#... at best most of the time but deep down would not want any true harm to come to him.

[seastarlily]

Random thought is random, but if Mr. Krabs acts as a father figure to SpongeBob (he outright states that SpongeBob is like a son to him multiple times), and Squidward acts as a younger brother figure to Mr. Krabs (not outright stated, but at least heavily implied with the fact that he's been Mr. Krabs's go-to babysitter for Pearl since she was an infant and the fact she canonically calls him "Uncle Squiddy"), then would that make Squidward and SpongeBob like uncle and nephew?🤔

(Not a shipping post - please don't tag ships of any kind)

[star-suh]

The Nastiest

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, reader is a sick pervert, dom top johnny, toxic relationship, enemies to fuck-enemies, knife play, “marking”, blowjob, pain kink(?), breeding, degradation, hair pulling, cum as lube, fingering, choking, dacryphilia.

an: this is in the same universe as this jaehyun mafia fic.

—

the city is dominated by many mafias but only two of them are the best of the best they're the most dangerous and respected by the other gangsters wannabes. in one of them there's a very skilled sick fuck pervert boy, he fucks anyone who passes in front of him… well except for one person, johnny suh.

he is part of the other mafia, a direct rival of the mafia yn belongs to, one thing about him is that he despises yn a lot. he has tried to kill him so many times but in the end he regrets it, arguing that “he does not deserves to be shot by one of his bullets”.

one day johnny was walking down the street when he heard whimpers in a dark alley, as if someone was getting beat up. yes, he was in the mafia but he is still a good person looking out for everyone's well-being, except yn's tho.

“hey what are you two doing” johnny pulled out a gun and pointed it at them, gesturing for them to leave, and they did. he turns around seeing how both guys were running and just when he was going to ask the other person if he was okay, the cold metal of a gun is placed right behind his head. "son of a bitch i was having fun", that voice... that familiar and disgusting voice… "it was you… if i had known, i would have let them kill you" johnny says it without any emotion on his face, hell, yn didn't even deserve his anger. "you say that but i know that deep down you want to do it" a twisted smile making its way onto his face, "you're right" in one smooth move johnny manages to take the gun from yn and hits him with his knee in the stomach leaving him lying on the ground trying to catch air "if you want me to kill you that bad, i’lll do it then” johnny points the gun at yn but sees that it still had the safety on, realizing that yn was only using it to threaten him and not to cause him any harm, but nevertheless he takes it off and is about to pull the trigger.

"wait" yn yells and proceeds to laugh and spit out some blood "didn't you say before that i don't deserve to be killed by one of your bullets?" to which johnny replies "the gun is not mine"; “before you kill me i have one last wish" yn crawls to where johnny is and then kneels, resting his face on top of johnny's bulge, acting as if he were a cat, rubbing his face on the crotch, feeling the heat of johnny's huge cock "i know you get hard in these situations, you're a fucking pervert you know" yn murmurs, "give me some of this and then you can kill me, i would die happily" johnny was disgusted, not because of how yn was acting but because of what he said, although he wished it wasn't true, it is, yn he knew him very well. “shut the fuck up bitch, last time i checked you're the pervert, a sick fuck who gets off on beating and killing people” johnny pushes yn to the ground again, “it’s unbelievable how you're on the verge of being killed but you still manage to think about cocks drilling into your used loose hole, the fuck is wrong with you”.

yn stands up, he turns around to leave but instead he throws himself at johnny and fight to take the gun from him, during the fight the gun falls a few centimeters away from them, yn tried to grab it but johnny was way stronger than him, the taller throws him against a wall, then pushes him against it and pulls out a knife putting it in his throat. “i'm so sick of that goddamn grin on your fucking face i'll have to cut it off”. when johnny made eye contact with yn he saw his red face and hooded eyes “you're face is like the one of a bitch in heat… wait… what the fuh...” johnny looks down watching his bulge rubbing against yn's ass, he then looks towards yn's watching how he was hard already, johnny laughs “that look on your face… i'm starting to think this is why you always want to fight with me.. because i'm the only one who knows how to treat you the way you like it, sick bastard”.

"fine… if you want me to destroy that used hole that bad, i’ll do it, maybe this way you can leave me alone” johnny finally gives in, despite everything he said before, he knew deep down he also wanted to fuck yn, it’s not a secret for everyone that yn is hot but his freaky personality is what makes everyone go away from him, but guess he has finally found someone who matches it.

“go rougher” yn pleads in a soft voice.

the taller one pulls out some zip ties to tie yn's wrist behind his back, “this is your last chance kinky bitch, just say this was all a joke and run”. yn didn't say anything. “on your knees. now”.

johnny pull out his big dick “suck it like the good slut you are” yn hesitated “what? why are you acting shy now?” johnny grabs it and put it to rest on top of yn’s face “open up, it's not gonna suck itself”.

little moans escaped johnny's mouth, yn knows how to use his mouth after all, “i wonder how many dicks have you sucked to know how to do it properly.. fuck.. you're so disgusting” yn was about to stop to talk back but johnny didn't let him and started to mouthfuck him “your throat is such a good fleshlight” he forces yn to deepthroat him, causing a bulge to form there. johnny grunts, pulling the other's hair so he can go deeper. “ooh hahaha your little friend here seems to like this, you're like a pain slut” johnny uses his foot to massage yn's bulge “do you jerk off after every fight we had?” johnny mocks loving how he can say anything without yn talking back at him, “this is a good use for your mouth” he murmurs.

sloppy wet noises coming from yn's mouth filled the dark alley. “look at you gagging on my cock, who would've thought that my neat would be enough to have you under my power”. yn just nods, all he wanted was finally becoming real, the johnny fucking suh is emptying his balls down his throat, something that might be considered a privilege knowing that johnny was known to be someone who doesn't have sex a lot and with anyone that crosses his path, despite having a lot of people lined behind him.

johnny pulls out and came on yn's face, grunting obscenities, “this is so humiliating for you, the cocky bastard yn covered in cum like a useless alley whore” he says in between pants, “maybe if i leave you here someone would find you and have some fun too, bet you would like that”.

“shut your ass up and fu-” a slap interrupts yn, “alley whores don't demand shit, they just accept what they're given, you deserve a punishment”.

johnny uses his knife to make a small cut on yn's cheek “it fucking hurts” yn whimpers. “that's the point dumb bitch, this way you would be reminded who owns you everytime you see yourself in the mirror”. yn was impressed to say the less, he knew johnny was freaky but not that freaky.

a wet spot formed in yn's black pants he tried to hide it but johnny noticed it, “did you just came just for me face fucking you? you're pathetic”...

“get up, i'm not done with you”; “i can't i feel weak, asshole” yn replies, “you're such a loser” johnny blurted out.

johnny pushed yn against the wall again, unzip his pants under and pulled it out along with his underwear, then scooped all the cum in his face to use it as lube, he smeared it in his dick and yn's hole, fingering it a little before putting all his dick inside “i'm gonna fuck you so hard you're not gonna be able to sit for the next week”. he put the tip first and then rammed himself inside, all at once, drawing a loud moan out of yn's mouth. “... fucking tight” johnny keeps pounding, his left hand leaving marks on yn's hip while the other was on his neck choking him. yn was starting to being loud, he was not being able to bear with johnny's powerful thrusts “shut up or i'll slam your head against the wall”; “n-no… no” yn manage to say, “what was that? i thought you were a tough guy ynnie?” the top once again mocks him. the feeling was so unbearable for yn that tears formed in his eyes and started to roll down his face, seeing this makes johnny so horny that he licked them from the other's face, then cupped the bottom's head with his right hand and turn him so they can make eye contact “you're being such a good sex toy, you're not that useless after all” then he kissed him.

right when johnny kissed him yn came hands free, “every time you touch yourself i want you to remember how i fucked you in an alley next to a dumpster like the piece of shit you are” johnny pounds faster “remember who beat you and broke you, now you would think twice after picking a fucking fight with me, you hear me?” after this johnny came inside, his moans were like the ones of a beast, damn he hasn't emptied his balls inside someone for ages. he pulled out and yn just slid down the wall, too weak to stand up.

“you look fucked up and disgusting, the freaky, tough guy ynnie just got obliterated by some cock" he laughs "… imagine if everyone knows about this… stay away from me and keep my name out of your filthy mouth” johnny got ready to go and leave yn there but he saw his face, that was still bleeding for the cut with some traces of seeat and cum, he looked so vulnerable a part he has never seen on him but he goes anyway.

yn was lost, he just got what he wanted but he was too tired to even celebrate it so he just smiled weakly and then fell asleep…

yn woke up in an unfamiliar room, it was a hotel room he got up and went to the bathroom, in the mirror there he saw he was already clean and the cut on his cheek was bandaged already he also took time to appreciate johnny’s marks scattered all over his body, smiling like a psycho when touching every single one of them. but yn doesn't remember how he ended up in a hotel room until he sees a card on the nightstand near the bed that reads *you owe me the money i wasted paying for your hotel room, bitch* it was from johnny. yn saves the card in his pocket murmuring a little “asshole” while leaving the room.

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter reader (platonic)

Reader can either be read as the child of Laenor, Daemon, Criston Harwin or other

-As her only daughter you are especially cherished. The moment they place you on her chest she instantly, unconditionally loves you. While she does not have favorites, you are cherished.

It was with one last agonizing push that Rhaenyras only daughter came screaming into the world. "A daughter, your Grace!" With trembling arms Rhaenyra took her daughter from the midwife. Y/n Velarion's e/c eyes opened and Rhaenyra instantly fell in love. Secretly, she had always harbored hopes of having a girl. She knew the realm prayed for a son, but deep inside Rhaenyra yearned for a girl. A daughter to love and cherish and protect her from all that she herself had suffered.

-You are absolutely doted on my your mother. She makes sure you have the best of everything. She loves to order sweets brought from all over and give them to you in elaborately decorated boxes. She has you all decked out in red and black clothing. Rhaenyra likes to do your hair and make elaborate hairdos. Whether for a special occasion or any normal day she takes great pleasure in showing off how pretty you are!

Y/n squealed in delight as Rhaenyra pulled out a box. Knowing that it held some kind of delight behind its wooden covering you wasted no time in hastily opening it. Tiny hands seized the sugar covered fruits from Dorne. The mother giggled as with great enthusiasm Y/n chomped away at them. "Remember to share them with your brothers!" Rhaenyra called out to her daughters. "Gods I love her." Rhaenyra thought.

-Because of the political situation you are heavily guarded. Your friends/ladies in waiting are carefully picked amongst Rhaenyra's closest allies. From the time you are old enough to walk she hires a personal guard to follow wherever you go. This is especially true if Otto, Alicent or Criston Cole are near. Unlike with her sons I don't see Rhaenyra letting you near your uncles. Partly because it would be seen as inappropriate but also for safety sakes.

-Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, eldest child of Viserys and heir to the throne, ran in great haste down the hall. She payed no heed to the sudden stairs of people. Most of the time she would care, but not now. Not when she noticed her brother Aemond speaking with her baby girl under the Weirwood tree. She did not know his intentions and frankly, did not care. None of Otto Hightowers grandchildren would be in any position to harm her daughter. "Y/n." Rhaenyra hurried down the path to see two children quite peacefully reading a book. Aemond was the first to look up and scowled. Rhaenyra didn't like it. Even something as innocent as this could insight trouble. Gods know Otto might even consider marrying the two if he could get away with it. A perfect way to tether the Princess of Westeros to himself forever. She would never let that happen.

-Obviously you will have a dragon from day one, if there isn't an egg already placed in the cradle. She will likely want you to have a new one rather than an older one. This is mainly because she worries an older one might be too aggressive and large for tiny you to manage. Of course she will take you for flight on Syrax, high in the sky. She uses these times to bond, even going on short daytrips for fun.

If she gives you an egg:

Rhaenyra cradles the large opaque egg in her hands. It was a good size, this dragon would be healthy. It was placed right beside the infant who was roused to the waking world. Her large e/c eyes focused on the egg with such intensity that Rhaenyra could hardly believe it. Her fingers brushed against the thin hairs that had just started to sprout up. Her little Targaryen.

If you claim your own dragon:

She would have preferred Dreamfyre. That dragon was so gentle and lovely, a perfect fir for her gentle daughter. Not fucking Tessarion. Anxiously Rhaenyra waited as Y/n advanced forward. The dragon keepers were on standby. But if Tessarion became volatile then......... The great dragon moved its head. The Valyrian coming out of Y/n's trembling mouth would barely be heard over the beasts rumbling. Horrified, Rhaenyra moved to intercede. But suddenly the dragon lowered its head and Y/n's hand placed itself on its snout. "Look mom! I'm a dragonrider!"

Riding a dragon with her daughter:

At five years old Y/n mounted a dragon for the first of many times. Rhaenyra had been hesitant. Normally Targaryen's took their children on a flight during babyhood. But in her anxiety Rhaenyra waited until her daughter was slightly older. She had a small harness made for the baby and herself. Part of Rhaenyra didn't want to stay on the ground, but Y/n was a Targaryen, a Valyrian ancestry going back thousands of years. The dragons wings expanded and in a great bounding leap Syrax was in the air. Y/n's small form was shaking and Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around her. They stabilized once above the clouds. Y/n finally had calmed down. Soon, she was giggling and enjoying the height. Rhaenyra smiled.

-When it comes to betrothals Rhaenyra will wait until you are grown before any of that comes to fruition. Like her father she will let you chose. That is, up until the events of episode 7 where Vaemond makes his bid for Driftmark. Even though she will not be aggressive about it, your attention will be directed to Cregan Stark. Of course you will get the talk, and what to expect during pregnancy/childbirth. Your also likely to get a new wardrobe. This is even more expected if where your moving to (think Winterfell and Dorne) has a drastic change in weather compared to Kingslanding/Driftmark. If you do end up married then she will make frequent visits to where you live.

Everyone bellow was mingling during the Red Keeps most recent party. Everyone except for Rhaenyra and Y/n. Mother and daughter observed the happenings bellow, talking in low voices. "Have you met anyone who appeals from you?" Rhaenyra closely watched her daughters expression. Y/n's eyes skimmed the handful of eligible bachelors that a Princess of the realm could take. "Hmmmm. Uncle Aemond is looking rather appealing these days." Y/n jested. Rhaenyra snorted. None of Otto's grandchildren would ever taken her daughter to wife. Only last week Alicent had requested a possible betrothal between their two children. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, that would only happen over her dead body. "Who is that?" Rhaenyra's eyes lit up. Now this was a much better match. "That is Cregan Stark."

Extra

What is your fathers relationship with you (excluding non cannon father)

Harwin Strong:

Like with his sons he is very close with you. Your his only daughter and so he is very protective. He will hold you as a baby and try to be there for everything. First words, steps and your progression into adulthood. He likes to carry you on his back during his time off. Even though you are a girl you will likely be taught to fight if you so chose. Although that will be in secret. I think that as the daughter of Rhaenyra and Harwin you will feel like you all are a great big family.

Leanor Velarion:

Your his only biological child. Because of this the family dynamic will change, with Laenor being far more involved with his family.1* Rhaenyra and Rhaenys will push hard for him to be a good father, the best he can be. Its a rocky start. But he gets better and does his best. Your time together is usually one on one with Laenor. Stuff like taking you on dragonrides and going to Driftmark.

Criston Cole:

This one is a doozy because he can't be sure until you are older that your his (given that Rhaenyra's likely got involved with Harwin shortly after marriage). But once he finds out....wow. Because as much as he loathes Rhaenyra he can't bring himself to hate the daughter. He will, very subtly, try to ingratiate himself to you. This will be sneaky and behind Rhaenyra's back. Of course Alicent will get wind of this making Otto aware. He will absolutely try to use this to his advantage. This of course puts Criston in a very difficult position.

Daemon Targaryen:

This pregnancy takes place shortly before the marriage to Laenor, meaning Rhaenyra was pregnant although very early on. I have a feeling Daemon might not even know the baby is his, thinking it is Harwin Strong's. So he as nothing to do with you until the funeral of his second wife. It was there that Rhaenyra reveals he has another daughter. The reason he was not informed earlier is because she was worried someone might get ahold of the note and Daemon was in Pentos all this time. This revelation will be surprised. When your parents marry he will take an interest in your education. You are expected to be an example of pure Valyrian, perfecting Valyrian and being a dragon writer. The two of you will sometimes read together and he likes to tell stories of his adventures.

Note: I'm gonna make one for Alicent and maybe Aemond. If you guys want me to make any more of these then please feel free to requested☺

[cameronspecial]

I wanted to ask if you could write something with rafe where reader does selfharm and he finds out? Maybe with a soft version of rafe

Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SELF-HARM and Talks of DEPRESSION (Please don't read if these are a trigger).

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: If you or anyone you know are experiencing depression, then please know you are not alone and there are people who can help. The internet has information on the best places for you to go to in your country. Not tagging anyone just in case this is a trigger for anyone on my tag list.

Masterlist

It isn’t for attention. That is one assumption most people make whenever they see the scars. It’s the reason why she hides them on her hips. She doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing it because no one sees her naked, not even her boyfriend. The only times the marks see the light of day are when she changes or showers. She makes sure the cuts made can be hidden by her underwear and any panties or bikini bottoms she buys need to pass that test as well. 

No matter how wrong she knows it is, she can’t help but hold the cold sharp blade against the tough skin. It is resting on top of a barely healing scar because she has no other place for it. Her breath hitches as she pulls the Exacto knife across her, going a little farther than the mark already made. Tears are running down her face. Her eyes blur as she repeats the motion below the blooming red line. Her breath is uneven and hitches every time the metal touches her skin. In some sick way, the pain gives her a small relief. It gives her a reason.

Most people wonder why someone would cause harm to themselves. They would guess that the despair is caused by a lack of food, shelter, money, clothes or love. However, Y/N doesn’t have that issue. How could she when she is a kook? No, she has never felt hunger or fear and that is the cause of the turmoil inside of her head. Nonetheless, ever since she entered teenhood, she would experience these months-long periods of extreme sadness. She would do her best to hide them from everyone by pushing herself to get out of bed and go to activities that she would normally enjoy. She would make sure to cry when no one else was at home and to track her family members’ phones to verify she was alone. It was a secret she kept so deep within her that she started to question why she felt this way. That is when the true problems began. She felt guilty for feeling this despair without a reason and it was furthered by the secrets she had to keep, so she began to self-harm as her reason. In her brain, partly because of what society has told her, she needed a reason for why she was melancholy because there are people in the world who were dealt much tougher times in life. 

So, that is how she finds herself standing in front of the mirror, holding down the right side of her underwear and dragging an Exacto knife along her skin. She has fallen into one of her episodes and this time, it is the worst one to date. She has never pressed so hard into her skin with the blade. It has never bled this much. She curses as the blood begins to seep into the cotton of her underwear. Her attention is on stopping the red from staining her clothes, so she doesn’t hear the front door open. 

Rafe whistles whilst he uses his copy of the key to open Y/N’s front door. People thought it was too early when they exchanged house keys after only six months of dating. They didn’t though. It felt like the next step when she told him that she was saving herself for marriage. They found a different way to reach a new level of intimacy and it worked for them. Her house is eerily quiet and dark. Normally, she keeps the hallway lights on when she is home and if she is watching TV/listening to music, it is so loud that it could make a deaf person hear. He doesn’t let the lack of normality stop him from making his way to her bedroom, thinking nothing that her door is closed. He uses the doorknob to push it open and he is surprised to see her standing in front of the mirror with her hands pressing against her hip. It takes him a second to process that blood stains her hand. His shock turns to worry as he rushes to her side. He trips over something in his attempt to get to her and looks down to see a bloody Exacto knife, like the kind she uses to cut things for her art. He kicks it away and removes her hand from her side. He curses at the amount of blood. This needs stitches. 

“My love, what happened?” he asks, hoping the theory he has isn’t true. He sees the tears running down her face and the way her mouth opens and closes. She has no idea how to answer. The hiccups of her crying make it even harder. Instead of waiting for an answer, Rafe washes his hands and gets the first aid kit in her bathroom. He uses the bandage wrap inside it to catch the blood, instructing her to use it to apply pressure whilst he guides her to his car. The drive to the hospital is silent. 

———

Y/N told the medical practitioner the truth as to how she got the cuts and scars. She couldn’t lie with Rafe in the room. He had offered to step out, except she asked him to stay. She was tired of lying. It only added to her exhaustion. Y/N didn’t have to say much before the doctor excused herself to get a hospital psychiatrist. Rafe said nothing as she described the anguish she felt. He felt a sharp stab to his heart at every word she said, criticizing himself for not seeing the mental pain his girlfriend was in. 

With the doctor gone, he speaks up. “Is there anything I can do right now that can help you feel more comfortable?” She appreciates that he doesn’t assume that there is an easy fix to this or that at the moment there is something quick he can do to make her feel better. His focus on her comfort causes a flutter in her stomach. She nods, “Can you just hold me?” He joins her on the hospital bed and pulls her to his side. The buzz of the lights is the sole thing that can be heard for a while. “This isn’t your fault,” she clarifies, concerned that he might think it. He kisses her temple, “I know. Thank you for trusting me enough to be in the room when you told the doctor what happened. This isn’t your fault either and you are so brave for asking for help. If you want, I will be here to help you every step of the way.” A different kind of relief comes over her. She feels a glimmer of hope that she doesn’t have to do this alone. “I want you here,” she whispers, pressing her face into his side. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Why You Shouldn't Care About Theme (as a writer)

"Theme" is another word like "worldbuilding" and "plot hole" that writers put way too much stock into without clear definition. It's often thought to be one of the most important things in your story, one of the defining traits of creative writing, but it can be hard to pin down, and some pervasive definitions are actively harmful to the writing process. Let's talk about that.

A common misconception about theme is that it's the story's "message." Under this definition, a theme of The Great Gatsby would be that generation wealth is a hollow substitute for genuine human enrichment, love, etc. A theme of Hamlet would be to not kill yourself. But this idea of a book's message misses the point of why we read at all. Reading is a relationship between the author and the reader; to interpret text, the author puts their experiences in writing, and you bring your experiences to its reading. In other words, you as the reader create meaning from a story. You give the story its messages. The author's only purpose is to transcribe their worldview and experiences, and the best authors can sway the empathy of the reader towards those experiences. Anything greater than this, any book that moralizes, preaches, dictates, is gaudy, emotional propaganda. Imagine a novel where throughout the book, the author is telling you about the toxic environmental effects of unwalkable cities. While true, narrative fiction is a realm of characters and story, not essays. Readers pull meaning from a novel because they think and feel about a character's struggle and relate it to their own. So a message about The Great Gatsby is that generation wealth is hollow because we as readers live in an age of unprecedented wealth disparity; a message about Hamlet is to not kill yourself because we as readers have felt pretty down in the dumps sometimes and have maybe thought about suicide. But our experiences could be different: if we're generationally wealthy, we might read Gatsby as a celebration; if we have an awful stepfather, we might read Hamlet first as a story of revenge than of introspection. Strong authors make you sympathize with the experiences they've gone through--Fitzgerald himself was a wealthy, popular man and saw firsthand the effects of wealth, and Shakespeare probably felt rough around the emotional edges at times--but ultimately, deciding a text's "messages" is up to the reader.

So if we can't control the messages of our writing, what is theme? I like to think of it as "whatever a text is about," and that about word carries some ambiguity. Is Gatsby about money? Yes, but there's more to that. You can think right now about a plot element your WIP is about, but as authors, we want to find that greater depth. That's what we call theme.

Common writing advice tells you to plot out your theme, that greater depth, before drafting the novel. Figure out that Gatsby is a story about generational wealth being a hollow substitute for romance before anything else. But when you think about it, this is crazy advice. Themes like this can only come from our characters and how they interact with the world, and how our characters act is always going to stray in some way away from our plans for them. Writing that deeper theme, then, is impossible to plan (unless you're the most extreme plotter and have found success like that, then keep doing what you're doing. But you reading this almost certainly are not in that camp, let's be honest). So how do we get there?

Before you start drafting, think about the surface-level "abouts." Don't go deep yet. Just think about what's pressing on your mind. If you want to take a very slight moralistic bent here, do so, but be sure not to go into specifics (that's for the characters to do). For my first novel, I wanted to write about friendship responsibilities, family responsibilities, and friendship; for my second novel, church camp, romance, and evangelical culture; for my current novel, the role of story in culture, honor, familial trauma, and cultural perceptions of gender. Some of these took on moral detail--evangelical culture is bad--but most didn't. As you're writing, your characters will discover that deeper meaning. Again, your characters have to and will by nature of being part of the narrative. Your readers interact with the story, not with you.

In my first novel, I came to the thematic conclusion that too many responsibilities degrade individual identity, but too few leave someone empty; in the second novel, I concluded that evangelical culture places restrictive boxes on what romance looks like, and on how to interact with and resolve traumatic events. But I didn't come up with these--my characters did, and I learned from them in the exact same way any reader would. Similarly, a reader might interact with my characters and come to completely different conclusions. This is normal, okay, and encouraged.

You may also find other themes popping up as you write. In my second novel, popularity and social capital became a huge cog in the machine. Let these fresh themes surprise you, and run with them.

Ultimately, you can't control what your readers take away from your story. Your goal as a writer is to create characters so rich and deep and intimate (not in the romantic sense, unless you're into that) that the reader can bring their experiences to the text and find meaning. We cannot worry about this before starting a writing project, because we can't control it, and thinking too much about it will muddy the waters of what actually matters, what we can affect. And when you start to sense those deeper meanings emerging in your story, run with them, flesh them out, and embody them in the struggles of characters.

[nomoreusername]

Not Proud

⚠️ Self harm ⚠️

Pairing:Newt x female reader

Summary:As you're ready to give in again and cut, Newt catches and comforts you.

Requested by @newts-limp

I wasn't proud of it. Not in the slightest bit. If anything, I was ashamed, but I didn't know how to stop. There's just something about the blade that seems to call to me, telling me that it was the only thing that would ever understand me.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’m so addicted to this thing that it truly is the only thing that matters. Maybe it's the only thing that can take the pain away. If I focus on this pain I don't have to think about the other kind. The kind on the inside that makes me want to close my eyes and not wake up.

I’m not suicidal. I don't think so, but I wouldn't exactly mind if something happened to me. I just don't have it in me to care anymore. I don't have it in me to have hope that anything good will happen soon or at all. Getting out and being actually happy and meeting other girls all feels like some dream that I’ll never get to reach.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as I held it over my waist. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't good for me. It wasn't a solution, but I had to. I needed to do this. I had already gone a week without it, and if I didn't cut soon I was going to go crazy. I was going to lose it. I was going to do something worse than even this.

They itch. The cuts itch the most when they're healing so I just won't let them heal. It's as simple as that. Just like it's so simple to drag a blade across my stomach until I don't want to die.

I was desperate. I was really, really desperate.

I know it's wrong. I know it's an addiction, but I won't quit. I can't, but I don't need to. This isn't going to kill me. This isn't hurting anyone, and it's like I have something to fill the void inside of me. It's fine. It's fine, it's fine, it’s fine.

Taking a breath, as I went to do it my hut door opened. Frozen in disbelief, I stared at Newt who stared at me, holding my shirt up and placing a razor on my stomach. That also meant fresh cuts and old scars were on display, revealing to him just how messed up I actually am. Even though I was the best at hiding it, there was no way to brush this off.

“Hi,”I got out, managing to put my shirt down. Then, before either of us could say another word, I broke down. As I was shaking I heard my razor clank to the floor, gravity taking my biggest curse and worst blessing. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I kept mumbling incoherent apologies.

“It’s okay. It's okay, love. It's okay,”He said quickly, shutting my door and sitting beside me. Shaking my head, I kept wiping my eyes just for more tears to follow.

“It's okay. It’s okay. You're alright,”He repeated. As I buried my face in the crook of his neck the lump in my throat, along with the guilt in my stomach, seemed to get worse as he rubbed my back.

“I’m sorry,”I repeated.

“It's going to be okay. I promise. It’s all going to be fine,”He soothed. With my harsh sobs turning to sniffles, I kept my eyes close as I clung to him. Not even about to speak, I essentially shut down. While this usually happened when I was done feeding my mind and body's demand for pain, I was just so drained from it all. Knowing I had been caught was surreal, but I also knew that some things would probably change. Things I probably didn't want.

“Y/N, let's go to sleep?”He suggested. Not seeing the point in saying no, I nodded my head. I mean it wasn't like I was going to be getting any words out anytime soon. It wasn't like I even wanted to.

Laying down, I kept my head in his neck. With his arm still around me, he traced hearts on my skin, making sure his hands didn't touch my waist.

“I do love you. I will always love you. Nothing anyone says or does, even you, could ever make me stop,”He whispered. Keeping my eyes shut, I took a breath as I accepted that right now was the most peaceful I had felt in a long, long time.

I could never bear to lose him. Ever, ever.

But if I do in the future, I have him right now. He’s with me, and that has to be enough to make everything just a little less terrible.

[nexomy]

A quirk of the dynamic John-Sherlock-Mycroft that I particularly appreciate toying with in my rewrite, is that they play out like a game of Rock-Paper-Scissor.

The story of John and Sherlock, fundamentally, is about the relationship between the two men. They ADORE one another. But, at least at first, John doesn't really see Sherlock as... Well, human. An equal. Sherlock doesn't, either, but in the other direction. John has this first impression of Sherlock as a great genius, nearly a God amongst men. He's above feelings, above mistakes. He could fix just about any problem if he so-chose. Now, with that said, one could argue that John should therefore hold Holmes to a higher standard of behaviour, but to John, living with this tall child is a necessary cost of watching the God up close. That all fades away, with time. Sherlock begins seeing him as his equal (more than past S3 imo) instead of his little pet to do his bidding, pretty quickly in fact, but John takes a bit more time to stop worshipping Sherlock. I don't think he ever truly does. Sherlock is just so sharp, John feels his very purpose was to write about it. Socrates and Plato. The Scissors and the Paper.

Now Sherlock, on the other hand, worships only his own mind, or so he would like us to believe. And since the narrative is from John's perspective in most iterations, we tend to fall for it, at least at first. Then, inevitably, Mycroft is introduced. A man so smart Sherlock feels like a fool in comparison. And not just any fool, either. Mycroft is stern, calm, cold, and calculated. He's all that Sherlock could be, if it weren't for those damn emotions of his! But Mycroft is above all that. Mycroft is perfect. Mycroft. Is. God. You've heard of little siblings idolizing their elders, but that's to a whole other level with the Holmes brothers. Sherlock cannot even look at Mycroft without feeling like Lucifer, cast out of Heaven, replaced by this perfect angel beyond his own comprehension. It drives him mad, he just wants to cut him where it hurts, bring him down a notch, but it's pointless. Mycroft is too solid. He takes it all without as much as a glare. The Scissors and the Rock.

That's all well and good, you might say, this little cycle of worship and awe and "how can you be human", but it seems we've reached the end. Mycroft doesn't respect anyone's intelligence as much as his own, and CERTAINLY doesn't worship anyone!... Except... Think about it. All his life, or rather, Sherlock's, Mycroft has had but one goal (especially true in my version); to protect his little brother. From the rest of the world, certes, but mostly from himself. Deep down, Mycroft knows Sherlock is brilliant, perhaps even close to on par with him. But he lacks any sense of self-preservation or impulse control, whatsoever. Do you KNOW how terrifying it is, to care for a genius child with volatile emotions and no fear of God? Mycroft had to put it in him, he just had no choice, you see. Sure, getting his little brother to view him as an all-powerful, all-seeing, all-controlling figure might not have been the best move for their relationship. But Mycroft would sacrifice anything for Sherlock's safety, even his image in the mind of he who matters most. So you can imagine how FRUSTRATING Sherlock's insistence at risking his life for a daily thrill can get! And don't get Mycroft started on his eating habits, or his drug usage, and God damn does he even sleep enough– Until he meets John. Until Sherlock meets John, that is. And suddenly, his little brother is four, five, six months sober. For the first time since he began using. And suddenly, Sherlock isn't taking as many risks when working his little puzzles, doesn't want harm to come to Watson, so he says. And suddenly, Sherlock looks healthier, happier... Safer. After a lifetime of seeking this outcome, Mycroft still hadn't achieved it. And this man, this doctor, this... John managed the impossible in a matter of weeks. How could Mycroft NOT worship him, a little? He doesn't always agree with his approach, of course. He finds John too soft on Sherlock, too pliable. A mind so sharp requires cold, hard discipline! And yet, Sherlock always opts to obey John instead of his brother. And eventually, so does Mycroft. Sure, he still tries to argue from time to time, but in the end, when it comes to taking care of Sherlock, what John says goes. And anyone who knows anything about Mycroft knows just how divine that is. The Paper beats Rock.

For those of you wondering where Lestrade fits in all this, I guess he'd be like, a hammer? The main difference to me between Mystrade and Johnlock, is that Lestrade doesn't start out worshiping Mycroft, quiiiite the opposite. So the hammer breaks rock, can also rip the paper, but I suppose the scissors can... Cut... The handle?? I don't know. Lestrade is weird. He really shifts the dynamic between those three, because he admires Sherlock as much as John does, but he also sees him as just a kid, kind of like Mycroft does. And then Mycroft is impressed Greg got so much respect from the other two, and is a bit jelly if we're honest, but like... He doesn't exactly fear him the way he low-key fears John (especially after S2E4, in my version. God I can't wait to publish this shit!). And John is simultaneously like "whoa, you knew him before, and he actually listens to you (because John doesn't even realize the power he holds)?" and like "damn, you knew him before, and in all that time you didn't recognize how transcendantly amazing he is? Smh 🙄". And those are two very contradicting positions.

I think it shows Greg is one of the characters I changed the most for this. That's because he's way more important to the overarching plot, and he actually ~has an arc~, so.

[dannyboy-writes]

Of thrones and dragons

Daenerys x male Dragonrider reader who's from ulthos? I will probably make a part to of this who knows

Ser Jorah had told Daenerys tales of Ulthos’ weather. The thick jungle.

Trees taller than she had ever seen and the murmur of wild creatures bristling her skin. 

Countless thoughts running through her mind. But one most present. She should’ve brought Drogon with her.

Click.

A broken branch? A booby trap? Or something else?

“Nobody move,” she whispered, raising an eyebrow at Greyworm.

A bright orange ray shone above them. Almost like sunlight.

Definitely warmer.

“Maybe he wasn’t a myth,” Missandei spoke softly.

Suddenly the beast dropped in front of them, with the Unsullied unpacking their spears, and Daenerys tensing all her muscles. Bracing herself.

Dark green scales covered the entirety of your dragon. His face stoic and with gritted sharp teeth. 

He was breathing slowly, Daenerys noticed. Calm, deep breaths.

But his eyes were focused on her. 

And not only his’, she realised. 

You dismounted softly from your beast, ignoring completely the army in front of you. Their spears were sharp and in your direction. 

Every soldier was looking at you more menacingly than the last.

Your eyes however, were focused on her.

Long, pale hair, with braids as long as her waist. Falling completely over her back.

Her eyes were inviting, but there was a tint of worry. Of uncertainty.

You shifted your eyes towards your beast, caressing his side slowly until he calmed with you.

“Are you y/n?” She asked.

Quickly your eyebrow raised in your forehead. “Who are you?”

“I’m Daenerys, of house Targaryen. Blood of Old Valyria.”

“And what brings you to the wilds, your majesty,” you mocked.

“I’ve been searching for you for some time. I was starting to believe you were a myth.” She stopped. “Or a ghost.”

“Ah,” you smiled. “And what’s to say I’m not.

“Terrible dangers lie in this land. Untamed beasts and whatmore.” You grinned.

“And tamed ones?” 

“Oh, yes, those tend to be the worst. But don’t worry, Wildfire here won’t do you any harm,” you smiled, patting your beast. “Nor will I.” 

She smiled and called down her army. “I am in search of a dragon rider, some people called him the best and mightiest of them all. I’ve heard tales of the riders of Uthos.”

“Oh, did you? What did you hear if you may?”

“I heard the forests of Uthos had beasts so swift that their scales blended in with the greenery. And their riders had unmatched skills. Like nothing ever seen in the entire world.”

“Yes, that is true. And why would you need a dragon rider with unmatched skills.” You asked, “Blood of old Valyria you said, you’re supposed to have dragons as well. Although your kind faded with time, I assume the dragons remained.” 

“Sadly, no.”

“Whoever told you that is a liar, and you a fool for believing them. Dragons will outlive us all. Just as we outlive birds, and them ants. It’s the way of the world.”

Her face went stoic. “Will you help me in my quest to conquer Westeros, y/n?” She inquired.

You laughed, “Why would I, I don’t give a damn about Westeros. I don’t even know you, for all that.”

“You could have a throne,” she offered.

“I have a throne, or do you see me taking you to speak with someone about this? Why would I want another one? And one so distasteful.” You grabbed a stone from the ground throwing it lazily, “Why do you?” 

[skateboard-of-sickness]

Neverafter

“Because you were lied to does not mean that everything was a lie. Do not take the crimes of those who have manipulated us and put them at the feet of the world." -Cinderella

“The real friends, the ones that make miracles happen, the ones greater than any treasure you could find on any adventure, they see the wolf in you and love it too.” -Grandma 

“Purpose, true purpose is always down the scarier path through the darker part of the forest.”-Grandma 

"You are seeing something you absolutely should not see, the face of a divinity you do not worship, the smile of a devil you never believed in." -DM Brennan

“The face moves as though no expression of contempt can satisfy it.” -Brennan

“Real? I don’t give a shit. I don’t come from a nice story. I believe in you, and I believe in me, and I think we’re just real enough.” -Scheherazade 

“The thing that’s approaching you, It’s not as vast as what you perceived in the ink, but it’s closer to that than it is to you. And the problem with this thing is that unlike the things in the ink, it’s getting bigger, and it’s getting angrier. And it knows you.” -Brennan

“As the Gander and Goose have their powers within the realms of the Neverafter, times of shadow, times of plenty, the wolf is death which is endings. Which in a land of stories endings are perhaps the most important thing.” -The Fairy with the Turquoise Hair

“I met death, and death wants me to live! I don’t want to go back to my other story where I listen to my fucking elders!” -Ylfa 

“Gerard has already lived his story, and what happens after happily ever after is that more things happen, or I’m just going to be a two dimensional piece of paper.” -Gerard 

“Do you think that you found true love, or do you think you just found the first person that could turn you back into a prince?”-Rosamund

“Don’t learn lessons from my torment.” -The Gander

“Sometimes when you feel like your whole point is to be a helper, you just have to help at any cost, and that’s pretty unhelpful. Sometimes I didn’t have a good answer, and I should have just said that, and I’ll do better to just tell you when I don’t know.” -Cricket

 “You don’t get beginnings without endings, okay?” -Ylfa

“Some things simply are, and in time, all things will end. But if you fear that you have made a pact with something that cannot live within your heart, then what comfort i can offer is this. In no corner of the long ages of all the worlds that i have walked, have I ever for one moment felt the desire to devour everything.” -Big Bad Wolf

“Sometimes things are too late to be rewritten or undone, but there are more blank pages ahead of us, Little Red.” -Big Bad Wolf

“There is no story you can begin without making the promise of its ending, and only strange and very dangerous things try to make a story that never ends.” -Big Bad Wolf

“It is a deep and unsettling dread when you realize that you can, by taking charge, cause harm. It is an even deeper dread when you realize that in taking charge, you will cause harm. You will not make every perfect choice, and the fear that you will make some choice that does some wrong within the world is exactly what your enemies are hoping will stop you. So, we do as best as we can to do as good as we can, but not to let the Neverafter fall into the fate that the faeries intend for it.” -Snow White

“I think the story that’s happening now, I’ve come to learn, will maybe lead to something better. Because you’re right stories don’t just end.” -Gerard

“I don’t think you get love just by deserving it.” -Rosamund

“Everyone you ever knew who told you they would keep you safe as long as you behaved was already hurting you.” -La Bete

“All the finery in the world, is just a mask…” -La Bete

“Live your life without apology, little girl. It is never wrong to tell the truth about what you are.” -La Bete

“It’s never too late to decide who you want to be.” -Tom Thumb

“How convenient that in the moment of learning the lesson, you no longer need to have learned it.” -Brennan

“Because either all the bad things that happened to you were random, just chaos, hundreds and millions of choices of other people that just have nothing to do with you and your own story, or all the bad things that happened to you were destined to happen.” -Cinderella

[stressed-depressed-andobsessed]

Snippet I had to evict from my brain

"You are not to protect me for the rest of the day. You will leave me and find an activity that will occupy your time that does not involve chivalry." The King turned to leave, pausing for a second to throw in one last thing over his shoulder, " It will do you some good to be away from my side."

He grabbed his wheels, rolling himself down the hall, but stopped by the sound of fast stomping coming towards him from behind. He stiffened under the feeling of cold metal digging into his arm.

He looked up and caught the mirrored expression of surprise accompanied by a slight bit of horror in his Knight's face. Their eyes met before both dipping down to look at the metallically gloved hand that gripped his arm.

Suddenly regaining his composure, the Knight removed his hand. So quickly, you would have thought the mere contact had set his hand ablaze.

They stared at nothing in particular as the air around them became tense. The Knight was the one to finally break the silence. "I apologize for touching you without your expressed permission, my Liege. That was out of turn."

"It is alright, I suppose. No harm done." The King would rather have been beheaded in front of a vast audience than admit that the touch wasn't entirely unpleasant. "Did you have something you would've liked to say?"

The Knight clasped his hands behind his back, whether to hide his nervous fidgeting or to make sure there were no more incidental touching was unknown to them both.

"What am I to do if you get hurt while I am away? I am your right hand man, it is my duty to ensure your safety!"

The King stifled a chuckle at the subtle pout from his typically serious Knight, "Please do not fret, Sir, I can assure you that I will be ok until the next sunrise. I greatly appreciate your long-standing loyalty to me and that's why I insist that you take a break. Go on and find something that pleases you."

The King put on a small smile, hoping that would help to sway his Knight to see his point. His charm did always assist in calming even the most benevolent rogue men. This, for whatever reason, did not work to placate the Knight, on the contrary, it seemed to embolden him further. His hands came back into view, the King watched with confusion as the Knight clumsily fumbled with the metallic glove. It fell to the ground as he also unfastened the other.

The metallic gloves clanged against the floor as they dropped, but the King didn't pay any mind to it. He kept his focus on the Knight, he watched one of the unprotected hands hover above his shoulder. A couple beats went by before he gathered the courage to make contact.

The warmth was a stark difference from the cold metal.

The Knight kneeled down, because of the wheelchair - along with the fact that the Knight held a couple inches over the King whenever they were both standing - they were now basically eye level with each other.

His other hand crossed over his heart, that typically serious look once again painted his face. The King was a bit taken aback. This position, it signified a true vow, a solemn swear, that the word of the Knight was not only fact, but a commitment made deep from the soul. Usually these vows were made betwixt his fellow swordsmen, a promise between men.

The fact that he was making this swear to a person outside of his chivalric order, someone who held a significant amount of power over him, meant something.

The King didn't want to think about what that something meant.

Nor about why his heart decided to react the way it did.

"Being by your side, protecting you with every ounce of my being, is what pleases me most, my King. To know that I am the knight that bestows the honor of keeping you safe brings me the utmost satisfaction."

Wow.

Was this a Knight that stood before him or a poet?

The King regained his composer the best he could, being starstruck would not be a good look for a royal. Surely, he didn't mean all that in an informal sort of way. Any sort of relationship outside of Superior/Inferior between the royal family and their soldiers was strictly frowned upon and could be described as a major power imbalance.

Understandably so, a royal could use their power over a soldier to force them into committing vile deeds. To make them do actions that would normally be outside their moral zone, all out of a fabricated version of love and care.

Of course, that kind of manipulation could occur outside of an intimate relationship. Any sort of slight intimidation from a royal could have a townsperson kneeling beneath them.

Which brought the King's thinking back to the Knight kneeling in front of him.

He rested his hand upon the Knight's, "I would like that you take some semblance of a break while you only wish to stay at your post. That is a tad bit contradictory, ain't it?"

The King let himself slip into his 'improper' way of speech. Just so his Knight might feel comfortable with the idea he was about to propose.

"Maybe we can strike a deal? One that'll make us both happy?" He paused to allow time for the Knight to absorb his words. A tilt of the head and a slight furrow of the eyebrows signaled him to elaborate. "How about we spend the day together? Not as King and Knight, but as companions."

Platonic relationships were just as frowned upon as romantic partnerships, but he could easily play off their friendly date as patrolling the town for strange activities.

He knew of a quaint little tavern that had some treats that needed investigating.

"What do you say to that, Sir Hagakure?" He didn't notice it at this exact moment, but at some point during his thought process, he moved the Knight's hand into his lap and clasped it betwinxed his own. He also conveniently didn't notice the slight darkening of the Knight's cheeks, "Or shall I refer to you as Sir Yasuhiro?"

The Knight blinked, processing all the different sensory input and words being thrown his way. The intimacy of his first name being said, especially in his King's husky voice, made a nervous smile spread across his face. His other hand went to rub his neck as he attempted to stutter out some kind of coherent reply.

"I-I accept! That sounds truly splendid! To spend the day with you would be a privilege, My Liege!" He tucked one of the loose dreads behind his ear and broke their eye contact, "And... You may refer to me as Hiro."

"Very well, I'll call you Hiro and you will call me Daiya."

[midnightsun-if]

”Its V day and y'all know what that means! Angst! If its okay could you please do the MC is cursed into deep slumber so mated or deep romance ROs tries waking MC up with a true love's kiss but it failed but someone else tried on MC and it worked and how would they feel about not being the true love”?” this but when the mc wakes up they are incredibly angry at the not RO because their body wants them and tries to make us want them but we want the RO. Like “I DONT WANT YOU I WANT THEM I LOVE THEM!!!” And mc hating themselves because of it. How would the ROs react to that?

Koda: He’d be by your side, doing everything in his power to try and get you to understand what’s happening, that nothing could be changed— something that’s made all the more difficult because he barely understands it himself. He just hates seeing you like this, in so much pain because you’re denying yourself of what you truly want. What would clearly be the best for you. “T-This isn’t easy, sunshine, but this is how it’s gotta be, I think.” Koda rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his lap. “It’s not fair, and it’ll hurt for a long time, but it’s how it’s supposed to be. Mama always told me that you don’t go messin’ with the natural order of things.” Whiskey brown eyes look up to meet your own gaze, imploring you to understand. To listen. “I want nothing more than to be yours, and for you to be mine, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be.“

Scarlett: That’d probably make it worse, honestly. It’d absolutely destroy her to see physical proof that your beast wants someone that isn’t her— when all her beast wants, all her beast will ever need, is you. It’d twist the knife so deeply into her heart that it’d become a mere husk of what it once was; the final scar that would never heal. Her anger would only exemplify because it’d also make her realize how hopelessly in love with you she still is. She wouldn’t wish to see you suffer, the love she still has for you making the sight absolutely painful, so she’d make it clear that what was could never be again. “I know you’re fighting, I know that you don’t want this, but you’re only doing yourself more harm. You’re only causing me more harm by spouting such beautiful words that are nothing more than the most ugly of lies.” Pursing her lips, Scarlett takes your hand in hers for, what she knows is, the last time. “We were not meant to be. I was a mere chapter in the book of your life, and I will come to accept that, but you need to accept that this is how it’s meant to be. I’m letting you go, letting you be free.”

Cyrus/Cyra: They’d treat the situation methodically, coldly to some, because they couldn’t bear to let themself open up once more. They don’t even know why they’re torturing themself by continuing to be in your presence, not when your very essence is calling out for someone else. They hope, that with the distance, with the added ice between you both, when there used to be nothing but gentle flames, that you’d begin to understand that nothing could be the same. “You need to stop fighting this. It’s wholly irrational to try and fight the mating bond when it’s been established the way it has.” Their words are hollow, empty of any discerning emotion as they look over what the healers have written down. “You’re only causing yourself more issues in the long run.” They look up then, some gold returning to their crimson gaze. “Only causing me more pain by not letting me go in the same way I’ve had to do so to you.”

Quinn: Their wolf would howl in triumph that their mate is clearly trying to pick the better option, but Quinn would quickly give them a reality check as it’d be clear how much discourse your body would be going through due to the choice. Something that should never be the case when it comes to true mates— it’d be all the proof they needed to truly bring the process of stepping back. Even if their wolf, much tamer now, more subdued, still snarled in the recesses of their mind at the prospect. “Sweetheart,” they murmur, gently taking your hand in theirs. Trying to ignore how right it made them feel— your touch, your scent, the sound of your voice, was home to them. They just had to deal with the fact that they’ve been evicted. “It’s honorable what you’re trying to do. That you’re trying to fight for what we had so hard, but I can’t let you continue on like this. I promised that I’d always protect you, and that means I have to protect you from yourself too. It’s time to stop. For both our sakes.”

Caden: For a brief moment they’d let themself believe that everything was going to be okay— that you’d be able to go back to them, but it’d be only that. A dream. A fantasy borne from a desperate mind. They wouldn’t be able to handle it, wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes as they break the news that this couldn’t go on. They’d be completely retreated into themself because they know if they looked at you, truly looked at you, they’d let themself believe that this could have a happier ending. “I-I sent in my resignation.” They pluck at the end of a knitted scarf, one that you said looked nice on them so long ago. “I think it would be best if I get some space for a while. For the both of us. You need to settle into the new normalcy of your life and I—“ They bite their lip, argent eyes going misty. “I have to deal with the fact that mines been destroyed.”

Sloane: A spark of their former anger would arise due to the situation— about how unfair the situation clearly was to them and to you. But they wouldn’t wish for you to suffer. Wouldn’t wish for you to be anything but happy— even if that happiness could never be with them. It’d take them a bit to truly come to terms with it, meaning to actually come and see you to talk to you, but they’d be firm in their resolve once they do. Even if their heart was cracking open which each moment spent in your presence. “Don’t need to make it a big deal,” they say, flicking their lighter open and close. Wanting nothing more than to smoke, but refraining due to their current location. “You may love me, but that doesn’t mean shit in the long run, does it? Not when you have the person you’re supposed to be bonded to always trying to see you. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a runner up, like an imposter, and I think I deserve to not feel that when being in a relationship.” Hazel eyes raise to meet yours. “I deserve that, right?”

Blake: They’d be stiff the entire time, wouldn’t be able to hold eye contact with you for long, the sense of familiarity between you both would be so strained… Everything and more had shifted and Blake wouldn’t know what to do with that. It’s one thing to lose the love of your life, but to lose your best friend on top of that? It makes everything too real, too painful, and Blake just wants to get away from it all. Meaning, for the first time, they wanted to get away from you. Of what you represented in their loss. “T-“ They clear their throat, ducking their head as they anxiously tug at their pendant. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is. It’s a shitty situation no matter how prettily we try to wrap it. We’re both going to need some time.” A frazzled hand runs through ash blonde locks. “Don’t know how long that’ll take, but it needs to happen. For both our sakes.”

Reginald/Regina: For a moment, wherein they let every selfish thought run free, they let themself believe that this means everything will be okay, that you’ll fight the clear pull you feel towards someone else, and that you’ll be theirs again like they’re yours, but then they’d see the turmoil you’re in and that would all vanish. How could they say they love you when they let you be in this pain? How could you ever be happy together when you could be happier with someone else? It’s clear what needed to happen… They just wish they could have worn their rose-colored lenses a bit longer. “I don’t want you to think I hate you because I don’t.” A watery smile is sent your way, blue-green eyes shimmering with suppressed tears. “You’ve meant more to me than I ever thought possible. You opened up a whole new world of possibilities to me and I can never thank you enough for that. Even if our story ends here today, I know that’ll I’ll always look back on this chapter fondly. Even if it may take me a while to do so. I hope you’ll be able to do the same.”

[electronicclowncollector]

Levia Essay

(This essay is made because of @dragongodryss 's request and some knowledge was provided by @lilacharbour )

(this is levia ^)

It’s commonly believed by the older generations of Fairy Tail experts that Levia Is a mere brute, who receives absolutely no character development, some even believe that he’s one of the less intelligent characters of Fairy Tail. This is wrong. Levia is an incredibly deep character with a backstory filled with sadness that can be rivalled by no other, a true misunderstood victim if I do say so myself.

Before I can explain my beliefs, I believe some context is required for who exactly Levia is, even some of my own mentors in Fairy Tail knowledge had to use meaningless sources like google or the fairy tail wiki, but of course I knew right off the bat who Levia was, as I have pondered for many hours about the sheer depth of his character. Starting with his name, Levia, likely named after the Leviathan of the Hebrew Bible. The Leviathan is often treated as the embodiment of the sin of envy, which will be important to the analysis later. In Fairy Tail, Levia is the loyal pet of Rogue from the evil timeline (who will be named Revil from now on (a mix between the word rogue and evil)), whos mission was to keep Rogue in place long enough for Revil to steal present Sting and bring him Back to the Future (By Robert Zemekis).

Now that the context has been explained, I shall now explain why most Fairy Tail fans are wrong about him. During his backstory, it was explained that Revil took Levia in when he was at his lowest point, addicted to dragonberries, without a cave over his head, and desperately needing a pile of treasure for a bed (as dragons do in fairy tail). That was when Revil invited him to join the Sabertooth guild, but the sabretooth guild didn’t like that. They didn’t allow dragons into the guild for various reasons, but the true reason is because Sting didn’t want to share rogues heart with yet another creature, this is proven in the following dialogue quoted directly from the manga, starting with revil: “Tell me, why can’t we let Levia join the sabretooth guild? Have you not seen his teeth?” Sting responded saying, “Rogue we have 5 rules in the sabretooth guild”. Sting proceeded to point at the plaque which had all the rules listed (those are unimportant for the time being). But the 5th one had been altered, from “No pet dragonets” to “No dragon in guild”, though it was clear that letters had been crudely crossed out with a very sharp knife (though the person evidently didn’t have a steady hand as it was messy), and the extra letters added to the end were clearly in a different quality to the rest of the text on the plaque. A big part of stings character is also his very poor written grammar. This clearly shows that Sting had an ulterior motive, but this is a Levia essay not a stingue essay, so I will not elaborate further. Anyway, this even led to what many fans considered impossible, the breakup of Sting and Rogue (this was before the dark destinies saga was retconned into being an “evil timeline”.

Anyway, this is what jumpstarted Rogues evil journey, he slowly became evil and manipulative, but Levia remained loyal. Rogue helped him get stronger, and Levia protected rogue any time Sting tried to bring harm to them, showing a clear sense of comradery between Revil and Levia. That’s what I would say if I was WRONG. Levia was clearly being manipulated by Revil into remaining loyal. The spinoff about the dark Destinies saga also shows one of these moments, starting with revil: “Levia, my loyal minion, I have a plan. If I can go back in time to when Sting and I were still best boyfriends forever, I can persuade past sting to come with me to the future.” Levia responded saying “But master? How will we do this without harming any of the past citizens?”. The following line sent a tear down my cheek, “a capture mission doesn't mean you can't break a few bones”. This broke Levias heart. He was always a pacifist, this was his core value, to avoid conflict at all cost. But it was his masters orders, so he was forced to follow along with it.

Of course, the first part of this mission was a success, Revil and Levia went back in time. The first part of the plan shows Revils lack of care for Levia, he had Levia keep Rogue in one place, by any means necessary. And, showing a clear loyalty, he followed his masters orders. While Levia followed the orders, he felt morally conflicted, so he decided to change his heart, and brought rogue back to sting, showing a clear sense of justice. Revil loved past sting too much, so if present Rogue lost sting, it would sting. So the final battle began. Levia was forced to watch as revil fought rogue and sting, until he finally decided to stand up for himself. He was about to step forward to stop Revil, when he was cruelly stopped by present Sting. A clear misunderstanding in intentions. This was the tragic end for Levia, he didn’t mean any harm with his actions, he was merely a product of his manipulation. It was such a shame to see such a deep character be killed off so early into his character arc.

The writer of the Fairy tail manga was incredibly brave with his namesake of Levia, treating it as though he was the embodiment of jealousy, when the true embodiment of jealousy was his master, Revil. I hope this has convinced you of the truth about Levia

[misfithive]

Thank you for the way you handled that ask about Wille's and Simon's drama. Because that sentence 'On the other hand, Simon needs to have a bit of more drama thrown at him' made me so furious. It was so insensitive! The fact that he suffers in silence and alone in his room not to bother other people doesn't mean he doesn't suffer enough and needs some more! The fact that he didn't jump on the table or say he feels like dying doesn't make his experience any less traumatic than Wille's. What he needs is to process his trauma rather than brushing it aside, not to get some more.

Once again thank you, you put it all beautifully.

Yes 😭 this is a very common hope for Simon to get pushed to the point of a breakdown but it’s like .. at what cost?😩 He has been thru enough trauma for a lifetime and a half. And the thing is, most people cannot actually stop and process the trauma if they are constantly being hit with more. I think we are more likely to get simon opening up if he is able to find safety which he did not really have. he is expected to be the strong one by everyone in his life. His friends try their best but still, telling him to rebound is the same message him mother gives him of “you are strong”. Bc they dont want him to sit with his feelings and cry (it’s uncomfortable and not the norm for them), they want him to forget about the Prince and move on. Up until s3 he has not had someone to cry to- thats why he writes his songs and holds wille’s sweater. Even when he is talking to Rosh and Ayub in the kitchen if he was actually crying to them i feel they would show it- it appears he probably cried on the way home before they came (this is my hc if yall think he cried to them u can believe that if u want)

i think Simon’s character is very accurate to what a lot of men, people socialized as men, and also people of color experience and how we deal with our emotions. I get that for a lot of people it is cathartic to sob but for many of us, crying like that especially in front of someone else is terrifying. we are conditioned that letting other people see u in that vulnerable state is a weakness (puts you in danger or will be used against you & that anger is safer). I know some men who have not cried since they were children and told me they dont even remember what it feels like to cry or how to actually let the tears fall from their eyes. It is messed up. Is that fair? No. Is it true that it is a weakness? No. But not everyone learns that. The patriarchy sucks and harms us all lol i wish people would understand that and have empathy for the deep sadness that simon is carrying and hiding whether he lets it out or not.

Not to mention everyone deals with their trauma differently and i think it is cool that the show is realistic and shows people dealing with things in different ways. Simons character is relatable bc of this and instead of people saying “it’s not fair that Wille gets to express himself in this way and Simon doesn’t” i want people to think about WHY Simon is not be able to. I know wanting simon to cry comes from a good place but it does upset me a little bit bc even if he doesnt have a breakdown s3, that doesnt mean that the writers hate him and arent doing his story justice which is what people say abt s2. At the same time, if he does have a break down, that would be totally warranted. i'm just saying that if it doesn't happen that's valid too.

THAT BEING SAID. I think s3 is a great opportunity for Simon to hear from Wille that he doesnt always have to be strong and that Wille can be a reliable safe space. I think Wille’s tenderness is something that Simon sees and now that they are on good terms and Wille has worked to rebuild the trust, I hope Simon will turn to Wille for emotional support however that looks.

Ermmmn I’m very sorry that this turned into a dump but i had to get it off my chest.(made a few edits for clarity and spelling mistakes bc i posted this in the middle of the night)

[barbwillbrb]

Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change. 

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back. 

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories. 

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin. 

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest. 

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces. 

And Mortimer lost him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far. 

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride. 

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart. 

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form. 

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea

[darkness-falls-tarot]

Sabrina Carpenter and Barry Keoghan: what is going on right now??

All readings are alleged and for entertainment purposes only; please take each reading with a grain of salt.

I know no one asked for it but I heard this from my coworker today and thought it would probably be best to get to this topic while it’s still fresh for everyone.

How is Sabrina: page of swords reversed, the hierophant, knight of cups reversed - the entire ordeal caught her off guard completely. She wasn’t ready for anything like this to happen and was hopeful for a happy ending with her relationship. She’s trying to keep herself grounded but deep down she is an emotional wreck. This has broken her far more than previous relationships have.

How is Barry: 10 of cups reversed, 4 of wands, 3 of wands, 2 of wands reversed - Barry is realizing he’s lost his chance at a happy family or whatever he was hoping for with Sabrina. Now he is enjoying the company of this other woman he was seeing on the side and seeing where this goes instead. But for Barry he is always repeating the same patterns and he will do so again and again because what he wants is never attainable. He’s searching for the perfect woman and if he finds one flaw in whomever he’s with at that time he will go out in search of another.

Oracle card for Sabrina: someone else - well this card is a nail on the head sadly. It literally says someone is in the middle trying to sabotage things.

Oracle card 2 for Sabrina: liar - this card cautions her to be careful of a liar in her life. That would most likely be Barry. If he is in fact cheating she needs to be careful of his behavior and leave him for good. He probably said he changed and was growing with her but if the rumors are true he clearly was playing her all along.

Oracle card for Barry: caution - I’m sensing this is his time to start thinking of what a huge mistake this was to cheat on Sabrina but also all his previous partners were cheated on by him. He needs to start asking why that is.

What advice do my cards have for Sabrina: death, 5 of cups reversed, ace of swords - with the death card first I say this is a sign for her that a permanent breakup from Barry is necessary for her to heal and will change her life for the better. It’s going to be rough as indicated by the 5 of cups, but as it’s reversed here it will be painful for a time before she sees things in a new perspective. The end result will be a sense of clarity and strength that will come over her; and I am getting the feeling she is going to make some songs from this experience and what the grieving process will also bring. With the ace of swords as well I think she is going to enter her next relationship with more caution and have a better understanding of what she’s expecting from the men she’ll date from now on. I do see her coming out on top in all of this.

What advice do my cards have for Barry: 5 of wands, 3 of cups reversed, page of cups - Barry is going to have a LOT of confrontations coming his way. Gossip will not be on his side and people in the industry, his friends, costars, interviewers, basically everyone will be coming to him and going “Why?” The media will be digging up things on his life and possibly his history of previous relationships and their outcome. This gossip will be venomous and harmful for him and temporary could cause some issues with people watching his films. So any new projects could be at risk; he’ll still get roles but most people will be boycotting in support of Sabrina. With all of this I think it’s going to give Barry some new perspective on his life and the decisions he’s made; he may start to work on healing this issue that causes him to do this or he could try and actually get better at being a boyfriend. It will come as a shock to him but Sabrina was someone he said he’d change his ways because of her, and maybe now he will.

How long will Barry’s new relationship last: says next new moon - that would be approximately December 29.

*Note* if it comes out that this isn’t the official breakup there are some issues and I’m guessing the cheating is true. Either way Sabrina is broken and he’s aware he’s got some issues to work out in his life.

[sands-of-amber]

FFXIV Write Entry #3: Keeping the Balance

❀ Prompt #13: Check || Read it w/ notes on AO3 here ❀

“As I have explained many times before, hero, everything in this world naturally seeks a comfortable balance. We Ascians know this all too well.”

Yuna listens to the lilting sound of the Ascian’s voice but does not look up at him as he goes about his work, feeling too awkward to meet his gaze in her moment of vulnerability. Instead she looks off in the opposite direction, trying to focus on a patch of moss winding up the cavern wall to take her mind off of the all-too-close quarters in which she currently found herself with him.

“With your aether having shifted so heavily toward the light, it is only natural that it should want for a little bit of darkness to keep it in check.” Emet-Selch sighs, shaking his head as though chiding a young child as he holds his palm gently against the Au Ra’s shoulder.

Yuna tenses momentarily as the initial feeling of his aether attempting to flow into her puts her on edge, and he seems to notice this.

“Relax. If I wished to harm you I could’ve done so many times before now.” He says with another tired sigh, causing her to become aware of her stiffened, defensive posture. “The more you fight it, the longer this will take. And though I know not your feelings on the matter, I, for one, am not too keen on the idea of lingering here in this backwater for any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

The Warrior of Light lets out a sigh of her own this time, drawing in a deep breath and then releasing the tension in her body with it. “Alright, alright.” She murmurs, letting herself sink down into the coolness of the rock which was currently serving as her seat here in the cavern and trying her best to fight against the natural urge to resist the intrusion of his dark aether.

Collapsing in a cave in Yx’Maja shortly after defeating the Lightwarden of the Rak’tika Greatwood hadn’t been part of the plan, but then again, not much of anything ever went quite according to plan for her and her companions it seemed. At least her body had waited to give out until after her friends had already departed back toward Fanow. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her, and it seemed for the time being that most of them were largely unaware of the extent to which her condition was taking a physical toll on her body. She found herself suddenly very thankful that she had decided to stay behind a bit longer to reflect on the cave paintings and the words of Emet-Selch that had gone along with them.

When she’d awoken not long ago, it had been not to the aid of one of her companions, but rather to the sight and unmistakably heavy presence of a certain Ascian looming over her, her body sitting upright and head resting against the cool wall of the cave. When he’d noticed her gazing up at him, he’d given her that signature smirk of his and made some smarmy comment about her finally being awake (his exact choice of words hadn’t fully registered in her groggy mind but she did remember the teasing cadence). He had then gone on to explain to her that he had imbued her with a bit of his aether to help calm the ill effects she was currently experiencing from the abundance of light within her, but that if she wished for true momentary relief he’d need to give her a bit more.

And now here she was, accepting the help of what was supposed to be her sworn enemy and wishing the lines weren’t becoming so confusingly blurred these days. Not long ago he’d rescued Y’shtola from her second foray into the lifestream, and now this… Not to mention the increasingly complicated feelings she had every time the theatrical man deigned to grace her and the Scions with his chaotic presence. And of course there were the stories he’d shared about his motivations and the truth about Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Why couldn’t he just act purely evil and irredeemable like every other Ascian she’d faced until now? It would make things so much easier.

The feeling of his aether flowing into her is strange at first, but it quickly takes on a cool, soothing sensation that spreads down her body and throughout her veins. Where the light had been almost an overwhelmingly burning presence tearing at her insides, his dark aether was a cooling balm by contrast. It wound its way around her own aether and reached into the parts of her soul that were beginning to split, making her feel much more relieved and like herself than she had felt in a while.

Yuna’s eyes fall shut and she melts into his touch, a soft sigh inadvertently sneaking past her lips which earns an amused chuckle from Emet-Selch and in turn her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“I take it this feels pleasant, hero?” He remarks in that snarky drawl of his, and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see the smug expression plastered upon his features.

When she doesn’t respond, he takes it upon himself to press her further. “You know, I could do this for you a lot more frequently. And, if I may be so bold, I believe such regular “treatments” as this would be beneficial to us both.”

This gets her eyes to snap open, her neck finally craning up to look at him and meet that self-assured grin with an expression of bewilderment. And of course, this is precisely the reaction he had hoped to pull from her, and it shows in the mirth dancing in his otherwise tired aurum eyes.

“You… What are you implying?” Yuna stammers, any relaxation she’d found having faded and given way to more defensive tension as her eyes search his for the motives behind his words like they so often did.

“Simply that I am here to offer my assistance should you choose to accept it. Did I not tell you as much upon our first meeting?” Emet-Selch shrugs, feigning ignorance at her question as he withdraws his hand from her shoulder.

The Warrior pouts and shakes her head impatiently. “No, you know what I mean. Why must you always dance around the truth and make me guess at the true intentions behind your words? Do you enjoy being difficult to speak to?” She cocks her head to one side and raises a brow accusingly, rising to her feet and facing the Ascian with arms crossed over her chest expectantly, the toe of one boot tapping the hard ground. Despite her diminutive stature and the way she has to crane her neck to look up at him, she stands firm in her stubborn pursuit of the truth.

“Is that much not abundantly obvious, my dear?” A lopsided smirk. She’s so much like Azem when she gets riled up like this. It’s almost uncanny. Emet-Selch thinks with amusement.

Just as she opens her mouth to retort, the infuriating Ascian takes it upon himself to close the distance between them, pressing his mouth against hers somewhat forcefully and shoving the petite Au Ra up against the wall directly behind her. The breath leaves her nostrils in a surprised exhale as her back collides with the cool dampness of the stone, her wrists kept in place on either side of her head by a strong grip. Another calming wave of his cool aether rushes over her, and she feels her body melt into his kiss, lips parting to allow his tongue to dart in and claim hers.

Her tail begins to thrash anxiously against the wall as her lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen, and Emet-Selch pulls back just enough to break the kiss and allow them both to take in gulps of air. He regards her in this state, eyes half-lidded and cheeks tinted pink, and for a brief moment his face mirrors her own. But that minuscule glimpse of vulnerability is quickly replaced by a triumphant smirk, his hands releasing their grip on her wrists and coming to rest upon her jaw.

“Does that aid in conveying the ever-elusive meaning behind my words, dear hero?” He asks in a hushed tone, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment prior. “I had hoped you’d discern that just as I am the dark your soul seeks, you serve as the light to mine. But perhaps demonstrations truly work best on you, hm?”

Yuna shivers and swallows as one of his gloved hands tilts her jaw up to hold his gaze, his thumb gently stroking the pearly scales there, while his other hand finds its way into her short lavender tresses, fingers tangling gently yet firmly into the strands. His face is still close enough that his lips would brush hers were he to lean even an ilm closer. Suddenly the cavern feels much smaller, and it’s difficult to think straight with his scent of musk, amber, and a hint of cologne overwhelming her senses and making her knees feel weak.

“I…” Her pale yellow irises dart back and forth between his lips and his eyes, his breath warm on her face. Something in her wants more of whatever that was just now, but she hesitates.

Emet-Selch sighs. “Darling, did I not just demonstrate to you the way that the darkness within me can keep the light within you in check? ‘Tis only natural that we as beings of dark and light should be drawn to one another to maintain the balance.” He quirks a brow, hoping she’ll pick up on his underlying sentiment. “What I offer you is something your sundered companions could never provide.”

Yuna looks down, but he is quick to force her chin back up to look at him. He wants to see her face when she admits it. “I… I suppose that makes sense, yes…”

“Good.” He smiles. “And you must surely understand that the relief I have just given you from your affliction is only temporary, and ere long you will inevitably need another dose of my aether. Unless you would like to continue collapsing in all manner of strange places, that is.”

She takes his smirk as a challenge, and the lively fire he’d loved and missed seeing for so long ignites in her eyes as she returns his playful grin with one of her own.

“As long as we keep these “treatments” of yours just between you and I, I see no reason to refuse.”

And this time it’s her turn to steal his chance to retort away, her hands flying up to grab at the fur collar of his coat and pulling his mouth back down onto hers with a sigh.