#like most of them are only prescribed for very short periods of time

[crimeronan]

been thinking about the rabies condition in writing lately, which is a GREAT post about stakes and characterization. basically exploring how if there's a 100% chance a character is doomed, then they can and will do extremely dangerous/damaging/contraindicated things for the slimmest hope of survival. which is one of my Favorite narrative devices

but while we're using health metaphors, i've been thinking about another somewhat complicated means of introducing character stakes, which i'm tentatively calling 'the autoimmune condition' for reasons that are. obvious

the premise itself is simple: the character has Something that they need to survive. they either can't live without this thing or they will lose something vital about themselves if they lose this thing. there is no replacement or alternative for the thing. what's most important are that the consequences for losing it are Extreme, rabies-condition-style

in the real life allegory, this is the immune system. which is great for being alive!

then the problem is introduced when this thing starts killing the character.

the character still needs it to live.

so: there is a 100% chance that you will die if you destroy the thing killing you. if you impair it through other means, there is a 100% chance of consequences, though the severity of those consequences is up to the author. (these are medication side effects in the real life allegory.)

if you do everything you're supposed to then you'll PROBABLY survive, but you're gonna have to play lifelong tug-of-war to balance everything, and you are often going to have to choose between two shitty options. bc there is no alternative.

this is a counterpart to the rabies condition in terms of stakes; with this condition, your character has to make complicated and difficult decisions about what they're sacrificing for their future. it's not the immediate life-and-death stakes of rabies, it's a slow decay instead.

what side effect consequences are they willing to take on?? and what are they NOT willing to take on?? where do their priorities lie in terms of symptom management?? what other solutions are they looking for?? what are they willing to sacrifice??

and perhaps most importantly: what exactly do they need to lose before they'll Accept the side effects / sacrifices that used to terrify them?? how high do the stakes need to be??

at what point is this character going to look back at the choices they've made up to this point, and realize that they no longer recognize themselves??

[cb-writes-stuff]

Project Opal Infodumps

The Keital and Geital

A keital is a square piece of cloth worn by people in the Vandeth Desert to protect their head and neck from the sun, as well as to keep sand and dust out of their mouth. It also keeps them warm at night. All in all, it’s the perfect protection in the desert’s blazingly hot days and unforgivingly cold nights. The prescribed measurements for a keital are 42 inches by 42 inches (106 cm by 106 cm).

A geital, in comparison, is twice the length of a keital, making it 84 inches by 42 inches (212 cm by 106 cm). The extra length allows it to be draped over the shoulders, somewhat like a shawl.

Fig. 1: Sketches of a keital (top) and geital (bottom) from the four sides.

A keital is very functional. It’s comfortable and easy to wear. Everyone has one. Different colors and materials are cheaper or more expensive, as you might guess. Even the beggars of the desert wear keitalen.

A geital, on the other hand, is tedious to put on and thus not worth taking off. Optimally, you only want to put it on and take it off once per day. They’re also more expensive on the whole, being twice the length of a keital. As such, they’re preferred by people who don’t want or need to take it off, such as travelers or the rich. For the former, it even doubles as a blanket in a pinch.

Behind the Scenes: A keital is pretty much just a keffiyeh in everything but name (and real-world cultural associations, of course). It’s put on the same way too. However, I had to figure out how to put on a geital myself. Turns out, you just need to fold the two far corners in to make two triangles, forming one big triangle, then you put it on like normal.

Parts of the Day in the Vandeth Desert

In the time period the story is set in, clocks are a commodity. Not everyone has them. This is especially true in the Vandeth Desert, where resources are scarce and importation is difficult. As such, the day isn’t usually measured by hours. Rather, it’s measured by the length of shadows.

(Okay, so, sundials probably are a thing, but most people aren’t gonna go out of their way to find one to check the time. They have places to go.)

The day cycle begins in irital, or all-shadows (night). Then comes ven ir-sa, first light (dawn; when the sky brightens but the sun hasn’t come up). After that is lashive, sunrise. After that is malantal ir-sa, first long-shadows (early morning), then konital ir-sa, first short-shadows (late morning). Then there’s noon/midday, which is called lon-tal, “shadowless”, because the sun doesn’t cast shadows from directly overhead. Then follows konital ir-gi, second short-shadows (early afternoon) and malantal ir-gi, second long-shadows (late afternoon). Finally, there’s virlashi, sunset, and steiven, “buried light” (dusk; when the sky is still bright even after the sun has gone away). Then we finally return to irital.

[unhonestlymirror]

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Okay, I have to say something.

One of the main problems of current medicine is not the amount of antivaxxers, but the division of society on pro-vaccines and anti-vaccines. And people like this scientist on the video are only expanding the abyss further and futher - in long run, causing more and more people losing faith in vaccinations and in medicine in general. Why, you ask me?

Because the problem of post-vaccinations' complications didn't disappear anywhere - moreover, it only became bigger.

For the last two decades, people went absolutely nuts, vaccinating everything regardless of time periods between shots, the age, the sex, the overall ability of a pathogen to mutate, etc. It was our absolute failure as of the worldwide medical community - and the best proof is the Covid vaccine and its effect.

But enough about Covid. Let's take another example - the MMR vaccine: live-attenuated, three doses, mostly applied to children at 12-15 months. My friend had one at 12 moths, too - however, back then, ~20 years ago, her parents noticed strange movements of her, after the first doze. She arched her back and did not respond to external stimuli. Her parents didn't attach much importance to it. After the second doze (she was already 4 year-old), she developed severe seizures. She was diagnosed with convulsive syndrome, and she had to take Convulsofin (Valproic acid) for 3 years. If you didn't know, Valproic acid is extremely hepatotoxic and can cause acute pancreatitis, thrombocytopenia, hyperammonemia, coma and death. It was also pretty expensive back then. My friend was prescribed of such medication because anything weaker just didn't improve her condition at all - and her neurologist assumed it would be easier for a child than for an adult to adapt and overcome such a dangerous drug. Luckily, she had survived, but she remained disabled for the rest of her life, even though her parents paid crazy amount of money on rehabilitation. Even nowadays, when we occasionally meet, she sometimes flinches and then complains of a headache. Obviously, her quality of life is pretty impaired and has lots of restrictions.

20 years ago, despite there were MANY of such cases, there were no public researches, publications, algorithms "what to do if" - in Ukraine, I mean. It looked as if there was an order from above to keep silent about everything that was happening. Nowadays, the World Health Organisation writes "febriles may occur but they are typically short-term and do not lead to long-term neurological issues" - I want to show them my friend and ask whether they can pay off her medications and rehabilitation costs for all these years. Because there are no long-term issues! There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Maybe it was just her parents' whim - to waste so much money!

The problem of modern medical system is that no one cares what will happen to you, to your child, after vaccination.

You are not listened to, you are labelled immediately as "antivaxxer" - and if you decide to vaccinate, and it gives you severe complications, and you manage to NOT die because of them, all the doctors around are like:

"Welp, it's your problem now. Who cares if you have to pay for rehabilitation from your own pocket - at least you are an acceptable member of society now!"

Is it really that surprising that between "possibly getting ill" and "assurely getting ill after vaccination", a parent usually chooses the first option for their child? Especially if they know that the risk for complications runs in the family? They do not vaccinate you with some random bacteria but with weak versions of the pathogen - the live-attenuated vaccines are the most heavy to deal with. The overload of immunity does exist and can happen after vaccination - and denying the problem because it is being spoken by the person you don't like is a very immature, very unprofessional behaviour, especially from a doctor/scientist.

There is no compensation for developing complications, there is no genetic screening for a vaccine's safety, there is no emergency help algorithm, there are no rehabilitation programs, hell, there is no education about post-vaccine complications treatment and prevention even. There are no safety guarantees. There is probably no improving of vaccines either.

And then they wonder why people vote for drug-addicted fashists like Trump and Elon Musk.

People are not lab mices. People should have a choice whether to apply medication or not. Just because complications are rare doesn't mean they must be ignored. People should not be ostracised for not wanting to vaccinate. There are people like my friend for whom ANY vaccination is strictly contraindicated for the high risk of complications' reccurance - to vaccinate them is the same as to execute them - but no one listens to them, although its our job as doctors, as scientists - not be indifferent. Indifferent doctors are called flayers, slaughterers, human experimentation perpetrators, sometimes even war criminals.

The guy on the video is indifferent. So is Elon Musk, however, he just simply broadcasts the thoughts and feelings of millions of people around the world, whose loved ones had to suffer from such medical indifference and ostracism. Because those farmaceutical oligarchs are interested in incitement of conflict and hatred between the two sides, in selling as much stuff as possible - regardless whether it's useful and safe - those guys are no different from Elon Musk at all, except for being more two-faced.

In conclusion:

We must not spread hatred. If a person doesn't want to vaccinate, listen to their arguments - maybe they have a good reason for that. Don't be blind, be kind.

We must develop safety guarantees and/or compensation for people who get complications after vaccination. Low risk doesn't mean your loved one won't be a victim of it.

We must educate people about what to do if you develop severe reaction on a vaccination. Ignorance breeds mistrust and ruins the belief in doctors. If the parents of my friend were educated, they wouldn't have ignored the first signs, they wouldn't have done the second shot - and my friend wouldn't have become a disabled for life.

We must not force people to vaccinate unless it's a 100% death-rate disease. We are not Auschwitz.

We must not spend so much time on Internet. We must not divide the society for likes, kudos, reblogs, views, whatever.

[mysleeangel]

is there anything that helps you when you run out of ambien? tbh i think i'm going to end up in a similar situation soon (in my case i haven't been overusing them but my doctor is just never in his office and the other doctors i get put with won't refill it and try to take me off it cold turkey) i hope you can find some way to hang in there, i'm sending kind thoughts your way and hope life gives you a break. wishing you the best 🫂

(I’m sorry this is so long, prepare for the biggest yapfest of 2024)

This is my first time running out, and it was due to my own stupid irresponsibility, so hopefully I shouldn’t deal with this issue again. However, I absolutely hate that your doctors are treating you so badly, it can be dangerous to pull you off of your meds at random especially when you really need it. If im not misreading and you’re taking Ambien as well, cold turkey quitting that stuff, whether it was your choice or not, can be dangerous depending on a few factors such as dose and length of time you’ve been on it. The doctors you are dealing with sound like they’re being incredibly careless with your health and if it’s possible I would see about switching doctors, but that process can be difficult and frustrating so I completely get it if you can’t do that.

If things start to get bad (like you begin having withdrawal symptoms or you start to feel like hurting yourself) and you have the option available near you, I would go to an urgent care or the ER.

I know that isn’t available to everyone though, but in the past four months I’ve been to the er and urgent care at least 15 times. It’s not an exaggeration, I just have been running into health problems that badly that many times in a short period. I’m saying this because it was the only way I could get SOME kind of help in my most desperate times. Maybe they can listen to the issues you’re having and someone might be able to help you get in contact with your doctor. I can’t say for sure what they’d be willing to do though, it’s like a gamble with every healthcare worker. Sometimes they’re really helpful, sometimes they’re indifferent to your situation.

Depending on where you are and what insurance you have, trying to get the help you NEED is like pulling teeth. I’m so sorry you have to deal with it, it’s stressful, scary, and it’s enough to drive you fucking insane. I’m also sorry that I’m not very good at giving advice and for going on a tangent. Despite being on the highest dose, I probably haven’t been on this med for as long as you have, and so therefore i have not dealt with much physical withdrawal symptoms. Mainly just anxiety, rebound insomnia, nausea. Its difficult for me to say exactly what I’m doing to deal with it, a lot of it is me just sitting and watching the clock, biting my nails, stuffing my face with food to deal with more bubbling over anxiety.

As far as I know, I am with certainty getting that prescription filled, so I’m able to find some comfort in knowing that it will happen eventually. For you, it seems that the future of your prescription refill is uncertain right now. I don’t know how you’re getting through any of it, but if I was in your shoes right now I’d probably be handling it very badly. That’s to say, I genuinely think you’re a resilient and strong person who has likely dealt with more than your fair share of problems and stressors. I think you’re going to make it through this, and you will be able to get in contact with your doctor or a doctor willing to listen to you, even if it’s a painstaking, infuriating process.

As for what I’m doing and I’ve been doing for the past week to get through it…I’ve been trying to keep myself distracted with other things and I take some other meds I have so that I’ll eventually get tired.

At night I take two benedryls, six hydroxizine (25mg), half a mirtazapine (15 mg, previously prescribed for insomnia but I stopped taking it after I got prescribed the zolpidem. I still have it so I’m using it to get through these two weeks) and two 10mg meletonin gummies. These are split into two doses, not taken all at once. I take a Benedryl, three hydroxyzine, and a meletonin gummy. Then I take the rest after a few hours, usually closer to 5 am and then I try to sleep. It’s worked so far, the key is to not start flipping out if you can’t fall asleep immediately, which I do a lot.

I’m not sure if you have hydroxyzine on hand, they give that stuff out like candy, but it’s an antihistamine similar to Benedryl and it can make you sleepy. If you don’t have that, 10mg meletonin gummies and Benedryl might help at least a little BUT PLEASE BE CAREFUL with how much Benedryl you take. It’s funny to joke about that hatman, but you can seriously die if you’re not careful. I went to the icu last month due to an accidental overdose of Benedryl and hydroxizine, wasn’t in there long but it was ROUGH.

At max, take three, but don’t take more than that in one night if you can help it. And don’t take them all at once. If you feel like they’re not working, give it time. I used to take about six or seven benedryls every night just to maybe catch a little sleep. Tolerance can build on it, so you have to be cautious about how much you’re taking.

I wish I had some better way to help, I’m so sorry for this long ass paragraph, I really hope I was able to answer some questions but please feel free to ask more if you need some clarification or anything else. I’m sorry that your doctors aren’t helping you, I know how fucking awful it is to deal with. I’m sorry if I didn’t make any sense at all but I hope I did, let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help. You’ve got this 🫂💖💖💖💖

[onsomekindofstartrek]

I’ve slept on this and I think one part of it is, when you don’t have an actual positive rubric for what constitutes good writing, all you have is negatives.

Don’t use flowing long sentences. Don’t use too many adverbs. Don’t use similes. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Don’t run. Don’t walk.

For some background: I took four creative writing classes in college, two short fiction (100 and 200 level) and two poetry (100 level for the first one, then 200–through-400 level open crosslist for the second one). So I’m not presenting myself as an expert or even someone with a minor in the subject. (They counted towards my minor in English lit, for some reason, but I took them as electives initially.)

I had two instructors for one of the short fiction classes, one for the other, and the same tenured professor both times for poetry.

And the difference, to my mind, is that the poetry professor at least had positive, well-formed opinions of her own!

All three short fiction instructors, one adjunct and two graduate instructors, were exactly the same and rigidly conformist in their approach to fiction. A lot of depressing literary minimalist fiction on the syllabi (Jesus’ Son by Denis Johnson was the only thing I enjoyed, it was on both syllabi), a lot of really stupid and overstated pearl-clutching about genre fiction that was framed as “we’re saving you from being unpublishable” even though there’s literally a larger market for genre fiction and it was clearly about respectability… and never, aside from some line level mechanical writing advice that was genuinely useful, never a positive statement of “do this if you want to achieve this artistic purpose, do that if you want to have this effect,” or anything like that. The most depressing classes I ever took, to the extent that I was glad when a temporary crown fell out of one of my molars and I had to excuse myself ten minutes into a class period to call my dentist.

Department policy was that only so-called literary fiction would receive a grade, but this quickly went out the window because no one submitted literary fiction, and if you are an adjunct, you are definitely not allowed to fail 90% of a class without consequences.

Now, in the poetry class, like, sure, we were taught according to a certain contemporary school of poetry. The professor described herself as being from the diaspora of the New York School, whatever that is. And to be honest I struggled to keep her happy with my poetry because at my core, I’m stuck in the early and mid 20th century as far as poetry goes. I’d rather read Nemerov or Crane than most contemporary poets. But at least there were goals we could strive towards, and she was more than willing to help us try and achieve goals that we would come to her with.

The only time I remember her telling somebody that there was material they weren’t allowed to submit for criticism was after a young student passed out an extremely graphic poem with a description of fisting, she took him aside and I’m given to understand, from his very pissy account that he gave later, she told him it had clearly made members of the class uncomfortable and allowed him to submit a new poem for the next day of workshops with no penalty. To be clear I don’t think homophobia was involved, she praised a lot of other poems with queer themes even to the point of moderate sexual content, it was just… extremely graphic and extremely sexual, to the point where I can understand making an executive decision as the professor that it was inappropriate for group discussion.

Other than that, we had a lot of creative freedom in that class… very often she would prescribe or prompt some aspect of the poem assignment, such as structure or a type of implied situation, but almost never its absolute subject matter. She would give commentary on our creative choices, sometimes to the point of telling us privately in writing that something just hadn’t worked, but never in a million years would she say “you must not do X or Y, that’s a creative choice that’s never allowed in modern poetry.” Whereas I felt like that was the kind of criticism the instructors constantly gave verbally, in front of peers in the fiction workshops.

It didn’t matter in the end; we knew they were powerless against the onslaught of genre fiction the class as a body would throw at them. But it’s still a style of teaching that not only doesn’t help you achieve your creative goals, but can also make you not want to make art. I think that blows.

I think the difference is that literary minimalism or whatever the style of the day in literary fiction is, is kinda poorly defined, right? It’s always struck me as one of the vaguest styles of writing, because whenever I see people try to define it, they’re always trying to do so by describing what it’s not. So you can only teach what not to do in that style.

I also don’t see why there can only be one style of literary fiction writing, or why if there has to be only one, why it has to be that one. I have never in my life wanted to write like Raymond Carver, I’m sorry.

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[bi-hop]

Making this a different post bc it’s not fully relevant to the one that inspired it but I think more people should probably be aware of premature puberty and why it’s treated with puberty blockers. Or even just what it felt like to be on them. So obviously: MEDICAL TALK. NEEDLES. PUBERTY. Yada yada yada

So when I started puberty, I was 5. My mom noticed that my chest seemed oddly sensitive, so she took me to a doctor, who then referred me to an endocrinologist. Long story short (mainly bc I remember very little of it), I was put on Lupron. I would be on Lupron for most of my childhood up until 8th grade, where they decided I was tall enough to avoid height complications and old enough to have a period.

I often say that I can’t be afraid of needles anymore because it would be impractical with how many shots and blood work draws I had to do growing up. All of that was because of my condition. I had a shot a month in an alternating leg. I got frequent doctor’s notes because I’d limp for several days after these shots (they were in the muscle as far as I recall, and would cause them to seize up). Once, a lady was retiring and did the shot so badly that I couldn’t walk right for about a week. They also did blood work on me regularly, I think to check if my ‘levels’ were right.

I don’t really remember having a concrete singular emotion about it. I liked the nurses who tended to me, so that part wasn’t so bad. I didn’t really like PE, so it was nice to be able to sit out sometimes. Once, I was abroad while my shot for the month was scheduled, and this really nice doctor in Italy was super excited to get his hands on Lupron for the first time and administer it to me (my mom was too scared to do it). So there’s nice memories attached to it, I guess.

I also remember a lot of shame though. I don’t think I talked about it much with anyone, not even some of my relatives. And this one time, my friends ditched me at SeaWorld because I was being ‘too slow’. I had gotten the shot the day before and told them I couldn’t walk well, but hey. Middle school. And it was painful of course. I still haven’t received a shot that painful since.

It is of course kinda funny I ended up realizing I was trans only after I went off the puberty blockers and had irreversible bodily changes. I do think it was necessary though, even if I feel like the doctor could have explained it to me a little better. He’d say things like “you’ll never be tall like your mom” and painted some horror stories for me about what it would look like if I didn’t do the shots. So I did them but it never really was a choice of mine, it was just something I endured.

The experience makes me all the more sympathetic towards trans and intersex kids though, who have their own complicated desires or fears of puberty blockers. Because if you’re willing to endure the pain of it and the financial strain, you should be able to get them prescribed to you. And if you want to avoid those things, they shouldn’t be forced on you. I’m just one anecdotal voice though, so it’s possible other people have more positive relations to blockers and maybe even have less painful stories about it. But yeah, that’s all

[eyeclinicinghatkopareast]

Laser Vision Correction Surgery and The Recovery Time After It!

Laser vision correction surgery is a very safe eye surgery that helps people see better without glasses or contacts. This can make life much easier and better. If you’re considering this procedure, you may be wondering about the recovery process.

In this article, we will discuss what to expect in terms of recovery time after Laser vision correction surgery.

Laser vision correction surgery: How does it work?

Laser vision correction surgery uses a special laser called an excimer laser. This laser carefully removes a small amount of tissue from the cornea, which is the clear front part of the eye. This reshapes the cornea, helping it focus light better onto the retina at the back of the eye.

During the procedure, the eye is numbed with special drops. The surgeon marks the cornea with a marker to guide the laser. Then, the laser treatment is applied. The actual laser treatment only takes a few minutes and the whole surgery normally takes less than 30 minutes. After the surgery, a protective shield is usually placed over the eye to prevent any accidental touching or bumping.

Laser vision correction surgery: The process of recovery after it!

After having laser vision correction surgery, patients might feel some discomfort, have blurry vision, and be sensitive to light. Fortunately, these feelings usually get better in a few days. However, how long it takes to recover can depend on the type of surgery.

In the first few days after the surgery, it’s really important to give your eyes proper rest. This helps them heal properly and lowers the chance of any issues.

Laser vision correction surgery: How long is the recovery time?

Recovery time after laser vision correction surgery can vary depending on the type of procedure. And it’s important to follow your surgeon’s postoperative care instructions diligently to ensure a smooth and successful recovery. They will provide specific guidelines for activities to avoid, medications to use, and follow-up appointments to attend. Remember, everyone’s healing process is unique, so individual experiences may vary.

Laser vision correction surgery: Factors influencing the recovery time!

The recovery time after laser vision correction surgery varies widely from person to person, and it can be influenced by several factors, including:

Type of procedure

Individual recoveryprocess

Age of the patient

Post-operative care

Corneal thickness

Pre-existing eye conditions

General health and wellness

Stability of refractive prescription

Stick to the follow-up appointments

Following all the post-operative care instructions

Laser vision correction surgery: Tips for a smoother recovery after it!

Below are some tips for a smoother recovery after laser vision correction surgery:

Give your eyes sufficient rest in the first few days after surgery.

Adhering to postoperative care instructions is important for a successful recovery.

Wear any protective shields or glasses.

Drink plenty of water to sustain good overall health.

Use all the prescribed eye drops as directed by your surgeon.

Adhere to all scheduled follow-up appointments with your surgeon.

Avoid using eye makeup for at least a week after surgery.

Avoid eye irritants like smoke, dust, or other potential eye irritants.

Avoid strenuous activities, like reading for long periods and using screens excessively.

Protect your eyes from bright sunlight and UV rays by wearing sunglasses when you’re outside.

Keep your eyes clean and avoid touching them unnecessarily to reduce the risk of infection.

If you experience severe pain, sudden vision changes, or any unusual symptoms, contact your surgeon promptly.

Is it worth going through the recovery after laser vision correction surgery at Mumbai Eye Care?

Even though the recovery time after laser vision correction surgery can take a while, most patients think the advantages are much more important than the short-term inconvenience. Being able to live without depending on glasses or contacts can really make life better.

For more details about the recovery process after laser vision correction surgery, get in touch with Dr. Jatin Ashar, the finest ophthalmologist in Ghatkopar.

Tag = Best Eye Specialist In Ghatkopar, Lasik Surgery In Ghatkopar, Eye Clinic In Powai

[thespianinthebackcorner]

Kanrnsjfbenidrbs thank you!!! I'm writing a fantasy, so naturally the character in question is a dragon (sort of.) His name's Emruss and he's like a little mishmash of a bunch of stuff I like (he's not the author's pet, though, that's someone else 😂)

He's a dragon made of crystal. Although I haven't finalised everything it does to him, he's grown up with a chronic (and eventually terminal but we're not supposed to know that until later) illness. It's a family thing, although he's the only one out of his surviving close family who hasn't given up on finding a cure- despite the fact that he already has mobility problems and asthma from it.

Despite all that, he's an optimist, and tends to repress his negative emotions. He's the type to think he's only wanted by a group because he's funny and thinks he's a liability, so keeps up a façade of happiness. It's not totally fake though, he loves his crewmates (they're on a pirate ship) and is especially fond of the two kids onboard. Think Olaf from Frozen or Bennett- that's how he acts most of the time. Of course, his doubts are almost entirely unfounded, the rest of the crew loves him and want him to succeed.

He actually used to be fairly magically powerful. Still, his condition drains his strength, so in a last-ditch effort for survival a year or two ago, he attempted to transfer his consciousness to something else- a nearby animal he'd be able to stay in and regain his strength for a while. He misaimed, and ended up inhabiting Arvi, a teenage human who was incidentally nearby trying to confess to his crush. Instead, because I cannot let any chance to hurt a character slip by, cue the very painful instance of two sentient souls trying to share one below-average-height human body. Thanks to that mishap, Arvi gets badly injured and exiled from the little town he's been staying in. Trying to cut down on the ramblings here because Arvi is very much the author's pet. Timeskip a few weeks and the pirate captain Lally has taken the two of them, plus Tarakini (Arvi's crush who he never got to confess to and also has a crush on him but won't say it for another like year because hahahahaha impostor syndrome) and her little sister Falisha (who is basically Klee with less explosives and more curry.)

Emruss is chatty by nature, (unless it's about his feelings) and likes the rain. He has a secret dream of finding a boyfriend and raising a family, but because his condition runs through family lines, he's committed to healing before even thinking about a family, much as he wants it.

Since he's sharing a body with Arvi, they switch over control periodically. Sometimes Emruss will try and imitate him for kicks, but you can always tell because of the way his illness is so much more present- he tenses up at random moments, gets short of breath really easily, and sometimes has asthma attacks, among a few other things. He's taking meds (prescribed by Dr. Mal Pracktisse, the ship's goblin doctor) to stop the coughing and a few other symptoms, but every now and then it'll be Arvi who's in control when he's supposed to take them and both of them will end up with a bad fever for a while.

As of the start of the story the boys are (mostly) peacefully cooperating, and he greatly respects the captain Lally. Of course, that will change, and this specific novel does have the happy ending tag, so don't worry about him. There might be one or two near-death experiences, but... He'll be fiiiiiine...

crepe whenever a character has a chronic illness that impedes on almost every aspect of their character and life in general

[iammionmi]

Time takes time 2023 is mine!

So, recovering from any traumatic experience takes time....people say all sorts of things, in varying degrees of helpfulness, ranging from the fairly unobtrusive 'it's gonna take time', via the most insipid pop psychology of 'time is a great healer', all the way through to my personal bug bear (& now trigger to a conditioned response of dis-proportionate rage which will see me, mentally if not physically, rip the face off whichever unsuspecting but nevertheless bland-unimaginative-uncompassionate-unempathetic fool whom utters the phrase) 'this too shall pass'.

no sh1t, sherlock, yes it will pass....but that doesn't help whatever insurmountable problem or inordinate amount of mental, emotional or physical pain and suffering that are currently being endured.

They may well pass, at some point, but right now they are HERE....so why say something so pointlessly ridiculous to someone in distress?!

......furthermore, they never seem to have any facts with which to back up this glib attempt to reduce your life-altering issue into some throw-away event of no significance just because at some point in the future, according to the laws of impermanence and probability, your circumstances/situation will have changed and this will no longer be THE most pressingly urgent and important aspect of your life; nor any reliable time scale indicator/predictor to which they can point as to WHEN this too shall pass?

Because time does take time, it can be very hard to keep going through it, when you're in it, when the conclusion has not yet been reached, whilst you are still lost in the midst of time. Often time takes more time to resolve the issue than the time it took to create it.

(think of a pregnancy and they changes it caused to a woman's body as her shape changes and organs move and are pushed up into the ribs to make space, and how the skin must stretch to allow for this time of accelerated growth, and the balance of hormones in the body changes ....that takes 9 months.....so why expect her body to go 'back to normal' to her pre-pregnancy figure and equilibrium in any less than 40 weeks?!!! In fact really, she will continue to be physiologically as well as mentally and emotionally affected by having carried and given birth to a child for most likely a couple of years)

This is especially true of experience and events which are traumatic.

in fact, my own most recent 'dark night of the soul' aka 'time takes time', following a dark period of my life lasting 2 and a half years, has lasted fully 3 years and 3 months before I have just started to see glimmers of hope that a new day (new era of my life) is finally about to dawn. I can say that now. 3 weeks ago, I could not.

And at several points during, in particular the past year, I scoffed at the notion that 'time' was ever going to make any difference because....well quite frankly, I had fecking well given it time, and more time, until having passed the 2 and a half year point, I very nearly collapsed all time because how could anything possibly hope to get better when having given it ample time already(in my, and any other reasoned opinion!) without there being any perceivable/ discernible improvement?! ....but that's the thing about time, it takes its own time. Not the time I or anyone else tries to prescribe ....and you can't condense time, in that you cannot force the process, it will always find its own way to realign things, and usually in entirely unwelcome and uncomfortable ways.

which leads me to the point of this reflective blog as I head into 2023, that I recognise the truth in this final, and now treasured saying "Take the Time it Takes, It Takes less Time"

All the healing, all the lessons that come through time, are being delivered in Perfect time if we accept and allow them. The moment we force or attempt to short-cut the process, we're only prolonging the night instead of looking to the coming dawn.

2022 was arguably the worst year of my life, and yet I step into 2023 feeling my best. and the difference is just at the very moment I allowed time to take time, it met me there and this year is mine.

my hope is that maybe someone else out there who has felt that all is lost, that things will never improve - that if they could've, they would've....anyone who wants to give up cos its just been too hard for too long.....will meet me here and feel this truth, that hope does exist, that they will hold on, that life is not all a cruel trick and that on just the other side of this feeling is a sense of healing and wholeness and purpose and worth and joy that is worth enduring this final stretch (as torturous as the not-knowing-when can be) of the night, because the very darkest moment is followed by that first glimpse of dawn. And knowing that I was in the dark only 3 weeks ago, I can tell you with absolute confidence that that first glimpse, the return of hope is nothing short of glorious! it is beautiful. It is enchanting. It is all I thought it never would be, and i very nearly missed it. so brave soul, hold on, keep looking for the next 'best step' you can take and keep your eye out for that first thread of hope, first glimmer of light that announces your coming dawn.

#2022 #2023 #newyear #time #timetakestime #mentalhealth

[horsesarecreatures]

Book Review: An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness by Kay Redfield Jamison

This was a relatively short memoir about what it’s like to live with manic depressive illness. The author is a Professor of Psychiatry at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, and is the coauthor of the standard medical text on manic-depressive illness. She grew up in a military family and moved around a lot. It wasn't until high school that she started having manic episodes, though her sister showed symptoms much earlier. It was implied that her father and sister also had manic depression, but she never said what happened to them in the end, probably for privacy reasons. 

One of the major focuses of the book was the necessity of taking lithium in combination with psychotherapy, and why the author and so many others struggled to stay on the medication. When lithium first started being prescribed to treat manic depression, the typical dose was a lot higher than what is standard today, and the pills were not in slow-release form. This really caused the author to feel ill, struggle with concentration, and lose coordination. Once an avid athlete, she had to give up sports, including riding horses because she had accidents such as falling over jumps. In addition to this, she also stopped taking  lithium because she felt that she was at her happiest and most productive state when she was slightly manic.

It wasn't until financial ruin from many irrational manic shopping sprees (one of which caused her to buy over 30 snakebite kits, among other things), numerous ruined relationships, and an almost successful suicide attempt that left her in a multi-day coma that it finally sank in for her that she had to take lithium as prescribed. Luckily, after lowering the dose and invention of the slow-release form, she no longer had the side-effects she used to have from it. However, she said that while she thinks it is highly unlikely that she would go off lithium again, she still has the temptation sometimes because she misses the highs she used to have.

She also talked quite a bit about her education and career. Throughout her college and graduate student years, she was not taking lithium and unsurprisingly went through frequent major depressions. Her transcripts were filled with Fs, but when she was feeling more euphoric, she published an almost unhuman amount of scientific research papers, and these saved her. When she was hired as a teaching professor of psychology at UCLA, she still was not taking lithium. Despite her major depressions and manic episodes, she never got herself fired or involved in a malpractice suit, though she did often take self-imposed leaves. She even managed to get tenured, which was not an easy thing for a woman to do during that time period.

Initially, she told very few people (except those that directly supervised her) about her illness for fear of professional repercussions. But as the years went on and she stabilized from taking her lithium as prescribed, and the stigmas somewhat lessened, she told more people and the responses she got were largely positive. When she switched to teaching at Johns Hopkins, the chairman even said, “Kay, dear, I know you have manic-depressive illness. If we got rid of all the manic-depressives on the medical school faculty, not only would we have a much smaller faculty, it would also be a far more boring one.”

All in all it was a very interesting read with a wry sense of humor spread throughout. 

[byuntrash101]

The Heir

Pairing: Sub!Servant!Baekhyun x Dom!Queen!Reader

Genre: smut (ofc) Royalty!AU; Western Europe Renaissance Period

Tags: courthouse plotting, arranged mariage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, handjob, slight hand fetish, fingering (m), controlled orgasm (m), virginity loss (kinda?? idk), riding, fear play (very light, you really have to squint), breeding kink, unprotected sex, cheating, creampie, dirty talk, cum eating (there's a surprise with this one hehe)

Raiting: 18+

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures when your Kingdom still needs an heir.

credit: @imrouse-art

A/N: This one shot is inspired by this moodboard. Thank you @kjikaila for insipiring me! I had a lot of fun writing this. Especially the fingering 🤪🤪. Like the top in me is happy! haha also maybe listen to this before hand 😏😏-Cat 😸

General Masterlist

“Go arrange the Nuptial Chambers” The old King ordered around at the dozens of maids and valets present as they hurried themselves in and out of the Castle's dining room.

You just had finished supper and the sight of him still covered with sauce and half chewed pieces of food repulsed you. In fact, you almost didn’t eat anything. How could you when this bovine old man was sitting right across from you? And not even the grand hall with the tall ceilings and the tapisseries ornamented with gold and gemstones, not even the extravagant solid gold silverware, not even the delicate and most exquisite jewelry and the finest silks and textiles your were wearing, in short not anything beautiful you could lay your eyes on could take your mind away from the swine seated in front of you, at the end of the long table.

Saying that the King repelled you was an understatement. Why did you have to marry him? Because you were a woman? Because you needed to strengthen your political relationships with the neighboring country in order to not appear weak?

Nonsense.

Why couldn’t you just rule the kingdom your father left you in inheritance on your own? You knew you were very much capable of doing so. You were smart, brave and courageous. But the laws of the country were not prescribed in your favour. And unfortunately you couldn’t change them on your own, not as Queen Regent.

You were the strongest person in this court. And everyone there knew that much. Maybe except for the King himself, but he was just a foreigner. How could he possibly have known? But on time… he too, shall learn.

But it doesn’t matter, you think to yourself as you maintain perfectly courtlike composure and calm, putting etiquette above all else as always.

It doesn’t matter because it’s only a question of time before you can ensure your country appears strong and tenacious. The people will see you as their queen, as their leader. The neighbouring countries will see you either as a powerful ally or a fearsome and serious threat.

Once you will have secured a rightful heir to the throne.

A strong descendant who will have your blood running through their veins… and you won't need this joke of a king anymore. You’ll send this pig where he belongs, to rot in the filthy gutters, as far away from your chambers as possible, preferably six feet under.

“My Queen, you haven’t eaten anything!” The disgusting man stated while finally setting down a gnawed duck leg bone. “You must not miss any meal if you want to bear strong and healthy children that will prove to be suited heirs to the throne. And I demand many of them.” The King laughed out loud, showing mushed up food in his rotten mouth. You wanted to vomit.

“My beloved King” you took the smoothest of voice. “I wish for the marriage to be consummated tonight. I need to retain some flexibility and agility, thus less duck legs and fatty sauce are best” Your statement darkened his gaze and spreaded a lubricious smirk on his stained and greasy lips.

“You are right, my beloved!” he declared loudly, gesturing to the valets to clear the table. “Maid, prepare me a bath! I have sweat profusely under this unnecessary gaudy attire all day”. He said, very gallantly referring to his wedding suit.

Even if the said apparel was made by the most skilled tailor of the kingdom, no fine textile or golden lining could save the ungentlemanliness of this man. Even cladded in the most expensive suit he still looked like an unfit jester, passing himself as a king. And for as long as he was sitting on the throne, your kingdom would look like a circus.

“I will attend myself that the Nuptial Chambers are well suited for the consummation of our union, Your Majesty.'' you said while gently wiping the corners of your mouth.

“Yes! I don’t want these imbeciles disorganizing the room where my beloved Queen and I will conceive a sturdy boy to sit on the throne after me.” He threw a somber gaze at the servants. The mere, but very concrete and chronologically very close, concept of having to have any physical touches with this swine, this joke of a king made you shudder.

You bowed your head respectfully and headed out but before leaving you turned around and let your gaze sweep the army of maids and valets standing still, their heads lowered, waiting to receive orders. These were your people, people you grew up with that served your family, your kingdom, your country. This so-called king was as much of a stranger to them as he was to you.

“You” you designated with a finger one of the valets. The boy around your age lifted his gaze very carefully, fearing to cross your eyes, that was standard protocol for an interaction between a queen and her valet. “Come help me with the preparations.”

The valet fixed his gaze back on his feet at once and rushed to your side.

“My Queen, don’t you want one of the maids to help you with such womanly matters?” the King questioned. Even the simple sound of his voice made you grit your teeth. As you shifted your face to look at him, you took advantage of that time to change your expression to a less miffed and warmer one.

“I think this one is absolutely suitable for the task. He has been here almost since birth.” It’s true the boy entered the castle as your late father was coming back from war past the big plains of Europe into the distant lands of Indochina. He was an orphaned and starved little boy your warlord father found on the rough roads; far beyond the Caucasus mountains. He brought the boy back as a gift to you, his only -and lonely- daughter, to have a friend to play with. The boy was barely even old enough to be able to form words back then but still he was old enough to know his name. Baekhyun. Baekhyun from the country of Silla. A very special gift from your father.

As you got older Baekhyun took his place as your favorite valet. Thz both of you still hold a very special relationship.

“Besides, his hands are as delicate as those of a woman” with that you took the hands of the valet and displayed them to your husband.

“Huh!” he exclaims, almost impressed at such delicacy of the boy's long and slender fingers, his palms are soft as the finest silk, like he never had to do manual labor. “Fine. So be it”.

“Come” you said as you left and walked up your way on the grand staircase of the hall up into the Nuptial Chambers, closely followed by Baekhyun, walking behind and thus diligently respecting the etiquette.

When you pushed in the grand and sculpted doors, three maids were already busy with changing the royal bed with more refined bedding.

“Thank you, I will take care of the rest” you softly said. “Oh! and when the King comes, bring me the elixir I requested from the kitchen” you told one of the maids before dismissing them with a motion of the wrist.

When they were finally gone you dropped your shoulders in relief of being finally in privacy.

“Baekhyun…” you started tracing your hand over the deep burgundy silk sheets. The soft feeling at your fingertips running goosebumps on your arm. “Do you think this bed is fitted for a King?” you turned your gaze to him to which he responded by immediately averting his.

“Most certainly, Your Royal Highness” he responds promptly.

“How would you know if you didn’t even touch it?” you asked, mischief underlining your voice. Baekhyun lifted his eyes once again and carefully approached the bed. He ran his own hands where yours once were, touching the slik for himself.

“The bedding seems appropr-” when he turned to you you pushed him, making him tumble down and laying flat on his back. Baekhyun looked dumbfounded on the bed, looking around like a lost puppy.

With astonishing ease you slipped out of the heavy and puffed out ceremony dress. Being left with your corset and lace underwear only. Baekhyun tried to sit back up but you pressed a firm hand on his thigh.

“No. Stay” you said sternly so he laid back down, obediently.

“Your Grace” he whispered in a short breath when his eyes trailed your body. Even though he had seen it a hundred times, seeing you would always make him miserably excited. It was always fun playing around with him and having your way with him. Afterall, Baekhyun was a gift to you. He was quite literally, your property and your most favourite toy.

You love the way he whimpers when you pull on the waistband of his commoner’s pants. bring them past his knees alongside his underpants. As you expected the naughty little servant boy is already hardening as he knows damn well what's about to come. He is used to serving you. In every way, shape or form.

“Oh!” you exclaim when the lively and swollen appendix springs free infront of your face. “Aren’t we excited?” you say tracing the outline of his cock with a finger running up the shaft and teasing the little slit on top.

Baekhyun wiggles underneath you.

“Your Highness, please” he begs looking back up at you.

“Please what?” you ask, a knowing smile pulling on your cheeks while you tease the swollen head even further. Baekhyun bites his lips and bucks his hips up.

“What if the King comes?” He asks, his eyes dashing between you and the grand door of the bedroom. You chuckle while you firmly wrap your hand around the girthy member, earning a strangled moan from the servant boy.

“So you suggest I should stop?” you ask while jerking his cock between your fingers, firmly gripping it. Baehyun looks up at you but he doesn’t say anything. “Should I?” you ask again your tone becomes cold.

“NO!” he finally breathes out, fisting the sheets between his delicate slender fingers. “Please! Your Highness don’t stop” his breath is short and his cheeks and neck are already taking on a reddish hue, sweat is dripping down the side of temples, dampening the locks of chestnut brown hair. Pleasure and fear is distorting the beautiful features of his face. But soon you stop anyway, going against Baekhyun’s wish.

Baekhyun lets out a disappointed grunt as he feels the pleasure gradually lessen. Your eyes light up with mischief when you spot the glistening pearl of precum at the slit of the swollen tip.

You rip off completely the clothes that were resting past his knees and throw them on the ground, and reserve the same treatment to what the clothes that covered his top half, rendering the obedient servant utterly naked. There was something so empowering to have this man nude as you stared down at him still clothed.

You gently push on Baekhyun’s soft thigh to which he responds by obediently spreading his legs, completely exposing himself to your hungry gaze. You can’t help but to smile thinking that you taught him really well. Even if it’s not the first time he is still as nervous, his heart is beating flush against his ribs and resonating in his ears.

“So, you want me to continue, I take?” you ask as you wrap your hand around his balls and give them a light squeeze, he jumps at the tight feeling around his sensitive area.

“Yes” he huffs “My Queen, please” his voice is needy as he eyes down your hand on him. Your hand leaves his balls and he can’t help but to whine again at the loss of contact. You bring your palm to your mouth to spit in it and soon you return to envelop the base of his shaft. The reaction is immediate. Baekhyun rolls his eyes back and bucks his hips in your hand, desperately seeking some friction. Your hand glides from the base to the head. You rub your palm in slow and teasing circles on his tip to mix your spit with his precum. You glaze your hand all over the very sensitive head.

Baekhyun grits his teeth until overstimulation got him whining and trying to escape your merciless touches. But you continue your torment, only jerking off the tip. Baekhyun has more and more trouble keeping his voice down so you decide to help him by shoving your other hand into his mouth.

He happily welcomes your digits as a way of distracting himself from the dire pleasure that is viciously inflicted on his sensitive cock. He licks around your fingers, sucks on them, plays with them inside his mouth, bobs his head on them. Anything that can take off his mind of the overwhelming teasing of your hand. And soon he’s able to quiet down.

“Good boy” you praise him before you take back your fingers, his eager lips around them produce a lewd popping sound. And you bring your lubricated fingers to his exposed ass, outlining his rim.

Like a well behaved little puppy his legs fly open, knees bent and feet on the mattress nice and spread out, aiding your finger to access and slip inside him smoothly. Slowly you push one finger earning a whimper from the boy. Right after you push in a second one. You look over at him, he’s the most adorable little mess you’ve ever seen, his hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes made watery with overstimulation, his jaw hanging open and his eyebrows knitted in neediness. He’s just so dainty.

As soon as your fingers reach their aim, deep inside him, right onto his sensitive spot, you feel each one of the rings in ass constricting your fingers in a tight grip.

“Hmmm. You’re so tight” you praise him again as you start pumping your fingers in and out; your other hand jerking him off a little faster.

“T-Thank you, Y-Your Highness” he stutters, struggling to keep up with his words he opts for minimalistic sentences.

You quicken your pace again, this time Baekhyun’s back arches on the bed while he takes a sharp breath.

“Does that feel good my sweet boy?” you softly ask, looking fondly at him, as he’s about to come undone at any second.

“Y-yes it does!” he says in a strangled breath. “It feels so good” he pathetically bucks his hips, hoping to thrust inside your fist around his cock and bounce his ass on the two fingers of your other hand, perfectly syncing with your rhythm.

“Do you deserve this, my baby?” you ask, wicked smirk pulling at your lips.

“Nooo” he whines, tears finally spilling out his eyes. “I don’t… I… aaaah… don’t deserve this Your Grace”

“That’s right you don’t” you go even faster, you feel his grip around your finger tighten everytime they hit straight on his prostate and his dick starts to twitch between your fingers.

“I’m only a peasant and you're a queen, Your Royal highness” he moans underneath you, as his eyes roll to the back of his head, bliss painted all over his beautiful and delicate features.

Normally you would let him cum right there. You would have played satisfactorily with your toy. That was all you loved and needed: to make him needy, covered in sweat, tears and cum. Pathetically thrusting in your hand, while his split open and orgasming little hole blink at you, and he makes a fool out of himself blurting out everything and anything just to earn this high from you, just for this permission to have his relief at the end of your royal fingers and at the expense of his pride and dignity.

That was what you liked the most. Breaking your favourite toy just for the pleasure of fixing him back and destroying him again. Slowly chipping at his sanity with every orgasm.

But this time you didn’t. You didn’t let him finish. Because even if you didn’t see the point in informing your servant prior to your little game you figured earlier today, during the wedding ceremony that Baekhyun was going to be the one giving you the heir you so desperately need. Afterall, you are the true and legitimate ruler of this kingdom and you will choose who you conceive a child with. And quite frankly you would much rather your son have the innate grace and delicacy of Baekhyun rather than the abruptness and the balding ugly head of the King.

So it’s decided.

Words can not describe the utter and ultimate feeling of disappointment and frustration that takes over Baekhyun the moment you let go of his cock and pull your fingers out of his needy, twitching and agape hole. Actually words are unnecessary because the feelings are plastered all over his cute red face, his eyes shoot open and he bites down his lips while he whimpers and whines, twitching cock weeping precum and throbbing on his toned stomach.

But the anticipation is short lived because you waste no more time, you slide down your lace underwear to your ankles and kick them off your feet, leaving you in only your corset, hoisting your breasts up on your chest, making them appear fuller.

You straddle Baekhyun and align his sensitive cock with your warm and drenched entrance.

“Your Highness?” Baekhyun hurriedly asks, panic swimming in his brown orbs as he watches you pump his length between your fingers a couple of times. “What are you doin-”

He cuts himself off with a loud and throaty moan, a low grunt that perfectly relates the absolute joy he feels once he’s fully inside of you.

That is a pleasure he has never experienced. The pleasure of feeling you around him, filling you up as you did him so many times. On very rare and special occasions you would use his face and mouth to aid yourself to your peak and he knew this was already much more than any lowly servant like him can ever dream for. So he never even dared to dream to ever be inside of you like this. And the thought alone almost made him burst.

He couldn’t believe how warm you were andhow wet his pityful whimpers and moans made you and how fucking tight. He gritted his teeth, it was taking everything he had left to not spurt out his cum right then and here.

“You’re going to give your Queen an heir” you whisper, lifting your hips up, Baekhyun’s cock slowly being pulled out of you while he moans loudly underneath you.

“Your Royal Highness… Aaaah... I-I can’t” he protested between moans.

“Yes you will” you start moaning too as you increase the speed. You feel Baekhyun’s thighs stiffen underneath you as he sinks his head back into the soft mattress and silk sheets.

“I’m not worthy, Your Grace” he whines, pulling on the sheets, trying his hardest not to let his hands fly to your gorgeous thighs, and stopping your unforgiving rhythm.

“Come on babyboy” you moan out the pet name and Baekhyun’s eyes snap back to yours. He looks completely done for, eyes filled with need. Like every thrust of your hips brings him closer and closer to the end of it all. Like each spike of pleasure turns into agony, the painful pleasure of driving the edge of his release.

“Don’t you wish to be the father of a king?” you say smashing your hips with even more force, the lewd slick and wet noises of your sinful deeds bounce off every wall and seem to be amplified by the high ceilings.

The King?

Baekhyun muffles his own moans with the back of his hand, barely hanging on to the sanity he has left while his half closed eyes dart to the grand door.

“If the King walks in he will have me beheaded” the poor boy moans out, anxiety, anguish and pleasure perfectly blended together in the depths of his warm brown orbs. You start laughing.

“Aren't you willing to die for this pussy?” you start to hang on to your thrusts, slowing down to a painfully slow rhythm. Right then Baekhyun’s eyes snap back to you.

“Yes, Your Highness. I could die for your royal pussy” he huffs, eyebrows furrowed. You smirk with satisfaction upon hearing the servant boy slip out this improper word.

“Then, cum for me” you pick up the pace again, somehow managing to be even more brutal on him, smashing your hips back into his, bouncing his body off the soft and thick mattress. “Fill me up with you cum”. Baekhyun loses it at the sudden change of pace.

“Yes My Queen” he gladly oblige.

“Fill me up and impregnate me with an heir” you say as your legs start to shake, you too, also giving in to the pleasure, making yourself cum using your favourite little toy. Your orgasming cunt viciously squeezing Baekhyun's cock as he finally, finally cums. A remarkable amount of hot cum rushes inside you, Baekhyun’s cock pulsating inside you. While you also come undone, thighs shaking above him and gradually slowing down until the pleasure wears off and you crash on his chest.

“You were great” you praised him after catching your breath for a few seconds, you brushed a strand of sweat soaked hair away from his eyes.

Baekhyun only nodded back to you, he was incapable of using words, he was completely dazed and exhausted. He wasn’t sure he remembered his name right now, let alone etiquette and protocol.

You wanted to praise him some more, remind him of how much of a perfect little angel he was for you and how good he made you feel but you heard a loud voice resonate from the hall.

The King was coming this way.

Your instinct kicking in you pushed Baekhyun off the bed and he rolled underneath it just in time before the doors were violently smashed open in a loud wallop.

“My Queen let us conceive this child” The King rudely declared. His words are tumbled up and slurred. He was visibly drunk. And you were just as visibly annoyed.

Heeling behind him was the maid holding a flask. Your mood lightened up when you wrapped your half naked body in the sheets and walked over to her to take the beverage from her hands. You dismissed the maid who hurried herself out, leaving you alone with the King, it wasn't’ for Baekhyun still hiding underneath the bed.

“So” the King let his heavy and porcine body sink onto the bed beside you as he placed his big hairy hand onto the covers you were still holding to hide yourself. “Let me see what you have underneath this”

But before he ripped the covers away from you stopped him.

“My beloved!” you shouted, “please allow me to offer you this potion I had made especially for you as a wedding gift” The King turned his appaling face to the small flask on the bedside table.

“What is this?” he took the small container in his coarse hands.

“It’s an aphrodisiac made with spices I had imported from Constantinople” a vile and distasteful smirk pulled on his lips. “I heard it’s supposed to multiply pleasure by a hundred” you continued. “It’s to insure my king is utmost satisfied with me even though I have no experience”

That was a lie, all of it. The fluid was only a powerful soporific and you had very much experience. You spent years experimenting with the male body. With Baekhyun you learned your fair share of information on how to make a man cum but it was nothing you wanted the King to benefit from.

Luckily the credulous King doesn’t question any of it and you don’t have to open your mouth a single time to sugar coat the lie before he opens his big vulgar mouth and downs the entire bottle.

Before you can even rejoice on this small victory the King wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and in the same motion rips the covers from your body. You shriek in surprise and jump to the headboard. Your corset is hiding most of your body but you still lay your hand over your unclothed sex, the last thing you want is for this disgusting pig to lay his small beady eyes on your most private parts.

“What do we have here?” The King says as he spots a small wet puddle on the silk bedding. “It appears My Queen has made herself nice and ready for her King” he says, lust making his voice deeper.

Then he crouches down and licks the small puddle, the thick white liquid sticks to his large tongue before it disappears into his mouth and down his throat.

You can't help but to smirk when you see this pig happily gulp down on the still warm cum Baekhyun filled you to the brim with a couple of minutes ago. It somehow feels like vengeance to see this drunk jester relish in it like it was your arousal for him. Like he could ever make you feel like this for him.

“Exactly your majesty nice and ready for you” you chuckle.

Within a few seconds later the King crashes into deep sumbler thanks to the potion and you are able to finally get Baekhyun out of the nuptial chambers without a single witness.

***

Nine months later you gave birth to a son. After hours of painful, difficult and bloody labor the prince finally came into the world.

“I’m going to bathe him, Your Grace” the midwife said.

“No!” you firmly responded. Even if you were tired and out of breath you still inspired respect and authority and the midwife stopped dead in her tracks. “Let me see his hands first”

To everybody else that was an odd request but the midwife, although confused, still obliged. When she gathered the small princely arms in her hand and showed the little hands on the newborn you couldn't contain your smile.

The prince had beautiful hands, long fingers and, you could already tell, a very delicate touch.

“The hands of his father” you whispered to yourself, looking with adoration at the child.

Taglist: @blahblahblah-boo @life-is-a-beautiful-place

A/N: there you go guys!!! How did you like it???? I know it was scandalous but honestly so so so fun to writeee!!! Please send me an ask and tell me what you thought! Im so eager to know and i promise im nice ^^. -Cat

[thevirginwitch]

full moon folklore

It's said that each of the 10 days following a full moon holds a magic all its own, and that those who pay heed to the individual attributes and use them as prescribed below can expect to become very powerful, indeed. Please note that these are only folklore/myths, so take this information with a grain of salt!

First Day: This is an excellent time to begin new projects and get new businesses off the ground. It's also an especially lucky day for babies to be born, as these children are said to live exceptionally long, healthy, and prosperous lives. In fact, the only downside to this day at all has to do with illness, as becoming sick now apparently results in an extremely lengthy recuperation period.

Second Day: There is absolutely nothing unlucky about this day; in fact, it vibrates toward riches of all sorts. This is an exceptional time for both merchandise sales and bargain-hunting, and crops and gardens are also said to thrive if planted now.

Third Day: This is not a good day to be born, for it's believed that the children in question are not only likely to be weak, frail, and sickly, but will remain so throughout their lives. Personal theft also seems to make the rounds today. The only upside is that thieves are more likely to be caught in short order — but whether they'll be caught with your belongings is anybody's guess!

Fourth Day: If you're planning to make repairs to your property or redecorate or remodel your home, now is the time to do it. In fact, this day bodes well for anything having to do with building or construction. It's also said that children born on this day are very likely to embrace political careers, but that early training, especially regarding the difference between right and wrong, is imperative to their future successes.

Fifth Day: Known as the "weather marker," it's said that the rest of the month will mirror today's weather. My sources also tell me that this is the best day of the month to conceive a child. I don't know whether this is true or not; however, if babies aren't high on your priority list, a bit of extra precaution might be in order here!

Sixth Day: This is a great day to kick back, relax, and do something nice for yourself. And since it bodes well for making memories, a vacation begun today could prove to be the most fun-filled ever. It's also said to be a very lucky day for hunting, fishing, and outdoor sports of all types.

Seventh Day: Apparently, opportunities simply abound for finding that perfect mate today. So, if you're unattached and looking, get out there and see what this day has to offer. You've got nothing to lose, and you might just get lucky!

Eighth Day: Be very careful of your health today, for it's believed that those who get sick today may not recover, and those who do are likely to be exceptionally weak for some time.

Ninth Day: If you want to keep your good looks, don't gaze upon the Moon today. In fact, you might want to sleep in a totally darkened room, for it's said that if any of tonight's moonlight touches your face, the Moon will certainly steal away all of its beauty.

Tenth Day: Patience is the keyword here, especially when dealing with children born on this day. They're not only said to be hyperactive, opinionated, and headstrong, but may lack even so much as a shred of respect for any sort of authority.

[cameoappearance]

Things I didn’t know about top surgery beforehand that might be nice to know

(for things I did know, see my ‘surgery’ tag; this is not intended as a complete guide to recovery nor as Things Your Doctor Won’t Tell You, just some stuff I either didn’t think of beforehand or only found out immediately before it became relevant)

Everybody who has heard of top surgery knows you’re not supposed to raise your arms too high during the recovery period, but you can also stretch out your scars by twisting your torso at the shoulders or reaching behind your back. Try to avoid that too.

Double incision scars don’t necessarily stop at the outside of your pecs; depending on your physique and how your surgeon surges, they might extend pretty far out towards your armpits.

It’s possible to have the skin around the ends of your scars puff up temporarily so that it looks like you’re stuck with dog-ears on one or both sides when you’re like two or three weeks into recovery, and then have them go away after a few months. Don’t immediately assume that you need to either arrange a revision or live with it looking like that forever.

Get some stretchy wide-necked undershirts and start wearing them under the medical binder when you get the all-clear to take short breaks from wearing it. You want to be able to pull the undershirts on and off over your legs and butt so you don’t have to raise your arms while changing clothes. This will probably be more comfortable than having the binder next to the skin (I didn’t think of this until afterwards and mine was very itchy) and lets you swap out your inner layer for laundry purposes without needing to wash the binder itself a lot.

I was personally very worried about being loopy and incoherent while coming out of the anesthesia but it turns out that’s not a common side effect of this type of general anesthesia (it’s more a side effect of the painkillers, which I ended up not personally needing, I couldn’t feel most of my chest for weeks except for the blister-esque agony of accidentally pressing on my relocated nipples and was fine with OTC pain relievers) and instead I was just incredibly sleepy for the next 36 hours. I also didn’t have to deal with nausea or constipation because of this, but I don’t want to discourage people from taking the painkillers if they are in serious pain, that’s what they’re for and you can control the side effects with other meds like the anti-nausea medication they give you at the same time.

One possible side effect of a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, like the kind that get prescribed after surgery, is a yeast infection. While you’re buying your OTC medications you may want to throw in an oral antifungal medication that treats those, if the inexplicable wild variance in regulations from country to country allows you to buy one without a prescription.

[terrence-silver]

Okay, but imagine, through some weird contrived AU, Twig works as a Bus-boy with John at the diner? Perhaps, ironically, post-war, where jobs are fairly scarce in a mangled economy (especially for returning veterans looked down on), and for a short period of time, before the first Cobra Kai dojo actually kicks off, John returns to a previous work-place with a new found sense of authority and confidence because he needs quick cash and while he does dream, he understands he can’t just live off of dreams alone? Like, maybe its one of the several trials and tribulations Terry’s father has him go through to ‘become a real man’ and this month, it involves working a job (a job that isn’t the hereditary, multigenerational family business) --- why not have it be a job his wartime compatriot dabbles in as well? Sure. That’ll do. Yes. That is trusty and tolerable enough --- serve a purpose for the time being and it proves a point. Will help the boy integrate back into society and leave this whole war nonsense behind, because that’s over and Silver Sr. deems it is a closed chapter, so of course, being the utmost authority on everything, it is indeed a closed chapter because he merely says so. Naturally, Terry clowns around a bit because he still has some of that playful, youthful innocence to him after everything he’s been through. Reminds of that one post from Reddit (right here) where a guy chased around customers at McDonalds with a wet mop telling them ‘I’m gonna getcha’ and getting himself fired on the spot at age sixteen for it. A n y w a y. Terry’s silly antics lead to him nearly getting let go as well and his exceedingly rich papa phones in to the owner to fix the issue, nepotism be damned. -”He’s going through a rite of passage.”-

Is all he says after his very formal introductions are made.

-”Oh, sorry, sir, we didn’t know, we...”- The stuttering manager had no idea.

Well, no idea who’s son this skinny little dummie was exactly, to be precise.

Old money? Man...

-”He just came home from Vietnam. Now it is time to get to know the ants.”-

He came home from where!? That kid? Sure, he believed that about the other one, but...

-”The...ants, sir?”-

-”The ants. The proletarian working class. You.”-

-”Oh...”-

Okay? Blunt and harsh. No beating around the bush.

It isn’t a threat or mockery. The tone is very matter of factually.

This is simply how Mr. Silver the Older speaks.

-”To best know thyne enemy you must learn the enemy’s ways or whatever mumbo jumbo Confucius wrote. I don’t read that crap. Gives me a migraine and when I get migraines, my physician’s prescribed skiing. I hate that crap too. Ever been to Aspen during wintertime? I can have that arranged for you.”- Is this man trying to...bribe him? Mr. Silver Sr. audibly yawns into the phone, not even trying to hide how bored he is by this conversation. -”Don’t take it personally, uh...Winnie, or whatever your name is. He’s the first one in the family with a...outside employment.”- Silver Sr. continues and goodness only knows how he got a hold the manager’s name. Why’s the man speaking with a...is that a thick Transatlantic accent? What’s outside employment? Like...ordinary work? The year is 1974 and it is like this guy crawled out somewhere from the other half of the century. He sounds like how a black and white movie ought to sound. Like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Either ways, it is the most baffling conversation the proprietor of this establishment had...ever to the point of feeling made up and it particularly haunts him in the time to come, and he’s been instructed to simply let Terry observe the work environment of the diner (like one does a zoo cage from the outside) and learn a thing or two, before his time and tenure is up and his father welcomes him into the family business with some manner of understanding of what a work ethic is for ‘the other side of the class scale’. The kid simply disappears, never to be seen again. The manager spots his name, years later, on the cover of Forbes. The gruff, bigger guy disappears too soon after.

Suffice to say, Terry Silver sticks around for some two months.

John Kreese is given a raise disguised as ‘a work bonus’.

Mr. Silver Sr. knows ‘the proud one’ wont accept it otherwise.

Those are the few oddest weeks in that diner’s overall running history.

[atendersun-archived]

Aftermath of Muu's Birthday / Heal Day

the changes:

Having met with his psychiatrist that same day to discuss progress on the medication he had been prescribed earlier in the year, it was decided that the reason his status remained the same was likely due to too many counteracting ingredients in his other medications. As such, it was bravely decided to begin transitioning away from his depression medication to give the one provided for PTSD symptoms a chance to do its very important job. Thankfully, doing so has done him wonders. Even in such a short period of time, he already feels significantly more at peace now that he isn't constantly sending himself into a state of perpetual fight or flight. Fawn is obviously still present, but that one is a whole other issue in need of being resolved.

He stepped down as the lead teacher of the preschool classroom at the daycare he was previously a full time employee at and now only goes in on every Wednesday as a float. It was a decision he had been thinking on for some time before making the big jump, and so far he is thankful for it. He has since given himself more time to pursue avenues in entrepreneurship and self growth. Returning back there full-time again has already been decided upon as not being in the cards, because he would rather place his skills back into being a potential business owner and jack of all trades intead.

On the morning of the day immediately following his birthday, he very quickly jumped right back into being very unkind in his thoughts and daydreams. Unlike many other days, however, he acted quick to chastise his mind on it's unwanted behaviors. It was a much needed boundary to set with himself that he had no right to create negative situations that he'd inevitably feel an obligation to penalize himself for never solving the right way, but he is most definitely glad to have done so because he has not engaged in that behavior since.

what has remained the same:

His Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are obviously still around. The same goes for the anxiety ridden bouts of paranoia that arise from having the pair of them together. He remains convinced that ill will will inevitably find its way to him should he step too far out of line, so leaving the house remains a struggle depending on if he is doing so to be alone, or to seek company. It is when it is for the purpose of companionship that it becomes a fearful enduring experience, because he puts it into his head that mistakes made in front of those friends will travel onto the ears of others looking to harm him in any way. Of course it is a fear that he has been told numerous times holds no merit with so many people in his life caring about his safety; however, his worry remains there nonetheless.

He still holds only very deeply to his deep rooted narrative that love is to be earned. Or at least that it is when the person receiving it is him. His goals of gaining the praise of specific people is still very much so present. One of which is still who we very well know it to be. It is of extreme importance to note that Muu has never been told by that someone that they aren't proud of him, and yet he feels an obligation to ensure that they never think it for a second if he can help it.

Obviously healing himself by himself wasn't as successful as he hoped it would have been. Better luck next time, pal. He still doesn't really comprehend a whole lot regarding topics of unconditional love and abuse, but nothing thus far has stopped him from trying to get the meaning of those things into traveling through his thick skull. His drive to be praised and his resilience in the face of not being so are also very much so being held onto with a tight fist these days, so he says with pride that he hasn't given up just yet on his goals. He'll more likely pass away than quit on his dreams of convincing the whole world he has the value required to be a lovable person.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

When Conviction Fails - Darth Vader POV post ESB Fic

Vader was a man of conviction, as far as he saw it. As was expected of any successful Sith Lord; letting the emotions rule and take full control without ever truly allowing them to conquer you. Using fear to his advantage, using rage to gain power, and pain to enhance said power. It had taken two decades to come to this point. Wavering was expected early on; during the initiation towards the Rule of Two. Vader himself had started out with an unquenchable fury in his soul, and a fresh open wound where heart used to be.

When She died, She had taken his compassion with her. She had grasped at the hand of his spirit, and all that he stood for as The Jedi. As Her life withered away, so did all that was good inside him. Left was only an empty shell of suffering; of agony. What was left, he had deplored. In the remnants of the man that had once been; all that he loathed came to light.

And with the passing years, while the pain never faded completely; it had shifted. From a sharp, searing red hot poker constantly burrowing its way deeper into his side; to a dull, distant ache only there to make its presence known. To make sure it was never forgotten, as a cruel reminder. But no longer at the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, it became enough to numb any other emotion. The remorse over the way in which he had, directly or not, caused Her death was enough to daze and desensitize any other reprehensible act he may commit himself to. The slaughter of innocents, of civilians, of women, of children. All in the name of justice, all in the name of the Empire. It weighed little on his conscience. Why should the blood on his hands matter? If he could kill the person he loved the most, and still go on albeit as an empty shadow of his former self - what did it matter who else joined Her beyond the grave?

Except, he hadn't killed Her.

It had been the first thing Palpatine revealed to him; as his severely burnt and scorched flesh still stung and charred within the fresh confines of its haphazardly crafted life support system. As he was still confounded regarding what was real, and what was a waking nightmare. Trapped within the suit that would become the prison of his own making.

“You killed her,” Palpatine had rasped.

Those were his Master’s words. His only explanation. Insinuating that Vader had for one crucial moment lost control, lost his mind; and subsequently ended the one person he'd fallen so far from grace to save. The one soul he had been so desperate to salvage that he had willingly sacrificed his morals, and his very identity, if only to reach for that tiny sliver of hope Palpatine had dangled in front of his nose.

‘But I didn't kill Her.’

If he had killed Her, there would be no child. His son - their son - would have died with Her, still in the womb. Would have been buried alongside his mother in the Naberrie family tomb on Naboo. Would have never seen the light of day, never grown into the bright, promising young man who had destroyed the first Death Star. Would never have been named, never have been hidden away, never have been living life peacefully unaware of his heritage in the shadows of the Empire for nearly twenty years.

But he was alive.

Luke had changed everything.

The discovery of his existence had been like a slap to the face, like a stupefying wakeup call. Like Vader had found himself dunked beneath the icy cold waters of truth, forced to realize the bleak reality. Forced to realize that the one person he’d been blindly clinging to in this world, was even cruel than he could ever have anticipated.

Palpatine had lied to him.

Perhaps, Vader had indeed inadvertently caused Her demise - but She had lived long enough to birth their son. She had not died on Mustafar, She had not been strangled to death by the invisible hand of his Force choke. She had survived long enough to set their only child to the world. Long enough to name him Luke; granting him the name She had picked out for their child if it were a boy from the very beginning of Her pregnancy.

She had been right.

The Jedi had been convinced that their child would be a daughter, She had been adamant it was a son. Their son. Luke Skywalker. Named by his mother, bearing the stark reminder of who had fathered him.

‘Luke.’

Dark, shaggy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. The same hard, defiant conviction in his eyes as his mother’s hazel ones had carried. He'd inherited The Jedi's facial features; the same angular boyish face, the same dimpled chin; the same complex. But his spirit was that of his mother's. Burning like a furnace flame, fighting for what he believed was right with a conviction only death could steal away from him. Vader had hoped Luke would be more like himself; easier to break, easier to manipulate, easier to steer in the direction he'd have liked. He had wished he himself could mislead, and pull the strings as well as Palpatine had, some twenty years ago when The Jedi had become tangled in the Emperor's web of lies. Trapped like a fly, to be feasted upon by the ravenous spider.

But Luke was different.

Luke was sensitive, emotional, vulnerable and desperately searching for a way to bond with his long lost father. The Jedi would have recognized himself in those qualities; would have appreciated the similarities. Luke had been deluding himself into expecting a heroic fantasy, envisioning his absent father as one of the men who had singlehandedly led the opposition of what would become the Empire. A as beacon of hope. Instead, he had found himself saddled with the knowledge of what had truly become of The Jedi who had sired him.

Vader clenched his gloved hands into tight fists; the visual memory of Luke's hard set, intent expression as he let go of the ledge still etched into his mind. Blue eyes cold as ice; denying their familiar relations despite knowing very well how the Force did not lie. His Force signature bursting with mistrust, and contempt.

But Luke had lived.

For a short moment, as he watched Luke fall; Vader had been unexpectedly reliving the pain of that moment he came to his senses while still strapped to the operation table, as he broke free from his makeshift shackles.

Crippled; less than half the man he'd used to be. More cybernetics and machine, than flesh and blood. Reaching for Force powers he could no longer tap into; taunting him by remaining just out of reach. He was reminded of crumbling to the harsh floor, beneath the load of his own reconstructed body’s weight; of the searing pain as his respirator attempted to match his sobs with its own periodically synchronized breath cycles.

The physical torment, while a menace in its own right; bearing no likeness to the mental anguish of his breakdown. It had stabbed viciously at his already blackened heart, until nothing but a mangled piece of malformed meat remained; the pang in his chest as he watched the last link to Her fall to his doom bringing it back as a distant echo. He was choosing death over his own father, just as She had chosen death over him and the Empire.

But Luke had survived, by some miraculous whim of the fates. The will of the Force, perhaps. Still in denial; still battered, bruised and disabled. Doomed by his own father to experience the same loss of a limb that Count Dooku had once bestowed upon The Jedi.

The Jedi had been bereft of a right arm; Luke merely of his right hand. It had been a selfish, wicked way of attempting to have his son experience the same indescribable humiliation. Stripped of a part of himself; at the hand of an enemy he had been rushing unprepared to face. Overconfident; in over his head. With this, Luke had learnt never to throw himself head first into a battle he was not equipped to win.

But at what cost?

Vader found himself glaring out into the vast black void ahead of the Executor; clutching at the distant mental link humming between them for a brief moment - like a flicker of light before going out in an instant. Luke was too far away to read; as his signature disappeared along with his ragtag crew of rebels. The Princess no doubt on-board; Vader could tell. Ironic, how it had been her saving his skin this time around.

Still, he felt the frustration bubble up inside. Felt it mingle with the fury; with the disappointment. Despite the carefully calculated trap he'd set, the way it had played out all in his favour until that last moment where Luke broke protocol. His reaction had aligned with none of the scenarios Vader had prescribed beforehand. It had failed; he had failed - and Luke was gone. Just like his mother.

Vader knew he shouldn't be surprised.

Everyone had left him for dead. Whenever he’d dared to love, dared to trust, dared to open up and be vulnerable and sincere - it had been for naught.

Mother, watching with glassy dark eyes when he turned to peer at her over his shoulder one final time; ever the terrified little boy as he left Tatooine behind. The boy who believed the Jedi order would help him free her. Instead; it had kept him from saving her. The last time he’d seen her before her demise; he was only nine years old. She’d been all he knew. Albeit without intention of hurting him, and beyond her own control; Shmi Skywalker had passed away in his arms to leave him alone. Had torn the first hole in The Jedi's heart; had triggered the first act of rampant, blind revenge. His first step towards his dark fate.

“I’m so proud of you, Ani,” she had breathed; as the life left her eyes.

Ahsoka had followed; abandoning him for her own selfish reasons. Walking away from him, dismissing his importance in her life and the value of the lessons he had taught her; the value of their bond. She had made it clear he was never going to be enough; had turned him down despite his pleading, his admission that he understood her feelings better than anyone. The Jedi had failed his padawan, the only one to believe in her innocence and to what end? Ahsoka had still turned him down.

“..And without you,” she had whispered.

Obi Wan was next in line; siding with the maniacal teachings of the Jedi order. Fighting to avenge them - all the while outright lying to his face, trying to trick him into believing he could still return to him. Trying to make The Jedi believe that his former master had ever considered him a brother. That they were ever more than merely master and apprentice; that The Jedi was never the burden or a disappointment he’d felt he was. That he was important to Obi Wan, too, in a way he had never outwardly expressed. That Obi Wan, who never formed attachments after what happened to the Duchess of Mandalore; had been so overtly attached to him.

“I loved you,” he had sobbed.

And then Her; who had turned down his offer of keeping Her by his side. Turned down the offer to become untouchable, as his Empress. Betrayed him, in spite of all he had sacrificed for Her. He had killed younglings for her. His brothers and sisters; his entire life slaughtered in the crumbling ashes of the burning Jedi Temple. To learn the ways of the Dark Side, to join the Sith - to keep Her from dying. And She had thanked him by rejecting him; by claiming She could not follow him anymore.

“I love you,” she had cried; and for the first time in his life - he didn’t believe her.

Now, Luke had chosen to stride the same path. Selfish, like Ahsoka. He too believing in the lies Obi Wan had fed him. Believing himself too virtuous, too pure just like Her. Believing that any lives he had taken in the name of the Rebellion - and his misplaced sense of civil justice - to be easier to explain away, than those his father had claimed. But in a way, Vader supposed it was no surprise Luke took after his mother. His son’s intentions were fair, his sacrifices rational. She had been pure, and good; though She was not fully innocent in the wake of the war, either; she had known where She stood.

Luke had inherited the same sense of morality, the same hunch for standing up for the weak. Standing up against the Empire, as a way of breaking free; of fighting back against the leading elite. Although, his desperation to make a difference and be of importance mirrored that of The Jedi.

Vader had sworn before the battle at Bespin that Luke would be turned. But could he?

Luke was still but a youth; still naive and starry eyed - despite some of that innocence being ripped away in the very moment Vader had revealed to him the truth. But he was secure; he was so steadfast in himself and who he perceived himself to be. The Jedi had been going astray when he was the same age; his fears and insecurities eating him alive. Luke was already an adult; had already defeated his demons.

“I am your father,” Vader had said to him.

The response he’d received was that of Luke crying out in agony, in begrudging despair. All the while knowing that the grim revelation was nothing but the truth. Perhaps Luke would now see that the line between good and evil; right and wrong was not as straight as he had supposed. It was a blurry, tangled mess; the road to hell paved with good intentions. Vader's own road to hell surely had been. But Luke was paving his very own road elsewhere, it seemed.

Still, it stung Vader’s damaged eyes. The rage swelling in his chest; filling the empty void of broken, shredded pieces of what was once his heart. For a second, the shade of glowing amber that coloured his eyes a sickly, Sith yellow faded. Gave way for a pale, tired blue. Bleached by the scorching flames of Mustafar’s lava streams. The same blue eyes The Jedi had once sported. The same blue eyes his son now possessed. Vader shook his head in frustration, and in an instant the shift was reversed. The embers of his fiery stare bleeding through, devouring the remnants of The Jedi resurfacing.

Or, so he would have hoped.

But the pulsating ache inside; dull and sharp as a blade all at once, remained. Vader knew the feeling; recognized the emotion he’d thought long gone. One that had been numbed and buried deep for so many years; underneath the heaps and drones of twisted, lifeless bodies of his victims.

Remorse.

Regret.

Guilt.

Remorse, for the way in which he had handled his first meeting face to face with his son after he had learned the truth of their connection. Regret, for the way in which he had physically, and mentally, snuffed out some of the light of hope previously clear in Luke's bright blue eyes. Guilt, over the fact that he had purposely driven a wedge between them himself; much like he had done between himself and Her. He found he knew no other way.

Vader pursed what was left of his charred lips behind the face plate. He glared at the distant stars, sparkling like burning orbs against the inky sky behind them. Spanning eons of light years ahead. Filling the distance between himself and Luke, making it palpable. Tangible.

He despised Obi Wan for lying to his son. Despised the way in which he had deluded Luke into believing in a childish fairytale. Despised him for telling Luke that his father was dead, that his father was now unreachable.

‘But is that not what you tell yourself?’

Vader turned his head to the side, as if to deny the suggestion. Still, the quiet voice nagging at the back of his head would not be silenced.

‘Do you not constantly tell everybody that Anakin Skywalker is dead? That you destroyed him? Is that not what you tell yourself? Luke is not your son; he's The Jedi’s son.’

‘Luke is my son. My flesh and blood. Mine alone,’ Vader shot back silently; his inwardly projected diction a sharp hiss of a threat; angled towards the defiant part of his own psyche.

‘Then, you must also admit that you are Anakin Skywalker.’

‘His name means nothing to me.’

‘Then, Luke Skywalker cannot be your son.’

‘He is.’

‘Then, you are indeed Anakin, and you accept that as the only truth.’

‘I am not The Jedi; he was weak and foolish. I destroyed him and his pathetic legacy, he is nobody now. He is nothing.’

‘You cannot claim Skywalker as kin, if you do not acknowledge your own identity.’

‘Silence!’

‘Silence will accomplish nothing. It is too late to undo what you have revealed to yourself.’

Vader forcefully ignored his own intrusive thoughts; locking them back away inside the darkness of his past where they could not bother him.

But weren’t they right?

If Luke was indeed his son; did that not mean that The Jedi had never fully died? How could he be a different man, a separate entity, if he recognized The Jedi's son as his son?

‘And Luke is my son. My son, and he belongs to me. With me.’

He could feel it in his bones; could feel it as deeply as he felt the tendrils of the Dark Side surging through him. As deeply as he felt the connection to his own Force sensitivity, to his own memories of Her. Vader had loved Her - loved Her still - and She had been but the wife of The Jedi. If he thought of Her as his beloved, as his everything; did that not mean he must recognize himself as unchanged? A broken shell, a faded shadow of who he had once been. But the same nonetheless.

A fleeting image of Her passed before Vader’s inner vision. Her kind hazel eyes, full of mournful sorrow. Her silky brown hair, falling in springy curls over Her pale shoulders. His betrayal had destroyed Her; had ripped Her from him. How could he ever repent for that? His eyes prickling; Vader snarled silently to himself - deformed face contorting into a visage of hollow, yet overwhelming anguish.

The Jedi had known that what he had done was wrong; as soon as he stopped to think about it. Had known the lives he'd taken could never be accounted for, could never be justified. That, much as he liked to think killing the younglings had set them free from a cruel fate of being twisted by the unkind religion of the Jedi Order; he had been ridden with the burden of their murder. He had locked that knowledge away; had forced himself to deny its meaning.

Still, now, he was not as sure anymore. He found himself wavering; suddenly not as certain of his future as he had once been. Not as convinced of his purpose to suffer for eternity, while bringing upon others the same torment. Vader didn't even take note of the wetness pooling at the corners of his bloodshot yellow eyes until one lone tear broke free to trail down the grooves of his wretched face.

Only then, did the shock seep in.

When had he last cried? Had it been on Mustafar, after he had slayed the Separatists and the realization of what he had just committed himself to came crashing down on him? Had it been when he learnt of Her demise seconds hand after the brutal life saving ordeal, merging the bodily torture with the psychological agony? Had it been when Ahsoka swore to him that she would not leave his side this time, despite knowing what he had done as Vader? Had it been when he found Obi Wan's tattered robes were all that remained of the old man he had struck down, thinking it would bring him peace but finding himself stricken only by grief? Had it been the last time he was reminded that everything he felt, everything he stood for - everything he believed - came from The Jedi?

Luke knew who his father was.

Knew who he was; knew what he was. Despite having his world toppled over and turned on its head; despite trying to deny it. Vader had denied the same fact for so long, that he had almost forgotten where the line he'd forged between what he considered to be The Jedi and himself was drawn. All he knew for certain, was that Luke was his son. And if he wanted to cling to that one scrap of light; there were so many horrendous actions he needed to take responsibility for as well.

The Jedi had never truly died. The Jedi had only ever evolved, had only ever changed as life itself changed and formed him into a dark dealer of vengeance. Had been molded by the path he chose, and by the people he’d loved and lost. Had been hollowed out; until only the carcass remained.

It was The Jedi that had killed Her; he had stolen Her will to live, he had snuffed out Her longing for peace.

It was The Jedi that killed Ahsoka; having zero quells with beheading her as soon as she denied him what he wished for; denied him her allegiance.

It was The Jedi that had killed Obi Wan; striking him down after convincing himself that the blame was all on him, and that it would diminish with the death of his former Jedi Master.

Now, they remained lingering in his peripheral like translucent specters. Like a haunting reminder of how he may never escape. May never forget. May never be able to fully buy into his own lies. May never be forgiven.

The Jedi - Anakin - was still very much alive. Not thriving, but crumbled to the bare bones of a forsaken human being. Beaten down by life, enslaved by one person after the other. But he had a son.

As another tear trailed lazily down his cheek; Vader flinched. The sensation overwhelming him, a mixture of heavenly relief and excruciating devastation. It seemed one may never appear without the other in its tow. The name of The Jedi was supposed to mean nothing to him; was supposed to be an empty callback to a past long since abandoned and overcome. Was supposed to be a distant remnant of a man that no longer breathed. In itself, that was true from a certain point view.

But if it had truly meant nothing, it would never have stung the way it did whenever uttered for Vader to hear. When She said it. When Ahsoka said it. When Obi Wan said it. Whenever it was uttered, it would bring forth all the suffering The Jedi had caused. And all the contempt The Jedi harboured towards his own visage. Therein lay the answer.

‘I am Luke’s father. Luke is my son. I am Darth Vader.’

‘And Anakin Skywalker,’ the pestering murmur of his inner voice whispered.

Anakin no longer had the strength to suppress, or deny that statement.

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Can be found on my Ao3 below, repost from my original acc.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048643