#Weight loss without sacrifices

[negociosespecial10]

Benefits of Weight Loss Capsules

[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 𝕽𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌.

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

[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

[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!

[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).

[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

[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.

[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!

[virgobingo]

maki is an interesting character, bc she is generally acknowledged to be one of gege's best written characters in jjk, period. regardless of gender.

but the reason she is so great, is because her arc is centered around her experiences as a girl in a patriarchal society. not one that fits into the standard either.

she's born into a family that is considered misogynistic by other clans' standards. as a twin, no less, which is considered a bad omen. with little to no curse energy to boot.

still, for a large portion of her life, she desired to prove herself to them. in a way that reminds me of the myth of meritocracy? that idea of "if you work hard enough, you can do anything you want and you can prove yourself to the naysayers."

but in her journey she learns it's impossible for her to rise in an institution that actively works against her.

this happens, specifically, when she goes to the zenin clan during the culling games (to simply collect tools). she's confronted by reality in ways that echo momo and nobara's conversation (about the weight of misogyny in their lives).

"A scar on the face can be a good thing for guys. But not for girls. You think the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers is based on skills? [It is] Sure. But only for guys. Even if a girl is skilled, if she's not cute, she is looked down upon. Of course, if she's only cute without any skill, it's the same. Women Jujutsu Sorcerers aren't expected to be skilled. They're expected to be perfect." (Momo, Chapter 40)

the first thing she is told when she visits the compound is "yikes, what a face. that ain't gonna heal. what are you gonna do Maki? [...] all you had going was your face and now it's wrecked. no one will even look in your direction anymore." (Chapter 148, p.2-3)

after that, she crosses paths with her mother, who, at face value, echoes the horror tropes of mothers that "fanatically conform to the institution" (i think her actions later make her more complex).

then, finally, maki comes across her father, who remarks on maki and mai's "worthlessness" to him. he's convinced himself he would be better off in life if they were dead.

maki's continuously told she has no value in this world. for things that are out of her control.

of course, this all leads to the loss of mai, who sacrifices herself in order to essentially push maki forward as a character bc "to gain something, you must offer something," in the world of jujutsu kaisen. this is not exclusive to them. it also leads to mai telling maki something that aligns really well with what "female rage" means to me:

"Destroy… Everything" (Chapter 149, p.12)

why?

i think there is no amount of climbing you can do in a society that is actively pulling you down. no way to become clan head in an institution that wants you dead.

i believe it's this realization that causes maki to embrace her "monstruous femininity" that ultimately results in her ascension (as a person, as a sorcerer).

i know some people criticize her decision to kill the zenin in honor of her sister's memory. but, i think the message here is that some institutions simply cannot be reformed.

also, note that with their destruction, maki's narratively released from their expectations.

anyways, what comes after is honestly hilarious. i think it's a mockery of what gege expected misogynistic readers to say. "you're not toji!" (Chapter 151, 6-19) as if drawing a parallel implies that she's his copy.

another charming detail to maki's character is how sumo helps her find freedom/her groove. considering how, in traditional sumo, "women are considered impure and cannot step into the ring". it's just something so fitting for maki who continually defies gender expectations.

long post to say: i honestly love her and i think ppl often ignore how entrenched her story is in the female experience bc they just see how buff she is.

[asksythe]

Is there any cultural significance or reasoning for Xiao Xingchen giving both his eyes to Song Lan, instead of just one?

I can certainly see there being plot and/or thematic reasons for it (like it makes a better parallel with Wei Wuxian who couldn’t give just half his golden core; it’s necessary for Xiao Xingchen to be completely blind for the Yi city tragedy to play out as it did; etc.) but I’m wondering if there is more to it then that.

Your insights on other bits of MDZS lore have been really interesting!

That’s a tough question. The short answer is: yes. It’s a cultural thing. 

The longer answer is that I’m not sure I can adequately answer your question... because I feel that I'm not qualified. It goes deep. This is reaching the DNA of Chinese culture and the value system itself. I would say it’s probably better if you read more Chinese classics or immerse yourself in the culture. This is one of those things that are immensely difficult to put into words. The best way is to experience it.    

But since you asked me, I’m going to at least give it a try. 

The reason that Xiao Xingchen gave both eyes to Song Lan and the true root of the Yi City tragedy includes three different cultural concepts: Jishi 济世 (the Chinese ideal of saving the world), Enyuan Yinguo 恩怨因果 (Karma and Karmic Debts), and the quest to find Dao 道 (truth). 

1/ Jishi 济世 

济世 Jishi is a Chinese term denoting a philosophical ideal pursued by certain classes or castes of people since ancient times in China. It means to sacrifice and save the world. It’s self-sacrificial heroism in the most ideal and purest sense of the concept, similar to our modern-day Doctors without Borders.   

This is Xiao Xingchen’s higher calling, his chosen purpose. Xiao Xingchen came down from Baoshan Sanren’s mountain at 17 years old with one purpose: to make the world a better place. He rejected no one who needed his help. He went out of his way to reject the invitations from the cultivator Houses to join their ranks and enjoy the wealth and privilege it might bring because he didn’t want to be distracted from a higher calling.

Using modern Western vernacular, Xiao Xingchen is a hero. That’s his religion and identity. That’s on top of a personality that already holds high self-responsibility. So is there any wonder he feels he’s responsible for Song Lan’s loss and must give Song Lan both eyes?  

2/ Enyuan Yinguo 恩怨因果

恩怨 En Yuan. Yuan is resentment, spite, hatred, grudge. But En is a lot harder to nail down in English. It’s commonly translated as favor, but ‘favor’ has none of the cultural weight and encoded social obligation of En. The pure meaning of En is ‘a good deed done from the heart.’ A kindness. A mercy. A gift. 

For example, Jiang Fengmian taking Wei Ying into Jiangshi is En. Wen Ning saving Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying is En. Wen Ning reclaiming Jiang Fengmian and Yu Furen’s corpses and artifacts is En. Big En, comparable rebirthing an entire household. Wen Ruohan teaching Zhao Zhuli (later on known as Wen Zhuliu) and granting him a chance to prove himself is also En. Nie Mingjue doing the same to Jin Guangyao is the same level of En (granting critical knowledge and opportunity to completely change one’s life). Jin Guangyao taking in Lan Xichen and hiding him from Wen pursuers before the Sunshot campaign is En.   

因果 Yinquo = Karmic Bonds, the fruits that bloom from the seeds one sow. It’s also understood as a link between people’s life. Our lives collide, intertwine, and diverge like threads on a tapestry. We are each bound to each other by the threads of Karma and our debt to each other. This is yinguo. 

There is a deep-seated belief in China that a person’s life is a ledger. To live is to constantly add to and take away from the ledger. When other people perform En for you, that means you take from their ledger and add to yours. When someone takes from your ledger, a yuan/grudge is born. From the moment you were born, you were granted the greatest of En, the gift of life from your parents.   

In Chinese culture, it’s believed that one must try one’s best to square the ledger. One must repay En and reclaim Yuan. Entangled Enyuan eventually leads to tangled Yinguo, and that’s just a big headache nobody wants because it directly impacts your afterlife, your next life, your descendants, and sometimes even your ancestors that are already dead. 

To strive your best to repay En is seen as a virtue. Of course, not everyone is capable or even wants to reach this ideal. Like when we say it’s good to be honest, but being truly and completely honest in daily life is… a task, shall we say. Sometimes, it’s very hard to truly repay what you owe. And sometimes, your Enyuan with a person or with a House is so entangled that it’s either hard to really say who owes who, or hard to admit to the fact that you are the one in the reds.  

You are seeing parallels between Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian because they both embody this ideal to the extreme. Both would take it upon themselves to repay. Xiao Xingchen paid with his eyes. Wei Wuxian repaid Jiang Fengmian’s En by giving Jiang Cheng his jindan, helped Jiang Cheng rebuild Jiang Shi using Guidao (Path of the Dead), gave up all his war achievements for the rebuilding of Jiangshi and left Jiangshi without a penny to his name despite being a major contributor to victory, and then… repaid Wen Ning, Wen Qing’s En to Jiang Cheng and Jiangshi in Jiang Cheng’s place when the other didn’t.  

In some ways, you can say that both Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian are flawed in that they underestimate their own value and well-being and overestimate what other people do for them. You can even say that they are foolish because they pay for En that isn’t theirs to pay, and that eventually leads to their suffering and death. But this is just the kind of people they are. They are true idealists who genuinely believe in a Truth greater than mortal squabbles. They are pure, uncorrupted Daoists, the kind that holds the founding precepts of Daoism in their heart.  

In the novel, there are many examples of different people and how they see Enyuan Yinguo and how much value they put in them. 

We have Su Se, who was saved by Wei Wuxian twice but didn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he saw that as a Yuan because he probably hated the fact that it showed how weak and insignificant he was. Yet Jin Guangyao merely remembered his name and gave him some support to create his House, and he was willing to be Jin Guangyao’s attack dog, going so far as to abandon his own House members in Fuma Cave when Jin Guangyao’s plan failed and using his life to buy time for Jin Guangyao in Guanyin temple. 

We also have Jiang Cheng, who was well aware that he owed Wen Ning and Wen Qing, but didn’t want to acknowledge it because he was poisoned with trauma and hatred at the hands of Wen Chao and felt that because of his relationship with Wei Ying, he was entitled to Wen Ning’s En. And yet he is rational enough to understand that admitting to owing this ginormous En and not repaying it is a huge stigma on House Jiang, and so even when he answered Nie Mingjue, confirming that the Wen remnants did have En with him, he answered in such a way that downplayed the enormity of En. Answering truthfully would have exonerated Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants because the laws regarding Enyuan are so foundational that no one could have blamed the Jiang for saving the Wen remnants. But answering truthfully would have been admitting to his owing the Wen, setting House Jiang against House Jin, and turning House Jiang into a target of ridicule for other Houses because such an En should have been paid long before Wei Wuxian had to take drastic measures and jailbroke the Wen remnants from Quiongqi Path.   

We also have Lan Xichen, who effectively compromised his entire House and compromised his own judgment because he saw Jin Guangyao as having granted him a huge En (which is not wrong, per se). 

And then we have Jin Guanyao, who killed both people who bestowed En on him (Wen Ruohan and Nie Mingjue both gave Jin Guangyao critical knowledge, opportunities, and elevated him above his station. And yet when it came to Lan Xichen, despite his effectively pushing the Lan to death in the second Burial Mound Siege, Jin Guangyao still acted like Lan Xichen was in the wrong for not paying Jin Guangyao’s En even more than he already had. 

Then finally, look at these Enyuan and consider the way it binds the various characters in both good and bad ways. 

So it’s a deeply embedded and very nuanced concept that manifests differently in different characters.  

3/ The Quest for Truth 道 Dao:

Dao/Tao 道: the truth, the path, the knowledge, the faith, the ideal, the natural order of the universe, that from which everything comes and that from which everything returns. 

What does Dao have to do with Xiao Xingchen? 

Well, because Xiao Xingchen is a Daoist. Remember when he reminded A-Quing to address him as Daozhang? That. 

He’s not the only Daoist in MDZS, either. The man who created Dao as a philosophy and spirituality, Laozi, is also the man who created the concept of cultivation in the first place. So every single cultivator in MDZS, indeed every single cultivator in xianxia genre, treads in Laozi’s footsteps, takes from his wisdom, and stands on his shoulders in their quest for heavens. 

The first sentence in Laozi’s definitive work on Dao, the Tao Te Ching, says: 

‘Dao that can be told is not Dao. Truth that can be named is not truth. Path that can be walked is not the right Path.’

The Tao Te Ching is a foundational Chinese Classic. It is the shortest but also the most complex and hard to understand. 

This first verse of the Tao Te Ching means: truth is not something that is fixed. Truth is nuanced. Knowledge is not something that can be given to you by words only. You must find this knowledge by yourself. Path is not something that anyone else can tell you. Your path must be walked by your own feet. Faith is not something that can given to you by someone else. You must find faith in yourself.  

So then, apply this sentence to Xiao Xingchen’s journey. Do you see it? Xiao Xingchen choosing Jishi is his journey to find and prove his Dao. Jishi is Xiao Xingchen’s Dao. 

Yi City is not a tragedy. Yi City is Xiao Xingchen’s tribulation and the unavoidable consequences of choosing to remain pure to the founding precepts of Dao while the rest of the cultivator Houses, including Nie and Lan, have long betrayed their origin. 

Even if, by some miracle, Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen never entangled with each other, there will always be a Xi City or a Zi City for Xiao Xingchen. Because it is a consequence and a price to pay to find the truth that he desires. And he did find that truth. Song Lan, who he had left in a decisive gesture of severing their Karmic Bond, returned and would likely spend decades if not centuries walking Xiao Xingchen’s path, waiting for the day Xiao Xingchen awoke. And A-Qing never left Xiao Xingchen, never gave up on him either. 

   

Ugghh, such a heavy topic. I usually don't like to write too much on such topics because... it's hard to write and it's hard to read, and most people don't really have the patience to read. But it is a question. So I tried. In any case, have this fanart I commissioned from Nguyen Linh.

[aventurineswife]

hello!! aventurine with a teen!reader who has a similar past like his?

Games of Survival

Summary: In a quiet moment of connection, Aventurine and you, a teen with a similar troubled past, bond over shared experiences of survival and manipulation. You both discuss the sacrifices made, the burden of choices, and the price of constantly playing a game with such high stakes. Despite your differences, you and Aventurine find solace in the unique understanding of each other’s struggles, realizing that, while scarred, neither of you is truly alone in the fight.

Tags: Aventurine x Teen!Reader, Platonic, Found Family, Shared Past, Emotional Bonding, Teen & Adult Friendship, Strategic Minds, High-Stakes Gambling, Emotional Scars, Understanding.

Warnings: Mentions of traumatic past, survival struggles, manipulation, implied mental/emotional scars, themes of loneliness and sacrifice.

The sound of a quiet shuffle echoed through the room, followed by the soft clink of dice as Aventurine expertly rolled them across a velvet surface. His sharp eyes remained fixed on the dice, as if they were the very essence of life itself—random, yet influenced by a hand much greater than fate.

You sat across from him, arms folded across your chest, your gaze never wavering from his. The two of you were an unlikely pair, sharing a connection no one else could quite understand. Like him, you'd once been pushed to the edge of society, discarded and forgotten. Like him, you'd survived by taking risks, by playing games with the world, knowing that one wrong move could lead to destruction.

"You've got the same look," Aventurine said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth, almost amused, as he leaned back in his chair, his hands lacing together in front of him. "That far-off gaze, like you're already five steps ahead."

You tilted your head, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He was right. You had the same knack for seeing patterns, the same sharpness in your eyes that reflected the same haunted past. His words had never been truer. You, too, had learned to manipulate the world, to bend it to your will—or risk being crushed by it.

Aventurine’s expression softened just a fraction as he met your gaze. "I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse," he mused, tapping his fingers on the table. "But it’s what keeps us alive. What keeps us... on top."

You knew what he meant. Life had never been kind to either of you. There was always a gamble at play, always something hanging in the balance. Your pasts were lined with similar scars: betrayal, loss, and a constant game of survival. But while most would falter, you and Aventurine had learned to rise above it. You both had learned to play the game in your own ways.

"I think we're both lucky," you said quietly, your voice firm despite the ghosts of the past still clinging to your thoughts. "We found ways to survive, to take control. But I never forget what it cost."

Aventurine's eyes flickered with something darker, something that spoke to the shared weight of your words. He didn't need to ask what you meant. He already knew. It was the price of your soul, the parts of you that you'd traded away in exchange for knowledge, power, and survival.

"That’s the game, isn’t it?" he said, his tone contemplative. "You don’t win without sacrifice. But we’re not like everyone else. We never will be."

You nodded, understanding fully. The games you played were ones others couldn’t even begin to comprehend, the stakes too high for most to ever even try. But for both of you, there was no turning back. You were trapped in the web you’d woven, a web of calculated moves and inevitable consequences.

For a moment, silence hung in the air between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was an understanding—two people who’d been shaped by the same cruel hands, two souls who had learned to navigate the chaos of the world by their own rules.

Aventurine’s smile returned, though this time it was gentler, almost wistful. "We might be similar," he said, "but we’re not the same. You’ve got a chance, a future. Me? I’m just a gamble, a bet that’s already been placed."

His words were playful, but you could hear the edge beneath them. The weight of his own choices, his own destiny, was something he didn’t share with anyone easily.

But you? You understood. And for once, the shared burden didn’t feel so heavy when it was carried by someone who truly saw you.

"Maybe," you said, your voice soft but resolute, "but we both know the rules, and we both know how to win."

Aventurine’s smile widened, a flicker of respect in his eyes. He lifted his glass in a subtle toast, and you did the same, clinking your glasses together. In that moment, you knew that despite everything—despite the scars, the broken pasts, and the games you played—you were not alone.

The game had just begun.

[nebulaafterdark]

Do you think you could write something with Aegon x velaryon or targ reader and it’s their wedding night? Plz and thank youuuuu

Yes! Here we go.

Sweet Girl

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI unprotected sex, loss of virginity, Targcest, soft!Aegon.

This is it. Y/N fidgets restless at the foot of Aegon’s mattress. Her uncle, her nemesis, her husband.

Aegon approaches with two cups in hand.

“No,” Y/N puts a hand out, pushing back against the gauntlet lightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re shaking.” Aegon says, pointedly. “Trust me, a drink or two always takes the edge off.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me now.”

“That’s not entirely true.” He frowns. “I have no desire to face the wrath of your mother, stepfather or the King.”

“You think my mother would be angry?” Y/N scoffs, “if Rhaenyra cared she would not have been so willing to let us marry.”

Aegon tosses back his drink. “You are her heir after all, there’s bound to be sacrifice required to pave your way. If it makes you feel any better, this was my mother’s doing as well.”

Y/N looks up at him, still standing over her with the cup.

“It is not poison, I swear.”

The brunette smirks, taking the offering in hand and chugging the liquid. It burns its way down her throat, much stronger than wine. “What is that?” She chokes out.

Aegon takes the seat beside her, the mattress shifting under his weight as he claps the princess once on the back. “Only the best for my wife.”

Y/N allows the cup to tumble from her hand and clatter to the floor. The effects of the concoction hit her fast.

“Would you like another?” Aegon asks.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea. Unless you prefer me unconscious.” Y/N muses, “on second thought-” she makes for the chalice.

“Oh no,” Aegon chuckles, catching her around the waist. “If I have to be awake for this, so do you.”

“Let us get on with it then.” Y/N tosses herself backwards onto the coverlet.

“You’re just going to lie there?”

“Mhm,” Y/N closes both eyes.

“Am I truly so awful?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“How are you meant to see anything with your eyes closed?”

Y/N peeks at him, through a slit in one eye.

Aegon moves over her slowly, leaning on his elbows. Keeping most of his weight off of her. “I’ll be good to you.”

She sighs, taking in his face above her, in full. Aegon is beautiful, she’ll give him that. And when he’s not being a twat, he can be kind. “Swear it?”

“I do.”

In a spirit induced state of willful negligence, she reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. “Could you ever love me?”

“Love,” he laughs. “What is love but a frivolous endeavor which breeds eternal suffering?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, “I suppose you’re right. But there must also be benefits. Think of all those who live and die for it.”

Aegon shifts against her, making himself at home with his chest to hers. “I have never known love. However, lust and I are dear companions. You will find pleasure each time we lie together.”

“And when we are finished I’ll leave?”

“If that is your desire.”

“What if I stay?”

“That is my desire.”

“Then you do crave affection?”

“Among other things, yes.” He admits. “From you, as my wife, I crave affection above all.”

“I’ve never…been with anyone. I can’t say if I’ll be good at it.” Her eyes search his for reassurance.

“We could learn together.” Aegon leans in a bit closer, their breath mingling. “Conquer love and rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N pushes slightly off the bedding, capturing his lips with hers. “You’ll have to conquer me first.”

Aegon grins against her mouth, “gently the first round, then without mercy.”

Y/N inhales deeply, feeling his tongue invade her mouth. Lapping against her own, tasting her thoroughly.

As he suspected, she is sweet. Aegon relishes in this for a long moment, until her hips begin canting up against his. His finger tips grazing along the silhouette of her torso through the material of her nightgown. Squeezing the flesh of her hip, past her rib cage to the outskirts of her breasts. Cupping her soft mounds, nipples pebbling against his palm.

Y/N gasps, pressure building between her thighs. She rocks her hips against Aegon for relief, gasping at the feel of him, rock solid.

“Could you come undone like this, sweetheart?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Aegon hums, trailing kisses away from her lips, over her cheek, the corner of her panting mouth, sucking lightly at the pulse point on her neck. Rolling her peaks between his thumb and forefinger. “So responsive, I think you could.”

Y/N whines, looking for some relief from her aching core. “Aegon, please.”

“May I take this off?” He tugs at her gown, lightly.

She nods, staring up at him with glossy eyes. Following his lead, until nothing is left between them. Catching a glimpse of his length, she quickly moves her gaze away.

“You can look.” Aegon offers her a lopsided grin.

“Does it hurt,” Y/N motions to his cock, hard and pink at the tip.

Aegon kneels down between her legs, parting her thighs farther and finding her bundle of nerves. Y/N squeals, gripping his shoulders for purchase. “It wants attention, but it’s not painful yet.”

“I want you inside me.” Y/N rides his hand unabashedly.

Aegon groans, “need you to peak first, while my fingers fuck open your perfect little cunt.”

She whimpers.

“Lie back for me, dearest.” He purrs, still on his knees between her trembling limbs. He pecks a kiss to her knee. “Relax.”

Y/N’s muscles are taut in anticipation of his next move, bowing off the bed when his thumbs part her lips, making room for his mouth to connect with her pearl. He teases the swollen bud with his tongue.

“Gods, Aegon.” She cries out, desperately fisting his hair in hand. Unsure if she wants to pull him closer or push him away.

Aegon hums his approval. Sweetest cunt he’s ever had. Slipping a single finger carefully into her tight heat. Feeling her walls clench at the intrusion.

The feeling is foreign to Y/N, her husband allows her to get accustomed to it before adding a second. Curling them up to coax release from her.

He laps at her cunt as she thrashes above him. Overwhelmed with sensation. Calling out for him desperately. Three digits is a stretch and Y/N does whine a bit at the intrusion but Aegon keeps her attention on his lips. Closed around her pearl and sucking until she peaks. Hugging his fingers so tightly even Aegon moans.

Y/N nudges at his head, coming down from her high, “too much.” She cries when Aegon attempts to keep her in place.

He chuckles, licking a firm strip up her slit before slinking up her boneless form. “You alright?”

“I think so,” she pants, shuttering at the lightest touch.

Aegon steals a kiss from her lips, then the tip of her nose.

“I want you.” She repeats.

The prince has been a lot of things in his life, wanted is hardly one of them.

“There might still be a bit of pain from your maidenhead,” he warns.

“Do it all at once.” Y/N encourages, feeling the tip of him nudging at her entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

Y/N nods, bracing herself.

Aegon takes her mouth once more, waiting until she is fully at ease, contented in their kiss before sliding into her. There is little resistance as he bottoms out in her warmth.

“Ah.” She whimpers, it burns.

“Such a good girl,” Aegon praises, nuzzling against her cheek.

“Aegon.” Y/N paws restlessly at his back.

“Shhh,” he slides an arm behind her shoulder blades, holding her fast against the crook of his neck. Fighting to stay still.

They remain like this for a long moment before Y/N experimentally bucks her hips upward. There is still a bit of pain from the stretch, but nothing unbearable.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Aegon admonishes, “be still until you are ready. Do not tempt me.”

“Move,” Y/N murmurs, against the shell of his ear.

He pulls out, until only the tip of him remains, thrusting back in softly. “Alright?”

Y/N nods, her head cradled against him as he begins fucking her in earnest. All the breath leaving her lungs in short puffs.

“So tight,” Aegon grunts out. “Not leaving this room until you’ve reached your peak draped over every piece of furniture. Against every wall.”

“Please.”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Y/N is drawing near the edge again, the nip of pain from their coupling only serves to heighten the experience.

“I’ll fill you to the brim with my seed so that you might be with child on the morrow.” Aegon promises, clenching and unclenching his fingers in her dark hair. Feeling the quickening throughout his entire body. “Come apart once more for me.”

“I need you to touch me…the way you did before.” She pleads, so close to the precipice.

Allowing not an inch of space between them, Aegon snakes his free hand down to her pearl. Letting her rock against his fingers for friction.

“Fuck,” Y/N sobs, clamping down hard around his cock.

“That’s my girl,” Aegon all but growls between gritted teeth as his orgasm washes over him. “My good fucking girl.”

Y/N continues milking his length, even harder at his words. Riding out their shared high until Aegon flops down beside her, spent. He smirks devilishly; reaching down to collect the bit of his release trickling from her and forcing it back into her warmth.

He has conquered her. Or perhaps they have conquered each other.