#...may allow me to become the dependable man I wish to be

[kazuma-asogi-blog]

What are some things you are thankful for?

I am thankful to have a path to follow and to be actively working toward a new goal. I'm also thankful for my friends, and those who have supported me in this pursuit.

[filmtv2022]

Part II: Our Time is Limited (18+)

Part One

Pairing: Geta x reader & platonic!Caracalla x reader

Synopsis: Geta and you deal with the aftermath of Caracalla's outburst, finding comfort in each other. Not only is there Caracalla's illness to attend to, but those who surround the emperors are growing more and more weary of their reign. As loyalty wanes, so does the inner circle's patience with your ever-constant presence and the emperors' hot tempers. With so much at stake the balance between keeping the peace and protecting those you love becomes muddy.

Warnings: sexual activity/smut + alcohol consumption + wounds/wound care

A/N: Well, this took a while to write, and I feel like there is more I want to add to this story. So, be on the lookout for part 3 (There may even be a few more parts if it continues to be well received)! I truly cannot say how thankful I am for the response to part 1. I felt the love for sure! So thank you to everyone who read that and has stuck with me here! And as always, please forgive me for any and all mistakes. We're going for a "fun" time... not always a historically accurate time!

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No light apart from the moon illuminated the grand bed chamber of the emperor upon your waking. Depending on how it was considered, the hour was either incredibly early or late. No sound could be heard from the hall or the open balcony. The silence should have been comforting, but a nagging pit in your stomach kept you from returning to sleep. A chill had collected in the air. Reprieve from its sting came in the form of Geta’s study frame tangled with yours beneath the luscious sheets. His body produced heat like a raging fire whose flames were fed with rage and the desperate clamber for power.

His protective warmth painted your skin in a heavy flush. Your head tipped back to stare at the man whose body melded with yours in a way that surely must have been crafted by the gods. Like this, lost to sleep, Geta’s youth was easy to see. The healthy glow of his unmarred skin was alluring, drawing your hand from under the covers you traced delicate patterns over his toned chest. Tension in your hip forced you to adjust yourself. Shifting your weight, you accidentally brushed the wound on your cheek. The sudden flash of fresh pain rippled in erratic shocks down the tender column of your throat causing you to hiss. Beside you, Geta stirred in his sleep. 

Uncomfortable and fighting back the multitude of possibilities that flooded your mind, you gave in to the reality that returning to sleep was growing less and less likely. Prone to fitful sleep, even with the sedative, Caracalla was sure to begin fighting his forced slumber sooner rather than later. As carefully as you could, you tried to extricate yourself from Geta’s embrace. You’d managed to free your bare thighs from between his own when the groggy grumble of his voice stopped you cold. 

“Where are you going?” He reached for you, hauling you back before finally opening his eyes. Your chest sat flush with his, and your good cheek rested on him, as his feather-light touch sought any part of you he could reach. The shapes he drew were hypnotizing, jumbling the words in your head. Concerned by your lack of reply, Geta rolled you on your back, allowing him to see your entire face as he rested his weight over part of your body. “It’s early. Stay with me a few hours more.” 

“You know as well as I do the fickle nature of the sedative. I do not wish for him to wake alone. He can be… He can be so scared and lost without a familiar face to ground him when he comes to.” Messy strands of hair stuck to his forehead, tempting you to fix them. With a ghosting touch, you brushed them away from his face. The rich hue of his eyes followed your every move. 

“And you will be there when he needs you, but that is not now. For now, I need you… here… in my bed.” He followed his thought with the trail lips between your breasts. Each graze was accompanied by a tender bite, leaving behind more evidence of the night only he’d be blessed enough to see.  Geta continued to move lower, tasting every inch of skin he could find before pausing to look back at you through hooded lids. The arch of your spine sent heat washing over him.

Struggling to breathe properly, you reached for any part of him you could find. The flare of pleasure that overtook you as Geta came closer to where you wanted him was blinding. With eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t keep the huff of laughter from escaping as you spoke, “You are insatiable, emperor.” 

Nipping at your hipbone he murmured against flushed skin. “I am making up for lost time.” Threading your deft fingers through his messy copper locks, you gripped at the root and tugged roughly earning you a delicious hum. Geta's focus became entirely on drawing those delicious noises from you once more, and to that end he was successful. Gooseflesh ran over your body as chilled air drifted all around. With nothing between you and the emperor, you fell completely to his mercy and desire. 

Geta’s shoulders dipped lower allowing him to wrap one defined arm around your thigh while the other explored the marks he’d created earlier. From his position, he could feel the way your body quaked under his touch. The power he had over you with just the help of his tongue and calloused fingers threw every unwanted thought and worry to the side. This was all he wanted, all he’d ever desired. What once remained fantasy was now freely given. 

A particularly well-placed kiss had you rolling your hips searching for more. Geta’s teasing no longer satisfied the well of lust that threatened to drown you alive. On instinct, your hold tightened, hauling a rumbling groan from him that nearly eclipsed the pitful whimper in which you begged.

“Geta… Please…”

Skimming along your body with his own, he felt the buttery expanse of your skin. Your pebbled breasts pressed into his chest as his breath ghosted in your ear. “Use your words, tell me what you crave.”

“I want you. I want to feel-.” You were cut off by the drag of his fingertips along your most sensitive of skin. The nerves there fired in quick succession, leaving you to focus on the journey his mouth took along the slope of your shoulder. Unsatisfied, yearning for the weight of him, you reached between you. The fragile strength of your trembling fingers wrapped around his cock. Rolling your wrist, Geta shivered. His hips twitched ruining his self-control.

“Then you shall have me.” Were it not for his desperation to fulfill your every wish, he could have stayed like this and let you bring him to his release with just the delectable skill of your hand. Without fanfare, Geta moved quickly, the firm press of him hard against your core had you moaning in anticipation. His lips captured yours in a devouring kiss pulling the focus from the pressure that built as he pressed into you. Your plush walls spasmed in time with the roll of his hips into your own. Tongues and teeth clashed in a fight for control. Even here, where he felt the most vulnerable as if his soul was laid bare for you to consume, he clung to the power that acted as a crutch in his daily life. But the fight was a losing battle.

Geta’s eye fluttered shut, closing him off from you as he buried his countenance into the crook of your neck, and that simply wouldn’t do. You knew this part of him, the boy, now man, that retreated inside himself when things grew too much.  The bold and confident facade he put on for the public was a disguise that few had been able to decipher... apart from you. Tenderly, you traced the length of his spine, paying attention to the way he shuddered under your touch. Much softer than before, you wound your fingers through his hair while guiding his brow to your own.

“Look at me. Do not hide from me now.”  Your words enveloped him, easing him back to the present and away from whatever tried to steal him from you. Carefully Geta met your eyes. Their normal severity was absent, replaced with the soft haze of adoration. 

“I love you.” The tender confession tumbled from your lips, and the truth of it shattered the last vestiges of the barrier that ran between you. All walls had been abandoned. The steady snap of his thrusts brought the pair of you closer to oblivion. Together you fell, the steady crash of energy over every nerve filled the space with heady moans of pleasure. 

Too soon for your liking the moment waned, leaving you breathless and weak beneath him. Geta rested his weight along his forearms to prevent crushing you. From his position, he watched a new line of crimson spill down your cheek. The sight of it brought a flood of unwanted emotions swirling in his stomach.

“You're bleeding again.” His voice wobbled with exhaustion and worry. The thick pad of his thumb brushed away the evidence, smearing the dried blood from hours before with the bright hue of that which flowed currently. From this proximity, Geta got a truer picture of your condition. Deep patches of black and purple bloomed across your cheek and brow, but that was not what fumbled the rhythm of his heart.

The hidden outline of fingers around the base of your throat undid him. Masked by the layer of dried ichor that coated your throat he saw the depth of his brother’s illness. Never had he imagined Caracalla would be capable of hurting you in this way. The slice of a blade had been beyond reason, but his hand around your throat… that was unconscionable. 

Rage burned hot, the flare of his nostrils timed with the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he tried to calm himself. You knew without a doubt the thoughts that sped through his mind. Anger, disbelief, sorrow but most of fury. “I will never let him lay his hands upon you again.” 

“Please, don’t make promises you can’t keep, Geta.” Something new flashed in his eyes as he looked down at you, and the sight of it broke tender and soft. “Even you cannot keep me safe from him, not entirely. I want to believe that everything wrong about our lives will right itself in time, but that is a childish, fool-hardy thought. Even you cannot deny that.”

“Why? This is… what we share… Why cannot we find a way out of this mess together? Shouldn’t we be allowed happiness?” The same reasoning from the night before returned. A pitiful well of dampness pooled at the corners of his eyes. The dejected young man who looked to others for reassurance in everything he did bore himself to you fully.  “I can keep you safe. Do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” You reached for him, pulling his lips to yours in a sympathetic and calming embrace. It lasted just long enough for his breathing to settle and his mind to slow. Gently, Geta shifted his weight away from your body giving you space to recover. Torn from his steadying presence, you rolled onto your side following him with your gaze as he slipped from the bed. He pulled a robe from the floor and wrapped it around himself.  Exhaustion crossed your vision and dulled your mind, lulling you closer to sleep. Only the gentle clink of glass against glass kept you from falling away entirely.  

Geta returned to you quickly, his hands full of what appeared to be vials of acetum and honey, two clean cloths resting over his wrist. Finding a spot to deposit the vials on the bed, he took one of the rags. With some hesitation, he reached between your plush thighs, wiping away the mess the pair of you'd made. The sudden jolt of your hips as he reached your core slowed his hand, easing the strength with which he worked. Your weight settled back into the plush sheets as he finished and discarded the cloth upon the flood.

“Sit up.” His words were tender,  holding none of the desperation from before. Following his command,  you lifted yourself from the comfort of the bed, the sheets crumpled further under your movement. Geta’s eyes raked over your body, admiring the swell of your bare breasts and the curve of your waist. A glint of something more akin to lust was shown briefly before he settled into the space next to you. With practiced care and thoughtful hands, the emperor cleansed your wounds and removed the remnants of dried blood. Your focus never left his face as he worked. Instead, you took the time to memorize the tug of concentration between his brows. Deep lines formed there creating a picture of what was to come, of an older Geta, of an emperor marked by the passage of time. You prayed the gods would favor you, for that was a vision you prayed to see in person. 

“There, that’s better.” Geta twisted to discard the vials and cloth upon the nearby stand. “Come, let us sleep. The day is sure to be long enough without the edge of weariness dulling our minds.” 

Slowly, you sank back into each other’s arms, your bodies together in perfect harmony as sleep overtook the pair of you.

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Fresh morning light seeped into the sea of curtains around the bed chamber. Were it not for the pressing knaw of anxiety, you’d have happily stayed curled in Geta’s arms. But that was not a possibility. Knowing that time was running short to return to Caracalla before he woke, you extricated yourself from the comfort of your lover's embrace. 

The marble was startlingly cold beneath your feet forcing you to work quickly to find your discarded robe. The memory of the night before was stunningly clear making it easy to find your blood-stained clothes. Stooping, you grabbed the creamy fabric, shoving your arms inside before tying it tightly around your waist. 

You chanced a glance over your shoulder at Geta who was still peaceful in his bed. Without further hesitation, you disengaged the lock and made your way into the mostly empty hall. Only two guards remained posted to protect the emperor. Thankfully, the comings and goings of women from Geta’s chamber were nothing new. Your presence there may have been different from the norm, but it was hardly shocking given the previous night’s difficulties. 

Your bare footsteps, pounded down the hallway toward Caracalla, praying to the gods that you’d find him asleep. Rounding the corner, you watched as the guards parted to allow you into the room. There were no questions or need to exchange words, this room had been your home for more than a decade. Not a soul would question your presence inside. 

Caracalla’s living quarters were nearly as extravagant as his brothers. The only strange addition was that of his pet monkey who sat alert on the table, gnawing at the fresh fruit that had been placed there the night before for his consumption. Dundus chirped at your arrival, announcing it to his still-slumbering owner. Curled in a ball on his side, the emperor lay oddly upon the covers.

There was nothing comfortable or dignified about how he was left. With soft steps, you made your way to him. His chest rose and fell in shallow waves marking the hold the medication still had upon his mind. Much the same as his brother, he looked far younger in sleep, and yet with Caracalla, the evidence of his poor health would never fully disappear. The sores on his face had broken through the remnants of the makeup on his tear-stained cheeks. A measure of guilt flooded your veins, churring the acid in your empty stomach and forcing you into action. 

Beside the vanity sat a pitcher of clean water and a rag you’d readied before things fell apart the previous evening. It had become your nightly ritual to clean Caracalla’s face of the day’s makeup before covering each mark upon his skin with acetum and honey. It kept the bond between you strong as you were the only person he allowed to care for him in that way.

Coming face to face with the mirror, you did your best to avoid your reflection, but ignoring it was nearly impossible. Your fingers wrapped around the pitcher as you poured it into the empty bowl that sat in the center of the flat surface. The motion was done on instinct giving you time to assess your injuries personally. 

A deep purple swath had formed around your eye, seeping down below the slash that marked your cheekbone. The bruise throbbed with every flick of your eye, but it was the deep cut that truly pained you. A thin line of dried blood sat in the wound creating a gruesome visage. Nothing could hide the terrifying mark of the fingers that had closed around your throat before the final attack. Even in the light of day, you could feel their presence as though the hand remained heavy against you.

Glancing dead ahead into the mirror, the most terrifying part of all was not the injuries, it was not knowing who would wake up and rejoin the world when Caracalla rose. The pitcher clanked against the stone as you sat it down to grab the cloth. Dampening the thin fabric, you wrung it out and collected the vial of acetum and jar of honey to soothe his sores before returning to the emperor. There was just enough space on the edge of the bed for you to sit near his head. With gentle strokes, you cleansed his face, being sure to give extra care to spots of broken skin. Free of the mask, the progression of his illness became more apparent. Using the same rag, you dabbed the acetum on each of the marks before following with the golden liquid in the hope that it would provide some relief.  

It took only minutes for you to finish caring for the emperors’s needs, but it felt like an eternity. Part of you hoped he would wake as you worked but another part of you prayed he would continue to rest. Discarding the rag and other supplies nearby, you found yourself gravitating toward Caracalla’s slumbering frame. A deep ache radiated deep in your soul, gripping you tightly in an unrelenting hold. No matter how far he’d fallen, no matter the faults of his mind, this man would forever be yours. He’d forever be the one who captured your heart first and for that, you were eternally grateful. 

The bridge of your nose burned as you fell into his presence. The clean scent of his robes mixed with the bitter tang of wine that clung to him.  Fearful of letting him go, you wrapped an arm around his side and hauled yourself close. Your fists twisted into the flowing fabric at his back as you hid your face in his chest. Shrouded in him, your lungs hitched, tears streamed in searing lines down your cheeks, stinging the raw skin around your wound. But that was secondary to the hole that grew in your heart every time you allowed yourself to contemplate Caracalla's remaining time. 

Hours slipped away unnoticed, leaving the pair of you to while away the minutes in each other’s arms. In time, the gods must have favored your first desire, for as the blinding rays of early morning crept toward midday, Caracalla stirred beside you. Uncertain of what was to come, you kept your visage concealed.

“Good morning, my love. How does the new day find you?” Your voice trembled with worry as you watched him push to sit beside you. A hazy fog slowed his mind and his speech, forcing you to be patient as he reached out to touch your cheek. His brows pulled together in concern at the sight. The soft brush of his fingertips over the cut sent fresh lances of hurt zinging down your neck. Still silent, Caracalla watched the way you recoiled from him before attempting to speak. 

“You are injured. Who hurt you?” There was so much innocence in his eyes. Without question, there was no memory of the previous night, and for that you were thankful. Caracalla knowing that he’d caused you this pain would have done nothing but burden an already fragile man with more turmoil. 

You shook your head, hoping to shove off the worry as best you could. “No one hurt me. I decided to venture to the baths after too much wine. I lost my footing and slipped. It is my fault.” With what little strength you could muster, you sat up fully beside him. 

“Does it hurt terribly?” He took your hand and held it in his lap.

“No, not terribly.” Your free hand rose to hold his cheek, “I promise.” Quiet fell over the pair you allowing Caracalla to trace the map of bruises that marred your neck. Even he noticed the odd shape of the marks low upon your throat. You could see the thought teeter on his lips for a moment before the words tumbled from him so childlike and sincerely. Nearly the same words his brother had spoken to you just hours earlier.

“I will always protect you, you must know that.” He held your gaze tightly in his, running his thumb over the back of your hand while he waited for you to respond. 

“I do. I do.” And the falsehood of your reply brought fresh tears to your eyes. Despite the many factors that stood between you and the happy life you'd once thought possible with Caracalla, you loved him beyond reason. Even though you were losing your best friend in real-time to an illness that was as mysterious in its origin as in its timeline of destruction, you trusted him. He’d stood by your side, welcoming you into the fray all those years ago. Never did he shame your lack of knowledge about the way things in the upper crust of Roman society worked. He was a good man at his core.

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Chaos had taken over Caracalla’s chamber as the day’s newest adventures in the Colosseum grew nearer.  Dressed in an opulent stola, you chanced a glance at the fiery-haired many who sat behind you. Nearly done being dressed, only a crown of laurels remained. Seated in a low chair, he fiddled with the jewelry that adorned his hands and neck. Taking advantage of his distraction, and unable to ignore the desire to be near him, you made your way across the cavernous room to Caracalla. Stepping between his legs you reached back to grab the golden crown in your delicate fingers. With great care you placed it upon his head, fixing his disheveled hair as it poked out in awkward angles. From his spot, he watched in awe, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“There, now you are ready to face your adoring public. May the gods make their will known in the arena this day.” You stooped to place a gentle kiss on the middle of his forehead. The gesture was one of trust and friendship. 

Overwhelmed, you stood upright and took a step back from the emperor. You’d only just begun to turn around when a gentle hand clasped around your wrist forcing you to turn back to Caracalla. His voice was barely more than a whisper as he spoke to you, “Promise you’ll stay with me.” 

“Always.” Caracalla brought your knuckles to his lips before letting you go. 

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The journey to the arena was relatively short. Inside the emperor’s box, the brothers took their seats and were followed in by General Acacius and Lucilla. You watched from the back, observing the pair with keen eyes and a skeptical mind. The two seemed stiff and out of place, their eyes shifting from side to side as though they were about to crawl out of their skin. Pressured to speak, the general stood before the cheering crowd, commanding attention, but something about his words left you feeling ill. The look on his face as he turned around to join his wife was enough to confirm your suspicion. Something was wrong. Long past were the days when Rome’s general was faithful without question to the throne. And now had come the time when enemies were around every corner, to be found most slyly in the people who were meant to be trusted confidantes. 

Commotion filled the arena pulling your attention away from Acacius and Lucilla and permitting you to step into the space between Geta and Caracalla. Chancing a glance at each of them you found Geta’s eyes were already on you, following your approach like a hawk. He raked over your frame, admiring the way the fabric draped over your body, and followed the swell of your chest. Not wanting to risk unwanted attention, you met his gaze for only a moment before turning to engage with Caracalla. A guileless smile turned the corners of his lips as his high-pitched laughter bounced through the air.

Trusting in the power of the gods, you watched with rapt attention as the foreign gladiator made a fool of the man from the emperor’s stables.  Spared by the gods the man tempted fate before ending the fight altogether. Blood pooled beneath the decapitated fighter, painting the sandy ground in a sickening shade of red. 

With the fight over, everyone of note retreated inside where the festivities were sure to continue late into the night. Yet, as you turned to make your way across the room, you noticed the look on Lucilla’s face. She held firmly to the bundle of lavender propped beneath her nose, her face was pale as though the life had been drained from her veins. Her eyes darted from Acacius to the young gladiator that stalked across the sand toward the fighter’s cells. There was a hint of something more there that you failed to place, but it did little to settle your growing suspicions. 

Unable to address it at this moment, you trained your attention back on Caracalla who was chatting away about the fight, retelling the tale to those around him as though they hadn’t just watched it unfold. Stepping into his side, you laced your arm through his, holding tightly to his bicep, and tucked yourself into him. Geta, caught in a conversation with some verbose senator, tracked your movement toward his brother noticing every detail of you. His concern grew stronger as he watched you press your nose into the voluminous material of his brother’s elaborate toga hiding your countenance before pressing onto your toes to whisper in the emperor’s ear. A chaste peck was placed upon his brother’s cheek, earning you a wondrous grin.

Caracalla nodded, before letting you fall away from his side. The young man turned back to the small group that had formed around him and continued his elaborate story. With his blessing, you were free to pick your way through the crowd toward the plethora of wine and food that covered the table at the center of the room. Admiring the choices, you meandered your way from one end to the other sampling every dried fruit and cured meat before settling on a deliciously dark cup of wine. The steady throb in your cheek had you wish for something a bit more potent than alcohol, but alas, that would have to wait. 

Refilling your nearly empty glass, you wandered the space, keeping a keen eye on both Caracalla and Geta. Each remained wrapped in conversation but their demeanors couldn’t be more dissimilar. Where Caracalla continued his lively storytelling, basking in the unwavering attention of his growing entourage, Geta’s face grew increasingly pinched at whatever meaningless drivel the senators believed required the prompt and full attention of him alone. You knew this has become commonplace, the passing over of Caracalla when discussing politics, and yet it rolled your stomach to see it happening so blatantly in public. 

Finished with your lap, you swooped by the table to collect another glass of wine. On a mission to relieve Geta of his trap, you made your way to him, confidently plucking your way through the sea of people. You could feel the burn of jealous and questioning eyes on you. Your presence amongst these circles had become expected long ago and yet it never prevented people from casting judgment upon you. The tender mark upon your face only added fuel to the fire, giving the people exactly what they wanted… more about which to gossip about. 

You closed the last few paces between you and Geta, reveling in the horrified look on the senator's face as you reached for the emperor’s shoulder. Gently, you placed a hand on him, drawing his attention away. “Here, some wine, to fortify your political endeavors.” Ignoring the hanging jaws and scoffs of the other men you carefully handed Geta the drink soaking in the entrancing way his eyes seemed to glow in the light. Their depth fell away to a brighter almost amber hue. But it was not just his gaze that held the knot in your chest, but the emotion that sat heavy in every fiber of his being. 

Desire darkened across his face as he memorized the stillness of your features. Geta’s ringed fingers brushed your own bare skin, taking far longer than was necessary to receive the beverage from you. A distinct cough of indignation erupted from one of the older politicians forcing you to step back. Geta gave a slight nod, silently passing you permission to fall away knowing that he judged you not for wanting to escape the calloused opinions of those he was forced to surround himself with. The swish of your stola accented your departure.  Behind you, the conversation returned in hushed tones, but the swell of the crowd did little to mask the biting words.  

“That woman has grown far to forward with you and your brother, Geta. It appears it may be time to let her go, and replace her with someone more docile… refined. Perhaps now the pair of you should consider proper marriages, for the future of Rome.” The old man’s voice croaked grating into the momentary silence that fell after he finished speaking.

With your back turned to Geta you were unable to see the vicious sneer that came over the emperor’s face. Far enough away now, his words were lost to the crowd in which you disappeared. Only the need to maintain peace for your sake kept him from exploding. A deep breath filled his chest and shook through his nose as he tested the surety of his voice. “That woman belongs to my brother, and to m- to the household. Her actions are neither unexpected nor uncouth. And may I suggest senator, that you keep her out of your filthy whoring mouth or you may find your own midnight wanderings publicized for all to discuss. Am I clear?” 

“Yes.” The older man murmured. His eyes dropped to the ground, uncertain of how to proceed. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I believe there are others far more worthy of my time to which I must attend.” Geta bowed out hastily, the venom in his voice dripped from every word keeping the other tongues silent. 

Heavy footfalls pounded across the stone toward you, following your path away from the crowd in search of temporary solitude. Nearing a quiet alcove, you pressed yourself into the chill of the marble. Exhausted and aching, you felt your legs tremble, forcing you to slump down upon the unforgiving bench that lined the wall. The distant rumbling of the crowd was accented by the approach of another. Unsure of what to say, you let your eyes fall shut, keeping out the world around you, and perhaps buying you some time to come to grips with your thoughts. 

The steps slowed, and yet you didn’t bother to open your eyes. “You mustn’t listen to them. They are feeble-minded old men. They matter matter not.” Geta spoke, hoping you would look at him. 

Concern masked as anger flashed hot over your nerves, forcing you to stand and crowd into his space. Your open palms found his chest, shoving his sturdy frame away as you worked to control your volume. “You cannot say those things, Geta. You need them, whether you care for that reality or not. Without the Senate, Rome is nothing. In a heartbeat, they have you and your brother deposed. There are snakes in the water, Geta. Do not let your loose tongue be what brings about your ruin!” 

Geta’s hand came to hold your wrists in place against him, the feeling of your touch the only thing that kept him from giving into the dizzying spin of his head. “What are you saying?! You of all people-” 

“I’m saying take great care with what you say and to whom you say. There are those within your inner circle who wish to see you and Caracalla fall, no matter how that happens. The ends would justify the means in their eyes. The senators are only part of your problem.” You choked on the end of your confession, the reality heavy in your chest. 

Geta’s hold on you changed. One hand skimmed along your curves finding home at the nip of your waist while the other cupped your injured cheek, tipping your face to his. “Do not be afraid. Tell me what you know.”  

“I’m not afraid, not for myself. But for you and Caracalla… that is an entirely different story. And as far as what I know... it is nothing, it has to be nothing. Just my anxious mind getting the better of me.” 

“Do not keep this inside, it will only eat away at you.” He spoke deeply, understanding the truth behind what he’d spoken despite often leaving this advice alone for himself. 

“You expect more of me than of yourself when it comes to honesty.” Lingering frustration gave way to weariness. Struggling to keep yourself together, you rested your brow against Geta's chest. The silk of his clothing soothed your nerves. Held carefully in his arms, you could feel the feather-light touch of his lips as he kissed your temple.

“Nothing gets past you.” A soft smile wrapped around his words. Pressed together in the relative seclusion you'd managed to find, Geta inhaled the warm scent of wine and perfume that swirled around you. The beautiful bouquet went to his head, adding to the hazy buzz he cultivated through a touch too much to drink.

"Pay no mind to the anxious ramblings of a palace whore. I know little of what I fear. I should never have voiced my concern, it is not my place. Forgive me." You kept your face buried in the elaborate folds of his toga, letting the sturdiness of him continue to calm your body.

"Do not call yourself that." Geta leaned back, forcing you to look at him. Tenderly, he held your face, taking extra care to avoid your wound. "You are not. You never have been."

"No, I am. They are right. A real marriage. A wife… children… a son to bear the family name. That is what you both need. What you deserve."

"You are avoiding your worry. Deflecting. You may speak freely with me, you know this. There are no others here to judge or condemn. You have my ear and my heart." Geta captured your mouth with his, earning him the ghost of a whimper. Breaking away before things could escalate, he waited patiently for your response. "Now tell me what you fear so that I may carry that burden with you."

"I will not speak of it here. Not where prying eyes and ears shift all around. I know the palace is no better when it comes to the fiery spread of rumors and lies, but this place… it thrives on blood. It screams for it. It makes me ill. Not here. Meet me tonight, at the baths. I promise… I will share everything."

You reached for Geta, needing to feel him close once more. Slotting your lips together, you felt the fine strands of his hair between your fingers.

"Tonight." He mumbled against your lips.

Part III

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kenshin's Sequel Preview

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Spoilers ahead.

Once, he became a demon for my sake.

The deep, dark obsession he had was gradually turning into something more gentle.

Kenshin: "As long as we are in a truce, the Uesugi clan will not attack the Oda clan."

Kenshin: "Moreover, if the world becomes more chaotic, I could lend a hand in bringing peace, depending on the conditions."

Masamune: "A god of war would see a chaotic world as an opportunity for battle."

Kenshin: "That would only sadden Mai."

Kenshin: "Easing her worries takes precedence over everything, even the joy of battle."

Ieyasu: "I can't believe this is the same man who once tried to destroy everything for the sake of one woman."

Amid our happy days, I was sure that one day we would attain the calm of a serene sea, but...

Wounded Soldier: "Sorry, but I have my reasons."

Mai: "Ah!"

(He's going to kill me.)

A sinister hand reached for me as I accompanied them to battle.

As pain surged through me, the image of my beloved came to mind.

(No! I can't leave Kenshin alone.)

(Not like that time again.)

In my final moments, a memory and regret pierced my heart.

I never wanted to see him become a demon again.

(I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could redo everything.)

Would my desperate wish bring a miracle or something else?

----------------------------------

Kenshin: "You're pale. Are you in pain somewhere?"

Mai: "Huh? Me?"

(I'm not dead?)

From that moment, an unknown power to turn back time began to awaken within me.

When he learned of this, his heart began to crack secretly.

Kenshin: "I haven't given you permission to speak."

Kenshin: "Normally, I wouldn't even allow you to breathe, but I'm sparing you so you can spill all the information."

Man: "P-Please, spare me."

Kenshin: "Didn't you hear me? I told you to shut your mouth."

Mai: "U-Um, Kenshin."

Kenshin: ".........."

Mai: "!"

(It's been a long time since I've seen Kenshin with this expression.)

Kenshin: "You must have been worried, Mai."

Kenshin: "There's no need to stain your beautiful eyes with such an unsightly, tedious interrogation."

Who was it that first opened the box that held back his madness?

Kenshin: "Let me make this clear: I am furious, more than I've ever been."

Kenshin: "I'll protect you, no matter what. And I will kill every last one of them."

I wanted to give him as much love as he gave me.

Mai: "It wouldn't mean anything if I'm the only one who survives."

Mai: "Not using that power is the same as letting them die."

Kenshin: ".........."

Mai: "Please, I've made up my mind."

Kenshin: "That's the part of you I fell in love with."

Even if I burn my life away, my soul will shine only for you.

Kenshin: "I thought you were teaching me a gentle love, but I was gravely mistaken."

Kenshin: "The desire to possess you consumes me like a sweet poison, and it will never fade."

We are two halves seeking each other in a twisted way.

Our tightly clasped hands will never part, even in the depths of hell.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 28th

Day 28: Fucking Machine // Phone Sex // Impact Play

Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Hey baby.” There’s relief in Marcus’s tone, layered under the fatigue and the slight stress that he always hopes you can’t pick up on. Life is already stressful enough with the way that the Hero’s 1 network broadcasts any battles involving Heroics, and cuts the footage to make it seem more dramatic and intense than it was. Sensationalizing the already sensational news. 

”Hey.” You hear the stress, can see him with his shoulders rolled down and his eyes heavily lidded. He sounds worn out. “How are you?”

“Missing you.” You’re sure he’s already called Missy, the bracelet she wears allows him to talk to his daughter directly and it’s too late for her to be awake now. 

“I miss you too.” You always miss him when he’s gone, the bed lonely and cold without his overheated body pressing close to yours. He sounds like he need to go to sleep, but he’s not quickly telling you good night like he might have. 

“I really miss you.” Marcus repeats and you grin, snuggling down into the bed, his pillow at your head so you smell him. It doesn’t hurt you are also wearing one of his old t-shirts that has his scent completely embedded in the fibers no matter how many times it’s been washed. 

“Oh.” You hum. “I miss you too. Especially right now. All alone in this big bed.”

He groans quietly and you hear him shuffle. The rustle of sheets telling you that he’s already in the little bunk that he has on the Heroic’s plane. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” His voice is thicker already and you smile against the phone. “It’s been two days since you’ve been inside me, Marcus.”

He exhales roughly, and you can imagine the look on his face, the instant need that makes his eyes darken and focus. “Two days is too long.” He agrees. “But I had to leave.”

“I know.” You pout down the line and slide your hand into your panties. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish you were right here.” 

“What would you do?” He asks, his voice low and turning raspier by the word. 

“Suck your cock.” Marcus groans, making you hum in appreciation for the already needy pitch to his sounds. “Why don’t  you wrap your hand around that cock and pretend it’s my hand or my mouth.” 

“Already hard.” He admits shamelessly, the confession making you giggle as your own fingers circle your clit. 

“Yeah?” You tease him. “You need a nice, soft blowjob?” You groan when you press your fingers to your puffy bundle of nerves. “Or do you need something a little rougher?” What he needs from you always changes depending on how bad of a day he had. 

“Need you.” He pants slightly and you hear him spit, making you grin as your own fingers become more adventurous. Imagining that they are Marcus’s when he works you up to sobbing his name before he ever slides inside you. The man has a fucking talented set of fingers and they don’t even come close to his tongue. “Touching me.”

“Oh I would touch you.” You purr, snuggling deeper under the covers and sighing softly. “I would straddle you, kissing down your throat and behind your ear just like you love.” 

Marcus groans and you can hear him start to slowly pump his cock. Obviously needing it soft and slow today. The tender connection and touch. “Fucking love when you do that.” 

“I know you do, baby.” You hum. “Already stripped down and naked, begging you to touch me.” Your eyes close and you slip into the little mental fantasy that is building with your words. “Breasts pressed against your chest.” 

He hums again, encouraging you to keep talking. “Fuck.” 

“That’s later.” You giggle, breaking off with a moan when you press a bit harder and rub just the right spot. “You love when I rub my pussy against your cock, getting it nice and wet while we kiss.” You love it too. You always enjoy grinding against his cock, you can cum just like that if you do it long enough. “You want me to do that while you play with my tits?” 

“Yes.” Marcus is panting down the line, grunting every few seconds as he pumps his cock. “Want to suck on them.” He adds. “You love when I suck on them.” 

It’s your turn to pant, nipples aching just because he mentioned sucking on them. He loves to lavish them with attention until they ache so beautifully. “Yesssss baby, suck on them.” You encourage, sliding your fingers deeper until they catch at your entrance and you start to push them inside you. “Fuck Marcus.” 

“Are you fingering your little pussy, baby?” His tone is dirty, spearing into your stomach and you clench around your fingers. He always knows what you are doing by the sounds you are making. “Wishing they were mine? Yours don't get deep enough, do they?” 

They really don’t. You listen to his cock sliding in his hand, the slick sounds of it adding to the sexiness of this phone call. “No.” You admit breathlessly. “Yours are perfect inside me.” You moan, curling them inside you as you imagine how perfect Marcus’s fingers would be. He manages to fill you up with just two of them and they sink down to the knuckle with ease, curling up to press against your g-spot with devastating accuracy. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Marcus promises, panting out the words while he strokes his cock. “Then I’ll take you to bed.” 

“Baby.” Your breath catches, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you listen into him jerk off. “Want to ride you. Want to ride your cock.” 

“Fuck yes.” Marcus grunts. “I’ll play with your tits while you cream all over me.” He moans your name. “Then I’m going to flip you over and make you scream.” 

It’s gone from needy soft to needy desperate. Harder and slightly more vulgar. Exactly what you both need right now. Both of you moaning and whining through the phone as you touch yourselves. Encouraging each other to fall over the edge. 

“Want that.” You whimper, imagining riding him hard and fast while he begs for more. While you beg for more when he has you on your back and he’s drilling into you with his cock. “Want you. Love you so much.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” Marcus pants, his voice catching and he grunts again. “Gonna cum.” He hisses, right before he makes those beautiful sounds he always makes when he is falling apart. You can just see him, eyes closed and mouth dropped open, features twisted in pleasure. It's a gorgeous sight. 

His breath is heavy, heaving over the phone while you listen to him come down from his high. Your fingers are frozen, buried inside you where you had stopped moving them as you listened to him. You didn’t cum, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy yourself. “Fuck.” Marcus chuckles quietly after a moment, catching his breath and you hear him shuffle again as he reaches for a towel to wipe away his cum. “Now I want to hear you cum, baby.” He coos, eager to continue the phone call so that you can cum too.

[merakiui]

PLEASE, elaborate more on the idea of ​​being a vulnerable maiden who became a general's spoils of war. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being criticized by that man, let alone being full every night after he used me.

OTL I need him carnally. Just war-driven, mostly heartless Lilia who isn’t afraid to do what must be done for the sake of victory in battle!!! >v<

Imagine General Vanrouge who, in the wake of a battle that leaves your defenseless village in ruins and aflame, finds you amidst the debris. You’re injured and cradling your stomach; he assumes you may have sustained an abdominal injury with how desperately you clutch the area, and he surmises if it isn’t treated you’ll eventually bleed out or it’ll become infected. So he’s sensibly callous when he decides he’ll put you out of your misery, as there’s no way he’s taking you along. He needs to lead his men elsewhere to recuperate and regroup after a hard-fought battle. But just before he can deliver a killing blow, your arms shoot out in defense and he spies the rounded bump you were once previously protecting.

Ah. He understands now. You’re with child.

Normally he wouldn’t care. Life and death are essentially much the same when you’re trapped in war: it’s cruel suffering. But something about you strikes a chord within him. He bends down to where you’re huddled on the ground and slides his mask up so you can be at ease. Even bloodied, bruised, and broken, you’re a pretty thing. He’s not normally swayed by tears or pleas for salvation. War hardens anyone, especially those on the frontlines. Yet there’s so much potential growing inside you—a little one you love and care wholeheartedly for. This is the only time he’ll make an exception. No one says anything when he lifts you with ease, carrying you like one might carry a bride, and gives the signal for his men to regroup at the designated checkpoint. You’re terrified, too startled to move in his arms, but you’re not dead. And being scared and alive is a fate far more relieving than death. Or so you hope.

You’ll be allowed to live under a few conditions. One: You must be watched over by soldiers in intervals, as Lilia can’t take any risks. You might be a spy or a danger to his troops. He has to think objectively. Two: You’ll live like a soldier. Of course there will be some degree of leniency, considering you’re carrying a child. Lilia will make sure you’re safe and well-fed (or about as well-fed as you can get with war rations) so that you won’t lose your baby. Three: You must always be honest. Though General Vanrouge can be intimidating, he isn’t a monster. He’ll listen if you voice logical complaints. He’s somewhat softer on you knowing you’re pregnant, so if something’s wrong you must tell him. This is especially important as the months pass and your due date draws near. Lilia has to make appropriate plans for the day when you’ll inevitably give birth, so knowing ahead of time will be useful. Four—and this one is a strange one: You must service General Vanrouge whenever he wishes, as it’s a fair trade. He wants to be rough, especially if he’s frustrated with the outcome of a battle, but he keeps his strength in check. You’re allowed to set the pace, to ride him if it pleases, to pick which positions he fucks you in because it has to be easy and comfortable on your body, especially depending on how big your bump is. You’re the only one he’ll make these exceptions for. It’s a special, rare honor.

The soldiers observe their general’s taken quite the liking to you. But then they all love you, too. You know how to cook delicious stews when they manage to scrounge up enough ingredients for one. But no one can love you more than Lilia. He’s grown fond of his sweet spoil of war. <3 it’s a good thing he claimed you, otherwise Death himself would have made you his and Lilia is always defying him on the battlefield.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for advising a woman to get married?

Maybe I'm digging my own grave because this website is very US centric but I'm hoping you see where I'm coming from. I (mid 20s M) come from a culture where arranged marriage is the norm. I have this friend Maya (early 20s F) who also comes from a similar culture, but the difference is that hers values consent more, whereas where I live, only the parents have a say in the matter. We also have a USAmerican friend Jade (late 20s F) who will make an appearance at the end.

Maya is a sex repulsed Ace, and she kept saying she will stay single forever. I know what the situation for women in her country is like, it would be very difficult to live without a husband. One day she made a vent post saying how her parents keep asking her to reconsider, that they are worried about her being alone for the rest of her life, and her father is worried about who will financially support her after he dies.

She didn't come out to her parents, no use of doing it since they won't even understand what Asexuality is. All she did say that she refused to marry a man she wasn't in love with, and implied she will never fall for one. She's trying too hard to prove she can be an independent woman.

Her family, out of concern, told her that marriage isn't about love. She can marry someone who she is compatible with and get along just fine. That many people don't end up married to the love of their lives and even if they do, they end up losing the spark anytime but stay because they built a loving home together.

I don't find this a bad thing. Stability is very important in marriage. I mean sure, I wish I could marry the love of my life, but if my parents decided that my next door neighbor would be my wife, I would go along with it because that's just how things are where I live.

I told Maya this and she got upset with me. She said my case was different because I'm a guy (??) And because I was hetero.

I told her to value her culture more, and she has the advantage over me because she can actually CHOOSE her spouse. She got angry and said I wasn't being considerate of her feelings, and she'd rather die than be touched by a man, which frankly is making me worried.

I told her she wasn't being realistic. She is fine for now, but she will suffer in the future. Being single in our cultures is very difficult and she needs to give up. She replied with long paragraphs about how she doesn't care. I say this because I care about her as a friend, and her parents from what she described are good people too and they care about her too. She doesn't appreciate it and thinks she can live alone for the rest of her life. Unlike the west, roommates arrangements aren't available here. If she loses her family, she becomes dependent on relatives who may or may not be available. Frankly I think she's very influenced by the western lifestyle which will get her nowhere in real life. And she's disabled and works a minimum wage too.

Maya stopped talking to me for days. The whole discussion was a on a public post so by the time our mutual friend Jade woke up (different time zones) she read the whole post and came to scream at me in DMs. Jade was Ace herself, she told me I was being sexist and acephobic. I told Jade that wasn't my intention but she should stay out of our business because she can't relate to our cultures and isn't being helpful to Maya, and she has it easy because she has the resources available that allow her to be independent.

AITA for wanting my friend to realize she's being unrealistic and things won't work for her in the future?

What are these acronyms?

[yandere-romanticaa]

I need to talk about ADA! Dazai and Beast! Dazai because Beast ruined me beyond repair.

ADA! Dazai is like a beautiful red rose which caught your eye - you wish to have it, to pluck it, but it's so easy to forget that roses have very, very sharp thorns. Dazai has many people around him but a tiny few he can confidently say he trusts.

Which is why he might just be a bit prickly at the start.

Don't get me wrong, he is still the same old Dazai you first met. Confident, flirty, intelligent, a giant tease! Life is a breeze with him, there isn't anything in the world which Dazai can't do or crack wide open. It's so easy to spill all of your deepest, darkest secrets to him, so easy to open up and become dependent on him.

But just when you think you have him figured out, you're right back to square one.

ADA! Dazai, who does not know what to do with himself or you for that matter. How fun and cute you are, your crush is so obvious. He can't help it, he just has to tease you, you always give him the best reactions. He chooses to be careful with you in the beginning, think of dipping your toes in cold water for the first time.

Time passes and Dazai opens himself up to you. You are finally allowed to caress his scarlet red petals albeit with his thorns still in the way. They prickle and hurt, they may even leave a scar or two in their way but you don't care. Loving Dazai is like a drug, once you get a taste you can never get enough. The constant need for his attention and validation is just too intoxicating and Dazai is none the wiser.

Beast! Dazai though... Where do I even start?

This man and his love, to me at least, kind of feels like the lyric "Here comes the sun, she's the brightest star of them all." from the song Sonne by Rammstein.

There is absolutely nothing this man won't do for you and I mean it.

Beast! Dazai is terrifying and he knows it. He regularly uses and manipulates his authority and throws threats around like candy, particularly if his subordinates decide to question why on Earth would he settle for someone like you. You, his sweet, precious, darling, addicting little you, the reason why his heart beats and why he decides to take a breath and live the life he wants to live... As much as he can, that is...

Beast! Dazai uses your fear as a leverage and toys with you in a similar fashion to ADA! Dazai but there is a grim feeling to it, kind of like sticky black tar, it never leaves your person. He never allows you to breathe because he simply must be with you all day, every day. The sheer intensity of his stare alone is something worthy of the history books as even some of the most seasoned and battle hardened mafiosos can't help but to be off put by their boss. Everything is crystal clear right from the get go, anyone who messes with you messes with him, the Port Mafia boss himself and they will answer for their crimes no matter how miniscule they may be.

Beast! Dazai, who is desperate for you and your love but never manages to tell you. Instead he chooses to isolate you, to make you dependent on him so that you can have no one to turn to other than him. ADA! Dazai is at least sensible enough to understand that yes, personal choice actually does matter even if he will have it play out how he wants to in the end but Beast! Dazai does not have the time for that shenaniganary! He hides his despair and need for you like a true master of all lies and trickery. He tells you he could kill you immediately, put a bullet in your head and find someone else to screw with and you believe him.

How can you not?

Never in a million years could you predict that this man was ready to destroy the world for you and create it anew, that no one else in this world, this universe could ever replace you.

You, his sun, moon, star, his heart. His everything. And you will never know. But that's okay because Dazai knows. And he will always keep you close, forever and always.

🕊️ TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @itssara-chan

[galsinspace]

Replaying Inquisiton really made me notice (again) how the companions are written with such an incredibly noticeable difference in care. Man I hope they did a better job in Veilguard. And it's such a stark contrast from Origins!

I'll just post my comparative ramblings bc I'm on a train and have nothing better to do

In my opinion, one of the best things about Origins is the closeness you develop with your companions. You're with them through massive, formative changes in their lives, you find out about their childhood traumas and the people they've grown up to be, and as a player you make huge decisions that shape their future. By the end I felt so close to these characters. Looking at the main companions:

Alistair? We find out all about his longing for family, for love, his desire not to be defined by his blood and be able to live a normal life. You're both saddled with the responsibility to save the world together, and you do. Depending on the choices you make, he may have the love he longs for, and he may have to be king, you shape his life in a huge way.

Leliana? She literally seeks you out because she's received visions and is on a god-given mission. You literally shape the kind of person she becomes, whether she hardens or softens her heart.

Zevran? This is the most important period in his life. His flight from the Crows, his suicidal intent and then sudden wish to stay alive after all, finding new things to live for, remembering his mother, you save his life in more ways than one.

Morrigan? Literally the first time she's left her abusive mother's side and it's travelling with you. She finds her own ways to live, you give her the jewellery her mother wouldn't allow her, you help her confront her mother and free herself from her. You might literally be the father of her child.

Sten? Also suicidal, and you help him regain his self worth and sense of meaning in life. And you change him. He comes from a society with rigid rules and you help him see other ways of life. If you play as a woman, he's literally confused in the beginning that you're a fighter, and then as you gain his affection he acknowledges and respects you as who you are. He's not romanceable and probably changes the least out if the companions, but still goes through this monumental change of perspective about there being other valid ways of life. Sten should have been romanceable lbr

Oghren? It's super unfortunate how comic relief he is BECAUSE his story is so intense. The woman he loves disappeared! He's an alcoholic! He's so tied into the MAIN QUEST! He's tragic! You're with him through this massive thing he goes through and it really sucks that he can't really... change. You can't really help him. But even so, the events of the game are monumental to his life.

The Secret Companion is self-explanatory. You completely re-shape his life.

And in comparison, the companions in Inquisition are just WILDLY hit or miss. Some of them you become incredibly close to, others are just kinda there. Oh we're saving the world together? Just another day at the office babey. You don't really get to know them that deeply, you don't get to change their views, they're just there and you work together and then they go on their way. I'm of course talking mainly about Vivienne and Sera.

It's insane to me that Vivienne is this incredibly complex character who is the way she is because she grew up traumatized in an oppressive environment and you never get to talk to her about this. It's hidden in a few comments Cole may or may not drop if you travel with both of them. Her polished demeanor and ever-present smile? Learned in the Circle to demonstrate to templars that she was good, obedient, and non-possessed. Her materialism? When she met the duke, the thought in her head was I will never go hungry again.

Vivienne is TRAGIC. She's a deeply traumatized woman who has lived all her life in a system that did not grant her basic security, and she was strong and smart enough to gather power in the only ways she was allowed to. And you can't even talk to her about this. Her personal quest is some weird red herring bullshit meant to make you question whether she's a villain, comparing her to the evil queen from Snow White, and then it's just... her boyfriend dying. You can't change anything. You can barely talk to her about this relationship - it must have been a mix of love and practicality, a connection that gave her both tenderness and influence, the only power she was allowed to have. And it IS an injustice that she could never have married him! But you can't talk to her about this. Can't influence her viewpoint at all. All this complexity is hidden in subtext, and Vivienne does not change as a person at all.

Vivienne is outwardly cold towards Cole, dismissive, pragmatic, cruel. If Cole becomes more human, he points out to her that she secretly worried about him and is glad he's safe. She denies it. This is the only complexity she's allowed to show, hidden in random banter most players will never hear.

Why are we not allowed to be close to Vivienne? Why can't we talk to her? Explore who she is? Why does it feel like it literally does not matter whether we touch her life at all?

I've seen people claim that the fandom neglects Vivienne unfairly, but this was the WRITERS. They neglected Vivienne. They made it impossible to be close to her, they hid her complexity while just having her be straight-up rude for most of the game. This was a huge failure on the part of the writers. I've heard that her main writer said on twitter (DA writers should not be allowed to tweet) that he just didn't like her and that makes me so mad. Fucking video game writers...

And Sera. Oh, Sera.

She's annoying. Her jokes are painfully unfunny. It's super hard to get her to like you. Whenever you talk to her, the first option is to kick her out of the Inquisition. Why on EARTH did they write her this way?

Her personal quest is nothing. You go meet some guy, kill him, over. What does this MEAN??? What does this mean for Sera's character?? It's so fully useless, you learn nothing new, you don't get closer to Sera, who the fuck wrote this and why was this published.

And just like with Vivienne, you barely get to talk to Sera. She runs around with a huge case of internalized elf racism and you never get to talk about it. She literally won't put on armour marked as "elves only", what's up with that girl? She openly looks down on elves to the point of being annoyed to even talk to an elf Inquisitor, why can we never talk to her about this?

She's supposed to be from Denerim. Is she from the Alienage? The close-knit community Tabris is from? Does she know Tabris? She might literally know the Hero of Ferelden and it's never a topic of conversation. She would have been like, a young teenager at the time when the Alienage was suffering a plague and elves were being kidnapped and sold into slavery. Was this not a formative experience for her? Was she not there? Did she not live in the Alienage? Well all of Denerim became a war zone during the Blight, was that not a notable event in her life????

Why do we not get to explore anything that makes her the dismissive, flighty person she is?

Playing in German, there is fascinating ambiguity in the graveyard of your companion's fears that you find in the Fade - Sera's greatest fear is "nothing". In German, the word for the Fade is "the Nothing". I thought it made so much sense that that would be her greatest fear! She's afraid of anything involving magic and spirits, and it adds a nice metaphorical level to her rejection of anything elven: elves are supposed to be inherently connected to the Fade, but she's afraid of the Fade! Comments she makes seem to imply that she has a suppressed sensitivity to spirits, but either Solas or Cole suggesting that that might be the case clearly terrifies her.

Well, imagine my disappointment when I found out that in the original English, her fear is just "nothing". Which is bullshit too, Sera is clearly afraid of of anything Fade-related. I guess it might be some idea of how she's afraid of quiet and non-existence, but like... what a missed opportunity. What a dumb thing to be her greatest fear. What a missed opportunity.

And just like Vivienne, it doesn't feel like you really impact her life at all. Sera just comes and goes, she does her own thing, and she never unpacks any of her issues. Why was she written this way? Why did they think this would be a compelling companion experience? And for fuck's sake, who thought she was funny?

This rant is already way too long and I'm almost off the train so I won't write a full comparison to the Inquisition companions who were done well, but like, it's obvious. For some of them you touch their lives intimately, you shape their worlds, you actually feel close to them by the end of the game. How the fuck did this game get shipped with Vivi and Sera like that.

It's been 10 years and I hope the developers learned from their mistakes, if they noticed them in between sucking their own dicks on twitter.

[dameleia]

1. just hold me closer, baby, and make me crazy for you.

summary: after a few attempts, you finally convinced the hot guy to go on a date with you.

wc: 1k

a/n: watch me come back from years of hiatus to post this.

Leon Kennedy is an enigma. He’s a fire that lights up something inside of you. 

He’s a puzzle, something that you have never seen or known before. He brings with him a warm aura despite his steely gaze and tight lips, yet you see through him. You see the shadows that surrounds him. You feel in you a strong pull. Maybe it’s you and the never-ending faith you have but your entire being begs to be with him—chase the shadows away and be the light he needs. Some say it’s the savior complex you have and maybe it is. 

You’ve only known each other for weeks, observed him for months, yet you know that you’ll be anything he will tell you to be. 

And it should be wrong. 

The excitement you feel at seeing him by the counter, nursing a glass that you know never stayed for long should be wrong. You have seen signs of trauma and how he depends on alcohol to cope and you wish that Leon Kennedy will one day find his peace, but you cannot help but be thankful for everything that let you met the man. 

You are moving before you know it. 

You will fight back against the invisible force pushing you to the blond man. You feel giddiness builds up inside of your as you near him. Your heartbeat is getting quicker, and you feel your knees buckling—whether in nervousness or excitement, you are not sure. You know he knows you’re approaching him. 

No matter how much you tried to creep up on him and take him by surprise, it never worked. It took you the fourth try until you just learned to accept it. You have a hunch his job has something to do with that. How else would he be observant in an extent that is borderline creepy or drinking the whole bar away every two business days? His build is enough clue, but it’s the leather jacket that backed your assumption. Or the bomber jacket you saw him wear that one time. 

“Leon,” you call, settling on the seat beside him. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

The man doesn’t even turn to look at you. He swirls the alcohol around his glass and drinks it in one go. “Likewise,” he downs the glass before glancing your way.  The way he says your name is enough to wake the butterflies inside your stomach. “School ended early?”

You pout. You cannot believe he still thinks of you like you’re a high school kid! “Yes, yes because a high school girl like me should be in the bar.” 

Leon shrugs. “Don’t know what youngins do these days.” 

“Such a grandpa,” you roll your eyes, grinning at the glint of amusement on his face and the ghost of a smile you’ve become accustomed to. “But in case you don’t know, kids still aren’t allowed in bars and clubs.” 

“Is that so?” 

“You know, for a grandpa you don’t your morning paper.” 

That earns a chuckle from the man beside you. You let out a giggle of your own.  The sound is contagious and almost therapeutic. 

“Don’t have time to,” Leon turns his body to face you. “So what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shady bar like this?” 

You roll your eyes for the second time that night but the quirk of your lips show anything but annoyance. “Maybe this pretty lady wants to drink her sorrows away.” 

“Then may I buy you a drink?” Before you can even answer, Leon is calling the bartender over. You hesitantly recite your order, feeling bashful all of a sudden. 

This may be the longest conversation you ever had with the man and though him buying you a drink or two is not unusual, it still has you turning into a mush of feelings and hormones. You already made your intention with him clear. You already invited him for a date for five times already—each rejected. Of course, you took it like a champ. You know better than to dwell on something for long and most importantly, you will try and try until you get the man of your dreams to agree on going out with you. 

Even once is enough. You want to share a meal with him and become someone in his life. Even a friend will do. All you know is that you never want to let this man go. 

“So,” you take a deep breath, body almost going taut with how nervous you are. “Won’t you share a dinner with me?”

You are almost afraid to look at him and hear him say those words again, but you pushed through. You have a feeling Mr. Leon Kennedy here likes his women with guts anyway. Seconds feel like forever with his eyes on you. You watch his lips, already thinking of a way to reply to his rejection. You hold your breath as you see him open his mouth. 

“When?” 

You must look comical right now, with your eyes going owlishly wide, brows shooting up to your hairline, and with your mouth wide open in shock. Did you do it? Did you annoy him enough for him to agree to have dinner with you? Okay, enough! You need to look presentable or you’ll scare the man away. You won’t take any chances. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, schooling your expression. You think you see him grinning at you but it was gone before you can even process it. “You free this weekend?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

You deflate. 

You would like to plan and prepare your first date with the man to perfection, but the fate seems to find your suffering entertaining. However, you will not be stopped! You vowed to yourself to pave your own way and influence a situation into going your way. You will not let this chance go just because Mr. Kennedy is not available in the weekends. 

“What about tonight?” You ask. “I can cook us a little something.” 

You may be tripping, or it might be the dim lights in the bar but you see Leon’s eyes and face soften. His smile is more visible now. You watch as he calls the bartender to pay the bill until he turns to you. 

“Tonight it is.” 

You smile. “It’s a date, then!” You stress on 'date'.

“It’s a date.”

[melanatedkink]

Just a Little Reminder

Pairing: Ran x Y/N

Synopsis: Oh the sex is great with your boyfriend, even if he does play it safe just to keep from getting vulnerable with you. Though, tonight, you're not having it. I mean, guys deserve to be told that they're good boys, right? Tonight, you make him believe that sentiment.

Warnings: dom y/n, affirmations, mentions of good boy, I, again avoid gender defining genetalia and pronouns for y/n(let me know if I slip up), Ran says tits but it's gender neutral(everyone has tits), teasing an orgasm, Ran getting therapy in the middle fof sex

It had been another rough day for Ran. You could tell in the way his dry humour had become accented with a little chuckle that seemed to sour his face moreso than save it. It was typical for Ran to have days where things just did not seem to go very well at work. Sometimes rivals get too big for their britches and break contracts with him and his gang. Depending on how the betrayal goes down, you could get a smug bastard with a myriad of gruesome facts spilling out his lips like it was the weather. Or you could get what you currently had, a stiff and distracted Ran who could only manage absentmindedly caressing you, in place of his usual social self.

An hour after dinner, you finally found this personality change more than slightly confusing. No, you were effectively suffocating in the tension in the air. You broke the silence, gently leading his gaze to yours with a soft finger against his jaw.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Again, the strained smirk popped up, souring your mood further.

"Nothin' baby. Whatever it is, it's gonna handled sooner or later,"

You tilted your head, trying a different approach," I'm feeling lonely. What can I do to get your attention on me?"

That seemed to do the trick. The light in Ran's eyes was almost criminal. Rarely did you ever have to ask for his attention, his gaze zeroing in on every movement you made as soon as you entered the room.

"Feeling lonely? I'm right here, babe," he whined, as he maneuvered you onto his lap," Don't worry, I'll fix it for you,"

You'd hoped he'd catch the hint with how distant he seemed all night. Luckily, the promise of sex could effectively break this man out of any mental turmoil he may have been going through. Once he'd carried you to the bedroom, he was all over you. Tender hands caressed and massaged their way down your body. His lavender gaze seared themselves into your memory, while he nibbled your thighs making you wish he'd just enter already.

"Looks like you're expecting somethin'."

You hummed, sitting up on the edge of the bed were he had layed you out. Ran straightened, allowing you to catch the tension in his shoulders and jaw. You hadn't seen him this nervous since you first did it as a couple. The only other time he'd gotten vulnerable during sex. He made a promise afterward, promising to keep you in the innerworkings of his brain as long as you were there to listen. You guessed he just needed a refresher course tonight.

You leaned forward, allowing your chest to captivate him while you steathily curled your fingers into his belt loop and wrenched him into your spread legs. Before Ran could get his bearings, you'd wrapped your legs around his waist.

"I think you're holding out on me, Ran,"

A twinge of fear shifted through his face. He absoutely loathed his name coming out of your mouth. You only did that if he made a big mistake. That tied with the current situation could only make for a special punishment just for him.

He raised his hands in defeat, hoping to get to the problem first and squash it before you went on a guilt trip.

"Alright, I admit that I've been a little distracted today. But, like, do we have to do this now? I mean, I was about to take my frustration out on that pretty little spot down there. You know it's basically therapy for me,"

His smile did a little more to ease your worries, but you were greedy. You wanted every little spot in his mind. And you were entering demon time trying to get it. His fingers walked themselves up your thigh, only to be stopped by your hand taking his and kissing it. You fluttered your lashes as you caressed the skin. He gulped. Here comes the guilt trip.

"When is a good time for you? Earlier on the couch or at dinner? After sex? Tomorrow night when sommething else happens at work? That's not fair, Ran," you whined.

He grunted as he squirmed under your puppy dog eyes. Man, you coud be evil sometimes, working up a love hate relationship with the way you spoke to him. It made him desperately want to give you everything he had.

"How about you listen to me, answer my questions and I'll let it go, hm?" you suggested.

You teased your fingers around his straining erection as he weighed the current options. This could be a trick to open up. But you were honest. Besides, this was a simple task. He'd dealt with worse interrogations before. How hard could this be?

"Alright, baby, I'm all ears,"

You chuckled, the sound acting like the bell beginning round one.

"What's your name?"

His eyebrows knitted," This a trick question?" You inched your hands away from his crotch forcing him to backtrack," Wait, wait. Ran Haitani,"

"Good," you slipped your thumb over his button, swiftly undoing it,"Who's your lover?"

Ran's amusement morphed into awe as you fished his dick from his pants, finding it drooling already.

"You- uh Y/N," he tugged his lip into his teeth,"That good?"

He'd never know how badly he'd just exposed himself. Nevermind you gave a soft "good job" and began masturbating him. Ran blew out a sigh of relief at the feels of your tight hand smearing slick up and down his needy shaft.

He rolled his head back," Oh yeah. That's good,"

You giggled at him slightly going dumb in front of you. His hips chased you ministrations, his breaths becoming ragged.

"Am I getting you off, love?" you teased.

His initial answer tapered off into a moan," Oh what kinda question is that? Of course you are,"

As Ran inched closer and closer to orgasm, more hushed curses mingled with his wet cock. You teased him with a moan of your own. Once again, you captured his eyes. You spread your thighs, exposing yourself and loosing a slutty moan just for him. His eyes nearly crossed at the mounting stimulation. It was getting to him. Your pretty voice. Your pretty hands. The way you encouraged his good behavior. Good God, you were a vice and he could only ever want more.

"Are you a good boy?"

His hips stuttered, as if your question hit a speed bump in his brain. He opted to just ignore it in favor of biting his lip. You shook your head. Oh no. No way he was trying to get an out in the middle of an out. You slowed your tempo, earning a frustrated growl from you man.

"Fuck wait! I'm sorry I'll fucking answer. Just say it one more time," he stammered.

That was new. You never thought you'd ever hear him beg so easily.

"Oh honey, all you had to do was answer," you said, slowing and loosening your hand around his shaft.

Another irritated sigh. That godforasken tone of yours was back with a vengence, making him twitch in your limp grip. "Fuck, baby. I-I'll answer it. Please, one more time."

"How bout this," you squeezed, testing his attention,"Where do you want to cum?"

His pupils dilated at the prospect.

"Oh fuck. Your tits. Shit I wanna mess em up so bad," he was practically vibrating in your grasp. A new wave on excitement crackled in the air, almost making you give in. Almost.

"I don't think you deserve it," you stated flatly.

"Wha- wait! I answered!" he squealed," You can't just leave me hanging!"

You dragged his hand from his hanging dick just to twist and play with your nipples. He swallowed a whimper. He was beginning to wonder what he did just to avoid this torture ever taking place in the future. Hell, he'd beg forgiveness now if you just let him cum.

"I said you answer my questions, you get out of telling me what's bothering you at work, honey," you shrugged," You were doing so well, too, baby,"

His fist balled up at his sides. It would be so easy just to jerk it right now, but seeing you on the brink of dispappointmnet already, he didn't want to see what you would turn into if he tested your kindness any longer.

"Alright baby, alright. How can I... I'm at your mercy; how do I fix it?" he pleaded.

You scanned his frame. His eyes shone with unabashed hope. You sighed, relenting.

"Be honest: do you think you deserve to cum on my tits?"

His brain short circuited. Ran slipped out his sex-crazed stupor to throw an incredulous look your way. You smirked as he silently went through all the possible answers. There was no need to over think this, right? Just be honest.

"I think I do,"

You slowly replaced your hand, making his dick twitch immediately from the pressure.

"Why?"

He swallowed hard. Why? Hell, he barely thought he desserved you just from the amount of danger he risked you getting in by selfishly keeping you in his life. Here he was twitching and squirming, just aching for release, and completely stumped at your question.

"Oh Ran," he flinched," You're a good boy. Do you believe that?"

"N-not really," he admitted.

That earned your pace doubled on his cock. The pressure nearly made him double over from how fast he chased your hand.

"Too bad, only good boys cum where they want,"

He whimpered. He couldn't tell if this was humiliating or tantalizing. One thing was for sure, though, if you stopped again, he was gonna have one.

"Fuck. I'm a good boy. I- oh God- I'm a good boy. Believe me I am. I do my best just for you. Just mm keep going,"

Over and over Ran repeated his "I'm a good boy mantra" slipping up as he began to shake. Something was holding him back, and this time, it wasn't work. It was you. Specifically your lack of permission. So, you leaned forward, pressing yourself into his leaking erection. Just before his eyes crossed, you teased him with one more question.

"Would like to be a good boy, now?"

His confirmation metled into a myriad of unintelligent fragments and curses as he released all over your chest. You got the brunt of how pent up he was as his orgasm seemed to go on longer than usual. He doubled over, trapping you in his arms as he came to. You ran fingers through his purple locks, listening him to him gasp and groan into your shoulder.

A light sniffle broke the silence. You gripped his face, inspecting it closely for any remnants of pain.

"Fuck, didn't know how much I needed the uh confidence boost there," he leaned into your hand," Reminds me of the promise I made ya, when we first got together,"

You smoothed your thumb over his cheekbone, swooning at his muted bashfulness.

"Let's clean up, and we can talk about it, okay?"

A smirk split his face, as Ran crept over your torso until you were forced to lay under him.

"Oh you're not hearing a damn thing, til you answer a few questions of my own, hm?"

[captainjacklyn]

Making my first DOL post today..random game I got into, it's so easy to get invested.

So here is my PC, don't be fooled- that's a boy he just likes his hair long cause an someone told him it looked nice.

Kinda felt like giving him a small description, how he views most of the LIs and other characters, maybe him as a person idk this really feels like a shitpost. I only recommend the game if you aren't a minor and have a strong ass stomach cause I almost vomited the first time.

!!TW!! mentions of SA, blood, gore, violence, human experiments, death, abuse (both mentally and physically), psychopathic behavior, murder, mutation, stalking, if I missed any other triggers please inform me immediately so that I may fix my mistakes. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable, I advise you to please ignore this post and find something else more suitable. !!TW!!

Degrees of Lewdity :

APPEARANCE :

The slender young man slowly stares back at you and returns your greeting. "Oh..it's you." his name is Elias, he's a resident at the local orphanage, he won't talk back if you try anything. Just avoid taking off his gloves unless he allows it.

PROFILE/MAIN INFORMATION :

Species - human, any hybrid Occupation - student Affiliation - orphanage, oxford street school Age - 18 years old Height - 178 cm Birthday - 04th of April Gender - male (can morph his system into changing sexe so female too) Marital Status - Dating Sydney, Avery's side hoe Zodiac Sign - Aries Best Subject - English, History Interests - Cross dressing, sunbathing, napping, gardening, makeup

PERSONALITY :

Elias is an unfazed and blunt yet somewhat gentle young adult who quietly cares for others from afar. At first glance, many would think that he only speaks up when others wish to converse with him, even then his answers are short with little depth. Though it is stated that his confidence becomes much more evident once he gets comfortable, Elias can tease his peers and act playful. Furthermore, he will occasionally invite friends to spend some time with him. Whether it be taking a nap together, walking along the beach shore or reading in the library. He can crave company and has no shame in asking for someone's attention.

Not only so, but angering/provoking Elias is a feat itself, he usually avoids confrontation by walking away and even when things get out of hand, the young man will still struggle for the sake of running off. Though reaching a certain state of insanity, he looses all control of reason and will attack the offender without limit. This livid persona gives him an animalistic instinct to kill, relentlessly harming the individual(s) who previously caused his senses to go a-wire. The way he does this can get more gruesome depending on the previously inflicted physical or mental wounds on Elias, from forcing himself on them to tearing their skin open and eventually creating a gash deadly enough to give them a slow painful end. He stops at nothing until he's satisfied with how much suffering his abuser lives through.

InGameAU/Canon

Note - The statements above is largely different to how he canonically behaves. I have a knack for 'book accurate' vs 'show representation' and wanted a similar concept for my character.

In the game itself, Elias is much less of a victim and instead finds himself to be in constant control (I've been wary of any nonconsensual interactions, making a save before every choice that could lead to gr*pe or getting..y'know v*red). He is manipulative, defiant and easily angered. Belittling any passerby who leaves him a crude remark, regarding his more manipulative tendencies, this does result in him being a bit of a player.

One ↦ Robin can only have a specific percentage of confidence, preferably leaning towards a hundred but never fully. There is the excessive guilt-trip technique, Elias takes care of him from time to time and the moment Robin says something that could waver the white haired boy's sense of control he half scolds him by reminding Robin of everything he does just for him.

Two ↦ Sydney's purity = max level at all times. He doesn't want to deal with the possibility of having a bratty little *sshole follow him around everywhere for s*x. Especially not if the church proceeds to act up along with his corrupted state. The two of them are dating in game, Elias mainly uses him for protection at school, status wise at least. Due to Elias' line of work and desperate need to pay off Bailey, my PC cheats on Sydney practically everyday, having intercourse with multiple NPCs who offer a good price in exchange for his body as well as acting as Avery's sugar baby.

Despite this, he does care, I promise that he does. But his way of thinking would be similar to Alicent Hightower from House of The Dragon. He isn't narcissistic and has never once acted that way, however Elias is heavily twisted by loneliness abandonment issues go brr, anxiety and peer pressure (e.g robin getting punished for not paying his rent, Bailey possibly selling him off to the farm, etc..). This causes him to appear collected and normal at one moment and then unexpectedly go nuts.

BACKGROUND :

Elias' past follows most of the in-game's PC backstory, he was raised in the orphanage by Bailey and supposedly lived within that town his whole childhood. Another NPC who is only present in Elias' story is Monika, an older sister-like figure who was also raised in the orphanage but soon adopted and taken away. She is said to have learned to read rather quickly and many youngsters would come to her for stories, including Robin. Monika was especially close to Elias, treating him like he was a blood relative than just another inhabitant, their bond grew strong as years passed and her depart created a rather detrimental impact on Elias. Who closed in on himself and ceased to socialize, a partial root to his present conduct.

However, there is a darker side to his story. This would also explain the truth behind his gloved hands which he hates uncovering at all cost, as well as his existence alone. Elias wasn't conceived naturally, instead he was created inside an artificial womb manufactured by a non-governmental laboratory which was currently exploring the nature of hybrids (e.g beings such as the Black Wolf or Great Hawk). A group of scientist took a step further, planning a project which was yet to be approved by their employer, and decided to combine several varieties of animal DNA along with human ones. Their goal was to revolutionize the science of genetic research. Unfortunately, the team was found out and reported to their boss, who visioned Elias' birth as a horrific mistake exhibiting complete disrespect to the laws of nature. The people who had fabricated the unnatural child were instantly discarded from further company work.

Up until that point, the infant mainly looked human and acted as such. So the executive ordered for the toddler to be dropped off at an orphanage and forgotten.

TRIVIA/BONUS FACTS :

Elias is rather fashionable, he sometimes goes into the supermarket to try on a set of clothes before leaving without purchasing a single item. (the art is in the savings)

It is stated by several NPCs that he has a bad habit of staring, this is actually due to him daydreaming/spacing out whilst looking ahead unconsciously.

His favorite drink is lemonade and favorite dessert is lemon tart, anything that has to do with lemons is usually enjoyed by Elias.

When adapting to an environment, his hands are the first to metamorphose. They also connect to his emotions/primal instincts, circumstances like these are what drove Elias to hide them.

His screams sound like a mix of Caraxes and Syrax, his sounds are more guttural than actual cries.

CREDITS FOR PICREW :

#1; #2; #3; #4; #5; #6; #7; #8; #9

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan returns to Skyhold. Permanently.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 4,118. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 47: Return with the Gift

The Ladies’ time in Val Royeaux had been particularly pleasant—if one glazed over the first few hours—but, like all good things, it was bound to its inevitable end.

Trevelyan and the Baroness watched from the balcony of the latter’s city-centre apartment, as their separate carriages were prepared upon the pristine streets below, under the particular instruction of the ever-efficient Lady Montilyet.

“How do you feel, about returning to Val Misrenne?” Trevelyan asked, as she rested upon the balustrade.

The Baroness could not rest so easily. “I suppose I am… frightened.”

“Frightened?”

“It will not be the same Val Misrenne I left behind. There will be faces missing from the crowd. I do not know how I shall withstand it.”

Trevelyan laid a hand atop the Baroness’. She had never confessed to such fear before. But of course she hadn’t. Hers was not to feel it, but to show resistance to it. And Trevelyan, in her heart, had every faith the Baroness would not succumb. But, at this moment, she needed to know:

“You don’t have to withstand it. Not alone. Your existence need not be self-sufficient, Baroness. There are people who can bear it for you; with you.”

Touledy smiled. “Indeed. Skyhold has been of great value, in that regard. I lived as an island for so many years. The mages returned what hope I had lost, and the Inquisition has seen it fulfilled. I have never... depended, or relied, so much since I lost my family. It is terrifying as it is beautiful.”

Trevelyan recognised the same feeling within herself. “It is.”

“You must come visit, when you may. I am certain Thallia would benefit from meeting a mage so accomplished as you.”

Trevelyan laughed. “From what you have told me, I believe it is I who would benefit from speaking to her.”

“All the more reason for it, then. And, of course, should the Commander ever vex you… you know where you may turn.”

“And allow him to finally have rid of us all? Never! I shall not give him the satisfaction.”

The Baroness quirked an eyebrow. “Shall you not?”

Trevelyan heaved an exasperated sigh, as if she did not thoroughly enjoy the Baroness’ teasing. As if she did not wish to keep it.

“I shall not give you the satisfaction, either,” she chastised. “Besides, I do not think he shall wish to be rid of me anytime soon. In fact, I rather got the impression that he’d like me to stay.”

“Oh, certainly—if the size of the soldiers he was willing to set loose upon your parents is anything to go by.”

Said soldiers were in the street, helping to load the Skyhold-bound carriage, lifting luggage as if it weighed nothing. Trevelyan was almost sorry they hadn’t been set loose upon her parents. Would’ve been a good show.

The Baroness smirked. “What a change in the man, hm?”

“Yes,” Trevelyan sighed. “Though I do not believe I would like him so much had he not so changed.”

“I wonder, then: when did you first like him? At what point of our many misadventures did he become a… prospect?”

Trevelyan thought for a moment. “I believe it was after the duel.”

“Ah. The nobility of defeat?”

“Hardly. Rather, the sight of him bloody, sweaty, and in the process of removing his armour.”

They giggled, at their debauchery; their larks; their repartee. But, joyous as it might seem, it came with a bittersweet taste upon the tongue.

There would be no more moments like this. The Baroness’ carriage was loaded and secured. Her footmen had climbed onto the dash. Val Misrenne called.

“I suppose I should say farewell,” muttered Touledy, shifting onto the support of her cane.

She offered an arm, understated in its invitation. Trevelyan collapsed into it regardless, holding on for dear life. It was as if the world around them was crumbling away, and to let go would be to fall with it.

The Baroness had been the stable ground upon which she had first arrived in Skyhold. She could not bear the thought of no longer having it beneath her feet.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“And I you,” said the Baroness. She parted, but kept her hand in Trevelyan’s. “Take my congratulations, as well.”

Curious, Trevelyan asked, “For what?”

“You won our little competition. Four Ladies came to Skyhold… and only one remains.”

Trevelyan scoffed. “I cannot revel in such victory. It means the departure and loss of three dear friends. I feel no triumph—only misery.”

The Baroness squeezed her hand. “No. I do not wish to cause you misery. Let us part in happiness—and one day, return where we left off.”

Trevelyan nodded. Those were terms she surely could agree to.

“When we meet again,” she said.

“When we meet again,” the Baroness replied.

Their hands broke apart. The moment had come. The sound of a cane echoed away.

Upon the streets, the Baroness climbed into her carriage. Six glorious horses all spurred to life, and a chorus of clip-clopping echoed around the city. A round of applause, for a remarkable woman.

Trevelyan pressed herself against the balustrade, eyes not leaving the carriage. Even as it rolled away, even as the tears blurred her vision. The very same carriage that had brought her to Skyhold now left her, to return to it alone.

And, as it had on that very first day, a long, elegant arm extended from the carriage window. Yet, this time, it waved farewell.

***

A bird soared over the Frostback mountains, a message bound upon its leg, a return heralded on its wing. No map needed guide it, no trail or track. The knowledge was intrinsic. It knew the way home.

A carriage traced the bird’s path, through the wildernesses it had glided over mere days ago, bearing those whose homecoming had been predicted. Within it, Josephine took to her reading, while Trevelyan contented herself with peering from the window.

There were trees on their trail, ancient and knotted, that she recognised. Villages, for which she already knew the inn’s location. Crossroads, for which she could choose the right direction. She knew it. Her way home.

Though she had enjoyed her whirlwind tour of Thedas, Trevelyan could not wait to return. The Dales were pretty and Val Royeaux shone—but none of it could compare to comfort she felt at the sight of those familiar mountain peaks, rising into view.

The snowy ascent was especially recognisable. Memories of the place echoed in her mind: of towering pines, of carriages and horses, of new beginnings.

A watchtower stood—same as it always had—before a mountain pass. Flags fluttered from its crenellations, banners adorned its every wall. The heraldry of the Inquisition. Soldiers within saluted the carriage, onward and through, to the valley beyond.

To Skyhold.

Trevelyan gazed at the castle—majestic crown atop the river’s head—and the camps that rippled out from it. She felt not a drop of the dread which had plagued her upon first seeing this place, for she knew the warmth of its hearths and the safety of its walls, now. There was nothing of it left to fear.

The gates were hauled up in anticipation. The carriage trundled through without hindrance. The courtyard opened out before them; its magic swept up to greet them. Stablehands swarmed the entryway, ready and waiting.

Two long weeks it had been. Yet, when Trevelyan’s foot hit the grass, it felt as if no time at all.

The place still bustled, the trees still bloomed, the birdsong still chimed. The keep remained, stalwart and strong, the same patrols on its battlements as they had left behind. Soldiers yet sparred, swords clashing in the air, accompanied by music, drifting from the tavern.

But there was something yet missing.

Trevelyan surveyed the courtyard, as the staff of Skyhold dispersed. Stablehands tended to the horses; servants, to the luggage. Their numbers depleted, the entryway emptied. Void was left in their place.

Trevelyan had, of course, prepared herself for the pain of realising that the Ladies would not be there, to welcome her home. But that did not nullify it. The pain yet thundered.

A soldier’s guiding hand saw Josephine down from the carriage. She came to Trevelyan’s side, sympathy offered through a touch of the shoulder. Together, they faced the barren courtyard—yet found it suddenly populated. By just one man.

The Commander waited at its boundary. He stood, spine straight, manner regal. Hair all laid, glinting in the sunlight. Mantle swaying, in the gentle breeze.

The sight of him caused Trevelyan to smile. A comfort and warmth suffused her, one she was unaware that she had lacked.

She worried a little, of her looks. Two weeks on the road and she would be nothing so lovely as he. But there was no escaping his attention, nor any time to prepare—for he had seen them, she and Josephine, and already made his approach.

“Arcanist, Ambassador,” he said. “I, ah—welcome back, it’s good to see you. I hope you are well.”

He spoke with a soft smile permanently upon his lips, and an even softer gaze in his eyes. Trevelyan had been away long enough to think she might have imagined such... hints, of some small affection—but here, it seemed, was the empirical proof, painted across his face in the style of a lovelorn artist.

Josephine must have noticed it too, for she cleared her throat, and asked with volume: “Have you any news on the Inquisitor?”

“Ah, yes,” he sputtered, remembering himself. “The Inquisitor has returned, though we are waiting on further word. Seeker Pentaghast’s party arrived a few days ago.”

“Good. Then I should schedule a meeting.”

With an excuse to remove herself from the conversation provided, Josephine bade them both a brief farewell, and left in the direction of the keep—no doubt intending to set upon her work like a voracious hypocrite. Perhaps they ought to create a convoluted romantic web to entangle her within as an overdue method of temperance.

Of course, such scheming thoughts existed merely to distract Trevelyan from the fact that she was alone with the Commander, and it had been a while since that had been the case, and she was extremely out of practice in the matter.

“Were the roads… good?” he asked.

Perhaps he was out of practice, too. “What?”

“Your journey—was it all right?”

“Oh.” Trevelyan smiled. “Yes, thank you—especially thanks to the retinue you provided. They were of great reassurance, during our travels.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m glad to hear it. And are you all right?”

That ought to have been a difficult question to answer. Trevelyan had forsaken the guardianship of her parents—what had been, for good or for ill, her last bastion in a time of crisis. And true enough, the fear that without them, she would be cast adrift should her life crumble again, still lingered in some form.

Yet Trevelyan felt no sense of regret about her decision. As frightening as it might be, that was part of the bargain. One could not be brave, without fearing first.

Ultimately, though a difficult choice to make, it was the correct one. Because as she admired the land of Skyhold—its warmth; its beauty; its homeliness—she could think of no reality in which she should prefer her parents to this.

Her gaze returned to the Commander. (Or that.)

“It may take time to adjust,” she admitted, “but I believe I will be. Quite all right indeed.”

“I’m glad. I trust they won’t trouble you further?”

Trevelyan shook her head. “Even if I were worth the trouble, they have been made well aware of the consequences of defying my wishes. I think they are fools—but I do not think they are foolish.”

“Hm. From what I have heard of them,” he murmured, “they do not sound like great intelligences—so we shall remained prepared, regardless.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Of course. But, forgive me—I am keeping you; I should allow you to settle in.”

“No, no!” said Trevelyan. She edged closer, to speak quieter. “I wished to ask… how are you? Physically? I haven’t asked since… before the banquet.”

It took him a moment to catch her meaning, and the generic answer he had prepared fizzled in his mouth. Instead, he confessed to her the truth:

“I’ve been well enough, thank you. Only a few headaches… though, I suppose they have been more from the work, than the lyrium.”

“Well, we can’t have that either way. Without the Ladies to distract you, I fear you might do a little too much of working, Commander.” A smile crept across her face. “We shall have to do something about it.”

“Yes, that would be—I would be grateful, thank you.” His fumbling pleased her greatly. “And you—you will need company, without the Ladies, as well, I should imagine.”

Trevelyan had not considered herself yet. How lonely her mornings might be, without the Ladies to take tea with. How quiet her nights might be, with no gossip to keep her awake.

“Oh, yes,” she muttered, “I suppose so.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off, a self-frustrated crumple forming in his brow.

Trevelyan offered a smile, the best she could muster. “We shall have to spend some time together, then. To account for the absence.”

“Whatever you require.”

Trevelyan thought of what the Baroness might say to that, and smiled proper.

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Yes, Arcanist”—he dipped to bow, but stopped short—“should I..?”

“No, no—save your back, Commander. I am no longer a Lady, therefore there is little use for such formality. We shall have to find another way of saying farewell.” She had some ideas, but none appropriate. “The word itself may have to do—and variations thereupon. So, with that, Commander, I suppose I shall simply have to bid you—”

“If we have no need for formality,” he interrupted, “then you needn’t refer to me by my title.”

A little arrow pierced straight through Trevelyan’s heart. She attempted not to show the shock of the strike upon her face.

“Ser, then? Ser Rutherford?” she wondered.

“Cullen,” he told her.

“Ser... Cullen?”

His lips curled into a smile. “If you prefer.”

“No, no—if you, your preference, Commander.”

“‘Cullen’ will do.”

“Yes”—she braced herself—“Cullen.”

She could not even look at him as she said it. It felt forbidden.

“Thank you.”

A discomfort squirming around inside her, Trevelyan felt the sudden urge to be anywhere else. The air here was tense, and thick, and had begun to tamper with her breathing.

“We shall speak later, then, Com—Cullen,” she blurted.

He smiled. “Yes, Arcanist.”

That was as good a farewell as they would have for now. The two separated, each bound for an opposing end of the castle. Trevelyan slipped beyond the bounds of his periphery, and stole back the breath that had abandoned her. Bravery filling her lungs, she dared a simple peek, over her shoulder, to catch one last glimpse before he truly left.

Her eyes met his. For there he stood, at a distance, peering out from behind his own shoulder. There was the barest hint of a smile upon his face. It reflected upon hers.

But—there was work to do. Trevelyan’s attention returned, best it could, to Skyhold. Cullen, Cullen, Cullen. The name rolled around in her mind.

No, no! There remained an afternoon to be had, and there was plenty to do within it. The siren song of the Undercroft called, and Trevelyan could hardly refuse to answer. She had news of her permanence to share, and people with whom she wished to share it!

Though she didn't have to search for long to find them.

“Hey!” came a yell, from above.

Trevelyan’s eyes trailed up the keep’s stepped approach, and saw upon its landing, staring back at her, the grinning faces of Dorian, Herzt, and—

“You staying!?” shouted Dagna.

Trevelyan laughed. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be!”

All cheered, even Herzt. Dorian beckoned her up the staircase. “Come on, come on!” he bellowed. “We’ve got something to show you, and I shan’t be made to wait!”

Trevelyan cackled, and took the stairs two-at-a-time. She reached their little congregation, and was swallowed immediately into its embrace.

“What am I to see?” she asked.

Dagna grabbed her hand. “Undercroft! C’mon!”

Trevelyan barely had time to acknowledge the Great Hall around her, as the giddy band dragged her toward the Undercroft door. Down the stairs she was hurried and pestered, stumbling out into the cavern proper.

The smell of forges and the thrum of magic filled her up and made her whole. Familiarity, she was certain, could cure her any ill.

“Here, here!” Dagna said, pulling her towards the laboratory. “Close your eyes.”

Trevelyan did as instructed, hearing shuffling and whispers in the dark around her. Footsteps. A few worrying clanks. Then the order, to open her eyes once more.

“Here you are!” Dagna announced, arms shooting out towards Herzt. Trevelyan followed their direction.

Within Herzt’s palms lay a beautiful, intricate mage’s staff of smooth, shining mahogany, with a focus of burning reddish glass. Striking—but no answer to the questions Trevelyan had.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s yours,” Dorian said.

“What?”

Dagna tempted her forward, and Trevelyan crept closer. Maker, it was no less impressive on more intimate inspection.

That fine wood—a sturdy shaft—had been engraved with elegant symbols which Trevelyan did not recognise as runes. The focus, cradled at the pinnacle, swirled and hummed with the latent glow of magical potential. A blade, sharp, glinted at the end, smelted and forged for finesse and strength.

An approving nod from Dagna, and Trevelyan dared take hold. The moment Herzt released it into her fingers, she felt its power connect. Heat. Raw, burning energy—coursing just beneath the surface. An enchantment of fire.

“Do you like it?” Dagna asked.

“It’s incredible,” Trevelyan breathed.

“I’m glad. I had a little help sourcing the materials, you see”—she pointed to the focus—“that was sent specially, by glassmakers in this little Fereldan town, called Coldon. You might have heard of it.”

Trevelyan smiled.

Dagna pointed to the wood. “This was brought back by the Inquisitor—a gift from Val Misrenne.”

“I heard their leader uses the same wood for her own canes,” the sly Dorian added.

“And these”—Dagna traced a few of the symbols engraved—“are Dalish. It’s a saying, ‘Home is where I find my strength’. Or—something like that. I think the literal translation is ‘home is strength’.”

The difference mattered little in that moment. Trevelyan closed her eyes, as the tears welled. She held the staff close. Little pieces of them, to be carried with her.

“And the enchantment was done by yours truly, of course,” Dagna said at last, indicating both herself and Herzt.

“I’m here for the glory,” Dorian quipped.

Trevelyan laughed, and sniffled. “It’s lovely,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, pretty embarrassing for the Undercroft if our new Arcanist doesn’t even have a staff,” Dagna teased. “Now you can show ‘em what we can do.”

“Speaking of which,” Dorian said, placing his hands upon Trevelyan’s shoulders and peeking around her side, “do you want to test it?”

There was a glint in his eye that reflected in hers. Trevelyan grinned.

“Yes, please!”

They raced out of the room, gathering a herd of excited tagalongs behind them as they went. It was they who’d seen this staff created—so they should want to see it working, too!

The denizens of the Undercroft therefore spilled out into the sunlight, stampeding to the courtyard, and swarming the sparring ring. Dorian hopped the fence, and waved away the duelling soldiers within.

“Urgent business, gentlemen!” he told them. “The Undercroft needs a stage!”

Perhaps too green to argue, the soldiers cleared as asked. Dorian presented the space with a flourish of his hand, and Trevelyan eagerly entered.

“It’s been a while!” she warned her spectators, striding for the centre. “You might want to take a step back!”

Dorian made haste; the rest heeded her warning. Trevelyan swept her eyes around, and smiled.

“Further!”

Her audience, together, retreated another step. All, at least, except for one smith, who missed the instruction, and had to be quickly hauled out of the way.

Trevelyan laughed. Satisfied, she held out the stave. Mind calming, body focusing, she recalled the old patterns they’d taught her in the Circle. Time to see if they still worked.

She swung the staff through the air, swirling it around her head. Fade, drawn to her magnetising force, was gathered up in the movement of her focus. It concentrated the energy; she pulled it taut. And once she felt it peak—

Trevelyan slammed the staff, blade-first, into the ground, turf kicking up. Glowing lines unfolded outward; they turned, interconnected, wove. A sigilic pattern of runes, thrumming with energy, widening out, to the edge of the ring. Primed and primal.

She released her staff. The runes erupted.

Gouts of flame, over twenty feet tall, shot upwards like geysers. So bright and burning, Trevelyan was not visible within them—but within them she stood, smiling, arms wide. In control.

And as soon as she bade it, the flames deceased.

Trevelyan laughed, and clutched her new staff to her chest. Dagna cheered to see its successs; Dorian glanced at a still-smoldering patch of grass.

“You missed a bit,” he teased, dispelling the last flickers with a simple wave.

“Mercy, please!” Trevelyan countered. “It’s a lot more power than I’m used to.”

“You bet your ancestors it is!” Dagna grinned, ear-to-ear. “How do you feel?”

Trevelyan thrust the staff into the ground. “Like a mage.”

No more hiding parts of herself away. She was whole now, complete—and proud to be.

Though she had forgotten something. A key factor of being a mage, in fact: the idea that mages were, and always would be, in some kind of trouble.

“Excuse me!” shouted a heavily-plated soldier (big pauldrons, at least a Captain), who marched up to their little celebration.

“What seems to be the matter?” asked Dagna.

“Mage training is in an hour,” he instructed, glaring down at them. “My soldiers need the ring.”

A group of said soldiers stood meekly off to the side; the same ones Dorian had shooed away earlier. Perhaps instead of teaching them combat, they ought to be taught conflict management, so they could ask the big scary mage for the ring back themselves.

Dorian shrugged. “It was just one spell.”

The Captain scoffed. “We’ll see how the Commander feels about ‘just one spell’.”

He turned as if to stomp away, to find the Commander and get him to tell off the big scary mage—but one of his soldiers interrupted:

“Um, Ser?”

She pointed to the battlements above, and a silhouetted figure stood atop them. Hands leant upon the parapet, a faint smile upon his face, the Commander seemed to be quite aware of the situation already.

The Captain gestured to him, indicating the Undercroft rabble, then throwing his hands up in exasperation. Cullen waved this away, with a shake of his head. The Captain rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered, returning to them. “Just one spell. Don’t let me catch you doing this again.”

“Of course not, Ser!” Dagna said, with a grin.

The Captain looked like he almost believed her, but—no. He simply shook his head, and went on his way.

“Well, I suppose we’d better come back in an hour and see what else you can do,” Dorian whispered. “Fancy a spar?”

Trevelyan giggled. “I’ll roast you alive, Pavus.”

“Ooh! Sounds exciting.”

“Just don’t break it,” Dagna warned, “I’m not etching all those runes again!”

“I promise I will care for it like an injured baby bird,” Trevelyan reassured her.

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “And you roast people with baby birds as well?”

“Over a spit, until perfectly crisp.”

They laughed, mirthful and pleased with their success. But the fun had to be over sometime—and the dwellers of the Undercroft would need to return to work. Someone had probably left at least one phial bubbling over with a dangerous liquid.

So off they went, filing up the steps, back into the keep. Trevelyan glanced over her shoulder, to at least offer the Commander—or, Cullen, rather—a smile in thanks.

But he was already gone.

A thought stumbled into her mind. One she hadn’t considered for so long.

I wonder if he’ll mind a mage.

[badlydrawn-brostrider]

/ / / / /

Though it might be a good idea to make a better pinned post lol.

Hello!! I'm Sylv, the one and only mod of this here blog. I go by any pronouns so go wild! My main is @error707-thatdude if ya wanna chat! @bdbro-mod is my mod blog if you have ooc questions!

Asks are currently: OPEN

M!A: N/A

For quick context! This is a silly sort of post canon au where Bro, Dirk, and BGD (and any other Dirk splinter who wishes to join) all live together in one apartment. Bro doesn't have Lil Cal anymore and is still trying to get over the whole "being possessed/influenced" thing, Dirk is keeping an eye on him, and BGD is our newest arrival! Both Alpha and Beta kids/guardians are here and alive and will be mentioned, other guardian blogs are still free to interact though!

Bro- Me

Dirk- @badlydrawn-dirkstrider (Dave)

Brain Ghost Dirk- @badlydrawn-brainghostdirk (Elliot)

RULES:

• No striderc*st, that's not something I want on my blog. Asks of the sort will be deleted and blocked.

• This may be an au of sorts BUT it's pretty loose! I'd love for other bdhs blogs to interact with me and send asks!

• M!A's are allowed! Named anons are welcome as long as y'all don't take it too far.

• Mod and muse are both 18+ so I tentatively allow nsfw-ish asks on the blog. If its in the source material then it's fair game! Rule will be tweaked of things become too raunchy.

• Ships are a-okay and old man yaoi is welcome but I don't want it to become the blogs main point.

• If anybody wishes to make some kind of arc message me first (either on tumblr or shoot me a message on my discord, lonedistortion). Don't just try starting stuff in my inbox.

• I'm a third year college student in Adapted Physical Education meaning: I'm a busy person. I try responding quickly but sometimes I won't be able to, so please be patient.

• There is likely gonna be heavy topics such as: Child abuse, possession/psychological horror, canon typical Strider repression, canon typical Dirk self loathing + decapitation jokes, lots and lots of puppets and puppet rump. Basically just- canon typical Dirk/Bro stuff CW. Okay look it sounds like a lot but I promise this is a silly, lighthearted blog, just throwing this out here as a quick general warning.

-- And that should be everything! Rules will be added or tweaked depending on how things go. Enjoy your time in Casa de Dirk!

[theflyindutchwoman]

So I've been rewatching a lot of season 5, and there was this scene in 5x19. It was when Lucy was studying in the morning and Tim had just woken up. There was a brief mentioned of how difficult it's going to be for them to maybe see each other daily in the future because of Tim's metro hours and Lucy's detective hours (if Lucy pass the exam). Which got me thinking.

There has been lots of discussion on Lucy's future as a UC and how it may impact Chenford's relationship in the future, and there's already a lot of fanfics going around that explore lots of those possibilities. There are theories that Lucy may not be a UC for long or at least not a long term ops like what Isabell did, which make sense, but her being a detective and having long hours are actually something both Tim and Lucy seem reluctant to have in the first place. One of the reason Tim initially become a court liaison is because had Lucy transfer to another station, it will be difficult to sync up their shift and they may not see each other everyday.

So this got me spiraling, say Tim and Lucy really want to maintain they see each other everyday or at least as often as possible, how would the story goes? Maybe Grey retires and Tim promoted as Watch Commander? or Tim move to other place aside from Metro but where? or Lucy not become a detective, but then how would her career go next?

really interested to hear your thoughts on this. thanks

I'm not really sure how this particular storyline would go… Here's the thing : as much as they want to see each other as often as possible, they also both want a career. Only, considering their line of work, that means long and unpredictable hours. This is something they're going to have to contend with. And honestly? This is the kind of conundrum most couples go through at some point in their relationship. It's all about finding a balance.

What makes this harder is the fact that they spent years riding together, working side by side all day every day. Going from this to only seeing each other a couple of hours per day was always going to require a period of adaptation. The long hours in Metro or as a detective add another layer. But despite this, they're still supporting the other in their respective career. As Tim said, they'll figure it out.

However, let's say they really want to see each other more often than their current positions allow them to… The ideal solution would be for both of them to take a desk job within the station. That's where they have the best chance to have a regular schedule. But Tim has already done that and the man looked miserable after just one week… That's what started the five-player trade in the first place. They love the action too much : in 5.21, Lucy asked him if he ever wished he had a normal job, one where he didn't get shot at, and he said no. So did she. Which rules out this option.

At the moment, I'd say Metro presents the biggest challenge. So one way to fix it would be for Tim to move somewhere with less demanding hours. Being the Watch Commander could indeed be a possibility since he has the rank - but only if Lucy is out of patrol. He didn't seem to particularly enjoy the job though. And it would be a shame to lose Grey. That still leaves plenty of other positions, like the ones mentioned by Lucy when she was trying to get him a better job : IA, Motor, SWAT, Robbery, Vice… Now Robbery and Vice could present an issue if Lucy makes detective, depending which department recruits her. SWAT would be just as bad as Metro, and I doubt Tim would be interested in working for IA. Motor could be an option. K9 too. They are other departments and positions of course, but I don't really know them. That said, while it wouldn't be as unpredictable as Metro, as a supervisor, he would still have long hours.

Lucy has three main options : stay in patrol (where she could become a TO), try the detective's exam (her current path) or take the sergeant's exam (Tim's path). But again, being a Sergeant is no less demanding than being a Detective : Tim was asked to pick an aide for that very reason and we saw him stay after-shifts as well. Patrol is where it would be ideal in terms of a 'regular' schedule (all things considered) and action. But Lucy hasn't shown any interest in becoming a TO or even staying in patrol. Not to mention that it would be quite close to Nolan's storyline…

In my opinion, the best solution would be for them to move in together. Sure, it doesn't solve the issue of the long hours… But at least, it eliminates time spent commuting from one house to the other.

[queeniecook]

May 1846

Mid to late May 1846 – Moonwood Mill

After almost a month of running here and there, not having any idea where she is wondering to – Lily finally feels the need to stop in a small town. She had depended on the kindness of strangers – some were very kind, some where not. She is tired of running. It has not erased the image of her beloved cousins as monsters from her head. Or the thing she saw masquerading as a noblewoman outside the Vatore mansion.

Lily takes in the view of the small town, it’s beautiful. It seems peaceful – so far. She notices there’s a lot of cut lumber, maybe it’s a mill of some sort? She wonders the dirt streets, not sure what she’s looking for.

It’s not long before a man approaches her, slowly and politely. He introduces himself as Kristopher Volkov. Lily introduces herself in return, manners are important to her.

Kristopher had recently inherited his position among his pack from his mother. He misses her dearly but is doing his best to carry on her work with their pack.

“Where am I, Mr. Volkov?” Lily asks softly.

“Moonwood Mill.” He answers. He can tell the poor woman is lost. Normally, his kind aren’t very open to human strangers but he senses something different in Miss Zhu. “It is going to rain soon, would you like a dry place to stay during the rain?” He asks her. He can smell the rain coming as well as feel it in his body. 

Lily pauses, normally a single woman going off with a man and one that she doesn’t know at that, would be extremely inappropriate as well as dangerous but her instincts are telling her that Kristopher can be trusted. She nods her head and softly says “Thank you.”

Once inside, the rain begins to beat down on the Volkov home. Kristopher for his part does his best to make Lily feel welcome, he offers her a cup of warm tea and some biscuits he made that very morning. They chat while the tea kettle warms the water for their drinks.

“What brings you to our humble town?” He asks the young woman before him. She gets a real distant look in her eyes as she stares off into space, as if relieving something. He’s patient. As a werewolf, he knows there’s things in life you don’t wish to speak about.

Lily finally snaps out of her memories. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. There’s time I hardly believe it but then I pinch myself and see it’s true.”

The tea kettle whistles, breaking the thick air that had settled in the kitchen. Kristopher pours them both a cup of tea and they settle in with their biscuits. He decides it’s best to change the subject and instead tells her things about the town, obviously leaving out certain things. He tells her about a local inn ran by a family friend. That she will allow Lily to stay there if she cleans the inn, that’s an arrangement that Mrs. Lunvik has used several times with people passing through. It works out well for the old woman.

A week passes and Lily has actually found herself enjoying her time in the town of Moonwood Mill. She cleans the inn for Mrs. Lunvik and has been spending time with Kristopher. Things were actually seeming normal and peaceful until the night of the full moon. That’s when Lily learns another shocking truth. Not only are their vampires, but there are also werewolves and that Kristopher is one of them. She thinks of running again but something deep down inside her tells her not to. She gingerly brings up what she saw to the werewolf that had helped her when she first showed up in town. He explains the history of werewolves to her and she confesses what happened to her cousins.

After learning that werewolves run Moonwood Mill as a safe haven for werewolves and those like them and are the natural enemies of vampires, Lily surprises herself in asking to becoming a werewolf. Not only does she want to protect others from suffering the same fate as her cousins but seeing Kristopher with his pack gives her the sense that they are family, something she no longer has. She wants that again.

Kristopher grants Lily her request after making sure it’s what she truly wants. The bite and first transformation are painful but being a werewolf helps Lily no longer feel powerless and helpless. She instantly feels a part of something, something she hadn’t even felt while human and surrounded by her family.

Meanwhile…

Though warned by the Count, the Vatore siblings had tracked down their cousin. Not to harm her but in hopes of talking to her. They had tracked her all the way to Moonwood Mill, which Straud had told them they are absolutely not allowed to step foot in. Instead, they hover around the border of the town.

“She is one of them now.” Caleb declares, feeling a pang in his chest he wasn’t quite used to anymore.

Lilth narrows her eyes, wrinkling her nose as the scent of werewolves hits her. She too is sad that her cousin is now a werewolf. “We can no longer reach her.” Until the transformation, they had a chance. Not anymore. It seems the Vatore siblings have truly lost what was left of her family. Their parents think them truly dead after an arranged train accident in Willow Creek by Count Straud himself. He had a buffet of the victims, much to Caleb’s disgust. Even Lilith had a few snacks, she said it was to end their suffering. Caleb simply left, he’s coming realize that he may need to go out on his own. He doesn’t agree with some of Vladislaus Straud’s ways.

“At least she has someone to care for her.” Caleb admits quietly, before speeding off followed closely by his sister.

[unwelcome-ozian]

Hi to everyone. I wanted to ask you if there’s a term for what happened (and is happening) to me. To keep it short: as a teen (16-18) I lived with a man who forced me into sex trafficking. He used my loneliness against me and made me believe he loves me so I did what he wanted. After years of being away from him I still have strong feelings of wanting to defend him and what he’s done. As you can tell I can however say that he’s done bad things to me. But sometimes when I talk about what he’s done I start to get very dizzy and I’ll say things he used to make me repeat to him. Specifically I had to recite that I’m a toy and that I deserve abuse and rape, that I was made for it. You talk about programming on here and I can clearly tell it’s not that from what I’ve read from you. But is there a term for making victims repeat things like this until it becomes true to them even after the abuser is gone? It’s very scary to me and the people who witnessed me in the moments where this happens. I just become hollow and my voice is monotone. I feel nothing and I don’t remember who I actually am, all I know is that “I’m a toy made for abuse”. In those moments I also have a strong urge to convince people that he did nothing wrong and that I love him. Sometimes i feel like this even when I’m more grounded , but the deeper I get into that mindset the stronger the wish is to go back to him.

One of the symptoms common in complex trauma survivors is various degrees of dissociation.  Dissociation creates a barrier between your conscious daily living experience and experiences where there was overwhelm created by trauma experience, that has not been able to be processed into one’s story.  Those feelings and memories are then walled off as if in pockets.  The parts of one’s being that have been walled off carry varying degrees of feelings or beliefs.  These parts may be experienced as intrusive thoughts or they may take more developed forms of alter fragments or alters found with secondary or tertiary dissociation (explained here). 

Even abusers and abuser groups that are not highly skilled or have the resources available for trauma based mind control (TBMC) have some awareness of the ability to instill beliefs in their victims that will limit their thinking and keep them loyal to their abusers.  The abuse that you have described qualifies as mind control through brainwashing or indoctrination.  Whereas it is not the same as TBMC (defined here), the abusers instill beliefs and actions in their victims through conditioned responses to the trauma.  Though this doesn’t usually cause the levels of dissociated barriers formed with DID, the victim may still hold feelings and beliefs in dissociated parts of their personalities.  These parts will be conditioned to act and believe in ways that will serve the abusers in order to best survive the abuse.  

One way of creating these conditioned  responses is through trauma bonds.  A trauma bond is formed in the victim when the abuser is the source of trauma and also the means of survival for the victim.  Due to activity that takes place in brain chemicals (which I describe here), the victim’s dependence on the abuser makes them open to believing untrue things about themselves in order to make sense of the abuse, while at the same time not blaming the abuser.  The brain chemicals also allow for the victim to overlook negative information regarding the abuser and receive any relief of pain or small actions of favor as kindness on their part.  By repeating the phrases that you mentioned during your abuse, your abuser was creating the beliefs that would be held by the same part of you that was holding the emotions and beliefs related to your abuse in order that that part of you would respond accordingly.  

As survivors move away from the earlier abusive experiences, sometimes these same parts may be called upon to hold other similar trauma or they may be triggered and depending on the level of dissociation, one’s conscience may become aware of some of the dissociated feelings and beliefs that are trapped in those parts of themselves that are stuck in those experiences.  It can be confusing to know and understand one piece of information regarding one’s history while at the same  experiencing another set of feelings or beliefs regarding the same history, very strongly at times due to the responses that were induced.  I hope this makes sense and offers some language for your experience.  

~Josha