#Weight loss without sacrifices

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Benefits of Weight Loss Capsules

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Why Arcane's Finale Fumbled Pt. 2

In my last post, I argued that Arcane's second season was artistically beautiful and thematically cheap. I broke down where I believed the writers fumbled with Vi's, Jinx's and Viktor's characters, and how the conflict of season 2 should have centred around a war between Piltover and Zaun rather than Piltover/Zaun against Ambessa and cosmic robots. I asserted the the real let-down of Season 2 had to do with its themes and its refusal to commit to the political story it had set up.

Well, folks, on further examination, it actually looks worse than I thought, and I'm going to use two characters--Silco and Mel--to break down what makes the message of Arcane so hollow and even a little dangerous.

Let's get into it.

Silco: The First Proposition

Silco and Vander:

Silco is a character CENTRAL to the themes of Arcane. The setup of the entire drama of the show, the central theme, are these questions: what is the price of progress and are we willing to pay it? Should we pay that price? Or as Silco says it quite bluntly to the first kid we see him give shimmer to: “Real power belongs to people who are willing to do anything to get it.” This story isn’t merely about ambition, but a dialogue on what actual progress costs and looks like. What does a better world look like? Is the better world we’re fighting for better for us or others? And what (or who) are we willing to sacrifice to achieve that goal? Vander, when faced with that question on the bridge answers, “No dream is worth the loss of those we love.”

The death on the Bridge of Progress during the early war/conflict had too high a cost to Vander. Silco, however, “had enough.” Unlike Vander, what happened on the Bridge of Progress radicalized him. Silco, while being drowned by Vander, realized in that moment that he would do anything, not just to live, but to achieve his dream of a free Zaun. With or without Vander. Even if he had to sacrifice Vander. And we soon see, that while Vander dedicated the rest of his life to keeping the vulnerable in The Lanes safe (even if it meant making deals with enforcers), Silco was willing to throw citizens of The Lanes to the wolves on his way to achieve independence for Zaun. Silco calls it, “The necessary violence for change.” And in this episode (3 of Season 1) Silco sets forth a proposition for the entire show: does the path to a better world require violence?

Silco and Sevika:

Silco’s new approach to crossing the bridge of progress, the path to freedom is winding and twisted. Silco embraces that, because only the goal matters: an independent Zaun. Silco won’t be at the mercy of the Council or anyone in The Lanes, and Sevika is into that shit. We saw that she percieved Vander as weak and servile to enforcers. Who she deems abhorrent without remorse (Vander and Grayson are both despised by Sevika and Marcus because they are percieved as being too lenient with their enemies). Silco, however, has an ACTUAL plan.

He creates a shimmer enterprise because having this control not only gives him a monopoly on The Lanes (and the gangs within), but leverage when it comes to manipulating the Council. Violence and the threat of war are the official languages of both Zaun and Piltover. It is how anyone bothers to listen to Silco both in The Lanes and within the Council. We know that the rich Piltovians (like those IRL) only speak money. “Progress” to them is prosperity and legacy (and I’ll get more into that later).

By creating the shimmer enterprise, Silco not only gets his foot in the door, monopoly over the other gangs and factions (thus uniting them), but a metaphorical seat at the table. His name has weight now, which positions him to make demands of Piltover and give Zaun a thriving industry (at least when it comes to money). Especially because (as we see with Salo and Lest) shimmer is also used by the elites. Silco is a brilliant tactician who exploits the hubris of Piltovians (like Marcus, who wanted to be in charge so he can neuter Zaunites indiscriminately), and manipulates them to his own advantage (much like Mel). But when Renni’s son is killed in the mines, Silco’s proposition is confronted once again: isn’t it easy to justify necessary violence when no one you love is the collateral?

Silco doesn’t care about Renni’s son, doesn’t see himself as remotely near Renni’s position. When Twitch calls Jinx his “dog” (something Sevika herself wanted to do lmao), Silco gets twitchy. He doesn’t recognize any similarity between his relationship with Jinx and Renni and her son. Jinx is not someone he would ever consider as up for debate. Which was the point of tension between him and Sevika (a Sevika who’s loyalty he KNEW he needed in order to keep control, especially in the wake of Jinx’s volatility and unpopularity). Nevertheless, Sevika doesn’t betray him in that moment, because she still sees Silco as stronger (even though she believes Jinx is a weakness he needs to get rid of). As with Vander, Sevika views affection for their own at the cost of freedom as weakness.

Yet, funnily enough, she is fiercely loyal. She, like Jinx, is Silco’s “dog.” She shares his weakness, the weakness that makes her zealous for a better world in the first place. But what Twitch and Renni pose to both Silco and Sevika is the unsettling question of: are you really willing to go far enough? Or do you still see yourself as an exception? Regardless, when it comes to Silco’s proposition, Silco WAS SUCCESSFUL (and also accurate in his deductions on what would get both cities to respect him and eventaully give him what he wanted - Zaun). His determination and focus paid off, indeed, it’s hard to see how he could have been successful without the “necessary violence”. It is clear that he wouldn’t have. No shimmer, no independence. Silco, for all his gruesome methods, WAS RIGHT. Except . . .

Silco and Marcus:

By exploiting and manipulating the vulnerable of The Lanes, Silco also ensured he would suffer the same fate as Marcus. Unlike Silco, Marcus did horrible things to protect his daughter. Marcus, at first, had started out as a zealous enforcer, eager to clean out the rats of The Lanes. Although he didn’t plan for Grayson to be killed, he was willing to get rid of her in order to ensure that he would get into a position that allowed him to do what he wanted to do: exterminate rats and be the hero of Piltover.

Silco offers him bodies for Stillwater in exchange for ease of shimmer distribution. Silco is willing to sacrifice his own people, the people Zaun is ironically for, in order to gain influence in Piltover. Silco, however, did the opposite. Because he loved Jinx, he recognized her deepest insecurity and sought to assuage it (inadvertently weaponizing it against her and those who loved her). He let Jinx get close and gave her responsibility so she could feel like she belonged (he let her drug his eye, a delicate process, while she was still thought of as reckless and untrustworthy). He brought her deeper into the heart of the violence and taught her to embrace it. He made her a child prodigy of warfare.

He takes a different approach to Vander (who kept telling the kids to stay out of trouble where they could and used himself as a buffer). So was Silco wrong? Was Vander? The answer was, quite poetically and profoundly, their deaths and the resulting silence. Both died, more or less, at the hands of their daughters. This is something overlooked often by fandom. It was Vi’s choice to lead her brothers and sister into Jayce’s apartment that would eventually bring the enforcers down to The Lanes, sparking the chain of events that would lead to Vander’s death (or had things gone “well,” his arrest). Vi is also how Powder got the arcane stones in the first place. Vi’s encouragement (well-meaning and innocent as it was) played a hand in the disaster that followed.

But the fact that both Vander and Silco die regardless, paints an excellent portrait of the constraints of oppression. Both tried different methods when it came to rearing their daughters. Both methods got them killed and thrust their children into peril. Vander could only have shielded Vi for so long, and Jinx could only have taken so much so young before she broke down completely. The fate of the girls is not merely their fathers’ fault, nor their sister’s. The tragedies of their lives happen due to the simple fact that they were born in The Lanes. No choice, on either Vander’s, Silco’s, Powder’s or Vi’s mattered in the end.

They were always playing a losing game, which is what makes it so fucking INFURIATING when S2 comes along and suggests that “ACKTUALLY the reason everyone’s happy in Ekko’s AU is because Vi died/hextech was no more/Silco and Vander made up).” All of those were symptoms of the bigger issue, not the issue itself. And that is the horrible irony of Silco’s story. He WAS right. But his folly was viewing himself and those he loved as exceptions to the rule. For when Zaun demands the final price, when Jayce asks for Jinx in exchange for his dream being realized, he isn’t willing to pay anymore.

Marcus only crossed the bridge of progress into Zaun for the sake of his daughter (as is shown in a chilling scene where he finds Silco playing with her in her room). Likewise, when Silco FINALLY finishes, after all those years, his march on The Bridge of Progress, like Marcus, he dies in a swarm of bullets. But unlike Marcus, he is afforded time to tell his daughter, “I wouldn’t have given you to them. Not for the world.” Not for his dream. So what did Season 2 do with that?

Summary of Fumblings:

-I’ll tell you what Season 2 did. Season 2 took the biggest shit on one of the most fascinating characters in animated history. The reason I didn’t put that much critique up there was to show you how complex, layered, deep and thoughtful Season 1 was with Silco’s character. Silco in S2 became a cheap gimmick flung in our faces like the marketing team was trying to sell Silco plushies following the release. His back-story in Season 2 clashes horribly with Season 1. If Vander, Silco and Felicia were such chums back then, why did neither Silco nor Vi recognize each other when they met in Season 1? They were quite grown by the time the March on The Bridge of Progress happened. Honestly, there’s too many mistakes and inconsistencies with how Season 2 handles the backstory I don’t even see a point in getting to it

-(excerpt from one of the writers) I can't BELIEVE MY FUCKING EYES! Silco’s respect for Vander, despite the fact that Vander tried to drown him (most likely after the carnage on the Bridge of Progress where Vander realized the cost of war), was that Vander remained dedicated to Zaun’s independence, at least, until he began prioritizing the safety of the children over Zaun’s freedom. Silco’s respect for Vander had never been a goal or motivation. Silco never expressed any desire to be respected by Vander. He merely expressed respect, ONLY because Vander, up until he became the enforcer’s “lapdog,” shared his pursuit of a free Zaun. Silco killed Vander for the same reason Vander tried to drown Silco: they had become a threat to what they held dear - Silco, his pursuit of Zaun, and Vander the safety of his adopted children.

-”We build our own prisons. Bars forged of oaths, codes, commitments.” This conversation is SO FUCKING—rips into mattress and pulls out stuffing Jinx hallucinates Silco from within the cell she’s in at Stillwater, maybe the same one Vi had been in. Silco starts off saying something like “It’s funny how Marcus thought putting Vi in this cell was a greater mercy than killing her,” cluing us in to not just Jinx’s mental state but the very real torment it must have been for Vi as a child as well. SO JUST TO RECAP, WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THE PRISON OF THE CYCLE OF KILLING AND VIOLENCE, OKAY. In addition to that already horrible quote above, Silco says, “. . . and it will continue, long after the two of you.” So, folks, IN CONCLUSION, this cycle of violence (which I have already established like a fucking broken record is EXPLICITLY started and perpetuated by Piltover) is eternal and inevitable. Just let that fucking sink in. Let it settle nice and sour in your gut and then tell me how that GERD feels. Not only is that an appalling thing to suggest about any oppressive regime, it’s also untrue. Yes, humanity has not gone a decade without some form of conflict and struggle, but individual societies have been PROVABLY capable of both progress and regress. Both of which require the agency and active participation of others. And Arcane seems to want to show that progress is indeed possible, but it has already declared it, to some extent, a pointless pursuit in this conversation. Which is it, Arcane S2 writers? Is progress worth striving for, or is it pointless? “Oh my god, you’re so dumb ratatatouille!” you say. “Of course they answered the former! Duh! In Ekko’s monologue when Jinx is trying to kill herself, he tells Jinx that someone special once told him that no matter what happened in the past, it’s never too late to build something new - someone worth building it for.” GREAT! DELICIOUS, EVEN! Now why is it that Ekko says this instead of Silco? Why isn’t this something Silco would say, given that this was the entire point of his and Vander’s story? That this is what his arc embodied and explored? “You’re so silly! Obviously Silco is a hallucination!” The show explicitly frames Silco as RIGHT and tries to tie in what Silco says with what Ekko says. More sympathetic viewers will say that since Ekko discovered that Jinx was never the problem, that hextech was, and that Jinx was actually the path towards progress - a path Silco had walked so she could run - Ekko approached her as someone he could finally save (and oh boy am I going to get into why that doesn’t work AT ALL later). Is is not Jinx, but the hextech, the ARCANE, that is dangerous. The hextech is the true jinx. It is what will keep the cycle going. That’s why Silco holds the arcane stone near his eye like that in the scene.

And to that I say . . . WELL THAT’S FUCKING STUPID. I don’t care that “Arcane” is the title of the show. It is the cheapest story gimmick I have seen since vibranium, except vibranium REMAINED a plot device and didn’t usurp the theme or political/interpersonal conflicts in Black Panther. Hextech was a PLOT DEVICE meant to be used to explore the themes which became the ENDPOINT. And this story SUFFERS SO MUCH from that simple change. This is why most critics of season 2 say the story should have remained focused on the interpersonal and political reasons characters did what they did, rather than siphoning all their stories into a mission to stop the evil, mystical stones. It is a fucking stupid distraction in S2, where in S1 it had been a beautiful metaphor, a fragment of a mirror that the characters held up to examine their faces.

But by claiming the cycle was the hextech all along, you just shat on everything that made S1 good.

Which brings me back to what Ekko tells Jinx, that she can still build a better world for the people she loves (like Vi, I guess). That’s why she comes back to help her sister. She cuts her hair (a symbol of letting go of the past) and joins Vi to defeat Ambessa and evil Viktor. This is treated as some kind of continuation (or the true point) of Silco’s “ending the cycle” speech. By letting go of Vi (literally) and Silco (also literally), she can finally . . . er . . . stop “running in circles.” So the show tells us she is BOTH supposed to fight one more time to achieve an autonomous Zaun AND fuck off to a new land to escape said cycle—which, what was the POINT of fighting if she still had to “escape” it in the end anyways?

NO S2 HALLUCINATION SILCO, JINX AND VI DID NOT BUILD THEIR OWN PRISONS. THEY SURVIVED THE CAGES THEY WERE PUT IN AS CHILDREN AND THEY DESERVED BETTER THAN THAT GODAWFUL DUMBASS SPEECH.

Do you see why this writing is so horrible? It contradicts itself so many fucking times, no matter how you splice it. Whether it’s about the cycle of violence being the fault of unforgiveness or hextech. None of it makes any sense because none of it was ever established in season 1 as being the cause for any of those things. And by even SUGGESTING that either or both of those could be the cause, the writers send us two very troubling messages: oppression is inevitable and also, somehow, the fault (rather than responsibility) of the oppressed. Actually no, I think the suggestion from the writers is even stupider: oppression is an option and you can opt in or out.

And that is the ultimate insult to Silco’s character and what he did for the story of the show.

Mel: The Counterpoint

Mel and Jayce:

Mel is Silco’s thematic counterpoint. In the story, Silco proposes that progress costs some “necessary violence.” Mel is faced with this same question as a child, when Ambessa presents her with the last remaining heir of a nation Noxus had conquered. Ambessa asks young Mel if they should kill or spare the girl. “Kino says war is a failure of statecraft,” Mel had said, when her mother told her about how her father had made her retrieve knives on the battlefield at ten so she’d know death. War, Mel is sure, is REGRESS not PROGRESS. It is the breaking down of the state, not the making of one. It’s obvious to Mel that sparing this girl, who looks about her age, is the progressive, less barbaric thing to do. Yet Ambessa insists, “Your brother thinks he can talk his way out of anything,” Likening him to being a fox among wolves when a good ruler needs to be both. To which Mel goes on to describe the kind of ruler the new conquered kingdom will need. A woman “with a kind, fat face to charm her subjects”, but moldable, to which Ambesaa basically says “So basically you? Cool. I’m down, but you have to prove yourself to me. Prove you can take it.” This is when Mel is presented with the ultimatum: choose to spare the girl or kill her. “We can show the people we are merciful,” she pleads on behalf of the girl. But Ambessa is firm. If Mel kills her now (a symbol of the old “regime”), she won’t (maybe) have to deal with any uprisings and kill thousands.

But Mel doesn’t swallow this poison, insists that diplomacy is the superior way, and is banished to Piltover, where she undertakes the task of proving herself. She tries to become the fox. She uses her kind, fat face to charm the Councilors of Piltover and manipulates Jayce to use hextech for Piltover so that her work in the city becomes impressive, cements her legacy as a Medarda, validates her as one of them, and ALSO proves her mother wrong, thus liberating herself from her mother’s cycle of violence and re-instating her rightful station as a worthy member of the Medarda clan.

But it’s not JUST that, though. Jayce’s enthusiasm to improve the world with hextech inspires Mel and validates what she felt so strongly as a child that Ambessa staunchly denied. When Jayce shares his dream with her, she goes all soft and says, “We’re (the Medarda’s) not often in the position to give back.” Which is . . . funny, lol. I think she was talking about herself rather than her entire family. Anyway, to Jayce, Mel was the one who gave him a second chance. He and Viktor wouldn’t have gone anywhere without her help. Jayce is likely the first person she’s felt capable of helping (especially outside Ambessa’s shadow), and likewise, Mel makes Jayce feel indominable (remember: “Nothing feels impossible when I’m with you”). Jayce makes her feel good about herself, hopeful that her ways can work. After all, being the fox has worked for Jayce and Piltover.

But Mel isn’t just the fox, and not for the reasons S2 thinks. Why? LONG before Ambessa sets foot in Piltover, Mel receives a letter from a correspondent overseas. She despairs that Jayce is not ready to be the success she needs him to be. Even after he confides in her about Viktor’s illness, to her it is not a personal loss. If anything, she’s more concerned that Jayce has a close relationship with him, wondering how much it may affect Jayce, hence her plans. Jayce wants to uphold his promise in helping Viktor, the man who saved him from his own death (AND TRUST ME, WE’LL GET TO THAT) but Mel wants Jayce focused on keeping her investment and legacy IN PILTOVER safe.

So what does homegirl do? She manipulates Jayce into creating hextech weapons. The reason she moves for a vote to make Jayce a councilor on Progress Day is in light of Jinx’s attack. The councilors are worried that someone in the undercity got their hands on hextech and can use it against them. Jayce, feeling responsible for the situation (and that probably having something to do with Caitlyn nearly dying in the attack), proposes to pause all hextech developments until the threat is neutralized. Instantly, we see Viktor’s and Mel’s reactions—panic. Both are running out of time. Mel to make Piltover a success, and Viktor to help those dying in The Lanes. So Mel proposes Jayce become a councilor instead.

We next see her examining Jinx’s bomb with Viktor and Jayce. Jayce asks Viktor if it’s possible that Jinx could create something resembling hextech. Viktor, who is busy marvelling at Jinx’s ingenuity and feeling a little proud of his people, says very confidently that “It’s a leap.” Meaning it’s far away from what Jayce and him are developing. But Mel needs SOMETHING to show her peers overseas. That, or she recognizes the undercity as a real threat to her dream of progress and prosperity. Legacy. The undercity is ugly and she wants to neutralize it before she loses her chance. Here, we see her make the choice to be the wolf. The relentless and unmerciful. Focused and driven by her ambition. She will be a Medarda, unlike last time. When Jayce asks if she knows for certain that Zaun intends to turn the gemstones into weapons, Mel says, “That doesn’t matter. We’ll assume,” which pisses Viktor off. But then she performs the ultimate manipulation on Jayce. She uses Jayce’s care for the Kirammans and Piltover to convince him that it’s necessary to “protect your people” which, Viktor can tell, does not extend to the people of the undercity.

Once again, Mel is demonstrating that she doesn’t see Zaunites as people. She barely acknowledges Viktor when he protests, saying “That’s not what we invented hextech for!” She merely looks at him, then looks back at Jayce and talks to Jayce. She repeatedly ignores Viktor, talks over him, as if he isn’t there. Doesn’t matter. After all, Jayce is the only one in Piltover worth her time. Piltover is her project, not the dirty undercity. Mel had already sown the seed for Jayce’s rampage by the time Ambessa showed up.

“Stay away from Jayce!” she says, and yet Mel is what brought Ambessa close to Jayce both physically and ideologically. For hextech and Piltover (the City of Progress) to be safe, Jayce has to commit some “necessary violence for change.”

This isn’t Ambessa’s fault, but Mel’s and Jayce’s. Again, Mel is the one who started the manipulation and Jayce is the one who betrayed his and Viktor’s vision.

Jayce acquiesces to Ambessa's rhetoric since the attack at the bridge, and proposes to the other council members to go into The Lanes with force, which they are all (including Mel) hesitant to do. But then Jayce goes ahead anyways, and kills a kid (which we’ll come back to), and he not only regrets it, but does a 180 and returns, like Mel, back to his core values — peace and progress over prosperity or legacy. He makes a deal with Silco and then goes and tells the Council what’s up. Mel, now utterly convinced of her position, is the first to cast her vote in favor of an independent Zaun, and removes the Medarda ring while she does so, signalling her disdain for all the clan represents. Not only that, but she smears gold over the Noxian ships in her painting, which her mother correctly reads as a rejection of Noxus and an embrace of the Piltover her and Jayce want to build. Mel does not anticipate the attack, and Mel, in the last frame of the finale of Season 1, is the first target of Jinx’s bomb, the first councilor it was going to hit while her back was turned to it.

Mel and Viktor:

Mel’s parallel with Viktor is interesting. Mel’s interest in hextech (and initially Jayce) are to her own ends, later becoming altruistic (Viktor’s interest in Jayce also starts as an interest in his theories although his motivations were altruistic from the start). Jayce reminded her what she wanted to be in the first place. That her family name, like Jayce’s was to his, was a ball and chain around her neck. Holding her back from true progress. From a better world. A better legacy. Viktor comes from nowhere-land. Viktor doesn’t have a family legacy to inherit. Viktor is a Zaunite. And soon, much like Viktor, Mel is going to have to work hard to create her own legacy. Both Viktor and Mel are sort of outsiders in Piltover. As is shown in S2 with Salo, Piltover, the Fake City of Progress, has no accommodations for the disabled, which makes Viktor stand out like a sore thumb (also, Viktor is the one who made his own leg brace). Mel is a foreigner who has to make a name for herself before she can latch onto the Medarda title. Viktor wants the city to be good, while Mel wants the city (and herself) to look good.

This is why Viktor gets so sassy with her lmao. He sees through her manipulations and notices that she is pulling Jayce away from what they’d set out to do together (he is also annoyed at how easy it is for Jayce to forget). Mel is the one who tells Jayce it would be wiser to let the council members get away with their criminality (all while cracking down on The Lanes), which makes them wealthier, something that pushes Jayce deeper into his own prejudices against Zaun, where he starts seeing himself as primarily a caretaker of Piltover rather than hextech, as a councilor rather than a scientist, and it jeopardizes his relationship with Viktor.

But Jayce helped her re-connect with the values all three of them shared deep down. The desire to help people and make the world a better place. After the bridge massacre, Mel wants to put her manipulation, charm and diplomacy to good use, and she does so in the Council Room when she votes for Zaun’s independence.

But here’s where the FUMBLE happens. In S2, we see that Mel’s magic seems to have shielded Jayce and herself, but not Viktor. Not only that, but it’s hinted that Viktor’s magic is resistant to her touch. We don’t get any answer as to why that is (although I’d like to think that was Viktor being petty even while unconscious). This is especially weird since the arcane is alluded to be where the mages get their power (and isn’t it convenient that Viktor became a mindless war machine controlled by the corrupted/corrupting arcane instead of a mage when we see that in other universes he is indeed a mage already?). Not only that, but Viktor can clearly “touch” her magic through the puppet, later on.

Jayce keeps asking her why he was spared and Viktor wasn’t, and Mel, once again, cannot answer him. She knows that her magic protected her and Jayce, but once again, Jayce is lowkey asking why all these horrible things keep happening to Viktor instead of him. Why he is spared instead of Viktor. Unlike Mel, I have an answer. The answer IS PRIVILEGE JAYCE NOT THE FUCKING ARCANE AND THE MYSTICAL NATURE OF MAGIC OR SOME UNKNOWN FORCE OF FATE. Viktor’s tragedy was something that could be helped by both hextech and just Piltover not being a bunch of fucking asswipes. Viktor’s “bad luck” was actually just piss poor governance, or as Kino would say, “a failure of statecraft.” When Mel forsook her original ideals in order to pursue her mother’s acceptance and her family legacy, she did what all the other council members did: make themselves comfortable in places of power at the expense of the oppressed. In order for her to reclaim herself, she had to abandon Noxus and her dream of returning or belonging to the Medarda Clan. Mel has to choose between her family’s legacy and her own longing for progress.

Mel and Ambessa:

While Jayce has to fight Victor (who is really now reduced to just another weapon Jayce created that’s gotten into the wrong hands - and more on THAT later), Mel’s task is facing down her mother. By removing the context of oppressed/oppressor inherent to the Piltover/Zaun dynamic, we fail to explore S1’s setup for Mel. IT SHOULD BE NOTED that the reason diplomacy worked for Mel and not Silco was because of their differences in power. When Viktor tells Jayce “There is always a choice” after Jayce expresses his doubts regarding what Mel said about the Zaunites making hextech, Viktor was talking about Jayce’s choice. Mel’s choice. Mel could have chosen to be diplomatic, even with the threat of Jinx. But instead she forsook her ideals in pursuit of her desire to become a Medarda and, like her mother in her dream, preferred to eliminate the threat rather than integrate (Zaun). Even if she back-tracked by the time her mom came back.

Mel has to face the fact that, like Jayce, she betrayed her values and initiated something horrible: the war she’d always dreaded and despised. Mel is why Ambessa heard of the weapons in the first place. But S2 doesn’t focus on this at all. It barely acknowledges it. Instead, Mel is sucked into the Black Rose and told she’s a mage and that her mother must die for the sake of nameless nations the Black Rose mentions. You see, Ambessa is a scapegoat. An excuse to halt and dissolve any meaningful discussion on Piltover’s (and Mel’s) hand in the plight of The Lanes.

By making Ambessa the big bad, the council members and other Piltovians complicit in Zaun’s desperation get a free pass. Both in the show and by fandom. In fact, Mel can now be regarded as a hero (one of the GOATs of Arcane, if I recall) for killing Ambessa, then being christened the wolf by her mother. We don’t have to reckon with the fact that for most of the time she knowingly used Viktor (and Jayce) as a means and ignored Zaun, and that when Zaun got her attention, her first instinct was to weaponize Piltover, saying, “The peace was already broken.” And I’m pretty sure the reason she did this was PURELY for ambition, because not more than an episode later, she’s backtracking, insisting that Jayce doesn’t know war like she does, that they should simply give Silco what he wants.

So Viktor was right. She wasn’t forced to manipulate Jayce into creating hextech weapons. She wanted to do it for her own gain. And Jayce rightfully gets mad at her in S2 when he recognizes her manipulations (even if he himself was complicit). He does, however tell her that “No one can control you and you’ll never be a passenger.” Once again affirming her incredible power—only this time, the focus is magic and not her political prowess. AND ISN’T IT CONVENIENT THAT MEL “DOESN’T UNDERSTAND” HER EMPATHIC POWERS SO SHE CAN BE TECHNICALLY EXCUSED FROM HER DECISIONS IN S1? HOW COOL IS THAT?!

Lmao when Mel starts lecturing her mother in the finale with “Mother, look at the price of your ambition,” it’s like . . . okay? You exacerbated this war long before your mother, girl. You were the one on the council for YEARS before she arrived. Mel, like Caitlyn, gets to play saviour while barely taking any credit for the fact that she was largely responsible for where Zaun and Piltover ended up (sis literally determined council votes singlehandedly). When Mel stands on the other side of the Bridge of Progress, she sees a trail of violence. She decides to cling even more firmly to her core values. Silco was right, but so was Mel. You see, diplomacy wouldn't have worked for Silco, but it could work for Mel, because Mel had power.

Summary of Fumblings:

-And what was that, “(Piltover is) the city I built for my family” BS? By the end of S1, it is clear that Mel wants NOTHING to do with being a Medarda anymore. She wants to keep Noxus and Piltover SEPARATE. So why does she tell her mother, “You will never be a Medarda” as some kind of gotcha? Lmao, like why tf does that matter? How would she know? Why would she care? Other than her and Kino, what other benevolent Medardas are out there that makes her say this?

-The Black Rose warns Mel of Ambessa’s “thirst for legacy” (much like Mel’s) leading to a worldwide calamity. Mel wants to imagine that her mother prizes her own children over her pride, but the Black Rose insists that’s not true. That Ambessa is willing to sacrifice her children for more power and legacy. We do understand, however, that when Ambessa is confronted by the Black Rose, she is resorting to hextech so she can avoid using Mel (”she’s safer as our enemy”). AND THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE IF THE THIRD ACT ACTUALLY ACTED LIKE IT. How is Mel going to be this really great weapon that Ambessa doesn’t want to use because she loves her (which like, why didn’t she love Kino then if it wasn’t about magic?), but also simultaneously SENT AWAY TO A DISTANT LAND OUT OF HER WATCH? So now she’s hiding Mel, but she wants to pursue the arcane that is waking her mage-ness up and making it impossible for Mel to hide? Ambessa was literally there in the council room in the aftermath of the explosion. She knew Mel had used magic to protect herself and Jayce, but she didn’t do anything? Say anything?

Now most of this is clearly setting up another story in Runeterra (which means my criticism will ultimately be left to conjecture), so I’m going to focus instead on her last words to Mel: “You are the wolf.” The wolf being a symbol (at least in callback to season 1) of ruthlessness and fearlessness: the opposite of mercy. Why does her mother say this? Because Mel finally made a kill? Or because she killed to protect what she built? Finally embraced her power? Yeah, let’s go with that last one. Mel’s development in S2 becomes one where we focus on the power she’s always had, both magical and influential. Yet the show focuses more on the cool magic part than the rammys of Mel’s decisions in S1. It ignores her political power and frontlines her magical abilities, even making her political prowess partly due to her magical empath powers . . . like . . .

Mel was the wolf long before she killed her mother because she had always been someone who used her strength in order to pursue her own goals ruthlessly, even at the expense of Zaunites. But S2 insists she became the wolf only when she was willing to kill her mother. That her wolfness had something to do with her magic rather than her judgement.

-Mel had dislodged her legacy from the Medardas by the time S2 rolls around. . . except no she hasn’t. In the end, Mel is sailing back on the Noxian ships she painted over, and she is doing so as the new Warlord (even wearing what looks like her mother’s cape) because she is the badass wolf, the leader that her mom wasn’t. And how did she achieve that power? Magic. Why does she want to go back? To reform the Medarda name? To take on the mission her mother couldn’t finish against The Deceiver? Because Jayce is dead? Who even cares at this point, this is mainly happening for the spinoff. It isn’t illogical, it’s just the least interesting approach to her character. Mel had much more agency in S1, and her political prowess made her formidable. But that doesn’t matter anymore.

-Her whole arc in S1 was all about her finding the courage to leave the Medarda name behind in pursuit of true progress, but then she kills her mother and sails away from Piltover, the city she fought to protect and killed her mother for and is all about probably reforming the Medarda name—and that’s her job done? Is it me, or is that a reversal of her—pardon the pun—progress? Not only that, but making Ambessa go from an imperialist tyrant to this woman bravely fighting against a larger, more powerful threat cheapens what Noxus represented for me. Sometimes conquerors do be conquering, and they make threats up to justify their greed. Not the other way around. It’s not too egregious, but it would’ve been nice if the Black Rose had been more of an epilogue thing.

-sigh I know I’ve said it before but it’s because it’s true . . . the conflict should have remained between Zaun and Piltover and Ambessa was a cheap way out of what S1 was building up

-Mel being a mage is a cool reveal, but it side-lines and devalues what she was, could do, had done and how she’d developed in S1

-Despite what the show would have you believe, Mel was not the victim. She was very much complicit in ignoring Zaun’s needs in priority of the rich and wealthy in order to make herself look good. She wasn’t as cruel as her mother, but she wasn’t progressive until she saw the damage already done (and Jayce helped her re-connect with her own conscience).

-Mel’s contribution to the development of hex-tech every step of the way is completely ignored. Instead Viktor and Jayce take full responsibility.

Conclusion:

Mel and Silco's arcs both ask: is violence necessary for progress? Both answer yes, but Mel's remains a little unsatisfactory. Because Mel had a choice. She had power. Power that Silco was willing to do (almost) anything to get. Both Mel and Silco's presence in S1 were formidable, and what made them so intriguing was there thorough understanding of people, both the good and the bad. But in S2, at least for Mel, what made her such an agentive character is thrust aside for spinoff hype. It's not that it isn't cool, it is. It's just one of the things that made S2 feel not only chunky, but disconnected from the roots of its story in S1. Both Silco's and Mel's characters in S2 reveal a very poor (or troubling) view of oppression, power dynamics and politics.

Anyway, that's just me. I was gonna do Ekko, Caitlyn and Jayce as well, but this post got too lengthy. I'll probably need to whittle it all down later. I've already cut so much.

[thesecondhandwoman]

ISHA’S DEATH

Sevika x f!reader

Summary: Sevika is devastated after learning that Isha, the young girl Jinx had found and whom Sevika had grown close to, died sacrificing herself to protect Jinx during a violent incident. Stricken with guilt and grief, Sevika crumbles, unable to cope with the loss, especially since she wasn’t there when it happened. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sevika falls apart in your arms, desperately needing comfort.

The news came like a thunderstorm on a clear day.

Sevika had always been the one who was prepared for anything, the one who could take on a hundred enemies without flinching, the one who could shoulder any burden, no matter how heavy. But this news—this thing—was different. It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t a betrayal. It wasn’t something that could be punched out of existence.

It was a loss. A cruel, senseless loss.

Isha. The little girl Jinx had found when she was barely more than a whisper of herself, a non-verbal, rebellious spark of defiance that had found a home in the chaos of the world they lived in. Isha, the one Sevika had grown attached to, who had wormed her way into her heart with her unspoken resilience and her quiet, yet unwavering loyalty.

And now she was gone.

Sevika stood at the doorway, her broad frame framed by the dim light outside, looking like she had just been struck by a physical blow. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, staring at the floor as if it could give her the answers she needed. Her normally composed expression was gone, replaced by something raw, something wild, as if she was trying to process the unthinkable.

You had heard the whispers long before she walked through the door—gossip, rumors, half-truths—but you had hoped, prayed that it wasn’t true. That Isha was still out there, laughing her silent laugh, running circles around Jinx as they always did.

But when Sevika had stepped into the apartment, her face a mask of disbelief, you knew.

You knew that the storm was finally here.

“Sevika…” you whispered, your voice a tentative thread of concern. You had never seen her like this.

Sevika didn’t answer, and you knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type to speak when words could never be enough. You approached her slowly, your heart pounding, unsure of what to do, how to comfort her when the hurt was so vast, so endless.

Her eyes met yours, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. They were empty. There was no fire in them, no hardness, no walls. Only a hollow, vast emptiness that swallowed everything in its path.

“Isha’s dead,” Sevika rasped, her voice thick, hoarse, and cracking. “She… she died saving Jinx. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there… and she’s dead.”

The words didn’t feel real, not in the way they should. Isha was a kid, a girl who had barely started her life, a girl who’d found something like family in the wreckage of their broken world.

The details were hazy, but you had heard enough—an accident. A violent break-out. A sacrifice.

She had stepped in front of Jinx.

You felt the ground beneath you tilt. Isha had always been so quiet, so protective in her own way, but you hadn’t thought of her being so… brave. To protect someone with her life, someone who meant everything to her… to her family. You knew how much Sevika had cared for Isha—she had never said it aloud, but in the quiet moments, when Jinx was distracted or the others were fighting, Sevika had been the one to watch over the girl.

The one who tried to fill the space that had been left when everything had fallen apart.

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing the sleeve of Sevika’s jacket, but she flinched away as if your touch was too much, too soon. It was like she couldn’t breathe, like the air had thickened and pressed against her chest.

“I wasn’t there,” she repeated, this time with more anguish, her voice cracking under the weight of guilt and helplessness. “I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”

Her voice broke on the last word, and before you could stop her, Sevika dropped to her knees. You rushed to her side, your heart in your throat, but she was already shaking. Not violently, but with that quiet tremble that comes before something breaks.

“I should’ve been there,” Sevika whispered again, almost to herself, her hands gripping the floor like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real. “I promised… I promised I’d protect her.”

You knelt beside her, your arms reaching out to her cautiously. You weren’t sure if she wanted comfort, if she wanted anything from you at all. But when she didn’t pull away, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest, pressing her face to your neck, the warmth of her breath sending a chill through your body.

Her hands clenched at the fabric of your shirt, like she was trying to hold on to something that wasn’t slipping away. Her body trembled against yours, and the soft sobs that had been building inside her finally spilled out in a quiet, guttural sound.

“I couldn’t protect her,” Sevika gasped, her voice trembling with frustration and sorrow. “I wasn’t there when she needed me. I wasn’t there when she gave herself up. I couldn’t… I didn’t—”

You shushed her gently, running your fingers through her hair, pressing her closer to you. You knew the words wouldn’t heal the wound, not now, not with what had happened. But you also knew that she needed to feel something besides the crushing weight of guilt and helplessness.

“She knew you loved her, Sevika,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. “She knew you would’ve been there if you could. She knew you would’ve died for her. She knew.”

Sevika’s sobs deepened, her body going limp against yours as she let go of the dam she had been holding inside. She clung to you like a lifeline, her tears soaking your neck, her breath ragged and uneven. She wasn’t just mourning Isha’s death. She was mourning her own inability to protect the one person who had needed her the most, who had trusted her the most.

“I failed her,” Sevika whispered through the tears. “I failed her like I failed everything. I failed them all.”

“No,” you said softly, your hand pressing against the back of her head, guiding her gently back to look at you. “No, you didn’t. You’ve been there for them, for Jinx, for everyone. You can’t save everyone, Sevika. Not all of them.”

The words felt empty, but you couldn’t find any better way to express the helplessness that had settled over you both. The truth was, there was no right way to console someone in the face of such loss. You couldn’t bring Isha back. You couldn’t undo the past.

But you could hold Sevika. You could hold her as she crumbled in your arms.

“I’m here,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the heartbreak you felt inside. “I’m here, Sevika. You’re not alone in this. You’re not alone.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all you had to give. And, in that moment, it had to be enough.

So, you stayed there with Sevika, cradling her in your arms as her sobs slowly began to taper off into quiet, exhausted whimpers. The weight of her grief still pressed down on her like a suffocating storm, but her tears had slowed, the brokenness of it all sinking deeper into her bones.

She didn’t speak anymore—just leaned into you, her breath shallow and uneven, her body trembling in your arms as if she couldn’t quite shake the agony of the moment.

There was no magic cure for the pain she felt. No comforting words that would ever be enough to erase the guilt and loss clawing at her heart. Isha was gone, and no amount of regret could bring her back.

Still, you kept holding her. One hand pressed against her back, the other running through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing you could offer—your presence, your warmth, and the unwavering understanding that she didn’t have to shoulder this alone.

You could feel her exhaustion seeping through her, the weight of everything finally wearing her down, and slowly, very slowly, her body relaxed. The tense shuddering of her muscles eased, her sobs becoming faint little gasps. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to support her more comfortably, but she didn’t pull away.

You kept your voice quiet, just barely a whisper, speaking into the quiet space between you both. “It’s okay to rest now, Sevika. You’ve been holding on for so long… it’s okay.”

Her only response was a small, broken exhale, and then, finally, her body went completely limp in your arms. She was still—completely still—and her breath became deeper, more regular, as if sleep had finally claimed her.

The tears had stopped, leaving only the softest trace of salt on your skin. You felt her weight, the heaviness of her heartbreak, resting on you as she slept. Her face was peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever, though the faintest shadow of pain still lingered in her features.

You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to disturb her. Sevika, the fighter, the protector, was finally letting herself fall apart, and for the first time, she was allowing herself to be weak, to be human. The woman who could take on the world had crumbled into your arms, and though it tore your heart to pieces, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of tenderness toward her in that moment.

You stayed with her, as the hours passed, your body still aching from the grief you couldn’t fix. But as Sevika slept, the sound of her breath steadying in the crook of your neck, you realized something. She had needed this, even if she couldn’t admit it. Even if she hadn’t known she needed it. She had needed to break, needed to feel the comfort of being held in someone else’s arms, to know she didn’t have to be strong all the time.

And so, you stayed.

The night passed, and time seemed to lose meaning as you sat there, holding Sevika as she slept. Her heartbeat had slowed, her face now softened in sleep, and despite everything—the tragedy, the pain, the emptiness—you felt a quiet hope bloom inside you.

Tomorrow, you would help her heal. It wouldn’t happen quickly, and it wouldn’t be easy, but together, you would find a way to carry the weight of this loss.

For now, you just held her.

And in the stillness of the night, as the world outside seemed to hold its breath, you wished you could make the ache in her heart disappear. But for tonight, you could only be there, as she rested, utterly broken—but not alone.

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

I love Sabo as a character so much! However something about his introduction into the story has bothered me for a while. Oda is a master story teller but it truly feels a bit like Sabo whole existence was dropped into our laps out of nowhere. What's your opinion on his introduction? And if you could, what would you change?

Thank you so much for all your amazing art! Always sparks joy.

Hello hello! I also love Sabo a lot and as such theres a lot that I’ve had to come to terms with and work out with myself. I’ll let you in on my brain worms and what they’ve concluded with this subject though so hopefully some kind of weight is lifted off your shoulders, cuz right now, i think his introduction was done really well.

So first off, All Of Luffy’s family members’s whole existences were dropped into our laps out of nowhere, to be fair.

Luffy is not one to talk about his family or his past at all. So i dont blame him for not telling us directly about sabo when he barely told us about ace as he stood in front of us in Alabasta. But even if he doesnt talk about his family, for me, it’s very easy to see what Sabo’s influence on and especially what the loss of him taught Luffy before we even officially see him. We see it especially in water 7/enis lobby/sabaody arcs. During the course of the story up to that point, we don’t really see the world government, but even so, we see Luffy’s complete understanding of the cruelty and heartache it creates. We see his utter determination to not let a single other person he loves be taken away by the world government, too.

Also in Arlong Park! We see him understand what someone’s sacrifice on his behalf looks like. He knows how it ended last time. He’s not going to let it happen again and seeing it happen again in arlong park and water 7 and sabaody and Marineford absolutely kills him. Omg not even to mention Shanks losing his arm, too. This man is completely surrounded by people sacrificing themselves for him wtf. But like Shanks’ situation didnt give him that patented World Government Hatred, babeyyyyyy

And with how he was reintroduced officially in dressrosa, i think it was very artistically done. Like having all those themes and parallels to Luffy’s childhood, even going so far as him pointing them out, himself. That, and the Mera Mera No Mi coming back into the story, it gets you thinking back on Luffy’s backstory and what his brotherhood meant to him. So like Sabo’s already in the back of your mind from that and then youre also thinking “well who the hell is gonna get this fruit once Luffy wins it??” So when Sabo comes back i just feel like “of course. Of course it could be no one else but you.”

Also E S P E C I A L L Y with introducing Sabo, famous Amnesia Patient, back into the story during an arc that explores the absolute horrors of being forgotten and being the one forgetting???? Like truly the most opportune moment to get him back in there. I really love the Dressrosa arc, i think it’s all done very well.

I feel like if it was just Ace and Luffy, it would feel incomplete. Like Sabo’s part in their backstories just adds such a delicious spice to the age old dynamic of “older brother who dies for younger brother who he loves a lot.”

Like tell me Ace’s Death would hit the same if Ace didnt already know what it felt like to lose a brother.

His passing is already beyond tragic but like Sabo’s whole part in it just makes it so much more tragic in a way thats just 😚🤌 mwah~❤️ 𝕷𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝕽����𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌.

Sabo’s presence also adds a very personal level to Luffy’s understanding of the world he lived in. Like the big picture. I really think that if sabo wasnt occupying that space, Luffy wouldnt try to even know about the WG or class warfare or bother with any of that shit. Sabo is Luffy’s draw to the world around him me thinks. Like of course he would have to face that stuff when he went pirating, but those lessons would not have been taught to him before he got out there without Sabo.

This is the same in present day, like why would Luffy care at all about the Rev Army if Sabo wasnt in it? He’d be very thankful that they took Robin in, but like he wouldnt be actively asking about how the Rev Army was doing if his big bro wasnt a big part of it.

Also on that note of Sabo being in the Rev Army, I think that before Ace’s death and Sabo regaining his memory, Sabo wouldve been sneaky and largely unseen. Like yeah he barges into marine fortresses to take them down, but usually there isnt any survivors to tell the tales of him doing so. So before the timeskip, Sabo is out of the public eye. Out of any eye, really. But in my mind, when he regains his memory, i think he would do his level best to get his name out there. Thats why we see all those people in the colosseum/dressrosa be like “:O!!!! ITS THE CHIEF OF STAFF OF THE REV ARMY NOOOO” its cuz all his inhibitions left him. So like his face would be in news papers but luffy doesnt read news papers to find that Sabo’s alive and doing shit.

I think that Sabo took so long to let luffy know he was alive because he was scared luffy would hate him. I think he was scared of the potential scorn from his little brother he feels he wouldve been justified in getting. I think that if luffy was not put in a position where he wouldnt be able to fight in the colosseum anymore due to Law Getting Shot And Taken Off circumstances, Sabo wouldve let Luff keep going all the way to the end. But in that moment, Sabo knew that the fruit was no longer in his little brother’s capable hands and had to take matters into his own. Like we see him thinking about this in the episode of Sabo. We see him slowly following luffy around, listening, waiting, understanding the complexities of his situation, and ultimately making the decision to swap places with him.

I could literally talk about this forever i love talking about this forever and ever theres so much to discuss.

I’ve heard criticisms that Sabo’s amnesia story feels like fanfiction, but like,,, I just cant stop thinking about the hilarity of it all. Like why do you care that all this is all convenient, when it’s kinda funny. Like image you’re explaining your tragic backstory to someone and like you have to be like “now i know this sounds really. Really. Convenient. And ironic. But it’s My Life and I’ve had to Live Through It so please dont laugh.” Like idk!! ITS KINDA FUNNY!!!!!!!!!

I dont think i would be able to change anything about Sabo’s presence in the story without someone being out of character if im being honest. Like Luffy doesnt bring up his past, Ace doesnt like bringing up things that cause him pain, and we dont meet anyone else who knew he even existed until we see Luff’s backstory.

There’s a panel in the logue town arc though, that kinda looks like Sabo standing in the crowd. I think that maybe in the reanimated show or even the life action, if we could get a closer visual on him, just to see that he exists there, i think that would be neat.

Thanks for the question and kind words! Hope you enjoyed the long rant, i could rant for 2000000 more paragraphs but I’ll cut it there for now.

[solxamber]

Brighter Than The Sun || Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim shines like the sun, radiant and unwavering—yet each day, he burns a little closer to the edge, waiting for the moment he no longer has to be the light for everyone else.

Kalim Al-Asim is the sun.

Golden and bright, the very picture of abundance. He is the warmth that spills into every crevice, the laughter that brightens any shadowed corner. To anyone who looks upon him, Kalim is all light—glowing, inexhaustible.

He smiles, beaming as though he has never known a reason to frown. He is the friend who helps without question, the noble who offers wealth as casually as he breathes. Everything about him seems limitless, as if there’s a wellspring of joy tucked beneath his ribs.

To the world, he is everything one could want. Money? He has enough that he could give it away a thousand times and never feel the weight of the loss. Status? He holds it effortlessly, carrying the Al-Asim legacy like a crown he was born to wear. Power? He stands at the top of his dorm, a place reserved for the most capable, a place so few could even dream to reach.

Yet when he is alone, under the quiet of his own thoughts, he wonders if this light truly belongs to him.

For he is the sun, yes, but only in appearance. And sometimes, when the crowd's noise fades, and he is left in the quiet of his own mind, he feels more like the moon.

A surface that reflects the light given to it, glowing not because it burns but because it must imitate what it cannot create. He looks at his life, and the brightness seems less a gift and more a performance—a practiced gleam, like polished gold.

His wealth is not his own; it flows from a family name that stretches far beyond his own reach, his life inextricably intertwined with that legacy. He is a prince, a beloved heir, but also just a vessel for what the Al-Asim family has always been.

His title as housewarden—an honor, a symbol of his supposed strength—feels hollow, as if it is an illusion created by the weight of his family’s donation, a stage set up for him to walk across without effort.

He knows his own weaknesses too well. The duties of his position are carried not by his hands, but by Jamil’s steady, unseen grasp, the support he feels but cannot acknowledge aloud. He walks through his life like a dream, all things handed to him so effortlessly that he can barely tell where his accomplishments end and Jamil’s sacrifices begin.

He smiles for the people who look to him with bright eyes, never revealing the doubt that tugs at his heart. Because if he reveals even a hint of insecurity, what might they see?

To the world, he is a radiant, boundless sun. But to himself, he is a vessel, filled with the reflected light of others.

He should not complain. How could he, when he has everything anyone could want? It is a life of luxury, endless opportunity, and privilege. To speak of weariness, of doubt, of feeling like a stranger in his own skin—that would be a betrayal of all the riches he has been given.

So he keeps his smile intact, lets it grow even brighter to cover the places where he feels hollow. He becomes the perfect image of the Al-Asim heir—unfailing, generous, golden.

But with each person who takes a part of him, each smile he offers in place of the words he cannot say, he feels himself dim. It is a slow fading, like a candle burning down to its last flicker.

They come to him for his wealth, for his status, for the power that drapes him like a robe. They praise him, flatter him, but he wonders if any of it would remain if he was just Kalim.

So he smiles, and he smiles, because that is what the sun must do.

He smiles because that is what the Al-Asim heir has always done. And if he must dim a little, if he must give until there is nothing left, then so be it. Because he is the sun. Or at least, that is what the world needs him to be.

The announcement for the competition rings through the hallways like a spark, and within moments, it feels like Kalim is being surrounded. A food sale—a lighthearted, fun event meant to bring everyone together.

But the minute it’s announced, people begin to approach him, voices eager, faces alight with plans that all seem to look the same: “You can bring in the best chefs, right?” “With your budget, we’ll be unstoppable!” “If we work with you, victory’s in the bag!”

They don’t want to team up with him because it’ll be fun. They want to team up because he’s a shortcut to winning. The money, the prestige, the pull he doesn’t even remember asking for—those are the things they’re looking at, not him.

It’s as if he’s transparent, just a vessel for everything he can provide, and suddenly the bright prospect of a competition meant for laughter and shared stories feels like a thin disguise for something much more hollow.

He puts on his best grin, the one that usually gets him through anything, and thinks of Jamil. But he knows before he even starts the trek that Jamil won’t accept his help—not really.

He would take one step into Jamil’s space, and the same pattern would unfold: Jamil’s skill, his knowledge and sharp-eyed focus, would all have to fold back and take second place for Kalim. And Kalim’s heart would break a little more, watching Jamil slip back into that practiced shadow.

So he chooses someone at random. He watches his friend fade into the distance, unapproachable in the quiet corner he’d always known to seek, and feels himself both moving closer and losing him. Because if Jamil joins with someone else, maybe this time, he’ll finally get the recognition he’s always deserved.

Then, suddenly, there’s a voice—a calm, grounded voice, an anchor that cuts through the whirlwind around him. “Do you want to team up?”

Kalim blinks, looking up. It’s you, the one person he might have expected least, but it makes sense the more he thinks about it. You’re the prefect, the magicless wonder who bent over backwards time and again for people you barely knew.

He’s seen you take on challenges most people would run from; he’s seen you forge your own way in a world that wasn’t made to be kind. You’re… well, you’re what he imagines the sun to be—shining for everyone, regardless of how dark things might seem.

The memory slips back into his mind, hazy at first, like a half-forgotten dream—but then it sharpens, each detail painfully vivid. After Jamil's overblot, Kalim remembers standing on the edge of chaos, his mind spinning, his heart bruised. The realization of Jamil’s resentment had wrapped around his throat, each word, each look, echoing. And yet, he had smiled, grinned even, as he always did—because he had to.

It was then that you appeared beside him, quiet but determined, your gaze steady and warm as you asked, “Are you okay, Kalim?”

He’d almost laughed it off. "I’m fine! You should check on Jamil instead.” Jamil was the one who had suffered, after all, who had been weighed down by his own heavy feelings, dark enough to blot out everything else. But you shook your head, gently dismissing his words. “Jamil’s in good hands. Right now, I’m here to check on you.”

Your voice cut through the polished, automatic responses that came so easily to him, cracking them open to reveal the raw vulnerability underneath. He stood there, lost, the smile frozen on his face, as your words sank in. You weren’t here because he was the housewarden or the Al-Asim heir—you were here for him.

Before he could respond, you were called by Ace and Deuce, voices edged with worry and urgency. With a quick but genuine smile, you pressed your number into his hand, like a promise. “If you need anything, just call me, okay?”

Then, before he could gather a single thought, you pulled him into a swift hug. It was brief, barely more than a whisper of warmth, but it was real. And as you turned and rushed back to the others, Kalim was left standing alone, clutching the scrap of paper like a lifeline.

It was the first time he felt truly seen.

And now here you are, looking right at him with that unmistakable twinkle in your eye, and asking him if he wants to team up with you.

For a moment, his heart jumps, then settles. How could he say no?

When you both sit down, Kalim immediately jumps into the plan he assumes you want to hear—how he’ll bring in a chef, or two, maybe even three to make sure everything’s just right.

But the second he starts, you shut him down with a gentle shake of your head, laughing softly. “This isn’t about winning. This is about having fun with friends, remember? I didn’t ask to team up so you’d hire people. I wanted to cook with you.”

Kalim’s heart skips. You’re here… just for him?

It’s a strange feeling, this warmth that wells up from deep within. His grin starts small, uncertain, then blooms into something true and wide, unfiltered and bright.

The kitchen becomes a small world for just the two of you, a place of flour clouds and flung sugar, and with each mistake, with each burnt attempt at a dish, you both dissolve into helpless laughter.

What starts as a noble, if catastrophic, attempt to cook quickly devolves into pure chaos, until there’s more flour on your faces than in the mixing bowl and neither of you can remember what you were even trying to make.

For once, he doesn’t feel the need to give, or to prove. Here with you, he’s simply Kalim—the boy with flour smudged across his cheek and laughter that keeps bubbling up before he can stop it.

When the competition ends, you both stand proudly beside a dish that looks nothing short of monstrous. The judges hesitate, then take a tentative bite and promptly grimace. Kalim hears you giggling beside him, your shoulders shaking as you take in the judge’s expression, and he can’t help but join you. It’s a sound that fills the space between you, something unpracticed and utterly genuine.

For a moment, he looks at you, your face still bright with laughter, your eyes shining like starlight, and a thought settles into him, quiet but strong.

Maybe… maybe he’d be happy being your moon.

Because you’re the sun in all the ways that he could never be. You light the way without needing anything from him. And for once, he feels no need to push it down and smile, because it feels natural.

It happens often enough that Kalim doesn’t flinch anymore. He’s used to it, really. Requests come at him like a tidal wave, sweeping through with unrelenting regularity. It’s as if everyone expects him to be their endless source, their personal sun—warm, bright, unyielding in generosity, always giving without pause. A smile that never fades, a light that never dims.

Today, it’s a classmate from another dorm, sidling up with that gleam in their eye, that small, calculated smile. “Kalim,” they say, smooth and honeyed, “I could use a little help.” And it’s money they want; of course it’s money. They don’t ask how he’s doing, or if he might need something in return. The sun does not need favors; it simply shines.

Without hesitation, Kalim’s lips curve into that familiar, reflexive smile. “Of course! How much do you—”

But before he can finish, there’s a shift—a hand on his arm, warm and grounding, and then there’s you, stepping in. You stand firm, gaze unwavering as you look at the person with something fierce, a protective spark in your eyes he’s not accustomed to seeing directed at him.

“No,” you say, voice strong, clear. “He won’t be giving you any money today.”

Kalim stares, momentarily stunned, as the person falters, their confidence waning under your unyielding gaze. They stammer, offering excuses, their polished smile slipping away, and Kalim realizes, slowly, that you’ve dismissed them entirely. Just like that, they slink off, and it feels as though you’ve thrown up a wall between him and the world, shielding him from the hands that are always outstretched, from the shadows eager to siphon his light.

For a heartbeat, Kalim almost laughs it off. It’s what he always does, isn’t it? His warmth is endless; he’s the sun, and if they want to take a little here and there, that’s fine. But as he opens his mouth to brush it away, your gaze catches his—a fierceness still burning there, softer now but just as fierce.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice faltering, a practiced line that feels hollow now. “I don’t mind. I have enough.”

But you’re shaking your head, brows furrowed. “It’s not about having enough, Kalim. It’s about people thinking they can take advantage of you, people who see your kindness and assume it’s endless. I’m not going to let that happen—not while I’m here.”

Your words are firm, soft but unbreakable, and they slip past his practiced defenses, breaking through the polished brightness he’s wrapped around himself for so long. He’s heard people defend him before—duty, necessity, loyalty.

But this… this is different. You’re not protecting him out of obligation or his family name; you’re protecting him because you see him—the cracks beneath the shine, the exhaustion hidden behind the smile he’s worn for so long.

It’s strange, this feeling. It’s warmth, but not the warmth he gives. It’s something softer, gentler, a warmth that reaches out to cradle rather than to demand. And Kalim realizes that you aren’t here to take; you’re here to give.

It feels as if something’s settling in his chest, filling spaces he’s ignored. A sun isn’t supposed to dim, isn’t supposed to falter, but right now, he feels the smallest, most fragile sense of relief, of finally allowing himself to be seen.

For a moment, he stands there, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be, letting the feeling settle into the empty corners of his heart.

He’s always been the one giving, radiating, shining for others, but right now, with you, he feels… cared for. Cherished, even. And for the first time, he wonders if it’s possible to let himself be dim, even for just a moment, to let himself be a little less bright.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, shaky. “Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like a fragile confession, a quiet plea that maybe he doesn’t have to be everyone’s light alone.

And you smile at him, not as someone who needs, but as someone who gives, and Kalim realizes maybe he doesn’t have to carry on being the sun on his own.

The room feels too large, the air too thick. The housewardens’ meeting has reached a stalemate, and all eyes are on him—the sun who can’t afford to waver, the one they all seem to look to now, expectant.

It’s suffocating, the way their gazes settle, heavy as if they could burn through his skin. He knows they’re waiting for a decision, the final word to tip the scales. But Kalim doesn’t know what to say.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, the words tangling in his throat. The others are smart, strategic, relentless in their arguments, and he… he just wants to make the choice that won’t ruin everything.

The room is a whirl of voices and opinions, and he feels small under the weight of it. He doesn’t know what the right answer is, but Jamil would. Jamil always knows.

So he tries to voice it, a faint smile surfacing like a reflex. “Maybe I could just… ask Jamil,” he says, a bit too quickly, fingers reaching for his phone. “He’s smarter than me, you know? He’ll know what to do.”

But before he can call, a hand finds his, warm and grounding, and it’s you, giving him a look that’s gentle yet firm, one that stops him in his tracks. “Kalim,” you say, softly but with a certainty that doesn’t let him look away, “what do you think?”

The words settle into the room, silencing the murmur of voices, and suddenly, it’s just you and him, and that question hanging between you. It’s simple, yet it strikes at something deep, something unsteady inside him. No one has asked him like that before—not with such unwavering faith, not like they actually want his opinion.

He stumbles over his thoughts, searching for an answer in the corners of his mind. A nervous chuckle bubbles up as he tries to brush it off. “Ah, I mean, I don’t know if I… I mean, Jamil’s really good at this stuff, he always knows the right—”

But you don’t let him retreat. Your gaze is steady, unwavering. “You’re the housewarden, Kalim,” you remind him. “This decision is yours. And beyond that, I trust your judgment. Whatever choice you make, I believe in it. I believe in you.”

And just like that, something cracks open in him, a warmth he’s not used to directed at him, not in this way. He’s the sun, but the world has always taken that light from him, never cared for the doubts and cracks beneath it.

He’s always been everyone’s brightness, a mirror reflecting what they needed to see, but no one has ever looked past the shine to find what lies underneath—until now.

There’s a rawness to it, a gentleness that makes his heart stutter. To think that you… you believe in him, without question, without needing him to hide behind Jamil or his family’s influence.

It’s as if, for the first time, he’s seen for more than just his blinding, relentless cheer. And he realizes he doesn’t have to dim himself here; he doesn’t have to be anyone but himself.

His heart swells, and he finds himself grinning, wide and genuine, a real smile that breaks free from the polished restraint he’s so often worn. He makes his choice then, and he’s almost surprised by the ease of it, the clarity in his own voice as he casts his vote.

The meeting wraps up, and as the others disperse, he turns to you, his eyes bright with a newfound light. “You really mean it, don’t you?” he asks, almost breathless with disbelief. “You really think I can… handle this?”

You nod, and the quiet sincerity in your gaze tells him everything he’s ever wanted to hear.

He’s buzzing with excitement now, a warmth in his chest that radiates outward, too bright to contain. “We should celebrate!” he exclaims, a bit too loud, the joy spilling over, “Oh! We could throw a party! I’ll get the best decorations—oh, maybe fireworks! Or music, live music, yeah!”

He goes on, the plans growing more extravagant with every breath, each word a piece of his true self spilling over, no longer held back. But then you reach out, grounding him again, slipping your hand into his. It’s a small gesture, but it holds the weight of something steady, something real.

He looks down, meeting your gaze, and he feels himself settle, his grin softening as he squeezes your hand in return. It’s a connection that doesn’t need words, a promise that he doesn’t have to be the sun alone, that he doesn’t have to bear its weight for everyone else. With you here, he feels whole, bright in a way that isn’t lonely or draining.

And for the first time, Kalim lets himself bask in his own light, just as he is.

The night presses down, dense and endless, smothering like velvet too heavy to breathe through. Kalim’s room is dark, his bed sprawling, sheets cool and smooth and empty.

He lies there, eyes wide open, and the silence around him is too thick, his mind too loud. Thoughts spiral, each more bitter than the last. The emptiness gnaws at him, whispers that scratch at his heart, telling him that he’s alone—that he’ll always be alone.

They all come to him because he’s the Al-Asim heir, the boy with endless coin and golden connections. No one really wants to know you, his thoughts hiss, cruel in the stillness. They just want what you can give. Even his friends, the laughter and cheers that surround him during the day, feel hollow when night falls and he’s alone with himself.

And then there’s you… you, who’ve looked at him like he’s more than just a title, more than just a shimmering surface. But his heart trembles, fear threading through his veins. What if, someday, even you see past his brightness and turn away? What if you realize he’s not what you want, not who you deserve?

The thought digs deep, enough to make his chest tighten. And before he knows it, his fingers are reaching for his phone, trembling as he finds your contact, the screen casting a soft glow in the darkness. His finger hovers over the call button, his mind screaming not to, to let you sleep, but his heart—panicked, needy—wins out.

He taps the screen, the line ringing just once, then twice. But dread fills him, heavy and sudden, and before you can pick up, he hangs up, tossing the phone aside like it’s burned him.

The room is darker now, the silence sharper, and his heart beats loud, a hollow echo. What was I thinking? He tries to laugh it off, as though his thoughts aren’t tightening around him. But then his phone vibrates, the screen flashing with your name.

He swallows, unable to answer, shame and fear tangled up, so he lets it go to voicemail. Then the screen lights up again, and again, until finally, after his third silence, the calls stop.

The quiet returns, heavier than before, and he’s about to close his eyes, to pretend he never did anything so foolish, when there’s a knock. It’s soft at first, hesitant, then insistent, each knock pounding through the empty space in his chest.

He doesn’t dare breathe as he drags himself out of bed, opening the door only to find you there, looking up at him with wild, frantic eyes, like you’ve just run miles to reach him.

“Kalim,” you gasp, barely catching your breath, and he’s so stunned he almost doesn’t notice the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. You reach for him, hands shaking, and in an instant, your arms are around him, pulling him close, clinging to him like he might disappear if you let go. “You scared me! You really… I thought—” Your voice breaks, thick with worry, and your grip tightens, trembling as though you’re afraid he’ll slip from your hold.

He’s frozen, the weight of your embrace pressing into him, disbelief rippling through him. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, trying to laugh it off, to brush away the panic in his chest. “It was… it was just an accident! I didn’t mean to wake you—”

But you pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, your gaze sharp with the weight of a thousand unspoken worries. “Don’t you dare do that to me again,” you say, your voice firm, fierce in a way he’s never heard before. “If you need me, call me. Really call me. Don’t just… don’t leave me hanging, don’t make me wonder. I was terrified, Kalim.”

And before he can even answer, you wrap your arms around him again, burying your face in his shoulder as you hold him close. It’s grounding, the warmth of you pressed against him, anchoring him in a way that silences the dark thoughts spiraling through his mind.

He can feel your heart racing, hear the quiet sniffles as you clutch him tighter, and it’s like all the loneliness, all the fear, all the doubts fade into the background. Because you’re here, and you came all this way just for him.

“Come on,” you say after a long moment, pulling away just enough to flash him a faint, determined smile. “Scooch over. We’re having a sleepover. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He blinks, watching in wonder as you make your way to his bed, throwing back the covers and settling in as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He can only stand there for a moment, stunned, before he finds himself crawling into bed beside you.

He’s never had someone sit with him like this, just to be there, and a strange warmth fills his chest, unlike anything he’s felt before.

You don’t ask him why he called or why he hung up, and he doesn’t need to explain. You’re here, stretching out beside him, your presence a steady warmth that keeps the shadows at bay.

When you reach over to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, it’s like a promise, an unspoken vow that no matter how dark the night feels, you’ll be here to pull him back into the light.

And as he lies there, hand in yours, he realizes he doesn’t need to fear losing you. For the first time, he feels truly seen, like you understand every part of him—the bright, blinding sun he tries to be, and the quieter, flickering light beneath. He squeezes your hand back, his heart lighter, his smile real.

Kalim has known for a while now, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. But no amount of blinding sunlight, no amount of laughter can hide the truth beating loud and insistent in his chest. He’s fallen for you, deeply, hopelessly, and it’s nothing like he’d imagined.

Not grand or regal or even serene. No, it’s messy, overflowing, spilling out like the cups of tea he clumsily pours, like the stories he rambles through whenever you’re nearby. You make him feel like he doesn’t need to wear that bright, polished sun mask that everyone expects from him.

But how can he possibly tell you? In his mind, the moment plays out with magic carpets soaring through the stars, firelight flickering against golden sands, his heart laid bare in the most dazzling of confessions.

Yet here he is, standing with you in the middle of a bustling market, your hand gripping his as you pull him from stall to stall, eyes bright with excitement as you chatter on about matching trinkets, laughter bubbling up as you try on silly hats and drape fabrics over each other’s shoulders.

He’s surrounded by the scents of spices, the hum of people, the rough cobblestones beneath his feet—and suddenly, the words slip out, too big to be contained. “I love you.”

It’s out before he can stop himself, hanging there in the air between you, fragile and exposed. There are no magic carpets, no glittering jewels or ancient spells—just the clamor of the marketplace and your stunned expression.

For a split second, he panics, his heart dropping as he watches you go still, your laughter fading into silence. What did I just do? he wonders, dread pooling in his stomach.

Before he can backtrack, you grab his hand and tug him away, weaving through the bustling crowd with a determined pace. He follows without a word, his heart thudding painfully, a thousand worries flashing through his mind. Are you mad? Are you disappointed? The walk back feels endless, every step dragging out his dread as he watches your profile, desperately wishing he could read your mind.

When you reach your room, you shut the door and turn to face him, eyes steady and piercing. “Say that again,” you demand, soft but firm, voice almost a whisper.

He swallows, nerves tangling in his throat, but he can’t hide now, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I love you,” he says, voice trembling but true. And before he can get another word out, your hands are cupping his face, and you’re pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s fierce and sweet, leaving him breathless.

When you pull back, he stares at you, wide-eyed, his mind still reeling. “But—” he stammers, “It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t…” He trails off, words slipping through his fingers, his heart heavy with the thought that he’s somehow let you down.

You silence him with another kiss, your hands gentle on his cheeks. When you pull away, you hold him there, your gaze warm and unyielding. “I don’t need grand, Kalim. I don’t want fireworks, or magic carpets, or anything the Al-Asim heir thinks he’s supposed to offer. I love you. Not housewarden Kalim, not the heir… Just Kalim. The one who follows me through crowded markets, the one who hums while he braids my hair, the one who laughs so brightly it could heal the world.”

Your fingers trace along his jaw, and the sincerity in your eyes takes his breath away. “You don’t need to be the sun for me. You don’t need to burn yourself out for people who don’t care. You’re enough as you are. You’re my Kalim, and I’m yours.”

And as you smile at him, soft and true, he feels his heart swell, the insecurities falling away. Your words wrap around him, gentle as a cloak, quieting every fear and doubt he’s held onto. It’s more than he ever thought he could have, more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

The smile that blooms on his face, radiant and unrestrained, is real.

Because in this moment, with you by his side, he shines brighter than the sun.

Masterlist

[fluffyk97]

Sonic 3 spoiler rambling about Sonic and Shadow under cut !

Y'know something that I feel might go lil under-appreciated is how well they made Sonic and Shadow mirror each other in the movie.

Like something that always can easily irk me are people boasting one of the two over the other because from the very beginning of his introduction to the series, Shadow's character is meant to reflect Sonic. They're meant to be equals that are so similar and complete opposites at the same time.

With the movie, I honestly wasn't expecting it that much. Sonic actually has a backstory that is just like Shadow's: powerful little hedgehog that is wanted for his power, so the one he's known his whole small life that he loves sacrifices herself to save him.

I fr fully expected Sonic to learn about Maria and be like "I lost Longclaw, I know you're pain, but-" blah blah blah- BUT they don't do that??

Of course, we have Commander Walters first telling Sonic that Shadow's story is a lot like his but wasn't able to find family and friends, and Sonic does find Shadow had a family from finding a picture of him and Maria together. He never gets told what happened exactly though, although it wouldn't make too much of a difference with the fact they did change up Shadow losing Maria just a little bit.

Since they didn't live up in space, Maria didn't have a capsule to send Shadow off with sacrificing herself and instead they made it an accident. WHICH- can be understandable if people don't like that, however personally I don't mind it that much because honestly the intent to shoot Maria was there, but she ended up being lost from an accident caused by Walters.

Which, ties in to Shadow hurting Tom...

Walters in trying to help save Maria's, Shadow's and Gerald's lives unfortunately led to Maria's death and watching Shadow be put in stasis for 50 years where all he thinks about is that painful memory burned fresh in his head. So of course when Shadow sees Tom disguised as Walters, he takes his anger out on him by hurting him while also stealing the key for the ARK. Leading to unfortunately another scenario of where the intent of harm is there, but someone still got hurt from an accident because Shadow never really meant to hurt Tom. But he does anyway..

Which of course in turn, makes Sonic mad just like Shadow was 50 years ago. Only difference is Sonic doesn't get immediately captured by GUN and forced into stasis. Letting him able to go straight to Shadow afterwards for hurting his family.

We have Shadow take note of all of that himself, telling Sonic he's feeling exactly the pain he felt and Sonic being the one to say "I'm nothing like you!". Just like how I thought Sonic would tell Shadow about Longclaw in hopes of redeeming him, but reversed and both sides full of anger and grief.

One awesome super fight later though, we come to the talk on the moon. Probably my favorite part in the whole movie. outside of the super fights and Live and Learn playing lol

After mentioning Tom and getting uppercutted straight to the moon by Sonic, Shadow loses his super form, leaving him vulnerable, easy for Sonic to take his revenge on him. Only for all of that to be stopped because of Shadow pointing at his own chest which reminds Sonic what Tom told him at the beginning of the movie and calm down.

"You didn't let pain change who you are."

This completely baffles Shadow, with him actually wanting Sonic to finish it, but of course Sonic just refuses saying "No one wins with revenge". It just leaves silence between them, finally giving Shadow his own moment of remembering Maria outside of her death by looking at the stars he used to gaze upon with her.

He mentions it to Sonic how all he knew and felt was just the pain, and now finally- FINALLY, Sonic mentions how he shares that feeling of loss from Longclaw. Not in a moment of trying to just redeem Shadow without the full weight of it, but in a moment of understanding.

A strong moment of these two looking at each other in a mirror, eye to eye. Sonic, who was allowed to grieve all those years ago after losing Longclaw, telling Shadow the pain of loss will never go away, but the love will always remain.

"The light shines, even though the star is gone."

And through that shared pain and loss, now coupled with empathy and understanding one another through it. They truly connect.

Sonic and Shadow's dynamic was just done SO WELL in the movie and I couldn't be happier with it...

[hedwig221b]

Heey, was wondering if you could recommend some magical stiles fics, preferably sterek.

Thank you 😊

Magical Stiles, my beloved!!! 💖

My Mother Told Me by Renmackree

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack.

Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more.

“You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?”

“It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.”

Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes.

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Came For The Spark, Stayed For The Flame

Derek felt the panic build up in his chest as Jezebel held out a hand. He smelled it before he saw it, because who could forget the scent of what destroyed your life? Fire and spark and smoke curled from Jezebel's hands, and the wood stacked at Stiles' feet flared up.

When Stiles and Derek get bonded as Emissary-and-Alpha, hidden attractions become a lot harder to hide, secrets are kept and secrets are surfaced, and an evil teenage girl is planning even more ritualistic sacrifice. Canon divergence from the end of 3a.

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father's death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It's from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he's supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

Truth in Pretense by wanderingeyre

Stiles took the straw from his drink and started chewing on it. He pulled it from his mouth and stood. He grinned at Derek. “Stop frowning, Sourwolf. I have a solution that will solve all our problems.”

“And that would be?” Derek didn’t move as Stiles moved closer to him.

Stiles winked at Derek. “We get married.” --- The one where Derek and Stiles pretend to be mates to help out a neighboring Pack and find there is some truth in pretense.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.”

That was a bad word. Not found.

Have.

Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment.

One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

If You’re Going Through Hell (Keep Going)

Stiles thought everything leading up to Allison’s death was hell, but he was wrong. Spending senior year dealing with the pack’s dismissal of him while secretly training to be Deaton’s replacement was hell. Feeling guilty and hating himself for what the Nogitsune did was hell. Being in love with someone who would never love him back was hell. Well, if you’re going through hell, keep going.

Striking Matches by eeyore9990

Stiles has only ever wanted to protect his family and his pack. That’s not easy to do when you're human and sarcasm is your only defense. Now Deaton is telling Stiles he’s a spark, and if that’s a weapon in his arsenal, he’s sure as hell going to learn to use it.

All Stiles needs now, to complete his transformation into a true badass, is a training montage and a decent soundtrack...

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack.

They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack.

It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end.

He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. . Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here.

She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.”

No pressure, then.

A Teenage Love Song by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas)

Stiles is sick and tired of how much he fucks up. His dad is disappointed, his step-mom judges and his step-brother can do no wrong. It's not that he doesn't love them, he just gets so tired of being different. Now he's being moved lock, stock and barrel to Beacon Hills aka the town his mom grew up in so they can go live in his grandma's house and his father can get him back on the straight and narrow.

It's going to suck.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | mafia | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | bad friend Scott | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned Whumpee

[Previous]--[Masterlist]--[Next] CW: Taken, whumper medic/forced medical whump, stitches, blood loss, defiance, restrained

The last thing whumpee saw was blood leaving their body

... And nearly all of it.

They flicked their eyes open; they were laying on a table with a light beaming on their chest. Whumper was standing next to them rummaging around equipment and didn't notice them awake.

Whumpee silently stared with a horrified gaze. They could see the gloves whumper wore, drenched and dripping with blood. They tried to climb off the table as quietly as they could, but something snagged their wrists as metal clacked together.

Whumper heard the sound, spinning around as whumpee was frozen almost half-off the table. "Easy, easy now. You just got a lot of stitches." Whumper softly spoke.

Whumpee plummeted into sheer panic. They tried to sit up, but a weight around their chest strapped them down.

"Oh no no no, take a breath, we're almost done." Whumper tried to soothe. They grabbed whumpee by the hip and pulled them back to the center of the table. They tightened the strap around whumpee's chest and gave the binds on their wrists a tug.

"Wh-y ... Why are you do-doing th- ss... Le-let me go-" Whumpee heaved. Whumper touched their forehead as whumpee flinched and squeezed their eyes shut. They hoped when they opened them next, whumper would be gone.

They ended up not being able to open them at all.

.........

.........

Whumpee could barely blink awake. They felt numb.

They were laid on a stretcher in an infirmary; their enemies infirmary, nonetheless. There was a blanket tucked around them as whumpee frantically ripped it off and pulled their shirt up. There were perfect stitches and a well dressed wound on their side. Their right arm had a silver handcuff that bound their wrist to the bed.

Whumpee let out a long, drawn-out sigh. What had they gotten themselves into...

"How do you feel?" A voice asked.

Whumpee looked up; whumper's head was poking out from the side of the divider watching them. Whumpee almost gasped, but managed to clench their jaw instead.

"That's a cute expression. Really though, how do you feel?" Whumper came out and crossed their arms.

"You saved me." Whumpee hissed like an accusation.

"Yes, you're welcome. How do you feel." Whumper repeated more sternly.

"Why would you save me? You ... You of all people. We're enemies. You were supposed to kill me on sight." Whumpee narrowed their eyes.

Whumper sighed and dragged a hand down their face. "You still don't understand..." They sat on the bedside as whumpee tried to jump off, but the handcuff held onto their wrist. "Is that all you think you're worth? Nothing but a sacrificial cattle? A lamb for slaughter?"

"-Yes! Yes I do!" Whumpee shouted over them. "My sacrifice was worth it to me. Because I stayed back, my team is safe now. Safe from you." Whumpee snapped and leaned in. "You lost."

Whumper stared with a raised brow; they were mostly surprised whumpee had the energy to throw a fit.

"You know, you're not the only one they've left behind." Whumper shrugged. Whumpee cocked their head to the side without taking their eyes away.

"Every time we corner your team, one person always gets left behind. It's sad, really. Your team's been getting picked off one by one if you think about it. Was it your turn to die?"

Whumpee swallowed past the pit in their throat. "Look... If you saved me just to get information out of me, then I'm terribly sorry, you've wasted a lot of your time. You know I'm willing to die for them, so either get it over with, or let me go." Whumpee spoke behind clenched teeth.

"Let you go?" Whumper belted out laughing, "My darling little lamb, that would be the same as killing you!" They wiped a tear and put a hand on whumpee's knee.

"What's that supposed to mean." Whumpee swatted their hand off.

"Then let's say I let you go. You go running back to your team, they see you alive, intact and... Well, they'll assume you gave them up." Whumper pulled the blanket back around whumpee and tucked them back in.

"-And then, they'll kill you."

Whumpee's face went blank, both fists clutched the blanket, their eyes didn't cry, but glossed like they wanted to. They wished whumper was playing mind games, but there was truth in it. Their team would assume they were compromised and whumpee was the cause.

"Regardless if I left you or took you, you're dead to them. You wouldn't be welcomed back; would be one of us." Whumper poured a glass of water and nudged it into whumpee's hand. They barely reacted, they were far gone in their own thoughts.

"Now I'll ask you one more time."

"How do you feel?"

[Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[vroom--vrooming]

Armando Aretas x UndercoverCop!Reader

Everything is a cruel twist of fate

Every moment you spent with Armando Aretas felt like a cruel twist of fate. He loved you deeply, and you loved him too, but your mission overshadowed everything. Embedded in his world to dismantle his cartel from within, you kept your secret close, even as your heart began to fracture under the weight of your deception.

The night you returned to find Armando waiting, tension hung heavy in the air. The usual warmth in his eyes was replaced with an icy, piercing gaze. Spread across the table were photos, documents, and files — damning evidence of your true identity as an undercover cop.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper that cut through the silence. "Why did you use me? Did you ever really love me, or was it all just part of your mission?"

His words sliced through you, leaving a deep, aching wound. He held a gun, his hand steady, though his eyes betrayed the storm raging within. You tried to keep your composure, but the sight of him, hurt and betrayed, was too much to bear.

"It was all part of the mission," you lied, your voice barely steady. "I never loved you."

Armando's eyes bore into yours, searching for the truth. His voice broke, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. "I don't believe you," he said, a tremor in his voice. "But go. Leave. If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned and walked out, the door closing behind you with a finality that crushed your soul. You left the mission, and your job as a cop, carrying a secret that would change your life forever. You were pregnant with Armando's child.

Four years later, your name appeared on Armando's hit list. He had convinced himself that you meant nothing to him, but as he set up his sniper rifle, ready to eliminate you, he saw something that stopped him cold. Through the lens, he saw you at the park with a little boy. Your son.

The resemblance was undeniable. The boy had Armando's eyes, his hair, his smile. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn't kill you, and he couldn't meet his son without putting you both in danger.

From his vantage point, he watched as you played with your son, a look of pure joy on your face. He had never seen you so happy, and it broke his heart all over again. You had given up everything for him and his son, and now he had to do the same.

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the park, highlighting every precious moment between you and your child. Armando packed up his rifle, his hands trembling, and left, knowing that he could never see you or his son again, but vowing to protect you both from afar.

As you played with your son, unaware of the danger that had been so close, you felt a strange sense of peace. You had made your choices and lived with the consequences, but the love you had for Armando would always be a part of you.

Armando walked away, each step heavier than the last, carrying the weight of his sacrifice. He would always cherish the memory of you and the son he could never know, but would forever love. In the quiet moments, he promised himself he would watch over you, ensuring your safety from the shadows, a silent guardian burdened by love, loss and heartbreak.

[dindjarindiaries]

Clouded

summary: One year after Eriadu, you and Hunter unknowingly seek one another for comfort, achieving a new kind of vulnerability that could change everything.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: mentions of character death (tech), angst & fluff, grief, hurt/comfort

rating: T

note: This story is being done in collaboration with @p-aulinart, whose “Hunter's mental health runs” WIP completely inspired this. The drawing will be available on her blog soon!

word count: 3.101k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Even Pabu seemed to hold the weight of this day within the dark clouds that hid the sun from view. It cast a gloomful shadow across the island, swallowing up all its life in the same way grief often did. For you and the rest of the Batch, that feeling was all too familiar—especially today.

Today marked one full year since Eriadu.

You exhaled and held the mug of tea even tighter between your hands. The stone underneath your elbows was rough, but it was more welcome than the sharp ache that tore across your chest each time you let your thoughts and memories linger. The fast pace of the last year had helped to distract you all from the inevitability of this day arriving, no matter how painful those events were.

It wasn’t lost on you, any of you, that you only had the peace you had now because of him. His sacrifice had meant something, and while it should have made it better, it still didn’t erase any of the pain.

Everyone was dealing with it in their own ways today. Wrecker had already embarked on a fishing trip with some of the other islanders. Omega was with Lyana, who was no doubt acting as her perfect distraction. Crosshair didn’t want to see another soul, which meant you wouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow at the earliest. You were seeking reassurance in nature, letting the painful memories wash over you like the waves lapping at Pabu’s shore.

Hunter was harder to figure out. It was ironic, considering he was the one you knew the best of all. But he had grown less and less communicative as this day lurked closer, and hiding his emotions was a skill he had mastered as greatly as those he used in battle. It was the reason why you still had yet to make a breakthrough in your relationship that had certainly crossed all the necessary lines.

Your lips pulled tight as you blew another worried exhale through your nostrils. Your worry for him swallowed you up almost as much as your grief did.

It was still early in the morning on the island. Even without the dark clouds overhead, the sun would only just be starting to shine. It was quiet, and while that would usually give you peace, today it was unsettling. It gave you too much freedom to think, to remember.

And the sky looked too much like the clouds did when you were up that high on Eriadu, the ones that had ultimately hidden him from view as he…

You stopped that thought by focusing on lifting your mug to your lips and drawing a long sip of your tea. Blinking back the tears, you lowered your drink and closed your eyes, hanging your head and steadying yourself with a few breaths.

You forced your thoughts to go to Echo, and you hoped he was surrounded by enough support from Rex and the others to get through this day without the rest of you. Even though this wasn’t the first time Echo had to grieve someone on an anniversary like this, no loss was easier than another. You made a mental note to try to comm him later if you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching over the landscape. You opened your eyes and lifted your head, looking down from where you still stood just a few levels above the shore. A distant figure was getting closer as they jogged along, and it easily became apparent who it was.

Even just seeing Hunter caused the worried knot in your chest to loosen, but he quickly tied a new one deeper within you. The humidity on Pabu had led him to forego a shirt, and as he slowed to a stop right in front of you, it became easier to see the glistening beads of sweat that clung to his toned muscles. His chest heaved as he set one hand on his hip and raised the other to push some of the curling strands of hair away from his face.

Damn. It was like the galaxy had heard your silent plea for a sweet distraction from the tumultuous turmoil of this day and delivered in the best way possible.

It was impossible not to stare, even if he hadn’t noticed you yet. That alone was still concerning; his senses should have been able to pick up on you quite easily at this distance. Your brow furrowed as you forced yourself to focus on his expression. His brown eyes, normally golden when the Pabu sun decided to shine, were even darker than usual before he shut them tight.

You clutched your cup of tea when you noticed his set jaw and quivering lips. It wasn’t exhaustion that had stopped his run. That wasn’t even what was causing his chest to heave.

Hunter reopened his eyes and looked down at his waist, reaching to the side you couldn’t see at this angle and taking something from it. When he held it in both his hands, treating it with all the care in the galaxy, your fractured heart shattered within your withering chest.

He had taken Tech’s broken goggles from Shep’s collection, where Omega had left them for safekeeping.

You lifted a hand to cup your mouth as you continued to monitor Hunter. His left thumb had only just traced the indicator light when he closed his eyes again. Hunter lowered his forehead to the goggles at the same time his body lowered into a crouch, as if he was folding in on himself entirely. Then, his shoulders started to heave again.

You couldn’t stand by any longer. You left your tea where it was for now and hopped over and across the stone that separated you from him and the shore. Taking extra care not to alarm him, especially in such a fragile, vulnerable state, you kept your footsteps steady. By the time you reached him, he had sat fully on the shore, the goggles pressed between his head and his propped-up knees.

As badly as you wanted to touch him for reassurance, you kept your hands to yourself, instead giving him a worried once-over as you spoke in a soft voice. “Hunter…”

If you were going to say something else, it was completely lost on you, especially the moment he raised his head and revealed his misty eyes to you. The air was knocked from your lungs as if someone had shoved you against the ground. You had been with this squad long enough to share in their lowest moments, but never before had Hunter let you see him with tears in his eyes.

And here he was, not only sharing that vulnerability for a moment, but also freeing a hand from the tight grasp he had on Tech’s goggles to wrap around your arm. The gentle tug he gave it was the only invitation, or desperate plea, you needed to act.

You took your place beside him, and you were ready for him when he all but crashed against you. The hand that had been on your arm wrapped across your back, his fist catching the material of your tunic as his face buried itself against the inside of your shoulder. You secured one arm around him and lifted the other to the back of his head to keep him there.

If this, your embrace, was where he needed to be right now, then you were going to make him feel as safe as possible within it.

You didn’t say anything, because there was nothing you could offer that would dull the pain. Hunter’s hand that still clutched the broken goggles to his chest made that sentiment even more true. You just rested your head against his and looked out upon the cloudy Pabu horizon.

The light in such a moment of darkness was that Hunter had ended up in exactly the right place at the right time, which brought warmth to your chest. The place he had run to was the same place you were planning on spending this morning. It was a spot you had shown him a while ago, on a night where you were hoping to make a breakthrough with him.

If you had only known then that he just needed a little more time, even if this wasn’t the way you planned on earning such vulnerability from him.

You sat with him until he was ready. Hunter lifted his head from your shoulder, and you loosened your grasp on him. His hand slid over your back until it found your hand, which he gently interweaved with his own—as if the movement was as natural as breathing. The corners of your mouths pulled up in a small smile, though it faltered when you caught sight of his bloodshot eyes.

Hunter’s gaze couldn’t meet yours, and he kept his focus on the goggles again as he spoke. “He should be here.” His voice was so genuinely distraught that it was almost unrecognizable, even lower and hoarser than usual.

Your free hand cupped his cheek to brush a fallen tear away from his eye. You still didn’t say anything, instead giving him another once-over as you waited to see if he had more to offer.

“He deserved to see what he gave us.” Hunter looked up, his gaze scanning the Pabu civilization behind you. “This life. I was supposed to keep him safe so that he could.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head at him. The hand you kept against the tattooed side of his face had started to run soothing strokes with your thumb across his damp skin. “It was his own sacrifice. His own decision.” You offered him a reassuring nod, though his eyes still couldn’t meet yours. “He chose to let us get away safely.”

Hunter’s grasp on the goggles tightened, but not nearly enough to further fracture the broken glass. “And who put him in that position?” It was then that his stare found yours, void of any of its usual sparkle. His voice faltered when he answered his own question. “I did.”

You frowned. “You all knew the risks with every single mission you did. You think those guys were ever too scared to tell you no?” The light tease at least earned you a small sparkle in Hunter’s eyes. That was a major win in your book. “If Tech didn’t agree with your directive, he would’ve said as much. I mean, it was Tech. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”

Hunter huffed, and the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips overwhelmed you with a wave of relieved warmth. He looked down at the goggles again, but this time, his brow was lifted in fondness. “True.”

You traced the outline of the tattoo on his cheekbone. “And he wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the life he gave you carrying a burden of guilt that isn’t yours to bear.”

Hunter looked at you again. His gaze was searching, and you never once looked away as you went on.

“‘Adapt and move on.’ Isn’t that what he used to say?”

Hunter held his breath before he responded with a single nod. As he exhaled, his entire body began to relax, including the tight grasp he had taken on both your hand and Tech’s goggles.

“That’s obviously much more easily said than done, but…” you paused, raising your gaze to the cloudy sky for a moment as you thought, “try to think of what he would have wanted you to do rather than what you think you were supposed to do.”

Hunter blinked a few times as he processed your words. He looked down, but this time, his focus was on your entwined hands. Another small smile appeared on his lips as he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what he would’ve wanted me to do.”

You brightened. “Yeah?”

Hunter nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else. Your brow started to rise. “What is it?”

Hunter kept looking at your hands, his thumb circling yours before he spoke. “Like you said before, Tech could never help himself. If he noticed or knew something that no one else was acknowledging, he just had to point it out himself.”

You hummed when he paused. Hunter’s stare rose to yours.

“One of the last things he ever approached me about in private was…” his chest inflated with an uncertain breath, “us.”

Your brow shot up in disbelief. Hunter set down Tech’s goggles in his lap and raised his hand to your wrist, gently lowering yours from his face to set it between his own and yours that were still entwined.

Hunter let out a soft huff. “I don’t know if it was what he was experiencing with Phee or what.” You smiled at that, even if it reminded you of another fracture in your heart. You would have to comm her later too to make sure she was holding up okay. “But Tech told me what he saw between us, and it didn’t make sense to him that I wasn’t acting upon it.”

You were beaming, ready to fold entirely for him, but you still held on to your resolve and quirked up an eyebrow. “And why didn’t he tell me the same thing?”

Hunter was trying to fight a guilty smile as his gaze found Tech’s goggles again. “Because he knew I was the only one standing in our way.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, he’s not the only one who knew that.”

Hunter looked back up at you. His brow was furrowed in severity, but before you could rush to reassure him that you were joking, he spoke in a firm yet achingly soft voice. “Then it’s time for me to get out of our way.”

Your lips parted at the genuine weight of his words. Hunter’s gaze flickered between them and your eyes, a silent invitation that wasn’t necessary—because you were already closing the gap.

The moment your mouth met his, an unprecedented warmth washed over you, as if the clouds had parted to finally let the bright sun shine once again. You parted from Hunter to realize that’s exactly what had happened. Overhead, the gray clouds hovering over Pabu began to split, allowing the bright sun and blue sky to take over.

Real subtle, Tech. Of course he was still within the clouds. In your mind, he had never left them, even when they had hidden him from sight that day.

Hunter’s gentle hand wrapped around the back of your neck to bring you back to him. Your smile melted against his as you lifted your free hand to his chest, running it along the warmth of his skin until you reached the back of his head. Your fingers caught the curling strands of hair and held on to them, minding the sensitivity he would have to the feeling as you kept him in place.

But Hunter was the one who wanted you closer. He eased the goggles into a safer position before inviting you to take their previous place, all while he continued to meet each passionate, desperate stroke you offered. It fueled your shared fire of longing even more, causing your entwined hands to unravel as you kept one in his hair and let the other explore.

No one would see. That’s why you had picked this spot. But even if they did, you didn’t care. Not when you had finally gotten the breakthrough you’d been waiting too long for.

You parted only when your lungs demanded it, though you rested your forehead against his. Lazy yet pleased smiles were exchanged between you as you gently panted in time with one another. Now that the Pabu sun had emerged, your back was to it, and its golden glow was catching the flecks in Hunter’s gaze.

Breathtaking, even more so than his kiss had been.

The beautiful sight of them was taken from you when he closed his eyes and let out a soft chuckle. He reopened them and looked down at the goggles that sat on a rock nearby. “Thanks, Tech.”

You laughed, closing your own eyes as your nose brushed his. “Is this what you planned on doing today?”

“No, but… I’m not surprised.” You reopened your eyes when you sensed Hunter’s stare on you. He was beaming. “Tech was always the best problem solver.”

You smiled, leaning away from him only to make your observation of him even more obvious. “Well, you certainly dressed for the part.”

Hunter gave himself a quick once-over, as if he had only just realized what he was—or wasn’t—wearing. A blush crept up his neck, and he tried to shrug it off while you laughed. “It’s too warm here to go on runs with a shirt.”

You raised your brow. “Really?” You drummed your fingers against his bare chest. “Or were you just hoping I’d notice?”

Hunter’s blush intensified, but he still managed to let a charming smile shine. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, this time letting yourself fall into his embrace rather than vice versa. Hunter held you close, his warm skin muffling your words as you spoke. “At least you can have a workout partner, now.”

Hunter was surprisingly quick with his cheeky response. “What kind of workout?”

You burst out laughing and shook your head. “You’re really wasting no time, are you?”

You caught the sight of Tech’s goggles nearby. The heavy weight of what you’d been feeling all morning threatened to return, but you leaned further into Hunter in a silent plea for him to take some of it for you. He did.

“Let’s just get through this day first.”

Hunter’s agreement came in the form of his comfort, which was his head resting against yours. This grief wouldn’t disappear, but at least now, you had someone to share it with—and so did he. Everything else would fall into place soon enough.

All thanks to Tech.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020

[ascendingaeons]

Hymn to Sekhmet

by Joey Rivers (ascendingaeons)

O Sekhmet, Great Eye of Ra, the First and the Last Healer and Destroyer, Mother and Daughter You Who accepted the Command of Ra, Your Father To cleanse the Two Lands of Isfet But Your nature was too mighty, Great of Strength as You Are Wanton and unrestrained, You ravaged Earth as a purifying flame And as Ra looked on and saw His Eye, He was stricken with pause By the Will of the Sun, Your Rage was quieted by a crimson brew And into transformative slumber You fell, Great Goddess And from Your great Rage, Het-Heru rose A new Eye was christened, of eros sublime And you, Great Mother, knew the sadness of regret

You, Great Goddess, know the measure of rage unbound And so You Stand, Great Mother of War, in defense and duty Of the Principles and Consequences of Ma’at Your Children are many, Great Lady of Life Diverse in their multitudes, empowered by their tribulation

Yours is the soldier, Your Mighty Sekhem made flesh and bone Entrenched in a maelstrom of fire and blood Returning home to a nation that does not understand him

Yours is the survivor, a living branch of Your burning Will triumphant Endeavoring to rise above the quagmire of loss and agony Through You their struggle is transmuted into the golden light of ka ascendant

Yours is the mother, she who knows sacrifice and sleepless nights A font unyielding of love and pride, of smiles and laughter perfected They who bear the weight of the world so a child can know childhood

Yours is the healer, an alchemist of the ontological persuasion He who is humbled by the frailty beholden to human experience He who ushers Your Sekhem through the riptide of transformative loss

Yours is the artist, through whose passions course Your Divine Fire Who walks the scales of inspiration and madness, knowing Creation unfiltered An alchemist versed in the milieus of perception

For You, Great Goddess, are the very Force of Change You are that which makes men tremble so Such an unnecessary fear, of wisdom and experience untouched Were I You, I would feel such sadness But how You smile, Great One! How You laugh! How You fight! You are not “she who cowers before Apep!” NO! You are the Great Lioness Who rends Chaos asunder! You fight and rage and bite and tear Passion and emotion alive and unrestrained!

You are Love, Great Goddess You are Fear, Great Goddess You are Devotion, Great Goddess You are Loss, Great Goddess You are Health, Great Goddess You are Sickness, Great Goddess This is why I call You the Mother of Life Your Ka is the very essence of experience! Your Sekhem is the very wind of change!

When I first called upon You, timid and unsure, I beheld Your Gaze, a window of fire open before my face And as quickly as You Saw me, You left And again when I called to You with offering of water and bread Exhausted by grief and devotion, tirelessly sung from a caregiver’s heart You came to me and my eyes were opened to You! As I lay without sleep, You stood at my bedside Stroking my back with strong hands of fire Whispering strength and courage into my ear As a sentinel You walked with me, a Mother Lioness guarding Her cub Such loyalty and tenderness You showed And my eyes were forever opened to Your nature

You are the very Force of Creation, the Monad of Being From which stems those primordial principalities Love and Fear, Physis and Logos, Known and Unknown Order and Disorder, Life and Death, Dynamism and Stasis

I offer henu to You, Great Goddess of Creation The endless potentiality and movement of the living cosmos The Fires Divine that Become living sinews and living earth

I offer henu to Your Husband Ptah, the Cosmic Smith Patron of artisans, of those who tirelessly toil In the pursuit of Bringing Into Being but a shard of the Sacred Unmanifest

I offer henu to Your Son, the Beautiful Nefertem The Ageless Lotus that rose from the Benben Stone The First Splendid Light to Shine in the churning Waters of Nun

It was You Who held my right hand as I accepted the mark of a healer And embraced me as a Mother would Her graduating son I offer You my pain, Great Goddess So that You may transmute it into Strength I offer You my fear, Great Goddess So that You may transmute it into Courage I offer You my uncertainty, Great Goddess So that You may transmute it into Wisdom

Into Your Belly I give of myself to unleash my greatest potential To burst from Your Bosom, shining and emboldened For there is nothing that is beyond Your Reach, Great Mother It is for me, now, to See that nothing is beyond my own

Dua Sekhmet! Dua Sekhmet! Dua Sekhmet!

[moonselune]

Would love to see a fanfic/drabble that plays out Karlach's return from Avernus post-game where fem!Tav didn't go with her for whatever reason. Karlach would likely search for her once she came back to the mortal plane, but how would they meet again? What would rebuilding their life together be like? Thank you <3

Did I cry whilst writing this? yes i did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Reader | The Life We Build

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The final battle against the Elder Brain had been a whirlwind of triumph and loss, of sacrifices and victories that should have marked a new beginning for you and Karlach. For a while, it had seemed as though you’d be able to carve a future together, even if it meant venturing into Avernus by her side. But in the end, you’d been forced to part ways, your hands slipping from one another in a moment that seemed like an eternity, her fiery form disappearing into the shadows of the hellish realm that had so long claimed her.

You promised to find a way back to her, swearing to the gods and to the stars that your reunion was only a matter of time. But as the days turned to months, and the months to years, hope became something quieter, something tucked away in the deepest chambers of your heart.

Your life found a strange sort of rhythm in the quiet years that followed. The aching absence left behind by Karlach was a constant weight, something you carried with you even as you adapted to the pace of life in the city.

Eventually, you took a position running a small tavern near the edge of the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate. The work was comforting in its own way, the routines and hum of voices from strangers filling the silence that might otherwise have swallowed you whole. Yet no matter how steady life became, the hope of Karlach’s return was a spark you couldn’t extinguish.

For Karlach, every grueling day in Avernus was spent with one thing driving her: you. With grit and determination, she’d fought her way out of that forsaken realm, overcoming every obstacle, every hardship, every infernal pit. She had been running on the hope that, one day, she would return to the mortal plane and find you. Yet, as she finally stepped out of Avernus, her heart swelled with both hope and dread. The years had passed for both of you, and as she walked through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, searching for any sign of you, a thousand worries filled her mind.

What if you had moved on? What if you’d found someone new, created a life full of warmth and laughter that no longer held a place for her? The idea twisted her heart in ways that battle wounds never could, but she pressed on, determined to find you, even if only to see you one last time.

She tracked rumors and asked quiet questions, and eventually, her path led her to the tavern where you worked—a place she could hardly believe was yours, though something in her heart told her it was true. She stands at the entrance, her heart racing in her chest, overwhelmed by the sight of you after so long. She watches, half-hidden in the shadows, her breath catching at the sight of your familiar face, the way you laugh easily with patrons, the way you’ve somehow found a life here without her.

All of Karlach’s courage falters. She hesitates, taking half a step back, feeling the weight of the years, the distance that’s stretched between you. She thinks maybe this is enough—to see you happy, even if she isn’t a part of it. Her feet are ready to turn her around when your gaze sweeps over her face. For a moment, time stands still, and your expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, your eyes widening as recognition dawns.

The tray of drinks slips from your hands, tankards crashing to the floor as you cross the room in a few quick strides, cutting through the noise, not even sparing a glance at the broken glass. All you see, all that matters, is her. Her name escapes your lips, a sound you’d only whispered to the night in dreams and prayers, but now she is here, and the weight of the years crumbles beneath the fierce joy that propels you into her arms.

The moment your arms wrap around her, both of you lose yourselves, clutching each other as though the world might still pull you apart. Her strong arms encircle you, pulling you close, and you feel the familiar warmth of her, the way her heart races against your chest, as if it, too, is struggling to believe this is real. Her eyes glisten with tears, and you can feel her hands trembling as she grips you, as though she might lose you again if she loosens her hold even the slightest bit.

“Karlach…” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers, and when she meets your gaze, you both burst into relieved, tear-streaked laughter, unable to believe the other is really there.

Her voice is thick with emotion as she stammers, “I—I was afraid. Afraid you’d moved on… that I’d come back to find you… to find you happy with someone else.”

You shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat, reaching up to brush away the tear that slips down her cheek. “I never moved on,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been waiting, Karlach. Always waiting.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes searching your face as though committing every detail to memory all over again. “Gods, I can’t believe it,” she whispers, running a roughened hand through your hair, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “I can’t believe you waited.”

You pull her in again, your embrace full of the love and longing you’ve harbored in her absence. She clutches you tighter, burying her face against your neck, the tension in her body melting as the reality of your presence sinks in.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to your forehead, her voice a soft promise. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

As you stand there, wrapped around each other, the tavern crowd quietly returns to their conversations, casting knowing glances your way, warmth and approval in their smiles. But the world beyond the two of you fades into a gentle blur, the noise and bustle softened by the warmth of the reunion that neither of you ever truly believed would happen.

With Karlach back in your life, a warmth and purpose return that feel like sunlight after endless years of shadow. The tavern, once a quiet escape from past pain, becomes the center of something larger—a life rebuilt together, each day shared and celebrated.

It isn’t long before you and Karlach purchase the tavern outright, transforming it from just a place to work into a place to call home. The building itself is sturdy, though Karlach insists on making improvements, eager to add her own touch to every corner. She rolls up her sleeves with that determined glint in her eye, hammering away at loose boards, reinforcing the walls, and patching leaks in the roof. She brings warmth to every nook and cranny, making the old tavern shine with new life.

As winter comes, the air turns crisp, and with it, a shared longing for adventure emerges. It’s not enough to stay put in the city—not yet, not after all the years you spent dreaming of freedom together. You both decide to spend the season traveling, embarking on expeditions you once only dreamed of. From snow-covered peaks in the north to the mist-shrouded forests, each place you visit fills you with awe, and with Karlach’s hand in yours, the world seems bigger, brighter. Her laughter echoes through the mountain passes and winds through the quiet valleys, filling your life with joy that makes even the coldest night feel warm.

When spring comes, you both return to Baldur’s Gate, eager to settle back into the tavern. But your time away has left a mark on both of you, an even deeper resolve to give back to this world you’ve fought so hard to protect. Karlach, more than anyone, feels this pull to help, especially when she sees the street kids who linger outside the tavern, eyes wide with curiosity but marred with the caution of those who’ve had to fend for themselves. She sees herself in them, remembers the way her own life veered toward violence and exploitation because she had no one to turn to.

With her heart set, Karlach begins to bring them in, one by one, offering them small jobs around the tavern. Some run errands, others help clean tables, a few learn how to chop firewood or stack the barrels in the back. The kids watch Karlach with awe, drawn to her kindness and her strength. She never hides her infernal heritage, showing them that no matter who you are or where you come from, you can still be loved, still find a family. She speaks to them with a softness she rarely uses, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. She becomes a steady presence in their lives, someone they can rely on and look up to.

Soon, a few of them linger even after their tasks are done, curling up in the back room with blankets, too reluctant to return to the cold, empty streets. Karlach’s eyes grow tender every time she sees them, and one night, as you close up, she looks at you, her voice soft but firm.

“These kids,” she murmurs, “they don’t have anywhere else to go. They deserve better than the life I had.”

And so, with a quiet, unspoken agreement, the two of you begin to take them in, one after another. Some stay for only a short while, finding a new path after a few months of warmth and care. But others become a true part of your family, filling the tavern with their laughter, their footsteps, their small but steady presences. They warm to the safety, testing boundaries with playful rebellion, then looking to you both for guidance as they slowly find comfort in this new home.

Karlach takes them under her wing with the fierce protectiveness she once reserved only for you. She teaches them the skills she knows, from cooking to basic combat stances (for “self-defense, of course,” she insists with a wink). She gives them everything she wished she’d had as a child—security, love, the reassurance that they don’t need to fight the world alone. At night, the tavern glows with a sense of warmth and community, the kids filling it with laughter and songs, even mischief, as they become a part of the heartbeat of your lives.

The tavern becomes more than just a home; it becomes a haven. Travelers pass through and are often greeted by a whirlwind of small, curious faces, eager to listen to their stories and learn of faraway lands. And every time a young face brightens with hope or a child smiles as Karlach lifts them onto her broad shoulders, you can see the pain of her past softening, replaced with something deeper, something healing.

Life with Karlach is more beautiful than you’d ever dared to hope for. Together, you build a place filled with love, laughter, and the echoes of shared dreams. Every day is a new adventure, whether you’re exploring the world in winter or hunkering down at the tavern to take care of the family you’ve created. And in those rare, quiet moments, Karlach often turns to you with a look of gratitude and love, her voice soft as she murmurs, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

In each stolen glance, each shared smile, each time you tuck a child into bed or laugh together over a spilled tray of drinks, you bask in the warmth that, together, you’ve built not only a home but a legacy of love and kindness that will last for years to come.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

OOOF THIS HIT ME IN THE FEELS WRITING IT, move over daddy halsin, mama K is here to stay. I can just imagine them being competitive over their children. 'Well my orphan grew their first potato today' 'Well my orphan didn't pickpocket for a whole week'

Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Founding

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Chapters: Chapter 2

Eren Jaeger suddenly felt warm. He felt heat on his skin, the sweat on his brow. After so long of nothing, of ice cold nothingness, he felt the warmth of his breathing across his chest. 

It’s been centuries after he passed, after the end of the rumbling that caused mass destruction. After his death, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing but he remembered everything. Paradis, the titans, his friends…her. Everything. He wondered what happened after he died and what kind of lives his friends lived after. If the path he carved in blood and destruction led to something better, or had it only left them adrift, lost like he was now? These questions burned brighter than the newfound warmth, tethering him to the weight of his past, even as the world moved on without him.

The stinging sensation of bright light pierced through his closed eyelids, forcing them to flutter open in protest. For a moment, everything was a hazy blur���shapes and shadows shifting around him like a dream half-remembered. He blinked rapidly, his vision struggling to adjust, and slowly, the indistinct murmurs around him sharpened into words. Voices—unfamiliar and fragmented—filled his ears, each one tinged with curiosity and urgency.

His head throbbed as awareness seeped in, and his gaze focused. The blurry figures took form: people in sleek attire, some pointing at glowing devices in their hands, others exchanging quick glances. They surrounded him, a mix of caution and excitement etched across their faces. He squinted, finally taking in the world beyond them.

Towering buildings stretched high into the sky, their façades shimmering as if made entirely of transparent, reinforced glass. Light danced along their surfaces, reflecting the brilliance of a city alive and gleaming. 

“He’s awake.” he heard one of the voices announce and the crowd around him began to stir. He blinked once more, trying to make sense of his surroundings as he slowly stood up. 

“Eren Jaeger?” A tall man in a long coat stepped forward. Eren continued to look around at the people surrounding him, no one looked familiar to him at all. 

“Eren Jaeger, is that you?” the man asked again and Eren just stared at him in confusion. “We did it.” another voice whispered next to the man. 

“We-we brought you back. We really did…” The man whispered and Eren froze. 

“Brought me back from where?!” Eren yelled and everyone stiled. 

“Back to life.” The man said, proud. Eren’s head started spinning and he scanned the crowd. They all stared at him in awe. 

“Who are you?! WHY DID YOU BRING ME BACK?!” Eren marched forward and the crowd stepped back in fear. 

“Lucian…start talking.” A small woman next to the tall man, who Eren now knows is called Lucian whispers. 

“W-we’re Jaegerists. Centuries after the rumbling, we still believe in Eldian liberation. Y-you see..it’s happening again. Our people…are suffering…because of those fucking Marleyans. My ancestor predicted it would happen again, even after your great sacrifice and it has…We–I brought you back because…we need you to fight with us.” Lucian finishes and Eren’s eyes widen. 

It’s happening again, what he tried so hard to stop, is happening again. He took a step back and looked at his hands. How much more blood would he have to spill again? 

Eren’s heart raced as the weight of their words hit him. His body felt heavy, his thoughts a turbulent mess. The familiar ache of guilt, regret, and loss surged within him. Mikasa, Armin, Historia—everyone—gone. The world he fought for, the bloodshed he caused, and the people he failed… he had lived with that pain for so long. And now, to be thrown back into a world that had moved on without him, to face the same fight, the same battle, was too much. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back.

“I don’t care,” he muttered, his voice low and cold, a familiar detachment creeping in. “I’m done. I don’t owe you anything.” His gaze swept over the Jaegerists, their desperate faces pleading with him. “You should send me back… to where I belong.”

Lucian stepped forward, his eyes pleading, his voice earnest. “Please, Eren, listen to us. You don’t understand. Our people are still suffering. The Marleyans have created new titans, they’ve kidnapped our families, they’ve turned them into monsters. And we, we need you. You’re the only one who can stop this. Only you can wield the Founding Titan’s power, only you can undo this nightmare. It’s all been prophesied. You have to help us.”

A woman from the crowd, her voice trembling, added, “My brother, my father—they’re Titans now. We can’t save them… but you can. You can bring them back. You can make it all stop.”

Eren’s eyes narrowed as their words sank in. His fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming in short bursts. Why? he thought. Why would they drag me back into this mess? I’ve already fought, I’ve already lost everything.

Yet, despite himself, something inside him stirred. The thought of his people, the thought of his family members turned into Titans, brought a cold fire into his chest. I couldn’t save them before… could I do it now?

His mind flashed back to the memories of his time on Paradis, the battles, the faces of those who fought alongside him. Mikasa, Armin, Levi... all gone. Would they have wanted me to fight again? He clenched his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away.

"You don't get it," he growled, voice breaking. "I tried. I tried to stop the cycle, to stop this endless suffering. I couldn’t even save my own friends. And you want me to go through it again? To stain my hands with more blood? For what? So you can carry on the same fight that took everything from me?"

Lucian’s expression softened, as if he understood the weight of Eren’s words. But his determination didn’t waver. “We know the cost, Eren. But we’ve seen the truth. We know that only you can end this. The Founding Titan’s power—it’s in you. You can stop the suffering, you can bring peace. You don’t have to do this alone, but you have to do it.”

Eren’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked at the faces surrounding him—desperate, pleading. But his mind was clouded with the suffocating weight of his past actions. He had brought ruin to so many, caused so much pain. How could he live with himself if he brought that same destruction once again?

A bitter laugh escaped him, as the image of his friends' faces flashed before him. “I don’t deserve their sacrifice. I don’t deserve any of it.”

"But you are their sacrifice," Lucian replied softly, the words like a dagger to his heart. "And it’s not just about you anymore. It’s about all of us. We need you, Eren. We can end this. You can end it."

Eren stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts tangled. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for what he had done. But could he stand by and let more people suffer? Could he truly remain indifferent when he was the only one with the power to stop it?

The weight of their desperation, the lives of those still trapped in this never-ending cycle of war, pressed down on him. His hands trembled. Could he still be the person who made a difference?

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Eren lowered his gaze. “Fine,” he said quietly. “But don’t expect me to save you. Don’t expect me to be a hero. I’m doing this for them… and for the world we lost. Not for you.”

The crowd smiled and cheered which made Eren even angrier, they were basically celebrating bloodshed. 

“Come with me, I’ll explain everything.” Lucian said, and led Eren to a mansion  on the side of the road. Eren looked around and despite how different his surroundings looked, he felt a sense of familiarity. 

“Is this–” 

“Wall Maria. It still stands.” Lucian said. 

“What is this place?” Eren whispered. 

“This is Eldra Nova. What Paradis is now, where the Marleyans are keeping those who are descended from the Eldians. Much like before.” 

They entered the mansion and was greeted by high ceilings and gothic architecture. “This was built a few years after the Rumbling, thankfully it was not destroyed and we were able to see a piece of the old Paradis.” 

The house did look familiar to Eren in terms of architecture and he felt pang in his chest. 

Lucian led him to a farther room, which Eren could deduce was the dining room and sat, Eren sat in front of him. 

Lucian took a deep breath, his eyes heavy with the weight of the truth he was about to reveal. He lowered his voice, as if afraid the walls themselves might hear, and Eren leaned forward, his pulse quickening with a mix of anger and curiosity.

“The Marleyans... they’ve been toying with artifacts from Ymir. Old relics, things they never fully understood,” Lucian began, his gaze darkening. “After the Rumbling, we thought it was over, that the Titans were finally gone for good. But they didn’t stop. They found pieces of her, things from before the Founding Titan was lost. They thought they could control it, that they could use it to make weapons. They’ve been experimenting on Eldian artifacts for years—trying to awaken something new, something powerful.”

Eren clenched his fists, feeling the anger rising in his chest. “And now they’ve unleashed the mindless Titans again? You mean to tell me they’ve brought this hell back upon us?”

Lucian nodded grimly. “Yes. They’ve triggered a resurgence. But the worst part is, they still haven’t fully awakened the other Nine Titans. The mindless Titans—they’re nothing but shells. But the power of the Founding Titan, the power of the other Nine... it hasn’t manifested fully yet, and the Marleyans know it. They’ve used the Eldians—those who were turned into Titans—as weapons, blaming them for the destruction they themselves caused. They call us the cause of all this suffering, but they’re the ones who manipulated everything.”

Eren’s voice cracked as he stood abruptly, his fists trembling at his sides. “They caused this! They did this, and now they’re using our people as weapons? How dare they! We fought to stop this, to end the curse, and now this—this horror is back again because of them.”

Lucian’s expression was resolute. “I know, Eren. I know. And it’s because of that we need you. We can’t let them keep using the Eldians this way. They’re using our own people as pawns in their war while blaming us for the destruction they’re causing. But... there’s more. They’ve been developing new weapons from our resources—working with whatever remnants of Ymir’s power they can find.”

Eren felt his heart sink, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “What do you want me to do? If what you’re saying is true… what needs to be done? Do you want me to do what I did before? Just… slaughter them all?”

Lucian hesitated, then shook his head. “To an extent, yes. But there’s something more. One thing we need that we didn’t have before: an heir.”

Eren’s brow furrowed in confusion. “An heir? Why?”

Lucian’s voice softened, almost as if he was trying to make Eren understand something he himself hadn’t fully accepted. “The offspring of the Founding Titan, combined with the blood of an Eldian… they’re the key to reversing the curse. The child born of that union will have the power of a new Titan—a Titan with the power to undo the transformations of those who have already been turned. The power to heal them.”

Eren froze. “You want me to… what? Create a child?” His voice was raw with disbelief. “I’m not doing that, Lucian. Never. I’ve seen what it costs. I’ve seen what happens when Titans are used like that, when bloodlines are manipulated to create monsters.”

Lucian’s eyes softened with regret. “I know, Eren. I know it’s a hard ask. But... you have to understand. This is our last chance. The Marleyans have locked us here, using our people as weapons. They’re creating new weapons from our resources. We’re being trapped in a cycle we can’t break without that child. You’re the only one who can stop this, and you’re the only one who can bring that child into the world. It’s the only way to end this.”

Eren slammed his hands on the table, his anger flaring like a wildfire. “How do you know this? How do you know all of this? How do you know about this... child?”

Lucian sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth. “Because my family—my bloodline—they’ve known about Ymir’s legacy for generations. We’ve kept the records, the old writings. My grandfather was a scholar who spent his life researching Ymir’s power, tracing her bloodline, studying the Titans and the curse. He knew the truth. He knew that the Founding Titan’s blood could give birth to something new—something that could reverse the curse. I’ve seen his journals. This has been passed down in my family for centuries.”

Eren sighed heavily, slumping back into his chair as a weight settled on his chest. How could he even fathom being with anyone other than Mikasa? Despite everything that had happened, it was still her. He could still see her clearly in his mind—her almond-shaped eyes, the raven-black strands of hair that framed her face, her fair complexion, and the familiar red scarf she always wore around her neck. The memories of her, so vivid and constant, felt like an ache he could never escape.

“I know this is a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” Eren interrupted, his voice sharp. Lucian paused, surprised by the quick response, but relief flooded his face almost immediately.

“Thank you, Eren… I knew bringing you back was the right choice. I’ll make sure everything is in place for you.”

Eren stood up, his fists clenched at his sides, feeling the weight of his decision settle on him. “You better. I didn’t come back to play their game.”

Lucian nodded solemnly, then hesitated before speaking again. “There’s one more thing. We’ve already… chosen women for you. You can take your pick.”

Eren’s stomach churned at the thought. His eyes darkened as he looked at Lucian. “Chosen women? You want me to pick like they’re objects?”

Lucian winced at the harshness of Eren’s tone but held his ground. “I know it’s not ideal, but we have to do this. It’s necessary for what’s coming. You’ll need an heir, Eren. And we’re trying to make this process as… manageable as possible.”

Eren’s fists tightened, his jaw set. The idea of choosing someone like that, reducing them to nothing more than a vessel, repulsed him. But he knew, deep down, that he had no choice. His resolve was all that kept him from shattering. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to swallow the bitter lump in his throat.

Lucian noticed the strain in his expression and nodded. “This is your home, by the way,” he said, gesturing to the mansion around them. “Get some rest. I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now.”

Eren nodded without saying anything, and Lucian bowed, then quietly exited the room. Eren was left alone in the silence, his mind racing with the enormity of what he had agreed to.

I know it's a bit long but just wanted to give a good introduction to the story, will be introducing y/n in the next chapter. :) Please let me know if you want to be on the tag list

[leciraofthewilderness]

So, despite some faults, I really enjoyed totk, and on its anniversary I want to say something about it. Other people have said similar things before but it’s really important to me and actually a big part of why the story of totk was meaningful to me, so I want to also say it:

Zelda needed to come back from draconification. The story needed that. It wasn’t lazy and just ignoring “consequences” because (imo) that was the *point*

The point is to feel like there are going to be terrible consequences and then say actually, no. You can come back from this, with the help of other people.

To me at least, that was the theme of the whole story.

If botw was about how the world goes on past loss and grief and starts to heal (how flowers grow in the ruins and the world can be beautiful again, be worth saving, even if it has changed)…then totk was about a more personal kind of healing.

The weight of the world should not be on your shoulders alone…you, alone, should not have to fix everything…you should not have to sacrifice yourself, but when you do, someone will be there to save you from it.

This turned into a really long ramble so:

You (Link) gained so much and now it’s gone. It feels like you’re back to where you started and yet you know you have to do it all again…you were weak and you failed and you’re weaker now…but

You go down to the surface. Monsters swarm across it once again. Other people are fighting them too though. You help, but it’s not just you…

You go to the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, the Gerudo…just like with the divine beasts, there are friends who help you save each region. But this time, part of them comes along with you when you leave. It’s nice, you realize, the first time one of them protects you from a monster you weren’t prepared for. You’re still weaker than you were before, but someone has your back…

When you go up to the sky you see a strange new dragon there. There’s something about them that feels familiar. You try not to think about it.

You go down to the depths too. It’s terrifying at first. You hate it. You only want to get what you came for and get out of the dark….but slowly, the light grows. You get stronger. The dark feels like a challenge you can face (and someone has your back).

There are spirits down there. You don’t know when they’re from, but some part of you wonders…are these all the people you let die in the Calamity? (You help them find rest from their wandering. The weight on your shoulders feels a little less heavy).

There’s so much gloom. The first few times the sky turns red and hands chase you (a reminder of what you’ve lost, how you failed) you just run. Eventually though, you have to fight. It feels like the (second) worst day of your life again. But you manage to get free of the grasping gloom and stand and fight, as wild and desperate as it is. Beneath the manifestation of your worst fears, there’s another thing to fight, but this time it has a face (a voice in the back of your head says…you know this isn’t all on you and your failure…it’s really Ganon’s fault right?). You get through it.

At every turn in your travels, it seems like something reminds you of Zelda. Her passion, her curiosity, her kindness. You miss her.

At first, the tears you find reassure you. She may be in the past, but she’s safe. She’ll come back somehow…but then you hear the word draconification for the first time. You want to believe she wouldn’t do it but you know her and the fear sits cold inside you. (Zelda is a lot of things. She’s been allowed to be more of them, since she was freed from her hundred year battle, without her father holding her back. But deep down inside her, there’s a vein of self-sacrifice that still runs strong. It’s what saved the world before, after all).

She did it. She really did it. She’s gone from you (from Hyrule) forever, and it’s all your fault. If only you hadn’t failed so utterly in the battle (you can hardly even call it that) under the castle. If only you’d caught her. If only you hadn’t let the sword break. You should have protected her you should have been better it’s all your fault and now she has to live with the consequences, forever. Everything really is on you, you should have been better.

(Zelda POV: you couldn’t call upon Hylia’s power in time, you were too content to let it wither and fade away from you, ready to be free of it. You shouldn’t have. He got hurt, the sword got hurt, it’s your fault…Sonia and Rauru help you channel it again, Sonia helps you learn how to turn back time…but you don’t save her. She dies because you couldn’t save her. Rauru dies not long after. There is no one left to guide you, once again. You could spend years trying to figure it out on your own. But you did that last time. It didn’t work. Self-sacrifice, stepping in front of someone you love, that worked. (You do what you can, to call upon the sages, to help Link in the future, first). And then you swallow the stone. You’ve come a long way, in the past five years, allowing yourself to exist. But in the end, self-sacrifice worked last time. It’ll work this time too.)

You (Link) go down beneath the castle. You were supposed to bring the sages but you didn’t. It’s nice, for someone to have your back. But no one else should get hurt to fix your mistakes.

They follow you anyway. They fight with you, against the hordes, against the greatest enemies you defeated together, along the way. They’ll have your back, even if you don’t think you deserve it.

You fight Ganondorf, and then the demon king, in the hardest battle of your life. You think it’s over and then the demon king decides it’s better to lose himself completely than let you win. You’re exhausted and afraid of yet another battle, but up there in the sky, when you’re falling, the Light Dragon catches you (you wonder why she changed her path to catch you, you wonder if there’s still something of Zelda left in there to save). With her help, you win.

And then you’re in some other realm. The spirits of Sonia and Rauru are there. You remember how the two of them and Zelda channeled such incredible power together. You think about Recall. Turning something back to the memory of what it was before, like Sonia said. You stand with them and you allow yourself to hope. Maybe the Light Dragon can remember the form she took so long ago, the person that she was.

And then you’re falling, and Zelda is falling, but this time you catch her. You catch her. She’s back home with you, finally, finally.

And maybe, one mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, someone else can stand with you, and it’ll all turn out alright. (You can put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can sacrifice yourself, but someone will be there to catch you, someone will be there to pull you back to yourself, when all is said and done).

[sailtomarina]

Charlie and the Chomping Cabbages

Watching Charlie Weasley had never been so rewarding. He’d done you the favour of pulling off his shirt in the midday heat, sweat perfectly outlining every single one of his ridiculously toned muscles. Shoulders and chest broad enough to wrestle young dragons and abs you could bounce a roll of Galleons off of. The leather breeches he wore clung to his arse as he squatted down to inspect the garden.

“And you think a dragon did this?” He pointed at the long gouges in the earth marring the once perfect line of Chinese Chomping Cabbages. A fair few still remained, but more still had been ripped from their cradles and strewn across the plot.

“I don’t think; I know.” You raised a challenging brow. No matter how fit you thought him, you knew he was dead wrong in this matter. “I saw it happen.”

This time he fully stood up, both hands propped on his hips in a decidedly aggravated manner. “Why didn’t you just say so from the start?”

“I did,” you stressed, already near your boiling point from the sheer thickheadnesses of the Dragonologist. “And I quote, ‘That can’t be right. I need to see the scene first hand’.” 

He scowled at your impression. Perhaps dropping your voice to a comical low and waving your arms about wasn’t quite the best way to convince him. What he didn’t know was that you’d never have teased anyone you didn’t like in such a way. Your usual tendency was all straight backs and stiff collars.

“Well, I stand by what I said then. I see no reason why a dragon would attack your cabbages like this unprovoked.”

You pounced. “Aha! So you admit that, if provoked, a dragon very well might have dragged their stabby claws right through?” Only, instead of jumping in place like you meant to, your ankle rolled upon landing. “Ahh!”

Your arms flailed as you fought to stay upright, and Charlie threw his arms forward in an attempt to catch you. All of his mass amounted to nothing with your legendary clumsiness, and you both hit the dirt in an unceremonial thud that knocked the breath right out of you.

The loss of air could also be attributed to his body on top of yours.

“Ow.” He started to shift, then froze before he could fully lift his weight. “Don’t look to your left.”

You looked to your left.

A gigantic cabbage bared its teeth an arm’s length away from your face. How you’d tended your garden without noticing what could be an award-winning Brassica you’d have to consider later.

“Ch-Charlie? How is not looking at it going to help?” you whispered. Who were you kidding? It’s not like speaking quietly was going to save either one of you.

“Merlin, he’s huge,” the wizard muttered. You stifled an inappropriate joke. Difficult, given the way your smaller body fit against his.

You knew you only had precious seconds before the produce launched itself at you. Your magic wasn’t quite fast enough to cast anything particularly useful before those teeth ripped out your throat. You needed something hard, and fast.

Hard and expendable, so obviously not that.

“On the count of three, shove off,” you instructed Charlie, keeping a close eye on the twitching leaves. You felt him nod, the bristle of his cheek rubbing against your own.

Inner green leaves started to arch inward. “1.”

The outer layer flared open like a lizard’s crest. “2.”

Clenched teeth loosened. “3!”

Palms flat to the earth, Charlie pushed himself away in a surge of power, and you brought your far hand around in front of you.

The weapon: a stray carrot that had rolled against where you lay.

The attack: jamming said carrot straight into the jaws about to devour you.

An average-sized Chinese Chomping Cabbage can be slowed down by a larger-than-average root vegetable. This, however, was the largest specimen you’d ever seen, and your carrot was on the smaller end of the spectrum.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

Its sacrifice gave you just enough time to roll away and for Charlie to sweep you up and into his arms. The cantankerous comestible hesitated just long enough to snap straight through the carrot before rotating to follow.

By this point, Charlie had whipped out his wand, while his other arm held you close against him where he could keep you safe. Unfortunately, this meant that you couldn’t quite reach your own wand jammed below your armpit. With a series of slashes, Charlie attacked.

“Diffindo!”

The slicing spell would have sheared straight through a regular cabbage. This one? Only the top couple of layers peeled away, further enraging their attacker.

“Charlie! This isn’t your average dinner cabbage! You have to use something stronger!” You fought his hold so you could grab your own wand.

“I’m trying! It’s not like I’ve ever done this before!”

Your wand came loose from its holster just as the behemoth rolled towards you, teeth clacking the whole while. The two of you stood with arms extended, sending spell after spell at the monster that never seemed to shrink or slow.

You could stand your ground and be forever known as the first recorded humans on the Romanian Reserve to die by Chomping Cabbage, or you could run and henceforth be labelled as the tamer and researcher who fled an overgrown vegetable.

Decisions, decisions.

One that was made for you with the loud roar that filled the air, then a gush of wind that nearly knocked the two of you right back to the ground. A flash of red filled your vision.

“Norberta!” Charlie cried. 

The Norwegian Ridgeback couldn’t quite flatten the cabbage with one swat of her powerful talons, but she could follow it with a slash of her tail and a stream of fire. An overwhelming stench of burnt vegetation filled your nostrils.

“Ugh. So long cabbage rolls and salad,” Charlie said in disgust. He gently turned you to look up at him. “You alright?”

Sweaty and covered with dirt as you both were, sex should have been the last thing on your mind. You’d just escaped death. A deadly dragon continued to stomp through the remaining rows of cabbages. Your crops were a lost cause. But Charlie looked down at you and only you, the deep blue of his eyes drinking you in while he continued to cradle you close.

“I told you Noberta had it out for my cabbages.”

His jaw dropped at your words, and you laughed aloud. As if you’d let his hunkiness deter you from proving yourself right. Charlie threw his head back and laughed along with you, the fullness of it invading your chest and giving you the courage you’d lacked until this point.

Up went your hands into his wild auburn locks, threading fingers through the curls and tugging his lips down to yours. He jerked in surprise at the touch, then deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head and a swipe to the seam of your lips.

And that was the story of how you snagged Charlie Weasley, one you told time and time again over countless flagons of beer and fresh-from-the-oven cabbage rolls (minus the teeth).

WC 1203

Cross-posted to Facebook, Tumblr, & AO3.

Hump Day drabble written for the Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Facebook group.

Prompt: “I’ve never done this before.”

Okay, so I blasted past the 1k word limit. See what 2 weeks away from home does to me? (and coffee too late in the day)

I have an intense craving now for cabbage rolls, the likes of which my childhood friend’s mother used to serve up to us on a regular basis. I haven’t tasted that nostalgia in what feels like years.

Chinese Chomping Cabbage users unite! Who needs spells when you have carnivorous vegetables?

I almost forgot to note my infrequent use of 2nd person. I recently started playing with this following a pov workshop in one of my writing discords. Let me know what you think!

[eu-nicola]

Sacrifices - Enzo Vogrincic x reader

summary: When you visit Enzo on set you worry about his weight loss

warnings: without

based on a request

The tension on the set of (LSDLN) reached its peak when you visited Enzo during filming. Upon arrival, you couldn't help but notice the noticeable weight loss in Enzo, who had fully immersed himself in the role of the tormented protagonist. You hadn't seen him for a few weeks as you were in your home country dealing with family matters, and although you knew he had to lose weight for the film, you didn't expect to see him like this.

Anguish took hold of you at seeing him in this state. Your eyes revealed the concern and love you felt for him. With a trembling voice, you expressed your worry to Enzo, asking if he was okay and if the transformation for the character was affecting his health.

Enzo, feeling vulnerable, shared with you the emotional and physical challenges he faced to portray the character authentically. He assured you that everything was fine, and a doctor monitored his health regularly. Despite understanding Enzo's artistic dedication, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the anguish of seeing him like this, knowing there was little you could do as it was part of the job.

You understood that you had to support him at all times and ensure that his health continued to be well.