#Benefits of Respite Care

[newbeginningshc]

Benefits of Respite Care

New Beginnings Home Care LLC highlights the benefits of respite care in Philadelphia, offering temporary relief for primary caregivers. Their services help reduce caregiver burnout, providing peace of mind and ensuring that loved ones receive professional, compassionate care. Respite care allows caregivers to rest, recharge, and maintain their own well-being while ensuring continuous support for those in need.

[optimizehomecarellc]

Respite care plays a crucial role in maintaining the well-being of both seniors and their caregivers. One of the most significant ways respite care supports seniors is through home care services in Atlanta, Georgia. These services provide professional and compassionate care, allowing seniors to receive the attention they need without the stress of their regular caregiver being overwhelmed. This temporary relief ensures that seniors continue to enjoy a high quality of life while their primary caregivers take a well-deserved break.

[apexhumanservicesllc]

Caring for a loved one with significant health needs can be both rewarding and exhausting. Respite Care offers essential support to families by providing temporary relief from caregiving responsibilities. This service allows family caregivers to take a break while ensuring that their loved ones receive high-quality care. Apex Human Services, LLC, specializes in this vital support, enhancing the overall well-being of both caregivers and their family members.

[ultimateassistanceforeldersl]

Caring for a loved one is a rewarding but demanding journey, often requiring the dedication of time, energy, and emotional resources. In the realm of caregiving, respite care emerges as a crucial ally, providing much-needed relief for both the caregiver and the individual receiving care.

[hislop3]

Hospice Payment Basics/MedPAC

Even after all of the years that I have been in health care and particularly, post-acute care, I still field a good number of questions regarding Hospice, the benefit under Medicare, how payments work, and what the generalized payment amounts are. Having started a few hospices in my career, I can attest that done right, particularly as an adjunct business to an existing potential referral source…

[hauntingofhouses]

uhhh thinkin about how mizu and taigen's relationship was described as "this meeting of the minds, this meeting of the swords, that they could not share with anybody else" in one of the netflix articles about the show

and i'm going crazy because YEAH they're both equally invested about swords and fighting in a way that nobody else in their lives are. and that's just. so important considering we're talking about mizu, who sees her sword as her own soul.

and it's not JUST mizu who's obsessed with fighting. taigen is too. cuz like after their duel at the shindo dojo, as taigen is examining his bald spot in the mirror where mizu cut off his hair, he literally interrupts his own turmoil over losing his honour, just to express his awe, openly admiring mizu's skill DESPITE the fact that mizu just beat his ass and stripped his honour and status from him

then in the next episode, mizu says a very similar line when she examines the cut flower that fowler had pinned to heiji shindo's robe.

this was also such a sudden thing to notice in the middle of their conversation (my interpretation of this is that it hints to fowler's own skills with a blade, and gives mizu information about her enemy being a formidable opponent), but the fact that mizu had such a keen eye and managed to hone in on such a tiny detail from like a foot or two away is interesting because it shows us just how attentive mizu is, especially when it comes to blades and anything to do with them

to mizu (when she's not spiralling and agonising over her own self-hatred and the way the world treats her), swords are not a mere tool for revenge, but an art form which she is fascinated by and loves and admires. we see this from time to time, during rare moments of respite, like when she admires the duel in the beginning of ep4

mizu also takes to heart all the teachings from her years training, while taigen is interestingly less strict about them, basically disregarding some of those teachings as mere pedantry, or even if he doesn't actually really think so, he at least tells mizu as much in his attempt to comfort her after her sword breaks

but that doesn't mean he doesn't care for the more formal aspects of his training at all. because in ep3 when he says this

this line about mount sumeru is not talking about the literal mountain in front of them, but is a recitation of a line from the lotus sutra, which is among the mahayana sutras that they learned as part of their spiritual training, as zen buddhism forms a lot of the basis for samurai doctrines and philosophy. the sutra given more emphasis in the show is the heart sutra that mizu writes on her body in ep7 during her rite of rebirth

so taigen saying this line, as i see it, is a way to bond with mizu, or at least make conversation over their shared knowledge, as we see him await a reaction as soon as he says this. but mizu gives him none, and he looks disappointed/annoyed/frustrated or what have you as he watches her walk off without a word

also we see a little more of their shared knowledge of swordsmanship in the last episode when it's clear that mizu has been training ringo in sword fighting techniques

and later taigen recognises it instantly

they're both nerds about swords and fighting!!! they both respect each other's skills!!!

GOD i really hope in future episodes they get to bond some more over their shared passion and common training and just samurai camaraderie in general!!! mizu clearly loves the artistry of sword fighting so much, she deserves to have a confidant who shares that with her, someone she can talk openly about these things to!!!

because like remember when mikio was telling her about the naginata, she looked soooo uwu in love!!! admiring her husband as he showed off the weapon and told her the benefits of using it!!! believing at the time that she'd found a match who she could openly share her love of martial arts with!! she was having so much fun sparring him too. everyone says fighting is part of her love language and YES it IS!!!

except the difference is that mikio—due to, among other things, their large age difference and subsequent gap in life experience—believes he is mizu's teacher, rather than her equal. this is the role he's readily taken throughout their marriage, from teaching her how to throw a knife to cut down fruit (not like she needed that particular lesson), to teaching her equestrian skills.

meanwhile taigen and mizu were both kids growing up poor in the same backwater fishing village, which means that they are and always have been PEERS. and this becomes even more pronounced once taigen is stripped of his giant ego and unlearns his prejudice, allowing them both to fully respect each other and view each other as equals

which is again why it frustrates taigen when mizu admits later in this scene that she basically doesn't care about saving the shogun. like he gets mad because it upends his initial belief in their shared goals and aligned values, believing them both to be samurai of equal standing and honour.

ALSO i'd like to add, that though mizu is the better swordsman as we see her win all their brawls and matches, she doesn't surpass him by that much, and mizu knows this.

these words coming from mizu is such a huge compliment all things considered, acknowledging that he was strong enough to deserve fighting her, because shortly before this mizu was just about to say "no one has given me much of a challenge" only for taigen to enter the scene and, well, challenge her.

now combine this with her saying that chiaki's broken blade suits him well, giving to him HER sword which SHE made AND won, as a surety, promising him a duel that he "deserves". it's proof that even though she finds taigen an annoying brat and oftentimes an obstacle to her mission for revenge, she DOES respect him and does value his skills.

IN CONCLUSION nobody else is on their level, nobody else shares their love of swordsmanship and that is such an important factor to their bond and the way they relate to each other. i rest my case your honour

[meyousing]

𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤; 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

FOR MY POOKIEWOOKIE @moongreenlight !! who i adore sososo much I HOPE U ENJOY !! 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after realizing what raphael could do for you before; ridding your mind of the emperor for the briefest moment, you wanted to know how that could feel for a second time, no matter the cost. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: -> sneaky HUMAN raphael, non-con, deception and lies its raphael what else did you expect. probably a little ooc since this is for pookie so fk canon :D. as always all sexual nsfw will be under the cut!

I'm walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half-dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

You told yourself that you’d do anything for answers, that the cost didn’t matter–you wanted a solution, a cure to your tadpole infliction, and despite knowing better than to trust a devil, you were growing hopeless and running low on any other options. Yes, you knew the magic that Halsin told you about, the same words later spoken by the Emperor; their proclamation of impossibility regarding the worm’s extraction no matter which method you attempted, from whomever. But there was one time, and only one, when you remembered what mental quietude could sound like amidst such circumstances.

So, veiled by the darkness of the night sky en route, you navigated through Sharess’ Caress to the upper floors, intent on finding Raphael–even though he was hardly the paragon of trust–and experiencing solace in silence once again, something that, unfortunately, only he could provide. Gale was always going on about the benefits of respite, and this one you craved like a drug, now that you could remember how solitude felt after so long without it. What a crime to wish for independence within one’s own mind these days. 

You didn’t bother knocking, he likely sensed you at some point or another on your way here, what with his attentiveness to you and all that implied your involvement. You didn’t care about being the intrusive one for once, careening the door open and briskly sending it shut behind you.

“Surely you didn’t think that little disguise would work?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.” You tugged your hood down easily and shrugged the rest of your cloak off, balling it up and tossing it aside carelessly. You spotted Raphael standing a few feet away, in the first doorway of the den, his back to you. Yet he knew what you were wearing. 

He turned and lifted a brow at you, but the rest of his expression showed obvious disinterest in speaking about this any further than the short exchange. 

“Have you come to make the right choice?”

“Bold assumption,” you said quickly, not yet ready to fully admit why you sought him out in your situation; in the dark, on your own. “Shouldn’t you ask why I’m here first?”

“All I needed was a look at you to know.”

You didn’t respond, and he grinned, his lids low as he watched you.

“But I’ll let you tell me anyway, I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun. What troubles you, little mouse? What is it that’s brought you right into the cat’s paw?” he approached slowly, hands interlocked behind him as he subtly looked you up and down–knowingly–like you were the subject of an experiment. That wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I want you to do… whatever you did for me before, again.” You kept your eyes on him, speaking somewhat hesitant but remaining strong in your stance, your gaze unwavering. You noted the way he subtly mouthed along when you spoke the word ‘again’, tauntingly, like he already had you figured out. Perhaps he did. 

“You don’t mean this?” He murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, your mind was yours again; that insistent, idle static now fizzled out. 

Your eyes widened, brows uplifting alongside your lips as you nodded; it was just like the last time, pure silence aside from your own little conscience as it came to the same giddy realization that it was alone once more. Raphael only chuckled, and after a too-short moment, your mind was back to its newly but usually muddled state. The Emperor had nothing to say yet, which you were grateful for, as it saved you the need to seek an excuse for his inability to communicate with you in a second instance that shouldn’t have been possible the first time around.  

“Are you expecting me to do you a favour like that for nothing?” he laughed dryly, mockingly; it made you feel like the vermin that was about to be squashed beneath a dirty boot sole. “You may be the brightest, most shimmering jewel in my crown, but something so deliciously close to free will in a time like this cannot come without charge. What’s more, it is most costly when one chooses selfishness over the common good.” 

You should have expected this. You must’ve known deep down that it wouldn’t be so easy, that Raphael wouldn’t be a one-time good samaritan–a saint–and do you this favour, even in spite of all the honeyed names that’d roll off of his tongue when he sought you out, making it seem as though you were a little more special than his usual clientele. Stepping forward with a frown, you scoffed:

“How am I being selfish?” Was he just toying with you for his entertainment now? You hadn’t been here for long, but the trip would be cut off even sooner if this continued. You craved relief, but not enough to get tangled up in the deep end with a devil, to a point of no return.  

“Why do you deserve the fix before anyone else? Do you think I’m a good-willed cleric made to provide relief to all those with your affliction?” Despite how incredulously he spoke, you could tell now that he was merely testing you. Testing you for what exactly, you couldn’t tell; your will, your determination?

“Who are you to be the dictator of right and wrong?” you countered him with a question of your own, stepping up closer once he stopped in his tracks. He hardly raised his brows in his fullest reaction to your bravery, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m not. But I’m the only one who can provide a moment of respite to you, and I don’t work for free. Is that not fair? You are asking for quite a privilege.” He smirked like he knew what you would say next.

“You’ve already done it for me once before, what makes it different now? It’s temporary anyway, is it not? Am I wrong?”

“It is. But last time was just a… sample if you will. For a second taste, a true dealing between us, you’ll need to do something for me too.”

You grimaced, and he looked too pleased with himself. You’d managed to avoid getting involved with him this far along, rejecting most ultimatums he offered, and you’d been fine without his assistance–or obstacles, rather. Yet now, something initiated completely of your own accord was creating a conflict that you could’ve avoided if not for your greed and its insistence; you weren’t done yet.

“Fine” you conceded, rather quickly too. His smirk widened, he looked so smug.

“Good, good” he purred. You blinked a few times, your body having an unexpected reaction to the bassy sound as you averted your gaze, refusing to recognize it.

“What do you want from me, then?” you mumbled.

“What do you think I would like from you–my dearest–” he drew out, “in exchange for my services?” He tilted his head, and he seemed a lot closer than you last remembered. He was much more visible in your periphery even as you forced your eyes aside. Were you supposed to answer that question and know what to say, what he wanted?

“I-I don’t know. Do you want me to take the deal with you and promise you the cro–actually, no, that is way too much in exchange for a few minutes of sile–”

“No” he cut you off sharply, his expression falling flat. “That, I can wait for. Your choice will be even sweeter to hear the longer you hold out on me. But considering our current circumstances…” he trailed off, and when you didn’t look at him during that pause, you felt hands slide up your waist. 

You blinked at the same time that your body jolted–a millisecond–and your surroundings changed. You still stood in Raphael’s grasp, just before the dining hall’s grand table within the House of Hope. Your eyes darted around warily, but you still felt an odd sense of… calm. Raphael, so tenderly that your heart thrummed a little off-beat, slid his fingers up your body and down your arms, grasping your wrists as he led you to one of the seats; facing the flames that so ironically burned in the fireplace. He walked slowly, dare you say methodically, striding to take a spot across from you.

"Indulge yourself” he muttered, looking utterly observant. He placed his chin atop his hands, fingers interlocked into a fist. He didn’t touch the food, but you expected as much.

“I’d rather not” you garbled, your gaze careful while you studied him and tried not to overreact, still settling into the new environment. You didn’t have an appetite per se, not for the deceptive refreshments that were too perfectly laid out before you anyway. Raphael may have been worming his way into your routine so often, just like the godsdamned tadpole itself, but his presence lingering for so long didn’t equate to trust yet. 

“Then indulge me.”

You watched him reach for and open a bottle of wine, one you didn’t recognize as common among those you’d scraped together from wooden boxes and crates on your way to the gate. It looked more prestigious, the bottle was embellished with what you could only assume to be real gold melted within the glass, and it caught the light so intriguingly each time he tilted it to pour some out; a drink for him, a drink for you. You looked away when he stood and took the chalices in his hands, placing one before you and promptly returning to his seat. When you looked to him again he had elevated the goblet in his hand, his chin lifting.

“To a new era.”

Your fingers approached the table, tips dancing towards the stoup’s base, the entirety of which could have been crafted by Gond and polished by Moradin. You wondered, despite how aged everything throughout the House was by the natural processes of time; cracked tile, buffered but helplessly dull stone… the stemware looked so new; untouched. He didn’t save it just for you, surely? Flitting your eyes back to Raphael as you thought about it, you noted how he finished taking a slow sip, lowering his cup back to the tablecloth. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching his tongue dart out to get some more of the taste, from what lingered on his lips. He noted your longer-than-usual silence, and those same lips turned up. 

“Your insistence, or stubbornness, rather, is very endearing in more… suitable circumstances. For once, you should try to act less like the illithid you’re bound to become and let go of those inhibitions. Look where you are” His head swayed slightly to his left, to the room, fingers drumming mutely on the tabletop. 

The wine was tempting, and his taking a first sip did comfort you in some way. You spared him a final glance before zeroing in on your goblet, staring down the dark liquid inside, watching the warm candlelight rippling reflectively on its surface. Perhaps it couldn’t hurt to indulge just this once, you thought, as you took the cup into your hand.

Raphael nodded along, encouragingly. Uncharacteristically. 

You figured there was no harm in it, especially if he was as fond of you as he claimed, then he wouldn’t want you to meet a preemptive demise. Not yet. 

You bit the bullet, raising the chilled gold to your lips. You did feel rather parched, and the substance slid down your throat so smoothly, so soothingly.  

“You know, I poisoned one of our goblets.” 

Exhaustion was sent over you like a wave, and not because of the poison immediately having an effect–had it been your substance that was tampered with–but because of course he did. You sighed, your eyes falling closed to console that Raphael-induced fatigue. 

“Gods, I hope it’s mine,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He let out what you may have heard as, amidst all of your quarrels, his first genuine laugh. His face was delighted as he shook his head. 

“Are you so displeased at the prospect of dining with me?” he leaned back in his seat, grinning and crossing a leg over the other. Getting comfortable. Settling in. You were tense in opposition, knees tight together as you kept yourself at the edge of your chair.  

“This clearly isn’t all that you want from me, Raphael. Either get on with it, or let the toxins do their job and let me off easy” You put the goblet down, pushing it forward and away as you inhaled sharply, now on higher alert considering the circumstances. 

“It’s only a bit of fun. The dose isn’t lethal, I couldn’t rid Faerûn of such a treasure in that crude of a way.”

At least you were right about that. 

Raphael said nothing else as he took in your silence, and his expression didn’t say much either. He stood slowly, his eyes remaining on you as he dragged his fingers along the tabletop until he landed at your side.

“If you’d like to experience mental solitude again, then I’ll only ask for one, small thing from you.”

You certainly felt a touch drowsier than before, your limbs a little more numb and tingly, like they had fallen asleep on you in a too-short duration. You turned your head to look up at him, and even at a neutral pace, the motion made you nauseous. You let out a soft groan of displeasure, closing your eyes and moving to drop your head down. Raphael caught your chin and forced your eyes to remain on him, his voice barely above a whisper as he proposed: 

“Solitude, for a kiss.”

“The least isolating ask,” you muttered bitterly, eyelids heavy as the sight of him became a degree blurrier than what you knew as typical. Yet you could still make out his smirk, and he leaned closer.

“But not a very weighted one. Don’t you miss being able to think without the added badgering of the Emperor’s two cents?” 

Truthfully, you did, if this last-resort decision wasn’t enough of an indicator. A kiss also wasn’t a huge deal, but Raphael was the cambion equivalent to the poison coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you also weren’t in much of a position to deny him. Would you even be able to enjoy the seclusion if this didn’t wear off after he did this favour?

“That’s really all you want?”

“It is. Perhaps if you wished for something more permanent it would be a different story, but alas. It doesn’t need to be written contractually either, nothing so serious.”

“Fine, then.” 

You chose to take the initiative, the leap of faith, pressing your weight into the armrests of the chair so you could stand up and lean in. Your resistance was, helplessly, nonexistent when Raphael pushed you back down; the side effect of his poison making it too easy.

He grabbed your jaw, fingers firm but the motion gentle as he turned your face towards his. Your eyes were already half-closed, but you didn’t miss the intensity on his features. He hovered over you, his mere presence so imposing as he kept you right where he wanted; under his thumb. He moved closer until his cupid’s bow brushed over yours, ever-so-tender, so close yet so far. Your heart nearly skipped a beat once he tilted his head a little further, his lips parting in the slightest as they touched yours, but it wasn’t yet a kiss. Yes, you had expected him to draw this out considering the circumstances of the required affection pertaining to a deal, but what you hadn’t expected was your subsequent anticipation and eventual impatience. 

“Just do it–” you managed to murmur out against his mouth, some natural venom lacing the words without the help of the poison. You were surprised that he closed the gap properly right after by pulling your head up to him, his fingertips pressing deeper into your cheeks as he did, fingernails scraping the thin skin. 

He kissed you hard but without much aggression. You were taken aback by his normalcy, but it appeared that he was just getting started, as he soon used the leverage of his hand on your face to bring you to your feet. You winced, the motion pulled at your neck, but you weren’t given time to dwell on it when he jerked you to the table and tore his lips from yours. 

“Not going to put up a fight? How unlike you” he smirked. You could only glare at him because if he wasn’t sharp enough to nullify any resistance efforts, you both knew who would be pinned down right now. He chuckled once, appraisingly, before pushing his body into you again, his lips finding your neck instead. 

He started with nipping at the skin, then tasting it with a languid lick that made you squirm, and moving to hold your hands down against the table–as if you’d be able to move them on your own anyway. 

“More than a kiss–” you managed to state, your voice containing a hint of matter-of-factness, but was a little raspier as his closeness certainly affected your fortitude. 

“You knew better” was all he had to respond with, the words muffled as they were kissed into the horripilation on your skin. He remained content here for a while, bringing a finger up to your jaw to turn your head in the opposite direction of where he had already ridden your skin with his lips and hot saliva; making you shiver when the wetness caught the air and consequently cooled, regardless of how hot it was in the hells and logically shouldn’t have been possible. 

You were equivalent to a ragdoll by now, simply letting it happen when he grabbed your arms and flipped you around, your loose-limbed body immediately tipping over so your front was flat against the table; your hips perfectly positioned for your ass to press into his hips. He laughed and didn’t even try to create space, pressing himself into you so you could feel how hard he was, and it made you grimace at the realization of just how far this was going to go.

“You’re the only person worth this,” he breathed, his fingers snaking up to wrap around the column of your neck and force your head up. “The only one who deserves to experience this privilege.”

Unable to suppress your snicker when he said that, you almost whined aloud when his fingers tightened in response, and began rutting his hips into you steadily but with enough force to shift your body against the tabletop each time, your shirt getting caught up in the tablecloth and pushing it up so the cool surface touching your heated flesh made you tremble. The strong scents of all the lavish foods surrounding your immediate proximity almost drowned out Raphael’s scent, but it wasn’t enough, especially not as he leaned down so his front was against you completely, his face next to yours. 

“So amusing, is it?” he rumbled, subtly bringing his free hand up the side of your limp thigh, finding your hip, and reaching to tug at your panties. You couldn’t even feel shock anymore, simply letting out a strained exhale the material shifted when he slid it down your skin; off. “We’ll see for how much longer you feel that way.”

How much had you missed within those few seconds, to be surprised when he was already playing with his cock against your entrance? You felt a lot hotter then, your skin crawling with pleasure-induced chills as he moved his tip slowly, heavily up and down, prodding so slightly into your warmth and making your muscles tense each time he slid it away and down to your clit. He never lingered against one spot or the other long enough for any long-term sensations to last, and you couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a disgruntled groan. His chuckle reverberated through you, making your breaths shake as they became increasingly rapid. 

“I wonder if any of your devotees across the realms know that you can be reduced to this–if they think about it,” he pressed the tip of his cock into you now, making your hastened breaths hitch, your lungs burn, “if they imagine you beneath them, or maybe even above them–but you only deserve to be here,” he pushed his hips forward and slid in deeper, with ease, the motion so precise it made your thighs twitch, “beneath me.”

He set a slower rhythm to start, but the way that his movements bumped you further into the table each time made it so that you could feel all of him so perfectly. You felt so open, so exposed–

“Y-You seriously want to do this right here?” you whispered, only because your voice was so strained under his palm, and his cheek went taut in a grin next to you.

“My bed is still busy being warmed, this will do for now. You deserve better than mediocre; the real thing, not my copy. Feel fortunate” he sighed, pressing deeply into you for a moment and staying there, enjoying you, nearly pushing into your cervix–distracting you from the tongue-in-cheek response you wished to give to his words. You instinctively squirmed away, the intensity of it being too much too quickly with how teasingly he had been going thus far. But he wasn’t having any of your resistance despite how it was impulsive and not of your volition; pushing his body down heavier upon yours until you were trapped entirely, forced to take what he gave. Then he resumed movement, and he was moving faster now. 

You fisted the tablecloth before you with the weakest grip; the strongest you could muster, physically fighting every part of yourself so as to not give into him too quickly by carelessly moaning out and letting him know that he was actually making you feel something good. It didn’t matter though. Hoarse, uncontrollable whines vibrated in your throat, locked behind your canines as they sunk into your bottom lip in a further attempt at deceiving him. You were shocked that somehow, throughout the numbness in the rest of your body, each stroke and deep tingle of pleasure could be felt in its most intense form. You continued to amuse him, making him laugh as if this were something wholesome and wholly reciprocated. 

“What do you hear?” he whispered to you, the closeness and low volume of his voice making you writhe, igniting prickles of delight inside of you, making your pussy squeeze around him and pull him in deeper; even shocking yourself as your jaw dropped open from the sensation. All that you could audibly make out were your breaths and his, accompanied by the slick sound of his cock pistoning in and out of you with ease by how wet he made you in such a short time. 

“Just you–” you lied, “–mumbling in my fucking ear,” you tried to chuckle, but when the hand that wasn’t on your neck squeezed your hip tightly enough for you to actually feel it amidst all of the numbness, you gasped quietly, the dry laugh devolving into a whimper. 

“You shouldn’t hear anything,” he said slowly, but in a tone that was maybe one pitch higher than normal, like he was concluding another one of his awful riddles. You’d have taken time to cringe if he hadn’t grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up at the same time that he moved, pulling you flush against him and continuing to fuck you like you were nothing more than a toy fulfilling its purpose. 

He favoured intensity over speed, ensuring that you couldn’t escape him as his cock never fully left your sex; only sliding back to quickly grind deeply inside once more, making you see stars each time–you didn’t care about whatever else he had to mumble to you now, all you cared about was engrossing yourself in the feeling of him. It made your stomach churn deliciously too, and that familiar warmth of finality was beginning to stir within as he bit down on your neck, sliding his fingers out of the way so he could hold you still by a shoulder. If your body wasn’t essentially dead you’d have regretfully reached back to hold onto him for support, grasping at the material of his intricately designed garments which would probably irritate him; perhaps your situational debilitation was for the better. 

“You’re not about to come for me, are you? Tut tut” he purred, and you couldn’t discern whether the way your eyes rolled was from annoyance or pleasure. Despite the degradation he didn’t relent, encouraging you above all else. His body encapsulated yours as he held you how he liked, keeping your back arched just slightly enough for your hips to perch nicely off of him as he pounded into you; had you seeing stars. “Don’t keep me waiting, then~”

When a sneaky hand left your shoulder and made its way to your front, pinching your clit, you came undone with a sharp whine; you could barely feel the way your thighs clenched, tightening alongside your pussy as you ground back into him to experience the sensation in its fullest, whimpering his name so weakly as your head lulled back to rest against his chest. You hardly caught the sight of him smirking down at you, so self-satisfied as his hand in your hair tightened, and only a smidge of embarrassment crept into your overall feelings of elation because you knew that he had every reason to feel that way. 

Soon enough the waves of bliss calmed, to your dismay, and Raphael pulled out of you with a soft groan, releasing your body carelessly and stepping back out of your sight, making you rush to reach out and have your palms land against the table rather than your face. 

As you turned around slowly and panted to catch your breath, you watched while he adjusted what minimal undressing he’d partaken in, and only then did you notice the feeling of something wet and thick sliding down the inside of your thigh. You looked down, your eyes widening a bit as you rushed to pull your panties back up to be rid of the sight of it; when did he cum?? You also wondered about how much control he must’ve had over the poison as you could feel the toxins wearing off now that it was all over; the ability to perceive and to touch returning to your body again, albeit weakly. 

“Good, don’t let my gift go to waste. So intuitive.”

You shuddered in disgust and swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring his stupid, contented face and even happier statement. Now that you were approaching a state where you held a semblance of control again, you cleared your throat and redressed fully, smoothing over your clothes and standing taller after giving a quick shake of your head. 

“Okay–you got what you wanted, give me my end of the deal now.”

Raphael grinned, his brows lifting in feigned surprise.

“Oh, darling, that was it. Couldn’t you tell? Surely you didn’t want your dearest Emperor to know about our fornication?”

You stood there, stunned, slowly but surely feeling hot rage seep into your bones. No fucking way was he being serious.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed at you in a falsely taken-aback way, even raising a ridiculous hand to his chest.

“That’s no way for a lady such as yourself to speak–you chose to jest when I asked what you could hear, that was your chance to tune in and tell. Regardless, we both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.”

“Oh that’s rich,” you started, not knowing what to do with your hands as they fidgeted at your sides, itching to reach up to him and–

“If you wish to experience this again, you know where to find me. Hopefully next time you’ll have come to a decision about the crown, too.” he chuckled in a muted way, to himself, like he was considering some inside joke that only he was part of, not you. Perhaps you were the joke to him, after doing something like this; surrendering to him. The thought made your face twist in anger and you began to approach him, your arms raising.

You only caught the split-second motion of his hand reaching out, and then… nothing. Moments of black, of unconsciousness… and then you were standing outside the den again. You lurched for the doorknob, tugging at it to no avail for the first time ever. After cursing aloud you hit the wood with your fists, letting out a long, deep sigh, shutting your eyes as you realized what a mistake this was to begin with. 

You turned shamefully after a few more seconds of basking in exhaustion, your feet heavy and still feeling abnormal to use after so much time spent being dead weight. You trudged along to the exit of the brothel, cloakless, having left it in Raphael’s room and now being forced to endure the rain that had started. At least it was still dark outside, and you could return to camp innocently beneath the moonlight; be unheard beyond the pattering of the condensation while everyone else rested, acting as though nothing had happened at all, that you’d been there all night. 

You kept your head down, blinking away the raindrops that slid from your hair and into your eyes. Only once you were alone, past the business outside of the Caress, that familiar bustling moved from the ambiance of the bordello to the innards of your brain, and a question was posed by the voice that’d been with you since the beginning of this life you had grown accustomed to:

“Where were you just now?”

© meyousing 2024. do not share/export my work onto any other platforms. do not translate my work.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease. 

Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.

Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.

You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?

You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.

The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you. 

Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.

You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.

“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”

He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.

You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.

“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”

“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”

The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”

“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”

“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.

“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”

“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”

You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.

“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.

Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”

You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.

Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.

“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”

“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”

“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”

“As are we. It is only sensible–”

She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.

The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.

“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”

“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”

“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”

You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”

“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”

You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.

“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”

Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.

“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.

“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.

“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”

“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”

You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.

Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.

“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”

🔹

You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.

There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.

Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.

She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.

“My lady,” the servant says.

“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”

Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.

You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.

“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.

Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.

“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”

“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”

Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”

“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”

“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”

“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.

You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.

“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.

“I am only offering advice.”

“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”

“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”

“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”

You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.

“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.

“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”

Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.

“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”

Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.

“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”

[utilitycaster]

I've been thinking about Edgar's question about Grimoria being a Candela member at such a young age, and the thing is, I believe him when he says it wasn't accusatory.

Some of it is that it's tough to say what would be best for a young woman like Grimoria. Yes, it's a lot of pressure and danger, but at the same time, she's in an unpleasant situation with the Foggs, and she does legitimately have rare and complicated powers. It's almost certainly to her benefit that she has access to an organization that can validate her visions and offer support and guidance. It's also almost certainly to her benefit that, through Candela, she has a respite and a support network of people who are not trying to exploit her. Edgar, Malcolm, and Leo all clearly care for her as they would a younger family member and that's probably not something she'd have otherwise.

The other thing, though, is that Edgar's sister died due to supernatural causes while simply out on a walk. Sure, Grimoria is at risk in the field; but despite that, she's alive and Elizabeth isn't.

[everybodyshusband]

per aspera ad inferi ; chapter five

[aka: the university ghouls fic]

aeon, aeon/rain (kind of)

explicit | other | 3.7k words (15.6k in total) | alternate universe (university), masturbation, fantasies, pining, aeon is so down bad

this chapter would not have happened without @divine-misfortune giving me an entire fucking outline to follow so thank you thank you thank you void sdfjnksdf also: @ghoultrifle and @arkeusruin tags, come get your uni ghouls !!!

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

Aeon returns from the scavenger hunt exhausted. Simply pushing the door to his dorm open and lifting his aching leg to step over the threshold feels like a monumental task. He bypasses everything, leaving his shoes and backpack on as he faceplants onto his bed, huffing out a sigh of relief as he gives his feet and back some respite.

From somewhere in the room—presumably his desk or his bed—Dewdrop chuckles at him. “You tired?”

Aeon groans, the sound muffled by his bedspread.

Dewdrop snorts. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“My entire body hurts,” Aeon complains, wondering faintly if Dewdrop can even hear anything he’s saying through the fluff of his pillow.

“Ah, the wonders of the first year scavenger hunt,” Dewdrop reminisces. “I don’t miss that shit at all.”

Aeon grabs his other pillow and throws it in the direction of Dewdrop’s voice, so far beyond tired and sore that he doesn’t care if it’s impolite. “Stop taunting me, I’m dying.”

“Aw, kid, it’s alright,” Dewdrop soothes, and Aeon startles when he feels his roommate’s hand rest gently on his shoulder. The pillow he threw at him gets placed next to his head and Aeon rolls over to see Dewdrop staring down at him with an expression full of pity, but that doesn’t stop Aeon from noticing the small smile quirking at the corner of Dewdrop’s lips as he fully takes in Aeon’s predicament.

“I’m one year younger than you, asshat,” he groans, sitting up to sling the backpack off of his shoulders and drop it on the ground. “I’m not a kid.”

Dewdrop suppresses a laugh, which Aeon quickly discovers is a preemptive one in preparation for a truly terrible joke that his roommate is about to impart onto him. “Feisty little baby child,” he patronises, patting Aeon on the head and pouting as he makes eye contact. Aeon glowers at him, but any malice behind the expression is tainted by his own suppressed laugh.

Is this what Rain meant when they said Dewdrop was capable of being a menace? Whether they were referring to this side of his roommate or not, Aeon can’t deny that he likes it. He knows the two of them have really only just met, but he wouldn’t have guessed that Dewdrop’s sense of humour would be like this at all. He’s fun.

They both bite back another round of chuckles as both their stomachs rumble, but Aeon’s laughter quickly fades out as he remembers that he has to move to get up and go to dinner.

Dewdrop, miraculously seeming to know exactly what Aeon is thinking, pipes up with an offer. “Do you want me to go down and bring you up some dinner?”

Aeon sighs, immediately tempted. He’s silent for a moment, weighing the benefit of not having to move versus the cost of putting the responsibility of his dinner on Dewdrop. He groans and stretches as he stands. “No, I s’pose I should head down. Thank you though.” He smiles appreciatively at his roommate and heads towards the door, opening it for him. “We can head down together though, if you want?”

[read the rest on ao3 !!]

[catgirlbussy]

im gonna do a lil sadpost, as a treat. if u dun wanna read that or interact or anything there's no harm done <3 it kinda feels nice sayin stuff into the void tbh, cause i know as i look out ill always see myself at minimum, and im still thankful. im alive. if someone can relate or whatever then thats a neat bonus ★

I'm not super sure how to formulate these thoughts, cause lots of it is just incompressible /feeling/. I've been on HRT for close to two years now, and modifying my internal physical landscape alongside the work I put in with the ways I've learned sharing benefit so far, like therapy and self-directed exploration of my emotions and the simple but vital practice of being more open with others about how I'm feeling, has uncovered a lot.

It's been overwhelmingly positive in so many ways. I don't have any regrets for starting this set of changes, even with full knowledge of the difficulties I've had rise as a result and that more are on the horizon, and also full awareness in that I will need to continue putting in the *good* work to care for myself and learn how to navigate the parts in my mind I'd kept hidden or obscured for so long. It's not /bad/, I feel so grateful to have this opportunity at all and I feel bounteous joys in this trove of beautiful experiences that, up 'till not too long ago, I never thought I'd be able to experience -- though I absolutely still dreamed of having them so vividly.

I have a lot of good graces in my life re: my transition. In a lot of ways I feel I've been exceedingly lucky. Canada has its fair share of problems without a doubt, but I also know full well there are a lot more places on our planet where it's much more difficult to be openly trans, let alone dangerous or lethal. I don't take that as an opportunity to rest, either, because having cracks forming in the firmament, letting in light to my dream of a world where trans experiences are accepted (and to note most thoroughly, I'm learning more of a lot of cultures in days gone by, /including some aspects of my own heritage/, having extended gender representations ingrained in their societal norms, some as far even to revere the dynamic and unique experience of existing beyond the gender binary in whatever way they saw as such) for **everyone** spurs in me an even deeper and impassioned drive to work in the ways I'm able to foster communication and connection while rebuking hostility so more and more beautiful, valid trans folks can experience respite and respect and safety as well.

I'm not wanting necessarily to change minds and upend the posture of society with this particular post, though, and so I hope you'll forgive me in my expressing my small, localised set of emotions in this moment. At the root of everything I experience I'm starting to get better at reminding myself that I'm a valid *individual person* in addition to being a contributor in the push for good and kindness for all.

It's probably telling that I feel the need to offer ~4 paragraphs as a disclaimer that I spend time learning about the global scale and am effortful in enacting progress there before just getting on with what I'm even feeling sad about. I don't see myself as a holy martyr for being nervous about expressing myself, but it seems more and more common evidently rather than by my hypothesis alone that many trans individuals would get by prior to exploring their gendered identity with burgeoning self-acceptance with a marked self-exclusionary behaviour when it came to opening themselves to emotional experience, regardless of any given instance being gendered or not. Until it becomes unmanageable, it feels easier to lock away senses of joy, sadness, etc. cause you can keep gettin on by in a sort of functional state and you tell yourself thats enough.

This is far from the worst thing I've come across so far, but I am feeling confused and the confusion is unique in its own way to the extent that I'm not even able to pin down how I /feel/ about feeling it. At its heart I can't seem to muster the right formulation of words to explain to others these particular experiences I'm having in my transition. Painting in broad strokes can be such disservice to the nuance for any individual's cluster of experiences, but tumblr if anything *for me* has brought much happiness in finding threads of commonality with others. Stark contrasts to my feelings of loneliness and seclusion from the world around me give me so much hope. I'm writing this partly in hopes that there is another one of those threads people might appreciate seeing. I do more than my fair share of journaling, but this one feels special and worth sharing right now, and so decadently I write these words for a community beyond myself.

To be blunted, perhaps I might phrase it by saying 'i feel sad about being happy.' It's that sort of absurdist perspective that helps me wrap my head around it a little better with how little sense it makes to my normal machinations. I'm not sad that I am having these new and thrilling experiences of adding or or changing parts of myself to live in the way I best see fit for who I am, but I feel sad because I don't know how to.

I get locked up at the slightest things. Someone compliments my nails, and its so hard to communicate efficiently the impossibly depthed importance this literally surficial act has for me. They aren't even painted well, but I painted them /myself/, I felt catharsis in exploring my love of artistic expression in the choice of colours, I rode high on the thrill of watching this new skill form in my own hands. The coat is uneven and I can't quite keep myself from getting knicks in places as they dry yet and I'm still practicing the nail care associated with maintaining healthy and resilient nails, but if I can be so bold to say, god forbid women do anything.

This person obviously wasn't chastising me for partaking in a traditionally "femininely-associated act", let alone that so thoroughly most things people take for gendered in no way innately are, the whole binary supposition is a damned myth. But because of how I was brought up and the mindset I was taught to have before I fought to think for myself instead, this was a joy I'd always admired but felt I was abhorrent for wanting to partake in. Absolutely anyone who feels otherwise can irrevocably go fuck themselves if they aren't willing to examine the falsity of the foundational thoughts they 'think' they have leading them to ever want someone to abstain from such a viscerally unobstructive and innocuous form of self exploration and creativity bexause it's "for girls". This goes for anything. For anyone. Idc who you are or what label you wanna use at any given moment, go explore. Live life. God fuck do we need people to just experience joy in some ways so we aren't so incorrigible and hostile towards eachother.

But you don't stop whoever took 15 seconds out of their say to mention to you they like the colour and wanted you to know to discurse at length upon the structural bastardisation of who people are allowed to be, cause more than any of that I just want to feel happy about it.

I literally stutter out whatever form of thanks my malformed emotionally-communicative faculties can muster in this surprise and try not to start sobbing in the grocery store aisle or whatever. It's so /good/, and it's so frustrating that I don't even know how to just process and appreciate that it is.

I was so much an absentee in my own bodied self that I could not fathom an understanding of what gender euphoria was until it snuck up smashed me in the teeth. I didn't have any basis of understanding for what it was really like to be happy about some part of myself.

Despite my loneliness I have still had the experiences of friendships, people caring about me, and relationships where a partner genuinely appreciated parts of me, physical, mental, emotional, whatever. More now than ever I am having those experiences as I learn to come out of my cloister inside my head. But this time I'm not just numb to everything. Sure, as I'm learning to not just be unilaterally numb until my bastion of self-isolation fails and I break there is abundance of pain, but the pain I honestly prefer. It's more vivid than it's ever been before, but I can benchmark that I'm still alive by its contrast to neutrality. It's familiar, and my mechanisms of clutching my emotions into my soul can still carry me forward as I try to figure things out. But fuck me is it ever hard to have a happy experience and not know how to communicate that it tore my sense of stability in those moments to shreds. To lose the composure that carried me for so many years because someone sought to share something with me they thought I'd appreciate because they care about me feels so counterproductive to just enjoying the absolute gift that experience is.

Abstractly, as I'm wont to do to a remarkably self-apparent fault, I can tell myself that these things take time. Human emotion is so complex, and its panoply of shifting lights glinting as the facets move their positioning relative to the light of being alive is what drives me to do art, and it always has been, contradictory so fully to my desire to lock everything away. I can't circumnavigate multiple decades of trauma and be free and unfettered in my senses in an instant just because I'm aware it's possible. And so I try so fucking hard not to just sit down and cry in that grocery store aisle, cause it hurts so bad to be happy.

How dare I find glints of good in the polluted landscape we live in. But that mindset helps nothing. People striving to live amidst turmoil is what makes life worth living. There will always be strife, but there will always be the possibility for hope alongside it.

Without fail, each night I'll self-soothe myself into a mode of somewhat-restfulness imagining what it would be like to trust myself enough to be imperfect and let someone hold me. It's the only thing I do anymore. It even backfires sometimes and I just waking-dream my way through countless blissful scenarios about what it would be like if that cute girl I've been starting to become friends with mentioned she wanted to hold my hand for hours until the sun comes up and I know I won't have any sleep at all. It's so goddamn worth it. I revel in it, because at least in the theatre of my mind I can find small ways of letting myself feel those joys. They aren't really happening. It's my own hand rubbing a thumb gently along my collarbone in a faux affection. But it's the only way I've found that's not so obstructively blinding in intensity for me to practice what it would be like to be close to others.

I still lose my sense of self so often. I find bruises from where I bumped into things and wholesale didn't notice until the tiredness sets in and I can't autonomously ignore how sore I am. I dive effortlessly into the placid waters of dissociation when someone gives me a hug, despite that being what I have dreamed of for so many years during my self-imposed isolation. Someone tells me they like an art piece I've made and I stopper any sense of pride or appreciation for their kind words despite pouring however much time channeling my slowly uncoiling understanding of reality into every particle of it and wishing that my experiences could convey any amount of any feeling whatsoever to another living being with the entirely selfish act of wanting that I feel like I had a real connection.

I can't get by with chainsmoking and shelf-set pain medications and blind ignorance any more. I can't ignore how badly I want to feel. I am figuring it out instant by instant and it scares me horribly. One day my yearnings for closeness will be actualised because I'll be ready to open when they come. My selfsense-extracted mutterings of the hypothetical joys of being pressed down into sheets and kissed because someone deigned to gift me with attention for they hold appreciation of this newly forming, ill-configured, but ultimately revelatory feminine self I'm becoming will no longer be fiction and prose but the rawness of experience that I, once, and then more, can lose myself into without terror thay I'm inadequate and never truly worth it. Someone will touch my breasts and love me for loving them myself and I'll give in to the annihilating instant where I am no longer a sense of self but just am. This body is not me but my, and I will scrape and fight however I can muster to live vicariously thru it because that is what I am meant to do by being here alive at all. If anything ever again I want to feel what love is like.

I'm not even reading this back to see if it conveys properly let alone makes sense at all. I'm exhausted and in so much pain. If you read this, thanks, and, if you can, go hug someone you love today.

[honeybee-bard]

Snippet Sunday

@marlowethebard you want more Astarion POV? You get more Astarion POV! This comes from the eventual retelling of my Falling Star longfic, and contains spoilers for chapter 13 of that, so if you aren't caught up then you might want to hold off on this one! Or don't, I'm not your dad.

Wynlana’s words from the morning echo through your head all day like an incessant buzzing insect, repeating over and over again whenever there’s even the smallest moment of silence. That’s all this is, after all - just friends? Just friends. Friends with some benefits, yes, but just friends all the same. You’ve never said anything to lead me to think you’d want something more. She’s right, of course. You’ve been very, very careful about that. For what it’s worth, there really isn’t anybody else. You’d told yourself it wasn’t worth anything, at first. Of course it wasn’t - you’re just friends. It doesn’t matter if there’s anyone else, she isn’t yours. That very thought had made you feel nauseous, something you hadn’t felt decades up until this morning as the thought ran through your head over and over. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. You hope your conversation with Raphael will overtake the thoughts of her, but it offers only a brief respite. Even as you fight the cultist attack on Last Light, she’s all you can think of. The words echo through your mind like a chant with each slice of your dagger. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. She retreats to her tent soon after the fight, and you find a secluded spot to brood over a bottle of wine you’d stolen from behind the bar. Not yours. Just friends. Nothing more. Your feet carry you towards her tent without being willed to do so. Perhaps you just need some blood to clear your head, or perhaps you just need to lose yourself in her. Something to distract you long enough to drive the thoughts away. You hadn’t expected to find her crying.

I love putting fictional characters in Situations <3

No-pressure tags: @kimberbohwrites @crimson-and-lavender @nyx-knox @thebarghestiest @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[cloutchaserkineme]

wow... just wow...

5:29 p.m. October 9 2024 at my house in a state of spiritual disquiet

I have found another obsession to mull over and it is F1. I have thoughts on this that I cannot articulate at the moment because I am supposed to be writing articles for work but just a very very quick synastry interpretation for Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg bc wtf

pictured: natal chart of nico rosberg (left) with unconfirmed birth time; and natal chart of lewis hamilton (right) with alternate rectified birth time on astro dot com

mandatory disclaimer - this is for FUNSIES only, and since they both have unconfirmed birth times and are unlikely to care about this reading, then you shouldn't too. I only want to know how their whole dynamic can be reflected through an astrological lens.

First of all - The Moon-Mars synastry in Cancer means we will never know the extent of the "historical context" fully, because the whole scope and breadth of it is incredibly personal to them. Mars is action and will and drive, Moon is emotion and body and nostalgia (not time, but the sentiment of it). It's like someone holds a knife, and someone has a warm jacket, and they are both standing next to each other. Perhaps, with that combination, you have an unspoken agreement not to hurt each other. Trusting that the knife person won't use it to hurt you. Trusting that the jacket person won't use it to smother you. Trusting that the knife person will use it to carve wood, to peel fruit, to cut cords and hair, for the benefit of the both of you. Trusting that the jacket person will let you borrow it for warmth, to use as a backpack for carrying things, for respite under the harsh sun. Fly under it as flag and banner.

Moon-Mars synastry is incredibly electric. Unless you've been shot by lightning yourself, you will never know the tension of that, the jacket and the knife. The comfort and the pain.

Until of course, one day, when you turn on each other.

LH has a Cancer moon regardless of the birth time, and because it is a planet in its own sign it is powerful. He is also a Full Moon person, with Capricorn Sun and Jupiter, and therefore has a more solid sense of self. He feels things deeply, expansive ego, generous to a fault, but he knows where it ends.

NR on the other hand has three planets in Cancer ruled by Libra Moon, which in turn is ruled by Venus in its own sign in Taurus. A lot of talk, a lot of emotions that have to be packaged pleasantly. NR is the knife person, but he has to compromise in public a lot more than LH. This is a source of pain, because in order for your sense of self to be strong you have to be okay with not pleasing everybody.

LH, while he has more to lose emotionally, has the bigger sense of self. Meanwhile NR has had an upper hand of some sort, but has to follow the rules of something else in order to keep that upper hand.

Astrology is not the place to discuss what ifs. Let us not dwell on the reason as to what that upper hand could be.

(Edited after posting: It's race. The upper hand is race. NR as a white man is inherently at pole in F1, so to speak, since it is an old boys' club type of sport, and he had a background, and the name to go with it. LH was basically working twice as much to get the same recognition until he didn't have to.)

Aside from that, nothing else hits in their charts, aside from the generational planets of Saturn, Jupiter, and Pluto- which they share with the other racers of their time and generation.

Sure, there are no more conjunctions or oppositions (aside from LH's Capricorn sun and NR's Cancer sun, which at its most general just means that they are sister signs - two sides of the same coin), but both of them have planets in water and earth signs aside from that Cancer-Cap axis of family and tradition and nostalgia and foundation and recollection.

These water and earth planets- NR's Taurus Venus hungry for the good life and nourishment, LH's Pisces Venus and Mars eager for tradition and exaltation of success, LH's kingly signature of Cap Sun & Jupiter, NR's highly compelling and emotional Cancer Sun, Mars, & Mercury- they all sextile each other, and therefore move with grace, a river with a solid rock bank, an ocean with a tight shoreline.

Since we don't know the houses (and I hope we never will, if only to provide these two with privacy), we don't know what areas of their life the other has poured water into, what areas they have built for each other. Just that it encompassed quite a lot. It was an incredibly supportive energy, and I am sad for LH because the loss of such a grounding energy in the grid must be something else. He has no peers, and while he has friends, he has no best friend. He is old hat at the grid, and these newcomers all have their own histories with each other that he, by virtue of age and a different time, will never relate to.

(Alonso is the closest to getting this sense of melancholy and seriousness within LH, due to him experiencing the breadth of time as well, but Alonso is a Leo- he has an even more solid sense of self than LH. The sun has never needed anybody's permission to shine. Alonso is here for the love of the game- he places his value elsewhere.

But Capricorn Sun and Jupiter is Saturn ruled- while LH now is a king that has rightfully earned his crown, he needed to be crowned in the first place- addressed by others, ranked above, ranked differently. But to be exalted, you have to be set apart from others. And LH no longer has anybody he could call who could understand the path he took to get to the sky without explanation. Earth and Water don't deal well in ephemeral things, cannot express itself easily through words and ideas like Fire and Air do. And the grid right now is hot- all fire and air, all chaos and pushing and rage. Fitting for motorsports. But perhaps not as enduring as a personal legacy, or a shared history.)

F1, as all motorsports are, is heavily Fire and Air. It is gasoline and metal, it is a sport born out of wartime (engine manufacturers didn't know what to do with all this knowledge of machinery, and like boys who grew up uncertain of the fate of their fathers, they decided to take these engines, put it into steel boxes and wheels, and turn war into play). The racetrack brings out the Martian qualities of everyone.

LH has Sagittarius Mercury - the only traditional planet he has that isn't Water or Earth. This is the streak of temper lost- this is the centaur on the hunt, the big picture talker, the goal setter. This is the kid who got into a go kart and knew without a doubt that he would be sitting in it forever, who aimed an arrow at the stars. But Mercury, the planet of hands, messengers- it doesn't like being in big picture Sagittarius, this grand sweeping of all things, this idealism.

And that's where NR comes in. NR has no Fire, but he has two Air planets- Jupiter in Aquarius, and Moon in Libra. LH's Sagittarian racehorse, warsport dreams would've been crushed under the weight of practicality and those-that-came-before, if not for NR's constant feeding of that fire. All that expansive, supportive air- talks of dreams, of not letting down those ideas, of saying "yes, shoot for the stars- I have a map. This would be better if you had a guide. If you saw the map"

Just the same, despite NR being the knife person, he would be stuck forever in thinking mode, all the innovative, crazy, weird ideas and the diplomacy it took- were it not for LH's fire, also prodding it into action. Of saying "fucking stop shuffling your feet and just run and go for it"

It was a beautiful partnership, perfect on paper.

But of course- perfection doesn't exist.

Cancer and Cap are in opposition (two sides of the coin are pressed into the same metal but they are on opposite sides- how will they see each other?).

Libra squares both of them (NR feels friction from this partnership- where is the caution, the compromise, the balance? they worked too well. And LH has both Cap and Cancer= he worked too well, by himself. and where is the justice in that?).

Sagittarius doesn't see Cancer, or Taurus. (for all LH's goal-setting with NR, at the end, it was the stars he was aiming for. if you already have a map then why not take the journey on your own? what are you waiting for, if not to close the gap? if you cannot get with the program then get the hell out of the race track. )

Mars, at the end of it all, is a knife. It works best when it severs.

(30) 6:23 p.m.

[aimeedaisies]

Today (6th Sept) is the International Day of Charity, here are 10 (of hundreds) charities and associations that Princess Anne supports.

Save the Children - Princess Anne has been the President of the Charity since 1970 and became Patron in 2017. She has spent a significant amount of time visiting Save the Children’s projects, she has travelled to Bangladesh, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Mozambique, Ethiopia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina as well as causes at home in the UK.

Carers Trust - The Carers Trust was formerly known as The Princess Royal Carers Trust. Princess Anne founded the charity in 1991. She found that people caring for others were a scarcely recognised group that needed support. The charity is now known as the Carers Trust.

Riding for the Disabled - Princess Anne joined the RDA as it’s Patron in 1971 and later as their President in 1985. The Riding for the Disabled association provide therapy, fitness and development for children and adults with disabilities through horse riding and carriage driving. They have centres in the UK, New Zealand and Australia.

Farms for City Children - Founded by author Sir Michael Morpurgo and his wife, Farms for City Children provides opportunities for disadvantaged city children to experience and connect with nature, learning where their food comes from, spending time with animals, which comes with many benefits such as self confidence and self worth. Princess Anne has been their Patron since 1991.

Sea Cadet Corps - Princess Anne is the Admiral of the Sea Cadet Corps, the Navy equivalent Cadet Corps in the UK.

Motor Neurone Disease Association - The MND Association focuses on improving access to care, research and campaigning for those people living with or affected by motor neurone disease. Princess Anne has been their Patron since 1991.

Sense - The National Deafblind Association - Princess Anne has been a Patron of Sense since 1989. Sense support people who are deafblind or have complex disabilities.

The Not Forgotten Association - The Not Forgotten Association provide a programme of social activities, outings, respite and breaks for veterans and wounded serving personnel which improve physical and mental health, address isolation and loneliness, and promote a sense of community and balance. Princess Mary was the original Patron of the charity from 1920 until 1965, The Duchess of Kent took over until 2000 when Princess Anne succeeded as Patron.

The Durrell Conservation Wildlife Trust - Founded by Gerald Durrell in 1963 the trust have a mission to save species from extinction. It’s headquarters are on the island of Jersey. Princess Anne has been Patron of the trust since 1972.

Royal Navy and Royal Marines Charity - The charity supports sailors, marines and their families for life. Princess Anne has been Patron since 2007.

[bananasofthorns]

this will be the death of me

“Aphim. This game is your redemption - so I assume it goes without saying that you anticipate winning.”

Towering somewhere above him, his superiors stare. He does not bother with the futile action of craning his head back in an attempt to match Their gaze.

“Yes.”

“Good. Since you’re already in the game, you wouldn’t mind...taking care of a problem, would you?”

“Of course not.” He pauses. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind of problem that could end this whole thing. It would be very bad for all of us.”

“I see.”

“There is someone who...let himself in,” his superiors continue, distaste coloring Their voice. “He intends to disrupt this whole thing and make it so that there is no game. We haven’t been able to See him yet, but you’ll know him when you see him.

“If you could get rid of him, well. That would be a benefit to us all.”

“Of course. I’ll do as you wish.”

“Excellent.”

<><><>

“There are people coming,” Apate says, peering out of the shitty cave they’re in.

“Who?”

“I was gonna ask you that.”

Aphim joins her at the mouth of the cave with a frown. “Why would I know?”

Not far below them, two people - a blond man and an auburn-haired woman - are making their way up the mountain. The slowly setting sun lights them from behind. Except for the circle at the start, Aphim doesn’t recognize them from anywhere.

“Well, your eyes went all glowy earlier, so—” Apate shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her.

“Your eyes glow?” the blond man calls up. There’s a half-smile on his face, like he finds the concept amusing.

Aphim frowns at him. “I don’t think so.”

Apate seeing the tattoos active was bad enough, especially since she seems to have inexplicably come from somewhere outside the game. He doesn’t like the idea of two more strangers knowing about them, even if they shouldn’t know what the tattoos mean.

Luckily, the topic drops and the man and woman introduce themselves as Beau and Orla, respectively.

“Were you two thinking about settling here?” Beau asks, surveying the area.

Aphim shrugs. “I haven’t laid claim to anything.”

“I’m going wherever you’re going,” Apate adds cheerfully.

Aphim closes his eyes and briefly asks the universe for strength. “Do you want her,” he asks Beau flatly.

“I...don’t think that’s how that works?” 

“Unfortunate.”

Beau laughs. The sun behind him makes him shine gold at the edges. Aphim looks away.

“We were thinking about settling near the border,” Beau explains, “but if you two are planning to base around here, we could find somewhere else.”

“I haven’t decided on anything.”

“We could base near each other, maybe.”

Aphim blinks. He hadn’t expected that offer; for a death game, Beau seems to be happy to make friends. Still, he finds he doesn’t hate the idea.

“Alright.”

Apate doesn’t offer any objections to his agreement, though if she had, he probably would’ve ignored them.

“Should we keep looking, then?”

“Sure. I’d like to get more than three whole coal,” Aphim adds acerbically, shooting a distasteful look over his shoulder at the cave.

“Oh! Well, if you need coal.”

Beau holds out his hand. Without thinking, Aphim matches the gesture. He startles when Beau drops a few pieces of coal into his palm; their skin brushes when Beau moves away. His fingers are warm.

Aphim tilts his head in confusion. The simple kindness of the gesture is disarming.

“Thank you,” he says, belated but genuine.

Beau’s grin is as bright as the sun setting behind him.

<><><>

There isn’t much to do in their mountainside hole except sit and wait out the night, so Aphim inevitably finds himself studying his companions - or, in Apate’s case, ignoring them. She has settled so close beside him that they’re nearly touching, so he has no choice but to focus some of his attention on her, but she at least stops trying to talk to him when he doesn’t respond to anything she says. It’s a temporary respite; he savors it.

Across the small room, Orla still seems on edge, but Aphim can’t blame her. It’s only the first night and they all have little more than stone tools, but wariness is vital for a game like this. He wonders how far she’ll make it.

Beau is the one in their small group that intrigues him the most. His easy-going cheer from earlier is gone, replaced by fidgeting discomfort. Aphim puzzles over the change; it could be something as simple as claustrophobia, but he doubts it. 

Beau won’t look at him anymore. He’s not sure why that bothers him as much as it does.

The night passes slowly. None of them have the resources for a clock yet, nor did they leave a hole in the wall to see out of, but mobs still rattle and groan outside. Other than that, they sit in silence.

Again, Aphim finds his attention drawn to Beau, but this time he finds Beau already looking back. They both freeze. Aphim’s heart kicks up a beat.

At the center of Beau’s eyes, where his pupils should be, is a glowing purple symbol that Aphim knows better than he knows himself. You’ll know him when you see him, his superiors had said. The realization sweeps through him quickly. He can almost feel the tattoos on his arms burning.

It is neither the time nor the place to confront Beau. He settles for a sharp grin and a wink. It’s teasing, just on the wrong side of threatening.

Beau looks away first. Aphim studies the tense line of his jaw and wonders.

[enoughyi]

#3: Vibrator

Redditor's Kinktober, Day 3

Just a few drops of the Draught of Peace, and the so-called 'Hysteria', that tends to exclusively befall muggle women or so they said, would subside.

But the muggle invention for the same solution was a curious machine contraption made in a form resembling a shower head piece piked on a saw handle. The head is spiked but a flat surface overall that goes… On where an illness cloth lies each few days of each month.

Wizarding parlors were quite rabid after it came to their attention such a devillous , if not incredulous, device sparkled into existence. Its copy, stolen from a muggle physician, has been recently brought to the Muggle Realtions department of the Ministry for Magic in London. The clerks soon realised a machine like this could flip the tables if too many people would know about it; of course they though only of the worst of the worse scenarios.

Poppy spoke about the contraption, lacking any spark of enthusiasm in her voice, told of how agitated everyone was at work and how annoying it felt to stay close to feverish people. Magic is everybody's forte in the wizarding world. Why would anyone need this thing? For what? Imelda snorted and asked, wasn't it obvious. Julia, who seemingly was put outside of the conversation, chimed in and said, some potions could benefit from purely mechanical vibrations; simplicity that involved only physics would ensure nothing would get contaminated by residual magic or a spell flare. Poppy remained skeptical, but did notice its intended use was rather an uncalled activity, too harsh for any woman to experience, what would anyone gain from it lest they wanted to feel a tad nauseaus.

Few months have passed and Poppy realised it could come in handy.

Her fingers felt incredibly sore after massaging two clits at once; warming them up in clenched slits didn't help for nearly long enough to keep the wicked, stupid challenge going. Delighted moans were a prise worthy of struggle, but she began to think the girls didn't get enough from her fingers.

And they will get tired from her tongue. They needed… an excitement of sorts. A nasty word said at an embarassing timing. A treat of the lick. A spontaneous kiss. All in moderation, in so strict rations, that the girls should either beg, or behave accordingly to the rules of their own making.

Rule number one. Hold it in.

Rule number two. Have for as much as it's given, struggle away and plead, but Hold. It. In.

Rule number three. Take when given, don't dare to demand for more, unless Poppy decides in either of their favours.

For all she cared—within the game of course—she could leave them bound, secured in compomising positions; silenced perhaps, and anything else done to them just in case they'd like to have the most strangest of sex. And she could give them a nary of care for it, if they wanted it this way. But for them, two very spoiled brats, pestelential women fellen with witching pussy desease, hit in their heads with a God's smack, just them two were not enough.

They wanted an arbiter. An observer. A demiurge to their tantal orgasm. A pussylicker. A girlkisser. A taming hand to a rabid, reddened wet creature.

Poppy felt a little strange refusing them respite.

But it was their idea. And they were keeping silent as to wether they wanted to stop, firmly saying no's to questions prompted.

When Poppy took out her wand, two sets of eyes were locked to it.

The room fell silent.

"I will give you a choice. I can make my tongue sore or I can try and cure your mutual hysteria."

"Yes please," Julia gasped. "But her first."

"Bitchhh! No! Her first!"

"A nobody then, but are you sure?"

They stayed silent for exactly three seconds. Poppy then whirled a weak spell over them, and accidentally caught herself into its action, and felt what they felt.

An ever-enveloping tremour, rising as a tremble on the whole lower abdomen. It brought warmth, and stuck aroused redness on breasts and thighs, bringing muscles within to tension. The girls moaned and huffed; Imelda's pussy contorted, Julia's clenched, and Poppy was left to wonder what that little torture spell—a shy imitation of that muggle device's capability—was able to do if left pressed against the desiring flesh.

A whiff of pleasure dissipated as soon as it hit.

Imelda announced it was too overwhelming, too good, and too wet.

Julia said, "You're ducking off! You lost. Ha!"

"Says the wet sheets princess? I saw your clench. I'd loose a finger if it was I to stung you!"

"What!"

"Owe a defeat, or be sore losers all you like, I'll just put the bigger loser on the leash," Poppy cut them short. She sensed, her words have caused a rush of arousal in the girls, which they didn't bother to hide at all as they tried to arch their likely aching back towards Poppy; their orgasm was less than satisfying, she wagered. "Granted, I ruined my skirt, too. Let me get you both out of your silly misery, we need to bathe."