#*continues consuming conspicuously*

[teh-nos]

fancy thinking jewels and gowns don't work as symbols of authority. imagine not making the link between wealth and power. couldn't be me. couldn't be any number of monarchs displaying their authority on their bodies. look at this absurdly expensive frock my wife is wearing. it's worth as much as your house. kneel, peasant, and kiss the hem of her luxurious garment. you're lucky, the next sumptuary laws will ban you from being in the same room as crimson silk.

[kzrosa-writes]

sweeter than sweet | dottore x reader

cw: fem!reader, smut, established relationship, drugging/spiking of drink (aphrodisiac), fem masturbation, voyeurism without consent? technically (throughout the entire oneshot but only mentioned at the end) MINORS DNI!!

summary: dottore decided to run a secret experiment on you. why is your tea sweeter than usual?

a/n: had a severe burnout & writer's block for the past few months, trying slowly to get back into writing ; likes, reblogs n follows r appreciated !

You knew something was wrong with the tea Dottore had brewed for you. You had never doubted his abilities with concocting a drink suited for your tastes, but the iced berry tea he had made for you today tasted much sweeter than you remembered. Thinking it was a simple mistake on his end, you brushed it off — after all, it still did taste very nice.

But that was until you started feeling a tingling sensation on your skin, and your body growing warmer than usual. You were in Dottore’s office and personal space, lounging by the dozen of bookshelves he had on display. Initially, you were going to pick out a book to read to pass the time, but soon enough you felt your mind unable to focus on the familiar words written on the pages. That was when you knew something was very wrong.

The tingling sensation made its way from your chest down to your inner thighs, before reaching your core. You looked around, briefly inspecting your lover’s office before cursing softly to yourself. You were thankful that none of his Segments were around, or else you have to face the embarrassment of being watched as you slowly slipped a hand into the waistband of your pants, your fingers gently brushing against the clothed area between your thighs.

Dottore had spiked your tea with some sort of aphrodisiac. You were certain of it.

You let out a soft whimper as your fingers lazily circled your clothed pussy, feeling the soft fabric growing damp with your slick. Shame slowly creeped in as you pulled the damp fabric aside to slide a finger into your entrance, your digit gliding in with ease. You shouldn't be doing this, you thought. What if someone were to walk in on you? Having someone witness the sight of you all flushed and hot with a hand between your legs, desperately seeking relief would be the last thing you want happening to you.

But the ever-growing need was becoming too much for you to ignore. Consuming your thoughts, you slid another finger in, eliciting a moan from your lips. You continued to move your fingers inside of you, pressing your thumb gently against your clit to heighten the pleasure. 

It felt too much. The need for relief was consuming you fully now, your fingers fucking into your cunt at a relentless, desperate speed. You wished that Dottore was around right now, perhaps he could help you out with the growing desire and the slick mess between your thighs. Your panties were now fully soaked, and your pants slightly wet. You muttered a curse as you dragged your fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, shame and dignity being the last things on your mind. You needed that release, that relief, that pleasure. It was growing unbearable at this point.

You pumped your fingers in and out a few more times before you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you. You arch your back as you let out a string of moans and whimpers, allowing yourself to bask in the glory of your climax. You let yourself breath for a couple of moments, resting your back on the couch you were sitting on by the bookshelves. Chest heaving and breaths ragged, you slowly pulled your fingers out, wiping away the residue of your pleasure using a box of tissues that sat by the coffee table. Your pants were now soaking with your release, evidence more than conspicuous. 

You carefully stood up, still feeling the gentle tingling sensation between your thighs as you threw the tissues into a nearby bin. You grabbed your boyfriend’s coat from the coat rack by the entrance of his office, covering yourself with the thick, oversized material. You twisted the knob and opened the door, looking around the corridor to make haste towards your shared bedroom in the Zapolyarny Palace.

What you didn’t see was the tiny blinking red light at the corner of the room, flickering every so often. Standing in front of a monitor was Dottore inside of his laboratory, holding out a pen and clipboard, a wide smirk playing at his lips. Displayed on the monitor was CCTV footage from his office, your figure leaving his office hastily. The harbinger chuckled deeply before jotting down a few words onto his clipboard, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.

“Good, good. Looks like my latest experiment has turned out to be a success.” Dottore said, his voice low and chilling. “The aphrodisiac has shown desirable results, and my test subject seems to be wanting more.”

Dottore placed his clipboard and pen down on his workbench, turning off the monitor. Taking off his lab coat and gloves, the man chuckled to himself before leaving his laboratory. Looks like he has quite a mess to fix back in the bedroom tonight.

— masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules ♡

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 2

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Titfucking - Hyunjin

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Hyunjin was always staring— he wasn’t as conspicuous as he originally thought. It’s time to take matters into your own hands.

———————————————————

It was about six months into your relationship when you clocked Hyunjin’s slight obsession with your chest. 

Well, slight is putting it gently. 

In the beginning you chocked it up to him just being a man with wandering eyes and a libido to challenge that of a Roman emperor. After all, it’s not uncommon for one to stare, especially when you wear a lower collared shirt. 

Then, the first time the two of you went to the club together as a couple, he could not keep his hands to himself the entire time. Even surrounded by all of your friends, when he danced behind you, his thumb would ‘accidentally’ brush the underside of your tits. 

Most mornings when one of you stays over at the other’s apartment, you’ll wake up with his arms around you. His hips will be pressed against your ass and one hand up your shirt, cupping your naked breast. 

His morning wood would harden the more he woke up and he would continuously fondle you even more until he eventually straddles you and fucks you like your life depends on it.

You catch Hyunjin staring all the time. 

It doesn’t bother you, no, not in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite. You absolutely love the extra attention he gives your chest. 

As someone who’s had extreme sensitivity there for your entire life, it feels like you’ve hit the jackpot. Well, both of you did. 

If the two of you are spooning on the couch watching a movie, all it takes is one lithe hand slithering underneath your shirt and you’re suddenly the horniest you’ve ever been. 

And the bastard knows it, too. It’s a win-win situation for the both of you. Especially when you get to be on top. You get to ride Hwang Hyunjin and he gets to watch your tits bounce before his very eyes like a private show. 

Still, even after all this time, he will not admit to your face how much he gets off thinking about your tits and your tits alone. 

But, that was all going to change tonight if everything was going to follow your plan.

With a new comeback just a month away, the poor thing has been stressed out of his mind. Every morning, Hyunjin wakes up before you and goes to bed after you. 

Lately, you’ve taken to sleeping and basically living out of his apartment just so he can hold you at night.  

There’s a few texts throughout the day; he’ll send you selfies of his stage outfits, videos of choreography, voice notes of random stories about the boys. But you’d be lying if you said your thoughts were less than pure when consuming whatever he gives you. 

In one video, he was showing you the new choreo to a song and the only thing you were able to focus on was the movement of his hips. How is he able to do that so fluidly?

That was your final straw. 

It was Friday night, he didn’t have to be at the studio until early afternoon tomorrow. And you planned on using that to your advantage. 

Hyunjin was going to walk through that door any minute now, and he had no idea what’s waiting for him. 

It’s close to midnight when the apartment door opens.

“Hyunjin!” You call out from the bedroom, “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he calls back to you. He kicks his shoes off by the door and throws his keys into the bowl on the table. “You will not believe the day I had.”

“Oh, yeah?” you answer. “Would you mind helping me with something? You can tell me all about your day while you do so.”

You cannot help the sing-songy mischievous timbre to your voice. It seems to go right over his head since he continues talking. 

“Minho drilled us on choreography all day,” he whines. “Some of the others didn’t get the foot work right away so we kept doing it over and over again.”

His voice gets louder the closer he walks to the bedroom.

“Towards the end of it I just wanted to—“

Hyunjin immediately stops talking, a gasp catching in his throat. 

There you stood in front of the full length mirror in one of the skimpiest bikinis he’s ever seen in his entire life. The fabric barely covered your most intimate areas, straps wound around your entire body. 

A metal heart sat right underneath the valley of your breasts. 

Every thought Hyunjin has ever had in his entire life has flown out the window. Gone with the wind.

“Do you like it?” you ask innocently, not turning to look at him fully. You’re playing a game with him and he doesn’t even know it. “The girls and I have that weekend spa trip coming up and I wanted to get some new suits. I tied a knot in the back and I can’t get it undone.”

Hyunjin stands in the door, his mouth opening and closing over and over again. 

“Hyunjinnie?” a barely contained smirk graces your lips and you turn to look at him. Batting your eyelashes innocently, you twist your body around for him to see everything. 

“It’s—“ his voice is hoarse when it comes out, so he clears his throat. “It looks gorgeous on you, Y/N. But, ah… are you sure you want to wear that to the spa? What if you get tan lines, you don’t want that, right? All those… strappy tan lines.”

You giggle at his rambling. 

“I was thinking the same thing, baby. But, I still need help getting it off.”

Hyunjin clenches his jaw and walks over to you, his feet padding on the carpeted floor. 

Instead of turning around when he gets close to you, you wrap your arms around his neck. Like second nature, he rests his own around your waist. 

His bare hands on your skin feel so warm and soft, you shudder at the touch.

Standing up on your tiptoes, you press your barely clothed chest against his. His grip on your waist tightens. 

“I’m so sorry you had such a rough day, Jinnie,” you murmur to him. Hyunjin stares down at you, a pink blush slowly dusting his cheeks. 

You lean forward and press an extremely gentle kiss to his soft lips. His hands spread out on the sides of your rib cage and hold you closer to him. 

It’s just a peck of your lips against his, so when you pull back, he chases after you. 

You don’t let him continue, you turn around in his grasp and lift your hair off your shoulders. 

“Do you mind?” you say, looking back over your shoulder at him. His eyes narrow for a split second before he looks down at the knot in the back of the bathing suit. 

You made sure to tie it on the looser side for this very purpose. 

Dexterous fingers grab at the strap and he works quickly to try and unknot it. Within seconds the top loosens around your chest. 

His fingers slide down the curve of your back gracefully, mapping each inch of skin. The featherlight touch has you shivering. 

Hyunjin exhales shakily through his mouth and the hotness of his breath fans over your exposed skin. 

Slowly, his fingers come around to grab your waist again. But, you reach down and grab both of his wrists tightly. You pull at his wrists a bit so he steps closer to your body. 

As soon as his front is flush with your back, you can feel just how much he loves the bathing suit you’re wearing. 

Inch by inch, you bring his hands up your skin. Over your ribs and up to your chest. 

Hyunjin gasps quietly behind you and you can practically feel his cock jump in his pants. Another shaky breath leaves his lips.

Immediately, his hands slid under the flimsy fabric that was loose and ready to come off. The softest groan comes out of the back of his throat as soon as he cups both of your tits.

After a few seconds, you release his wrists and reach your arms back to wrap around the back of his neck.

Your head tilts back to rest against his collarbone, whines quietly falling from your lips.

Hyunjin’s fingers pinch your perky, hard nipples and you roll your hips backwards into his painfully hard erection.

“Fuck.” he hisses and pinches even harder. 

Dipping down to your neck, Hyunjin latches his mouth onto the soft skin and licks wherever he is able to reach.

“Jinnie,” you mewl, “been thinking about you all day.”

Hyunjin hums against your neck in response, leaving love bites down closer to your shoulder. His preoccupied hands bring you even closer to his chest. 

He can’t get enough of you, his hands paw at your chest, pinching, pulling, and kneading the soft mounds. His head is in the louds, every thought is fuzzy. The only thing he knew was that he never wanted to stop touching your soft skin.

It’s a good thing that your bottoms are meant to absorb moisture.

Behind his head, your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping around the strands and pulling slightly.

You turn your head to whisper right in his ear. “I want you to play with me how you’ve always wanted to, Jinnie.” 

Hyunjin practically whimpers in response, his hips buck forward and he sucks hard where his mouth was.

You cry out, pushing your ass against him.

“I know you want to, baby. Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me. How much you like fucking me in the mirror so you can see my tits bounce with each thrust of your cock.”

Hyunjin moans against your skin again, it sounds like he’s almost in pain from how aroused he is.

Both of his hands grip as much of your breasts as he could hold before turning you around in his arms. His lips immediately dip down and capture yours in a heated, wet, hard kiss.

His eyebrows are furrowed together and his hands travel back up your body to fondle your tits even further. The feeling goes straight to your core and you clench your thighs together. Your cunt aching for attention.

But tonight was about him, not you. Plus, you know there’s no way you’re going to bed tonight without cumming, not if Hyunjin had anything to say about it.

While your tongues slide over each other, you reach down and make quick work unbuttoning his jeans. 

You also “accidentally” palm over his cock a few times, each time he moans into your mouth and you swallow the noise greedily.

Hyunjin pulls back for a split second to rip his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the ground carelessly. The entire time his eyes don’t leave your chest, as soon as his shirt is off, his hands are back on your breasts.

He can’t stop staring at how they look in his hands.

A long, heavy breath leaves his lungs when you push his pants and boxers down.

His cock springs free and he hisses at the cold air. 

You get up on your tiptoes and pull his swollen bottom lip between your teeth. “Go lay on the bed, baby.” 

His eyes are glazed over with pure lust. Hyunjin nods dumbly over and over and practically sprints to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

One of his hands absentmindedly pulls at his dick, his eyes stay zeroed in on your chest. The fabric of the bathing suit is doing nothing to cover your breasts anymore.

“What do you think, baby boy. On or off?” You ask, pulling slightly at the strings of the top.

Hyunjin gulps, leaning back on his elbows while his bottom half hangs off the side of the bed.

“O… On.” He answers heavily, lips parting, chest rising and falling with deep intakes of air. Truly, he didn’t care, you could do whatever you want to him at this point and he would beg for more.

You wink in response and walk over to the bed, swaying your hips with each step. His eyes rake over your figure, his Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp.

When you get to the bed, you sink down onto your knees, eye level with his cock which is completely rock hard and weeping precum at this point.

Keeping direct eye contact, you put your arms behind your back and lean forward, licking a fat stripe up the underside of his cock. 

An absolutely feral, sinful moan reverberates off the walls. Hyunjin throws his head back in pleasure and one of his hands fists into your hair, pulling tightly.

You only smirk once you get to the tip. “Gotta get you nice and wet first.” You pull as much spit into your mouth as you can. 

“Fuck, Y/N!” You see his cock jump at your words.

Your tongue swirls over his tip once before you take his entire dick in your mouth. Hyunjin’s hips buck into your mouth and he lets out a long, deep moan. 

It’s the wettest blowjob you’ve ever given. Spit is leaking out of your mouth and onto his pelvis and then dripping onto the sheets. But you need him soaking wet for what you want to do.

Saliva drips down your neck and onto your chest.

Hyunjin’s eyes follow each drop and when his eyes flicker to yours, you wink. His hand tightens in your hair and he whimpers.

“You’re gunna fucking kill me, Y/N.”

Whine after whine, whimper after whimper. It’s all music to your ears. 

Just when he really starts to get vocal, you lift your mouth off his cock and he howls at the loss of your warm mouth pleasuring him.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how good this is gunna feel.”

When Hyunjin opens his eyes again to look your way, you let your tongue drop out of your mouth. His lust-blown pupils follow the mouthful of spit and precum that leaks downwards; it drips down your neck and into the valley of your breasts.

The way his face twists in pleasure, you would think he was in physical pain. His ears and cheeks are bright red. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth to try and conceal the noises he’s making.

“Y/N-!” Everything about his demeanor screams desperate. He’s wriggling on the bed, hips moving uncontrollably. The hand that’s not in your hair is clenching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

From behind your back, you reach your hand up and spread everything over your chest, getting it nice and wet. During the process, you make sure to bring your other hand up and pinch and pull your nipples, putting on a show for Hyunjin. 

“Please,” he’s borderline sobbing at this point. “Please, Y/N.”

“Yeah, Jinnie?” you tease and lean forward, spitting on his cock again, pumping him a few times. “You wanna fuck my tits, baby boy?”

“Fuck!” Hyunjin throws his head back with a broken wail. 

“You wanna put that long cock between my wet tits? You wanna fuck them nice and slow?”

“Yes! Fucking please!” He squirms on the bed. “It’s all I want, Y/N! Please!”

Deciding to be nice, you finally grab your tits in two handfuls, wrapping them around his cock and pushing together.

Hyunjin’s eyes roll back in his head and his back arches off the sheets. More babbles leave his swollen lips.

Slowly, you move your tits up and down on his cock.

He’s going insane, he knows he is. He’s been balls deep in your soaking wet cunt before, he’s had you ride him two ways to Tuesday– but this? Fuck!

The skin on your chest is so soft and warm and it’s so fucking filthy.

With every pump, his dick leaks more and more.

“Jinnie,” you call out to him playfully.

He knows as soon as he looks down, he’s going to blow his load. But he cracks his eyes open anyway, his head lifting off the mattress to look you in the eye.

Right when he does, you stick your tongue out and lick the head of his cock as you pump downwards.

Every single one of his ab muscles clenches when he sees you, he cries out so loudly, his body curls inwards from the pleasure.

The more his cock leaks, the wetter it gets for both of you, and the easier it is to move up and down.

A long string of curses leave his lips as you pick up speed and squeeze your tits together even more.

Hyunjin’s hips begin to move in time with your pumps. Every wet dream he’s woken up from is finally coming true before his very eyes. 

If the neighbors were sleeping, that was long over. Hyunjin has always been vocal in bed, but never like this.

Each lick is sending him closer and closer to the edge. 

“So fucking good to me,” he blubbers, pulling at your hair and your sheets at the same time. His thighs begin to shake.

“Love this so much, baby. Love having your cock between my tits.”

He writhes around from your praise, “Close–! So close, Y/N!”

“Can’t wait for you to cum all over my skin, Jinnie. Might even let you take a picture, set it as your background.”

Picturing everything you’re saying does it for him. Hyunjin calls out your name loudly and his chin dips down to his chest. He yanks your hair in a vice grip.

Cum continuously shoots from his cock, and to put on a great show, you even stick your tongue out further.

To him, it feels like he’s cumming forever. Even after he’s completely empty, shots of pleasure shoot down his thighs every few seconds. It was definitely one of the fucking longest orgasms of his life.

Hyunjin’s mouth hangs open, he can’t seem to catch his breath. But that’s not at all what he’s paying attention to. He’s watching the cum dip from your tongue down onto your chest, the same way your spit had done minutes before.

His cock twitches and he winces from the overstimulation.

“Fuck, look at you.” he pants.

One of your hands moves and you use your finger to spread the cum all over your chest, over your hard nipples and eventually up to your mouth where you suck on the digit.

“So good for me, baby. How long until you can go again?”

[filmtv2022]

Our Time Is Limited: Part V

Previous/Next

Pairing: Emperor Geta X Reader & Caracalla x Reader (Platonic - former lover)

Synopsis: Danger abounds as the games turn a new level of brutal. Caracalla's mental state continues to erode, bringing a new level of cruelty to the surface. Faced with his brother's rapid decline and his own tumultuous feelings, Geta falls back into the arms of the only person who makes him feel alive... you!

Warnings: smut, drinking, drug use, unwanted sexual touches, violence, and language.

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. My mental health game has been a bit rough lately, but I'm hopeful things are heading in a better direction. As always, any errors are my own! I'm not sure if this is as well proofed as other parts, but I did try my best.

The crowd's roar drowned out the steady lap of water against stone in the distance. In the sea of well-to-do citizens and senators, you stood within the flurry of motion, trying your best to observe while avoiding the prying eyes.  Full of wine and bread, the problems of Rome drifted from the minds of the “loyal” Romans who filled the arena. Their bodies were packed shoulder to shoulder, squeezing tightly into the space, completely focused on the awe-inspiring sight before them. Tucked away from the public, the emperors and their entourage waited for the proper moment to enter. It was here, safely behind the imaginary current of anonymity, that you found yourself eyeing the people whose names were becoming commonplace on the tongues of the lowly. 

General Acacius and Lucilla stood apart from the rest, their heads bowed together conspicuously, a sprig of lavender held to her nose to filter the incessant stink of the arena. The General’s normal stony expression was far more worrisome, his eyes flitting toward Caracalla, who stood deep in conversation with one of the many concubines that had come to warm his bed. Wandering hands caressed any sliver of skin that could be found. The lustful haze that consumed the fiery-headed man was far too lewd for the situation, and yet not a soul dared to interrupt. 

Acacius did not remain glued to Calla for long; soon, he eyed Geta, who found himself wrapped in discussion with Macrinus. Neither of the men seemed particularly happy, but that was not an uncommon sight from Geta. Often, the dull trudge of politics left him unable, or perhaps unwilling, to hide his distaste. The necessary and long separation from yourself only served to fray what remained of his patience. His nerves fired hot with every move you made through the room, wishing to keep you in his sight at all times. The emperor itched to hold you, to disappear into some darkened corner far from the others with time to enjoy your company, and free to touch you as he pleased. 

Planted beside the table overflowing with delicacies, you sipped delicately at your wine, alternating sips with smoke. The smoldering bundle wafted thin trails of Devil’s Breath and Opium. A cloudy film blanketed you, dulling your senses and slowing your thoughts to a crawl. The throb of pain that pulsed low beneath your injured skin was barely recognizable, but you were never freed from it entirely. Bare-faced and dressed in a fearsome gown of brilliant copper, you could feel the weight of the laurels upon your head and the gold upon your wrists and fingers.  Their symbol bestowed upon you an honor you would never deserve.

Having no one else to assess, Acacius and Lucilla’s attention fell to you, meeting the dead, cold stare of your tired eyes. A momentary flash of shock played upon their regal countenances before their masks snapped back into place. You understood the cause of their surprise, and yet you made no move to rip away from it. Instead, you leaned in, holding a deep breath of smoke in your lungs before letting it go slowly, trapping them in the embrace. Waiting… watching for them to make a move that would confirm everything you suspected about the pair. From the corner of your eye, a swift motion caught your attention. Unaware of what he interrupted, Geta stepped in front, holding your elbow tenderly as he spoke. 

“It is nearly time. How are you feeling?” His painted features twisted in concern, seeing the way you held tight to the Devil’s Breath. The embrace was far too intimate for the setting. A wave of anxiety simmered low in your gut before spilling out to the world.

“I am fine.” Your words slurred, the end of one jumbled into the beginning of the next. The slight sway of your frame only reinforced the lie. Geta stepped into you, leaving no space to flee. His free hand found the slope of your waist to keep you upright. 

“Are you sure? You have been… consuming for hours.” The emperor plucked the bundle sharply, dropping it into the metal tray beside you on the table. 

“And? I am perfectly well, Geta. There is nothing you should concern yourself with regarding my well-being”  You quipped, frustrated and barely lucid. “And this is not the place.” 

He understood what you were implying; his hand flew from you quickly and without question. A tiny stride put space between you.  “He’s… asked for you is all.” Geta cleared his throat, giving himself time to think. “Are you okay to go to him? You can say no.” 

“Can I? Really?” You shrugged, reaching for the bunch of still-smoking medicine beside you. “In private is one matter; I know what I have promised you, and I intend to keep that promise, for my heart is with you. But here… in public… that is entirely different. You know what my answer must be.” 

Geta nodded shallowly, knowing the harsh bite of your attitude had little to do with him and everything to do with the pain, emotional and physical, that had been laid upon you by his brother. Free to move away, you wove through the crowd, reaching Calla in a few unbalanced steps. Geta watched with rapt attention as you clung to Caracalla, your grip around his arm forcing the young man to look at you. Your cutting stare ripped through the concubine who had devoured the emperor’s attention before trailing over the rest of the group. Without speaking, the now unwanted and unnecessary people, whose names you had never bothered to learn, began to fade into the background, leaving you as the sole focus. 

Even at a distance, Geta could see how his brother’s illness affected the interaction. Calla floundered between the actions of a child and the desires of a vicious man. He had hoped that the youthful version of his sibling would shine in the light of day, giving you both reprieve, and yet it was clear from the way Caracalla’s hands found your already bruised frame that was not the truth of the matter. His palms raked over you, bunching the luxurious fabric as he brushed over the exposed swell of your breasts. Your spine straightened, your brows pinched together, and your lips pursed, keeping barbarous thoughts from spilling out. Fast as lightning, you snatched his wandering touch, stealing him from crossing a line he so delicately tread upon. 

Geta felt his resolve crumble, the pit in his stomach opened wide, devouring the last of his patience. There was nothing to be done, no fight to be had, for he knew without question that there was no choice. The facade of peace and cohesive leadership had to remain unbroken, not only for the sake of those he cared for most but for the entirety of Rome. Even with this knowledge, Geta could not stand the idea of you alone with Calla. His fists clenched by his sides as he moved back toward the pair of you. Caracalla noticed Geta’s approach first, calling to him boisterously, drawing far too much attention to the three of you. 

“Brother!” Caracalla shouted, a wide grin thinned his painted lips, and tugged the corners toward his ears. 

Geta forced a matching smile onto his face, hiding his true feelings, but it did not seem to matter. Calla was oblivious to the unfurling depth of what had bloomed between you and Geta. His rough hands traveled over your waist, teasing as he went. 

“It is time, brother, the public awaits.” Geta clapped him on the shoulder, drawing his eyes away from you, but not breaking Calla’s hold. “Let us not stall any longer. May the gods look upon us favorably this day.” 

“Yes, may their will be done.” Caracalla turned back to face you, a flicker of clarity reached his eyes as he caught the marks upon your skin as though he was seeing correctly for the first time that day. He lifted his grip, trailing the tips of his fingers over the jagged sea of bruises and cuts that colored your face and neck. “M’lady… are you…” 

Calla trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say, the thoughts in his addled mind whirring together in a chaotic jumble. An involuntary grimace twisted your face at the sting of him tracing your chin. The shallow hiss that ripped from you was nearly imperceptible in the noise that bounced all around, though he reacted as if he had been burned. His hands fell to his sides, flexing before curling into weak fists. The knot in your chest clenched, forcing you into action at his loss for words. 

“I am ready, my dear.” You cupped his pockmarked cheek, careful to avoid the worst of his wounds. “Let us enjoy this day.” You met him with a watery smile, hoping to ease the tension and keep him focused on the present. 

A radiant smile cracked the worry, lightening the weary look that had overtaken him. The woes of the moment before were swept away in an instant. Fly away, tufts of hair poked out around his crown, prompting you to tuck them into place. The gesture was one of normalcy, hiding the thump of your heart and the weight of Geta’s eyes upon you. He watched with unwavering attention, ready to act in an instant should this moment devolve into something darker. 

“There, now you are ready.” You spoke quietly, keeping the interaction between the three of you. 

Geta and Caracalla looked to each other for strength before moving toward the entrance of their box. Forced to part from you, the brothers stepped in front, leading the way toward their thrones. Free from  Calla’s steady hold, the room began to spin. The buckle of your knees forced you to slow lest you desire to slump upon the ground. Were it not for the anchoring weight of a foreign arm wrapping around your waist, you surely would have tumbled. 

“Careful, M’lady.” General Acacius stood pressed into your side. From this distance, you could see the lines beside his russet eyes, the horror of the years spent in battle crinkling the skin and leaving a brokenness behind. 

“Do not touch me.” You snarled, snatching yourself from his grasp as gracefully as you could manage. The older man stepped back, hands by his shoulders as if to apologize for the intrusion. Behind him, Lucilla looked on, curious and horrified at the way you sneered, your words vile and vicious. 

Seeing the emperors standing at the edge of their box, waving to the crowd, the rest of the room fell into line behind them, including you. Free from the general's hands, you corrected your posture, rolling your shoulders back and lifting your head high. Sunlight gleamed in broken fractals on the shallow waves that clipped against the walls. The roar of raised voices climbed to new heights. Geta sat first, finding you in his peripheral standing just behind Caracalla, who adjusted himself upon the unforgiving stone of his seat. Clutching the throne, you swayed, the drugs having stolen the minuscule amount of energy you begged to keep. Your interaction with the General had done nothing to help the situation. Geta watched in concern, yet again ready to fly to your aid if needed, but it was Caracalla who offered a rescue. 

“Sit,” Caracalla demanded. The genuine worry from before had faded, leaving in its place something fierce and savage.

“There is no place for me,” You reminded gingerly. 

“Sit… with me.” He reached for you, his palm up, and extended for you to take. “As we used to.” 

Your lungs hitched, knowing that the pair of you were barreling toward something that had long since been abandoned, but there was no avoiding it. Taking his offered hand, you walked around to face him. Standing between his legs, Caracalla’s eye flicked over you, obscenely admiring. He grazed over your hips before guiding you to sit upon his lap. His own were spread wide, allowing you to balance upon him, your knees knocking against his opposite thigh. Strong hands wrapped around your body, settling low upon your torso and thigh. 

“In the name of Poseidon, we celebrate the glory of naval war.” The shrill shout of the announcer echoed throughout the arena, drawing the attention of every patron from the lowliest man to the emperors clad in gold and jewels who sat beside and beneath you. Terrified to move for it could bring Caracalla’s explosive nature to the surface, where all eyes could view his loss of control, you stay firmly planted in your spot. What little padding of fat and muscle covered the thick bone of his thigh cut through, shooting thin lines of pain over your flesh, aching and sore. 

“Today, we relive the Battle of Salamis! The Trojans versus the Persians!” The hairless man continued his enthusiasm and elation in direct opposition to the dread that clawed its way up your spine.

Across the vast sea that now filled the Colosseum, gates opened wide, allowing two ships to emerge, their sails flying at full mast. Men clad in leather maneuvered through the waters, expertly running the oars in time with the commands of those who had been thrust into these meaningless positions of power. Flaming arrows soared through the air, finding their marks in not only sails but also in flesh. Moving quick on the wind, flame engulfed the main sail of the blue-hulled ship. Behind you, a sudden movement caught your attention. With what little freedom you had to twist around, you honed in on Lucilla. She clutched tightly to her husband's hand. Her face pinched with concern while General Acacius sat beside her, unreadable. Were it not for the nagging bite of Caracalla’s fingers sinking into the meat of your stomach, you would have most keenly continued to observe.

Soon, the strangled groans of the wounded and dying melded with the crack of oars as they snapped under the pressure of the gladiators’ boat. Blood colored the water with salacious hues of scarlet, leaving behind evidence of the terrifying creatures that floated just below the surface. The young man who’d drawn the attention of Lucilla called orders like a well-trained commander. A heavy black smoke filled the air, billowing thickly and coating your nose and tongue as you breathed. 

The unexpected and violent crash of the two ships snapped you back to the battle unfolding before you. Both Caracalla and Geta sat forward, their focus never wavering. Still seated firmly on his lap, you moved with Calla even as the hand upon your thigh parted the slit in your stola, exposing your bare skin for all to see. The silvery glint of the blade concealed there reflected in the sun. From this new position, you dropped into the space between his legs, your bottom planted on his throne as Caracalla’s strong thighs bracketed your own. Soft fingers traced patterns on your skin, traveling higher and higher. With every inch he rose, you felt the rush of blood in your ears quicken and dread fill your soul. 

"What is this, my love?" He traced the weapon that sat flush with your skin.

“Calla,” you sliced, threading your fingers over the top of his, trying to hold him in place, but failing. 

He continued to work you over. Ignoring your lack of answer, he slipped unchecked to the apex of your thighs as his other hand dug into your abdomen, trapping you against him. Caracalla imprisoned you, your back locked to his chest. The scent of the wine wafted over his tongue with a shrill peel of laughter at the violence erupting in front of him. The press of Calla’s cock growing hard against you sent waves of nausea rolling like high tide. 

“Calla… calla, stop… please,” you cried out at the sting of his grip, but it did nothing. He clawed at you, pinching your skin to the point of pain. You struggled to free yourself from his grasp, fighting for all you were worth to get loose without drawing too much attention. You managed to loosen his grip just as the ships, drifting on the water, slammed into the box, throwing everyone inside off balance. Tumbling back into his arms, you knew the advantage had been lost. The splintering crack of wood reverberated loudly, earning a startled gasp from you. 

From his place beside you, Geta looked sick. The clench of your jaw... the wide draw of your eyes tore at him, pushing him into action. With far to much vigor and no forethought, Geta stood from his throne when the speeding woosh of an arrow flew past, embedding itself into the head of the seat he had just vacated.

Commotion ensued, sending every person to their feet. At the top of his lungs, Geta called the praetorian into action. The heavily armored men clattered into formation, lining the perimeter to prevent the forward progress of the unhinged gladiators.  Shouts followed, bouncing off stone and metal, ringing in your ears. The words were inaudible, dissolving into nothing beyond an incessant garble. 

Caracalla stumbled from behind you, clambering to his feet. He practically vibrated with energy as he tried to haul you into his arms. The lost look in his eyes was too much to bear; his mental faculties had failed him, leaving the emperor unable to move without prompting.  In the flurry of motion, you teetered on the brink of reality. With nothing to keep you steady, your legs gave out, sending you crashing into the stone. The opium and alcohol that flowed through your system blurred the world, smoothing it all into nothingness and throwing you off balance. Weakly, you leaned into the side of the throne, unable to draw up to full height. The sound of your name and Caracalla’s barely registered over the cacophony of noise that filled the arena. 

“Calla, go! I’ve got her!” Geta shouted at his brother, praying he would listen, and by the gods, he did. With a silent nod, Caracalla stumbled, tripping over the steps as he looked back at the pair of you. Caught in the flurry of motion, he disappeared into the protective walls of the arena, leaving Geta to tend to you. Less gently than he intended, he lifted the bulk of your weight while fighting against the panicked flail of your limbs. 

“It’s me… It's me... It’s Geta.” His voice cracked, hands trembling as he guided you swiftly behind the line of guards that had formed to protect the exit.  

Senators and soldiers filled the room, leaving it nearly impossible to locate where Caracalla had ended up in the chaos, but that mattered little to Geta. Free from immediate danger, he held you close, damn any who judged the way he shielded you from view. Your back pressed against the cool marble, soothing your burning skin and dulling the erratic flow of energy in your chest. Geta lifted your face to meet his, eyes searching for any sign of fresh injury and finding none. The air shuddered from his lungs at the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Look at me… look-at-me.” Geta brushed over your hair, taming the tousled locks. “Do not fret, they cannot hurt us here.” 

Forgoing words, you leaned into him, your arms wrapped around his ribs, gripping tightly to his back. Geta responded in kind, holding you near and allowing you to hide. You could feel the way he practically quivered with adrenaline. The pair of you lost yourselves in each other. Unbeknownst to you, callous eyes fell upon your intimate embrace. The clever and devious stab of Macrinus’s dark focus narrowed at the familiarity of the embrace. 

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Time meant nothing as the pandemonium calmed throughout the palace. Both Geta and Caracalla had been swept away in frantic meetings, none of which provided anything of use when it came to the question of how the day’s events could have occurred. Drained and weary, the brothers withdrew their advisors, dismissing the Senators to question on their own what would come of it all. The pair had neither the patience nor the energy to continue the unending cycle of arguments. 

Sill seated upon their regal thrones, flashes of memory from the arena played through Geta’s mind. Trying to shake them away, he raked his hands over his painted face. The action did nothing to alleviate the worry; it only served to smear the tattered remains of the coal that rimmed his amber eyes. Anger, devastation, and fear flared in equal measure, leaving behind a crushing exhaustion. Beside him, Caracalla glanced around the cavernous throne room, the reality of the situation not truly settling into his disease-addled mind. His hands rested awkwardly in his lap where he wrung them together with anxious confusion. Geta itched to go to you, petrified of the state he had been forced to leave you in early.

The quiet whisper of Calla’s voice startled Geta, “Hurt.” 

“Of whom do you speak, brother?” Geta questioned, careful to tread the threadbare line of his patience. 

“She...” Caracalla ignored the query, his voice hazy and hoarse, “The marks… they were fresh.” 

Geta hummed in recognition, unsure of how to respond. Calla fell silent once more retreating within himself, his hands playing with the fabric of his robes, plucking at the thread. His head hung low staring at the broad expanse of the marble floor. 

“… I cannot-” A choking trill of emotion broke Caracalla’s thought.  As he always had before, Geta rushed to his side, kneeling to meet his eyes. Reaching for Calla’s trembling hands and holding them lightly in his own, it struck Geta just how much had changed, and yet, in meeting his brother’s distant gaze, it was as though he was sitting with a long-gone version of the boy he had grown side-by-side with. Caracalla rocked in his seat, his mind trapped in a far-away place, circling with visions of you.

“There is nothing to fear.” The sick twist of fate churned his stomach as he waited for some sign that his brother had understood. This was never how life was meant to be, and still, he was reassuring the man who’d been with him since the womb… the man who had become the reason for his worst nightmares unfolding in real time… the man who he’d give anything to save from the precipice of doom over which he dangled. A shallow nod of Caracalla’s head was enough, allowing Geta to stand, pulling his brother with him. 

“Come, let us put this day to rest. The gods have blessed us with the opportunity for another.” The pair drifted through the halls quietly, not needing to speak. An extra set of guards watched the entrance to Caracalla’s chambers, greeting the emperors with emotionless faces. The soldiers parted and allowed them to enter without question. Once inside, Dundus screeched, both elated at his master’s presence and annoyed by the lateness of the hour. Hearing the childlike call of his tiny companion, Calla made his way to the table upon which he was perched. The monkey gracefully hopped onto his shoulder, plucking at his copper locks as Calla stroked his fur. Geta remained near the door, waiting restlessly for the perfect opportunity to leave, his thoughts returning to you over and over again. 

“I must go to her… tend to her wounds,” Caracalla spoke, putting on a facade of surety even as the petite creature climbed over his shoulders, mussing his already disheveled hair.  His words were in stunning opposition to his rumpled appearance. 

Knowing that it would cause nothing but pain, Geta crossed the room in swift strides to speak with Calla, “You look weary, brother. Let me take care of her tonight so that you may rest and return to her side fresh and ready for a new day. Allow me to do that for you. I know how you feel for her.” 

Caracalla stood soundless for a moment, contemplating the offer he had just received, “You will treat her kindly? She is strong but there is a sadness within in her that never seems to fade.” 

“I will… and I know. I see it too.” Geta’s broad palm came to rest on his brother’s shoulder, encouraging him to acquiesce. This instance of clarity hit him straight in the chest, twisting like a blade.

“For tonight.” Caracalla nodded, giving Geta permission to go to you. 

“For tonight.” Geta’s parroted reply was tender and shattered. His hand slipped from his brother, allowing him to move further into the room and toward the bed. He watched as Calla approached the side, haphazardly tugging at his clothing. The garments fell from his lithe frame, pooling on the floor in a messy heap.

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Minutes slipped into hours, painting the clouded sky in rich amber and golden yellow hues. Pandemonium had erupted through the palace upon the emperors’ return. The reverberation of raised voices and heavy footfalls had times perfectly with Geta’s rushed request to his guards that you were to return safely to his chambers. With Caracalla still lost in his own reality, Geta’s more than forward behavior toward you had gone unnoticed despite his bold demands. 

Left alone in Geta’s bed chamber, you found yourself buzzing with adrenaline, your nerves frayed not only from the blatant attack on the emperors’, but also Caracalla’s behavior. A small plate of food and a hefty portion of wine had been delivered for your benefit, but only the wine had been touched. Glass after glass had been consumed, leaving the crystal vessel empty upon the table, only the smallest dribble of red clung to its transparent sides. Satisfied and warmed to the core, your skin radiated heat, making the unending layers of your stola more grating by the minute. You chased relief, sliding the pins from your shoulders and letting the heavy fabric fall to the floor. You stepped out of the pile the moment it was free from your body. Only the sea of jewels you’d donned that morning remained to decorate your frame. 

A cool breeze drifted through the room, fluttering the delicate curtains that kept the innermost space of the emperor from prying eyes. Still thrumming, sweat slid down the length of your spine, punctuating just how over-warm you had become. There was part of you that knew it would be proper to search for a cover, though you could not be bothered to care. It was intimate, being like this, wholly bare to the world inside of a space that belonged to Geta. It was as if you could feel his eyes on you from afar, his presence having shaped everything that inhabited this room, including yourself. 

The many glasses of wine had worked their charm, dulling the pit that had developed in your stomach to something more manageable. With Geta’s return nowhere in sight, you found yourself continuing to part with the necessary pains of life in the public eye. Carefully, you pulled the pins from your hair, letting your locks fall loose from their intricate prison, the tension easing along your scalp with each one you were able to find. Next came the jewelry and your blade. The weight of the precious gems and solid metal felt ominous against your skin. Each ring that was slipped from your fingers and bracelet from your wrists freed you from the terror of the day just a bit more. But it was the necklace that held the most baggage. 

Your fingertips brushed along the gold chain, feeling the fragile nature of its beauty. The metal was warm to the touch, the heat of your body making it one with you. Were it not for the slight rush of pain that lanced upon the column of your neck, it would have been easy to forget entirely what had transpired in the previous days. Aware of that returning ache, you felt yourself begin to succumb to it all. The throb along your cheek and chin, the weary burn of your muscles from fighting against Caracalla’s imposing touch, the harsh pound in your temples from overconsumption… it was suffocating. 

The low sound of quick breathing filled the chamber, echoing quietly in your ears. Your instinct was to run, to flee from the impending doom that surrounded you as shadows filtered in through the swaying curtains. Dusk had crept in, replacing the comforting glow of the sun with the murky terror of the dark. Soon, the room would be shrouded in inky blackness, allowing the truth of everything to wrap like a noose around the neck of one condemned to an eternity of fire. 

The fever-like heat that had radiated off of you earlier no longer existed. A bone-deep chill had settled in his place, demanding to be noticed. Quickly, you searched for something other than your sweat-soaked stola to cover yourself. A discarded robe of Geta’s sat slung over the back of his chair in front of the vanity. With cautious steps, you approached your ears and eyes on swivel, waiting for some sign of unwelcome visitors. You found no hint of interruption. 

A few more strides, and you finally took the crumpled robe in your hands and brought it to your nose. A deep inhale flooded your senses with him. The soft scent of wine and lavender clung to the garment. Each breath slowed the pounding of your heart and quieted your brain. There was no logic or reason in it, but even the simple action of breathing, Geta was ubiquitous. His presence was in all things, and for that, you were grateful. 

The gentle breeze that moved through the chamber picked up, battering your skin and sending gooseflesh over every inch. Standing there, behind his dressing chair, you risked a glance in the mirror. The marks were no less shocking, and the utter exhaustion behind your eyes was painfully clear, but there was something else in your reflection. What it was eluded you, but there was no doubt that the woman looking back was nothing like you had imagined. Your future, a piece of you that had once seemed so certain, made you ill at the very thought. There had been life before Geta, a life before the aristocracy of Rome had become your playground, but you were certain there would be nothing after him. The pair of you were linked together not simply at the heart, but at the soul. Where he went, so would you. What fate befell him… so too would you follow. You knew it was dangerous to feel this way about the man whose life barely belonged to him, yet it was immutable. A truth so powerful even the gods could not deny the bond they had woven together so intricately. 

In a fluid motion, you donned the robe, protecting yourself from the elements and soothing your worry for him just enough to let you breathe. The chilled marble floor was cool against your bare feet, tempting you closer to the comfort of the bed. It took no effort to make your way to its side and slip beneath the covers. Your back screamed for relief, and you listened readily, lying deep into the pillows and burying yourself in the sheets. 

The heavy pull of exhaustion clouded your vision, blurring the room to nothing more than a memory behind your fluttering lids. Sleep fell upon you like a weight, holding you down onto the mattress as it curled around your limbs. Only the constant stream of harried thoughts that crash through your fatigued mind kept you from reaching the peaceful slumber your body so desperately craved. Fitful dreams overtook you, trapping you in their harrowing embrace. 

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Satisfied that Caracalla was secure in his chamber, Geta made his way back into the hall. The quiet echo of his sandaled feet accompanied him with every step. Wood creaked against the swing of his chamber door opening wide. The dark of night had settled into every nook and cranny, leaving only the grayish glow of the moon. Its radiance highlighted the outline of your delicate frame, shrouding most of it from plain view. Hidden under the plush expanse of covers atop the bed, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. The furrowed tug of your brows gave away the restless nature of your sleep. A chilled breeze drifted through the open doors across the vast room, fluttering the curtains beautifully and sending gooseflesh running over his skin. 

With great care to be quiet, Geta crossed to the vanity where he eased his tired body into the plush chair. Slipping the rings from his fingers and the jewels from his neck, Geta laid them neatly on the counter. A fresh cloth sat beside the olive oil he used to remove the pale makeup he donned as a mask, shielding him from the ever-present eyes of the public. Each swipe of the oiled rag restored more of the true man, erasing the cruel and calculating facade he had been forced to wear without question for so many years. 

Free from those chains, he toyed with the edges of his clothing. Half of him was preoccupied with the chaos that had unfolded in the arena, and with his brother. The rest remained fixated upon you. Flashes of your body pressed against Calla’s as he made a scene of handling your body turned his stomach. Dignity and propriety had been thrown away for base desires. The mere memory of it froze him in place. Geta’s hand ran harshly over his countenance, leaving the skin red. Questions of tomorrow came at him rapidly, each one more pressing and complicated than the last. Lost in thought, his face buried in his hand, the emperor jolted at the mellow brush of your fingers along his shoulders. 

“It is only me, my love.” You whispered to comfort his racing heart. Your lips came to rest upon the back of his head, letting you inhale the fresh scent of him in the flesh. 

Geta reached for you, trapping one of your hands beneath his, as he soaked in the comfort of your reassuring touch. 

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, hoping for an honest answer as the look in your eyes told him all he needed to know. 

“I am better… now that you are here.” You smiled, your breath tickling his scalp with each word. 

Never letting go, you came around his side to stand between his wide-spread thighs. Your palms remained on his shoulders, but now you could meet his tempered gaze. Geta watched you, adjusting minutely to your movement, his concentration never wavered as he hauled you closer. Sturdy arms wrapped around the curve of your hips and waist, bringing you near enough that he could lay his brow upon your stomach. Held to him, your hands wandered over his body before tangling in the silken mass of copper locks that adorned his head. 

Geta, face buried in his robes that clung to your frame, felt wholly secure in the tender embrace. Your body was his anchor even as the rest of the world seemed to slip through his fingers without control. The longer he clung to you, the smoother his breathing became, lungs easy and full with each inhale. Bent low, you placed a kiss on his crown, not only to comfort yourself but to remind him of the truth… that you had no intention of leaving. 

“Geta…” You weren’t sure why you had spoken; words seemed insufficient, but his name was on your tongue before the thought had run its proper course. 

Silence remained, the stillness neither problematic nor uncomfortable. It was clear there was much that needed to be shared. Geta’s fingertips slowly traced over the fabric that covered your hips, toying with the thread until he reached the knot at your front. With skill, he managed to loosen the tie, letting it fall away from your body, but he was not yet satisfied. Free to continue his exploration, the emperor skated along,  flicking them back and exposing you to him. 

His hesitant eyes flicked up, begging for permission to keep going. A shallow nod from you urged him on, his chest filled to the brim with emotion. Geta’s rough lips pressed into your stomach, humming at the way you threaded your fingers through his hair. There was no rush. The world had slowed to a halt, his mouth hot against your skin, insistent and tender. Brush after brush of his bitten lips prickled your skin. Geta tipped his face to look at you, and the sight was glorious. Your eyes were shut, lips parted, allowing tiny gasps to escape. 

Tension melted from his shoulders the longer he sat in your presence, freeing him to pursue exactly what he wanted. Sure hands took you with him as he pushed forward and dropped to his knees, lifting your leg to rest your foot on the now-empty seat. In broad strokes, his palms drift over you from ankle to hip. Curiosity got the better of you. A quick glance down to the man knelt between your thighs was enough to make you shudder.

“What are you-” Your question was cut short by the slip of his tongue along your folds. Geta’s strong hands held the back of your legs, supporting your shaky limbs. A catching groan reverberated through his chest at the taste of you, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The tip of his tongue flicked at your sensitive bundle before sucking it between his lips. The exquisite intrusion of his fingers added to the dizzying spin of sensations.  

The placid mask of sleep that had once colored your features no longer existed, replaced by the raw tug of lust. You tried to breathe through the waves of pleasure that washed over you, but the air caught in your throat. Geta worked diligently to keep you from buckling, all the while never relinquishing his ministrations. Too soon for your liking, you felt yourself reaching the point of no return. With a harsh jerk, you pulled Geta from your body. Staring up at you, arousal coating his lips, he remained silent, terrified that he had crossed some unknown line. 

“Take me to bed, Emperor.” You crooned, your voice low and sultry. The sound of it sent him scrambling to his feet. 

Back at his full height, Geta nipped along the slope of your exposed shoulder, his robes having fallen from their intended place. Even with your senses dulled by exhaustion, he felt you relax into his embrace.  His name tumbled from your lips once more, thick with knowing and adoration. Hearing you call for him, feeling you reach for him, it was far too much for his weak and torn heart. Tears flowed unchecked, dampening your skin as he fought the silent sobs that wracked his body. Geta tucked his face into the crook of your neck, blocking out everything apart from you. The lingering scent of Devil’s Breath clung to you, mixed with the lavender oil that softened your skin. 

“I am here,” you croaked, encouraging him to look at you with gentle pressure under his chin. The feather-light brush of your fingertips grazed over the arch of his cheek, never losing contact as you traced along the column of his neck.  

“I-I could fe-feel it cut the air, an… and his ha-hands- on your b-body.” Geta groaned, his voice was watery and ragged as the memories flooded back, filling his throat and drowning out the last life-giving breath he managed to take. His eyes screwed shut matching the low shutter that zipped through his body at the press of your lips to his neck. There were no words to be spoken that would suffice to soothe the ache that consumed him body and soul. 

Seeking comfort only you could provide and unsure of how to ask for it, Geta clung to you, drawing you closer,  pawing at your hips and waist as he turned and walked you toward the bed. The back of your knees hit the side, forcing you to lie back. With one hand held firmly to the low of your back, he guided you down. The pair of you clumsily shifted further into the sea of jumbled blankets and sheets, your mouths hovering close together as you went. Geta settled his weight between your thighs, his cock heavy against your core. The emperor's brow rested on yours, the heavy pant of his breath fanning over your face. 

“I need- please…” Getra trailed off, choking on the overwhelming presence of you, his lips dropped to mouth at your neck and chest. 

“Take what you wish. It is already yours.” You blessed him with permission, freely giving him everything that you were, are, and could become, for there would never be another to whom you would trust your soul in this way. Swiftly, Geta undressed himself, parting from you just enough to shed his clothing. Grasping at the half curls along the nape of his neck, you gasped as the ghosting brush of his calloused hands drifted down your sides. He moved without hurry, capturing your lips, caressing your tongue, never ceasing his exploration. Tasting, touching… Geta shivered, stealing what he could without causing you harm. 

You chased the gooseflesh as it formed over his skin, running gently along his sides, warming him to the core and adding to the flurry of electricity racing over his nerves. He was aflame, burning with desire and unspoken truths that no words could express. He could think of nothing apart from the way you melded into him, your heel digging into the back of his thigh, fingertips clutching to the round of his ass and shoulder… your body pliable and soft under his desperate grasp. Geta’s whole being shuddered, muscles twitching in dull spasms that moved in time with stifled gasps. The muffled sounds of need were swallowed whole by the plush expanse of your throat, his lips exploring the supple expanse, ghosting over the deepest purple marks that adorned your skin, and wishing away the pain and the memory. 

Desperation and lust clouded your mind, letting only the sensation of him pressed to you fill your mind. The nightmares of past days seemed so distant, allowing you to be present with him, and you needed more. Your own desire etched over your every feature, the sensation of his lips on you, tongue dancing along your sensitive skin. The brush of his calloused fingertips on your core, coating him and you with your own slick as he trailed away from where you wanted him most caused your back to arch. A pitiful whine slipped, telling him exactly how you yearned for his touch. 

Geta could feel you squirm beneath him, searching for more as he took what he pleased as he pleased, and it brought a sly smile over his busy mouth. More than willing to go where you wanted, he began the slow descent, trailing kisses over your chest and stomach as he went. Settled between the plush weight of your thighs, he marked them with soft nips of adoration, leaving only the smallest of marks in his wake. A strong arm held you tightly to him as it wrapped around your leg, while the other continued to tease. 

Collecting your arousal, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way it glimmered on his skin in the dull light. The grayish hue of the night sky filled the chamber, shrouding your face in mystery, but he did not need to see the pull of your brows to know how you felt; your body told him everything. With each tender drag of his fingers through your folds, he taunted, pressing in only to retreat, earning him stirring whimpers. The arch of your back flowed perfectly with your breathy groans, each more sinful than the last. Your thighs quivered with anticipation, happy to accept whatever pleasure Geta was willing to give. 

Left with no space between you, he lapped at your sensitive bud, feeling the way you reacted to the sweep of his tongue and rumble of his throaty hums against your heat. The emperor glanced up at you through hooded eyes and fluttering lashes. He was determined to take more, his body ached with the need to feel you everywhere. Despite his need, Geta did not rush; he lazily worked back up your delicate frame to meet your mouth. He swallowed your restless moan at the taste of you on his tongue before pulling back to look at you. His face was still close, letting his wine-soaked breath drift over your senses as he spoke. 

“Are you sure?” His gaze darted across your features in search of even the minutest hint of regret or fear. The anxiety he had found there at the hands of his brother filled his chest with apprehension. 

“Irrefutably.” The gentle press of your hand to his cheek brought him closer, and he turned to kiss the center of your palm. Feeling you like this, plush thighs wrapped around his waist, pebbled nipples grazing the broad expanse of his bare chest, lungs hitching in time with his… Geta was utterly broken; he was bare and raw for the taking. 

“Let me feel you, Geta.” You pleaded, your voice thin with desperation as you reached for him. The shaky inhale he managed was stripped of his energy at the feel of your hand around his painfully hard member. You traced the vein from base to tip, whimpering at the way he trembled. Impatience finally won over. The emperor replaced your hand with his own as he guided himself into your heat. 

A heady groan slipped as the velvet plush enveloped him. All he could manage were shallow thrusts, the emotion of the day too heavy for more, but it did not matter. Having you here soothed a soul-deep ache that threatened to swallow him whole. The same could be said for you. You held fast, fingers digging sharply into flesh, unwilling to allow even a fraction of space to form between you. 

The roll of his hips was languid, barely leaving you before returning to the comfort of your body. Quiet hitches of ragged breaths were consumed, your lips ghosting over each other with the fluid rock of your bodies. You knew Geta was close to his release as the stutter of his movements became more pronounced with each passing minute. His arms held him weakly, trembling with the effort to continue on. 

“Let go, Geta… please.” You hummed across the shell of his ear. 

And with that plea, Geta gave into what he wanted most. Buried to the hilt, he filled you completely working through the high of his release. Your silken voice met him where he was, drawing him back to reality with each bit of praise.  Neither of you could fathom parting, your bodies were still connected in every way that was possible. 

Weak and boneless, he held you terrified that the cruel reality of the world would steal you in some sick and twisted turn of fate. Geta whispered a near-silent confession, hidden in the bend of your neck, one only meant for the gods. The thoughts jumbled into nothingness, never spoken to completion. There was nothing left to give in that moment, but he needed you to know… to feel the truth of his love. 

As gently as you could, you guided the pair of you onto your sides. The turn pressed his softening cock against the overly sensitive spot deep inside yourself. The hollow thrum of your nerves surged at the feeling, tugging a breathless mewl into existence. Geta responded in kind, hauling your hips flush, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass before sliding down to hold the back of your thigh, draping it across his body. Your lower halves tangled, limbs hot and slick with sweat that had started to chill in the drafty space. 

“Here.” You reached behind clumsily drawing the thin mess of sheets over you both. 

Geta’s lips found your shoulder, mouthing a line of fire over and over, even as his hips began to rock into you once more. Exhaustion seeped into every fiber of your being, and yet your need for him never diminished. Desire licked down your spine, settling low in your stomach. You went with him, meeting his motions in equal vigor. The edge of your climax sat just out of reach, and your body was begging to tumble into oblivion. 

A slick sound filled the space between you, your shared arousal, and his spend coating your thighs with every thrust. A low hum vibrated through your chest, morphing into something far less distinguished at the brush of his thumb against your folds. Geta teased, avoiding where you wanted him most. Tired of waiting, you reached between you, clutching his wrist and guiding him higher. 

“Quite impatient, m’lady.” He grinned into your lips, catching them in a messy embrace. At this, he ghosted over your clit, causing you to jerk.

“Hardly… I’ve waited long enough.” You murmured, gripping his wrist harder, earning you a dark chuckle. You pushed his hand away from your clit for just a moment, letting his fingertips drag along your core, feeling the way he stretched you so fully, his own calloused touch grazing along his erection. The lewd rush of feeling where your bodies met was more erotic than he had ever imagined, leaving him unable to comprehend life beyond that moment.

“I let you take what you needed, now where is my reward?” Your response was entirely selfish. In truth, you would have happily continued to give until there was nothing left of yourself. Though there was no judgment from Geta. The emperor was spurred into action, wrenching his hand from you to return to his previous task. The timing of his thrusts matched the swirling of his touch. The band of lust that had drawn tight snapped, sending you careening into oblivion. The world around you went hazy, your vision wobbly, and your voice broken. A desperate moan rebounded off every surface, loud enough to draw unwanted attention if there had been anyone near. Thankfully, only the guard remained outside Geta’s door, and they had heard sounds far more scandalous from his chambers. 

The high slowly faded, leaving you both breathless and weak. With great care, Geta eased himself from you before leaving the warmth of your arms to retrieve a pair of rags. You kept him in sight as he moved across the room and back. By your side once more, he reached between your still quivering thighs, wiping away the evidence of your time together. His gaze roved over your exposed frame, drinking in the sight of you in utter amazement. 

With your skin clean and dry, Geta tossed the used cloth aside but made no move to clean himself; it was as if he was caught in a trance. He sat beside you on the bed, letting the sturdy frame of the headboard hold his weight. The delicate heat of your palm ran the breadth of his chest as you sat up to meet him, tucking yourself into his side.

“Here, allow me.” You could sense the energy that continued to run rampant through him and desired to calm it. With very few tools at your disposal, you reached for the other rag, taking it in your hand before lifting it to his groin. You took your time, passing it gently over his thighs before turning your attention to his manhood. Geta inhaled sharply at your touch, his semi-hard length still an angry red. “I am sorry.” 

“Do not apologize.” He fell quiet, the lines between his brows indicative of deep contemplation. There was much in his eyes, the emotions swirling in a dangerous mix that hid his true feelings. 

“What is that look for?” You took more time than was needed, ensuring no drop of arousal remained on his fine milky skin. 

“It is nothing, my love.” Geta plucked the cloth from your grasp, tossing it into the depths of the shadows. “It is truly time for rest. The woes of the day will still be there when we rise, for now, we sleep.” 

There was nothing more to say. Geta took you in his arms, covering you in his protection as he buried the pair of you beneath a pile of blankets. Warmth radiated, heating the space to a comfortable temperature and lulling you both into a state somewhere between wake and sleep. A sense of peace surrounded you both, blocking out the horrors of the day. Though its shield was merely ornamentation, fragile and thin against the oncoming storm.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bryan Tyler Cohen (01.19.2025):

If you use TikTok, you’ll know that the app shut down last night. By this afternoon, if curiosity, rage, or nostalgia compelled you to re-open the app, you would have received a pop-up notification that read:

How miraculous. Trump swooped in as the white knight to save TikTok. Of course, this would carry a bit more significance if the whole debacle surrounding whether or not to ban TikTok hadn’t been started by…Donald Trump. Yes, the very same white knight. Seems unlikely? I encourage you to marvel at this montage of Trump repeatedly bragging about banning TikTok. In 2020, Trump signed an executive order effectively banning the app in the US. Any transactions between TikTok's parent company, ByteDance, and U.S. citizens were outlawed for national security reasons. In other words, we’ve landed here because Trump was the pilot. When TikTok posts issuing groveling praise for Trump’s leadership or presenting him as some savior, what’s conspicuously absent is a large disclaimer at the bottom, informing consumers that Trump was indeed the source behind the ban. Of course, no one in the media or at TikTok wants to acknowledge that reality, because part of the whole deal with bending the knee is agreeing to abandon, or at least ignore, your own principles in order to adopt whatever fabricated reality the Godking wants you to endorse. Just as Zuckerberg, Bezos, and Elon did, Shou Zi Chew (TikTok’s CEO) is offering Trump the effusive praise he expects. Make no mistake, he is fully on board the circus train. In fact, Shou will attend tonight’s Make America Great Again Victory Rally. Which is a solid reminder that we need to prepare ourselves for the following transaction, on repeat: Do Trump’s bidding; collect special treatment (until, of course, you become dispensable to him, at which point he won’t care if you go to jail, are sent to the gallows, etc. The entire big tech oligarchy got the memo; Shou and TikTok are just following suit. If you want to play in Trump’s America, you have to make a big show of your fealty, then sign on to perpetuate the gaslighting. That’s what happened today, and it’s what will continue happening, unchecked.

[...] What makes this whole sham sabotage even worse is that President Biden actually came out and said that he wouldn’t enforce the TikTok ban. And yet still, TikTok executed its whole big performative shutdown and went dark, only to bring the app back within 24 hours, branded with some effusive pro-Trump praise. Just another public spectacle of bending the knee. This whole thing—the disruption to service, the notices, the drama—was all just a calculated move executed for an audience of one: Donald Trump. That doesn’t mean that Democrats are off the hook here. Being so oblivious to the consequences of this very predictable play is not necessarily tantamount to being complicit, but we’re not going to get through the next four years without being a bit more savvy and prepared to call out these scams. 170 million Americans are on TikTok. It is monumentally popular, with many relying on it for their livelihoods and their source for news. Dems should have foreseen that voting to ban TikTok would be met with fierce resistance. And yes, they did it with the help of Republicans, and the vote was 50-0, but Biden signed the bill into law. Which meant that they handed Trump a perfect opportunity to swoop in and reverse the damage that HE had caused because as we all should know very well at this point, Trump is only in it for Trump and for receiving credit. How could anybody be surprised that that is precisely what happened here? Democrats need to understand the media environment and understand that it’s not enough to say “trust us,” because frankly, very few people trust the government. If you’re not going to factor this reality into account, then you can’t be surprised when you’re forced to contend with the consequences of it.

Serial arsonist Trump puts out the fire he helped set with his initial support of banning TikTok, only to reverse course.

[whencyclopedia]

Chocolate in Mesoamerica

Chocolate was one of the most desired foods of Mesoamerica and was consumed by the Olmec, Maya, and Aztec civilizations, amongst others. Its consumption even spread via trade routes to other parts of the Americas including the Chaco Canyon in modern New Mexico. The earliest known use of chocolate was by the Olmec around 1900 BCE and, enjoyed as a drink, it was drunk from special round jars known as tecomates. The Maya used tall cylinder beakers for drinking chocolate, and these very often had text on the rim indicating their intended use. The Aztecs also had richly decorated tall cups specifically reserved for chocolate drinks. It may be that such conspicuous vessels were designed to impress onlookers that the drinker had the means and status to enjoy such a prized drink.

Cultivation & Value

Chocolate is made from the beans of cacao pods from the Theobroma cacao tree (actually native to South America) which was first cultivated in extensive orchards near the Pacific and Gulf coasts of Central America, especially in the Xoconusco region and the valleys of the Sarstoon, Polochic, and Motagua Rivers (modern Guatemala and Belize), where the tree thrives in the warm and humid climate. There were, in fact, four varieties of cacao bean or cacahuatl, as the Aztecs knew them, and the corruption of this word or their term for the chocolate drink - xocolatl - is probably the origin of the word chocolate.

So esteemed was chocolate that beans were a commonly traded item, very often demanded as tribute from subject tribes and even used as a form of currency by the Aztecs. In fact, cacao beans were so valuable that they were even counterfeited either to pass as currency or, even more fiendishly, hollowed out of their valuable interior and refilled with a substitute such as sand. As a currency, we know that in the Aztec markets one cacao bean could buy you a single tomato, 30 beans got you a rabbit and, for the more ambitious shopper, a turkey could be had for 200 beans.

As an expensive import then, chocolate was drunk mainly by the upper classes and consumed after meals, typically accompanied by the smoking of tobacco. It may have been enjoyed mixed with maize gruel by the poorer classes at important events such as weddings, but some scholars maintain that the pure chocolate drink was an exclusive status symbol of the nobility. Curiously, it could even be given to favoured sacrificial victims as a final treat before they departed this world, for example, at the annual Aztec festival of Panquetzaliztli held in honour of Huitzilopochtli.

Continue reading...

[ghostwise]

loud bark, deep bite 1.2k words, Astarion/Durge Astarion and Aya commiserate during the party. cw: intrusive thoughts, casual suicidal ideation, alcohol

There was a thought in the back of her infested mind. It started in the morning and persisted as night fell, stars spinning overhead like dancers spun across the field.

Aya sang until her voice grew hoarse, and plucked at her lute until the strings left harsh indents on her fingertips. She loosed her voice like a flag unfurling, belting out lyrics until she was breathlessly forgetting the words—and still the thought plagued her:

Poison in the barrel of wine. Set fire to the carriages where the sleeping babes lie. Kill one of a pair of lovers. So many victims, so little time.

“Tell me if you know this one!” Aya laughed, eyes shining. “Sing along if you can! Gods know I’m making it up as I go along!”

To the casual observer she was as any other reveler at the party, enjoying herself and making merry. But as the night dragged on and the party slowed down that changed.

People slept in a wine-induced stupor, or they settled into cozy company by one of several campfires, chatting with friends, or finding some privacy with a lover. As Aya watched the dwindling crowd, a hint of panic seized her.

To be alone was a terrible thing.

Alone meant she might do things she’d regret. Alone meant the grotesque Butler might return—and who knew what demands he’d make if and when she saw him again? Even now, the cloak that hung around her shoulders was proof that he was real. Real enough to be a problem at least. Unless she was just that far gone.

She had the distinct impression that revealing himself to her alone, tempting her with gifts and then vanishing before her eyes, was his way of isolating her. But to what purpose? And on who’s behalf?

“I’ll strangle him,” she muttered aloud, hands tight on the frets of her instrument.

“Strangle who?”

Pulled from her thoughts, Aya blinked and cast a slow look over her shoulder. She relaxed only upon seeing who it was.

“Just talking to myself, as usual,” she sighed. “Pay me no mind.”

“Alright,” Astarion quipped, dropping the matter.

The man had been conspicuously absent for most of the party, and she briefly wondered where he had been. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and an easy smile on his face as he sauntered over.

“You know, there are any number of potential partners for conversation among our camp tonight. Why talk to yourself when you can talk to one of them?” he asked.

“I have little to say to these people.”

“Oh? And yet you’ve spent hours in their midst, performing for them with such dedication!”

“Sometimes the center of the stage is the best place to hide,” Aya explained with a dry chuckle. “Besides, I don’t risk being dragged into inane conversations while singing.”

Astarion paused and looked away, taking in her words. He took a small sip of wine from the bottle. It was curious. She hadn’t seen him really consume anything—other than her own blood—and she’d assumed until now that he couldn’t partake in alcohol.

“I can leave, if you prefer,” he said after a moment, sweeping his red gaze back to her.

“I didn’t mean you,” Aya replied flatly. “You’re… scintillating.”

“My, my!” He smiled broadly. “I’m so glad we agree! Here I thought you were merely tolerating me.”

Aya returned the smile with something that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s the rest of these oafs who irritate with their endless complaints.” She set her instrument down and continued in high-pitched mockery, hands splayed in melodrama: “Oh help! Help! The cult is terrible! Oh! But not as terrible as the war! Oh! But not as terrible as starvation and poverty! DEFINITELY not as terrible as having worms for brains! Gods! I am sick of it! As if we didn’t have problems of our own. And it’s even worse now that they like us. Should’ve been a dagger through my head instead of a worm.”

She dropped onto a nearby cushion—one of many strewn throughout the camp—as Astarion laughed.

The sound eased her down some. Truth be told, she liked how careful he was with her. It was comforting not to be misunderstood. He treated her like she was dangerous, because she was. A bit patronizing, trying to get on her good side—she recognized a performance when she saw it—but he didn’t avoid her either, and gods, she didn’t want to be alone right now, unsettled as she had been all day. Thankfully he didn’t seem intent on leaving.

“I hate it too,” Astarion said, joining her. “This is awful.”

“Really?” Aya asked. “Admiration and fawning respect is awful? I rather suspected you’d take advantage of the circumstances. Find yourself a little snack to indulge in.”

“My favorite little snack to indulge in is right here,” Astarion replied smoothly.

“Flatterer.” Aya smiled and shook her head.

“I’m being sincere, I assure you.”

She took the bottle of wine from his hand and aimed a measured look at him as she drank from it. To her parched throat, the wine was delicious. The grove had spared no expense. She handed the bottle back with a satisfied hum.

“I take it you’re hoping for another taste?” she suggested.

“More than just a taste, actually,” Astarion said, fingering the neck of the bottle.

His voice was hushed and low, with a cloying quality to it. The conversation had shrunk to fit the little hollow of space between them, flipping into something intimate with surprising ease. She was not surprised at how quickly he cozied up to her, narrowing the distance between their bodies. She was a bit surprised at how welcome the flirtation was, especially when her mind still sang: Kill this one slow. Keep his pretty eyes, keep his pretty hands, to remember.

“We could steal away, you know,” he continued. “Make our own fun.”

Aya couldn’t help it; she laughed sharply.

“Are you quite sure, Astarion?” she asked, and she had just been thinking about how lovely his eyes would look in a jar, so it seemed only fair to issue a warning. “I have no memories and very little sense! There’s not much to me save some scars and scattered pieces of a mind… angry, petty impulses, like a child. I am fragmented. You want to fuck half a woman?” The question ended in another laugh, amused and a little cruel. “Which half, I wonder?”

“Hmm,” Astarion said, and he gave her a once-over, undeterred. “I wouldn’t put it quite so crassly… but you seem whole from where I’m standing. A little scattered, as you say, true—but that just means you could use a little help picking up the pieces. An extra pair of hands to put you back together, my dear.”

Gods, he was good.

He almost sounded like he believed it.

Aya licked her lips. She searched her mind carefully, trying to make this decision with care. They were kindred spirits, after all; actors following a script both were familiar with. Insincerity and ulterior motives lurked in both their words. But at the core of it, something beckoned irresistibly, warranting a closer look.

It did sound fun.

“Show me,” she challenged.

Then the thoughts in her mind surged, taking on a different hue as he grinned his sharp smile.

Had she done this before? When? Where? With who?

And those hands brushed against her again. They cupped her face, finding the frantic pulse fluttering beneath her skin, as Astarion gave her a fanged kiss.

[chokememaximoff]

Regrets & Resilience IV

Abstract:After six months of training with Matt, the avenger returns home to a warm reception. Wanda's distant assistance hints at her feelings, yet her jealousy flares when the avenger spends time with Matthew. Despite Wanda's efforts, the avenger remains convinced that Wanda's underlying resentment persists.

TW:angst,fluff..all in all none

Stepping into the compound was a whirlwind of emotions. Nervousness coiled within me, mingling with a sense of longing and apprehension. Yet, the moment I crossed the threshold, I was enveloped in a warm embrace of love and support. My dad Tony Stark and my mom Pepper welcomed me with open arms, their smiles reassuring me that I was home.

Amidst laughter and stories exchanged, the air was charged with a sense of familiarity. Spending time with my parents felt like a soothing balm, a reminder that despite the turmoil that had kept me away, these bonds remained unbroken.

But as the evening progressed, my thoughts were inevitably drawn to her—Wanda. Her absence was conspicuous, a void that was difficult to ignore. I caught fleeting glimpses of her, watching from a distance, her gaze filled with a mix of emotions. It was as if she yearned to bridge the gap, yet the fear and guilt that haunted her held her back.

In the midst of our interactions, I began to notice subtle touches that eased my path. Objects that might have obstructed my way were mysteriously moved aside, creating a clear route through the space. It happened when I was coming, a chair gently nudged out of my path, a rug smoothed down. I recognized the pattern, the delicate orchestration of her gestures.

A small smile played on my lips as I grasped what was happening. Her efforts were like whispers in the wind, a silent reassurance that she was there, looking out for me, even from afar. With every step I took, I could feel her presence, her desire to help woven into each action.

It was during one such moment that I rounded a corner, only to find a vase of flowers conveniently shifted to the side, a vase that I knew had been in my way before. As I continued to navigate the space, her touch became more evident, more deliberate. It was in the way a curtain was drawn back, allowing sunlight to filter through, or a cushion arranged just so on a chair.

She believed her actions went unnoticed, that her quiet assistance remained unseen. But with my heightened senses, every shift and movement was revealed to me. Her touch, her presence, her unspoken gestures were like brushstrokes on a canvas, painting a picture of her hidden struggle and the connection that remained beneath the surface.

As the days passed, Wanda's distant presence continued to be a constant companion. Her efforts spoke volumes, an unspoken understanding of the complexities that defined our relationship

...

The next day, as the evening approached, a nervous energy consumed Wanda. With determined steps, she made her way to Y/n's room, a mixture of hope and anxiety churning within her. The door swung open, and her heart sank at the sight of an empty room—reminiscent of the day Y/n had embarked on her six-month journey.

A pang of disappointment swept through Wanda, a reminder of how things had changed. The room, once filled with memories, now felt hollow. Closing the door, she couldn't shake the sense of déjà vu that clung to the moment.

Seeking answers, Wanda found herself once again tracking down Peter Parker, her confidant in times of uncertainty. "Peter, do you know where Y/n is?"

His gaze held a hint of understanding as he met her eyes. "Yeah, she's gone to meet with Matthew."

The words struck Wanda like a blow, stirring a torrent of emotions within her. Jealousy ignited, unbidden, fueled by the thought of Y/n spending time with Matthew. After months of intense training, a connection had likely formed, and the mere idea of their camaraderie set Wanda's heart racing.

Jealousy merged with a deep sadness within Wanda, a complex cocktail of emotions that left her reeling. She couldn't help but envision them together, sharing moments, growing closer. It was a reminder of what she had lost—the person who had become more than just an ally, who had saved her, who she had started to care about.

As Wanda grappled with the weight of her feelings, a sense of resignation settled over her. Y/n had moved on, finding companionship and support in the arms of someone else. It was a stark realization, a reflection of the choices she had made, the distance she had let grow between them.

Amidst the tangle of emotions, Wanda couldn't escape the truth that she was grappling with her own regrets and insecurities. The possibility of Y/n finding solace elsewhere was a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions, the bridges she had burned, and the connections she had pushed away.

..

I find myself in the presence of Matthew. With a playful grin, I mention Wanda's recent actions, trying to lighten the mood. Matthew, who's well aware of my feelings towards Wanda, chuckles knowingly, his eyes betraying an understanding of the turmoil within me.

We exchange a few jokes, sharing a camaraderie that's built on trust and shared experiences. The weight of the emotions surrounding Wanda is temporarily lifted, replaced by a sense of ease that comes from being with someone who knows me so well. I'm grateful for Matthew's presence, for the moments of laughter that he brings into my life.

But as the evening deepens and I'm left alone with my thoughts, I can't help but reflect on everything that's transpired. The kindness Wanda extended, her attempts to help me even from a distance, they all stem from a place of basic human goodness. It's a reminder that beneath the layers of resentment and pain, there's still a glimmer of compassion within her.

Despite her actions, despite her efforts to assist me in her own way, the truth remains that there's a divide that's grown between us. No matter the gestures, no matter the attempts at reconciliation, the core of our relationship is marred by a history that can't be erased. It's a difficult realization to grapple with – that kindness can coexist with hatred, that the human heart is capable of holding conflicting emotions.

As I lay in my thoughts, I can't shake the feeling that Wanda's kindness, her distance, they all stem from a place of unresolved pain. And no matter how much she helps or tries to be present, the shadow of past mistakes looms large, casting a veil over any attempts to mend what's broken. In the end, the harsh truth remains – Wanda may be helping, but she still hates me, and that reality is something I can't escape, no matter how much I wish for a different outcome.

[hemthead]

A New Thing?!?! Character Concepts

I'd like to preface this post with the information that I am not particularly creative or artistic by nature, but I do believe I have the ability to be passionate, so please do consider that everything here is a "learning experience," thank you! =|:)=;

This character, whom I am presently calling Hem, has been in my head for a little bit now. Right now, I am calling them Hem because it sounds right, and I relate to them as the edges and connections of my personality (i.e. the bounds which make me up).

They originally started as a little emoticon, appearing in my more quirky textual transactions beginning perhaps a week ago. The representation here being =|:|_),' =|:=; =|:|_ and other forms (there is a somewhat sizeable discord message to myself describing the rules and components of Hem, which I will include at the bottom of this post for brevity).

I have always had an interest in emoticons and text-based art (see ArTUI) as well as an affinity for the "old" web (well, old to me; I was born in 2007). At the same time, I will readily admit that Hem's existence is due primarily to the charming typing quirks of Homestuck characters (though, this is essentially the same thing as the prior mentioned inspiration, I would not have been sufficiently motivated to truly adopt such an emoticon prior to reading Homestuck).

It is also due partly to my isolationism and preference for self-made content that Hem has been created as a representation of self. (I have been getting tired of using random profile pictures and names for a while.) Perhaps I will write another blog post about this, but Hem is part of a larger trend in my current life towards creating more of the content that I consume (or in other terms, talking to myself =|>:]=; ) and expressing my true self, which I have kept mostly hidden for the duration of my life.

Recently, I decided that Hem would take on a greater role in representing me, and thus we entered a design prototype phase intended to make Hem a true character and outlet of self expression.

One of Hem's interesting traits that correlates with how I view myself is their multiple designs. At current, Hem is both a thin, perhaps gaunt specimen, as well as a wider, potentially sturdier character. Early on, Hem was designed with unique presentation and configuration in mind: their body was split into discrete sections and multiple bases were imagined for each. Not to get too personal, but I see myself in a very similar manner, my personality varies wildly, sometimes I am very talkative (typically with myself!) and have thousands of things to say about the least conspicuous things around me; at other times, I can hardly bring myself to remark on my most passionate interests. Unfortunately, I have only been developing Hem as drawn character for a very short time, so configurations other than my "expressive/quirky" insert (the equals-sign-body configuration) lack representation at the moment =|:(|_),,

Design-wise, it is important to me to keep Hem's ASCII/text-based style evident within their more detailed depictions. This means that my designs so far have only-slightly-manipulated versions of Hem's ASCII representations as their core shapes. To better define my imagination of Hem, I am currently using half-fill (Krita's dither tool) lines to draw their features.

I am not a good artist, so Hem's depictions are likely to remain largely abstract for a while (if they ever truly stop being abstract), lol =|:)=;

Right now I really only have two concept drawings for Hem. It may seem a bit premature to reveal them, but I fret that I may never continue work on them if I do not get them out there =|:'}=;

[Image ID: two digital concept sketches of Hem. The first features two Hem's composed of drawn ASCII characters rotated so that Hem may stand vertically. The leftmost Hem is a drawing of "Shuffler" Hem, and the second is of "Marching/Walking" Hem with the addition of small apostrophe sized arms. (see below for textual representations of Hem types). The second Hem sketch is a more detailed depiction of "Shuffler" Hem. Hem's ASCII core is drawn in thick, black lines, and additional features are drawn in half-filled black lines (created with Krita's dither pixel art tool). In addition to their ASCII core, their head is partially outlined, their hands, consisting of three fingers each, are floating to the left of their body, and their collar is depicted in a tall, notch-lapel (noir detective/secretive) style. Their stovepipe hat is left in two pieces (the equals-sign and pipe characters). The brim rests on their head, while the top part of the hat floats above. Hem is leaning over backwards to the right of the image and their hands are reaching towards a circular object to the far left. The object appears to be coming towards Hem, and is purple-ish in nature. \End ID.]

Hooray! You made it to the end of the post! Before I end this, I want to real-quick (and mostly for myself) put in a couple of Hem's design inspirations as a list:

Homestuck

Homestuck Sprites

Asmodeus (Helluva Boss)

Dynamo (Valve's Deadlock)

Noir detectives who are somewhat magical

Geometric hats (which I have been obsessed with for a very long time, Abraham Lincoln had style, fr)

Atlantis: The Lost Empire

Myself (this one is very important!!!)

Probably many other's that I'm forgetting

Tumblr people like you

Lastly, here's that Discord message I promised:

[Image Id: A discord message containing a description of Hem's early emoticon format, the text is as follows: # My EMOTICON =|:|_)= Hat (typically stovepipe) + Face (standard emoticon) + Body + Legs # HATS STOVEPIPE: =| BEHIND HAT: =/ PEEKING OUT: / PARTY HAT: *<| DOPEY/PAPER HAT: <| BODIESBEHIND WALL (no legs): |_ HEAD TUCK: _) THIN: => SHORT: = # LEGS SHORT: ; STANDING: = ANGLED FEET: =; WALKING: ,' SKATEBOARD: |: LONG LEGS: :,' CHAIR: ]x ROCKET/EXCITED: >+~ ~~ # PREFAB THE STANDER: =|:|_); SHUFFLER (Karkat mood): =|:=; HIDING BEHIND WALL: =|:|_ ROCKET/EXCITED: =|:|_)>+~ ~~ HEAD TUCKED: =|:_)> MARCHING/WALKING: =|:|_),' \End ID]

[youdontjustgiveup]

August: Chapter 12

( ao3 | ff )

Previous Chapters: [link]

Summary: Blair confronts her inner demons.

Pairing: Chuck x Blair

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Eating disorder

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

Blair found herself straddling him, thighs pressing firmly against his sides. Leaning against him, she moaned, her warm breath caressing the sensitive skin of his neck before nibbling playfully at his earlobe. Chuck quivered beneath her, his hand instinctively finding its place on her waist, like he needed something to hold onto.

His desire thrust forward, and Blair’s mouth went a tad dry in anticipation, a stark contrast to the growing wetness elsewhere. Craving more, she slowly rocked her hips, encouraging him to continue creating the sweet friction that had her teetering on the edge of coming undone. Her eyes rolled back. 

They were tangled in his limousine, that damn vehicle that was like an extension of him, even for a simple trip to the next block. The idea of making the king surrender in his own castle increased her own power to unimaginable limits. To have Chuck here, in this private sanctum that defined him, felt deliciously impish, like she was conquering not just him but everything that surrounded and made him who he was.

One look into his lustful eyes gave Blair the confidence to let go, to unleash the Blair she had always been, and she moved closer to brush her breasts provocatively against him. She relished having him at her mercy, almost certain she would never tire of it. When Chuck closed his eyes, she began planting kisses along his neck, each one met with moans and frantic pants, as if she were stealing the very air from his lungs in the most exquisite way. A smile played on Blair’s lips; a laugh desperate to escape her throat. 

The parts of her body he craved most rubbed against him, teasing and promising. 

He seemed to regain control at one point; his hands roaming with greedy abandon, mapping every contour, every curve. The intensity grew, tempting her to savor the moment a bit longer, but enough was enough. With a subtle yet firm movement, Blair thwarted his advances. It was her turn. Rocking her hips more assertively, she obliterated his willpower. He would succumb to her every desire.

A fiery need threatened to consume Blair if she didn’t have him in that limousine at that very moment.

“What do you want?” she dared to ask.

“You,” he responded. 

“What else do you want?”

“Only you.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Everywhere.”

Her nimble fingers fumbled for his belt, skillfully undoing its restraint, and sought out the button of his pants. His face was a canvas painted with the most pleasurable and beautiful expression; a visage contorted by desire so palpable that it hung in the air like an intoxicating fragrance. This was the moment—the point of no return—and as the seconds passed, she marveled at the absence of fear.

It surprised her how ready she felt. The doubts that typically accompanied her in such moments were conspicuously absent, replaced by a profound sense of liberation. Mind and body merged as one, creating a harmonious symphony of need that resonated through every fiber of her being. It was not just an act of the body but a liberation of the soul. 

Just as the music reached its crescendo, a flash of black transported Blair to her bed—not just any bed, but a familiar one. Her surroundings shifted, revealing her childhood room in the Waldorf penthouse, smack in the heart of Manhattan. The bedroom glowed with blue sky and creamy vanilla hues, with her favorite Audrey Hepburn-framed photo perched in the far corner, illuminated by a dangling chandelier. The air carried the sweet scent of innocence.

Now, the one sharing the space with her wasn’t Chuck, but Nate. They were both hunched over textbooks, ostensibly preparing for an English exam due on Monday. Neither of them seemed remotely interested in the study notes Blair had painstakingly arranged. While Blair tried to summon up the courage to take a daring leap into the depths of intimacy, Nate appeared more engrossed in his phone, as if anywhere else would be a better place to be. What on earth was up with him? 

Truth be told, Blair’s invitation to the penthouse had been disguised as a study session, yet deep within, it had the intention of catapulting their relationship to the next level. Lately, Nate had grown increasingly distant, and a nagging suspicion clung to Blair—that somehow, she was the one to blame. He was tired of her, tired of their childish relationship. Nate wanted something more than holding hands, chaste kisses, and the role of a glorified coat rack for her shopping bags. What he truly needed was her unwavering commitment, putting everything on the line to make their love bloom. The time had come.

Faced with Nate’s current lack of interest, Blair swiftly closed the textbook and tossed the charade of studying to the floor. It was now or never. Climbing onto Nate’s lap, the room seemed to pulsate around her, its boundaries dissolving into a blur. 

“What are you doing?” Nate said.

“Guess,” she tried to sound seductive, but even to her own ears it sounded strained.

“We’re studying.”

They were not. 

She brushed off his comment and pressed herself against him.

“You know… I have better things in mind.”

“Like what?” Nate shot her a puzzled look. His hands remained at his sides, avoiding contact.

He couldn’t be that stupid. Trying to get any interest from Nate felt like an impossible task, so she abandoned words and leaned in to kiss him. However, Nate tilted his head, dodging her lips.

Nate grabbed her arms and pulled her from his lap. A wave of anxiety crashed over her. It was like plunging into the void only to find solid ground at the bottom.

“Look, we better study, or we’re going to fail.” 

What a weak, pathetic, and painfully lame excuse. 

Nate took another quick look at his phone and burst out laughing at whatever it was he had just received. 

The sinking feeling intensified, bringing with it a twinge of nausea. Blair clutched her arms and resisted the urge to sprint to the bathroom. Despite her eyes welling with tears, she shook her head. He would not see her cry. She was better than that.

Nate remained glued to his phone. Whoever was holding his attention on the other end was more captivating than her; that much was evident. Another burst of laughter escaped him, and the smile on his face was like a succession of daggers piercing her heart, one after the other.

“Oh man, Serena cracks me up every time,” Nate’s voice cut through the air like a cold gust of wind.

Serena.

Her body tensed involuntarily. The air in the room seemed to thicken, making every breath a struggle. Her heart raced like a drumbeat, echoing the rapid pace of her thoughts. It was always Serena. Why couldn’t Nate see her? Was she not pretty enough? Thin enough? Nice? Funny? The once familiar surroundings took on an unfamiliar, almost threatening quality. Desperate to escape this invisible enemy, she tried to focus. A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Blair ran to the bathroom.

And then, with a gasp, she woke up. 

Blair sat up straight in bed, her heart pounding like it had just run a marathon. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, and the haunting remnants of the dream draped over her like a heavy shroud. The soft glow of dawn in her Hamptons bedroom made the well-known place seem strangely surreal.

Struggling to regain control, Blair took a deep breath, but the incessant chorus of Serena’s name persisted, a relentless echo in her mind. Serena, Serena, Serena. Its insidious grip twisted her insides into knots. Undeterred, she kept trying, filling her lungs with more air.

In an attempt to cling to that first fragment of her dream’s mosaic, she conjured up every detail as if each were an anchor that would keep her grounded in reality. Nate was no longer her boyfriend, they were not in her childhood bedroom, and Blair didn’t have to plead for his love and affection. Not anymore. 

Still, it proved futile. Despite her best efforts, the interior of the limousine became more and more diffuse, drifting like mist, just out of reach. The pleasure that had once consumed her dissipated, slipped away, and every attempt to recapture it ended in disappointment. The dream that had begun with such promise ended like all the others. That ill-fated study day with Nate kept creeping back to haunt her. It was not the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

The usual queasiness tightened its grip on Blair, escalating with each passing second. She stumbled out of bed, the low temperature of the earlier hours doing nothing to alleviate the clamminess that clung to her skin. The room seemed to constrict around her. 

In a desperate rush, Blair hurried to the bathroom, each step fueled by the urgency to escape her most shameful nightmare. The acrid taste of bile lingered in her mouth, a vile prelude to what was about to happen. With a violent convulsion, her stomach clenched painfully, unleashing a gut-wrenching heave. The acidic burn surged through her throat, a merciless reminder of how sick she really was.

The cold, unforgiving tiles beneath her bare legs provided a paradoxical comfort. Blair clung to the porcelain, her face drenched in sweat and tears. Trembling hands fumbled for a tissue, trying to stem the torrent as her body rebelled against her. The retching sounds echoed, a haunting symphony of misery, as the grotesque ordeal unfolded.

Seated on the floor with her back pressed against the wall of the bathtub, she wanted nothing more than to disappear. Tears continued to stream down her face as she shut her eyes. Why couldn’t she stop?

In the darkness of her own self, she once again sought control through the rhythmic cadence of her breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. And repeat. Her chest rose and fell steadily. It was only a dream, a nightmare. But could it truly be labeled as such when its vivid scenes reflected the reality she had once lived? The nightmare was a fragment of the past, not a reflection of the present, Blair reiterated. Then, why did it still feel so ominously close, as if its spectral breath lingered on the nape of her neck? 

The weight of failure and inadequacy bore down on her. A constant disappointment. Never enough.

White dots danced in front of her eyes, and dizziness threatened to engulf her. Blair squeezed her eyes tighter. 

Then, a reassuring hand settled on her knee, preventing her from succumbing to the encroaching darkness. Chuck’s. He had stayed. He had spent the night by her side, a fact that had slipped through the fog of her sick and desperate thoughts. His touch, gentle yet firm, became a lifeline, his thumb tracing circles as if infusing the strength she didn’t know she needed. It was so tender that she could almost cry. Again.

Blair found herself in a tricky spot, uncertain about how to act around him in the aftermath of the events from the previous night. Should she kiss him? Ignore him? Pretend like nothing happened? Kick him out of her bedroom? It was a maze of conflicting emotions that forced her to mourn the boundaries of their friendship up until that very moment. The line had been crossed, irrevocably so, and no amount of sweeping it under the rug could change that. Despite everything, only one thing was clear: she needed him. Couldn’t they roll with the punches and have it all, whatever that meant? Did she want it all? Did he?

It didn’t matter. One day, Chuck would find out that there were plenty of better options out there. He might get tired and leave, just like everyone else.

In a quick motion, Blair wiped away her tears with the palm of her hand, reluctant to let Chuck see her in such a pathetic state. Over the years, she had carefully crafted an image, and even though she was certain he could see right through it, it didn’t matter. Something had changed, and she refused to give him any more reasons to run.

Chuck’s hand left her knee, delicately parting the sweat-drenched strands that stuck to her neck. 

He was still wearing the same clothes. His jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a crumpled white shirt that hung loosely outside his pants, a few buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his purple socks stood out against the disheveled ensemble. He looked… well… he looked hot. Blair managed a smile. She might be a mess, but he was a mess, too, and that realization offered some comfort.

“Feeling any better?” Chuck inquired, genuine concern flickering in his eyes. 

“I feel like shit,” she confessed. 

“You look like shit.” 

If there was one thing she appreciated about him, it was that he didn’t beat around the bush. Returning the same frankness, she gestured at his appearance.

“I know, I know. Not my finest hour either, I admit,” he conceded, assessing himself. 

“Clearly,” Blair remarked. “And, darling, a shower wouldn’t be the worst idea. Much needed, I might add.”

“Only if you join me.”

“You wish,” she replied without thinking, an instinctive response she’d thrown at him a million times, but in this moment, within the confines of the bathroom, it felt different, heavier. Chuck looked at her as if she were the sole oasis in a desert, silently confirming that there was indeed nothing he’d rather be doing, but memories of past rejections, averted kisses, and chilly encounters resurfaced. As her sanity slipped away, Blair anchored herself in the fact that Chuck wasn’t Nate. He wanted her, and he had made that crystal clear. Time and time again. His desire for her was a tangible and consistent reality. 

Yet neither of them did anything about it. 

“What happened?” Chuck asked. 

“Bad dream.”

“What was it about?” 

“Nate,” Blair admitted. Her mind was drained of energy, every part of her body weighed a ton. Then, she remembered that not everything had been bad, and she let out a subtle chuckle. Well, it all hinged on your definition of bad. “And you.”

“What’s so amusing about me haunting your nightmares? Were you plotting a hundred ways to kill me?”

“I don’t need a hundred. Just one. And you damn well know which one.”

“I’m still savoring the memories.”

The weight seemed to lighten a bit. Playful teasing and banter, ingrained in their nature. It was just so easy with him. Too tempting to resist. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t dispose of you just yet.” 

“Spill, Waldorf. What were we up to? I’m all ears.”

“I’m not telling you.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Were we in the shower by any chance? Trying to rid ourselves of this dreadful odor? I know how much you value hygiene.”

“Shut up.” Blair turned to him and slapped his arm.

“Is that some secret fantasy of yours? I could fulfill it.”

Blair put a hand over his mouth just to stop him from talking about them in the shower, fantasies, or anything else that would tighten the rope of desire that kept stretching between the two of them. He playfully nipped at her hand and took the opportunity to pull her onto his lap.

Their eyes locked, and Chuck’s intense gaze zeroed in on her lips. He wanted to kiss her, she could tell, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to kiss him too. Would it be like this from now on? Fighting the urge to kiss him senseless at any given moment? Then, a simple realization struck her—she hadn’t even brushed her teeth.

“Seriously, Chuck, you need a shower,” she said, diverting the impending kiss before either of them succumbed to their deepest and most immediate impulses.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he protested.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I’m better,” Blair replied honestly, a subtle smile playing on her lips.. 

“You can shower in here,” she offered. 

Chuck wrinkled his nose, a mock look of horror. “Not in a million years will I resort to washing my hair with fruity shampoo.” 

“Forgive me for not choosing the very essence of a lawnmower humming under the moonlight. You know, the epitome of masculinity and refinement.”

“Exactly.” 

“Stop pretending. You’re worse than me when it comes to pampering yourself.”

“Beautiful, my pampering is a refined art. You wouldn’t understand.”

Blair loved when he called her beautiful.

Chuck released her and stood up, positioning himself in front of her mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten his appearance, all to no avail. Blair smiled to herself as he continued his efforts to tame his unruly hair. Eventually, Chuck moved on to smoothing out his shirt. The next thing she knew, he was handing her a toothbrush with toothpaste already on it.

As they both stood in front of her mirror, Blair brushing her teeth and Chuck trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed, she couldn’t resist savoring the domestic moment. The desire to hold on to it, to not let go, rekindled a warmth in her. Everything that had felt so right the night before couldn’t possibly be wrong, could it? Each moment only reaffirmed that the boy beside her not only wanted her but cared for her deeply. And he would go to great lengths for her if she asked. What more could she possibly want?

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Blair rinsed out her mouth, erasing all traces of toothpaste, and dried herself with the nearest cotton towel. “What are we, Chuck?”

“We’re Chuck and Blair.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we understand each other better than anyone else.”

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know.” 

Their eyes met through the mirror and Blair almost looked away, unable to confront him when she was so unsure of herself. Chuck Bass, notorious womanizer, what made her different from the rest? Why should she be special? Couldn’t she be just another one of his games? An entertainment until something shinier came along. Another Serena van der Woodsen. But despite numerous opportunities, he hadn’t shied away—from that first party to last night, he’d been there, he’d chosen her. He had stood by her against all odds. So maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Then, why was she so determined to resist happiness? Why couldn’t she stop the wheel of the past from spinning?

Blair still couldn’t answer. Fear, self-doubt, the lingering sting of hurt.  

“Let’s take it slow,” she blurted, letting her heart speak for her.

“Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No. Why would I?”

He placed a hand on her lower back, pulling her closer. Her head rested on his chest. “Because you’re you. You’re Chuck Bass.”

“Then let me show who Chuck Bass really is,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

After a while, Chuck lifted her up in his arms, and she found her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. One of his hands was under her ass, helping her up. The thrill of anticipation rumbled inside her. 

Blair bit at her lip. “I know this Chuck Bass already,” she remarked.

A devilish gleam lit up Chuck’s eyes. “Oh, you’ve barely scratched the surface with this one.”

If last night was just a taste, Blair couldn’t shake the feeling that the real feast of her life was waiting for her.

With one arm securely wrapped around her, Chuck guided Blair back towards the bedroom. Once there, he gently placed her on the bed. 

“What are you thinking right now?” Blair traced the lines of his face with her hand, smoothing a frown that threatened to appear. 

“A lot of things.”

“Can those things be said?”

“No.” 

As he made a move to step away, she reached out, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, silently expressing that she didn’t want him to go anywhere. 

“I should go.” His eyes did that thing where they didn’t match his mouth. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I’ll behave.” 

“I don’t think you’re the one who needs to behave.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Do you want to behave?” she probed. There was nothing more exhilarating than hearing him confirm his desire. 

“You know I don’t,” he replied. “But if you—”

“Then don’t,” Blair said. 

[carnalapples]

hi!!!!!! i have questions!!!!!!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Hello thank you for the ask Rowan!!!!!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I’m pretty proud of the different AUs in rivers; I enjoy thinking through all the chain reactions that would have had to occur for a certain set of circumstances to be in place. I’m also really happy with how the world of my Hawke/Sebastian fic is coming together, although I still need to do a lot of work before it gets someplace I’d be happy publishing (and I am impatient). The Free Marches are such a good playground!! I like the idea that Ashna’s sister is Inquisitor in this world, even though it barely comes up lol. She recruits the templars as one major change, and I like the potential mirroring of a dynamic between the Hawkes and the Trevelyans. (The more I look at what I consume and write, I really like strange family dynamics lol!)

While I'm off-topic, wedding ceremonies. Real or fictional, I'll never get tired of learning about them, lol.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

I am a very picky reader at times, haha. I usually have an idea not so much of what specifically I want to read but what kind of mood I want to be in. Sometimes I know I want like a modern AU or a specific trope, or I might have Thoughts about one part of canon and want an AU specifically about that… (ME2 Horizon...) So usually I just go on AO3 to the fandom and filter characters/pairings and explore, sometimes with specific searches. For DA in particular I love the Black Emporium Exchange collections, the rarepairs are so good!

A lot of the fandoms I want to read for are smaller, so I'll just gradually work through everything that looks interesting haha. Really often, I’ll go to authors I enjoy and check out their bookmarks; because of this, I read fandom-blind a lot and have often gotten into fandoms after reading fic, which is always a fun time (This is how I got into Dragon Age, actually! And why I’ve read so much Mad Men fic for someone who has never seen Mad Men LOL)

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

I think I tried to stretch myself with a heart because I'd never written a continuous multi-chapter story before. Really, I took a risk with risky business; I’d never written for Zevran or Josephine before, and I was so nervous because I wanted to do it right and on a deadline. I don't know even now if I matched up to what I wanted, but with the deadline, I had to get it out there no matter what, and I couldn’t back out; that really helped. I think now when I write and I'm going over something over and over or delaying posting, I can ask myself: is it going to get any better with the skills I have, or is posting this and moving on to something else the way to grow?

Also, every time I write sex is pushing my comfort zone lol, I always post and think "oh ok, that's out there." Slowly trying to expand said zone.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I’ve recently been sidetracked from all things Dragon Age, and have been bouncing between that Miranda/Shepard fic and this fic for a Hindi movie I watched a while back. (At this point, I'm getting distracted from distractions 😭) A few lines from the latter:

He thinks that as much as he wants to protect Akira, she is the one protecting him. From getting old and bitter and somehow from dying. Suddenly, he feels a hollowness inside him, the conspicuous lack of something. The lack of her body and her warmth pressed tight up against him. The lack of her voice and her incessant chatter. His life is very quiet without her. Figuratively speaking, which is another thing he doesn’t really do without her. This life is not conducive to metaphor.  Her pants were too big, that’s what he remembers. They lent her the extras they had, and if they were big on Krishnan, of course they’d be big on her. She had to cinch them up, and he hates the way he feels when he thinks about it. 

Thank you again for the ask!!

[justaquickquestion]

Yeah, I don't like their take. And I'm a low-no stash kind of crafter! Stashing means you have the supplies when you are ready to use them. It means you can plan ahead when money is spendy, and continue crafting if that changes. You can follow your whims when you desire a sock or hat knit; the mitts you want to make a friend are divorced from the indie-dyed price tag. You also don't have to know which sweater you're going to make, to know that you want a sweater of THAT YARN in your wardrobe. Look, more than half of the sharing in our online community (podcasts, vlogs, look what i gots) has a heavy element of conspicuous consumption. As an audience we SHOULD be aware of how influencers affect us, especially in our niche "virtuous/not like them" community. I can drool over Les Garcons mystery yarn club that a podcaster I follow subscribes to, and know still that nothing in the world justifies $100 for a mystery sock set in my life. OP is right, in that case, the dopamine of the purchase is bigger than the satisfaction I'd get from using the item. Sorry, I'm rambling, it's past my bedtime. A responsible consumer has to avoid keeping up with the Joneses. People who keep a social media presence have a monetary incentive to have new purchases to show off routinely. Keep a healthy distance and make decisions for your own hobby. and don't set rules for other people about how they can craft! Some people are monogamous knitters. Some people have a knit or crochet project for every turn of the weather. Have y'all ever watched flosstube videos? Cross stitchers might have enough projects on the go, they can work on something different every day for a month! If you feel cluttered just thinking about a hibernating project, pick your monogamous project. If you feel most creative when you have reasonable limitations, set yourself some restrictions. have you "caffiene drink, hydration drink, fun drink" knits. but get out of my wip pile and out of my stash with your judgement and your "just to the thing, it's not that hard!"

this person just took a shovel to my face

[majesticwebrebel]

what is digital marketing

Digital marketing is the use of websites, apps, mobile devices, social media, search engines, and other digital means to promote and sell products and services.

Digital marketing involves many of the same principles as traditional marketing and is often considered an additional way for companies to approach consumers and understand their behavior. Companies often combine traditional and digital marketing techniques in their strategies. But digital marketing also comes with its own set of challenges. Digital marketing started to become popular with the widespread adoption of the internet in the 1990s.

Key Takeaways

Digital marketing promotes products and services through channels such as websites, mobile devices, and social media platforms.

Digital marketers have a number of tools to measure the effectiveness of their campaigns.

One of the biggest challenges digital marketers face is how to set themselves apart in a world that is oversaturated with digital ads and other distractions.

How Digital Marketing Works

Marketing encompasses a wide range of techniques and media that companies can use to promote their products and services to potential consumers and improve their market share. To be successful, it requires a combination of advertising and sales savvy. Professional marketers take on these tasks either internally at individual companies or externally at marketing firms that may serve many different clients.

Types of Digital Marketing Channels

Digital marketing channels have evolved since the 1990s and continue to do so. Here are eight of the most common channels in use today.

Website Marketing

Companies often use their own website as the centerpiece of their digital marketing activities. The most effective websites represent the brand and its products and services in a clear and memorable way. A website today must be fast-loading, mobile-friendly, and easy to navigate.

Pay-Per-Click Advertising

Pay-per-click (PPC) advertising enables marketers to reach audiences on news and other websites and digital platforms through paid ads. Marketers can set up PPC campaigns on Google, Bing, LinkedIn, X (formerly Twitter), Pinterest, and Facebook and show their ads to people searching terms related to their products or services.

These campaigns can segment users based on their demographic characteristics (such as age or gender), or their particular interests or location. The most widely used services for PPC are Google Ads and Facebook Ads.

Content Marketing

The goal of content marketing is to reach potential customers through the use of written, visual, or video content that interests them. That content is usually published on a website and then promoted through social media, email marketing, search engine optimization, or even pay-per-click campaigns. Content marketing attempts to be more subtle than advertising, and the product or service the sponsor is attempting to market may or may not be conspicuously highlighted.

Email Marketing

Email marketing is still one of the most effective digital marketing channels, though many people associate it with spam and treat such messages accordingly. Many digital marketers use their other digital marketing channels to collect names for their email lists. Then, through email marketing, they try to turn those leads into customers.

Social Media Marketing

The primary goals of a social media marketing campaign are to build brand awareness and establish trust. As you go deeper into social media marketing, you can use it to obtain leads and as a direct marketing or sales channel. Promoted posts and tweets are two examples of social media marketing.

Affiliate Marketing

Affiliate marketing is one of the oldest forms of marketing, and the digital world has given it new life. In affiliate marketing, companies and individual "influencers" promote another company's products and get a commission every time a sale is made or a fresh lead is added to their list. Many well-known companies, including Amazon, have affiliate programs that pay out millions of dollars to affiliates that help sell their products.

Video Marketing

A lot of internet users turn to sites like YouTube before making a buying decision, to learn how to do something, to read a review, or just to relax. Marketers can use any of several video marketing platforms, including Facebook Videos, Instagram, and TikTok, to run a video marketing campaign. Companies find the most success with video by integrating it with SEO, content marketing, and broader social media marketing campaigns.

Text Messaging

Companies also use text messages (formally known as SMS, or short message service) to send information about their latest products and promotions. Nonprofit organizations and political candidates also use texting to promote themselves and solicit donations. Today many marketing campaigns make it possible for consumers to make a payment or donation via a simple text message.

Key Performance Indicators (KPIs) in Digital Marketing

Digital marketers use key performance indicators (KPIs) just like traditional marketers. KPIs let them measure the long-term performance of their marketing initiatives and compare those to their competitors' efforts.

The following are some of the most common KPIs that marketers can use to gauge how well they're doing:

Click-through rate: This KPI is commonly used to measure the effectiveness of online advertising, by counting the number of people who clicked on a particular ad as a percentage of all the people who might have seen it.

Conversion rate: The conversion rate goes even further than the click-through rate to compare the percentage of people who took some desired action, such as making a purchase, to the total audience that a particular ad or promotion reached.

Social media traffic: This tracks how many people interact with a company's social media profiles. It includes likes, follows, views, shares, and/or other measurable actions.

Website traffic: This metric tracks how many people visit a company's website during a given time period. Among other uses, it can help companies judge how effective their marketing efforts are at driving consumers to their

[cyberbenb]

Russia's eroding sovereignty: Beijing's influence redefines Moscow's role on global stage

In a geopolitical chessboard reshaped by global conflict and shifting alliances, Russia's touted "sovereignty" narrative seems increasingly hollow as Moscow grows more reliant on Beijing. With China in the driver's seat, forcing unfavorably one-sided deals, Russian propaganda’s independence rhetoric faces a harsh reality check. Neue Zürcher Zeitung reports that experts have long warned about Moscow’s growing dependency on Beijing, as China’s influence transforms Russia into a geopolitical subordinate. A striking example can be seen in the burgeoning use of the yuan: by 2024, the Chinese currency became Russia's most-used foreign currency, highlighting Russia's financial subjugation.

Severed from Western markets due to the Ukraine conflict and sanctions, Moscow is forced to sell its resources to China at significantly reduced prices. President Xi Jinping easily secured advantageous gas tariffs far below those offered to European buyers, draining Russia’s coffers even further. A significant nod to China's leverage is seen in agreements regarding the Arctic sea route — a region Moscow once fiercely guarded from foreign influence. Now, Beijing assumes a crucial role in an area historically vital to Russian strategic interests, confirming Xi’s commanding hand while Putin follows Beijing’s lead.

In a conspectus of the Sino-Russian trade landscape, Russia conspicuously fits the profile of a classic colony. While Moscow exports raw materials — oil, gas, and natural resources — Beijing sends back finished products: cars, electronics, machinery, and consumer goods. China dictates the rules, setting prices both for purchases and sales, in an arrangement reminiscent of colonial-era trade dynamics. The picture emerging is of Russia reduced to a raw material appendage under evolving Chinese metropolitan policies.

As political and economic imbalances grow starker, it is apparent that Xi firmly steers the course, particularly as Putin faces untenable choices amid global isolation and cut ties with Europe. Capitalizing on these vulnerabilities, China adeptly turns circumstances to its benefit. In this geopolitical dance, while the Kremlin continues to speak of autonomy, the reality unfolds differently: China's expansive influence chips away at what remains of Russian sovereignty.

[azasoft20]

Start Strong with Web Designing in Tuticorin

Why Web Design Is So Important Nowadays

The world is different now. Today, the first thing people do before anything else is that they go online to get information. People are becoming smart consumers of products, services, and brands, and a website that gives a good first impression is the first step in the customer journey to buy the product or service. This is why a website that is not only visually attractive but also understandable and easy to navigate is no longer a pleasant extra, but an essential part of a business.

Web designing in Tuticorin has changed its meaning and is now much more than just the addition of colors and pictures to the page. Creating a virtual space that is both warm and professional, where customers feel comfortable, educated and trusting enough to do business, is essentially the new web design. If you have an outdated site, whether or not you have a web page already, the design of it greatly influences what others are going to think of you.

What Aspects of a Website Contribute to a Proposal of Today

People do not stay where they are. They scroll through the pages fast, click, and straightforwardly move on if they cannot understand a thing. Hence, any website that is loved by the visitors should be:

User-Friendly

If a lot of time and effort are saved, people are willing to do more. A theme that does not contain too much garbage is the best way to help users get what they want without being discouraged.

Compatible with Mobile Devices

More than 70% of users access web pages via their smartphones. A website design that functions perfectly on all screens is what you require.

Fast and Sure

If a page is slow to load or is susceptible to attacks, users will go and they will not return. Ridiculously slow and containing malware are a couple of things that can make it impossible for people to trust you. The website’s speed and its security measures are what your readers must feel to trust you.

Conspicuous by Design

With a diversity of the visual aspects of the business represented, the website should be a clear showcase of the enterprise's values and prove to the customer that the company is interested in them. Your website is more than just a platform for your business; it is the way you would like your online intro to be perceived.

The Quick Development of Web Design in Tuticorin

The various activities carried out digitally in Tuticorin have and continue to make big strides forward. Apart from the city, the business community is trying its best to contact people from all across the globe. That being said, web designing is a major force behind these happenings.

A clever businessman understands that a good website provides ample opportunities to generate more leads, form a better brand, and a better chance to close a sale. What's more, you say that the knowledge of coding or tech is not a must.

Why do a Lot of People Prefer Azasoft Solutions?

Search for web designing in Tuticorin and you are sure to find a lot of names. But one name that is always visible is Azasoft Solutions. What is the reason for this? Because they keep it straightforward.

First they listen, then they design, and finally they provide only those services that your business needs – not just what looks cool.

Designing a website is not the only thing that Azasoft Solutions does. They are now able to build up the trust. Their team is focused on:

Creating a proper customer profile

Making designs that are not only clear and clean but also mobile-friendly

Developing business-centric features

Constantly being there for their customers even after the website goes live

With such a strategy, they have become one of the leading companies in web development and digital marketing not only in Tuticorin but also in many other cities beyond.

Steps to be Taken to Begin

Are you new to this? It’s okay if you are. The process is easy. Start your first step by speaking to companies like Azasoft. Share with them your business objectives. With that, they are now ready to help you make a plan that meets your time, budget, and brand.

A website serves as a virtual calling card, and it is your mouthpiece on the internet. If you have the right design and are provided with support, your business can not only grow but also become a trusted and recognized brand.

If you are ready to take the first step. Then start with discerning and straightforward web designing in Tuticorin. Moreover, if you are looking for a team that understands your vision and is ready to help you achieve a significant success in the digital world, then Azasoft Solutions is the right one.

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Wearable Camera Market: Future Trends in Healthcare, Personal Safety, and Content Creation Technologies

The wearable camera market has evolved significantly over the past decade, with innovations in technology, miniaturization, and consumer demand driving growth. From action cameras used in extreme sports to body cams for law enforcement and healthcare applications, wearable cameras are becoming a ubiquitous part of modern life. As we look ahead, several trends are poised to shape the future of this market. These trends are influenced by advancements in technology, changing consumer behaviors, and new applications across various industries.

1. Miniaturization and Enhanced Design

One of the most prominent trends in the wearable camera market is the continued miniaturization of devices. In the past, wearable cameras were bulky and required significant space to house lenses, processors, and batteries. However, thanks to advances in semiconductor technology, optical miniaturization, and battery design, wearable cameras are becoming smaller, lighter, and more discreet.

For example, companies like GoPro, Insta360, and DJI are continuously pushing the envelope with ultra-compact cameras that can easily be worn on a helmet, chest, or even attached to clothing without being intrusive. These miniaturized devices not only enhance user comfort but also increase the practicality of wearable cameras in a broader range of settings, from sports to everyday wear.

Future wearable cameras will likely become even more streamlined, potentially resembling small, lightweight accessories that seamlessly integrate into users' lives. As wearable cameras become less conspicuous, they may open up new markets for fashion and lifestyle products. Imagine a pair of smart glasses with an integrated camera, designed as both a stylish accessory and a functional tool for recording high-definition video.

2. Improved Image and Video Quality

As consumers demand higher-quality content, the ability to capture crystal-clear images and videos has become a key feature for wearable cameras. In the future, wearable cameras will incorporate advanced imaging technologies, such as higher resolution sensors, improved optical zoom, and enhanced low-light performance.

In particular, 4K and even 8K video recording capabilities will become standard in wearable cameras. Moreover, as virtual reality (VR) and augmented reality (AR) technologies continue to develop, wearable cameras will be equipped with 360-degree cameras and spatial audio features. This will allow users to capture immersive content that can be experienced in VR or AR environments, pushing the boundaries of traditional video recording.

Additionally, the rise of artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning will allow wearable cameras to automatically optimize settings for different environments, improving image stabilization, exposure, and focus without the need for manual adjustments. The integration of AI-powered editing tools might also allow consumers to create polished video content in real-time, enhancing user experience and expanding the applications of wearable cameras.

3. Wearable Cameras in Healthcare and Medical Applications

The healthcare sector is one of the most promising areas for wearable cameras, and this trend is expected to grow exponentially in the coming years. Wearable cameras are increasingly used by healthcare professionals to document medical procedures, assist with remote consultations, and support telemedicine.

For example, wearable cameras can be worn by doctors or nurses during surgeries to provide a first-person view for training, education, and diagnostics. Additionally, healthcare professionals can use wearable cameras to assist in telehealth, allowing patients to interact with doctors via video feeds from wearable devices. These applications are especially beneficial for patients in remote or underserved areas, enabling them to access healthcare services without needing to travel.

As healthcare becomes more personalized, wearable cameras could also be used for continuous monitoring of patients’ health conditions. For instance, cameras could be incorporated into wearable health devices, allowing for real-time video or image analysis of changes in a patient’s physical state, such as wounds or skin conditions. The integration of these devices with AI-powered analytics would further enhance their usefulness in diagnosing and managing medical conditions.

4. Integration with Smart Devices and IoT Ecosystem

As wearable cameras become more integrated into the Internet of Things (IoT) ecosystem, the market will see increased connectivity and automation. Wearable cameras will no longer function as standalone devices but will be part of a broader network of interconnected gadgets, all working in tandem to enhance user experiences.

For example, wearable cameras will increasingly integrate with smartwatches, smartphones, and other IoT devices. They may sync with cloud storage, allowing for seamless backup and access to footage from any device. The rise of 5G networks will also play a crucial role, enabling real-time sharing of footage in high definition without latency issues. This could be particularly useful for live-streaming events, security applications, and professional content creation.

In the future, wearable cameras may be able to connect with various IoT-enabled sensors, creating an ecosystem of data collection for users. These cameras could integrate with health monitors, smart home devices, or even smart clothing to provide a holistic view of an individual's environment and well-being.

5. Increased Demand for Wearable Cameras in Security and Law Enforcement

The market for wearable cameras in security and law enforcement is expected to grow as the demand for transparency and accountability in police activities increases. Body-worn cameras are becoming standard issue for many police departments around the world, offering a firsthand account of interactions between officers and the public. This trend will likely expand as governments and private organizations adopt wearable camera technology for a variety of security applications, from workplace surveillance to monitoring public spaces.

Additionally, wearable cameras are becoming important tools for personal security. With the rise of personal safety concerns, individuals are increasingly turning to wearable cameras as a way to protect themselves in potentially dangerous situations. The integration of AI and machine learning into these devices will enable real-time detection of threats and automatic recording, providing crucial evidence in case of incidents.

6. Social Media and Content Creation

The rise of influencer culture and the growing demand for user-generated content on platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok are driving the demand for portable, hands-free cameras. Wearable cameras are already used by content creators to capture action shots, document their daily lives, or produce vlogs without the need to hold a camera.

In the future, we can expect wearable cameras to evolve further to cater to this market. Expect to see cameras with advanced editing features, seamless integration with social media platforms, and enhanced functionality for live streaming. With innovations like 360-degree cameras and advanced stabilization, wearable cameras will allow content creators to produce high-quality content while remaining mobile and hands-free.

Conclusion

The future of the wearable camera market is bright, driven by technological advancements in miniaturization, imaging capabilities, and connectivity. As wearable cameras become smaller, more powerful, and better integrated into various ecosystems, they will continue to revolutionize industries ranging from healthcare and security to content creation and everyday life. With these innovations, wearable cameras will provide users with new ways to capture, share, and interact with the world around them.