#i upped the dose recently so. its to be expected

[wuntrum]

t causing house of leaves experiences in my body (my throat is sore, but not in a sick way, in a "the inside feels its larger than the outside" way)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for poisoning a child over mountain dew?

For context, I (17) have a developed a slight addiction to mountain dew over quarantine. it's one of my favorite soft drinks. Every month I buy a case of it with my own money when my parents do their monthly grocery shopping and that is my allotted stashe for the month. However, I've noticed for about two years now that my stashe is running out sooner than I expected, the first few times I've simply thought I miss calculated but later I suspected it was being stolen after I kept rigorous track of how much I drank. I told my parents but they said I shouldn't get so worked up over it, and if I really wanted to keep it safe I should keep it locked up somewhere. So I did. Afterwards, almost weekly I've had our maid/housekeeper(a distant cousin of my mom's- we do pay her) ask me for my soda. I suspected that she might've been the soda stealer so out of spite I refused to give her from "my" stashe, instead offering to buy some/give her the money and she refused. Even after that, a couple months later I've noticed it running out sooner again. I pointed it out to my parents and they did nothing still. I hid my keys. It stopped the stealing for a few weeks but then it started again. I've confronted her about it but she denies it and blames me for for suspecting her when she does so much for us. And my mom refuses to discuss it with her either, saying I'm making such a big deal out of something like soda and that I probably miscalculated anyways. I've taken photographic evidence of my shit going missing (taking a photo before going to school and coming home with a bottle missing) and still she say to "let it go". At this point, it's not even about the soda for me. It's about the fact I brought this shit with my own money and it's being stolen EVEN AFTER I TRIED EVERYTHING TO PREVENT IT and its been going on for TWO YEARS. And I can't help but feel paranoid and suspect her whenever any of my other possessions start disappearing.

Here comes the poisoning part. I've recently developed some gastrointestinal issues, so I have to take prescribed laxatives. I've had enough of my shit being stolen and I've decided whoever steals it needs to shit themselves and maybe then they'll stop. I marked out a few bottles and carefully opened them and mixed in the laxative(About half dose per bottle) before resealing them thoroughly. I put them in front of all the other non-laced drinks so they're the easiest ones to grab. Sure enough, they've been stolen. And a few days later she comes to my mom complaining that her grandson keeps getting diarrhea and she has no idea why. I told her maybe she shouldn't feed a <10 yr old mountain dew and she was like, "How do you know it was the dew that caused it?" I just shrugged and told her I had a hunch, but with the way she stared at me I think she understood what I had did. Later on my mom yelled at me for pulling that stunt, and I was honestly sick of her shit and told her next time I'm mixing in rat poison and I wont even be labeling the laced ones. like. stop taking my shit without asking. especially shit i brought with my own money.

What are these acronyms?

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone asked for jason todd and truth serum. this was also supposed to fill the request for "who did this to you?" with phil/jason, but i didn't make it to "who did this to you?" part. sorry! i'm trying to keep these under 1k.

anyway, this one's a bit bleak, but educational. here, jason learns an important life lesson: if you go undercover as a criminal, sometimes people believe you. and phil learns to reorder his interrogation questions.

warnings for drugging people without their consent. the drug in question is a fictional truth serum.

- - -

Using this particular drug on a nonconsenting person is a crime in most of the world. A recent amendment to the Geneva Convention marked its use on prisoners of war as a war crime. There’s a blanket ban on its production and use in the European Union. In the United States, administration by law enforcement personnel was ruled a violation of the Fifth and Eighth Amendments.

But SHIELD is not at war. Nor is it a law enforcement agency. And Phil Coulson is not in territory controlled by the United States or the European Union. The man in SHIELD custody undoubtedly has rights of some kind, but the extent of those rights – and who might be obligated to protect them – is currently unknown.

“It’s messy,” he says, to Fury.

“It’s a mess,” Fury replies. “Clean it up.”

- - -

He’s younger than Phil expected. But he has no right to judge anyone for sending their young to die. After all, he looks older than Natasha, possibly older than Clint.

And Natasha and Clint might be dead. In some ways, SHIELD’s no better.

“Your name, please,” Phil says.

“Jason,” the man says, a slow, sleepy mumble, and then his eyes open, and the panic hits.

Phil’s grown familiar with panic. He’s seen it in civilians and soldiers, in diplomats and dictators. He’s seen it every time he’s encountered this drug.

When it was first developed, early adopters trotted out the old lie: if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. But everyone has something to hide. Everyone has a secret they would swallow their own tongue to protect, and here’s a substance that takes that choice away, a wonder drug that retains awareness while negating will. A life-saving torture device.

“Fuck you,” the man says, which is far more spirit than most manage.

“Jason,” Phil says, “my agents are missing.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, again. “That’s what happens.” He’s double-blinking, struggling to focus. Phil’s done this six times. No one's ever managed this level of control. Usually, they’re drooling by now, spilling secrets and saliva into the collar of their shirts.

Something’s wrong.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Phil says. “We must have miscalculated your dosage.”

- - -

Medical reports back half an hour later. There was no miscalculation. The man has a tolerance they assure him should not be possible.

“We gave him a second dose. He should be amenable now,” the doctor says. “If he doesn’t stop breathing.”

Amenable, Phil thinks. He explores the hollow inside him where the horror should’ve been. It’s a terrible thing they’re doing. He knows that.

But his agents are missing.

“Thank you,” he says. And he goes back to work.

- - -

“You know,” Jason tells him, glassy-eyed, barely looking Phil’s direction, “if you ask the wrong questions, I have to kill you."

It’s an interesting threat from a man who cannot lie.

“And what are you afraid you’ll tell me?” Phil asks.

“Identities,” he answers, chest rising slower than a sleeper’s.

“Ah,” Phil says. “Yes, we’ll get to that.”

“Batman,” he adds, unexpectedly. “Nightwing.” He swallows, clumsily. When he breathes in, he chokes. Phil watches him almost drown for a moment and then he reaches across the table and tugs Jason’s head forward so he can breathe.

He barely has the coordination to breathe, but the contact makes him flinch hard enough to shake the table. Phil wonders who made a creature like him.

“Who do you work for?” he asks.

“Nobody.” And then, almost smiling, voice dropping into a guttural growl, “Justice.”

Which could be good news. Killers with a mission are predictable, once you understand their cause. “And who decides justice? Who gives you orders?”

“Nobody.”

Interesting. Most freelancers don’t work at this level, and the ones who do should have extensive SHIELD files. “Who’s been signing your checks lately?”

“Checks,” Jason says, and laughs. “Fucking checks.”

He’s been thoroughly dosed with a drug designed to make him highly suggestible and meekly compliant. Phil’s starting to understand why capturing him was such a costly undertaking.

“Whose money is in your accounts right now?”

Jason makes a noise, some gusty grumble of complaint, and then lists off a dozen or so of the very worst people alive. The most interesting names are the ones Phil doesn’t recognize, but he’ll have to get to those later. The window is short; his time is running out.

A single dose is risky. Some people never fully recover their independence. They’re rendered permanently docile, suffering from a kind of chemical lobotomy that good people across the globe have outlawed. A second dose doubles the odds of permanent damage. After the third, some people won't even breathe without orders.

They’ve given him two already.

“These people who’ve been paying you,” Phil says, “which of them is paying you right now?”

Jason sighs. “Nobody pays me. I stole that money.”

“You---” Phil pauses, looks at his notes. He re-reads the names, marvels at the insanity of stealing from any of them. “You stole from those people?”

“Stole from ‘em,” he says, “killed ‘em. Well, killed some. Gonna kill the others. It’s, you know. A to-do list. I’ve been busy.”

Phil wonders if he’s been wasting his time, if he’s drugged a delusional man. “You don’t steal from people like that before you kill them.”

Jason tilts his head so he can look up him, furrows his brow in something that is almost a coherent expression of disdain. “You never have any fun, huh?”

Phil might be dealing with someone far more dangerous than he’d predicted. “You do this for fun?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “And for justice.”

Justice, right. Of course. “And who taught you about justice?”

“My dad,” Jason says.

Which is good. Which might be helpful. Truth has its uses, but, in Phil’s experience, leverage gets more accomplished.

“And who,” Phil says, “is your father?”

Jason’s eyes track his direction but don’t quite land. His mouth closes and then opens again. “Batman,” he says.

“Oh,” Phil says. “Shit.”

[signedeclipse]

Do you have any NSFW hc's for Hantengu and Gyokko? These guys deserve more love 😤

Gyokko | Hantengu [X Reader]

In which they get steamy with their s/o.

Gyokko

I put this in my recent oneshot, but I believe he either has snake dicks (so two) or 5-7 tentacled of varying sizes instead of a dick and wanted to get that out of the way now

Two mouths = perfect for people with breasts

He is also amazing at eating out with those beautiful lips and the fact that he really doesn't need to breathe

Long tongue too? Oh my

Gyokko is very intimate with his craft, he loves feeling out his s/o and using their body as inspiration for his pots, a lot of which follow your shape

None are perfect enough, so he'll always be handsy, trying to figure you out

He loves teasing, not in a patience kind of way but in a word kind of way

Expect degrading, always about how much you depend on him to feel so good, about how your expression changes when he does something

He is able to secrete a poison, and I imagine in very small doses he can use it as a relaxant so you can just melt into the bed or his arms

Maybe even...aphrodisiac if I may suggest

Very slimy so no need for lube, he'll slip into you with so much ease you'll barely notice till youre red hot with pleasure

Hantengu

He is everything you could ever want

With so many sides to him, anything you desire is achievable; kinks, scenes, how they treat you, how they fit into you

Very needy, though, it's not often that you can get away with fucking just one of them- once another finds out, you're bound to be bouncing on everyone at least once that evening

Usually goes from toughest to softest, but you'll always end up with one or two cleaning you up and getting you in bed so you can rest after

Surprisingly Urogi is very protective over you due to a sort of nesting behaviour he has so it's usually him cuddling up with you

If not him then Hantengu or Aizetsu will care for you, both having extreme empathy for their s/o

A lot of them Sekido and Urogi have extreme breeding kinks, despite the fact that they cannot reproduce, but they'll talk about impregnating you all the time

One thing they won't do is impact play, or anything that hurts you...surprisingly they aren't very sadistic

Except for Sekido, he does like electricity play a bit, but only to your comfort zone

Each of them has a favourite place to mark you!

Hantengu prefers your collarbones and chest, where its soft and makes you gasp a lot

Karaku adores the inside of your thighs, right up by your heat

Sekido goes for the neck, somewhere everyone can see it and dark enough that no make up helps

Urogi likes your stomach, but he's gentle about it and usually goes towards the hips so you aren't wincing

Aizetsu kisses all up your arms, and some leave small marks, usually near the back of your hand or on your shoulders

Authors Note - They do!! Honestly best part of the new season is all the Gyokko & Hantengu requests im getting because ive loved them for yearssss and it is finally THEIR TIME!!

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#370

“Here we are boy, once again.  The last time we met, you ran screaming like a nellie girl.  I haven’t changed.  I’m still the sadistic asshole I was two years ago when we reconnected.  If anything, I now demand more.  I told you before that I ain’t changing who or what I am nor what I want and expect from a faggot bitch cunt toilet.  I have to ask, what’s different about you?...

“Oh, you have embraced chastity.  Well that’s a start.  You wearing the cage now?...  Let me see….  Faggot!  Do you really think I want to see it hanging out of a zipper?  Don’t be so stupid.  Get the fuck naked.  The cool spring morning doesn’t bother me.  That means it doesn’t bother you. 

“…Wait.  Stop.  Did you shave your chest?...  No, you had your hair removed.  Continue stripping….  Faggot, I have to say, I’m surprised with that.  Pleasantly surprised…  Take all your clothes and place them in the bed of the truck.  Fold them first.  Place your phone, keys, ID, and any money on top of your clothes. 

“Good Faggot.  Now, bring that pee pee in a cage to me. 

“Where’s the key?  At home?  Faggot, you are going to get beat for denying me access to my toys.  The cage is one of those cheap assed ones that slaves can pull out of.  With a yank, I got the shaft out.  And if I squeeze these balls.  Shut up!  I don’t want to hear a cunt scream this early in the morning.  You know these balls are going to be in perpetual pain from this point on.  Finish stripping and let me get my bag….

“…Hold this.  What you are holding is a proper cage for a faggot bitch.  Notice how there’s virtually no room at all for your pee pee shaft?  As small as your thing is, this cage will keep it from wanting to get hard.  Here, take this water bottle.  That’s my morning piss, nice and cold.  Before you chug it down—and yes you will—take these two pills.  One keeps you limp, and one keeps your horniness down.  I own a urologist slave in Memphis. who told me about how to administer them.  I order it to take them daily to negate its own pee pee as well.  It hasn’t had a hard-on for years.  In fact, each of my long-distance slave properties takes them.  When I return back home to Denver and you are here alone, I expect you to send me a video text of you swallowing your daily dose.  Slaves are not entitled to sexual gratification unless I say so.  That ain’t happening…. Ever.  Drink up. 

“The only time a slave is permitted to cum without permission is if it does it hands free while being beaten by me.  I’ve only seen it happen with one property.  It was from Miami.  Its pee pee was soft in the cage the entire time.  It was great.  I even kept on beating it after its climax.  Its almost lost all interest in serving me in that moment.  That’s why no cumming for any of my property.

“You are shivering.  Let’s get you some heat.  Remember this tiny bottle?  No?  I never used this on you?  For the longest time, I couldn't find it in any drug store. Recently I found it on-line. It’s called Heet, and it’s an old school pain reliever for arthritis.  Stand still.  I need to wipe this dauber along your pee pee shaft, and around the head.  Your ball sack should be covered too.  Turn around and pull your cheeks apart.  Let me see your cunt.  Nice.  And a swipe up the crack, and a double swipe along the cunt lips.  Now stand up and face me.

“Now I wait a few moments…  There it is!  What?  Does your pee pee and balls feel like a thousand hot needles are being shoved in?  Your cunt too?  You are in excruciating pain?  Well let me see.  The instructions say, ‘Do not apply to sensitive areas.’  I thought it said, ‘Do apply…’  Oops.  My bad. 

“Ha ha ha.  I’ve been using this on faggot bitches for years.  I’m surprised I hadn’t used it on you on one of my visits here.  Well I need to make up for that.  Quit fidgeting.  It’s only temporary, about three or four hours of nonstop pain.

“Focus on me.  Quit thinking of the burning sensation in your crotch.  That’s nothing compared to the hell I have in store for you this weekend.  The last time you tried to submit to me you had an issue with eating my shithole.  I have a test for you.  You fail it, I will drive off, leaving you buck naked out here at this dead-end road.  I’ll throw your car keys out of my window as I drive off. 

“It’s time for you to eat my ass.  Here, help me get out of these jeans and briefs.

“There is no act that a slave can do to accept its role as my property more than sticking its tongue into my shithole for an extended period.  If I remember, this is what made you run last time.  Don’t worry, I already had my morning dump.  Oh wow, look at my skid marks.  It’s going to be nasty for you.  The hotel I’m staying at has the worst toilet paper.  I do prefer the tongue of a faggot slave to clean me up. 

“I want to feel those hands pulling apart my cheeks, followed by the wetness from your tongue on my hole….  I’m only feeling hands.  Fag, if you balk on this, I’m out of here.  I know you hate the idea.  That’s what makes me want to do it more.  You want to be a slave to a sadistic cruel master, that means doing nasty shit.  If I don’t feel a tongue in the next…

“There you go….  No fucking retching.  You told me that you want this life as a total faggot toilet cunt slave, you accept your role and its responsibilities.  You yearn to serve me with your disgust.  Your revulsion gets me hard.  If I find out you like to do something, I lose interest in doing it.  You want to stop doing toilet duties, then love it.  You have to really mean it.  I can recognize when a faggot bitch is trying to manipulate me.  It’s obvious, and it never ends well for the cunt toilet.

“This is what, my fifth time with you?  You ever wonder why I keep coming back and giving you a try?  I mean, each time you put up limits for me.  I should just dump you.  But I don’t.  One could say it’s pity.  Another could say that it’s hard to find a cunt bitch when I come to town.  While both of those reasons contribute, no there is another reason.

“Stick your tongue in my shithole.  Clean what you can on the inside, toilet cunt.

“Do you remember your ad on Craig’s List that got me to contact you?  I do.  ‘Oversexed 23-year-old seeks dominant top to expand kinky limits.’  That was about ten years ago.  When I walked into your apartment, I encountered something I don’t encounter that often, truly.  I have said that I don’t care to piss off 99% of the population to get that 1%.  Not only did you have the demeanor, you craved to serve me.  Back then you didn’t have that much experience in anything.  You had that hunger.  You took my beatings.  You suffered with every lash.  I could tell that you wanted it to end, but you saw that I was enjoying it, and you pushed through.  With each visit, I saw your growth.  Hell, I tell you to get your hair removed last time, and you went ahead and did it,… permanently.  It took a long time to get you to this place in your head.  I’m here to take advantage of it.

“You can take a beating, but it’s the extra raunch that bothers you.  I told you that if I came back this time, that you will either make the commitment to me or that I will be done with you.  On this visit, you will become a full-fledged toilet, my toilet.  That won’t happen unto Thursday night.  You have three days to put your head in the right spot.  Normally I wouldn’t dream of telling a faggot bitch slave what I had planned, but for you, I need for it to stew in your head. 

“For the next three days, you will be my urinal, drinking every drop.  You will give me a blumpkin and be my toilet paper, just like you are doing now.  You will stay with me at my hotel, sleeping on the bathroom floor chained to the toilet.  I’m gonna beat the fuck out of you.  I may even fuck you.  The next three days is going to be hell.

“You done back there?  Pull back.  Your face is a mess.  Good keep it that way.  I want you to smell me throughout the day.  While I am planning on taking you around with me to the sites I need to hit, you will probably remain in my truck.  You did pass this test.

“Stay there kneeling on the gravel.

“Thursday night however, your suffering, your submission, your service, and your sacrifice will be tested.  If you pass, I will take ownership of you.  My urologist slave will come in from Memphis, as I want a doctor nearby.  We are going to an old friend’s ranch out of town.  He too has slaves.  He’s allowing me the privacy to take ownership of you.

“After a day of not eating, you will straddle a wooden sawhorse.  Your ankles will be secured stretched painfully apart, making the ability of pulling off of a very thick butt plug impossible.  After taking off your cage, I will drive a two-inch common nail through your dickhead into the sawhorse.  I will hit the nail on its side to bend it, to make removal quite painful.  I will hand you a plate with my dump from the day.  You will be expected to eat it all.  While that is happening, I will be using my favorite whips and belts to turn your back into hamburger.  I will only stop when the plate is licked clean.

“Help me get my pants on.  I can see the revulsion in your eyes.  Look at my dick.  I am rock hard and leaking.  You know that the next few days is going to make me horny and happy. 

“Your suffering will bring me satisfaction.  My gratification is your motivation. 

“But should that change, or should I feel you are not living up to your full potential, we can end this.  Either one.  All you have to say is you want out.  Disappointingly, I will say that I will be giving up on you.  I will pull over in the truck and let you out.  You’ll have to fend for yourself to get back home or here to your car.  You’ll be naked of course.

“Speaking of which, I’m going to pull out, leaving you and your locked car here.  I’m going to be waiting at the fork in the road, which was about a quarter mile back, or maybe it was a half mile.  I’m going to wait for about 20 minutes for you to come to me.  No, make it 30 minutes.  This is a dirt road, and you have no shoes.  During that stroll, I want you to think about what lies ahead of you.  If you decide to back out, no problem.  I’ll just pull away.  I’ll drop off your clothes, keys, phone, etc. on your front doorstep.  You still live in the same house?  Good. 

“Hey!  The sun is coming up.  That should help you to warm up.  It’s a beginning of a new day.”

[cuffmeinblack]

Helping Hand

Garreth Weasley x Andrew Larson

Tags: explicit | blowjobs | handjobs

3.7k words

Summary: When Andrew finds Garreth sneaking ingredients from the potions stores, he lets him go instead of throwing the Gryffindor in detention. That second's hesitation will be his undoing, to his great delight.

A/n: The smut nobody asked for. These two are fighting for supremacy in my brain so naturally I just want them to fuck. Expect school slut Garreth and uptight virgin Andrew.

⤍ Garreth Weasley masterlist | Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

Andrew had seen enough of his classmates’ intimate areas to last him a lifetime. Everett had congratulated him repeatedly on glimpsing Samantha Dale's breasts (of course he did, the pervert), though at the time they were being fondled by a pair of very large hands belonging to Leander Prewett. A strange pairing by any standards, which might have been why Samantha had trailed Andrew the following day, begging him not to tell a soul. Everett had overheard and managed to get some of the more gruesome details from Andrew before he'd managed to escape into the safety of the prefects’ bathroom. Whilst he floated in the perfumed waters, inhaling deeply the scent of lavender and geranium, he tried not to think too much about yesterday's revellation that even Zenobia-bloody-Noke had a little boyfriend, and had been caught by Andrew whilst they snogged behind the greenhouses close to curfew. It seemed as if the whole castle was awash with hormones, like Garreth Weasley had dosed each of its occupants with amortentia. 

Truth be told, if he'd thought this head boy post involved mostly lecturing couples on discretion and telling them to put their clothes back on, he might have thought twice about the position. Some nights he felt like quite the voyeur, turning a corner and becoming flustered by the rhythmic grinding of bodies half hidden in shadow. He was ashamed to admit he'd watched these secret, steamy trysts in the castle corridors and empty classrooms for a few seconds before announcing his presence. It wasn't his fault he was so wound up these days, with no time to seek his own outlet for all this frustration. Exams were coming, tensions were high, and Andrew had only his hand for company on those nights where he'd collapse back on his bed and wish just once that he'd been the one to be caught in the dark with a handsome stranger. Or perhaps not a stranger at all.

His jealousy for his classmates might have been showing now, given the pouty mood he was in. He floated for a little while longer until his fingers resembled prunes before deciding to take matters into his own hands once again, quite literally. It would be a long night, and with any luck, it wouldn't involve any more sightings of nipples. Once dried and dressed, he made his way down to central hall, where those on patrol would be gathered before rounds began. They started half an hour before curfew and stayed well into the night, stumbling back to their dormitories for a less than satisfactory night’s sleep. The job could feel rather thankless, if it weren’t for the glowing recommendation he expected to receive from the Deputy Headmistress, a priceless addition to any student’s résumé.

A cluster of prefects soon came into view, all huddled near the fountain and chatting animatedly. Andrew’s footfalls announced his approach, and they turned and fell quiet.

“Alright, Andrew?” Eric asked, stifling a yawn.

“Fine, fine.” He was not fine, in fact he was so pent up he’d much rather be shut in his dormitory with the curtains around his bed drawn tight. Not even that bath had been enough to unwind the tension that seemed a constant companion these days. Andrew’s gaze drifted over the other faces as he tried not to linger too long on the shapely curve of Poppy Sweeting’s chest. “Eric, Cressida, you’ll be covering the bell tower wing tonight. There have been a few incidents recently along by the flying lawn—it seems some of the fifth year Herbology students enjoy smoking and flying, so see to it that you swing back around there a few times on patrol.”

Once all the assignments were given, the group parted and Poppy joined Andrew to patrol the library annex. It was one of the easier areas, unless Madam Scribner requested help to evacuate Peeves from the library, and Poppy was one of his favourite prefect partners. They chatted as they walked, mostly about schoolwork and beasts, but it was lighthearted and casual, never straying too far into personal territory. By the second turn about the annex, Andrew had loosened up slightly, though the same couldn’t be said for Poppy who was looking paler by the second.

“Are you okay, Poppy? You look a little peaky,” Andrew asked, reaching out a hand for her forehead but thinking better of it.

“Honestly? I feel quite sick. I think it might have been something I ate,” she said, clutching her stomach.

“Maybe you should get some rest, I can finish up here alone. Do you want me to take you to the hospital wing?”

“No, no, I don’t want to get stuck in there with Nurse Blainey all night. I think I should head back to my dormitory, though. Thank you, Andrew.”

“Of course. Take care, Poppy.”

Andrew watched her leave with a pang of regret, her brunette bob swinging lightly as she disappeared around a corner. Now he was alone, with nothing to distract him but the ghosts, most of whom preferred to keep their distance. With a sigh, he made his way along the corridor, occasionally stopping with his ear pricked for any sign of movement from the classrooms. All was quiet, suspiciously so. Only half an hour until the end of his patrol, he’d almost pegged it as his first uneventful night since becoming head boy, when he noticed the door to the potions classroom was slightly ajar. This wasn’t entirely unusual in itself, given Professor Sharp’s tendency to stay up late working, but instead of a warm glow of candlelight emanating from within, the room was almost pitch black.

Intrigued, Andrew pushed the door, wand raised just in case—he’d been on the receiving end of some nasty jinxes when catching students out of bed. A shuffle of footsteps halted him in his tracks, coming from the potions store room. This door was also open, though there was the distinctive hue of a Lumos charm spilling out of the crack.

“Professor Sharp?” he called.

“Shit!” The reply was quiet and muffled, preceding a smash of glass and the extinguishing of light.

“Who’s in here?” Andrew asked, casting his own charm to light the way and striding over to the storeroom. He shouldn’t have been surprised who greeted him when the door swung open, but the grin on his face was quite unexpected. “Garreth? What are you stealing this time?”

The redhead was standing in the middle of the room looking rather guilty, and Andrew couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his trousers. Not the kind he’d encountered on countless boys caught fraternising in the castle, but a suspiciously full pocket.

“I’m offended by the insinuation. I was just out for an evening stroll!”

Andrew cocked his head and gave him an exasperated look. “You can’t charm yourself out of this one.”

“Please, Andrew. I’ve already lost twenty house points this week and I’m not exactly in Sharp’s good books right now.”

“What else is new?”

Garreth gave him a look reminiscent of a wounded puffskein: head tilted down; green eyes wide and glittering; full lips turned into a pout… Andrew swallowed and dropped his wand to his side, hoping that Garreth wouldn’t catch the blush now crossing his cheeks. It really had been far too long since he’d had any action (never), but even Andrew had to admit that Garreth was devastatingly handsome, and had perhaps enjoyed the view of him bending over his cauldron once or twice (every single potions lesson).

“Fine, I won’t hand you in. You have to put back whatever you stole, though,” he said, pointedly looking at Garreth’s pocket, which was a mistake given his current condition. He almost groaned at the wand-lit curve of the boy's breeches.

“Really? I mean, I’m grateful…” Garreth pulled a handful of fwooper feathers out of his pocket and Andrew averted his gaze. “Got a soft spot for me?”

Garreth had clearly said it in jest, yet Andrew’s smile was somewhat awkward in return, his cheeks burning so hot he could have lit a candle on his skin. That damned freckled menace with his silky voice and bright smile might just be his downfall. 

“Do you?” Garreth persisted, abandoning the feathers on the table and stepping closer to Andrew. His tone was teasing yet his smile was earnest, the kind of smile that made Andrew want to admit to every lewd thought he’d ever had of him. 

“No, I’m just eager to finish my rounds and I don’t want to have to deal with the paperwork,” he muttered. He frowned and set his jaw, suddenly far too tense and far too aroused by the mere presence of Garreth.

“Merlin, you’re wound up. You work too hard, Andrew.”

“Yes, well, that does tend to happen when one is head boy,” he replied rather testily. 

Garreth stepped forward again, his gaze unnerving in its intensity. He seemed to be studying every inch of Andrew’s face. His nervous fingers twitched around his wand and the light extinguished quite unintentionally. 

“Garreth.”

Shit. It had meant to be a warning but had sounded like a…a whine. Andrew panicked, contemplated just running and leaving Garreth up to his mischief and hoped that Professor Sharp came back to a fully stocked storeroom come morning. He might have if his legs still worked.

When Garreth spoke, Andrew could hear the smile plastered on his face even if he could barely see it in the darkness. “I've always thought you were cute, you know.”

He felt Garreth's breath on his cheek and the warmth of his close proximity. Those calloused hands from hours of hard potion brewing were braced either side of Andrew, planted firmly on the rows of bottles and ingredients. He didn't dare think about what those dexterous fingers could achieve. Still, despite all the obvious signs, he wasn't prepared for the kiss. Garreth had aimed for his cheek but Andrew had turned at the last second and caught his lips, resulting in a sloppy sort of peck on his lower lip. Garreth chuckled and mortifyingly, pulled away. 

“Thanks for not ratting me out. I owe you.”

“No problem,” Andrew mumbled, his brain apparently reduced to mush. If he'd been able to think of anything but the feel of Garreth Weasley's lips and his cinnamon-scented skin, he might have taken fifty house points for having the gall to seduce the head boy. The fact of the matter was, Andrew was absolute putty in Garreth's hands. A fine job he was doing enforcing school rules, he thought bitterly.

Garreth hesitated just for a moment, as if  he too could sense the desperation radiating from Andrew's unbearably tense body. The opportunity had presented itself and Andrew took it, grabbing a fistful of fabric and pulling Garreth back towards him with unexpected force. Their lips found each other easily enough in the dim light, and Andrew opened his mouth at the first flick of tongue with a quiet moan that did nothing to assert his authority. Far from it, Andrew could have given Garreth a month's worth of detentions and he doubted the Gryffindor would have been deterred. If Andrew was hungry, Garreth seemed practically starving, all tongues and roaming hands. Garreth used his taller stature and a firm hold to manoeuvre Andrew away from the shelves until his thighs hit something hard behind him. He stumbled slightly, their lips still fused and tongues locked in an infinite caress. Fingers skimmed Andrew's hips and he shuddered, involuntarily arching his back in invitation. Garreth smiled against his mouth and hummed an approving sort of sound as his fingers found bare and heated skin. 

The air was stifling, Andrew's clothes so damn suffocating. His face, if he were visible, must have been a shade of red resembling a beetroot. Never had he been so thoroughly aroused and so completely willing to throw away every deeply-ingrained sense of propriety as when Garreth reached around to grab his arse, pulling their bodies flush to reveal the hardness of his erection against his own. Andrew just whimpered and contemplated begging as he threaded his fingers in the boy's copper mane. Unbidden, a thought of Garreth's warm and inviting mouth wrapped around his cock made him twitch in anticipation.

“You really are wound tight,” Garreth said, moving his tongue to Andrew's pulse, teeth grazing lightly down his neck. His hands were busily working to release Andrew from the confines of his breeches. He helped him along the way, a sudden rush of nerves halting his breath as his knuckles brushed Garreth's hard length. This was really happening, Andrew thought somewhat giddily. His first sexual encounter was to be with Garreth in the potions storeroom—how unexpected, and completely wondrous. Another groan rumbled through his chest as his breeches finally fell open and Garreth wasted no time wrapping his fingers around his impossibly hard cock.

“Fuck Andrew, you're big.”

“Am I?” he replied breathlessly. Merlin, he wouldn't last long if all Garreth had to do was squeeze to make him squirm.

Garreth laughed again and whispered a ‘yeah’ against his skin as he delved back against the crook of his neck. Andrew's head fell back, his eyes closing to the semi-darkness as he lost himself in the rhythmic stroking. Garreth's grip was firm and sure, simultaneously offering Andrew much-needed relief and winding him tighter than ever. Every tug built him up to explode in what he would assume would be a most spectacular fashion. His hips rocked almost mindlessly, vaguely aware of the sting of Garreth's mouth against his neck, the trailing hand up his stomach. Andrew was mumbling some nonsense that made the other boy groan and next thing he knew the heavy weight against his chest was gone and a rush of cool air startled him from his stupor.

“Wait, wha-?”

“Well you did ask so nicely,” Garreth replied from somewhere on the floor. 

Apparently whatever he'd said had prompted Garreth to drop to his knees and without much warning, Andrew ascended to heaven. Wetness and blissful warmth enveloped him, just the tip at first with a teasing swipe of tongue that made him dizzy. He rolled his hips, seeking more, and Garreth took him all with an ear-splitting moan that had Andrew holding onto his hair for dear life. It took all his waning self control not to hold him in place, not to give into the temptation to thrust deep into his throat. Nothing had ever felt so good as Garreth's mouth; so often used to charm and joke in such a genial manner, it was hard to believe it being used in such a downright obscene way. Not to mention that tongue, currently swirling over his head like he was enjoying an Andrew-flavoured lollipop. For the first time since extinguishing his wand, Andrew wished he could see, just to admire the redhead’s lips wrapped around him for a second or two.

“Garreth…”

“Mmm…yeah?”

“So good,” Andrew sighed mindlessly.

The chuckle Garreth made vibrated through Andrew's cock and his fingers entwined in those luscious curls even deeper. Garreth moaned and Andrew tugged again, eliciting the same response. The realisation dawned that he liked being manhandled in such a way, hitting Andrew like a stampeding graphorn and damn near had him spilling into Garreth's mouth. He was standing on a precipice, before him an abyss that beckoned every fibre of his being. He could let himself fall, be consumed by that blissful oblivion, or he could turn and run. The latter might have been more sensible, given that he'd have to look Garreth in the face at some point over the subsequent days. The Gryffindor busy sucking him off apparently had other ideas.

“You can come in my mouth, you know.”

Andrew was stunned into silence by the way Garreth suggested that so blithely before returning the suction to his cock. There was no stopping the dizzying tightening in his abdomen as he reached his climax. Andrew succumbed to the inevitable with a cry and a tug of hair, his hot release exploding into Garreth's waiting mouth. Breathless, he rocked his hips in time to the pulses from his cock, the lips enveloping him keeping a tight seal until every last drop was spent. Andrew's arm was shaking from the force of his orgasm when he delved into his pocket to retrieve his wand. “L-Lumos.”

The room was cast into a steady white light, harsh shadows gathering from the obstruction of their bodies. Now he could finally see Garreth, knelt before him with fingers still curled around Andrew's length. He looked…sublime, quite frankly, despite or perhaps because of how dishevelled his hair now was, copper strands falling haphazardly over his forehead. His glistening lips struck Andrew as completely obscene, knowing that he'd been licking Andrew's spend from them only moments before. Garreth looked up at him with a smile and he thought he saw hunger in those mossy eyes. Heart still pounding, Andrew watched keenly as Garreth straightened up to full height—a couple of inches that felt like a whole foot more than Andrew—and pressed his lips on his. The insistent nudge of Garreth's erection brought Andrew's thoughts back into focus, and nerves almost threatened to overwhelm him. Garreth kissed him gently, though he felt an urgency simmering just below the surface in the twitch of his muscles and shuddering breaths—the next thing he knew, his hand had been guided to the stiff length straining against Garreth's trousers.

“It's just like touching yourself,” Garreth muttered against his lips, unbuttoning himself until there was nothing between them—the hot press of their lower bodies and subtle scent of musk flooded Andrew's senses. Andrew nodded, but he was nothing like him, really. Garreth was thicker, heavier, with a smattering of freckles covering his shaft that made Andrew salivate. His fingers wrapped firmly around the girth and Andrew began stroking slowly just as he would himself, his eyes on Garreth's face and attuned to every expression.

“Yes…faster…,” Garreth sighed.

Andrew picked up the pace, concentrating hard on the angle, the pressure, the rhythm. He knew he'd hit that sweet spot when Garreth's eyes rolled back into his head. Watching him lose himself by Andrew's hand whilst moaning softly into his mouth was exhilarating. What little remained of Garreth's composure shattered when Andrew began kissing his neck, using his teeth and sucking the skin just as Garreth had done to him. Even his skin tasted good, as if he'd bathed in spices. As soon as Andrew thought to himself that he didn't want this to end, it had, with a spurt of warmth over his hand and Garreth moaning his name. Shadows danced around the room as Andrew's wand hand shook with excess adrenaline and his head collapsed onto Garreth's shoulder. Then the panic set in.

“Fuck.”

“I didn't expect that sort of language from you,” Garreth chuckled. ”It was fantastic though, wasn't it?”

“No. I mean yes, but I need to get back on patrol.”

“Right, your uh…head boy duties. Shame.”

The two cleaned up and dressed in silence; not awkward, but comfortably hazy and content. Once they'd attempted to fix one another's hair, Andrew hastily turned to escape out of the door, hoping that nobody had noticed his absence. He hesitated at the handle, the brass cooling his sweaty palms as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

“You won't tell anyone, will you?” Andrew asked, turning to Garreth.

“Of course not. And you won't tell anyone that I was here?”

“I won't, just this one time.”

“If, hypothetically, you were to catch me here again, what would you do?” Garreth asked, smiling.

“Goodnight, Garreth.” Andrew chuckled and left the room, straightening his robes. He made it out into the corridor before his face broke into a bright grin.

-

Andrew had been worried that being in Garreth's vicinity would be unbearably awkward after what they'd done, but apart from the redhead tossing him a cheeky wink whenever he walked by, he was his usual cheery self, and didn't seem to avoid Andrew at all. If anything, they talked more often now. Andrew himself felt more comfortable, less awkwardly in-awe of the handsome Gryffindor, and dare he say he'd adopted a kind of quiet confidence in the days afterward. Garreth had thoroughly succeeded in unwinding him, or as Everett so colourfully put it, Andrew had ‘lost the stick up his arse’. 

For all Garreth's loudness, his garrulous manner, he'd been perfectly quiet about their little tryst just as he'd promised. Andrew was eternally grateful, of course; he couldn't fathom how furiously he'd be stripped of his title if Professor Weasley found out he'd been fondling her nephew in the potions storeroom. Strangely, Andrew didn't regret a single minute of what had transpired, rule breaking and all.

After their shared Charms lesson the following week, Andrew found Garreth jotting in his journal outside the classroom, satchel slung over his shoulder and leaning against a wall in his usual effortlessly handsome way. It seemed like a good a time as any for Andrew to muster the courage to give him the parcel stuffed in his robe pocket.

“Garreth?”

“Hm? Oh, hello Andrew!” Tucking his journal away, Garreth gave Andrew his full attention.

“I've got something for you,” Andrew said, holding the nondescript brown parcel out for him.

“What's this?” He ripped over the packaging right in front of Andrew, revealing a riot of pink and purple tufts. “Fwooper feathers?” Garreth smiled his bright and genuine smile, and Andrew was glad he'd spent a good few galleons on the lot.

“For your discretion.”

“You're paying me?”

“No!” Andrew gasped, paling.

“I'm joking,” Garreth laughed, placing a warm hand on his arm. “Thanks, Andrew. I'd never tell anyone, you know.”

Still recovering from the shock, Andrew smiled and turned to leave, but Garreth's hand was still firmly planted on his bicep.

“Hey, want to grab a drink at The Three Broomsticks?” the Gryffindor blurted out.

“Like a…” A date? Andrew wondered.

“Doesn't have to be, but yes.”

Andrew almost toppled over at the unexpected invitation. He'd never intended or expected for what had happened that night to lead to something more. Truthfully he'd hoped, but Garreth seemed content with various casual encounters; his conquests were no secret around the castle. Maybe Andrew had made more of an impression on him than he'd thought.

“I'd prefer a cup of tea at Steeply’s if it's all the same to you. I've never had a taste for butterbeer,” Andrew admitted.

“Really? Well then I retract the offer.”

Andrew smiled and shook his head. “Saturday?”

“See you on Saturday, if you don't catch me out of bounds before then.”

[cozzzynook]

But what if cybertronians did have another way to reproduce besides hot spots that were far and few in between and cold constructs that often caused disabilities.

What if they had the typical reproduction of housing a spark in their chassis and the sire builds a protoform that the carrier of the spark has to approve. Thats the normal way things happen, all three of those.

But what if there was another one.

One they said didn’t exist and would “take care” of any bot caught with this “abnormality.”

A bot that could get sparked with transfluid from a spike and spark merging.

The spark starts in the chassis but goes down to whats called a forge tank and their frames make the body with the materials they have and outside sources from metals and energon they consume and transfluid from the sire.

If they don’t get sparked their forge tanks sheds and they bleed energon from their valve and even their spike at times.

Its seen as a disgusting and abnormal trait because it’s something organics do even if these bots don’t carry exactly like an organic.

Cybertronians have long lives and so carrying and building one to term is not the standard human nine months but a thousand years.

The bot has time to hide it but the hard part is staying hidden after realizing and leaving.

So maybe Rodimus is one of the unfortunate bots who is an “abnormal carrier,” with a spark condition called spark flutters that he’s had since emergence.

His spark was acting odd and thats why he went to see First aid.

He snuck in, late when bots would be in recharge and he didn’t have to explain why he was grasping at his bulging chassis and tanks.

He expected to hear he needed a new dose of spark medicine and that his forge flush was coming.

Not the screen display to show him a new spark within the dissent tube slowly making its way to his gestation tank.

He stared at the screen for so long he didn’t realize he stoped venting and First aid was trying to snap him out of shock.

He doesn’t know how or when but he woke up in the private room with First aid reading his vitals. He has no memory file of passing out and his processor has such a terrible time trying to think of anything more than getting a cup of energon for his dry cords.

“Please don’t panic again. It’s not good for you..or the new spark, should you choose to keep them.”

He snapped his optics in a daze trying to stabilize himself, his gyros were spinning and his frame was weak.

“I’ll have to excuse you from work today, your spark needs to rest and your frame needs help stabilizing. I don’t expect an answer now but in the mean time until you decide we’ll have to keep the sparkling healthy for your own sake. Okay?”

And he’s nodding even if he doesn’t know because he can’t get his voice box to work nor his helm on straight when its a few hours later Drift and Ratchet are barging through the medbay demanding to see him.

Of course First aid refuses without his consent and he’s told with a gentle tone when its still just the two of them and he’s blinking back tears because he never told them he could abnormally carry and they’ve only recently found out he had spark flutters.

They weren’t even in a relationship, they were just fragging almost daily and sometimes sharing habs when his forge wasn’t flushing.

How could he tell them this?

That he was carrying one of or both their sparklings and would be for the next thousand years?

“Frag,” his voice breaks and he covers his face plate in tears and First aid is telling them to leave which he’s grateful for.

“Frag, frag, frag,” he sobbed, tanks clenching and spark stuttering.

“What am I gonna do?”

[smalltestaccount]

okay i think ive come to the conclusion that i dont really fit in with most other trans women, like personality wise, and thats okay. Like i think recently a lot of trans women, not just on tumblr, have been making me think i have to be kinky and bizarre or something, be blasé about transitioning or gender roles, or even just like be okay with some borderline harassing behavior. Its okay if that is you (except the harassing behavior some of yall need to work on that), but like thats not really me. Acting this way just makes me feel bad. Just ignoring that Im a total straightedge, that im like a 1 on the Kinsey scale now. Ever since i was like 11 my biggest desire is just like being a normal cis girl. I always am happiest embracing basic American femininity, and i only just re-realized this after after it helped me get out of a depressive episode (along with antidepressants and an increased estrogen dose). I don't care if im "enforcing gender roles", because i fucking love female gender roles (in modern American culture) cause they make me feel like not-a-piece-of-shit. Also i don't strictly adhere to many anyways. And i just don't think terfs would have any issues with cis girls who love the color pink, flowers, being boy crazy, and dreaming about being a mother. So like why should I feel like its wrong to like that stuff? I don't think there is anything wrong with it. And you know if you don't have that relationship with gender that is fine, you need to do what makes you happy, that's why feminism exists. I'm just saying I don't want to pretend like my personality is something that really just makes me uncomfortable.

I dont like when people here imply being a trans woman entails being sexual cause like i just want to be normal and that stereotype is harmful, especially to transgender children who are really likley to be targeted for some kind of sexual abuse because theyre trans and being trans is already sexualized more than it needs to be. Adults can navigate that to some extent, but not kids; I couldnt really navigate that when i started transitioning in middle school and im lucky it only stayed online. Trying to even somewhat fit in with tumblrs idea of trans women has made me encounter tranny porn on my dash and whenever i post images of myself I'm followed by gross accounts that just reblog that stuff . A lot of trans women don't hate it, because sex work is very much as part of the trans community. But honestly, seeing trans women be treated in those ways just makes me feel bad for the actresses and sick about myself and very dysphoric.

Im not saying that you cant express kinkiness and hyper-sexuality, because I dont want to dictate how you act any more than i want you to be dictated on how I act. But I also want to encourage thoughfulness in what you say. Saying you, yourself, is kinky and weird, is not that same as saying trans *girls* are kinky and weird. In the same way I'm not going to reblog tradwife content, I don't think its productive to make an "all tgirls be kinky" post. You shouldn't try to paint that image of other trans women.

As its the first day of june I'll just tie it up by saying that not all trans people fit into one personality and if you want to show support its best not to suggest trans women all act a certain way, and please don't think talking about "gock" is a good way to show support. This isn't a "kink at pride" discourse post in the very slightest cause I don't, and never have, given any shits about that, cause I've never been to pride. This is just me talking about how I fit into the trans community.

Im Alexa and I'm going to reblog and post shit i like, not what other people like or expect. That Includes not doing tummy tuesday cause i really only briefly did it out of fomo and peer pressure. And please don't say things about me that you wouldnt say about other women

[bomberqueen17]

liveblogging the Aubreyad: a snippet from book 3

I'm working on a more concise summary of book 3, HMS Surprise, and it's hard to cut some of these really great little subplots, but I must.

So here I'm going to put a couple of snippets from a subplot that is 1) fucking hilarious and 2) stands on its own.

The situation is that they are becalmed in the doldrums, and supplies are running short. The foremast jacks and midshipmen take to eating rats, euphemistically termed "millers".

'Millers,' said Jack, his mind roaming back to his famished youth. 'In the aftermost carline-culver of the larboard berth there is a hole where we used to put a piece of cheese and catch them in a noose as they poked their heads out on their way along the channel to the bread-room. Three or four a night in the middle watch we used to catch, on the Leeward Islands station. Heneage Dundas' - nodding to Stephen - 'used to eat the cheese afterwards.' 'Was you a midshipman in the Surprise, sir?' cried young Callow, amazed, amazed. If he had thought about it at all, he would have supposed that post-captains sprang fully armed from the forehead of the Admiralty. 'Indeed I was,' said Jack. 'Good heavens, sir, she must be very, very old. The oldest ship in the fleet, I dare say.”

Jack is prosaic about Callow's assessment of his antiquity.

Stephen has a cage full of pet rats which he is feeding madder as an experiment, to see if it will dye their bones.

An incident occurs that takes him out of the ship for a little time, and when he comes back, the cage door is standing open and the rats are gone. He immediately knows they have been stolen and eaten, and is coldly furious, resolving to in his turn dissect the rativores to see if their bones have been stained.

Meanwhile Jack calls young William Babbington, now one of his senior midshipmen, in for a chat, giving him praise for a recent event. Babbington is delighted, having expected that he was being called in to be yelled at, but then his conscience smites him, and he tearfully, sobbingly confesses to having eaten of the Doctor's rats. It wasn't his fault, he didn't mean to, they were already killed and cooked before he knew, but then he had eaten them so as not to let it be a waste. And the guilt is now terrible.

And in walks Stephen.

“I tell you what it is, Jack,' said Stephen, walking quickly in. 'Oh, I beg your pardon.' 'No, stay, Doctor. Stay, if you please,' cried Jack. Babbington looked wretchedly from one to the other, licked his lips and said, 'I ate your rat, sir. I am very sorry, and I ask your pardon.' 'Did you so?' said Stephen mildly. 'Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Listen, Jack, will you look at my list, now?' 'He only ate it when it was dead,' said Jack. 'It would have been a strangely hasty, agitated meal, had he ate it before,' said Stephen, looking attentively at his list. 'Tell me, sir, did you happen to keep any of the bones?' 'No, sir. I am very sorry, but we usually crunch 'em up, like larks. Some of the chaps said they looked uncommon dark, however.' 'Poor fellows, poor fellows,' said Stephen in a low, inward voice. 'Do you wish me to take notice of this theft, Dr Maturin?' asked Jack. 'No, my dear, none at all. Nature will take care of that, I am afraid.”

No, the madder will not actually poison them, but it suits his purposes to let them believe that it will. To assist in this, he administers laxatives to the members of the larboard midshipmen's berth, though I may note that in the softness of his heart he neglects to include Babbington, recently separated therefrom, in this dosing.

[covid-safer-hotties]

California COVID surge is surprisingly stronger, longer-lasting than experts had expected - Published Aug 5, 2024

California's summer COVID surge has proved to be particularly strong and enduring, surprising experts with its tenacity as it storms into a third month. The strength of this summer's COVID surge probably is largely related to the ever-more infectious subvariants that continue to emerge as the coronavirus evolves, said Dr. Elizabeth Hudson, regional chief of infectious disease at Kaiser Permanente Southern California. A dizzying number of related subvariants — collectively dubbed FLiRT — have emerged in recent months. One in particular, KP.3.1.1, has been picking up steam at a startling pace and has become the most common strain nationwide. \"KP.3.1.1 seems to be the most adept at transmission,\" said Dr. Peter Chin-Hong, an infectious diseases expert at UC San Francisco. \"And it's the one that people think will continue to take over, not only in the United States, but ... around the world.\"

Coronavirus levels in California wastewater have surpassed the peaks seen in each of the last two summers, according to data estimates released Friday by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which run through the week ending July 27. Coronavirus levels in sewage have been \"high\" or \"very high\" for eight consecutive weeks. \"This particular surge ... is fairly robust and long-lasting, lasting a little longer than I thought that it would. It's certainly very different from last summer,\" Hudson said. California is one of 43 states, as well as the District of Columbia, with \"high\" or \"very high\" coronavirus levels in wastewater. While hospitalizations overall remain a fraction of those seen during earlier COVID summertime spikes, hospitalizations and emergency room visits have been ticking up, and clinics are seeing high numbers of infected patients.

\"This is not a benign wave,\" wrote Dr. Eric Topol, director of the Scripps Research Translational Institute in La Jolla, in a blog post published Saturday. \"It's a major wave now ... we haven't yet reached the plateau.\"

In Los Angeles County, there were an average of 389 coronavirus-positive hospitalized patients per day for the week that ended July 27, roughly twice as high as a month ago. The latest number is about two-thirds of the peak from last summer and one-third the peak from the summer of 2022. \"We are seeing a lot of outpatient cases — it's been a much higher uptick over the last week, actually,\" Hudson said Friday. For the week that ended Saturday, the CDC estimated that KP.3.1.1 comprised 27.8% of coronavirus samples nationwide, an astonishing jump from its 7.2% share a month ago. Because the FLiRT subvariants are related, it's likely that being infected with one will provide some protection against the others — at least for a time. But if you're further removed from a brush with COVID, the rise of KP.3.1.1 heightens the risk of infection, as it has evolved to be even more contagious, Chin-Hong said.

Amid this ever-more-infectious backdrop, the number of people who have never had COVID-19 — the \"Novids\" — is dwindling. \"The proportion of 'Novids' is getting smaller and smaller,\" Chin-Hong said. \"I've heard so many stories in the last few weeks of people who didn't get any [COVID illness] until this point, now in our fifth year\" since COVID emerged. Though the newer subvariants are more easily spread, there are, generally speaking, no indications that they are more likely to put someone in the hospital. But some people have nevertheless expressed surprise at how awful they feel from their latest COVID-19 illness, complaining of sore throats so intense they feel as if they're swallowing razors or broken glass, and bouts of severe coughing that leave them winded. It may be that some people are years removed from their last infection or vaccine dose, making this summer's sickness feel especially terrible, doctors say.

If you can't jump the paywall, read the rest at the CovidSafeHotties link! I jumped it for you!

[thebunniesgrim]

Ok so wait  

So, the recent episode of Helluva Boss made me...  

Think.  

About something. 

I know, right? so scary  

But oops made me stop for a second (as much as I like one could say love the episode)  

Are the sinners worse than the literal 7 deathly sins?  

I know it's a little early to say this considering hazbin hotel hasn't come out yet and helluva boss hasn't shown us all the 7 deadly sins, yet you know?  

But considering our track record with Asmodeus not thinking lust should be forced and Beelzebub not encouraging overindulgence or overindulgence for the wrong reasons (when she tells Loona "like hey he a mess and killing the vibe k?”)  

(Also, I feel like the Asmodeus thing is a damned if you do damned if you don't thing honestly there was no winning with this one viv would have gotten flamed either way. I don’t have a gripe with it either way  )  

Are the sinners worse than them? Like Valentino is an abuser and uses angle dust and others for his body in more ways than one. Alastor is allegedly a cannibal (can that be seen as gluttony or some other sin? Other than it being morality wrong to eat people), angel overuses drugs, husk drink to an excess Yada Yada Yada  

....so, like who are the real demons?  

(That was the gotcha moment the whole time.)

Hazbin Hotel pitch: "Maybe the real demons (or redemption) were the friends we made along the way *rainbow emoji*"

You're telling me that Valentino can just sexually assault folks and get them doped up on magical cigar smoke, but Asmodeus doesn't believe that diddling people without consent is just too far?  

Ok yeah totally  

Because honestly what's next?  

Is Belphegor gonna recommend we get the daily recommended amount of sleep and to put healthy breaks in between tasks? (watch her be a doctor)  

Is mammon gonna vouch for ethical consumerism and hoarding money is bad?  

Wait no, let me guess!  

Leviathan is gonna tell us about that envy in small doses as motivation is healthy but too much and it's not?  

Is Lucifer gonna be like yo Dawgs being prideful in one's achievements is totally radical but don't be a dick about it  

Is satin gonna like to tell us getting angry is ok but pointing one's anger towards other is totally uncool?  

Because he'll doesn't seem like a doomed eternity it just seems like a playground, they aren't even being like damned for their sins  

It's like the purge but slightly more civil  

How is a sinner gonna be worst that a demon?  

I am very aware expecting Viv to give us correct demon mythos is a tall order and not realistic at all, but I don’t think we can stay any farther from the 7 deadly sins in their basic boiled down forms, you know? Like money, anger, ego, sex, food, lazy, and jealously.  

They are demons! You can have kind and sweet demons like minion from the Cuphead show he's a sweet heart but he still encourages the devil to be the devil  

Or even king dice (not a demons but a bad person he works for the devil) he has sympatric qualities but he's still a bad guy. Same with the devil too if you look hard enough  

They are still demons people have a negative connotation with them why not make them morally gray? Like “you can cut some guys arm off if both parties are into it, I don’t care just ask first” that would be kinda funny. But also, he values consent to a fault he doesn’t care about them being safe but as long as you asked its fine.

Asmodeus:

Or if like cheat days turn into cheat years idk  

It just seems like the 7 deadly sins are just guys and the sinners are just worse than them 

Like look at pilot of Hazbin and look all the non-sense they do then look at Helluva it’s so sanitized comparatively it's kinda funny ngl  

If the sinners, the worst of the worst of humans and this is how soft the demon royales are like pilot hazbin would bully the hell (heh) out of Helluva

Lol is the pride ring just a bunch of uncivilized edgy children when everyone else just kinda looks on in utter horror? Now that I wouldn’t mind  :)

small rant about the Hazbin hotel piolt

Why does Charlie call the sinners her people in the pilot?  

Like I feel like her people are the hell born like her, the deadly sins, the imps, the succubus and so on 

You know her people the demons and junk who are like her kin of sort?

Also why is over population such a problem? It seems like a fitting punishment to me if there's limited space seems like a good thing, no?  

Are they not here to suffer?  

Also why not just allow the sinners to wander the other rings? Why are they only in pride?  

What's the point of the other rings? Why are they named after sins if they aren't going to be used by the sinners? 

ok bye :)

[horizon-verizon]

Hi! You mentioned that you don't mind if we compare characters to other shows?

I kept thinking about why Rhaenys/Alicent/Rhaenyra don't work for me but I think Augusta/Agatha/Charlotte from Queen Charlotte does, even though both show have some of the same flaws.

If you're not in the Bridgerton fandom It is a multi-season show set in the Regency era with a colorblind cast. One might expect a bit of misogyny to thin out the tropes of the genre, but the show was infamous in Season 2 because it proved incapable of allowing female friendships and It has a good dose of racism that the producers and writers DON'T seem to notice and think they're being woke.

QC is in some ways worse on the racism part. The character with the darkest skin is shown being raped several times on screen and is the only one not allowed comfort in none of their relationships, whether romantic, friendly or family (which always drives me crazy, especially since her plot is used to help the white woman who is the only one who is an indisputably good mother).

Now, despite its flaws, this is my favorite season. First, I really enjoy the main romance, but I also really enjoy those three women, and I think QC succeeded where HotD failed.

The three women belong to the nobility having different roles within it, none is really friends with the other and all three have their own agendas that lead them to be allies or oppose each other. And that to me is what makes them fascinating, each one doing their own thing with their spheres colliding and each one fighting for their place and power.

Augusta is the king's mother. She is ruling alongside the cabinet and the chamber using her son's name and therefore his power to get her way. There are certain moments where she uses misogyny to her advantage to get more time or get her way.

Agatha has just recently won her title and has the most to lose because of how unstable her situation is. That means helping, manipulating, and getting in the good graces of the other two.Since it's a prequel we know that she ends up being an important figure in society.

Charlotte is a newly arrived princess who didn't want to get married at first and her struggles are mostly about her marriage and slowly grabbing and using her own power that her mother-in-law wants to take away from her.As long as Charlotte is not acting as queen, Augusta has more freedom as the king's mother.

All three also have complicated relationships with their children, what they expect from them and what they get from them.

QC allowed its women to be unapologetically ambitious, to go after what they wanted, to have complicated feelings about motherhood even if they are more implied than literal, and have complex relationships with each other and with how they gain and exercise power. Sometimes they are cruel, sometimes they are kind. Charlotte is allowed to be selfish, spoiled and self-absorbed.

HotD was afraid of making Rhaenyra really spoiled and entitled so it's all about the prophecy. Alicent does not know how to use the patriarchy and the rules of her society to her advantage, even though she presumably did so in her favor and against Rhaenyra for 20 years. Rhaenys lost all ambition after losing the crown. They are all involved in politics for the good of the kingdom and not for their ambitions and none of them has discovered how to not let themselves be trampled on for being women rather than the problems they face being due to political reasons.

QC ends up being a romantic story that coincidentally has complicated women and women with power. HotD ends up being a story about female suffering without catharsis.

Anon is talking about this post.

I think this is a good comparative analysis, too. I've watched Bridgerton and I've watched Queen Charlotte despite the weird thing it has about race--even on the premise of racism being "done" when these are not dealing with unreal characters, in a world where Queen Victoria doesn't exist, apparently colonization isn't happening?hmmm--and can confirm that they manage to write women pretty well and QC is where they shined.

I wouldn't say I'm a part of the fandom, because I don't engage with its fans at all. Like nothing.

[sapphos-darlings]

A certain strangeness has become obvious to me through detransitioning, and it's that for the first time, I'm well and truly aware that other people have very strong opinions about my body and who I am or should be and what that means for how I should be presenting myself.

At home, I have a wonderful bisexual partner who loves me for me, which includes the traits of me that are atypical for my birth sex. Particularly, they love the little facial hair I grow - and, to my surprise, got very sad when I shaved it for a trip to the capital. Of course I did, the same way I'll wear something that isn't my pyjamas when showing up in public for more than a trip to the store, but to them, this was a loss of something, and upsetting on a level that I hadn't expected. A silly thing, from both perspectives, they admit to this and there is no real pressure for me to show up as a caveman to the outside world, and in this case, it was a very positive and reassuring experience of someone having preferences for my body, because hair is something I grow naturally and my partner's reaction reinforced that this is not unwanted or ugly, which is a message I perhaps would expect from most people.

When I brought this up to my mother, however, she immediately reacted strongly in the opposite. She told me, very straightforwardly, that the facial hair that I grow is unsightly and I should get it plucked or lasered. I'm sorry, what? I spent four years of my life taking masculinising hormones so that I could grow facial hair and this is the best I could do and you'll tear it from my cold dead hands, thank you very much. She's also told me that my leg hair, as fine as it is, is horrible and I should shave it off. Why? Why should I? The only venue at which I present my hairy legs at is my own home. The hair that I grow hardly bothers anybody, and if she doesn't want to see it then maybe she shouldn't be looking when she comes over once every two months or so for a couple of days. She's entering my space, voluntarily - I'm not going to shave my legs for my own goddamn mother and if she can't deal with my body existing in its natural state then that seems like something she might need to go to therapy over, not my problem to deal with.

At a doctor's appointment, recently, as terrible as it was, I was trying to have changes made to my SSRI medication because the side-effects of it were driving me up the wall. Instead, this doctor diverted the discussion to her own personal problems with me.

"I was expecting a male patient. Are you changing your sex?"

No, ma'am, I am not. Sorry about the misleading name but that has nothing to do with my medication's array of side-effects. I had to explain to her that I am a born female, tried transitioning but it didn't work out because my body is extremely determined to stay female thank you very much, and that I am not male, never was, and I'm most definitely not MtF, not that it has any goddamn relevance to, again, my medication - which we never got around to discussing, because she did not care.

I ended up lowering my dose without supervision and dealing with the withdrawals to get rid of the worst of it, since clearly the psychiatric unit was not interested in helping me out with the issues I was having.

This is extremely jarring to me, because prior to detransitioning, I never faced issues like this. Now it feels like I'm questioned left and right about who I am and why I have a name like this and why I look like this and people feel entitled to opinions about my body and my appearance in ways that they never did before transition or during transition. When I was transitioning, I had few encounters in terms of people asking about my transition - but when they did, they were positive encounters. The most common one was chatty nurses during my million urgent care visits during that time, where they'd carefully sniff out how I felt about discussing my transition as a topic, and often fell into a casual, friendly conversation about how it all works, because I was never averse to talking about it and they were often dealing with the first trans patient of their careers, so it was the first time for them to be able to hear how it all worked and what it was like. It was never a negative experience, and nobody ever commented on how I looked, how I presented myself, etc.

And now it feels like that has been flipped on its head. Everyone has an opinion on my body, who I am, how I'm showing up. I should be doing this differently, I should look different, I should wear different clothes, I should have a different name.

I'm grateful to the people - my partner, my friends - who truly accept that I am who I am and I look the way I do and this is a positive thing for all of us. The rest of these people, I need them to, frankly, piss off about my body and identity. None of your fucking business how much hair I have on me or what my name is. Deal with it.

[learnwithmearticles]

Moon Missions

What’s going on with the moon?

The United States recently had a solar eclipse on April 8th, 2024, and some might be surprised to learn that the moon is, in fact, affected by solar radiation. The charged particles emitted by the sun, called the solar wind, reach the moon with no interruption from its atmosphere, as it has none. It also has no global magnetic field, another layer of protection that Earth does have, in comparison.

The moon does, however, have small areas of magnetic fields. We can see this because these areas remain lighter in photos whereas chemical reactions from radiation darken the unprotected areas.

Fortunately, most of these charged particles cannot pass through the hulls of space stations, so astronauts are safe in orbit. Cosmic rays, made of stronger and faster-moving particles, are more dangerous. Even on Earth, under the atmosphere and magnetosphere, cosmic radiation reaches humans, though not enough to be considered damaging to our health.

A lander and rover launched in 2018 delivered the first measurements of radiation levels on the moon 4. Based on those data, astronauts on the moon can be exposed to up to 150 times higher radiation levels than on Earth.

Radiation is a leading reason for the pause in lunar landing missions. It raises risks of cataracts, heart diseases, radiation illness, cancer, and other ailments. Longer missions, of course, would heavily exacerbate these radiation doses.

Other Health Concerns

Cosmic rays contain High-Energy (HZE) ions. In different exposure such as from nuclear accidents or irradiation therapy, HZE ions have been found to cause dysregulation in the mitochondria and damage to DNA. Because of this, prolonged exposure is linked to health effects often associated with aging, such as hippocampus synapse loss and metabolic disruption caused by damage to mitochondrial DNA.

Long-duration space flights have also been linked to cardiovascular disorders. For astronauts on the Apollo missions, heart attack was “the second leading cause of death” 8. For additional space flights outside of Earth’s magnetosphere, astronauts also had a higher mortality rate due to cardiovascular diseases.

In a previous article, we discussed the relationship between circadian rhythms and health. These rhythms are another thing that space travel can impact, causing sleep and mental health disturbances in astronauts 9.

While various studies are investigating the conditions of these health risks, a current NASA mission is specifically investigating radiation protection.

Long-term Mission

NASA plans on eventually returning to human-manned missions to the moon.

First, they have to address the issues discussed above.

In November of 2022, Artemis I launched with two manikins bearing radiation detectors. From this mission, NASA was able to confirm the success of the intended trajectory, launch of ground systems, and the Orion spacecraft. The radiation results from this mission are still being analyzed.

The Artemis missions are intended to explore more of the moon than ever before, and lay groundwork for eventual missions to Mars.

Artemis II will not launch any earlier than September of 2025. It is planned to last ten days, consist of a 4-person crew, and be a lunar flyby to ensure the proper functioning of the spacecraft’s systems.

It has seemed for years that lunar exploration has halted. Manned missions have indeed been paused, for good reasons. Ensuring the safety of astronauts is a priority, and they face serious health risks even when missions go as expected. But NASA intends to continue exploring space, the moon, and Mars. The current Artemis missions are discovering improved, new ways to ensure the safety of astronauts while making scientific progress.

Additional Resources

1. https://science.nasa.gov/moon/solar-wind/

2. https://phys.org/news/2012-01-solar-flares-astronauts.html

3. https://arxiv.org/ftp/arxiv/papers/1211/1211.3962.pdf

4. https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11214-020-00725-3

5.https://www.nasa.gov/missions/artemis/orion/orion-passengers-on-artemis-i-to-test-radiation-vest-for-deep-space-missions/

6.https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/how-space-radiation-threatens-lunar-exploration-180981415/

7.https://www.nasa.gov/humans-in-space/analysis-confirms-successful-artemis-i-moon-mission-reviews-continue-2/

8.https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/physiology/articles/10.3389/fphys.2020.00955/full

9. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9818606/

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S that latest poll answer makes me sad for you. Did that inspire that fic you wrote about Sebastians body image and thr beetle?

related to my tags on this poll & this fic of mine "The Kids Aren't Alright"

This gets personal and kind of intense, so it goes below the cut!

Trigger warning for discussion of general poor mental health, depression, suicidal ideation/self harm, eating disorders, body image issues, etc.

The short answer is an overwhelming yes.

"The Kids Aren't Alright" was very much something that I wrote because it struck a chord in me--Sebastian talking about his experience with body dysmorphia always hits home for me as a guy with body dysmorphic disorder, and the first time I heard Mackie admittedly very affectionately teasing him, saying he got stuck in the VW Beetle, I was a little horrified, I mean, secondhand embarrassement, imagining embarrasment so vividly it was horrible, really. So, naturally, I had to make it into a fic.

Also, I hope you don't mind, sweets, before going on, I'm adding onto your ask with another that I got even more recently:

youre very generous with what you share, so ignore this if im over the line, but its mens mental health month and that suicidal ideation post made me think of your mental health, whats been your experience with it?? i dont have a lot of men in my life who are willing to share with me, so i thought i would ask you 🥰🥰 please delete this if youre uncomfy tho

which is related to this

Both of you are such sweethearts!

Thanks, though, I don't exactly try to share a shit ton 🤷🏻‍♂️ I guess, eh, being somewhat anonymous in this corner of the internet yet being honest in the form of the spectrum of emotion from raw feral angst to private domestic fluff to shameless shut coaxes me into being so forthcoming? Not that I'm, like, super reserved otherwise, lmao.

I'll start with a short answer again before I go into deeper detail, which is just to say: my experience with it has been rough. I, a queer man, grew up in a small, red town with a very traditional family, so... yeah. It was not fun.

Okay, longer answer now because when given the opportunity, I. will. yap.

I think I will start with masculinity here because I feel as though a lot of my experiences with mental health and issues with my body tie directly into my masculinity. I don't have problems with being a man, I love being a man, it's who I am, I just don't love some of the expectations of being a man on a grand societal and interpersonal level, y'know?

Masculinity, to me, was always presented as the thing you have to be or else. Or else my parents were disappointed; or else the other boys wouldn't like me; or else I felt bad about myself: or else there must be something wrong with me; or else I must be gay; or else.

I have older siblings, and my older brother was in Boy Scouts when we were kids. Both of my parents fucking love the outdoors. So, of course, they loved that. My dad, specifically, spent all his time doing Scouts shit with my brother or organizing similar activities just for them when not at work. (I had a traditional western family unit, my dad worked, my mom was a stay-at-home mom.) And while I do enjoy the outdoors and camping and hiking and all that, just in smaller doses, I never wanted to join Scouts. I nearly immediately attached myself to art, so I just didn't have the interest. I can't do art if I'm outside digging in dirt, fighting with sticks, practicing knots, doing target practice, and backpacking (or whatever else the boys in the troop were doing), can I? That meant, if I wanted to draw or do crafts or something creative, I was inside, and my mom was looking after me and my sister while my dad and brother were out.

That did not sit well with my dad. He wanted me outside, joining Boy Scouts and fixing cars, playing mechanics with my brother. I did not want to. He tried very hard to get me to be as interested in more stereotypically manly activities with him and my brother, and it didn't work.

I'm just more artistic. That was always a clear disappointment.

To add on, as I grew up, I was not physically traditionally masculine, either. I've cracked jokes here and there that I'm not too dissimilar to pre-serum Steve before. It's not far off. I'm about 5'6", a little taller, and skinny.

I grew up waiting desperately for puberty, waiting for my muscles and growth spurt and... it didn't happen. My voice dropped way deep (which meant it cracked wildly and super noticeably, and, of course, I got shit for it), and I enjoyed that. I never had a pressing issue with my dick, I mean, I would hazard a guess that anyone with a dick worries about size at some point just because that's something etched deep in social sexuality, but I had more pressing things to obsess over. Like, at first, when body hair started to kick in, I was psyched to see it, and then it kept coming and suddenly guys in the locker room were pointing it out and making fun of me for being a "little guy" with so much body hair. Puberty also did fuck my face up with acne which destroyed a lot of my self-esteem, too. I had to go on Accutane not once, not twice, but three times. I still have a robust routine to keep my skin clear (but it is clear these days and I'm still reeling thinking about it, it took someone telling me I had really nice skin for me to snap out of it and realize I wasn't still covered with acne, actually. And that was recent!).

I didn't have my pre- to post-serum sudden increase in height and muscle moment, so I continued to feel scrawny and weak. Having pectus excavatum, a birth defect where my sterum curves in instead of going down in a straight line, never helped, either--I got made fun of for that, of course. I remember a comment about how one guy in a locker room wasn't going to dare to hit me/slap me on the back because he would clearly just break me... yeah, that didn't help feeling like the odd one out, unmasculine, fragile, and unattractive.

My self-esteem is much better these days, I will gladly say, but I genuinely used to get sick to my stomach just thinking about what I looked like, never mind actually looking in the mirror. I felt horrible that I had to go out in public and subject people to looking at my face. I'm an avid journal-er, and I have old entries where I just go on and on and on and on about how I felt like a monster. Disgusting and hideous.

It doesn't matter that I know, objectively, that I have a fairly masculine and even an attractive face. My jaw is square, I can grow a beard, I have a deep voice, my eyes are green, I've been very lucky to have straight, white teeth without braces and all that. Plus, people seem to like my cheekbones and curly hair. My voice, too, people seem to enjoy my voice and my mouth. So, evidently, others seem to appreciate my face. So many people spread over so many years have no real reason to lie. I'm complimented. I've not had problems when it comes to dating and relationships or whatever. Yet still, it's just not what I see. I say I know objectively what I look like because I know facts about myself, but I...

I don't really know what I look like, if that makes sense? My reflection shifts a lot, over the years I have had a problem with every part of my face, every part of my body, and I know I can't trust what I see in the mirror. I fixate on things, and it consumes my viewing experience.

Part of the consequences of all... that... all those issues above have been my experience with eating disorders. I've had some fun [sarcastic] mix of orthorexia, binge eating disorder, and anorexia over most of my conscious life. From the moment I was aware of myself and my own body, I've had problems fueling my body. It's a cycle over years and years that's been going on since late elementary school (around 10, 11), where I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling weak and useless and not masculine, so I push myself too hard in the gym and kitchen--working out until I'm physcially ill, blacking out, blistering from running and lifting, I've torn a few things that way, while obsessing with healthy foods at the same time to the point that it's unhealthy. That happens for however long I can take it. Then, eventually, I break. And I get into a cycle of binging that destroys my ability to go to the gym, so it's just binging. Cycles of it, uncontrollable. That morphs into feeling too big and disgusted with myself in the opposite way that I started with, so my brain fixates on restricting. What goes up must come down, though, so with enough of that... then I feel too small again and, yeah. It starts over. 🙃

I have worked very hard to break it with the help of friends and a short lived experience with therapy (he was a terrible therapist, then my insurance stopped covering it, so I couldn't afford to go or find a new one), but I've--dare, I say--gotten into some kind of balance more recently.

To end on perhaps a hilariously on-theme note and something happier, what I have found is that sex helps. Therapy and supportive friends and good environment are obviously irreplaceable. But, sex is good, too. When I was in the thick of all that, younger with my mental health challenges way more out of control, I'm sure I was just getting away from the numbness and hurt--endorphins, oxytocin, y'know, all that.

Then, I'm sure it was added to by the fact that suddenly, with sex, women (I am queer but when I started fucking around, I only felt safe enough to be with women, I didn't think I could be out where I was, and now... that's just the way it's worked out. It happens to have been women) were enjoying me. Enjoying what I could give them. Complimenting me explicitly or implicitly. Saying I'm hot or, clearly, if we're having sex, I'm not so disgusting that you don't want to fuck me.

But, sex helps beyond those rudimentary things, too. Finding kinky people and sex-positive people has inadvertently led me to find body positive people and find examples of real bodies--people really actually enjoying themselves. Spending more time naked is beneficial, too, haha. Slowly, I'm learning to appreciate myself more. This is my body. It's the only one I have to live in, I may as well make peace with it. And I will take the pleasure that my body can give others. I appreciate that I can do that. I like making people feel good, I like having their faith put in me to make them feel good and treat them and their bodies well, like they're desired, or not 😏, depending on what they're into. I want to pull that pleasure out of them. I want to make them feel good, bad, whatever. I want them to feel in their body.

Did that answer the question, lmao? I just rambled 💀💀

[erzatz3117]

@vvindication sorry for tagging you, but I thought you might like this other piece of my writing I translated *stares into the sky, waiting for a punishment from the heavens for my arrogance*

November 17th, 741, 7:23 AM. Rodgaard, Pervorodina. The Founding Stone. Anton Wladomojski, President of the Republic of Czarnovia-Sevraport, is walking down a winding, completely empty corridor. He is intently watched from the frescoes on the walls by politicians and bureaucrats, warlords and apostles leading faceless rabble. Like waves following celestial propulsors, the human masses consumed every obstacle on the path set from above - the Elven civilization, wiped out to the last tribe, the renegade states that defied the supremacy of Rodgaard and Divine Sevra, the socialist and anti-colonial forces of the recent past, trampled by measured economic pressures.

The pristine twilight of the millennia-old chambers, the dusty and unmoving air pressed tangibly on the President; the image of the Founding Stone, built up over centuries of human statehood, suggested to anyone entering the palace only one thought: the history of civilization is entirely woven from the aspirations of its greatest representatives, and therefore those who entered the palace through the front door could hardly expect anything.

The asymptote of the corridor finally approached its limit - room №1002. The metal plate with the frightening inscription "COMMITTEE OF MESOECONOMIC ARBITRATION" was unpleasantly out of the surrounding antique surroundings, which made Wladomojski feel even worse.

The redwood parted with a rumble, and the servant of two nations found himself in a room flooded with painful light. Its ringing emptiness was interrupted only by a huge oak table, which strongly resembled the cathedra of a courtroom. The resemblance to a punitive chamber was reinforced by five immovable men in black robes who had already taken their rightful places.

- Anton Wladomojski, right? Czarnovia-Sevraport? Please have a seat, - the sucralose voice of the chairman of the arbitration committee sounded from somewhere in the center of the room, - I hope you got a good night's sleep, *pan prezident*.

The president's eyes still hadn't gotten used to the bright light, so he couldn't make out the faces of his judges or the minor objects of furniture. Fortunately, by the grace of an invisible assistant, another anachronism - an uncomfortable aluminium chair - was beneath him.

Wladomojski was drowning in the green-pink ripples of nervous tension, suddenly feeling acutely his senile weakness, undoubtedly aggravated by alcoholism.

- Some vodka, Mr. Wladomojski? For courage, - a woman's voice and a leaden crystal rang out from his left.

- Thank you, but let's get straight to the point, - Anton Borisovich felt that he was one drop of alcohol away from a heart attack.

- As you wish, Mr. Wladomojski.

The rustling of thick reports and muffled whispering suddenly filled the office, but stopped just as abruptly after the chairman's laconic request:

- Enough. The decision's already been made.

- So what is it?

- Let's go through the entire chronology..... Last December, the Republic of Czarnovia-Sevraport requested a loan of 4 billion reserve kupon-karbovantsy from the Interbank, pledging to repay the amount over the next five years. Interbank reviewed your request and offered you a draft of a loan with an initial interest rate of 10% and an annual increase of 1.70% up to and including 18.50%. You declined, citing, uh, "the unthinkable audacity of compound interest" in your address to your citizens this March. Of course, hardly anyone in Rodgaard would condemn a healthy dose of populism, but you never offered a more reasonable proposal.... We met you halfway, and developed a new project, which implied a reduction in the rate increase to 1.20%, in exchange for pledging part of your state property - first of all, PAO Alchemmach, PAO Simfolijsk Tractor Factory and PAO Thaumenergo. You refused this offer too, demanding a constant interest. And here we are. We have only one offer left for you.

- I'm listening.

- A 12.50% fixed-rate loan in exchange for... 51% of stocks of Alchemmach, Simfolijsk Tractor Factory and Thaumenergo.

- You're... asking for a lot. I'm not sure Simfolijsk will approve of this.

- You can still decline. But we all realize that you *need* that money.

Wladomojski closed his eyes. The pleading faces of Republican ministers emerged from the flickering painful darkness. Without Anton Borisovich, Czarnovia-Sevraport would never have existed, and so the nation still hoped that their president could lead the country out of crisis...

- Miracles don't happen, Mr. Wladomojski. Economic modeling shows that if you refuse our conditions, you will face inter-sectoral economic disintegration. In other words, total decay, - the arbiter of fate seemed to have read the old man's mind.

The president was going through his recent memories as if scrolling through a diafilm. Desperate ministers, deputies understandably blocking the reduction of welfare spending, furious civil servants and workers, who have been starving for months.... ancient monuments of Simfolijsk, his hometown, forgotten and neglected by his own government.

For the tiniest moment it seemed to the father of the nation that he could still turn around it all, immediately cut all ties to the Rodgaard scavengers and save the dying Republic without bargaining with conscience, but the nerve pathways were already burned out on his isocortex - too much time was spent on lavish festivities, talks about "integration" and copious infusions of ethanol. It was too late.

In Wladomojski's hand was an extremely incommodious pen with ink of the traditional crimson color. It traced several quivering lines on the snow-white paper like a wounded, bleeding animal.

- It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. President. Come again anytime you need.