of the spare keys hidden about the hallway in front of the apartment, placed there in the event that Bossuet left his keys on the counter, in a car, at work, or, on one particularly unfortunate occasion, at the post office inside of the package he had been mailing to Quebec.

Jehan entered the apartment warily. Someone was definitely crying, the sound clearer once inside, coming from the kitchen.

When he reached the kitchen, Jehan was met with a truly upsetting sight. Joly was alone, curled on the wet floor, hyperventilating and tearing at the skin on his face in a mindless fashion. It appeared that the other man had previously been cooking something, from the discarded cutting board, thawed chicken, and the shards of plate that were strewn across the ground.

Jehan approached him lightly, kneeling on the floor next to the man. “Joly, my friend, please listen to me. I am here to help. I heard your distress from outside and I simply had to come in. Let me help you. Here, breathe with me.”

They took Joly’s hands in theirs, pulling them away from his face. His friend did not quite register what was happening, but he didn’t fight the action. Jehan held Joly in his arms, slowly rocking him, speaking softly into his ear. Several minutes passed like this as Jehan helped his friend regain some control over his mind and body.

Any despairing thoughts that Jehan had awoken with took a back seat to helping Joly. “Joly, dear, tell me what is wrong? You do not have to deal with this alone. We’ll make this right, whatever it is. You are so very safe.”

Joly sniffled, then looked Jehan in the face for the first time since the other had entered his apartment. “The chicken… It slipped…” He paused, gagging a bit. “Oh god, the germs are everywhere, on the floor, on my hands, my face, on you! I was just trying…”

Ah, so that was what had triggered this fit of panic. Jehan surely wasn’t as familiar with the risks of raw poultry as Joly was, but he did know the basics of cooking and killing food-born germs. And knowing Joly as they did, the idea that Joly had panicked after accidentally coming into contact with the meat, and more importantly, his complicated thought process surrounding something he saw as a health hazard, was a fairly understandable one.

Jehan hugged their friend to them. “Oh Joly. I am so sorry, I know how much that sort of thing bothers you. It will be alright, I will help you.”

Joly frowned, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I shouldn’t need help. It’s just food, people cook all the time… I need to eat healthily, I should be able to eat healthily. I was trying to eat…” He breathed raggedly. “Everything is all wrong with me, I can’t cook, I can’t look right, I can’t relax or clean enough or even fucking feed myself correctly.”

He spoke desperately, like he was finally spilling a long-kept secret. Jehan’s heart hurt in their chest to see their friend lambast himself with such vigor, with such a belief in the cruel words he threw in his own direction.

“You, Joly, are perfectly acceptable as you are. I may not know all of the details of how you feel, but I do know that you aren’t a stupid man. You do not simply feel this way on a whim, or because you are lazy or incompetent, you always have reasoning behind it. You should not have to fight your own mind like this, but you so often successfully do so. There is no shame in asking for help or feeling despair, any man would become overwhelmed in your situation.”

“I just want my head to be quiet,” Joly pleaded softly. “The second I wake up it is like I am fighting with my own system of right and wrong, I debate danger and health and the thousands of ways to do something properly. I just can’t shake the feeling that I must follow these thoughts, but then they conflict and shout at each other and I slip up trying to do right by them all.”

Jehan nodded, listening to their friend while continuing to rock him gently. They ran a hand through his hair.

Joly paused in his rambling speech for a second. “I just want to feel something that isn’t this downwards spiral that ends in me crying on my floor like cooking chicken or brushing my hair is the end of the world.”

“I understand.” Jehan gave Joly a small smile. “I completely understand. It is hard when your mind works against you and it feels like you cannot escape this moment, the pattern of your thoughts that so quickly arranges itself into a maze. But you are not weak to feel this way, many people have to fight as you do against one foe or another. In fact, I came to your door today because I felt similarly trapped when I woke up this morning. It was like there was nothing I could do to chase away the dark feeling that the world was out to get me today, and I wasn’t up to the challenge. But I managed to come here, I found you and now we are together. And I know that while I am still simply melancholy and you are so understandably distraught, we will not fall victim to that vicious spiral. Let me help you, if the voices will not quiet, I will shush them most aggressively. And if that doesn’t work, I will sing over them so that at least you may hear something relaxing rather than demanding. Let me clean you up and help you back to your feet, I think it would do a world of good for us to fight our battles together today.”

Joly buried his face in his friend’s sundress, letting a few more tears fall. “Yes. Okay. Please help me to get out of this mess, it’s too much, and I feel faint even beginning to think about what may go wrong as a result.”

Jehan gave him a squeeze. “Of course, my dear friend. I will help you, for you have helped me so greatly already.”

Jehan had scrubbed down the kitchen, doing their best to meet Joly’s standards of cleanliness as they mopped, wiped, and bleached every inch of the room. The two friends then took as shower together, Jehan helping Joly to wash his face gently.

The clothes they had been wearing earlier all went straight into the old washing machine down the hall. One of the benefits of having all three occupants of the apartment share a room was that there was more space for some of the utilities that helped Joly to feel more sanitary and Bossuet to get the never-ending tie dye of stains out of his clothes.

They re-dressed in assorted clothing. Jehan pulled one of Bossuet’s zip-down hoodies for Joly, an easily removed layer in case of a sudden change of temperature. Joly brought Jehan one of Musichetta’s flowy blouses and a pair of his own plaid shorts. Jehan felt themself relax into the fabrics, their textures safe and comfortable.

Jehan combed Joly’s hair, and the two talked quietly about life; Bossuet and Gavroche’s recent run in with disaster, Grantaire’s (latest) blunder in front of Enjolras, Bahorel’s supposed mistress.

“Thank you for coming, Jehan.” Joly said the words as their conversation drifted into a pleasant silence. “I didn’t know that I needed someone today, but apparently I did.”

Jehan pressed a quick kiss to his friend’s forehead. “Of course. Absolutely any time. Thank you for being here. We’re going to be okay.”

When they finally set the brush down, Joly turned and crushed Jehan in a hug and the pair burst into laughter. When Joly finally released him, Jehan grinned at his friend in a way that seemed impossible only a few hours ago. “Would you like to go out to get some breakfast before you meet up with Combeferre? They say it’s the most important meal of the day!”

Joly smiled back, “Sure.”

It was looking to be a good day, it was only just getting started after all.

[dubs-is-a-slime-girl]

What is a dubs?

Dubs is a slime girl!

Dubs uses it/she pronouns, and often refers to itself by name. It prefers to not capitalize its name, although it's capitalized at the start of sentences for readability.

This blog is meant to contain stories about dubs. These stories will sometimes be kinky or even horny, because she is definitely both of those things.

Check below the cut for details about dubs and her physiology!

Appearance

Dubs is usually about 4’10” standing up. Its entire body is made of red-pink slime, colored like cherry soda. It has short, messy hair, or at least the shape of hair, which is slightly darker than the rest of its body.

In its most common shape, it has a chubby build with a pear-shaped figure. However, it can change shape at will, with some effort, and can spread its mass any way it wants. Some of dubs’ other preferred shapes are a puddle, a stereotypical round slime, or even a freeform writhing mass of blobs and appendages. It prefers a humanoid shape, and often enjoys tinkering with its proportions by adding or removing slime; sometimes it sinks into a puddle halfway, leaving everything from the waist up. Other times, it becomes a head that slides along the floor or sits in someone's lap.

Texture

Dubs has a default texture similar to jelly, which leaves a sticky film on anything it touches. However, it can fairly easily change this texture by hardening or softening its “skin”, a sort of membrane that covers its entire body. At its firmest level, dubs has a skin that feels like that of a typical human, albeit extremely smooth. This is the texture it typically prefers to be around other people. However, with this texture it often needs to wear socks or shoes in order to keep from slipping on most flat surfaces. It can relax its firmness a bit and will start to become very floppy and soft, akin to a water balloon. Dubs will still move itself normally this way, but can easily be squished around by others. As it lowers its firmness still, it starts to drip small pieces of itself involuntarily and becomes very sticky.

Slime Mass and Hydration

Dubs’ actual mass is indeterminate; it takes in moisture to add to its mass, and shrinks over time due to evaporation. This evaporation happens more slowly when its skin is firm, but even at its most human-like level, it will still lose about 4L of moisture every 24 hours. Compared to the average human density of 60% water, dubs is approximately 95% water, so the moisture lost will directly and visibly shrink its total mass. In other words, without any replenishment, dubs will lose at least 10 lbs per day, more if it spends time in a more viscous form.

Dubs can easily replenish moisture by either drinking it directly or by touching it with any other part of its mass. Removing moisture intentionally is more difficult, but possible. With focus, it can force some of its mass to become completely liquid, to the point that it falls off and is no longer part of its body. It will often do this to make itself lighter or more compact.

Dubs enjoys playing by increasing and decreasing its mass intentionally. Naturally, the bathtub is an easy place to do this, with both a faucet and a large drain available. It loves to draw a bath and hop on, gradually absorbing the entire tub’s contents, then later on draining it back into the tub.

Other times, it enjoys carefully draining off most of its moisture until it’s only a fraction of its usual size, as small as only a foot tall in humanoid form. It will often put itself into small containers this way, or glide around on the floor like a red transparent curling stone.

Dubs’ slime mass is nontoxic to humans and animals alike, if not particularly nutritious, and supposedly tastes faintly of artificial cherry flavor.

Sensory

Dubs has no dedicated sensory organs, instead filtering sensory input through its entire body mass. It has eyes but doesn't need to see through them specifically, although in many situations it finds it easiest to limit its visual input to its eyes. It's able to see, hear, touch, and taste with any surface. It can also smell to some extent, but has trouble distinguishing this from “taste” since the smell is essentially a taste in the air.

As with its eyes, dubs finds it enriching to simulate the different sensations that normal humans feel in different parts of their bodies by tweaking the level of sensory input and often the firmness of its skin; for example, a more sensitive part of the body might have thinner skin and more nerve endings in a human, so it can achieve a similar effect by focusing its sense of touch there while making it less firm.

As a slime girl, it has no actual bodily organs, including reproductive organs or other erogenous zones. However, dubs has become very adept at creating reasonable facsimiles of “important” parts which work “good enough” for dubs.

[ratmonky]

Kısmet

warnings: cannibalism, death, vomit, mind control, dub-don, gore

word count: 1.8k

AO3 link

The smell of wet concrete was the first thing you noticed, you then felt the cold. Although you still hadn’t opened your eyes, you could tell that your pants were slick with the moisture from the ground.

There was a wet sound, the kind of sound you had never heard before. It was like something filled with liquid got squashed. It was mushy and there was a splat before a hiss filled your ears.

You finally found the energy to open your eyes, the place was darker than dark, you couldn’t see anything but the metallic scent of blood hung in the air, making your nose twitch in disgust.  You tried sitting up but your head was spinning, disoriented. You didn’t remember how you got here, it was like your memory had been wiped.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, you eventually got on all fours and pushed your upper body up using your hands in an attempt to stand on your feet. It worked, you stumbled a bit.

Something was off.

You could sense it, the hairs all over your body started rising, then you saw it. Two yellow orbs, far away from you. They glowed and at first glance, you thought those were a pair of eyes. Hah! As if eyes glow in the dark.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, like a hundred pairs of eyes were on you.

Taking a step forward, you heard a squeak of a small animal. You lifted your foot up and from the sounds alone, you thought it was a mouse or a rat. You hoped you didn’t step on its tail. This time, more carefully, you took another step, hands reaching out to feel if there was anything out there you might run into. A wall, a light switch, or even a person.

From the smell, you could guess this place to be a basement or an abandoned building. There was that signature smell of dust, mold, and -blood?

You looked ahead, sweat droplets forming on your forehead. The two yellow orbs were still there but closer.

“H-hello?” you called out, voice shaky.

It was quiet.

You took another step and to your luck, your foot ended up in a puddle, your face grimaced. You proceeded only to lose your balance, there was something beneath your feet. You reached out for something to steady yourself but there was nothing there. You fell on top of a solid thing. It was firm but soft, you realized it might be a person.

Absently touching the person on the ground you spoke, “Hello? Are you okay? Hello?” You found their chest and immediately pressed your ear to check for a heartbeat. Ahh. They were alive. You let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully, you could find a way out to find help for this person. You were about to get up when your body lost all control for a second. Everything started spinning.

“Walk away from the corpse.”

The voice was cold and monotone. It pierced the air, you looked around in fear as if the voice surrounded you from every corner of the dark. It was a woman’s voice, at least that was somewhat comforting, men were capable of the worst things.

“What?” you asked, not understanding what she meant. The person was alive. As you tried to get up, the person you landed on top of changed shape, you felt their flesh twist from under your hand, like they never had bones, to begin with. Your hand pulsated with the flesh as it abruptly exploded into your face. Warm liquid splashed across your face and torso, filling your open mouth. The scent of blood overfilled all of your senses and you vomited onto yourself. A scream tore out of you and you fell on your ass, organs of the person were in your lap or whatever was left of them. You kicked at the ground, getting ready to run but she was faster.

“Stop,” she said and your body disobeyed you. Your legs denied your orders, your entire body became unfamiliar to you. Your thoughts were there and you were still you but your body… Someone else was moving you, like a puppet. “Come to me.”

Her voice was soft, trying to lull you into a sense of false hope. Completely opposite of the voice in your head, screaming in horror. She had to be the one doing this.

Eyes wide, you watched as the yellow orbs stared right into your soul. A hot breath hit your face, your mouth contorted into a horrified frown and you tried to speak. Only moans came out of you.

“Well, isn’t that cute?” she said, you didn’t even know what she looked like. Why was she doing this? Something warm and wet pressed against your cheek before sliding across your lips. It was a tongue, you could only tell when it let itself push into your mouth. A hand grabbed the back of your neck as another pressed onto the small of your back. Your mouth soon filled with the taste of something sweet. As if you had been instructed to do it, you kissed the woman with hunger, sloppy and wet. Her lips were soft, involuntarily you bit her bottom lip. She made a sound of pleasure, your tummy coiled at that, pussy clenching around nothing. Smiling into the kiss, she kissed you hard, biting your bottom lip until the skin broke and your mouth filled with the taste of your own blood. Or maybe it was from that person?

Throb.

Not knowing whose blood you could be tasting excited you. Your cunt was pulsating, needy and wet. Sick. How could you enjoy something like that?

“It’s irritating,” she said, sighing as she rested her forehead against yours. “I always have to clean after your Devil.”

What?

Her hand groped your ass, caressing the soft mound of flesh over your pants before she roughly pulled you closer, her nails digging into your flesh through the fabric of your pants. You felt her pressing her plump lips on yours one last time before she moved to your neck, planting small kisses on your skin until she reached your shoulder. Using her free hand, she pulled at the collar of your shirt with enough force to pop all of the buttons. You heard them fall on the ground in a wet splat. Some rodents scattered around at the sudden sound.

You gulped as she put her hand on your chest and trailed up to your collar, removing your shirt from one shoulder. She quickly pressed her lips against your skin, your could feel her teeth grazing your shoulder. She playfully took a bite, chuckling while doing so before she chomped on the flesh.

A scream tore out of you but you didn’t move an inch. Your body refused to let you do anything. You felt blood pour out of you as the woman bit and bit until she took an actual bite out of your shoulder. You felt her teeth graze the muscle and tissue, eyes widening as she chewed. You could hear your own flesh being chewed in someone else’s mouth.

She swallowed. A violent silence filled the dark. Your blood was still wildly pouring out of you but your body wouldn’t move and you couldn’t speak, your lips didn’t move anymore. You weren’t allowed to control your body.

“I forgot how good meat tastes.” One of her hands went to the front of your pants, moving her forefingers along your slit like she knew exactly where it was. Your breath hitched. “Especially a scared little lamb’s meat.”

She let out a chuckle when you squeaked like a little toy duck.

“My little lamb,” she whispered. Her fingers were now rubbing you over your pants, making you buck into her hand, chasing your pleasure. It was like she knew you better than yourself. “Stay innocent.” Your eyebrows creased in confusion but she caressed your cheek to bring your attention back to her. “Don’t let the Memory Devil’s contract steal you away from me.”

Memory Devil?

“What?” you asked, finally able to speak.

“Remember your contract.”

It was an order, it was like all of your senses started overflowing all at once. Your mind exploded with a specific set of memories about a woman. Red hair and yellow orbs. Makima. Your boss. She introduced you to the Memory Devil, who took everything from you in exchange for restoring your body.

Your family, friends, and… you didn’t remember.

Was she taking your memories from the present now? Since you had nothing left to give? But then why wouldn’t she take away your memories of Makima?

“Your partner was killed, I guess I might as well stay beside you until you get another one.” Makima’s voice was soft like usual. Your shoulder was sizzling in pain but you didn’t seem to remember why. You pressed your hand hard against the flesh and Makima moved away her hands from you. There was nothing on your shoulder, the skin was smooth and wet. Possibly from sweat.

“Yes, Miss Makima,” you said, fixing your shirt. It always ended up like this; your partner dead, your memories wiped clean, and with Miss Makima there to save the day. It had to be fate. No, the things that reoccurred more than once couldn’t be called fate… right? “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Always devoted like a dog too, aren’t you?” She walked ahead of you, leading you to the exit with a smile on her face. “I don’t know which one I like the most.”

“Lambs?” you asked, confused even as to why you said it. There was light, the two of you were walking toward it slowly. “Excuse me, I’m a little tired.” You slapped a hand on your face and dragged it down, you were embarrassing yourself in front of your superior. Sighing, you checked your pants and found your cigarettes. Putting a cigarette between your lips, you lit the tip with a lighter. A slow inhale was enough to cleanse every trace of stress from your body.

She chuckled, “Hmm, I think I like lost little lambs the most.”

You raised a brow, “What does that suppose to mean?”

Makima shrugged, “What do you think?” When you didn’t say anything she gave a sigh and glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes stared deep into your soul. She looked terrifying like that, the front of her dress shirt was covered in blood. “Lambs are easier to control.”

“Didn’t take you for a sheep herder, Miss Makima,” you joked, laughing as you shook your head, the smoke from your cigarette left your mouth in weird singular clouds.

She turned around fully to face you and snatch the cigarette from between your lips. She deeply inhaled before turning around to walk ahead of you again. “Me neither.”

[kittysdiary]

Do you have any great shower tips for me? Especially since summer is coming , I feel as though when I get out the shower I still don’t feel super clean. Right now I’m just cleaning my body with a bar soap and a regular rag. I use my African exfoliating net but I stopped. Plus I barely moisturize my body

here’s a link to my shower routine: 🫧

Important Shower Tools:

Loofahs are great for exfoliation, cleansing and mood elevation. They can contain fungal organisms which can lead to skin infections so make sure you are cleaning your loofah + replacing them every 3-4 weeks.

Scalp massaging tools are one of my fav shower tools. They are known to help with dandruff, stimulating scalp + hair follicles, increasing blood circulation and getting products out of your hair.

Foot exfoliation tools are important to have in order to soften your feet and prevent painful calluses. Use the tool at the end of your shower when your feet are nice and soft. I also use mine when giving myself an at home spa day by filling my tub up with water and doing a foot soak before using the tool.

I’ve heard great things about African Exfoliating Nets! You can keep using it or look into other shower tools to bring into your routine.

Moisturizing Body Washes:

Look for body washes that contain: mineral oil, glycerin, petroleum, soybean oil, jojoba oil, almond oil, aloe vera, olive oil + shea butter for moisturizing properties.

Match your body wash’s scent to your perfume, body oil, lotion or body butter for a longer lasting scent.

Out of the Shower Moisturizers:

As soon as you step out of the shower apply body lotion, body butter or raw shea butter to help moisturize.

Use friction (circular motions) and effleurage (long gliding strokes) to work the product into the skin. this will help increase circulation, relieve tight muscles + encourage the lymphatic system to flow.

[turtlesandfrogs]

A basic starter project if you want to start growing your own food but have no money & no experience, assuming you like green onions.

Supplies needed: Dead potted plant from free pile/dumpster/friend or family member, used food container, green onion ends.

Steps:

1. Remove lid from container, it's now your plant pot's saucer

2. Either poke holes very carefully and slowly (not ideal) or slice the corners off with scissors (better)

3. Remove soil from the dead plant's pot, put in container. This one was super heavy in perlite (the white stuff, helps with drainage), so I mixed in another pot that had more organic matter (brown stuff, mostly helps retain moisture, sometimes provides nutrients). Water until water comes out the bottom, then let drain in sink until until it's done. Put pot on lid:

4. Stick the green onions in, deep enough that they can stand up on their own, or until the white part is covered:

5. Stick in window, water when dry, and wait:

Why not just stick them in water?

Because they make the water really smelly.

Just change the water often, then it won't stink.

I will forget, and then it will stink. Plus, I prefer growing in soil.

Why do you prefer soil?

Thanks for asking! I started because growing them in water didn't work well for me. But on top of that, if you regrow in water, eventually their growth will peter out. This is because in addition to water and carbon dioxide, plants need other nutrients. These are stored in the bulbs of green onions, but they will be depleted by growth if the plant can't replace them. Potting soil often has leftover nutrients, and if you've got compost you can also mix that in.

Why not just put fertilizer in the water?

Two reasons. First off, that's a great way to grow algea, unless you make sure the water isn't getting light. Secondly, most cheap, widely available fertilizers are meant to be used for plants that are in soil, so they're not complete (they're missing iron and maybe some other things? It's been a while since i looked it up). So eventually, if you use water and normal ferts, the plant will stop growing. If you have access to hydroponic ferts, those would work, but you also have enough money that you're not the target audience for this post.

I don't trust the potting soil from random plants.

Completely understandable, and probably smart too. In that case, you have a couple other options if you want soil for free. First off, you could look for dead vegetable or other edible plants in pots, and know that those will not have been treated with something that makes them inedible to humans. You can also look for free bags of partially used potting soil in your local buy-nothing/free stuff groups/craigslist/nextdoor/mutual aid groups.

What if I have some money for soil?

Then you can look for potting soil, or make your own (plenty of recipes online for this)

Help! There are tiny flies that look like fruit flies!

Those are probably fungus gnats, and there's plenty of ways to get rid of them. My two favorites are watering a bit less and adding half an inch of sand to the top, making your plants an unsuitable habitat, or getting a mosquito dunk and keeping it in your watering can. Mosquito dunks have Bt, a type of bacteria that kills mosquitos, fungus gnats, and other related insects. There are other types of Bt that go after other types of insect, such as cabbage moths. It's considered an organic treatment.

What about other pests?

I've literally never seen them get other pests indoors.

How much light do they need?

As much as you can give them, probably. If you have a window that gets midday sun, use that. Or a grow light. If they don't get enough light, they'll be floppy and pale, still edible, but not as flavorful.

When can I harvest?

When it wouldn't look silly to harvest them. I generally wait until they're at least a foot tall (30cm). I'll post an update when I do.

Why didn't you just use the dead plant's pot, dumbass?

A) it didn't have a saucer to protect the surface underneath, B) this is a concept post, and often plant pots are too wide to fit in window sills, and C) I didn't like the pot.

Won't it just grow into a bulb?

Nope, green onions are actually usually a different type than bulbing onions. Usually. And they're perennial! I've never had one try forming a bulb, but you can just eat them if yours do.

Can I ask you another question?

Yep! I'll add it to the update.

[magellanicclouds]

Tell me something about you

I had two pet slugs for several years. They have since made their way over the rainbow bridge - one last year, one earlier this year. Gaia rest their slurmy little souls.

Their names were Sluggsy Bogues and Kevin and they were Dusky slugs. I loved them very dearly. They fled into my house one very cold winter when their little burrow was disrupted by maintenance workers outside. They somehow squoozed through a small crack at the flooring by an exterior wall and popped into our place through a closet, haha. I found them and could not in my heart put them back outside because it was snowing! So I thought- "I'll just keep them inside until it thaws." but of course that didn't happen because I became so so attached and they quickly become fully reliant on me.

Anon, I'd like to tell you more about them. I just loved them so much.

So, many people may not know this, but let me tell you that slugs have behaviours. They have preferences and habits. My boys had their favourite foods - cooked lima beans (cooled and peeled), tomatoes, and butter lettuce. For treats they would go crazy for cucumbers and raspberries, munching away until they fell asleep in them, only to wake up and eat more.

Lettuce-time from when they were still small enough to share a tank together.

When I first took them in, I was not able to fill their humidified tanks with soil from outside, as all the top soil was frozen over (and had likely been sprayed with pesticides from gardeners) so I instead lined their tank (they initially shared one when they were small) with an unbleached organic brown paper toweling that held moisture well and was soft on their foot while not sticking. It was loosely piled so they could still dig and tunnel. When the soil thawed enough some months later, I tried to transition them back to a safe deep soil dirt that had been baked clean, but they refused to touch it. They would pull their foot back and turn away quickly. They had become very accustomed to the soft paper bedding. It of course needed cleaning and changing more often, but that was okay. It was a pleasure to care for them and it was just more time spent together.

They eventually had to move out from each other and have their own tanks because they got very big! Both boys measured about 7.0" total length when Long, but they could still squinch up to about an inch when going into 'dot' mode. Dot is 'no no, I don't want that', something they'd do when I would have to carefully lift and move them to a isolate spot while cleaning their tanks. Slugs are very anti-lifting, you can imagine. I always tried to do it with a little platform of paper for them to stand on to reduce the stress, and they didn't stay dot-mad long as soon as they smelled the cucumber nearby. When they went back to their nice clean tanks they would be long and happy and get immediately to digging new tunnels and adventuring. Slugs have "home-ing" behaviours, meaning that they pick a specific place to return to each day to sleep. Somewhere they feel safe. Kevin had a small log. Sluggsy a hollow rock. When they sleep, they often like to curl up into a small doughnut or circle-like shape, like little dogs. Though occasionally, especially in summer, they might've laid out flat to stay cooler.

Sluggsy did this much more than Kevin-

-but he did still prefer his rock more often

Good morning, Kevin!

When they woke, sometimes they would still be very tired and slow to raise their eye stalks, moving around their little mouthparts and rasps to rehydrate them a bit after 13 hours of sleep. Their vision was simple, but they would follow me across a room, watching from the clear walls of their tanks. Hoping for treats no doubt. (they got a lot of them > v < )

Live slug reaction (featuring Kevin)

Kevin getting LONG. Long is a happy state of being, and feels good on the foot.

They both lived for years beyond their species general lifespan and I'd like to think they were happy in their own way. When I lost them each, I took them from their tanks in my bare hand - something I was not able to do for the most of their lives because our skin oils are not good for their bodies - I wrapped them gently in leaves of their favourite butter lettuce, and carefully buried them in our garden next to one another. Having them in my life for the short time that I did was meaningful and beautiful and I will remember them always.

[everywitchway]

Routines and Rituals

Though our routines are usually only jokingly referred to as "daily rituals", I see no reason we can't make the colloquialism a reality. Injecting a little magic into our consistent actions can bring a deeper connection to one's craft- and own body and lifestyle!- through mindful repetition... And possibly create other benefits through simple cause and effect... or via magical focus. Is this not using will to shape reality? ;)

Beverages and Hydration

Anything that can be safely imbibed orally can be considered a potion. Any tea? Potion. Apple Juice? Sure, it's a potion, too. A Sparkling Water Beverage? People before carbonation's invention wouldn't know what to call that but a potion of some sort. I almost tried to justify in my mind that water or juice couldn't be potions alone, but potion ingredients... But each ingredient generally does have its own property on its own, and can be used alone, can it not? Water seems, to me, to be the great carrier, and somewhat analogous to clear quartz in application.

Meals

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," as they say... especially if it's one of the ways you start off on a magically mindful foot.

Lunch is the mid day respite from- or peak of- our daily energy. A good energy for magical lunch is usually one of recooperation and regeneration. It may also be a time for socialization if you go to school or work, so creating communicative and relative energies may assist in comfortable interactions with others.

Snacks are little blessings to our bodies throughout the day, and can be celebrated as such with small ritual actions. From small mental notes to full gestures and prayer, quick acts of magic can boost the impact of your snacks and pick-me-ups

Dinner is (usually) the largest meal, and (usually) the time we re-center after a long day. Grounding to the home is important, and I can't think of anything better for that than a hearty meal. If living with others, this is a great time to reconnect with your housemate(s), partner(s), family member(s), pet(s) etc. Many connections have been formed around a dining table, and this has helped humanity share with and get to know each other for as long as it has been.

Dessert is a great magical option for celebration and for special occasions. It can also be a reward for oneself after accomplishing a goal, magical or otherwise. Perhaps it's an act of self care and self love, a treat to lift the spirit.

Self Care

Brushing our teeth and washing our faces are cleansing activities, I think we would all agree. Cleansing with a shower or a simple wash of the hands can be a magical action of its own when done mindfully. Hand sanitizers come in a wide variety of scents and varieties, and these can be used with common magical correspondences quickly, on the go... maybe even on a keychain or in a spray or foam form! Face washes come with different bases and organic/botanical additives, and in various strengths and applications. (Be mindful to care for your skin, and if anything feels or looks not okay, see a dermatologist.) Body washes, bubble baths, bath bombs, and more can be viewed through the lenses of correspondences, too... the applications and possibilities are endless!

Moisturizers and Lotions are great applications for spells as invisible sigils, while coming in a variety of bases and scents and sorts that can be viewed with correspondences. If you're cleansing your face, be sure to do something to moisturize it as well!

Perfumes or scented oils can be utilized magically via scent correspondences, and crystals or herbs can sometimes be inside the jar or bottle. Some are even roll-on, and can be used to draw sigils or choose specific points to apply to. Dab-on perfumes and oils and such can be used perfectly just as well.

Make up can be a perfect way to apply some variety of glamour spell, even if one does not do much. Color correspondences are great for this, and the same magical approach can be used when painting one's nails or dying one's hair. Especially effective with nails are mindful choices: shapes, sigils, patterns, accents, etc that mean something. Hair styling can also imply a lot, energetically, and impact us just as well; as a hair stylist myself, I have a lot I want to say on the subject... but this is not the time nor place. This post is already quite long.

Routine/Ritual

Anything you do regularly, big or small, can be made into a quick charm or spell with a bit of mindfulness. Walking a regular route daily can become a meditative experience with the right music and mindset... or perhaps a spell casting experience with the right incantation (internally or aloud) or charm. A regular drive can become a charging-up experience on your way to work or school with the right soundtrack and approach. Cleaning your room or taking out the trash is cleansing. You might wish to ground in the garden after dinner every night. You could do something less frequent, weekly visits to a nearby park to connect with nature... Something even less frequent, monthly outings with more purpose... Perhaps an annual big thing, if you like. The possibilities are endless.

The long and the short of it is: Anything can be made magical. Mindfulness can surround us with magic if we will it and live it. What do you already find yourself doing regularly? What don't do you do regularly that you should? Can a little magic help? If not, what blockages are you facing? It's okay to struggle, even when trying desperately to be mindful. The important thing is to start anew at every chance you can. The "I've blown it for the week/month" mindset that we(I?) get with planners or goal-work isn't an option; every day/moment is another chance to check in with ourselves, take a breath, forgive ourselves, and try again.

We all struggle, but I believe in you; thank you to anyone reading this who is still believing in me. I'm working every day to take a breath, do the same, and try again.

Love, Health, and Safety to Everyone!

EveryWitchWay (5Y2Y6Y)

[thecreaturecodex]

Treant Reaper

“Arboreal Reaper” © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[I still don’t like “arboreal” as the SRD-free name for treants. “Arboreal” means “living in trees” not “an animated tree”, damnit. But I do like the ways that Paizo has expanded the arboreal/treant family. Making one focused on decay is a cool concept, and making it look like a strangler fig is an excellent choice of aesthetic.]

Treant Reaper CR 7 N Plant This stunted, leafless tree has a humanoid face and a vaguely humanoid shape. Long roots and tendrils grow from its legs and back, and its bark appears warped and worn.

Treant reapers are smaller, more sinister-looking relatives of treants. They are not evil, but are enamored with decay, fungal creatures, and other aspects of rot and regeneration. They gain their sobriquet from their habit of finishing off slowly dying, suffering trees, allowing their nutrients to be absorbed by other creatures and recycled. They are most active during the autumn and winter in cold or temperate forests, but may be on walkabout throughout the year in tropical rainforests.

A treant reaper is quicker to act with violence than a normal treant is—they are especially hostile towards loggers who would remove the wood from a forest to decompose, or those who wish to burn a forest down for a short pulse of nutrient rich ashes. They typically try to attack from ambush, lobbing barbed thorns from range or draining the moisture from enemies in an attack similar to a horrid wilting spell. Enemies that close the gap are battered with the reaper’s fists, and with the roots that grow from their legs and back. Treant reapers are happy to fight to the death, as long as they can be sure that their nutrients remain in their forest.

The forests that are protected by a treant reaper often gain something of a sinister reputation. Wicked druids and witches may feel at home in these forests, and undead sometimes lurk beneath their boughs. As long as these beings do not harm the cycles of nature, the reaper pays them no mind. Treant reapers often plant their seeds in ruined buildings or on top of dead trees—the sprout draws nutrients from these structures and breaks them down with their roots before uprooting itself and entering its mobile adulthood.

Treant Reaper      CR 7 XP 3,200 N Large plant Init +2; Senses low-light vision, Perception +13 Defense AC 20, touch 11, flat-footed 18 (-1 size, +2 Dex, +9 natural) hp 95 (10d8+50) Fort +9, Ref +5, Will +5 DR 10/slashing; Immune plant traits Weakness vulnerable to fire Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee 2 slams +12 (1d10+6), 2 tentacles +10 (1d6+3 plus trip) Ranged 2 thorns +8 (1d8+6 plus bleed) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks bleed (1d8), leech moisture Spell-like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +14 Constant—speak with plants 3/day—vampiric touch Statistics Str 22, Dex 15, Con 18, Int 15, Wis 15, Cha 18 Base Atk +7; CMB +14 (+16 trip); CMD 26 (28 vs. trip) Feats Combat Expertise, Improved Trip, Multiattack, Nimble Moves, Toughness Skills Climb +14, Intimidate +12, Knowledge (nature) +10, Perception +13, Stealth +9 (+13 in forests); Racial Modifiers Stealth +4 in forests Languages Common, Sylvan, Treant, speak with plants Ecology Environment any forests Organization solitary or grove (2-7) Treasure standard Special Abilities Leech Moisture (Su) As a standard action, a treant reaper can drain the moisture of a single creature within 50 feet. That creature takes 10d6 points of damage (Fort DC 19 halves). A creature with the plant or ooze type, or the water subtype, takes 10d8 damage instead. A treant reaper can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Charisma based. Thorns (Ex) A treant reaper can throw one thorn as a standard action, or two as a full attack action. Treat this as a ranged attack made with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 30 feet.

[nmsc-market-pulse]

How Is Adidas AG Shaping the Shoe with Knitted Upper Market? Strategies, Innovations, and Developments

Introduction:

Adidas AG, a global leader in sportswear and footwear, is making substantial strides in the Shoe with Knitted Upper Market. Known for its commitment to innovation, sustainability, and performance, Adidas is leveraging its extensive expertise to revolutionize this sector.

This article explores how Adidas AG is influencing the market through strategic initiatives, emerging innovations, and recent developments in knitted upper footwear.

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1. Advanced Knitted Upper Technologies

A. Primeknit Technology

Adidas has pioneered the use of Primeknit technology in its knitted upper shoes, setting a new standard in the industry. Primeknit is a revolutionary knitting technique that integrates the upper material into a single, seamless piece.

Seamless Construction: Primeknit technology eliminates traditional stitching, resulting in a lightweight, flexible, and comfortable shoe. This seamless construction also enhances durability and reduces the potential for friction and irritation.

Custom Fit: The knit structure of Primeknit adapts to the wearer’s foot shape, providing a personalized fit and improved support.

Inquire before buying: https://www.nextmsc.com/shoe-with-knitted-upper-market/inquire-before-buying

B. Enhanced Performance Features

Adidas integrates advanced performance features into its knitted upper shoes to meet the demands of athletes and active consumers.

Breathability and Flexibility: The knitted upper design allows for superior breathability and flexibility, ensuring optimal comfort during high-intensity activities. The breathable fabric helps regulate temperature and wick moisture away from the foot.

Support and Cushioning: Adidas incorporates specialized cushioning systems and support structures into its knitted upper shoes, such as Boost and Bounce technologies, to enhance comfort and performance.

2. Commitment to Sustainability

A. Eco-Friendly Materials

Sustainability is a core focus for Adidas, and this commitment extends to its knitted upper shoes. The brand is actively working to reduce its environmental footprint by using eco-friendly materials and processes.

Parley for the Oceans: Adidas collaborates with Parley for the Oceans to create knitted upper shoes from recycled ocean plastic. This initiative helps address the global plastic waste crisis while promoting sustainability in footwear production.

Recycled and Organic Fibers: The brand is incorporating recycled polyester and organic cotton into its knitted uppers, reducing reliance on virgin materials and minimizing waste.

B. Sustainable Manufacturing Processes

Adidas is adopting sustainable manufacturing practices to further reduce its environmental impact.

Energy Efficiency: The company is investing in energy-efficient production technologies and renewable energy sources to minimize its carbon footprint.

Water Conservation: Adidas is implementing water-saving techniques in its manufacturing processes to reduce water consumption and pollution.

3. Innovations in Design and Aesthetics

A. Collaborations and Limited Editions

Adidas is known for its high-profile collaborations and limited-edition releases, which drive interest and excitement in the knitted upper shoe market.

Designer Partnerships: Collaborations with renowned designers and artists, such as Yohji Yamamoto and Stella McCartney, result in unique and highly sought-after knitted upper shoes that blend cutting-edge design with performance.

Seasonal Collections: Adidas regularly introduces seasonal collections featuring innovative designs and colorways, appealing to fashion-forward consumers.

B. Customization Options

Adidas offers customization options for its knitted upper shoes, allowing consumers to create personalized footwear that reflects their individual style.

Adidas Mi adidas: The Mi adidas platform enables customers to customize their knitted upper shoes with a variety of colors, patterns, and materials, providing a bespoke shopping experience.

3D-Printed Elements: The incorporation of 3D-printed elements in certain designs adds a layer of personalization and technological innovation to Adidas’ knitted upper shoes.

4. Expansion into New Markets

A. Global Reach

Adidas is expanding its presence in key international markets, driving growth for its knitted upper shoes.

Emerging Markets: The brand is targeting emerging markets in Asia-Pacific and Latin America, where increasing disposable income and growing interest in athletic and lifestyle footwear are fueling demand.

Retail Expansion: Adidas is opening new flagship stores and expanding its retail network globally to enhance accessibility and brand visibility.

B. E-Commerce and Digital Strategies

Adidas is leveraging e-commerce and digital platforms to reach a broader audience and drive sales.

Online Retail: The brand’s robust e-commerce platform allows consumers to shop for knitted upper shoes from anywhere in the world, providing a convenient and accessible shopping experience.

Digital Marketing: Adidas utilizes digital marketing strategies, including social media campaigns and influencer partnerships, to promote its knitted upper shoes and engage with customers.

5. Focus on Consumer Experience

A. Enhancing Comfort and Fit

Adidas prioritizes comfort and fit in its knitted upper shoes, ensuring that they meet the needs of active consumers.

Adaptive Fit Technologies: The brand is exploring adaptive fit technologies that adjust to the wearer’s foot shape and movement, providing a customized and supportive fit.

Ergonomic Design: Adidas incorporates ergonomic design principles into its knitted upper shoes to enhance comfort and reduce foot strain during prolonged wear.

B. Customer Feedback and Innovation

Adidas actively seeks customer feedback to drive innovation and improve its knitted upper shoes.

Consumer Insights: The brand collects and analyzes consumer feedback to understand preferences and identify areas for improvement in its footwear designs.

Iterative Design Process: Adidas uses insights from customer feedback to refine and enhance its knitted upper shoes, ensuring that they meet evolving consumer needs and expectations.

Conclusion

Adidas AG is at the forefront of innovation in the shoe with knitted upper market, leveraging advanced textile technologies, sustainable practices, and strategic market positioning to drive growth and enhance consumer experience. Through its Primeknit technology, commitment to sustainability, and focus on design and performance, Adidas is setting new standards for knitted upper shoes.

As the market continues to evolve, Adidas remains dedicated to pushing the boundaries of footwear design and technology, offering consumers cutting-edge products that combine style, functionality, and sustainability. With its global reach and commitment to innovation, Adidas is well-positioned to lead the way in the knitted upper shoe market and shape the future of footwear.

[oddman-the-oldman]

Cannabis Body lotion

Mainly used at hour of sleep for night time pain

Cannabinoids 4 gm Δ9-THC 2 gm THC-Acid aka THC-A - Optional not currently added, 2021 03 15 15 ml β-caryophyllene specific to CB-2 forces THC onto other receptors like CB-1 15 gm Magnolol & Honokiol 95% aka Magnolia Bark Extract converted by your body into other cannabinoids.

Bio enhancers interfere with the breakdown of THC in your body and make the dose last longer 1 gm Piperine 95% 5 to 10 drops Lavender essential

Optional oils

10 drops Wintergreen essential oil 10 drops Rosemary essential oil 5 drops Black Pepper essential oil 5 drops Hinoki essential oil 5 drops Frankincense essential oil 5 drops Spearmint essential oil 7 gm MSM

The above is mixed with enough moisturizing body lotion to produce 1.5 cups of medicine. “Avalon Organics – Aloe Unscented” is my preferred carrier. Sleep atonia slows transport of this medication away from the application sight through the lymphatic system. The medication stains clothing with oils that are difficult to remove.

Application to the rib cage for the treatment of asthma is also done when the Hemp Oil Emulsion isn't enough. Eg. Heavy smoke from forest fires or wood heat in the environment. URI's such as colds and Flu.

It can be made stronger by adding more Δ9-THC up to 8 gm. I begin using it to treat surgical pain 48 hours after any major procedure. Nerve blocking is possible and was used when I broke my foot by placing the medicine behind my knee and on my lower back. Dose may be increased to 4 times daily during surgical challenges or major injury.