#and everyone is giving them the LOVE and RESPECT they deserve

[diushek]

One day, Shen Qingqiu comes from the city with a little baby in his arms. He says: "His mother died during childbirth and I am taking care of him." He names the child Shen Yuan when he is old enough to give him a name, and the child grows up in Qing Jing.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, believes that Shen Qingqiu is the biological father of that child. Only have to LOOK at them both and see the resemblance: the same eyes, the same hair, the same facial structure, the same lips, even the same angry pout. Rumors - Shen Qingqiu had a child with a prostitute who died and now he is taking care of him!! - are open secrets.

Shen Qingqiu, as usual, ignores them. He cares for his little one, raising him with the closest thing other Peak Lords can call love. Impeccable robes, the best meals, the best early education. Shen Yuan grows up as a polite, gentle, kind-hearted, sweet-faced child. He frees insects before killing them, isn't afraid to dirty his robes if he must go after someone, and has an avid interest in beasts and monsters beyond comprehension. The Peak Lords jokingly think: this child has taken his father's face and surely the good heart of his mother, may she rest in peace.

When he comes of age, he doesn't even have to dig a hole to be chosen for Qing Jing Peak - everyone knows that Shen Qingqiu has already made a place for him there. However, Shen Yuan insists on doing it on his own! He wants to earn his place. The Peak Lords respect him for it, and there are various interests, but he still ends up in Qing Jing Peak.

And Shen Yuan becomes Shen Qingqiu's clear first disciple. He is a skilled scholar, excellent martial artist who is not afraid to tear someone rude with foul words, but with an almost natural disposition to be kind, sweet and gentle with those who deserve and require it.

It is then that Luo Binghe arrives at Qing Jing Peak.

The Peak Lords hear of the rumors and they spread them like pollen in spring: apparently there has been a HUGE discussion between Shen Qingqiu and his spoiled son! Something involving a child with water burns, a beating, and a woodshed. No one understands what happened, but a day later, Shen Yuan completely disappeared from the Cang Qiong Sect.

And he has taken a young disciple with him.

Shen Qingqiu begins to act as if he never had a son - as if his whole life has been all about him, hostile and unpleasant. His mood is worse than ever and his cruelty is undeniable. No one understands what has happened between father and son, but these are rumors that even if whispered, bring the very bad faces of Shen Qingqiu. And no one wants to be behind Shen Qingqiu's wrath when it is unleashed.

(Shen Yuan had transmigrated. Into a baby! Into Shen Qingqiu's son! Yes, indeed his memories had been gradually unlocked, thank god. It would have been so weird to be a baby with the mindset of an adult... And he had believed, for a long time, that perhaps Shen Qingqiu could change. That loving him and caring for him would make him better when Luo Binghe reached Cang Qiong.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

So, Shen Qingqiu can hate him for this reason if he wants! But Shen Yuan has to leave there and take Luo Binghe with him. He will teach him cultivation and do everything to make him become a powerful cultivator before his demonic seal is unleashed, he will do everything possible to prevent him from the Endless Abyss, and will prevent Shen Qingqiu from being turned into a human stick.

Probably, a single night of punishment and humiliation wasn’t enough for Luo Binghe to want revenge so hard. Actually?? He just would save the lives of all his martial uncles and his father in the process to kindly educate Luo Binghe and make him as powerful yet happy as possible. They should thank him!! He's sacrificing himself, his comforts, and his reputation to save everyone's asses!!!)

...

(Although Shang Qinghua had wanted to give Shen Qingqiu a son - a magical pollen pregnancy between Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu, which Shen Qingqiu would NEVER tell Yue Qingyuan was his child until the very last moment - for the drama and secondary revenge and angst 7/9, that had been a damn draft!!! He didn't even get to develop the background of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu!!! And now that son ran away with his Protagonist!? System, what's going on!? Why do HE make sure the Endless Abyss arc be completed!? He doesn't even fucking know where the protagonist is!!! System have mercy on AND HELP!!!)

[steddieas-shegoes]

i love him on purpose

for @steddielovemonth using red, white, and royal blue for inspiration

rated t | 1385 words | cw: forced coming out | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, royal steve harrington, wayne munson is the president (god i wish)

🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵

The news broke in the middle of the night, long after Eddie had fallen asleep, and just before Steve’s alarm woke him up.

PRINCE STEVEN CAUGHT HOOKING UP WITH FIRST SON EDDIE, ROYAL FAMILY INSISTS ON SECRECY

Every headline is some variation of Steve and Eddie being caught, but there’s no photos. Most articles point to the royal family not wanting to allow it, but they didn’t even know about it.

Steve’s been so careful, much more careful than Eddie. Eddie’s told his best friends and Wayne, who deserves to know when his nephew turned son is getting into things. Especially when the thing he’s getting into is the Prince of England.

Steve doesn’t really have many friends. He has Robin, who is more like a sister to him, and an entire advisory team, publicists, security…

He won’t answer his phone, which means all of those people have probably informed him he is to have no contact with the outside world until they figure out what to do. Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

They talked about hypotheticals, as any young adults in the public eye are wont to do. How they’d handle the press when they come out. How they would handle Steve’s family when they come out.

All under the assumption that they would have control over their coming out.

How naive.

“Ed. I have to give some kind of message here,” Wayne says softly, gently like he knows that Eddie is gonna beg him not to say anything until he hears from Steve. “Silence ain’t gonna win us any favors.”

“I promised he wouldn’t have to do this alone,” Eddie says. “If we make a statement now, I’m just throwing him to the wolves.”

“Not necessarily. Plenty of options with what to say. As long as we acknowledge we’ve seen it, they don’t have to have any other information,” Wayne says. “I’ll follow your lead, kid.”

“I don’t know what the right thing is.”

Wayne pulls him into a hug. This isn’t the first time they’ve had a PR nightmare on their hands, and probably won’t be the last. Wayne’s always been good at handling things just fine.

But this is something Eddie needs to handle. He accepts the comforting hug, then he decides to be brave.

****

“Forcing anyone to come out is disgusting, and the media has done it time and time again. In this case, they took something that should have been up to me, and up to Prince Steve, and made it world news based on a false report of someone seeing us together at an event. Whether we are together romantically or not isn’t up for speculation. We are what we are. We choose how to define that to ourselves, to our loved ones, and maybe someday, to everyone.” Eddie takes a deep breath and looks into the many cameras facing him, trying his best to ignore the reporters anxiously waiting to be able to ask questions. He’s not letting them, but they don’t know that yet. “Respect goes both ways. Pops has always taught me that respect is earned, not freely given. No one in this press room has earned my respect. Until you do, the only news story you can break about me is that I’m disappointed in the way the media has handled this news story. Thanks for your time.”

Eddie leaves the room.

Wayne is waiting for him in his office.

“Proud of ya, son.”

“Thanks.”

“Your boy will be here in four hours.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “He called?”

“He did more than call. He caused a scene with every secretary in the building. He insisted he needed to speak to me.”

“He could’ve called me,” Eddie is pacing.

“You left your phone in here earlier, remember? He was desperate.”

“Is he okay? Have they made a statement yet?”

“They haven’t. They wanted to see what we’d do first.” Wayne holds Eddie’s phone out to him. “But I think he could stand to hear from ya.”

Eddie steps in to take the phone from him, but Wayne clasps his hand between his, holding tight.

“I can’t protect you from the media forever, but I’ll always stick up for you and your happiness. You know that?”

“Of course I do,” Eddie answers.

“That goes for your Prince, too,” Wayne smirks. “His family’s on thin ice, though.”

****

Eddie talks to Steve on the phone for a few minutes, but Steve’s not alone, and Eddie’s trying not to hide away entirely from everyone who cares about him. It’s a short conversation, but it’s enough to get them through until Steve arrives.

He sounds like he’s being stoic.

Eddie knows he’s struggling.

It takes nearly two hours of security for Steve to actually get to Eddie’s suite.

“Baby,” Eddie says as he pulls Steve into his chest, feeling whole for the first time since he woke up. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“They’re making a statement any minute now,” Steve says miserably.

“I’m guessing it’s not what you wanted.” Steve shakes his head in response. “That’s okay. We can work with whatever we need to.”

“They wouldn’t let me do it,” Steve explains. “I wanted to do something like what you did. They said I was too emotional.”

“I think you’re just emotional enough. God forbid you show signs of being a human.”

Steve laughs. Eddie smiles.

“Have you eaten? Do you wanna get cleaned up? I know you hate how airplanes make you feel,” Eddie offers.

Steve tightens his grip around Eddie. That’s answer enough.

****

“We sincerely hope the media will understand that making accusations of this nature about a member of the royal family will not go unpunished. Whether it is true or not, we will be handling this discussion internally. We have contacted the President’s office to have a discussion with their team. Eddie’s statement today was not discussed with us beforehand, nor did it go through any of our approval, and should not be seen as our official statement.”

“Does your grandfather always look like someone pissed directly in his eye?” Eddie asks Steve as they watch the official statement from his room.

“It depends on which of us has displeased him,” Steve laughs. “If it’s my mother, his lip curls up over his teeth.”

Eddie pulls Steve into his side on the couch, turning off the television so they can have some peace. They sit in the silence for a couple of minutes, something neither of them get to do very often.

“Wayne offered us the house in Indiana for a bit. Said it might be nice for us to just be away from the chaos,” Eddie runs his fingers up and down Steve’s arm, smiling to himself when Steve shivers against him. “At least for a few days. Let the media move on and give time for your family to get the sticks surgically removed from their asses.”

“That sounds nice,” Steve agrees, leaning his head back to kiss Eddie’s lips. “I wanna do something first, though.”

Steve pulls away so he can get his phone from the coffee table. It’s been on silent and face down since he arrived. He types for a minute, and Eddie waits.

Steve sets his phone down and turns back to Eddie with a grin.

“Okay, ready to go.”

Eddie’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks down at where he’s been tagged on Instagram in Steve’s post.

It’s a picture from the trip they took with Wayne to Indiana last month, the two of them by a fire with melted marshmallow all over their lips. They’re both happy.

The caption makes tears pool in Eddie’s eyes and a semi-hysterical laugh burst from his throat.

Doesn’t matter who pissed in his eye, as long as I’ve got you. Let’s go off the grid, baby

“You’re gonna be in so much fuckin’ trouble, baby,” Eddie laughs with disbelief.

“I don’t care. They know better than to cause a bigger scene.” Steve kisses the corner of his mouth. “Can we go to that diner when we get there? The one with the burger that have cheese inside the meat?”

“How American of you,” Eddie teases. “I’ll make sure Wayne calls Benny ahead of time so he knows we’re on our way.”

[itsabouttimex2]

Im not sure if you have gotten this ask before but what are your thoughts on the game Black Myth: Sun Wukong?

Honestly, coming fresh off the heels of Lego Monkie Kid’s “Actually Sun Wukong is a big blundering fuck-up that everyone screams at/hates/gets accidentally hurt by/slowly loses their respect for but trust us brooo there’s totally more to the story I promise I promise!! We’re not gonna show you because we’ve been too busy baiting the same mystery for five years, but truuuust us we’ll maybe probably eventually explain why the Monkey King implicitly either didn’t grow out of his worst characteristics during his journey to the west or otherwise went on an offscreen backslide of development that put him back into ‘reckless self-destructive idiot’ mode!”??

Because for as much as I’ll defend Sun Wukong’s actions in comparison to how badly the narrative portrays him, the writers are pretty blatant with their belief that making genuine mistakes deserves more scorn and attention than gleeful and repeated assault, manipulation, and attempted murder. And given that the fandom agrees with “Attempted murder/assault/manipulation isn’t as bad as accidental endangerment!” you get a monkey who’s constantly being shit on in and out of the story.

I mean, the fandom think so little of Sun Wukong that one of the writers had to come out and say to them directly “The Monkey King is not a deadbeat father who abandoned his son and also guys he’s a good person trying his hardest trust me.”

What the actual fuck?

I am having so much more fun with Black Myth Wukong. A Monkey King that the story and characters (and fans) don’t hate? I love that! A Monkey King who gets to be badass and competent without the writers rushing in to cripple, sideline, or shit on him? That’s great!

And for all the grief I see people sling at the game for “being too edgy” or about the “Monkey King not being quirky enough”, I’ll happily acknowledge that it at least does not have a new antagonist/ally/preexisting main character come out of the woodworks every chapter to squeal about how stupid, arrogant, reckless, and immature Sun Wukong is… all of whom don’t give even a quarter of that scorn to literal warlords and attempted murderers.

Black Myth Wukong shows how much fun a work can be when it doesn’t go out its way to shit on a legacy character that the story was built around including.

[letmereadinpeace4]

I have been thinking about Stella and Striker, and the fandom's reactions to them compared to other villains in the Hellaverse such as Valentino, Mamon or Crimson. What is interesting about these two is that they're given traits usually given to victims, or at least to people in unprivileged positions. Stella is a woman, has been forced into an arranged marriage with a man she didn't love, who not only was gay but also cheated on her, and has been forced to have a child with this man. Furthermore, her (more powerful, smarter) brother has made comments about her attractiveness that are at the very least questionable. We have no idea what she felt about motherhood, whether she was in love with someone else, or whether she had ambitions outside of her prescribed role. The most we can do is make theories and infer her actual thoughts based on context clues. As for Striker, he is from one of, if not the lowest class in hell, and it has been implied that he has lost "a lot" because of the Goetias and a class system that has been rigged against him. In other stories, these types of characters would be either heroes or presented as complete victims, and I think this is why there has been so much pushback against their canon characterization.

Because despite all of these, despite all of these traits that would make them sympathetic, both of these characters are nasty people, who are abusive to the people around them. Stella has physically, psychologically, emotionally, socially and (it is strongly implied) sexually abused Stolas all throughout their marriage, despite him being theoretically more powerful than her, she is at the very best a distant, emotionally neglectful mother to Octavia and she is openly classist. Even with Andrealphus possibly (and I do mean possibly) being a creep towards her, she is not shown as fearing him or being uncomfortable with him. Actually, when Andrealphus is being aggressive at the beginning of Mastermind, she doesn't give a single fuck about it and yells back at him, making him recoil (of course, it is possible that the dynamic between them is slightly more complicated, but so far we don't have details). Striker is vocal about being superior to the rest of his kind, bullies Moxxie pretty harshly pretty much for the lols, works with the royal against his own kind, pretty much doing their dirty work, and it is obvious that his issues with the class system of hell are about how it impacts him. He doesn't want imps to be in a better position. He wants himself to be in a better position.

These two characters break the traditional dichotomy of abuser/victim, which usually implies man = abuser, woman = victim, socially powerful = antagonist, socially disadvantaged = hero, cheater = bad person that deserves to rot in hell, person being cheated on = poor victim of circumstances who deserves the best. Their presence and their characterization raise uncomfortable questions about power and victimhood; questions that we usually don't want to deal with because we like it when things are easy and well-defined, when we can easily find a good side and a wrong side. Things being muddy forces us to reexamine our own biases, to admit that easy solutions may not work, that people who would be victims in certain circumstances can be abusers, and that their lack of privilege does not mean that they should not be held accountable for the pain they cause, nor does it even justify their actions. Both Stella and Striker are terrible, rotten people. Nothing that could have happened in their respective pasts can make acceptable the pain they caused to others. It can at best justify their actions.

So where does it leave us as an audience? How should we respond to these two? Of course, everyone will have their own opinions of these characters, based on their own tastes, pasts, opinions and overall bias. No one should be shamed for liking them, making fanarts of them, and wanting to see more of them. However, my opinion is that it is not possible to fully engage with these characters without recognizing their complex relationship with Hell's social dynamics and with power, nor without taking into account that they are pretty terrible people; something that, in my opinion, makes them far more engaging, interesting characters than if they were presented as pure victims.

(seriously, people say that Stella is badly written, and I absolutely think that the show, so far, suffers from not giving us a more detailed look into the dynamics between her, Stolas, Octavia and Andrealphus, at least as far as our understanding of these characters is concerned, but from the little we have of her, we have a far more interesting picture than people give it credit for).

[just-here-for-the-moment]

All of this! ☝️

I am SO honored that each and every one of these talented, lovely writers trusted me and @jazzyluckwrites with their work, and allowed us to compile them into this hot, sweet, delicious collection of stories!

This has been one of the great honors of my life, because from the writer's side, I know how hard it is to give someone your work, and trust them to treat it gently and with the respect it deserves.

Now that it is ready for eyeballs 👀 I want everyone to pick up a copy and find out how good it is for themselves!!

Please click this link and it will take you to your Amazon regional page for both eBook and paperback!! https://mybook.to/thingsunspoken

Happy reading!!! 💖

Things Unspoken anthology available Feb. 1st!

Hey everyone! I’m very excited to announce the release of Things Unspoken: Sensual and Seductive Short Stories, an anthology of 12 short romance stories. The eBook is available for presale starting now and the paperback will be on sale starting February 1st! I edited this book with my good friend Jasmine Luck. We had such a great time gathering some of our favorite writers to contribute, and now…

[maya-caffrey]

can we bring back procedurals? or at least just proper shows like how TV used to be? 5 to 15 seasons, a generous amount of episodes per season, 45 minutes: the sweet spot between too long and too short, pilot episodes that are wildly different from the rest of the show, filler episodes that overall contribute nothing but are extremely fun because that is what god intended, random musical episode, crossovers, waiting an entire week in anticipation to see what happens next, like, this was the PEAK of television, where did we go wrong

[miumiumandoodz]

the only correct way to draw them:

Beelzebub has to fit in Gabriel's pockets

Gabriel has to be kaiju sized

Gabriel has to have ultra yaoi hands

Gabriel's head scale to his body is 1:36

[princessmyriad]

.

[bi-panic-at-the-disco]

I like how whenever I watch AstralSpiff or Backseat play a new Poppy Chapter it’s pretty clear what game that they devs had been playing before hand lmao,, Chapter 4 being very clearly referencing to the Resident Evil 4 underground factory insect fights with how it was framed

[enbyjane]

the truth is (a perspective on love)

context: edit based off a personal conversation with @onlineproblems about parental love, unconditional love and the love we deserve bonus: her wise perspective:

more bonus:

[arolesbianism]

Doodle I did of my girl Juliet earlier

[cabeswaterdrowned]

[jonnywaistcoat]

I'm really glad to see that everyone seems to be having a good time with The Magnus Protocol, and my heart is very full with all the wonderful comments people are making, but I do need to flag something up.

For some of these episodes, a lot of folks are giving me credit for stuff I did not actually write. The cases for episodes 3 and 4 were both by guest writers, Graeme Patrick and Cole Weavers respectively, and they really deserve some love thrown their way.

That's not to minimise my own part: me and Alex certainly do editing work on them, and add in a few bits here and there to make sure everything cohesively fits in with the overall story and tone of the show, but if you enjoyed these episodes, then Graeme and Cole are the ones to thank for it.

And for that matter, Alex wrote episode 2 and deserves more of the accolades for how good that one was than I think he got (my edits just made it a bit... squishier).

Protocol is much more of a team effort than Archives was and so while, in a broad sense, you can still lay most of the blame for bad things happening to characters you love squarely at my feet, it's genuinely important to pay attention to the "written by" section of the credits this time around, 'cause often it's not gonna be my name there, and someone else deserves the thanks for giving you a horrible treat.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[girlwithrituals]

101 ways to improve self esteem

1) Master a new skill.

2) List your accomplishments.

3) Do something creative.

4) Challenge your limiting beliefs.

5) Talk to a counselor.

6) Don't worry about what others think.

7) Read or watch something inspirational.

8) Stay true to your character.

9) Let go of negative people.

10) Set healthy boundaries with others.

11) Care about your appearance.

12) Welcome failure as part of growth.

13) Be a lifelong learner.

14) Face your fears.

15) Become a mentor.

16) Accept compliments.

17) Eliminate self-criticism.

18) Practice coping skills to manage stress and big emotions.

19) Notice negative thoughts and beliefs.

20) Challenge negative thinking.

21) Think about what you learned from negative experiences.

22) Practice gratitude.

23) Exercise.

24) Eat healthy and limit junk food.

25) Get good sleep.

26) Spend time with positive and supportive people.

27) Encourage yourself.

28) Write a list of your strengths.

29) Don't compare yourself to others.

30) Avoid perfectionism.

31) Do at least one positive, enjoyable activity every day.

32) Celebrate small victories.

33) Be helpful and considerate to others.

34) Be honest with yourself and others.

35) Accept your flaws.

36) Don't give up.

37) Practice self-care.

38) Go easy on yourself.

39) Practice being assertive.

40) Practice saying "No".

41) Practice relaxation techniques.

42) Take on challenges.

43) Volunteer to help others.

44) Forgive others and yourself.

45) Set goals and work toward them step by step.

46) Seek balance in all areas of your life.

47) Discover your passions and purpose

48) Groom yourself.

49) Dress nicely.

50) Be kind and generous to others.

51) Practice good posture.

52) Change a small habit.

53) Smile.

54) Don't procrastinate.

55) Don't take things personal.

56) Organize your personal space.

57) Challenge unkind thoughts about yourself.

58) Spend time outside.

59) Notice the good things.

60) Celebrate your successes

61) Write a list of things you like about yourself.

62) Don't take too much on.

63) Do something for yourself every day.

64) Develop daily habits.

65) Remind yourself it's okay if not everyone likes you.

66) Practice mindfulness.

67) Learn to tolerate discomfort.

68) Use problem-solving skills.

69) Take responsibility instead of blaming.

Tell Yourself Positive Affirmations Such As:

70) I am grateful for every day.

71) I am worthy of happiness and love.

72) I am in charge of my own happiness.

73) I love, respect, and believe in myself.

74) I deserve to be happy and successful.

75) I approve of myself, right here and now.

76) I am learning and changing for the better.

77) I accept 100% responsibility for my own life.

78) Every day in every way, I am getting better and better.

79) I can learn to accept the parts of myself that I don't like.

80) I am thankful for my challenges as they make me a stronger person.

81) Write down three positives about each day.

82) Make a collage with your talents, goals, and dreams.

83) Practice laughing.

84) Be proud of yourself.

85) Say mistakes are an opportunity to learn.

86) Show respect to yourself and others.

87) Resolve conflict peacefully.

88) Ask for help or support.

89) Complete a daily task list.

90) Have a growth mindset.

91) Be optimistic.

92) Treat yourself with kindness and compassion.

93) Focus on the things you have control over and can change.

94) Get started on tasks you have been putting off.

95) Practice good daily hygiene.

96) Focus on solutions not problems.

97) Talk about your feelings with someone you trust.

98) Drink plenty of water.

99) Start a new hobby or join a club/sport.

100) Do random acts of kindness.

101) Create a dreams list.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hey! Saw your requests are open. If you havent been overwhelmed eith asks I have one for Yandere Shadow if you're interested, if not you're fine!!

What about a Yandere Shadow and Sonic with an S/O who's extremely affectionate and overprotective? BUT, as a twist, They're this way with everyone they care about. They just have a lot of love to give❤️

(Bonus headcanon that Eggman targets them first in fights because his robots literally cant get anywhere near anyone else due to how protective they can be of others. They focus on others so much they forget they might also be targetted)

A/n: idk how long this was in my inbox for

Yandere Shadow/Sonic x Overprotective, Affectionate Reader

Shadow:

Shadow isn't used to the kind of affection you give, not from anyone. He wasnt quite used to affection to mych at all. Not after Maria at least.

You're the type to wrap your arms around people in your life without a second thought, ruffle their hair, or reassure them with kind words whenever they’re feeling down.

At first, he thought this affection was only for him. The way you’d stand beside him in fights, ready to shield him from harm despite your lack of superhuman abilities, left him both confused and, strangely, touched.

But then, Shadow began to notice a pattern.

You weren't just protective of him. You were protective of everyone you cared about. Whether it was Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, or even strangers in trouble, you'd throw yourself into the way to ensure no one got hurt.

Your willingness to put others first was respectable, but it also infuriated Shadow.

Didn’t you realize how reckless it was? Did you think anyone else deserved your warmth and care the way he did?

Shadow tried to reason with himself. He knew your affection was genuine and that your overprotective tendencies came from a place of love.

Still, that jealousy in his chest clawed at him every time he watched you worry and fuss over someone else.

His thoughts turned darker as he began to wonder if maybe he needed to teach you to focus that energy solely on him...

It wasn’t unusual for Eggman to target the people Shadow cared about, but this time, Eggman targeted you first.

Shadow’s blood boiled when he realized why. Your protective nature made you an obstacle to Eggman’s plans, your sheer determination to shield others from harm meant that his robots couldn’t get anywhere near his intended targets. And worse, your focus on others left you vulnerable.

Shadow was livid. Not at you, but at the world. How dare anyone put you in danger?

You were so busy worrying about others that you forgot to worry about yourself. He decided right then and there that he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if that meant keeping you away from everyone else.

In the days that followed, Shadow became even more possessive. He started hovering closer during battles, stepping in before you had the chance to protect someone else. If you tried to shield Sonic or Tails, Shadow would pull you back with a firm grip, glaring at whoever dared to draw your attention.

"You can't keep doing this," he’d say in a stern voice. "You're going to get yourself hurt. Let me handle it."

At home, Shadow became even clingier. He didn't like how much energy you gave to others, so he made it his mission to monopolize your time.

Every moment spent with him was another moment you couldn’t be out there, being with someone else.

Still, he couldn't completely suppress his jealousy. The way you’d light up when hugging someone else made his fists clench.

Your constant reassurances that you had enough love to go around only made him more determined to make you see that he deserved all of it.

"Why do you waste your time on people who can’t protect themselves? They donct deserve what you give them. I'm the one who'll keep you safe, not them"

Sonic:

Sonic's usually not the biggest fan on being the receiving end of affection, but when it comes to you, he loves it. In fact, he thrives on it.

You're always ready with a hug, a playful nudge, or words of encouragement that make his heart race faster than his feet.

At first, he thought you were just that way with him, and he basked in the attention.

But Sonic quickly realized that you didn’t just have love for him. You had love for everyone.

You'd throw yourself in front of Tails to block an incoming attack, fuss over Amy if she got a scratch, or rush to Knuckles aid whenever he bit off more than he could chew.

Your boundless compassion for others left Sonic respecting you even more, but it also left him feeling insecure.

As confident as Sonic was in his abilities, he couldn’t shake the fear that someone else might steal your affection.

He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you prioritized above all else. But your overprotective tendencies meant that you focused on everyone equally, leaving Sonic craving more of your attention.

Then came the day Eggman decided to target you.

It wasn’t hard to see why. You were a force of nature in your own way, your determination to protect others made you a threat to Eggman’s plans. Sonic’s heart dropped when he realized that Eggman saw you as a liability.

The first time one of Eggman’s robots aimed directly for you, Sonic barely managed to stop the attack in time.

"Hey, what were you thinking?!" he scolded, his voice tinged with panic. "You can't keep throwing yourself in the line of fire like that!"

You brushed off his concerns, he did that stuff all the time, why was it any different?

Sonic wanted to argue, but he couldn't bring himself to. Still, he made a silent vow to protect you, even if it meant protecting you from yourself.

Sonic's jealousy is more subtle than Shadow’s, have to keep up the 'perfect hero' act. He'd crack jokes whenever you doted on someone else, masking his unease with humor. But if someone started to take over your time, Sonic wouldn’t hesitate to intervene, dragging you away with some flimsy excuse.

Despite his possessiveness, Sonic would never stop loving your affectionate nature. It's part of what makes you, you. But he’d do everything in his power to ensure that your love didn’t come at the cost of your safety, even if it meant keeping you closer than you’d like.