#deliberate practice and mastery

[breatheandbloomquotes]

The Myth of Overnight Success: What Psychology and Philosophy Reveal About Real Growth

In a culture obsessed with speed, virality, and instant gratification, we are often sold the dream of the “overnight success.” The bestselling author who “came out of nowhere.” The startup that “blew up” overnight. The influencer who gained a million followers in a month. These stories fuel a collective belief that success, like fast food or next-day delivery, should come quickly—or not at…

[velarisdusk]

The Moment Between Heartbeats

Azriel x Reader

summary: You return to Velaris with gratitude in your heart and a wedding on the horizon. You never meant to cross paths with him. You never meant for anything to change. But fate has its own timing. And its own tether. word count: 4,865 content: [ medical emergency (not main characters), blood, infidelity, sexual content ] author's note: thanks anon for this request!! i had a nice time writing this one :) i dont write mates often so this was interesting practice for me <3 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The River House looked exactly the same.

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you. The Night Court didn’t tend to change unless it meant to. But still—after so many years away, after the long roads and longer days of study and practice and scraping your way toward something like mastery—it was jarring. Like walking into a memory that hadn’t aged with you.

Your steps slowed as you passed the flowering hedges, eyes skimming over the sleek curve of stone and glass, the soft gleam of sunlight spilling across the balcony where you’d once stood as a child, legs too short for the railing, craning your neck to see the High Lord who’d knelt to speak to you like your words had mattered.

They had, apparently. Enough that he’d sent coin. Letters. A promise that if you ever needed a place in the world, he’d help you find it.

And he had.

You adjusted the thin leather satchel at your shoulder. You’d dressed plainly—dark slate skirts, a soft cream blouse, hair half-pulled back—but everything was clean, pressed, deliberate. You weren’t here as some wide-eyed child this time. You were a woman grown, a healer, and the ink on your wedding invitation had barely dried.

You were here to say thank you. That was all.

The House let you in without pause, as if it remembered you.

It smelled the same, too—like polished wood and faelight, like cedar and citrus oil and some warmer note underneath, like the scent of magic at rest.

You didn’t have to wait long. Rhysand appeared from one of the upper hallways, jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked a little more tired than you remembered, but the grin that broke across his face when he saw you—it was the same one he’d given you all those years ago, when you’d tugged on his sleeve and asked if High Lords ever got headaches.

“Well, well,” he said, arms opening as he stepped toward you. “If it isn’t my favorite prodigy.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, letting him pull you into a light hug.

“I’m sure you say that to all the children you fund.”

He drew back with a mock-wounded expression. “Only the ones who become brilliant healers and forget to write.”

“I never forgot,” you said, more gently now. “Just… wanted to come back with something to show for it.”

Rhysand’s smile softened. “You didn’t owe me anything. I knew you’d do something extraordinary. All I did was give you a nudge.”

You looked away, suddenly aware of the tightness in your throat. You hadn’t expected to feel so much. Gratitude sat warm and steady in your chest, but underneath it—there was something else. A kind of ache, maybe, for the girl you’d been when she met him. For how much had changed since.

“How’s Nyx?” you asked quietly. “Last time I saw him, he was still half the size of his wings.”

Rhys’ grin tilted, a little proud, a little tired. “Started training in Illyria a few years ago. Thinks he’s ready for war—kid can barely make his bed.”

You laughed, heart squeezing. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m hoping the training will wear him out enough to keep him from charming the kitchen staff into midnight cakes,” he added, voice fond.

“I don’t think anyone who’s ever met him could say no to him.”

“No,” Rhys agreed, “he gets that from his mother.”

You smiled at that—felt something settle in your chest.

“I wanted to thank you properly,” you said, reaching into your satchel. “And to invite you. My wedding’s in two weeks, just outside Cesere. I’d be honored if you came.”

He took the invitation from your hand, fingers brushing yours.

“You found someone worthy, then?”

You smiled. “I did.”

Rhys’ eyes searched yours for a moment longer, but he only nodded.

“Then I’ll come. If I can get Feyre to stop adding new wings to the House for a weekend.”

You laughed. “Tell her she’s invited, too. And Amren, Mor—and the boys, if they’re in town.”

“They are,” Rhys said, walking you toward the door. “Cassian’s been banned from three taverns this month. Azriel’s been pretending that’s not his problem.”

The name landed like a flicker of shadow across your awareness—nothing more. You’d never met him. Only heard stories. Rhys’ Spymaster. A ghost in most reports.

The front door opened before you could respond, catching the breeze.

Rhys gave you one more warm look. “I always knew you’d make something of yourself.”

You ducked your head, smiling. “Thank you.”

And then—

You turned to step outside and walked straight into someone solid.

Your hand shot out instinctively, catching yourself against a chest that felt like it had been carved from mountain rock. Warm. Steady. Not moving.

“Sorry—” you said, already taking a step back. “I didn’t—”

The male in front of you didn’t respond.

He just stared.

Tall. Shadows coiled around him like living things, brushing at his boots, curling at his wrists. He was broader than you expected, beautiful in a way that didn’t seem real—like moonlight caught in obsidian, eyes fixed on you as if you were some kind of puzzle he hadn’t meant to see.

Something flickered in your gut—strange, sharp. Gone as quickly as it came.

You cleared your throat. “Excuse me.”

You stepped aside.

He didn’t.

But he did eventually turn his head slightly, just enough to look past you. Past your shoulder. To Rhysand.

“This is the healer I told you about,” he said, voice easy. “The one from Cesere.”

Azriel didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.

He looked back at you.

And you, not knowing what it meant for him, gave him a polite smile and walked away.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The scent hit him first.

Not strong. Not floral. Something quiet—cool skin and parchment and the faint bite of rosemary, like an old tonic he couldn’t quite name. It caught in his lungs mid-step.

Azriel paused halfway up the stairs. He was halfway through brushing it off—just another passing guest, nothing to—

And then she collided with him.

It wasn’t a dramatic crash. Just a soft, startled sound, the rustle of fabric against leather, the brief, unintended press of her hand to his chest.

But in the space between one heartbeat and the next, something snapped.

Not a crack. Not a fracture.

A snap. Clean. Absolute.

Like a door locking into place behind him.

Azriel didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

It sliced through him like cold steel, sliding beneath the skin and anchoring itself deep, deep in his ribs. It didn’t roar. It settled—quiet and immediate, like a secret remembered too late.

Her.

It was her.

The realization landed with surgical precision. No fanfare. Just certainty—absolute and all-consuming.

She looked up at him, eyes warm but distracted, her apology gentle and brief.

“Sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t—”

She trailed off, watching his face for a beat too long. He could feel the way her gaze skimmed over him—curious, unknowing. A stranger’s curiosity.

Azriel said nothing.

He couldn’t.

His body had gone still in a way that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with survival. As if any movement might break the air open between them, expose him.

She stepped aside. Cool and polite. Not a flicker of recognition in her voice. Not a hint that anything inside her had shifted.

It hadn’t snapped for her. Of course it hadn’t. 

“Excuse me,” she murmured, already turning away.

The shadows at his back swelled—not violently, but insistently, curling up the stair rail, whispering in a tongue only he knew. They surged toward her retreating form like they wanted to follow.

He swallowed hard and forced them still.

She walked down the steps, and every step she took away from him felt like another inch of his soul being peeled back.

Azriel didn’t move.

She didn’t look back.

Only when the front door eased shut behind her did Rhysand’s voice float up from the hall.

“You alright?”

Azriel blinked.

Only once. Slow. Mechanical.

Rhys stepped into view, already watching him. Not alarmed. Not yet.

“That was her,” Azriel said, his voice low. It came out hoarse, unused. “The healer.”

Rhys’ brows lifted slightly. “Mm. She just came to say thank you. Invited us to her wedding.”

Azriel said nothing.

“She’s done well for herself,” Rhys went on, stepping up beside him. “Bright as ever, even more driven now. Trained under some of the best outside the Courts. She runs a clinic in Cesere.”

Another pause.

Azriel kept staring at the door.

The scent hadn’t left. It clung to his skin. Pressed under his breastbone.

Rhys glanced at the invitation. “She’s marrying someone from her school, it seems.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened—just barely.

“I see,” he said.

And then he turned, took the stairs in silence, and vanished down the hall like smoke.

It took him hours to come back down.

He didn’t know why he bothered.

The house was quiet again by the time he found Rhys in the study, sleeves still rolled, a half-empty glass of wine balanced in one hand. Azriel didn’t knock—just stepped inside and leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, shadows wound tight at his ankles.

Rhys glanced up, unsurprised. “Thought you might circle back.”

Azriel didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he asked, voice low, “What’s her name?”

Rhys set the glass down with a faint clink. “You mean your shadows didn’t read the invitation she handed me?”

He said nothing.

“Mm.” Rhys paused, then said, “(y/n).” Softly. Like a secret.

“She was twelve when I met her. I was visiting Cesere with Feyre—some small delegation thing. She slipped into one of the healing halls during a tour. Asked the attending why no one ever treated grief like poison in the magic. Said it didn’t make sense to heal the body if the magic still hurt.” 

Azriel’s gaze flicked up.

“She had a raw instinct,” Rhys continued, leaning back in his chair. “Not just for medicine. For the way things work. People. Systems. I paid for her education because I wanted to see what she’d build if someone just let her try.”

Azriel said nothing.

Rhys’ tone shifted—cooler now, careful. “She’s good, Az. Not just in skill. People love her. She’s the kind of healer who remembers every patient’s name, who sends letters to families months after an injury’s healed. She’s careful, and kind, and sharp enough to make even Madja flinch—she did, once.”

Azriel didn’t move.

“She met her fiancé at the university. They trained under the same master in Montesere for a few years. He works with magical plant derivatives—” Rhys broke off, narrowing his eyes slightly. “But I’m guessing you already know all that.”

Azriel’s jaw worked once, subtly.

“I read her file,” he said, not bothering to lie. 

“So what is it you’re actually asking me?” Rhys asked. Quiet, but not unkind.

Azriel’s shadows shifted—tighter now, curling slow around his fingers. His voice, when it came, was stripped down.

“I want to know who she is.”

Rhys tilted his head. “You think I didn’t just tell you?”

Azriel’s eyes met his. That flat, endless stillness he wore like armor—but Rhys knew him too well to mistake it for calm.

“You told me what she’s done. What she does. Not who.”

Rhys sat with that for a beat.

Then he said, “She carries too much on her own. Doesn’t like being helped unless she’s bleeding out, and even then she’ll try to talk her way out of it. She walks like she’s being chased, even when she’s not. Laughs when she’s anxious. Goes quiet when she’s hurting. She’s better at caring than being cared for.”

That landed. Azriel didn’t flinch, but something in him stilled further.

Rhys watched him. “You could just ask her yourself.”

A long silence.

Then Azriel said, evenly, “She didn’t feel it.”

Rhys sat back. “Ah.”

“It’s one-sided.”

“For now,” Rhys said carefully.

Azriel shook his head—once, sharp. “She’s getting married.”

Rhys didn’t argue.

Azriel’s voice dropped again, barely above a whisper. “I know she doesn’t know me but… She looked at me like I was no one.”

And Rhys—soft, but steady—answered, “You’ve been no one before. Didn’t stop you from becoming someone.”

That silence stretched again.

Then Azriel said, almost absently, “You guys should go to the wedding.”

“You’re not coming?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

He was already gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The clinic had been quiet all morning—just the way you liked it.

Soft chatter from the waiting room, the steady rhythm of footsteps across polished floors, the faint hum of spelled light filtering through the tall windows. Outside, the Velaris breeze stirred faintly against the curtains. Somewhere, someone was playing a lute badly. It made you smile.

You’d set up your temporary workspace near the back—out of the way, tucked into a sun-drenched alcove with jars of salves and tinctures stacked in tidy rows beside you. There was comfort in the routine of it, in knowing what each bottle did, where every tool belonged. And for the first time in days, the weight behind your ribs felt… light. Not gone, exactly. But manageable.

You’d written your vows that morning. Scratched them out in the dim hours before dawn, half-smiling at how strange it felt to put a life into words. They were good words. True. Still, a quiet part of you had hesitated over the last line. Not for lack of love, but for something else. Something you couldn’t name.

You were just finishing up a binding charm on a sprained wrist when the front doors crashed open.

The magic in the room shifted—taut, unsettled.

“Coming through,” someone called, and two males rushed in with a third slung between them. Blood slicked the side of his neck, pulsing magic leaking raw and uncontrolled from a gash just below his jaw.

You were moving before anyone asked.

“Back room,” you said sharply, already pulling your sleeves up.

Your team fell in around you, practiced and calm, and you were halfway through stabilizing the spell fracture when another presence stepped into the doorway.

You didn’t look up at first.

But the air had gone still in a particular way—not dangerous, not loud. Just… watchful.

Then you felt them. The shadows.

They lingered at the edge of the room like smoke waiting for a breeze.

You glanced up.

He was standing just outside the threshold, a step out of reach. His arms were crossed over his chest, wings tucked tight behind him. He wore those dark leathers that looked both worn and battle-ready, the kind that moved like a second skin. Seven stones glinted across his body—each embedded in a different place in the leather, deep and gleaming like captured starlight. Shadows curled lazily at his boots, brushing the floor like they had nowhere else to be. Azriel.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Whatever had happened to your patient, he’d been involved. Not in the causing of it—you could tell that much by the tension in his stance. But the aftermath. The cleanup. The threat, neutralized.

You turned back to your patient, sealed the worst of the tear, then gave the nod to move him to recovery.

Only when the doors swung shut behind the others did you turn toward the figure still watching you from the doorway.

“You’re Azriel, aren’t you?” you asked, voice light but genuine.

His expression didn’t shift. “I am.”

You stepped toward him, extending a hand. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day.”

He looked at your hand for a fraction too long before taking it.

His palm was rough—calloused and worn from blade and sparring, and yet warm. Steady. Your fingers slid into his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then—

Something.

Not pain. Not heat. Just a flicker. Like the air had gone thin. Like the room had tilted ever so slightly on its axis.

Your eyes lifted to his.

He was watching you with a stillness that made your breath catch.

The sensation passed as quickly as it came. You blinked once and let go, unsure why you’d held on for even that long.

Azriel stepped back. “I won’t take up your time.”

And then he was gone. Just like that.

You stood there a moment longer, fingers tingling faintly, heart oddly out of rhythm.

You shook it off.

There were patients to check on.

Still, as you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back at the empty doorway.

Like some part of you had missed something.

Or maybe recognized it—too quietly to name.

That night, Velaris shimmered in the dark like it had something to hide. 

You wandered without a plan, the hem of your dress brushing against your ankles as you took another left, then a right, letting the streets pull you wherever they pleased. The sky had slipped fully into indigo, faelights casting their gentle glow across balconies and shuttered shops, the river whispering its song somewhere below.

You should have gone home hours ago. You’d promised your maid of honor a final fitting. Promised yourself an early night.

But your skin itched like it didn’t fit.

You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since the clinic—the way Azriel’s hand had lingered in yours, the way his voice had slid under your skin like a needle finding the vein. He hadn’t done anything. Had barely said anything.

And still, your dreams since that day at the River House had been full of him.

Nothing graphic. Just… presence. The weight of someone watching over you. The brush of shadow on your shoulder. That same quiet pressure blooming behind your ribs—like you were being filled with something you hadn’t known you were missing.

You were halfway across a narrow footbridge when you sensed it again.

The air changed. Stilled.

You stopped walking.

Then—behind you—a sound. Barely.

Boots touching stone.

You turned just as he dropped down from the rooftop. 

Your breath caught—your whole body flinched, instinct flaring before reason. No wings flared. No shadows curled in warning. Just the quiet landing of a male who’d been waiting. 

Azriel. 

He straightened slowly, eyes already on yours. No armor. No weapons. Just him, dark and patient, the streetlamp glow catching the edge of his profile like it didn’t dare touch him fully.

You stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, rough. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallowed. “I’m used to unexpected visits.”

A faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Then gone.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said quietly. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t move. “But you’re here.”

“I needed to see you. One more time.” A beat. “Before you go.”

Your fingers curled against your palm. “I’m not leaving until next week.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have been able to stay away that long.”

There was something hollow in his voice. Like it cost him to admit it.

You waited.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver. And when he finally spoke again, the words landed soft—but they hit like a blade.

“I felt it the moment you touched me.”

Your breath stilled. 

“The bond. I didn’t ask for it. I wasn’t looking for it. But it’s there. And I wouldn’t force it—gods, I’d never—but I couldn’t lie about it either.”

The silence between you opened wide.

He stood in it like it hurt. Like he’d rather be struck than watched. 

Your heart thundered—faint, wild. “I didn’t feel it.”

“I know.”

“And you still came.”

His throat bobbed. “I couldn’t not.”

Your eyes burned suddenly. Too full, too sharp.

“I thought…” You shook your head, laughing once, barely. “I thought I was just nervous about the wedding. About the timing. About saying the right words. But I’ve been dreaming of you. Every night.

Azriel went utterly still.

You stepped closer.

“I didn’t know why I couldn’t sleep. Why every time I closed my eyes, I felt like something was missing. Like I was standing just behind a curtain I couldn’t pull back.” Another step. “It’s been you.”

His mouth parted, breath catching—soft, sharp.

And then you were in his arms.

Or maybe he was in yours.

It didn’t matter who moved first.

The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t frantic or frenzied. It was simply inevitable—like the space between you had finally grown tired of pretending it wasn’t there. 

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your gown like he needed proof. Yours slid into his hair, slow and reverent, as your lips pressed fully to his for the first time.

It felt like answering a question you hadn’t known was being asked.

Like everything else—your vows, your carefully laid plans, the quiet ache behind your ribs—had been written before this moment.

Just waiting.

Just… waiting.

The kiss ended only because breath demanded it.

Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing like you’d run miles—except you hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything but say the one true thing your body had been screaming for days.

Azriel’s eyes stayed shut a moment longer. Then:

“Come with me.”

You hesitated—but only for a second. Only long enough to remember that this was your city, too. That just four blocks from here, in a tucked-away garden flat above a glassblowing studio, your rented room waited. Not glamorous. Not permanent. But yours.

You slid your fingers down from his jaw and whispered, “It’s just around the corner.”

He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was dark when you stepped inside, but a flick of your fingers coaxed the faelights to life—low, golden. Gentle. The kind of light that knew how to stay quiet. The windows were still cracked from earlier, letting the breeze in. You’d left a kettle out, a half-folded list of supplies on the table. A vase of overripe lilacs sagged near the sink.

Azriel stepped in behind you and closed the door with the softest click.

Neither of you moved.

The quiet held.

And then, slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand again.

You let him.

His touch was delicate at first. Too delicate.

You lifted your eyes to his as he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheekbone—like you were a painting, not a person. Like he didn’t trust that you were real.

So you said nothing. Just stepped closer and let your hands rest at the hem of his shirt. Waiting.

He gave a tiny nod. Barely.

You slid your fingers up, finding the fastenings along his back, those slits sewn carefully into the fabric to accommodate those massive wings. One by one, you unhooked them. The slats parted gently under your touch, fabric loosening as his wings shifted just slightly. 

Then you pulled the shirt up—slow, reverent. Your hands skimmed his ribs, his stomach—solid muscle, old scars. He stood perfectly still, letting you bare him inch by inch, until the shirt slid off and his chest rose unguarded in the faelight.

He looked like something holy. Or ruined. Or both.

You kissed the center of his chest.

Azriel exhaled—rough and quiet—and brought his hand to the back of your neck. Not pulling. Just holding.

Then he kissed you again.

And it changed.

The tenderness didn’t disappear, but it deepened—like a blade sheathed in velvet. His mouth moved with more hunger, more need, but never lost its care. He touched you like he’d never expected to be allowed. Like every inch of your skin was being memorized in real time.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.

When his hands slid beneath the delicate fabric of your gown, you lifted your arms, arching just enough to give him room. When he paused at the clasp of your underthings, you nodded once. And when he sank to his knees, letting his forehead rest for just a moment against your stomach, you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered nothing but breath.

The bed caught you both gently.

And the world shrank.

He moved over you like a prayer—fingers first, reverent and unhurried. He learned you by touch. By breath. By the sound you made when his hand slid lower, when his mouth followed. And when you finally pulled him up—when you looked at him and didn’t say anything but yes—he pressed his forehead to yours like it might keep him from coming apart.

When he entered you, your hand trembled against his jaw. His name never left your mouth, but the breath of it did. Again. And again.

Slow. Then deeper. Then real.

It was not performance. Not frenzied. It was necessary.

You didn’t look away.

His shadows slipped along the edges of the room, brushing over the bedpost, the windowsill, your bare hip. Not invasive—protective. Cradling the space you created between you. And just once—just for a flicker—your own magic bloomed up in answer. That soft green-gold light you only used for pain, for healing. It lit along his spine where your fingers had dug in. It sank into him, even as he gasped quietly and thrust harder, undone by the gentleness of it.

No words passed between you. Just sound. Just motion. Just the raw, breathless truth of two people burning quietly where they touched.

You reached the edge first, fingers clenching tight in the sheets as he whispered your name like he’d known it his whole life.

He followed right after, head buried in the crook of your neck, body shuddering once, twice, a low groan breaking through his chest as he came apart inside you.

The silence afterward was almost sacred.

Just breath. Just the brush of your fingers along his back.

The shadows receded. The light dimmed.

And when he finally lifted his head, kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, then the side of your mouth—

You let yourself hope.

Just a little.

Just enough.

The air had cooled.

Outside the window, the city had gone mostly quiet—only the faintest sounds drifting up from below. A wind chime. Distant laughter. 

Inside, the only movement was breath.

Azriel lay half-curled behind you, one arm draped low around your waist, the other tucked under the pillow you shared. His body was all heat and steady weight, his chest rising against your back with the kind of rhythm that made you want to cry.

Like he was still here. Like he would be.

You didn’t speak. Neither of you had—not since the last trembling breath between kisses, since the final touch that made the world go still.

Words weren’t ready. They didn’t need to be.

You shifted and let your fingers trace the edge of a scar on his chest—an old one, rough and puckered, just below his collarbone. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. Just exhaled, slow and heavy, and turned his face toward the back of your neck.

A moment later, he brought your wrist to his mouth and kissed it.

Nothing more.

Just that.

Like a seal. Or a question. Or maybe an answer.

You closed your eyes.

The ache in your chest had changed. It wasn’t confusion anymore. It wasn’t the quiet, misnamed nerves that had haunted you these past days.

It was him.

The bond hummed somewhere low and deep in your bones—not demanding. Not loud. Just there. Waiting. Like it had always been there, and you’d only just looked up and found it watching.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Didn’t think of the promises that would be broken or rewritten, or who you’d have to face in the morning light.

But you knew this.

Knew the shape of his hand against your ribs. Knew the silence he wrapped you in wasn’t cold—it was shelter.

And as your breathing slowed again, as your fingers curled loosely around his, one last thought threaded through the stillness, calm and final:

It wasn’t the moment the bond snapped that changed everything. 

It was the moment between heartbeats—when he saw you, and knew he’d never be the same.

[astrofaeology]

Saturn in the Signs

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ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me and commenting your placement. Saturn represents resitictions, delays and obsticals however it's precious as it represents dicipline and what comes from struggle results in a beautiful flower of growth.

0º is the degree which doesn't have a coresponding sign assigned to it. It's a fresh new degree and will amplify the themes of the sign that it's in

Aries (1,13,25º) This placement often restricts decisions, self-assertion, and independence. Natives may battle with impatience, fear of authority figures, or a fear of taking charge, but by practicing self-control and confronting these concerns they develop confidence and the ability to effectively apply their pioneering spirit.

Taurus (2, 14, 26°) Lessons pertaining to financial stability, values, and material security are particularly crucial when Saturn is in Taurus. Early problems or worries about money and belongings may surface, but these people can develop long-term prosperity and a strong sense of practical self-worth with hard work and a targeted approach.

Gemini (3, 15, 27°)When Saturn is in Gemini, intelligence, education, and communication are highly valued. Individuals may have difficulty expressing themselves clearly, struggle with disorganised ideas, or feel ashamed of their intelligence. Conducting thorough research, cultivating a disciplined learning style, and having the capacity for accurate and clear communication are all necessary for mastery.

Cancer (4, 16, 28°)This placement covers topics like emotional stability, family, and roots. Early experiences with emotional control or a strong sense of familial duty may have taken place. Being a reliable anchor for loved ones requires developing a strong emotional foundation, learning self-care skills, and establishing appropriate boundaries at home.

Leo (5, 17, 29°) The ego, creativity, and self-expression are all hampered by Saturn in Leo. People may experience pride issues, fear criticism of their skills, or feel constrained in their ability to express who they truly are. The journey involves developing genuine confidence that is independent of outside validation as well as learning how to communicate their unique talents in an honest and modest way.

Virgo (6, 18° ) When Saturn is in Virgo, the emphasis shifts to service, daily routines, and perfectionism. Anxiety about details, self-criticism, or feeling overburdened with obligations are examples of problems. Developing effective systems, embracing failure, and finding fulfilment in applying effort and hard work to make a meaningful impact are all steps on the path to mastery.

Libra (7, 19°) Because it is exalted in Libra, Saturn performs well there. The primary subjects of this placement are justice, fairness, and relationships. Natives learn about commitment, collaboration, and diplomacy. Their consistent pursuit of integrity and balance in all of their relationships solidifies their reputation for justice and moral behaviour.

Scorpio( 8, 20°) We can learn a lot about transformation, power, control, and shared resources from Saturn in Scorpio. There may be ingrained worries about vulnerability, trust, or loss. Confronting shadow elements, building resilience, and learning how to handle difficult emotional and financial circumstances with integrity and inner strength are all part of the process.

Sagittarius (9, 21°) By combining a methodical structure with a philosophical pursuit of truth, Saturn in Sagittarius promotes a serious approach to higher education and the development of strong moral principles. This placement encourages deliberate exploration and a grounded optimism as individuals balance their need for independence with a commitment to responsible, meaningful growth.

Capricorn (10, 22º) Because Saturn rules this position, it is ideal for ambition, self-control, and financial success. Natives frequently take on significant responsibilities and are typically very responsible, dedicated, and driven to succeed. Despite their enormous potential, they still need to learn how to balance their personal and professional lives, control their ambition, and remain flexible.

Aquarius (11, 23°) Saturn in Aquarius emphasises cooperation, generosity, and originality. Individuals may have trouble making friends, feel responsible for social problems, or find it difficult to fit into established systems. The lesson's primary goals are to encourage genuine, meaningful change, create strong, accountable communities, and present unique ideas to the group.

Pisces (12, 24°) Teachings about compassion, spirituality, and establishing boundaries are particularly crucial when Saturn is in Pisces. Natives may choose to leave, feel like martyrs, or struggle to set boundaries. Mastery includes establishing healthy emotional boundaries, integrating spiritual knowledge with pragmatic realities, and identifying systematic ways to demonstrate empathy and service.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

@astrofaeology private services 2025 all rights reserved

[sovlstr]

The Gaster Brothers in all their evening glory⚜️🦴

————————————

+ Note session abt their color correlation🤌

Sans’s look is traditionally plain, fairly reflecting the practical, perhaps cynical view of the world with his role of the enforcer. His darker palette presents the soul worn down by experience and toil, in grim necessity rather than innate desire. The older brother opts for black clothing- the utilitarian choice that allows further ease in his duties. It’s an absorbing color, and one that makes no apologies for its existence.

Papyrus’s look, refined and commanding, openly presents his lofty, ambitious, and perfectionist personality. White symbolizes his natural desire for order, control, and even self- righteous idealism, despite the nature of their work. The attention driving palette displays detachment and mastery, a careful balance of precision and pride where messes are cleaned, but not tolerated.

[[Sans is the shadow of their business, quiet, driven, and unrelenting. Papyrus is the flaunting highlight, calculated and deliberate in his power. Between them, the red threads through both with the blood shared and the blood spilled. Despite the brothers opposing views on life, they are 2 halves of a whole- a balanced force, each filling where the other lacks.]]

[macbethsymphony]

Negotiations

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

wc: 5.2 k

tw: NSFW, 18+, this is just pure filth guys, it's 5k of smut, there's no plot. Edging, overstimulation, slightly dubcon, fingering, Mihawk has the hyperfocus of a god? this is highly toxic and slightly unethical ngl

Summary: The tale of how a negotiator convinced the marine hunter to consider becoming a warlord.

AO3

Eat, drink, nap, kill marines, drink some more, sleep, and repeat. That was the unvarying routine of Dracule Mihawk, marine hunter. At least, that’s what he’d been up to, these past two months.

Marine hunter. What a fucking joke. Marine killer was more accurate. The man was deranged, his actions driven by an insidious boredom that turned slaughter into a twisted game. It was painfully obvious that he was merely toying with the Marines, savoring the macabre sport, desperately looking for someone who would match his skills. If you had your way, you’d be plotting his demise instead. Though you supposed if you were here, it meant they’d all failed.

Tsuru’s words echoed in your mind, firm and unyielding: “I trust you are able to bring him to the table,” she had said. “You are our best negotiator, after all.”

So, you grit your teeth and set the scene. For in no world was disappointment an option; failing your superiors, especially Tsuru, was unthinkable.

Your officers were meticulously positioned, the bar’s usual faces replaced by those of disguised operatives. Only a few of the establishment's staff remained. A strategic decision to ensure the venue’s operations ran smoothly without drawing suspicion. The air was thick with tension, and you were acutely aware that the slightest misstep could unravel the entire thing. The possibility of disaster loomed large; a single error could transform this carefully orchestrated meeting into a chaotic bloodbath, with no chance of containing Mihawk’s whims.

Your heart pounded with an almost unbearable intensity, a drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation. You reminded yourself that your team were experts, each one adept at their role, and that every detail had been rehearsed to perfection. You could do this. You would succeed where all others had failed.

The door to the bar creaked open, drawing your attention as you smoothly transitioned into your assigned role. “Whiskey, neat, please,” you requested from the bartender, your eyes never leaving the imposing figure in the corner. “Actually, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

You watched with a tight-lipped smile as Mihawk, with deliberate nonchalance, made his way behind the bar. He selected two bottles of fine wine, his movements leisurely, and then settled into his usual spot, a booth in the corner, away from everyone. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured himself a glass. Your breath caught, a shiver of doubt sliding through you, but you forced yourself to look again. 

Good. 

It was nothing more than a trick of the light.

You downed your glass, slamming it with a bit too much force on the bar counter. 

Everything was falling into place. You had him where you wanted him; all you needed to do was stick to the script. You adjusted your dress, the provocative cut emphasizing every curve. Confidence surged through you. You knew how to handle men like him. This would be no different. 

You approached him, whiskey bottle in hand, your movements practiced and deliberate. “Hello, handsome,” you purred, your voice a silky caress. He would be putty in your hands before long.

But as his gaze locked with yours, the air between you seemed to thicken. The intensity of his stare left you breathless, feeling strangely vulnerable. The mastery you usually wielded over people faltered. You couldn’t decipher him, couldn’t read him. At all.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You were always in control, always able to manipulate the situation with ease. You were the master and they the puppets. The fact that Mihawk’s inscrutable expression was completely impenetrable threw you off balance.

You were already committed, though. Backing out now was not an option.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, voice dropping to a husky whisper. You allowed your fingers to trail delicately along his shoulder and then drift over the exposed skin of his chest. Your gaze flickered to the other banquette, the seat occupied by the bulk of his massive sword, back to him. The invitation in your eyes was unmistakable.

For a moment, you thought you glimpsed a spark of amusement in his gaze, but it was so fleeting that you couldn’t be sure. Mihawk tilted his head slightly, the feather on his hat accentuating the movement with a languid grace.

“Be my guest,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

He made no move to shift from his position, no move to shift the position of his sword. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to maintain composure. The arrangement was deliberate—there was no easy way for you to sit without essentially stepping over him and trapping yourself between him and the wall.

He was toying with you, you realized with a flicker of frustration. But if he wanted a game, you were more than capable of playing along. You were a master of your craft after all. With a deliberate motion, you took the third, more unexpected option. You straddled him, the hem of your already short dress rising even higher as your legs settled to his side. 

You held his gaze steadily as you sipped from the whiskey bottle, slamming it behind you with a practiced flourish once you were done.

His gaze didn’t shift as he drank in your form, lingering on your curves, then back to your features. You did the same, taking him in, the sharpness of his jaw, the solidity of his muscles. You’d already known he was handsome, hours of looking at pictures had told you that, but by the gods above he was almost ethereal. You prayed for a moment that the heat you felt was from the alcohol you just downed. But you knew it wasn’t.

“Bold.” The word snapped you out of your thoughts. “For a marine that is.”

Your spine went cold at the statement. 

He knew. 

Of course, he knew. 

But you were still alive, which meant he was still willing to entertain this scene. 

It’d been a power play you realized a touch too late. He’d just flipped the script you had so carefully prepared. 

Interesting. 

Absolutely thrilling.

You hadn’t expected that he’d be a worthy opponent and you’d let him earn the first point in your carelessness. It didn’t matter, however, you could easily recover from such a small blunder.

You leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Boldness is often rewarded, don’t you think, marine hunter?” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the marble-like skin, the uneven rhythm hoping to distract in its randomness.

Mihawk’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Rewards come in many forms,” his voice was a seductive drawl. “Some more satisfying than others.”

You stopped the patterns, nails digging tenderly into hard muscles as you traveled down.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound low and inviting. “Well, I do aim to satisfy.” You pursed your lips, emphasizing the word. Your fingers continued their path, slipping to rest on his belt buckle, playing with the metal. “But satisfaction is a two-way street. What would it take to make you happy, Mihawk?”

His hand moved, a distracting caress tracing up your thigh, stopping right under the hem of your dress. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine. “Happiness is a fleeting emotion,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. His fingers roamed back down, nails digging softly in the plush skin, mirroring your previous actions. “I prefer something more... enduring.”

Fuck.

He was good.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “And what might that be?”

He smirked, a predatory gleam taking over the amber hues of his eyes. “Isn’t that your job to figure out, little marine?”

You bit your lip trying to come back. He wasn’t just good, he was almost your match. You could feel the unbridled heat of desire starting to swirl through your veins at the challenge. “I’m very good at my job,” you whispered, your voice dripping with insinuations as you leaned closer, your lips a hair’s breadth away. “I’m sure I can find a way to please you.”

Mihawk’s fingers traveled back up your thigh, right past the hem of your dress, dug in before the curve of your rear, the pressure a mix of pleasure and pain. “I wasn’t aware, the marines sent whores to negotiate their deals.” He looked down at you, a sneer nearly breaking his lips. 

You felt a sliver of satisfaction. He’d almost cracked. Soooo, he had standards. He didn’t like things too easy, did he? You could play with that. 

You laughed, your hands roaming up, palms flat against his chest. You traced the sharpness of his jaw. “Oh no.” You brought the tips of your fingers to his lips. “I’m not here to whore myself out. But if it brings you to the table, I’m sure I can find the sweetest cunt on the grand line for you.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through them as he considered your words. You were suddenly reminded of how he held every card, how you were at the mercy of his every caprice. You only happened to hold his attention for now, only happened to entertain him enough for him to let you and your squadron live. He was THE marine hunter. It didn’t matter if every officer in the establishment were to pull their weapons out and point at him. He’d be fine and you’d all be dead. The tension between you crackled like a storm about to break, every touch and every word a loaded gun.

“What a tempting offer,” he finally said, his voice a low purr that sent your heart racing in more ways than one. “But I find that I prefer a more... personal touch.”

To punctuate his point his hand reached further, against the curve of your ass, before coming back and digging in your hip, pressing you down to him. You almost moaned, every fiber of your being fighting the primal urges that strained to be free. You let out a silent gasp instead. This was going too far, getting out of your grasp. A mistake. An admission of your desires. You were slipping more by the moment. You moved your hand up, giving the signal for everyone to vacate. You’d have to do this alone, you wouldn’t risk so many lives on your inability to handle one man.

Mihawk noticed the subtle movement of your hand, his eyebrow arching with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “Calling off your dogs, are you? Either you’re very confident or very foolish,” he commented, his tone teasing yet edged with something sharper.

You felt a touch of annoyance prick at the edge of your mind. He was rubbing it in. Toying with you, trying to tease out reactions. Even though you felt anything but confident, you flashed a daring smile, the tension between you sparking with the undercurrent of unsaid words. 

You resumed your mindless patterns on his chest, slowly getting lower and lower. "Let's just say I would rather handle the finer details of these negotiations with more privacy. Make room for more... satisfying outcomes."

His fingers continued their dance along your side, dipping dangerously close to forbidden territory. Mihawk's smirk deepened as he seemed to see right through you, fixed right on your uncertainty. You felt yourself flailing, felt yourself losing your composure. 

“Privacy can certainly be... conducive to more fruitful negotiations,” he murmured, a dark caress relishing on the hold he held on you. He leaned in, reaching for his glass of wine. He took a slow sip, watching the gears turn in your head before putting it back behind you. “So what is it you want?” He asked, his hand grabbing to your chin, moving your head side to side with an appraising look, making you look at him.

You took a steadying breath, leaning into his touch, playing along with his game. “Oh not much,” You cooed, hand reaching his at your face, splaying it along your cheek, brushing your lips on his palm. ”I’ve only been instructed to get you to the negotiation table, nothing more, nothing less.” You dragged his hand down, spreading it along your throat bringing it over your heart. “I’m sure I could at the very least get you to consider it?”

It all happened too fast. You heard the sound of glass shattering on the floor before you registered the change in perspective. The hold he had over your throat was harsh as he pinned you down to the table, the remnants of the wine pooling in the tile like spilled blood.

“You think you can just waltz in and sway me with a few promises, like a common man?” There was something nearing disappointment in his tone and you realized you’d messed up. You’d been too hasty, too forward, he had been hoping to play longer. “How about this little marine, show me how badly you need me to do what you need and if you’re entertaining enough, I might consider it.”

The shift in Mihawk’s demeanor was almost terrifying in its intensity, and you struggled to keep your composure as his grip tightened on your throat. Your mind raced, trying to find a way to turn the situation back in your favor. The room was deathly silent in its emptiness, the tension palpable and if it wasn’t for the stiffness of his crotch against yours you’d think you’d lost all of your cards.

It might just get you killed but you arched your back beneath him, pressing into him. Your thighs trembled at his side as you struggled for breath but still, your hands grasped at his over your throat, pushing him further against you, cutting your airflow almost completely. If he wanted a show, then you’d give him one he’d remember until his last moments on earth.

Mihawk’s grip on your throat tightened for a second and you thought for an instant that this was it, that the underworld awaited you. But before darkness could cloud your eyes he loosened it, his gaze glinting with a mixture of curiosity and dark amusement. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath, your whole body shaking beneath his. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, every sense heightened.

“You’re quite the performer,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that only served to enhance the heat building between your legs. “But I’m not easily swayed by theatrics. Show me something real.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from his grip, but you forced a smile. “Real, you say?” You let your hands glide away from his wrist, trailed your curves, and slipped the straps of your dress off from your shoulders, revealing more skin and black lace. “I can do real.”

Mihawk’s eyes darkened with interest, his gaze tracing the path of your hands as they moved. He released his grip on your throat, his fingers now trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a searing embers in their wake. The intensity in his stare was almost overwhelming, and you knew you had to find a way to keep control of the situation, even if it felt like you were barely holding on.

You grasped his hand, guiding it along your bare skin, to the plushness of your breast. “What is it you truly desire, Mihawk? Power? Control? Or perhaps something more... visceral?” You practically moaned out the words. 

His hand lingered on the lace, pushing it aside, fingers tracing lazy circles. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken promises and the underlying tension of a predator toying with its prey.  This was a delicate game. You let out a soft moan, arching your back further, pressing yourself against him, rolling your hips.

A smirk broke on his lips as he saw right through your little performance. He knew exactly what game you were playing, and it was clear he was enjoying every moment of it. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of your breast, his touch a maddening mix of gentle and firm. The control you sought seemed to slip further from your grasp with each passing second.

“And what do you propose, little marine?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I propose we make this interesting. A game, if you will. You test my… resolve, and I test yours. We both get what we want.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A game, you say? And what are the stakes?”

You bit your lip, your hand guiding his lower, your fingers ushering his along the dripping lace of your underwear. “If I can prove my worth to you, you agree to come to the negotiation table. If I fail...” You paused, letting the weight of the words hang between you. “If I fail, you can do with me as you please.”

He pushed aside the ruined fabric, the pads of his fingers meeting your slick before dipping inside. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little marine.” His smirk widened as a moan escaped you. “What makes you think I can’t just take what I want?”

The words hung in the air, thick with implication. You felt the intensity of his gaze boring into you, the heat from his touch searing into your skin. As though to emphasize his point, his thumb found your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body, mewls you tried to muffle out of your lips.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “You could,” you admitted, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he moved his fingers in a come-hither motion, pressing all those delightfully right spots. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, fingers trembling, nails digging into him as a wave of ecstasy washed over you. You struggled to come back, half-lidded eyes meeting his. “But I’m sure I can make it much, much more entertaining for you if you decide to play along.”

His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and dark curiosity. “You certainly know how to make an offer enticing.” He leaned in close, his breath touching your lips. “But from where I’m standing you’re already breaking.”

He was right, you were so close to falling apart under him. "Am I not to your pleasing?" You asked, voice trembling against his. You reached up and discarded his hat, your fingers seeking to tangle in his hair. “Am I not entertaining enough for you, marine hunter?”

He chuckled, his lips brushing over yours. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, pushing you closer to the edge with each deliberate movement. He was testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you could go. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity, you were determined to hold your ground.

“You are quite pleasing,” he admitted, his voice was thick with lust and its intensity almost sent you over. “But I wonder, how much more can you take before you beg for mercy?”

You bit your lip, a mixture of defiance and desire burning in your eyes. “I don’t beg, Mihawk. That’s what makes it interesting.”

His smirk widened, his fingers pressing deeper, eliciting another soft moan from you. “Bold words, little marine. Very bold indeed. Let’s see if that’s true.”

His lips met yours, slow and teasing, a dance of dominance and submission, a battle for control, a negotiation of its own. He moved against you with a practiced precision, each movement calculated to draw out your reactions. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the raw power behind each touch.

You were close. So fucking close. 

You swore under your breath as he suddenly stopped.

“I wonder what will make you break the fastest.” Satisfaction was evident in his voice as he felt you flutter around his fingers. “Denial or pleasure?”

Your breath hitched at Mihawk's words, the sensation of his fingers lingering just out of reach driving you to the edge of your sanity. This was a dangerous game, one where you had to balance the razor's edge between control and surrender. If… if you managed to hold out long enough… even he couldn’t resist lust forever. 

You couldn't let him see just how close you were to breaking.

Drawing on every ounce of willpower, you forced a sly smile. Your hands left his hair and traced down his chest. "Why not try both and find out?" 

He interrupted their path as you reached his belt. Deftly he brought them over your head, his weight pinning you entirely in place as he started moving his fingers again. His eyes gleamed as he looked down at you, relishing the arch of your body against his, relishing your struggle. 

He leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. "Now, now,” he tutted at you. “You can’t just skip ahead. Let's see how long you can endure."

Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours again, demanding and possessive. The kiss was bruising, filled with the same intensity that characterized every touch and word between you. His fingers made you see stars, their exploration agonizingly slow, teasing you mercilessly, never quite giving you what you needed.

You moaned into his mouth, bucked against his hand, your every instinct overtaken by a desperate need for release. The tension between you was unbearable, every nerve ending screaming for more. 

He stopped and started again and again and again, until you struggled with your breath and your whole body quivered and sang to each of his demands.

Mihawk's lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that almost made you lose your mind. "You're holding up better than I expected," he murmured against your skin, biting softly on your exposed nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

You barely managed a breathless laugh, closer to sobs than anything. "I told you, Mihawk. I don't break easily."

He chuckled, a sound that was both dark and amused. "We'll see about that."

His fingers moved with a different purpose now, driving you closer and closer to the edge, fast and hard. You could feel the tension coiling within you, the impending release just out of reach. And still, he held you there, teetering on the brink, refusing to let you fall.

It was maddening, the way he controlled you so effortlessly, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and frustration until you thought you might lose your mind. And yet, you couldn't help but crave more and he couldn’t help but to push you further, to see just how far you could go before you finally shattered.

"Please," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You felt his smile against your skin. “There we go,” he drawled out the words. “The little marine knows how to beg after all.”

With a sudden, devastating precision, he drove you over the edge, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your release, your muscles straining against his hold.

As you came back to reality, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. He brought his hand to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. “Taste your resolve, little marine.”

You opened your mouth, taking his fingers in, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of your desire. The act was a surrender and he watched you with contentment, his gaze victorious.

“Good girl,” his voice was a satisfied purr, one that made your mind feel fuzzy and your body hot. “Now let’s see how well you break under pleasure.” 

His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm as he repositioned you with ease, brought you closer to the edge of the table. You felt some of your slick cooled by time, seep into the fabric of your dress, against your lower back as he pulled you over the puddle of arousal that had been slowly gathering on the wooden top.

His movements were deliberate, calculated, his eyes never leaving yours as he took off his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whispering sound. He eyed it for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his lips before his attention came back to you. 

“Will you be a good?” His tone was threatening. “Or do I have to restrain you again?”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. The challenge was unmistakable.  “I can be good,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but it sounded unconvincing, even to your ears. The thought of being powerless under his hold once again was somehow unbearable.

Mihawk’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t think you can, little marine.”

With a swift motion, he looped the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. The leather bit into your skin, the sensation unnerving.

”You’re just waiting for a chance to turn the tables, aren’t you?”

You quirked your head to the side, a hint of defiance shining through. “Can you blame me?” He let go of your hands and you made no effort to keep them up, letting them drop to your stomach. “It’s not fair if you hold ALL the cards.”

“Fairness is a luxury, little marine.” His hands moved to your thighs, pushing them apart with a firm, insistent pressure. “A luxury one can rarely indulge in when playing to win.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your form, something you couldn’t decipher spreading on his features, an intensity you’d only ever seen on wild animals.

“I must admit, you’re quite the sight.” His fingers traced the edge of your underwear. With a swift motion, he tore the delicate fabric away, leaving you completely exposed. “But I think you’ll be much more entertaining once broken.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a small hiccup, the threat in his words not escaping you. Your eyes stood at a standstill as he deliberately slowly undid his pants.

His cock met your heat, gathering your slick and the soft pressure on your oversensitive clit made you want to twist and buck beneath him. He brought one of your already trembling legs over his shoulder, his hand roaming up and down in a soothing touch. 

You felt his tip at your entrance, the slow delightful stretch as he entered you in a tortuously unhurried advance. Your entire body reacted to the sensation, you arched beneath him, your eyes fluttering close, your wrists strained against your bindings desperate to hold unto something, anything to ground you. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming and as he met your cervix you couldn’t help the sharp cry that escaped your lips, nor the tears gathering in your eyes.

“You’re so tight, little marine,” Mihawk chuckled, taking in every detail of the moment and searing it in his mind. “So responsive. I can feel you clenching around me, trying to hold on.” 

His movements were controlled, each thrust calculated to draw out your reactions, to push you closer to the edge. You wouldn’t beg. You wouldn’t cry for mercy. You were so close. Each drag of his cock against your fluttering walls was heavenly. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the sensation of him inside you. 

You could feel the dam within you beginning to crack and then his hand found your clit once more and your breath stopped. It was too much. You came around him with a desperate gasp.

He didn’t stop, his thrusts still perfectly controlled. You knew the overstimulation was coming but it didn’t prepare you for the moment it washed over you. Your eyes shot open and makeup blurred tears stained your cheeks. You fought as though it was a matter of life or death. It was too much. Too fucking much. But his hands held you firmly in place, unable to escape his relentless assault.

And then a second orgasm rippled through your veins, blinding and even more intense than the first. 

But he still didn’t stop. Your cries stuck at the back of your throat, sobs wreaking your body. 

“Please,” you couldn’t help but beg again and again, your limbs so taut beneath him it was painful.

As his laugh hit your ears, you realized he didn’t care. Realized he was having fun. Your body twisted violently beneath him, too harsh for him to control and he let out an annoyed click of his tongue before flipping you over, the edge of the table digging hard into your hips as he entered you again. 

“Mercy,” you pleaded, wrists straining so intensely against your bindings that you knew you’d be nursing those red marks for days.

��Already?” His hand kneaded your ass roughly, pushing you even more painfully against the wooden top. “How disappointing, little marine.” His touch snaked up along your spine and tangled forcefully in your hair, keeping you pinned down and struggling against his hold. “I’m just getting started.”  He punctuated his statement with an especially sharp movement of his hips.

Your legs kicked in the air as another orgasm rippled through you, and you felt your arousal drip down your thigh and your drool seep out of your redded lips.

The world was careening around you and you couldn’t breathe and waves of pleasure washed over you so fast that your mind couldn’t keep up anymore. You eventually went slack beneath him, your entire body surrendering, and only then did his rhythm start to falter. 

He turned you back around, and you didn’t struggle, fully pliant for him. His fingers found your lips, played with the spit on your tongue, kept your mouth open as he reached closer to his own release. 

“Mercy,” you begged one last time, your words muffled, your lips wrapping against his fingers.

And he smiled, a predatory, victorious smile and you couldn’t help but think he looked ethereal in this moment. His hips stuttered one once more, his seed hot inside you and you clenched around him, white blurring your vision for the umpteenth time. 

He slowly pulled out, his gaze dropping to your entrance, watching his cum dribble out with a lust-blown stare. Your whole body still shook in the aftermath, your breath scattered and you spasmed at the feeling, a last vestige of submission as you whimpered. 

His fingers left your mouth and almost tenderly wiped your tear-stained cheek, brushing strands of hair that had been plastered on your sweat-covered skin behind your ear. His gaze stayed on you, considering.

“You’ve been more interesting than I expected,” He admitted as he pulled back up his pants.  “Very well, I’ll consider your offer on one condition.” He gently unraveled his belt, his hand lingering on your wrists and you gave a sharp hiss of pain he seemed to drink in with delight. 

“And that is?” you asked, your voice sounding far away, not your own.

He lazily passed the leather back in the belt loops, put back on his hat, making you wait.

“You’re the one who handles the negotiations. Just you and I. No one else.”

A slow smile of victory made its way to your lips.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Masterlist

Might consider making a part 2, but don't hold me to that.

[soulofapatrick]

They Find Out You're Pregnant: One Piece Boys

Summary: How each boy finds out you're pregnant

Words: 5.7K altogether

warnings: unplanned pregnancy but mostly fluff

Y/N's POV

The scent of sizzling spices fills the air as Sanji orchestrated a culinary symphony in the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen. His deft hands move with practiced grace, a dance that spoke of passion and expertise but for once his cooking wasn’t what got my attention. I’m sidling around Sanji, who’s lost in his world of sizzling pans and aromatic spices. The kitchen is his main, a place where he commands both ingredients and flames with the finesse of a maestro. Today, however, my attention isn’t fixed on his culinary mastery. It’s drawn, instead, to the sizeable tub of salted caramel ice cream tucked away in the freezer, calling to me with its irresistible allure. 

With a casual lean, I snag a spoon from the drawer and make a beeline for the freezer. The cold air greets me as I retrieve the tub, feeling its frosty chill through the container. My taste buds dance in anticipation; there’s something about this particular flavour that has become inexplicably magnetic. 

Returning to the kitchen island, I take a seat, propping myself up on one of the stools, spoon in hand. Sanji, ever engrossed in his culinary creation, doesn’t seem to notice my ice cream indulgence. He moves with a fluidity that’s almost hypnotic, each movement deliberate and purposeful. 

I twist off the lid of the ice cream tub, the gentle scent of caramel filling the air. With a satisfying clink, the spoon dips into the creamy goodness, gathering a generous scoop. As I lift it to my lips, the richness of the caramel mixed with the slight saltiness dances on my taste buds, a delightful sensation that brings an unexpected comfort.

Glancing over at Sanji, I marvel at his expertise. Despite my seemingly distracted state, his instincts as a chef seem to extend beyond just the realm of cooking. His attention to detail is impeccable, noticing even the subtlest shifts in preferences. Sanji hums a tune under his breath, his focus unwavering. I continue to enjoy my impromptu dessert, relishing the smooth, cold sweetness against the backdrop of Sanji's culinary artistry. 

As Sanji begins to fry food, the enticing aroma of spices fills the air once more. He orchestrates the sizzle and crackle of ingredients in a symphony of flavours, the tantalising scent mingling with the lingering sweetness of the ice cream. But as I sit there, spoon poised for another scoop, an unexpected wave of nausea washes over me. The once delightful taste of caramel now feels overwhelming. With a sudden heaviness, I place the tub of ice cream on the counter, the thud echoing louder than intended.

Sanji glances over, concern etching into his features as he notices my abrupt change in demeanour. "Are you alright, my love?” His voice, laced with worry, cuts through the sounds of the kitchen.

I manage a weak nod, but the queasiness intensifies. Without another word, I push myself off the stool and dash towards the bin, my footsteps echoing in the galley. The retching sounds reverberate in the room, a stark contrast to the harmonious melody of Sanji's cooking. Embarrassment floods me as I lean against the counter, my breaths ragged, trying to steady myself. Sanji, ever the attentive soul, swiftly moves closer, concern etched in every line of his face.

“Maybe it’s… yeah, it’s the combination of flavours.” I manage between breaths, feeling utterly mortified at the sudden turn of events. An anxiety plating in the back of my mind as I’m late for my period and have been for a week now but that’s not that unusual with the resent stresses. 

Sanji's worry melts into understanding, his eyes softening with compassion. "It happens," he reassures, his hand resting gently on my back. "Sometimes, tastes change unexpectedly. Let's get you some water.” With Sanji’s comforting assurance, I try to shake off the unease gripping me. As he moves to fetch water, a sudden surge of panic knots my stomach. My mind races, the memory of my late period lingering like an unspoken secret.

“Sanji,” I blurt out, my voice quivering, catching him mid-step. His brows furrow in concern. As he turns back to me, his expression a blend of care and curiosity, “I’m late…” I manage to confess, my words stumbling out in a rush. Embarrassment and anxiety collide, painting a flush across my cheeks. 

“Late…?” His voice trails off as he tries to understand me, brows furrowed. 

I tug gently at his wrist, feeling a desperate need for support, for someone to share this unexpected worry with. "I don't know what to do, Sanji. It’s been a week, and… and I don't know if it’s just stress or…”

With my confession hanging between us, Sanji's eyes widen in realisation, the pieces clicking together as my distress becomes palpable. Before either of us can utter another word, another wave of nausea overwhelms me, and I lurch towards the bin once more, heaving with a force that leaves me breathless. Sanji’s concern deepens as he rushes to my side, his hands instinctively reaching for a glass of water. "Here, drink this," he urges gently, his voice laced with worry.

Gasping for air, I manage to steady myself and accept the water, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. Sanji's swift actions and unwavering support feel like an anchor in this sudden storm of uncertainty. 

”Come on," he says softly, guiding me towards the nearby couch, his arm securely wrapped around my shoulder. He kneels in front of me, his eyes searching mine with a mix of concern and care. "Are you sure?” 

I nod weakly, the weight of the moment heavy on my shoulders. "As sure as I can be," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, the reality of the situation sinking in with each passing second. Sanji's expression softens, his hand gently resting on mine. "We'll figure this out together," he assures, his voice filled with a determination to be there every step of the way, “I love you so much. We’re gonna be parents.” 

Y/N's POV

The sea breeze whips through my hair as I stand on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, watching the waves dance beneath the golden sunlight. Another adventure alongside Luffy and the crew—a thrilling escapade filled with laughter, battles and unforeseen challenges. 

But lately, there’s something different. A subtle fatigue creeps in, and I find myself yawning during moments of respite. It’s unlike me, the one who is usually brimming with boundless energy. Yet, I brush it off, attributing it to the rigorous journey. Each day brings its own set of adventures, and with it, an inexplicable weariness that shadows my every step. Yawning becomes a constant companion, stealing moments of wakefulness in between our exploits. Climbing rigging, engaging in battles, and exploring uncharted territories—all thrilling, yet each exertion seems to compound this unexplained exhaustion.

There's a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a whisper of something unfamiliar. It tugs at my thoughts during quiet moments, a persistent reminder that something isn’t quite as it should be. Yet, I struggle to grasp its elusive form, brushing it aside amidst the excitement of our journey. 

The crew carries on, oblivious to my inner turmoil, their spirits high as they revel in the thrill of the adventure. Luffy’s infectious laughter, Zoro’s unwavering determination, Nami’s calculating mind—all paint a vibrant picture against the backdrop of the vast ocean. Amidst the chaos and camaraderie, I can’t help but feel a sense of detachment, a solitary island amidst the bustling sea. My fatigue persists, a constant companion whose origin remains an enigma.

Luffy, with his endless curiosity and knack for noticing the smallest details, seems to pick up on my weariness before I even acknowledge it. He catches me dozing off during our travels, his wide grin turning into a puzzled expression. 

"Hey, Y/N! Are you okay?" His voice, filled with genuine concern, cuts through the hustle and bustle of our adventurous escapades. 

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just a bit tired. It's nothing, really.” 

Luffy's concern persists, evident in the furrow of his brows as he gazes at me with unwavering attention. His wide, innocent eyes betray his curiosity, searching for answers that even I can't provide. "You sure?" He asks, his voice tinged with a childlike sincerity that tugs at my heartstrings. 

Luffy’s concern, like an unwavering beacon of warmth, persists despite my feeble attempts to brush off my weariness. He shifts closer, his arms encircling me in an unexpected but comforting embrace from behind. His embrace is gentle yet reassuring, as if he could shield me from the exhaustion I can't shake. I can't help but chuckle softly at the suddenness of his affection, feeling a sense of ease washing over me as I lean back slightly, finding an unexpected comfort in his embrace. The weariness that had been pulling me down seems to dissipate for a moment, the warmth of his care a soothing balm to my tired soul.

But even amidst this comfort, Luffy’s intuition remains unyielding. His embrace lingers just a moment longer, his gaze still searching for answers, as if he could decipher the unspoken truths hidden behind my worn-out facade. His childlike sincerity tugs at my heart, urging me to share what I can't quite articulate.

"I'll be fine, Luffy," I say softly, trying to reassure both him and myself, though doubt niggles at the edges of my words. His concern is a testament to his unwavering loyalty and care, a reflection of the bonds we share as a crew. 

Despite my attempts at reassurance, Luffy's gaze holds a depth of understanding that transcends words. He doesn't press further, but the lingering concern in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent promise to stand by me, no matter what uncertainties lie ahead. And as we carry on with our adventures, I find solace in the unspoken support of a friend who seeks to understand even the mysteries hidden beneath a worn-out smile.

His wide eyes dart between mine, a silent conversation unfolding, his desire to understand evident in the furrow of his brows. And with that unspoken exchange, he reluctantly accepts my explanation, bounding off with a promise to resume our adventure. He heads off in the direction of Nami and Robin who are talking quietly, asking them something that has them squealing and gushing over something and the three begin tot talk animatedly but too far away for me to hear. 

It doesn’t take long for me to find out as Luffy’s is calling for my attention, “Hey, Y/N!” His voice is tinged with excitement. His finger points at something I hadn’t even noticed,— my slightly protruding belly, a subtle change that had slipped under my own radar as I just thought I had put on weight from the feasts Luffy makes Sanji make for us, “I think you’re gonna have a baby!” His exclamation echoes across the deck, his unfiltered joy a testament to his unique perspective on life. 

The crew halts, their expressions ranging from astonishment to joyous disbelief. I stand frozen, stunned by Luffy’s innocent declaration, a revelation that I had yet to fathom. In the moment that follows Luffy’s proclamation, a bewildering realisation sweeps over me. His words—“you’re gonna have a baby”—linger in the air, and as the crew's astonished gazes shift between us, it finally dawns on Luffy that he's not just declaring my news; he's announcing his own impending fatherhood. 

His wide eyes widen further, mirroring the astonishment painted across the faces of our crewmates. And then, in a flash of comprehension, a radiant grin spreads across Luffy's face, an uncontainable joy that sparks a cascade of laughter. "Wait, wait, wait! We're having a baby?!" His voice rings out, his expression a mix of disbelief and unadulterated happiness. 

Without another thought, Luffy bounds over to me, his infectious laughter filling the air. He scoops me up in his arms, spinning us both around in a whirlwind of uncontainable joy. Laughter erupts from him, a symphony of excitement and wonder as he revels in the revelation. "We're having a baby!" His exclamation echoes across the deck, a declaration that marks the beginning of a new, unforeseen chapter in our adventures. 

The crew, initially stunned by Luffy's proclamation, now erupts into cheers and congratulatory exclamations, their astonishment giving way to celebration. Amidst the whirlwind of laughter and cheers, Luffy's sheer delight becomes infectious, melting away any lingering shock. And as he continues to spin us both around, his joy becomes mine, intertwining our destinies in this unexpected, thrilling journey toward parenthood.

Y/N's POV

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Thousand Sunny. It's a peaceful afternoon, the gentle sway of the ship lulling me into a sense of tranquility amid our bustling adventures. Zoro, the swordsman of unwavering determination, has always possessed an uncanny ability to notice the subtlest of changes. Today, however, would mark the day he’d discern a change within me that I hadn't yet comprehended.

I find myself sitting at the ship's bow, the soothing melody of the waves a comforting companion as I stare out into the horizon. The day had started like any other, yet a lingering unease gnaws at the edges of my thoughts, a sense of unfamiliarity that dances just beyond reach.

Zoro’s presence, like a shadow eternally by my side, draws closer. He settles nearby, his stoic gaze fixed on the horizon. "Something on your mind?" His voice, gruff yet tinged with a subtle concern, pierces the calm.

I shake my head, trying to dismiss the disquiet that has nestled itself within me. "Just thinking," I reply with a forced smile, hoping to brush off the weight of my contemplation.

But Zoro, with his unwavering perceptiveness, doesn’t seem convinced. He turns slightly towards me, his gaze assessing, as if trying to decipher the unspoken layers of my thoughts. His eyes, a testament to his keen observation, seem to search for answers that even I'm not yet ready to acknowledge.

As the day stretches into twilight, I notice Zoro's observations becoming more pronounced. He notices the slightest changes—a subtle fatigue in my stance during practice, a hesitancy in my movements that betray a newfound caution.

"Training not going as planned?" he asks casually, a hint of curiosity laced in his words.

I chuckle softly, attempting to mask the undercurrent of uncertainty. "Just feeling a bit off today, I guess."

Under the tangerine hues of the evening sky, Zoro’s scrutiny becomes more palpable. Each swing of my practice sword seems to carry an unusual weight, my movements betraying a faltering rhythm I can't seem to shake. Zoro, a steadfast presence beside me, doesn’t miss a beat. His intense focus during our training sessions amplifies, his watchful gaze tracking every subtle shift in my stance, every hesitancy that sneaks into my strikes.

“Having trouble finding your footing?” His question, tossed casually into the air, holds a knowing undertone that catches me off guard. I offer a fleeting smile, a feeble attempt to cloak the turmoil brewing beneath the surface but I wave off his concerns. 

But Zoro, with his uncanny ability to read between the lines, doesn’t let the matter slide. His observant nature persists, his inquiries wrapped in the guise of casual conversation, yet laden with an unwavering determination to unravel the mystery veiled within my uncharacteristic unease. As the sun begins its descent, casting shadows that dance across the ship’s deck, Zoro’s gaze lingers, a silent sentinel amidst the encroaching dusk. His dedication to noticing the subtleties, the nuances that escape ordinary observation, serves as an unspoken reassurance in the face of my growing uncertainty.

The day had settled into a tranquil calmness, the colours of the sky merging into a breathtaking canvas of oranges and purples as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Zoro's concern had become a constant companion, a silent understanding that had evolved beyond mere words.

"Feeling better?" He asks one day, his voice holding a touch of solemnity that catches me off guard.

I hesitate, feeling the weight of his gaze. "Not quite myself, to be honest," I admit reluctantly, feeling a sense of relief in sharing even a fraction of my uncertainty.

Zoro’s expression softens imperceptibly, a rare gesture from the stoic swordsman. "If something's on your mind, you know you can talk about it, right?" His words, though simple, carry an unspoken promise of support. 

I lean into his touch, finding an unexpected solace in his gesture. Resting my head on his sturdy shoulder, we both gaze out at the horizon, where the sun casts its final golden rays over the endless expanse of water.The tranquility of the moment envelops us, a sanctuary within the tumultuous uncertainty. Words become unnecessary as the serenity of the scene seems to bridge the unspoken gap between us. The weight of my worries feels a little lighter, shared in the unspoken language of companionship and understanding.

“I think I’m pregnant.” I mumble and Zoro's hand, which had been gently clasping mine, tightens slightly at my confession. His gaze, usually steady and composed, flickers with a blend of surprise and an emotion I can't quite place. For a fleeting moment, the tranquility of our shared moment is replaced by a charged energy—an anticipation that crackles between us. His grip on my hand relaxes, only to shift purposefully, cupping my chin with a tenderness that catches me off guard. His eyes, a storm of emotions, meet mine, and without a word, he pulls me closer, closing the distance between us with a possessive intensity.

In that instant, our lips meet in a fervent kiss, a silent affirmation of the unspoken dreams that had nestled in the depths of our shared future. His kiss is filled with a passionate reassurance, a promise of unwavering support and a newfound sense of purpose that we hadn't realised we were seeking. 

As the golden hues of the setting sun paint the sky with their final strokes, our connection feels more profound than ever, transcending the unspoken barriers that once stood between us. The weight of my revelation seems to dissipate in the warmth of his embrace, replaced by an overwhelming sense of unity and anticipation for the journey ahead. 

When our lips finally part, the tranquility of the moment returns, albeit tinged with an exhilarating sense of possibility. Zoro’s eyes, though still reflecting surprise, hold an unwavering determination—a silent vow that together, we will embrace this new chapter, our shared future now intertwined with the unexpected joy of impending parenthood.

Y/N's POV

The Red Force sails calmly across the cast expanse of the sea, the ship’s sturdy frame cutting through the gentle waves with a reassuring rhythm. Shanks, the legendary and enigmatic pirate, is as astute as he is charismatic. Little did I know, he would be the first to sense the subtle shifts within me that heralded a new chapter in our lives. 

It begins with small gestures—a keen observation and a caring intervention—undetectable threats woven into the fabric of our daily interactions. Shanks, with his affable demeanour and keen intuition, notices the nuances I hadn’t yet recognised within myself. 

One tranquil evening aboard the ship, I reach for a glass of wine, eager to unwind after a day of adventure. Shanks, however, intercepts the bottle before I can take a sip from it, “Not tonight.” He murmurs with a gentle smile, his gaze filled with a knowing reassurance. 

Confusion clouds my features for a fleeting moment, but Shanks’ unwavering resolve speaks volumes. He offers no explanation, but his subtle gesture carries an unspoken wisdom that halts me in my tracks. A realisation flickers within me—an inkling that there might be more to Shanks’ intervention than meets the eye. 

As my hand instinctively reaches for the bottle once more, Shanks, with a graceful and deliberate motion, holds it just out of my grasp. His other arm, strong and reassuring, encircles my waist, drawing me closer until I’m pressed against him, our closeness enveloped by the gentle sway of the ship. Before I can voice my confusion or protest, Shanks silences any questions with a tender yet fervent kiss. His lips, a whisper against mine, convey a message that words couldn’t encapsulate—an unspoken reassurance, a depth of understanding that transcends any explanation.

Caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy of the moment, my initial confusion dissipates in the warmth of his embrace. There’s an inexplicable comfort in the way he holds me, in the way his lips mold against mine, as if he’s communicating a profound truth without uttering a single word. In that fleeting moment, amidst the whispers of the ocean breeze and the lull of the ship, I sense the depth of Shanks’ concern—a concern that goes beyond a simple denial of wine. His actions, though unconventional, carry an unspoken promise of protection, a silent vow to shield me from something I hadn’t yet comprehended.

As the tender moment lingers, Shanks whispers against my skin, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine. "Be a good girl and stick to water tonight," he murmurs, his voice laced with a mixture of playfulness and genuine concern. His words carry a cryptic weight, an allusion to something I've yet to fathom. His nose nuzzles against the curve of my neck, a gesture that feels both protective and intimate. "Don't want to hurt our prodigy," he adds, his tone hinting at a revelation that eludes my understanding.

Confusion and curiosity dance within me as Shanks kisses my jaw once more before releasing me. He walks away, the bottle of wine in hand, leaving me to decipher the enigmatic puzzle he has laid out. His cryptic words linger in the air, stirring a flurry of thoughts and emotions. "Hurt our prodigy?" I mull over the phrase, trying to unravel its meaning amidst the waves of uncertainty that crash within me.

The realisation dawns gradually—a glimmer of understanding emerging from the depths of my contemplation. Shanks’ words, though veiled in ambiguity, carry a hidden truth—a truth that I'm hesitant to acknowledge but can't dismiss. Could it be? The notion takes root tentatively within my thoughts, an unspoken realisation that I might be carrying something precious, something that Shanks, with his astute intuition, has sensed long before I even considered the possibility. 

In a whirlwind of emotions and burgeoning realisations, I sprint to Shanks’ private quarters aboard the ship. The air crackles with a blend of uncertainty and a burgeoning anticipation that propels me forward. Racing through the door, I almost tear my shirt off, desperation guiding my movements as I position myself before the mirror.

 With an anxious breath, I angle myself sideways, my eyes searching for the slightest hint of change. There it is—a subtle curve, a gentle swell that hadn’t been there before. My hand hesitantly hovers over my stomach, tracing the faint outline, a tangible proof of the truth that begins to solidify in my mind. 

Before I can fully grasp the enormity of the revelation, strong and familiar arms envelop me from behind, gently covering my hands that rest upon my stomach. Shanks, with a silent understanding that transcends words, rests his chin on my shoulder, a comforting presence in this whirlwind of emotions. Tears blur my vision, a mixture of disbelief and an overwhelming rush of emotions cascading through me. Shanks' quiet embrace, his unspoken support, serves as a grounding force amidst the storm of thoughts racing through my mind.

In the mirrored reflection, I glance at Shanks, my voice laden with uncertainty, "You're not upset?" His frown, reflected in the glass, catches me off guard, stirring a fresh wave of apprehension within me.

Shanks gently turns me around to face him, his expression softening into a gentle smile. "Upset? Y/N, I've never been more thrilled," he confesses, his voice a steady reassurance that eases the knot of worry in my chest. "I've wanted this with you, with all my heart.” His words, laden with sincerity and unwavering affection, wash over me like a soothing balm. In that tender moment, surrounded by the depth of his love and his longing for a future we hadn't anticipated, the flood of emotions begins to settle.

As I process his heartfelt confession, Shanks’ demeanour takes on a mischievous glint. "Now, why don’t you get undressed?" he suggests, his voice a playful tease, though his eyes burn with an intensity that stirs a different kind of heat within me. 

Surprised by the sudden shift in tone, my cheeks flush crimson. "Shanks, I..." I stammer, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected boldness but then again it was Shanks. But before I can protest further, his lips capture mine in a fervent kiss, a passionate affirmation of his desire and unwavering affection. His hands trail down my sides, urging me gently to comply with his playful suggestion. 

In that moment, amidst the emotions and revelations, a sense of exhilaration surges through me—a shared understanding that despite the unexpected turn of events, our love and passion for each other remain as fiery and unyielding as ever. And as we lose ourselves in the passionate embrace, the uncertainties and worries of impending parenthood momentarily fade into the background, replaced by an intense and intimate connection that binds us together in this newfound chapter of our lives.

Y/N's POV

The Thousand Sunny basks in the warm sunlight as a peaceful day unfolds on the seas. The tranquility is interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Dracule Mihawk, the enigmatic and formidable swordsman. His presence aboard our ship sends a ripple of curiosity among the crew, but for me, it's a moment of both surprise and delight. 

I rush to meet him as he steps aboard the ship, his sharp gaze meeting mine with an inscrutable intensity. His usual stoic demeanour remains unchanged, but a subtle warmth flickers in his eyes as he greets me with a restrained nod. 

“Mihawk.” I breathe, a mix of excitement and curiosity lacing my voice, “What brings you here?” 

He inclines his head slightly, his tone softening imperceptibly, “I wished to see you, nothing more.” As he speaks, I feel a pang of discomfort building within me—a sudden wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I try to hide it, but Mihawk's perceptive nature doesn't let it slip by unnoticed. His brow furrows ever so slightly, a minute indication of concern. "Are you feeling unwell?" he inquires, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic gentleness.

I attempt to shrug it off, summoning a weak smile. "Just a passing thing, nothing to worry about.” But Mihawk, with his keen observation skills, remains unconvinced. His scrutiny intensifies as he observes me closely, a silent but unmistakable display of attentiveness. As the discomfort escalates, I find myself rushing to the ship's railing, a sudden urge to empty my stomach. The violent bout of vomiting catches both Mihawk and me off guard. 

Concern etches itself onto Mihawk's otherwise impassive features as he moves closer, his hand resting lightly on my back. "This doesn’t seem like 'nothing,'" he observes, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. 

I try to downplay it, despite the relentless churning in my stomach. "Just a bug, probably," I manage between strained breaths, attempting to mask the unease bubbling within me.

But Mihawk, with his unyielding intuition, sees through the facade. "It's more than that," he asserts, his gaze penetrating, seeking answers I'm not yet prepared to acknowledge. The silence between us is charged with unspoken questions, an undercurrent of concern that we both struggle to articulate. Despite my attempts to evade the truth, Mihawk's perceptive nature latches onto the possibility that eludes my own awareness. "Have you noticed any other changes?" His inquiry is gentle but direct, his unwavering gaze locking onto mine. 

I hesitate, grappling with the enormity of what his question implies. "I... I'm not sure," I falter, the weight of his question sinking in. 

Mihawk nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable yet filled with a palpable sense of understanding. "Let's find out," he suggests, guiding me to a quiet corner of the ship where we can speak privately. The rest of the crew disappearing back downstairs to give us privacy as they can gage the seriousness of the conversation Mihawk and I need to have. 

He sits on the bench and I go to join him, sitting next to him, but in one smooth move he pulls me onto his lap with a surprising ease. His arms wrap securely around my waist, ensuring I’m steady against the rhythmic movements of the vessel. His touch, though firm, carries a comforting assurance, ground me amidst the uncertainty that hangs in the air. 

In the cocoon of his embrace, I feel a rush of emotions—vulnerability, anticipation, and a glimmer of hope intertwined. Mihawk’s presence, his unspoken support, is a reassuring beacon of amidst the tempest feelings swirling within me. He leans in closer, his voice a soft murmur against my ear, “We’ll figure this out.” His words, through simple, carry a weight of determination and a promise of solidarity that resonates deep within me. 

With a steadying breath, I meet his gaze, finding an unexpected solace in the depths of his eyes. The unspoken understanding between us weaves an invisible bond, strengthening our resolve to face the unknown together. As the ship rocks gently with the ocean's sway, our private conversation unfolds—a candid exchange filled with a raw honesty that transcends words. Mihawk listens attentively, his silence a canvas for the emotions and uncertainties I pour out.

“I’ve missed my period Mi,” I tell him softly and Mihawk's demeanour remains composed, yet a subtle shift in his expression betrays a momentary pause, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. His touch, tender and deliberate as he brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes, betrays the depth of his emotions, concealed beneath his stoic facade. 

The weight of my revelation hangs between us, a pregnant silence punctuated only by the soft sounds of the ship slicing through the gentle waves. Mihawk’s eyes, usually enigmatic and inscrutable, now reflect a spectrum of emotions—concern, contemplation, and a hint of something deeper that I struggle to decipher. He exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, the depths of his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. "I see," he responds softly, his voice steady but laced with an underlying current of consideration. 

As the words linger in the air, a wave of apprehension washes over me, uncertain of how he'll receive this unforeseen revelation. But Mihawk, with his characteristic composure, offers a calm reassurance, a quiet strength that anchors me amidst the tempest of emotions.

“Mi?” I ask quietly, shakily playing with the tufts of hair at the back of his head, twirling them through my fingers and avoiding his gaze as he’s a warlord of the sea, he’s not going to want a child, let alone a child with me. 

Mihawk’s hand, strong yet surprisingly gentle, intercepts mine, halting the nervous twirling of his hair. His touch redirects my attention, guiding my trembling fingers away from their anxious fidgeting. With deliberate intent, he lifts my chin, urging me to meet his gaze, his eyes unwavering as they lock onto mine, "Stop those thoughts," he commands, his voice firm but not harsh, resonating with an unspoken intensity. It's as if he can perceive the tumultuous whirlwind of doubts raging within me, and with his unwavering gaze, he attempts to quell the storm of insecurities that threaten to engulf me.

Before I can offer any protest, any further apprehensive whispers, his lips claim mine in a kiss that silences the racing thoughts in my mind. It's a kiss filled with a passion that defies the uncertainties, a kiss that speaks volumes of his unwavering affection and a desire to shield me from my own fears. As our lips meld in a fervent embrace, Mihawk's kiss becomes a testament to his commitment, a reassurance that transcends spoken words. In that moment, amid the tangle of emotions and swirling doubts, his lips become a lifeline, a beacon of certainty in the tumultuous sea of uncertainties.

The kiss lingers, a bridge between our unspoken fears and the unyielding depth of our connection. Mihawk's touch, his fervent kiss, convey a silent promise—a promise that echoes in the depths of my being, a promise that together, we will weather whatever storms lie ahead. As the kiss concludes, a serene tranquility settles within me, a newfound sense of assurance born from Mihawk's unwavering declaration through that intimate gesture. In the quiet aftermath, his gaze holds an unspoken understanding, a mutual acknowledgment that in each other's embrace, we'll find the strength to face the unforeseen challenges ahead. 

After the kiss, a soft yet resolute glint flickers in Mihawk's eyes as he gazes at me. His hand cups my cheek tenderly, his touch conveying a depth of emotion that words struggle to articulate. 

"Y/N," he begins, his voice a steady reassurance, "I want this. I want this child with you." His words, though measured, carry a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply within me, "You're not alone in this," he continues, his tone unwavering. "Whatever lies ahead, we'll face it together. I'm here, and I'm staying.”

The earnestness in his declaration pierces through my uncertainties, weaving a tapestry of assurance and commitment. His unwavering support, a promise anchored in his eyes and echoed in his words, becomes a beacon of hope amidst the labyrinth of doubts, "We'll navigate this, step by step," he assures, his voice a steadfast anchor in the tumultuous sea of uncertainties. "I'm with you every step of the way.” 

In that poignant moment, Mihawk's unwavering commitment and steadfast reassurance carve a path forward—a path illuminated by the warmth of his unwavering support and our shared determination to embrace the unexpected journey that lies ahead.

One Piece Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[aventurineswife]

Thinking of Ratio with a female s/o but with the personality/backstory of Shinosawa Hiro from Gakuen Idolmaster! So reader is a genius at a lot of studies that involved her brain and graduated in science major when she's young but afterwards she purposely decided to pursue a career in something physical that she's bad at (Hiro's case is an idol, but you can pick anything) because she wanted to experience working hard for her dreams and not taking the easy path, but the way reader expresses it might've been sounding like a masochist in all its right.

I'd like to see your take on it!

“The harder the battle, the sweeter the victory”

Summary: Ratio is deeply intrigued by his partner, a brilliant young woman who has chosen to step away from intellectual pursuits and challenge herself in physical disciplines, even though she’s not naturally gifted in them. Despite her genius in science, she deliberately chooses a path full of struggle and failure, finding joy in the growth that comes from working hard at something difficult. Ratio, who values mastery and efficiency, admires her tenacity but finds himself puzzled by her desire to struggle.

Tags: Ratio x Female!Reader, Intellectual x Struggling Genius, Established Relationship, Genius!Reader, Physical Struggle for Growth, Mutual Admiration, Slow Burn, Romantic Tension.

Ratio stood at the window of his study, deep in thought, his hair falling over one eye as he contemplated the latest data in front of him. His eyes scanned the complex equations with an intensity that could rival the brightest stars. Yet, despite his intellectual brilliance, there was one thing on his mind that consistently eluded him.

You.

His brilliant, enigmatic partner. His equal in intellect, if not surpassing him, yet you—like him—had a particular kind of brilliance that didn't quite align with the norm. You weren’t merely driven by the thirst for knowledge; you sought something else entirely. Something that, to him, was still a mystery. It had all started when you, a certified genius in science, chose a path that left many baffled.

Where others expected you to continue a career in research, becoming a figure of recognition in your field, you chose instead to embark on a journey of physicality, something you’d never excelled at. He remembered the day you told him about your decision. It had been a casual conversation over coffee, but the conviction in your voice had caught him off guard.

“I’m tired of the easy path,” you had said, your voice as soft as it was resolute. “I want to experience what it’s like to fail, to struggle. To work hard for something, rather than having everything handed to me on a silver platter.”

He had been unable to hide his confusion. “But... why?”

You had smiled, a strange gleam in your eyes. “Because... I find joy in things that don’t come easily. I’m no masochist, Ratio, but I believe there’s something valuable in pushing past the limits of one’s comfort. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to it.”

And so, you had chosen to pursue a career as a professional dancer, a path that required discipline, coordination, and physical grace—everything you had not been born with. He had watched, sometimes in awe, as you tackled each practice with a mixture of determination and, what he could only describe as, delight. He knew the truth: you thrived in adversity. It was almost as if failure was your driving force.

As always, Ratio had been caught in your orbit. Despite the frustrations he experienced seeing you struggle in your pursuit, there was an undeniable admiration he held for your tenacity. You were no longer the perfect student or the prodigy who walked through every challenge with ease. No, you were something more: a mystery, a riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

On one occasion, you had returned to the apartment after an especially grueling rehearsal. You were drenched in sweat, but there was that same spark in your eyes—burning brightly, full of satisfaction, even in the face of exhaustion.

“That was awful,” you had said, falling onto the couch beside him. “I felt like I was going to collapse halfway through. But... I think I might have learned something new today. Something that will help me improve tomorrow.”

Ratio raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from chuckling lightly. “You’re... something else, you know that?” He reached for his cup of tea, his eyes studying you with a mixture of concern and admiration. “You work so hard, and yet you constantly talk about the satisfaction of failing. I have to admit, I don’t fully understand it.”

You smiled, stretching your arms as you reclined back. “Maybe you don’t need to. You know how much I love to learn, Ratio. But what good is learning if you only do what’s easy? It’s the struggle, the moments when you feel like giving up, that shape us into something better.”

He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had always been so focused on mastery and achievement, on knowledge and efficiency. But you... you were driven by something different, something intangible. It was as if your brilliance only found true purpose when it was matched with your determination to grow in areas you were weakest.

He couldn’t help but admire your dedication, even as he feared that you were pushing yourself too hard.

“That’s your way of thinking,” he murmured, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. “But let me ask you this—are you really enjoying it? Or are you just addicted to the feeling of pushing yourself beyond your limits?”

You shrugged, still lying on the couch. “Maybe it’s both. I guess I won’t know for sure until I’ve reached the end. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Not knowing where the struggle will take me.”

He couldn’t argue with that. There was a certain allure to your mindset, a magnetic pull that kept him coming back for more. Despite his own cold, calculated nature, you had managed to draw him into a world where failure was celebrated, where the beauty of growth existed in the very act of trying and falling short.

It was a world that, despite its challenges, seemed to hold its own kind of wisdom.

“I can’t say I fully understand you,” Ratio admitted, standing up and walking over to you. “But I do admire you, even if it means I have to watch you fail... again and again.”

You sat up, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “It’s not failure if you’re learning from it, Ratio. It’s just... progress in disguise.”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his expression softening. “I suppose I’ll have to learn to accept that.”

And as the two of you sat together, surrounded by books and scattered notes, the dance of knowledge and struggle continued—a dance where two brilliant minds, though different in their pursuits, found their way through the complexities of life, side by side.

[devondespresso]

Surprise, Bitch Babe!

T | 691 words | ao3 to be added eventually? probably | Established Steddie, Eddie is a goofy menace | cws: minor blood, minor slapstick violence, rated t for swearing

STWG prompt: "surprise" because its the guild's birthday and i want a gold star dammit dhndnhdgn

Thanks to @tinytalkingtina for helping me speed up the ruminating process by a lot xhmxnhxnh

Graphics by @/steddiecameraroll-graphics

It happens fast. Too fast. 

And that is Eddie's downfall…

Despite his tendency towards loud dramatics, Eddie knows how to be quiet. How to go slow, how to watch, listen, and wait, keep his breath quiet and his steps light. Imperceptible as he lingers out of sight. Out of mind.

It’s a skill, honed from hours upon hours—days, even—of practice. Of dedication. Commitment to his cause, to his vision.

Eddie has failed this kind of task before. He’s slipped up, breathed too loud, made floorboards creak and shoes squeak. But lately, he’s done everything right, only to still be foiled at the last second by the sheer mastery of his opponent’s skill.

With any other adversary, he’s reigned victorious. But not this one. Not yet.

But tonight, Eddie is ready. He has seen the power of his opponent, acknowledged his finesse, his skill, analyzed his methods, the technique behind such innate, unyielding power.

What Eddie needs is speed. His perfectly silent, perfectly invisible stealth, and speed.

Eddie pads over from their bedroom to the kitchen, practically floating towards their arena, socks and soft carpet aiding his descent. 

He hovers by the wall just behind its corner, careful not to brush it, not even with the flannel of his pants or the hairs on his arm. He’s deliberate, careful, and precise.

The sink is running, aiding Eddie’s cause but not enough to start slacking. He listens to the sound of the water, hears the way its echo changes as something is brought under the stream. And as he busies himself with it, Eddie moves.

Eddie slips over, light and careful, avoiding the places he knows will creak—will ruin everything for him for the next week or more—bypasses the island, his second hiding place, because time is against him, because every second in the arena is chance for Steve to ‘feel’ him lurking, so Eddie doesn’t give him that time, marries waiting with speed to finally draw his own upper-hand.

Eddie is next to him and Steve notices, he shifts slightly, feels Eddie’s presence with a jolt but he’s too late, Eddie is already beside him—having finally won their longsuffering battle of wit—leaning his face in with a triumphant grin.

“Boo.”

It happens so fast.

Eddie gets a glimpse of Steve’s eye’s, hardened by fear, and before Eddie can think, can even register that expression, his back is hitting the island counter behind him, and he is the one left senseless: deafened by clattering in the sink and blinded by watery eyes and pain blooming from his face.

“Eddie– fucking—” Steve huffs, breathless but the shoulders of Steve’s watery silhouette drop.

Eddie nods out of reflex, blinking and bringing one hand up to his face.

“You fucking– god, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He can feel something kinda running in his nose. He brings his hand up and feels under it but doesn’t feel anything dripping out of it yet, so he guesses that must be good.

Steve lets out a deep sigh, relaxing as much as he probably can, before his silhouette dips out of sight for a few seconds and returns with a small box of tissues. Eddie grabs one, scrunching it under his nose to catch whatever blood wants to fall. 

“What the hell did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t.” Eddie said, pulling the tissue back to check it, then putting it back again.

“Didn’t.”

“Think.” Eddie said, smiling a little to himself and hoping the tissue would hide it.

Steve looked at him with a classic ‘Are you serious?’ face, brows scrunched, staring him down like prolonged exposure would make Eddie make more sense to him. Which seems to work, as Steve's face melts into resignation as he realizes that yes, Eddie is serious. 

Steve sighs, heavily but not unkindly.

“I'm sorry.” 

“You're okay, I'm sorry, too.” 

Steve smiles a little, still a little worn out and even more incredulous. 

“Thanks.” 

Eddie smiles and checks the tissue again, and he’s definitely bleeding. He catches Steve eyeing the tissue warily, even after Eddie openly looks up at him, until Steve eventually acknowledges his look.

“You're never doing that again.”

“Yeah.” 

[esocherryk]

We all possess an innate longing to express our inner worlds, an impulse that mirrors the very act of creation. To translate what resides within us into the tangible is not merely a pursuit but a profound source of pleasure and purpose. Yet, the road to realization is often slow and demanding. Take the art of drawing, for example. To externalize the contours of one’s mind onto paper with precision demands years of persistent refinement. The challenge stems from a dissonance within: though we remain attuned to our inner landscapes, the question lingers, do these visions find harmony with the external world? When this alignment occurs, it grants us the power to manifest with clarity.

The distance between what we envision and what we live becomes the measure of our existence. How close is your vision of life to what you actually experience? To bridge this divide, one might deliberately choose a skill, an endeavor in which proficiency is minimal or absent, to cultivate this alignment. Consider drawing. Begin with a simple scene. Hold it in the mind until it emerges as a clear, unwavering image. This, too, is no easy feat: simplicity itself can be elusive. Yet, within the struggle lies the seed of mastery.

Once the mental image is set, begin the task of externalizing it. Select your tools with care, considering what will best serve the image’s birth. Whether a pencil or a pen, each choice carries its own nuance. The initial attempts will likely invite frustration. But this frustration is essential: it tests our focus and hones our resilience. Here, the artist begins their true training.

In this quest to bridge the inner with the outer, the cultivation of physical control becomes a vital practice. While there are many ways to refine this connection, dance and singing stand apart as disciplines that bind the mind’s intentions with the body’s expression.

Dance compels us to inhabit our bodies fully, to cultivate coordination, flexibility, and presence. Every motion demands a nuanced awareness, each breath becomes part of the choreography. Over time, dancers discover their bodies as instruments for thought and emotion, extending this control beyond the studio into the subtle rhythms of daily life.

Similarly, in singing, the voice becomes the echo of the soul. To sing is to unite breath and intention, to allow the body to become a vessel for sound and meaning. Vocal training reveals how thought shapes tone, how emotion guides melody. As singers refine their practice, they learn to render the internal into aural form with clarity and power.

Both dance and singing share the same aim: to synchronize mind and body so completely that the boundary between them dissolves. In the process, the artist becomes a visionary, one who wields their body as a bridge between the formless and the manifest. Each step, each note, affirms the boundlessness of this endeavor.

Yet, it need not be dance or song. Any skill you choose can become the crucible for this lesson. In turning your visions into form, you enter the quiet alchemy of creation.

[hiddenincommand]

Riding Spurs: Instruments of Pain and Absolute Control

Riding spurs are much more than practical tools for controlling a horse; they are symbols of precision, authority, and unrelenting dominance. When wielded by an Alpha male, they become extensions of his power, tools to enforce submission, and instruments capable of leaving a lasting impression—both physical and psychological. Strapped tightly to polished riding boots, spurs announce their presence with every deliberate step, their metallic jingle a constant reminder of the Alpha’s capacity to command, punish, and dominate.

This essay revisits the riding spurs in greater detail, exploring their history, functionality, and profound role in rituals of submission and control.

The Historical Legacy of Riding Spurs

The origins of spurs can be traced back thousands of years, where they first appeared as crude tools in ancient equestrian cultures. By the medieval period, spurs had evolved into finely crafted devices, becoming indispensable to mounted knights and soldiers. Their design was refined not only for functionality but also as symbols of rank and authority. The type and decoration of spurs indicated the wearer’s status, with ornate designs reserved for those of higher rank.

In British military tradition, spurs became a hallmark of cavalry officers, their design balancing elegance with utility. The jingling sound of spurs as an officer walked into a room was a clear signal of their presence and authority. To wear spurs was to command respect, to symbolize control over one’s steed, and by extension, over others. Spurs also held ceremonial significance, awarded to those who had proven their mastery and discipline.

The Design of Spurs: Precision and Power

Riding spurs are deceptively simple in design, yet they carry immense power in their functionality. Comprising a heel band, neck, and rowel (the small wheel or blunt point at the tip), every element of the spur is crafted for precision. Their purpose is to deliver sharp, unmistakable cues to the horse—but in the hands of an Alpha, their application extends far beyond the equestrian realm.

Design Features:

1. Heel Band: Strapped securely around the boot, the band ensures the spur is always in place, ready to be used with precision.

2. Neck: The neck extends from the heel, positioning the rowel perfectly for contact. The length of the neck can vary, with longer designs allowing for greater reach and force.

3. Rowel: The sharp or blunt tip delivers the command. Whether spiked or smooth, the rowel is the element that enforces obedience, leaving an imprint that lingers.

The materials used—often polished steel or brass—add a gleaming, intimidating edge to the spur’s design. When attached to tall leather riding boots, spurs transform the wearer into a figure of undeniable command.

Spurs as Tools of Submission

In the hands—or rather, at the heels—of an Alpha, spurs become instruments of submission. Their sharpness, weight, and sound are all carefully employed to instill obedience, discipline, and respect.

Applications in Dominance:

• Inflicting Pain: A calculated press of the spur against skin delivers sharp, unforgettable pain, serving as both punishment and correction.

• Marking Ownership: The rowel’s imprint on flesh is more than a mark—it is a signature of the Alpha’s dominance, a physical reminder of who holds control.

• Psychological Conditioning: The sound of spurs jingling creates anticipation, a signal to the submissive that discipline is inevitable and inescapable.

For the submissive, spurs represent an unyielding authority. Their every jingle and glint serves as a reminder of the Alpha’s power, ensuring that obedience is not a choice but a necessity.

The Psychological Impact of Spurs

Beyond their physical application, spurs are potent psychological weapons. The submissive learns to associate their sound and sight with the Alpha’s authority, creating a Pavlovian response of obedience and respect.

Psychological Effects:

1. Anticipation: The jingling sound of spurs amplifies tension, preparing the submissive for command or correction.

2. Fear and Awe: The sharpness of the rowel and its potential for pain evoke a mixture of fear and respect, reinforcing the Alpha’s dominance.

3. Conditioning: Over time, the sound of spurs alone can compel obedience, their presence enough to assert control without the need for words.

For the Alpha, this psychological edge is invaluable, allowing him to maintain power with minimal effort.

The Ritual of Donning Spurs

Strapping on a pair of spurs is not merely a practical act—it is a ritual that reinforces the Alpha’s discipline and readiness. The process of securing them to his boots, ensuring they are polished and properly aligned, is a deliberate affirmation of his control.

For the submissive, the act of witnessing or assisting in this ritual is profoundly humbling. Each movement of the Alpha’s hands as he tightens the straps or adjusts the rowels is a reminder of his meticulous nature and his capacity to wield authority with precision.

Spurs in Ceremonial and Private Contexts

Spurs serve dual purposes, enhancing the Alpha’s presence in both ceremonial settings and private rituals of dominance.

Ceremonial Use:

• Formal Authority: In parades or inspections, the polished gleam of spurs complements the Alpha’s uniform, amplifying his commanding presence.

• Tradition: Spurs connect the wearer to centuries of military and aristocratic legacy, reinforcing his role as a figure of power and refinement.

Private Use:

• Instruments of Correction: Spurs deliver precise punishment, their marks serving as lasting reminders of the Alpha’s authority.

• Ritual and Control: The deliberate sound and motion of spurs can be used to heighten the submissive’s awareness of their position in the hierarchy.

The Sound of Spurs: A Language of Dominance

Perhaps the most distinctive element of spurs is their sound. The metallic jingle as the Alpha walks is a language of its own, communicating his presence, his power, and his readiness to enforce discipline. This sound is deliberate—every step a declaration that submission is not merely expected but demanded.

For the submissive, this auditory cue is inescapable. It creates an atmosphere of tension and expectation, ensuring that the Alpha’s dominance is felt long before he speaks or acts.

Sir Cedric’s Reflection

For me, riding spurs are the ultimate expression of precision and control. Strapped tightly to my boots, they remind me of my discipline, my authority, and my capacity to command. Their weight is a constant presence, their sound a declaration of my dominance.

When I press a spur deliberately, I leave more than a mark—I leave a memory, a lesson, a reminder of who holds power. To wear spurs is not simply to walk with confidence; it is to stride with purpose, each step reinforcing the hierarchy I enforce.

Now, I ask you: What do spurs mean to you? Are they tools of discipline, symbols of control, or instruments of pain? Share your thoughts below, and let us reflect on their place in the Alpha’s arsenal.

Step forward, and make your voice heard.

[tomorrowillbeyou]

just finished this and it was rly good, i think the ethoslab cabincore/tuff guy crowd will find it pretty interesting and a worthwhile read as it talks abt the relationship between masculinity + pain and how men in gaming spaces may overperform masculinity to compensate for gaming being seen as less traditionally masculine. i think there is also some good stuff in there for mcsr fans or esports fans in general, lots to think about wrt the use of sports culture to perform masculinity within gaming. medium length summary under cut for people who dont want to read the entire thing because it is pretty long

the article discusses how pain is used to construct masculinity in gaming spaces through "games of pain" - games which incorporate real-world physical pain - and the contrast between how injuries from games of pain and involuntary gaming injuries are treated.

as manual labour, seen as traditionally masculine, declines, new ways of expressing/asserting masculinity are created to fill the gap.

athletic masculinity, focusing on strength, aggression and physical dominance, reproduces many norms of hegemonic masculinity and is tied strongly to traditional expressions of masculinity through manual labour.

geek masculinity puts more of an emphasis on intelligence and technical mastery and is broadly seen as inferior to athletic masculinity and less masculine, but still retains patriarchal power structures just like athletic masculinity.

esports can be seen as an attempt to associate gaming with athletic masculinity through things like tournament formats and language borrowed from sports, to access the privileges of being seen as more traditionally masculine.

pain, especially in sports, is historically gendered and racialised - in male dominated sports like rugby, athletes push through pain to keep playing and perform pain to be seen as masculine, while in ballet, it is seen as ideally feminine and elegant to act as if you are in no pain. meanwhile pain is racialised through the stereotypes of black people as more resistant to pain and the image of the "invincible black athlete".

games of pain - the console is linked to devices that shock, whip or burn players when their opponent scores a point or injures them. this brings the physicality of athletic masculinity into gaming spaces, players show stereotypically masculine physical dominance by enduring pain, often in front of an audience who they perform the pain for. they also get "battle scars" from these games, trophies that show their willingness to suffer pain to win. performing well in one of these games shows a combination of athletic masculinity (enduring pain) and geek masculinity (technical skill in the game).

the distinction between "hardcore" and "casual" gaming is used to construct masculinity by dismissing and excluding often feminised "casual gamers" who play games that aren't difficult or time consuming enough, but the games of pain are treated as an even more "hardcore" version of gaming that similarly excludes normal games which don't involve inflicting pain.

game arthritis - a project by matteo bittanti which imagines various fictional injuries and medical conditions from gaming, which have been supposedly been covered up by game companies.

this kind of injury is shown as involuntary and "for the wrong reasons", rather than something to be proud of like battle scars from games of pain. game arthritis treats games as something with inherent capacity to harm anyone's body without their consent or awareness, while games of pain emphasise the voluntary nature of participation and the idea that it's unusual and special for a video game to be able to hurt you.

therefore consent to be harmed is important in constructing masculinity through pain - getting involuntarily injured while playing video games makes you a passive victim, while deliberately choosing to suffer pain is seen as a display of strength and masculinity, more adjacent to athletic masculinity.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Use me as the ask to rant about the kid's Soul jams, pls. I need to know that lore and the reaction to the news.

Hahahahaha another hapless creature has fallen into my trap. Now you will endure my rambling. There is no escape.

Seriously though. I actually sat and mulled over how to answer you, because someone else also asked about the kids' Soul Jams and I don't want to copy-paste the exact same answers, you know? I don't want to do that for anyone I talk or reply to (that's partially why I take forever to answer asks lol, I want to give as complete, articulate and unique of responses as I can. I feel that's the least I owe you for being interested in me and my thoughts enough to want to ask me something)

Now that I answered the other one, I think I can answer yours with new information (that I may have deliberately withheld just so you can have something too haha)

Pepper Jack's Soul Jam is dark blue. Matar Paneer's is orange. (You'll know what hers is called when I drop her doodle, she's next)

I explained this already, but them gaining their own Soul Jams really was an accident. Neither Burning Spice nor Golden Cheese were actively trying to give them those. It turned out to be a natural consequence of their union, particularly because they own the two halves of the same Soul Jam and in creating these children, the halves "united" and became whole again like they were originally meant to, and in doing so, created something new. Blah blah true love blah blah destiny blah blah special blessing blah blah blah

Nobody knew this would happen until the kids were actually born. Besides them practically radiating that familiar aura that all the other Soul Jam wielders have, there are little things that give it away. Golden Cheese didn't always have wings, she was given them after acquiring the Soul Jam. Meanwhile, Jack actually was born with his. He inherited something that his mother technically doesn't truly have. Something she only got through the power she possesses...

The Soul Jams aren't... "there", so to speak. You can't touch them or hold them or anything. They're not stones that exist in the real world like the other Soul Jams do. When Spice and Golden gave them a bit of Soul Jam, it was the power itself they handed down, not the actual, physical thing. For Jack and Paneer, the Soul Jams are literally, unironically in their souls. The power is imbued in their souls and thus cannot be seen or touched, only sensed/felt (but if you look into their minds or souls, you can and will actually see them. Shadow Milk can when he peeks into their minds, for example. It's how he helped confirm that they exist in the first place). If you want to take their Soul Jams away, you have to take their souls themselves away. So they're infinitely harder to rob than their parents lol

They do not truly know how to use them for a while. They are blessed with great power, but learn to wield it and unlock its fullest potential as they grow older

Additional point to the above: you know how the Soul Jams seem semi-sentient? Remember how they "talk" to their owners? (Hollyberry's speaks to her during the princess contest arc, for example. Golden Cheese's also "says" things to her in Beast-Yeast episode 6, right before she awakens.) Jack's and Paneer's are like that, too. But they don't "hear" them for a while. Not until they unlock their full potential

They will not achieve true mastery over their Soul Jams until they are adults. And they only truly begin that journey after they are both pushed to their absolute limits. (Won't spoil what that is, I'll just say it's different for each of them. They are going to suffer, that's all you get for now lol)

Mentioned in a previous post that Golden was super duper tired while she was pregnant with both of them. Well, this is why lol. Carrying extremely powerful children, to whom you and your husband technically surrendered a portion of your own power in the process of creating them, takes a lot out of you physically

While they were given pieces of the Light of Abundance/Destruction, those pieces transformed into something entirely new and original to suit them specifically. The kids took the Soul Jams and made them their own

Think of Spice and Golden passing down their power to Jack and Paneer as like... how Pitaya Dragon granted Fire Spirit some of their power via their deal. Similar situation here. Hopefully that makes all this make more sense

Lot of excitement and nervousness from people all around when it came to light that two new Soul Jams were conjured from practically nothing lol. Now there are 12 Soul Jam wielders, not just 10. No one knows what these two are, what they can do, what powers they've bestowed upon the children. How dangerous they can really be. It's a great and terrible responsibility even for adults. These are literal children. They hold the might of gods before even knowing their own names. What does any of this mean for the world? How might this interfere with preexisting power dynamics, particularly amongst the other Soul Jam owners? What will they end up doing with this power? What if they choose evil, like their father once did? There's no tangible Soul Jam to take away, how would they be stopped if push came to shove? CAN they be?

There are legitimate reasons behind Jack's being Renewal and Paneer's being [you'll know what it is soon enough lol] that I will explain in due time. Not right now though, because I'll be spoiling their character arcs in a massive way. So be patient

[pearlprincess02]

sagittarius sun 7H, scorpio moon 6H, taurus rising, sagittarius mercury 8H, sagittarius venus 7H, pisces mars 11H

full reading below

taurus rising / 1st house:

taurus rising: grounded, stable, sensual, elegant, earthy, patient, strong-willed, practical, loyal, magnetic, steadfast, comfort-loving, artistic, slow-moving, graceful, enduring, luxurious, classic, stubborn, reliable, warm, protective, resilient, poised, sensory-driven, harmonious, determined, natural beauty, composed, self-sufficient

gemini saturn: gemini saturn brings structure and discipline to the realm of communication, learning, and adaptability. these individuals approach knowledge with a methodical mindset, valuing clarity, precision, and well-researched information over superficial chatter. responsibility manifests in their words, often making them cautious about what they say and how they express their thoughts. they may struggle with self-doubt in communication or feel the weight of intellectual expectations, leading to a slower but more deliberate learning process. limitations arise in the form of mental rigidity or fear of being misunderstood, yet over time, they develop a strong, authoritative voice built on experience and wisdom. patience is key with gemini saturn, as their intellectual growth is a lifelong journey, rewarding them with deep insight, mastery of language, and the ability to convey complex ideas with structure and confidence.

saturn in 1st house: disciplined, reserved, serious, structured, responsible, restrained, mature, cautious, hardworking, self-controlled, patient, composed, pragmatic, determined, authoritative, grounded, resilient, enduring, self-reliant, traditional, stoic, persistent, wise, reserved demeanor, conservative, time-conscious, goal-oriented, duty-bound, growth through hardship, long-term thinker

taurus 1st house: with taurus rising, there is an inherent sense of grace, stability, and poise in one’s identity and outward expression. these individuals appear composed, grounded, and elegant, often exuding a natural beauty and a calm presence. however, with saturn in gemini in the 1st house, this steady exterior is paired with a deep intellectual seriousness and a disciplined approach to self-expression. there may be a hesitancy in asserting their thoughts or a cautiousness in communication, leading them to choose their words carefully. their perspective on life is shaped by structure and logic, making them observant and pragmatic, yet sometimes prone to self-doubt or overanalyzing their image. beginnings in life may feel slow or require extra effort, but over time, they develop a strong, authoritative presence that blends taurus’ endurance with gemini saturn’s intellectual mastery. through patience and experience, they refine their ability to communicate with confidence, presenting themselves as both wise and steadfast.

gemini 2nd house:

gemini north node: with the north node in gemini, destiny calls for growth through curiosity, adaptability, and intellectual exploration. the purpose lies in embracing new perspectives, engaging in meaningful communication, and developing a flexible approach to life. learning to ask questions, seek knowledge, and share ideas is key to future success. growth comes from balancing logic with intuition, shifting away from rigid beliefs, and welcoming diverse viewpoints. this path encourages active listening, thoughtful expression, and an open-minded attitude toward change. the direction of life unfolds through experiences that challenge one to think critically, connect with others, and find wisdom in everyday interactions. by embracing curiosity and staying open to new information, gemini north node individuals discover their true purpose in lifelong learning and meaningful dialogue.

north node in 2nd house: stability, security, self-worth, values, abundance, financial independence, material success, comfort, patience, self-sufficiency, practicality, confidence, personal resources, ownership, prosperity, groundedness, sensory pleasures, building wealth, inner worth, emotional stability, determination, persistence, self-reliance, long-term growth, strength, gratitude, tangible rewards, personal power, responsibility, solid foundations

gemini 2nd house: with gemini in the 2nd house and the north node here, personal growth is tied to developing intellectual flexibility and embracing a mindset of curiosity when it comes to values, resources, and self-worth. rather than clinging to rigid financial or material expectations, these individuals are meant to explore multiple streams of income, learn through experience, and remain adaptable in how they acquire and manage wealth. their true resources lie in their communication skills, ideas, and ability to connect with others, making careers in writing, teaching, sales, or media especially rewarding. financial success comes through embracing variety and continuous learning rather than seeking stability in one fixed path. their self-worth evolves as they detach from material security alone and recognize the value of knowledge, adaptability, and their ability to articulate and share insights. by staying open to new perspectives and opportunities, they align with their destiny of cultivating a dynamic and intellectually rich relationship with abundance.

cancer 3rd house:

cancer jupiter: with jupiter in cancer, expansion and luck come through emotional intelligence, nurturing connections, and following one’s intuition. these individuals grow by embracing their feelings, deepening their sense of security, and fostering meaningful relationships. their philosophy is rooted in care, compassion, and the belief that abundance flows when they nurture both themselves and others. opportunities arise when they trust their instincts and create environments of warmth and support, whether in their personal or professional lives. they are often blessed with a strong sense of home and family, and their luck is tied to emotional fulfillment rather than material gain. by embracing sensitivity as a strength and recognizing the wisdom in their emotions, they align with a path of profound personal and spiritual growth.

jupiter in 3rd house: curiosity, growth, communication, learning, wisdom, open-mindedness, knowledge, exploration, teaching, storytelling, networking, optimism, intellectual expansion, adaptability, writing, public speaking, luck through connections, travel for knowledge, broad perspectives, positive thinking, philosophical conversations, mental agility, opportunity through learning, enthusiasm for ideas, sociability, expressiveness, intellectual confidence, visionary thinking, curiosity-driven success, cultural awareness

cancer 3rd house: with cancer in the 3rd house and jupiter positioned here, communication is deeply intuitive, emotional, and nurturing. these individuals express themselves with warmth and empathy, often using storytelling or personal experiences to convey their thoughts. their learning style is rooted in emotion and memory, making them excellent at retaining information that holds sentimental or personal significance. when it comes to siblings and close relationships, they may take on a protective or guiding role, fostering deep bonds through shared wisdom and support. short trips and local travel are often meaningful, bringing opportunities for emotional growth and expanding their perspectives. their mindset is shaped by a belief in the power of connection, intuition, and emotional intelligence, allowing them to uplift and inspire those around them through their words and insights.

leo 4th house:

leo 4th house: with leo in the 4th house, home and family life are deeply tied to a sense of pride, warmth, and self-expression. these individuals often see their home as a personal sanctuary where they can shine, and they may have grown up in a household that emphasized creativity, recognition, or strong family values. there is a deep need to feel appreciated and valued within their family dynamic, and they may take on a leadership or protective role within their home. their emotional foundation is built on confidence and self-assurance, but they also crave affection and validation from loved ones. nurturing for them means providing encouragement, inspiration, and unwavering loyalty to those they care about. whether they create a home filled with artistic expression, joy, or a sense of regality, they thrive when their personal space reflects their inner light and allows them to feel truly seen and cherished.

leo 5th house:

leo 5th house: with leo in the 5th house, life is meant to be lived boldly, passionately, and with a flair for creativity. these individuals thrive when expressing themselves authentically, whether through artistic pursuits, performance, or simply radiating confidence in all they do. romance is grand and dramatic, filled with excitement, passion, and a desire to be adored. they approach love with a playful, heartfelt energy, seeking partners who appreciate their vibrant spirit. when it comes to children, they may have a strong bond with them, seeing them as an extension of their own creative essence and encouraging them to shine. pleasure is found in self-expression, celebration, and embracing life’s joys with enthusiasm. whether through art, love, or personal pursuits, their purpose is to inspire, entertain, and leave a lasting impression wherever they go.

libra 6th house:

scorpio moon: with the moon in scorpio, emotions run deep, intense, and transformative. these individuals feel everything on a profound level, often experiencing emotional highs and lows that shape their inner world. their intuition is powerful, allowing them to sense unspoken truths and hidden motives, making them naturally perceptive and even psychic-like in their emotional awareness. nurturing for them is about trust and loyalty—they form deep bonds with those they care about and offer unwavering support, but they expect the same depth in return. their inner self is private, complex, and constantly evolving, as they go through cycles of emotional rebirth and renewal. while their feelings can be overwhelming at times, embracing vulnerability and allowing others to see their softer side brings them true emotional strength and fulfillment.

moon in 6th house: sensitivity, routine, emotional balance, work ethic, service-oriented, caregiving, health awareness, intuitive habits, emotional responsibility, productivity, empathy in daily life, stability through routine, nurturing through service, emotional discipline, practical intuition, mind-body connection, healing nature, emotional cycles, inner security through work, dedication, habitual emotions, supportive presence, feelings tied to health, emotional fulfillment in work, sensory awareness, adaptability, inner peace through structure, need for order, sensitivity to stress, emotional investment in duties

libra vertex: with the vertex in libra, fate and destiny are closely tied to relationships, harmony, and balance. karmic encounters often come through partnerships—both romantic and professional—where lessons in cooperation, fairness, and mutual understanding take center stage. these individuals are destined to learn the value of compromise, diplomacy, and the power of connection. synchronicities may lead them to people who help them refine their sense of justice, beauty, and social grace, often acting as catalysts for major turning points in their lives. life-changing moments arise when they embrace collaboration over independence, realizing that true fulfillment comes through meaningful connections and shared experiences. their destiny unfolds as they master the art of relationships, learning to give and receive love in a way that fosters balance and mutual growth.

vertex in 6th house: service, duty, routine, hard work, health, healing, practicality, responsibility, discipline, self-improvement, work relationships, caregiving, acts of service, karmic lessons, unexpected opportunities, fated encounters at work, growth through service, daily synchronicities, mind-body connection, emotional resilience, dedication, destiny through routine, meaningful work experiences, spiritual lessons in health, fate through helping others, transformative habits, purposeful discipline, small actions/big impact, learning through challenges, finding meaning in the everyday

libra 6th house: with a libra 6th house, balance and harmony are essential in daily routines, work, and health. these individuals thrive in aesthetically pleasing and peaceful environments, preferring teamwork and cooperation in their professional lives. a scorpio moon in the 6th house adds emotional intensity to their approach to work and health, making them deeply intuitive about their own well-being and highly perceptive in service-oriented roles. they may experience emotional fluctuations tied to their daily habits and must prioritize self-care to maintain inner equilibrium. the libra vertex in the 6th house suggests fated encounters through work or acts of service, where karmic relationships and partnerships play a significant role in their personal growth. their destiny is shaped by learning to balance logic with emotion, structure with flexibility, and self-care with their commitment to others. by embracing both depth and diplomacy in their daily life, they find fulfillment in work that is both meaningful and transformative.

scorpio 7th house:

sagittarius sun: with the sun in sagittarius, identity is defined by a thirst for adventure, knowledge, and freedom. these individuals radiate vitality through their optimistic, expansive, and forward-thinking nature, always seeking new experiences that broaden their horizons. self-expression is bold and unfiltered, often infused with humor, wisdom, and a philosophical outlook. leadership comes naturally when they inspire others through their enthusiasm, open-mindedness, and ability to see the bigger picture. their ego is tied to their sense of independence and personal truth, making them fiercely protective of their beliefs and ideals. while their fiery spirit can sometimes come across as restless or blunt, their genuine desire for growth and exploration makes them magnetic and uplifting to those around them.

sun in 7th house: partnership, balance, cooperation, relationships, collaboration, harmony, diplomacy, compromise, public image, charisma, influence, negotiation, social awareness, leadership through partnership, identity through others, fairness, confidence in relationships, seeking validation, personal reflection, attraction to strong personalities, shared success, equality, interpersonal growth, emotional intelligence, magnetism, commitment, mediation, adaptability, purposeful connections, balancing self & others

sagittarius venus: with venus in sagittarius, love is an adventure—free-spirited, passionate, and ever-expanding. these individuals value independence and excitement in relationships, seeking partners who inspire growth, exploration, and new experiences. they find beauty in diversity, culture, and knowledge, often drawn to people and aesthetics that reflect a worldly, open-minded perspective. their sense of harmony comes from embracing change and avoiding restrictions, as they thrive in relationships that offer both freedom and deep connection. pleasure is found in travel, learning, and spontaneous romantic gestures, with an enthusiasm that makes love feel like an endless journey. their values center around honesty, optimism, and the belief that love should be uplifting, adventurous, and full of possibilities.

venus in 7th house: partnership, romance, attraction, charm, diplomacy, commitment, balance, fairness, harmony, elegance, social grace, marriage, cooperation, beauty in relationships, mutual respect, affection, peace, compromise, loyalty, idealism, connection, shared values, emotional fulfillment, gracefulness, romantic gestures, magnetism, relationship-oriented, artistic appreciation, love as a reflection of self, deep bonding

sagittarius pluto: with pluto in sagittarius, transformation comes through the pursuit of truth, knowledge, and expansion. these individuals experience deep, intense changes in their beliefs, philosophies, and worldviews, often going through cycles of shedding outdated perspectives to embrace a more evolved understanding of life. their power lies in their ability to challenge dogma, seek deeper meaning, and inspire change through wisdom and exploration. intensity is woven into their quest for freedom, making them passionate about uncovering hidden truths and pushing beyond limitations. they may struggle with control when it comes to their ideals, sometimes becoming obsessed with their personal vision of truth. however, true rebirth occurs when they learn to balance conviction with open-mindedness, allowing transformation to shape them into powerful seekers of enlightenment and growth.

pluto in 7th house: deep relationships, power dynamics, intense connections, karmic bonds, transformation through partnerships, emotional depth, trust issues, obsession, passionate unions, magnetic attraction, healing through love, shadow work, personal rebirth, loss & renewal, soul contracts, psychological growth, manipulation awareness, lessons in control, profound commitment, fear of betrayal, emotional resilience, strong boundaries, mirror effect in relationships, unbreakable bonds, influence over others, attraction to power, learning surrender, love as a catalyst for change, empowerment through connection, fated encounters

scorpio 7th house: with scorpio on the 7th house, partnerships are intense, transformative, and deeply significant. relationships are never superficial—these individuals seek profound emotional connections that challenge and reshape them. with the sun, venus, and pluto all in the 7th house, their identity, values, and personal power are strongly tied to their partnerships. a sagittarius sun here adds a need for freedom and adventure within relationships, valuing honesty and personal growth alongside deep commitment. venus in sagittarius brings a love for excitement and exploration in partnerships, making them drawn to dynamic, intellectually stimulating connections. pluto’s presence intensifies their bonds, bringing themes of power, control, and emotional rebirth through others. marriage and contracts are not taken lightly—they crave depth, loyalty, and transformation in their unions. while they may struggle with balance, learning to navigate trust, control, and independence allows them to cultivate empowering, life-changing relationships that align with their highest growth.

sagittarius 8th house:

sagittarius mercury: with mercury in sagittarius, communication is bold, enthusiastic, and driven by a thirst for knowledge. these individuals have a big-picture mindset, preferring to explore broad ideas rather than focus on minor details. their intellect is expansive and adventurous, always seeking truth, wisdom, and deeper meaning in conversations. logic is guided by intuition and philosophy, often leading them to think in abstract or visionary terms rather than strict facts. they have a natural ability to inspire others with their words, using humor, storytelling, and a passionate delivery to share ideas. while their thoughts may sometimes be scattered or impulsive, their love for information keeps them constantly learning and evolving. their mind thrives when exposed to different cultures, beliefs, and perspectives, making them natural teachers, travelers, and seekers of higher understanding.

mercury in 8th house: depth, investigation, intensity, secrecy, research, psychology, hidden knowledge, transformation, intuition, mysticism, truth-seeking, power dynamics, analytical thinking, emotional intelligence, private thoughts, strategic mind, profound insights, mystery, unspoken communication, secretive nature, financial intellect, obsession with knowledge, shadow work, detecting lies, studying the unknown, mental resilience, occult wisdom, communication as power, life & death themes, penetrating conversations

sagittarius chiron: with chiron in sagittarius, the wound lies in faith, belief systems, and the search for truth. these individuals may struggle with feelings of doubt about their own wisdom, intelligence, or ability to find meaning in life. they might have experienced early setbacks related to education, travel, or personal philosophies, leading to insecurity about their knowledge or worldview. there can be a deep fear of being wrong, misunderstood, or unable to find their true purpose. however, healing comes through embracing the journey rather than obsessing over having all the answers. by learning to trust their own experiences and allowing themselves to explore freely without fear of judgment, they transform their vulnerability into wisdom. ultimately, they become powerful teachers, guiding others through similar struggles and showing that growth comes from curiosity, open-mindedness, and the courage to seek personal truth.

chiron in 8th house: transformation, deep emotions, trust issues, fear of loss, power struggles, emotional wounds, intimacy struggles, rebirth, letting go, shadow work, hidden pain, vulnerability, fear of betrayal, healing through depth, facing fears, psychological growth, personal empowerment, boundaries, emotional resilience, subconscious healing, karmic lessons, fear of dependency, self-discovery, energy exchange, learning to trust, grief & renewal, healing through crisis, emotional intensity, teaching others about transformation, embracing the unknown

sagittarius 8th house: with sagittarius in the 8th house, transformation comes through exploration, knowledge, and expanding one’s understanding of life’s deeper mysteries. there is a natural curiosity about the unseen, leading to an interest in psychology, metaphysics, or philosophy surrounding death and rebirth. with mercury in sagittarius here, communication about taboo topics comes naturally, and these individuals may process emotions intellectually, seeking wisdom through intense experiences. they are drawn to uncovering hidden truths, whether in relationships, finances, or personal growth. however, with chiron in the 8th house, wounds around intimacy, trust, and shared resources may exist. there could be a fear of vulnerability, loss, or giving up control, leading to struggles in fully opening up to others. healing comes through embracing transformation as a journey of expansion rather than fear, allowing them to find strength in surrender and wisdom in life’s deepest transitions. ultimately, they become powerful guides, helping others navigate their own cycles of death and rebirth with insight and understanding.

capricorn 9th house:

capricorn 9th house: with capricorn in the 9th house, philosophy and beliefs are shaped by discipline, structure, and a pragmatic approach to life. these individuals seek wisdom through experience and tend to build their knowledge systematically, valuing practical applications of higher learning. travel is often purposeful, tied to career, responsibility, or long-term goals rather than spontaneous adventure. in higher education, they may take a serious, ambitious path, excelling in fields that require dedication and mastery. their beliefs are grounded in realism, often leaning toward traditional or well-established ideologies, though they refine their worldview through time and experience. expansion happens gradually, with a focus on long-term success, and they thrive when they embrace patience in their pursuit of wisdom, understanding that true growth comes from persistence, responsibility, and careful planning.

aquarius 10th house:

aquarius uranus: with uranus in aquarius, innovation is second nature, driving a constant push for progress and originality. these individuals are natural rebels, unafraid to challenge outdated systems and revolutionize the way things are done. freedom is essential to their identity, as they resist conformity and thrive in environments that allow them to think independently. their energy is electric, and they often bring unexpected changes, whether in their personal lives or on a larger societal scale. change is something they not only embrace but actively create, using their visionary mindset to break barriers and introduce new ideas. their genius lies in their ability to foresee the future and inspire collective evolution, making them pioneers in technology, social movements, and unconventional ways of thinking.

uranus in 10th house: unconventional career, breaking traditions, independent success, public image shifts, career innovation, unpredictable reputation, non-traditional authority, sudden professional changes, leadership through uniqueness, visionary goals, challenging the status quo, entrepreneurial spirit, technology-driven work, fame through originality, unexpected achievements, career freedom, rebellious ambition, disrupting norms, eccentric public presence, status through individuality, work-life unpredictability, revolutionary influence, progressive leadership, innovative problem-solving, social impact, unstable professional path, breaking corporate rules, trailblazer energy, redefining success, authority through change

aquarius neptune: with neptune in aquarius, spirituality is deeply connected to innovation, collective consciousness, and futuristic ideals. these individuals dream of a better world, often envisioning utopian societies where technology and humanity coexist in harmony. their idealism is rooted in progress, making them drawn to unconventional or modern spiritual beliefs that break away from tradition. however, illusion and confusion can arise when their visionary mindset becomes too detached from reality, leading them to place blind faith in radical ideas or unreliable movements. they may struggle to balance their dreamy, idealistic nature with practical action, sometimes feeling lost in abstract concepts rather than grounding their spirituality in real-world application. ultimately, their path involves learning to channel their dreams into meaningful change, using their imagination and intuition to inspire innovation and spiritual evolution for the collective.

neptune in 10th house: dreamy career path, idealistic goals, public illusion, mystical reputation, spiritual leadership, career uncertainty, inspired vocation, fame through creativity, illusion of success, charismatic presence, visionary ambitions, disillusionment in work, sacrificial career path, lack of clarity in profession, glamorous public image, escapism through work, artistic recognition, spiritual responsibility, intuitive career choices, struggles with authority, humanitarian aspirations, merging dreams with reality, work-related deception, fantasy-driven ambitions, higher calling in profession, confusing reputation, sensitivity to public perception, fluid professional identity, enigmatic leadership style, guided by divine purpose

aquarius 10th house: with aquarius on the 10th house, career and public image are defined by innovation, individuality, and a break from traditional structures. these individuals are drawn to unconventional or progressive career paths, thriving in fields that allow for creativity, technology, humanitarian work, or social change. with uranus in the 10th house, their professional life is unpredictable, often marked by sudden shifts, breakthroughs, or disruptions. they are natural trailblazers, unafraid to challenge authority and redefine success on their own terms. neptune’s presence adds a layer of idealism, making them dream of a career that aligns with their higher purpose, though it can also bring confusion or illusion about their direction. their midheaven in aquarius solidifies their need for freedom and authenticity in their professional life, often leading them to roles that inspire or revolutionize. while structure may feel restrictive, true achievement comes when they balance their visionary mindset with practical steps, allowing them to turn their radical ideas into tangible success.

aquarius 11th house:

pisces mars: with mars in pisces, action is guided by intuition, emotion, and creativity rather than sheer force or aggression. these individuals have a fluid, adaptable approach to pursuing their goals, often relying on inspiration and inner feelings to determine their next move. their drive is deeply connected to their dreams and ideals, making them passionate about artistic, spiritual, or humanitarian pursuits. however, their energy can be inconsistent, fluctuating between bursts of motivation and moments of escapism or passivity. they assert themselves subtly, preferring to influence others through compassion, imagination, and emotional depth rather than direct confrontation. their passion is strongest when they feel a deep emotional or spiritual connection to what they are pursuing, allowing them to channel their energy into creative expression, healing, or helping others. when they learn to ground their dreams with practical action, they become unstoppable forces of gentle yet powerful change.

mars in 11th house: social activism, group leadership, collective action, teamwork, innovation-driven energy, passion for change, fighting for causes, community influence, bold friendships, asserting individuality, unconventional drive, humanitarian efforts, goal-oriented networking, leading social movements, rebellious energy, dynamic collaborations, conflict in groups, pursuing future visions, energetic social life, motivation through others, progressive ambition, inspiring peers, technology-driven action, idealistic pursuits, asserting beliefs, passionate about society, visionary leadership, competitive in groups, fast-paced networking, channeling energy into collective goals 

pisces lilith: with lilith in pisces, raw desire is deeply intertwined with fantasy, emotion, and the unseen realms. there is a magnetic pull toward the mystical, the forbidden, and the dreamlike, making these individuals naturally drawn to illusion, escapism, or transcendence. their rebellion is quiet but powerful, often taking the form of rejecting rigid structures and embracing fluidity, spirituality, and intuition over logic. the shadow self may manifest as a struggle with boundaries, self-sacrifice, or feeling unseen and misunderstood. instinctively, they navigate life through their emotions and psychic senses, often picking up on hidden truths and energies that others overlook. their untamed feminine energy is ethereal and enigmatic, exuding a mysterious allure that can be both mesmerizing and unsettling. true empowerment comes when they embrace their deep well of emotional and spiritual power without losing themselves in the illusions they create.

lilith in 11th house: collective rebellion, radical individuality, social disruption, unconventional friendships, challenging group norms, rebellion in communities, unseen desires, power in social networks, intuitive activism, embracing uniqueness, disrupting traditions, unapologetic independence, shadow of social expectations, feminine power in groups, unconscious collective influence, freedom in social movements, transformative friendships, raw emotional expression, unconventional dreams, instinctive understanding of groups, rejected ideals, feminine rebellion, hidden motivations in groups, challenging societal norms, social alienation, transforming collective ideals, unveiling the truth, untamed intuition in friendships, liberation through community, desire for authentic connections 

aquarius 11th house: with aquarius ruling the 11th house, friendships and group connections are unconventional, diverse, and rooted in a shared vision for the future. these individuals thrive in communities that embrace progress, innovation, and individuality, often forming bonds with people who challenge norms and inspire change. with mars in pisces here, their energy in group settings is fluid and intuitive, making them passionate about humanitarian causes, artistic collaborations, or spiritual communities. however, their drive may fluctuate, sometimes feeling deeply connected to their social circles and other times withdrawing into solitude. lilith in pisces adds an element of rebellion and mystery to their friendships, making them drawn to outsiders, dreamers, and those who don’t fit into societal expectations. there may be a fear of rejection or a tendency to feel unseen within groups, but true empowerment comes when they embrace their unique role as a visionary who brings depth, compassion, and untamed creativity to their social circles. their hopes and wishes are often tied to ideals of freedom, unity, and breaking boundaries, making them natural catalysts for collective transformation.

aries 12th house:

aries part of fortune: with the part of fortune in aries, luck and prosperity come through courage, independence, and bold action. these individuals thrive when they trust their instincts and take initiative, finding abundance when they confidently pursue their passions without hesitation. their natural talent lies in leadership, innovation, and fearlessly forging new paths, often excelling in situations where they can be pioneers or self-starters. success comes with ease when they embrace their competitive spirit and take risks, rather than waiting for opportunities to come to them. they are most prosperous when they cultivate self-reliance, act on their impulses with purpose, and embody the fearless, trailblazing energy of aries. by embracing their individuality and taking decisive action, they unlock their greatest potential and attract abundance through sheer determination and drive.

part of fortune in 12th house: spiritual abundance, hidden blessings, intuitive prosperity, luck through solitude, dreams manifesting, divine timing, karmic rewards, unseen fortune, subconscious talent, success through surrender, mystical gifts, ease in letting go, inner peace as wealth, prosperity through faith, creativity as fortune, flowing with the universe, fortune in seclusion, healing abilities, luck in spiritual pursuits, guidance from the unseen, abundance through compassion, trusting the unknown, wealth beyond materialism, connection to the divine, intuitive decision-making, support from hidden forces, fortune through selflessness, embracing the unknown, success in helping others, luck in endings & new beginnings 

aries 12th house: with aries in the 12th house, spirituality and the subconscious mind are deeply connected to themes of independence, courage, and inner battles. these individuals may experience hidden struggles that push them toward self-discovery, often feeling an unconscious drive to take action behind the scenes rather than in the public eye. the part of fortune in aries here suggests that luck and prosperity come through embracing solitude, spiritual exploration, and trusting their instincts in unseen realms. they may find success in institutions, healing work, or through deep introspection, discovering their greatest strength when they learn to surrender control and act with faith. secrets and hidden aspects of life play a powerful role in their growth, and they are often drawn to uncovering mysteries, whether through psychology, spirituality, or personal reflection. their path to abundance lies in harnessing their inner warrior—learning to balance action with surrender and embracing the fearless spirit of aries within the vast unknown of the 12th house.

@curiously-creative

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

So the Taste of It May Linger

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Length: ~2700 words Rating: G Summary:

She has seen many lovely works of art crafted by the stonemasons of Reithwin, carved with utmost care and mastery by skilled hands - but none as beautiful as Isobel Thorm.

Yearning, romance, and some classic knight/lady trappings for our moonlit couple in the earliest days of their acquaintance.

Written for day 1 of Aylin/Isobel Week 2025, for the prompts: Moonrise over Reithwin | Mundane, formal, ritual, promise

Also on AO3.

—

So the Taste of It May Linger

Aylin is not naïve to her significance in this world. She was born with a lofty arrangement of expectation on her, after all; one that she has been both eager and successful in fulfilling.

She has, fittingly, been the subject of many a prophecy. Most of them are too vague to act upon in time, revealing their true meaning after the fact - for such is often the way of foretellings.

The Selûnite ones tend to be more clear, as is her Mother's guiding wont, but those that deal with Aylin herself are rare. Fitting she finds this, too, as she has no need for that kind of forewarning. When her Mother speaks Her will, Aylin ensures it comes to pass. 

The Sharran ones are, of course, all doom and gloom, as is the way of that miserable, dreary, hateful lot. Aylin would not go so far as to say she ignores them, but she pointedly does not order her life and choices while thinking of them, either.

But there is one that has sparked her interest on several occasions - she has, perhaps deliberately, not stopped and looked too closely to understand why. A prophecy put into writing and spread widely among Sharran cloisters, for a time, telling of a spear intended for Aylin's very heart. A spear the shadowy scribes claimed was once wielded by the Nightsinger herself, that would end what Selûne wrought to be endless, and snuff out the light of the moon once and for all.

This supposed legendary weapon has yet to be found, though the whispers stubbornly persist and keep rearing their ugly heads. And while Aylin has had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of several spears used by deluded Sharran hopefuls, they were all of them quite wrong about what they wielded. It is a mere inconvenience, in the grand scheme of things, even in the unlikely event of any of them managing to get the better of her.

Oh, but they do so love to try! As much as their ilk can even comprehend taking joy in anything. Aylin is so much, so full of life and light - she knows this, revels in it. A gleam of perfect, intense contrast to Sharran absence, loss, nothingness. Glaringly, painfully bright to oppose the shadow, loud and shameless. They despise her, the very idea of her, and Aylin finds herself drawing an even mix of pride and delight from this state of affairs.

It is a curious little twist of fate, then, that finds her in Reithwin, merely a tenday into her stay in the town but already firmly enmeshed in many-layered yearning for one Lady Isobel Thorm of Moonrise Towers, and that directs her steps to the training grounds lying in the shadow of the selfsame tower.

Aylin spies her immediately, the figure that has enchanted her so utterly - the way she draws Aylin's eyes to herself and captures her attention within a heartbeat is best named inexorable. She has seen many lovely works of art crafted by the stonemasons of Reithwin, carved with utmost care and mastery by skilled hands - but none as beautiful as Isobel Thorm.

The lady is alone, occupying one of the fenced-off training rings, and running through some drills. Elegant; heart-rendingly beautiful, even. Clearly well-practiced with her weapon of choice: a spear, richly and finely wrought to match its wielder. 

Everything about this woman seems a wonder to Aylin; from her skilled spellcraft and deeply impressive healing skills, to the eloquence of her prayers and sermons in the temple, down to the littlest, most subtle gestures during suppers in the feast hall. Her entire bearing and manner so winning Aylin wants to sing praises to her Mother for fostering the creation of a world that could house such a creature.

"A spear intended for my heart, indeed," Aylin murmurs to herself, and indulges. If Isobel were to fell her with it, oh, Aylin would bare her chest for it gladly. If Isobel's hands were the ones to deliver the blow, she would kneel and hold and welcome it.

She thinks, then, almost idly, her mind clouded with daydreams that whisper Isobel Isobel Isobel over and over in an incessant breathy pining murmur; that then demand she lavish attention, in turn, on eyes, lips, hands, neck, shoulders, breasts… until the vision before her turns away, preparing for another strike at an imaginary foe.

She thinks: it would be so sadly appropriate and utterly believable for a Sharran to receive a vision of love - for what else could this possibly be? - and misinterpret it so.

Isobel turns once more as part of her efforts. Aylin is arrested a dozen steps away from the courtyard entrance by the perfectly striking round curve of her cheek, and next catches herself standing stock-still, thumbing through the assorted memories of the various smiles she has been graced with so far, ranging from gentle and wise to sly and knowing. All of them seemingly daring Aylin to say or do something and leaving her wondering what other kinds the lady had in her repertoire for Aylin to provoke and discover.

In truth, to Aylin's trained and experienced eye, Isobel isn't doing anything particularly special or extraordinarily demanding. She looks to be fresh from warming up, repeating some basic, mundane drills - with a charming, if superfluous, twirl here and there.

Aylin has never seen a more beautiful sight. 

But today, sadly, Aylin is not here to offer banter over shared duties or eke out the truths and depths of this fascinating woman in the guise of theological discussion. No, she brings news, tidings that have left her feeling oddly bereft even before anything has truly happened.

Aylin steps forward, an unusually heavy heart making her feet drag, and calls for the lady's attention. She is rewarded with it immediately, heralded by a bright, beaming smile made only brighter by the note of mild surprise in it. Isobel stops mid-swing, and makes for the low fence delineating the training ring she has chosen to grace this morning.

There is a bit of sweat shimmering on Isobel's forehead. The slightest shortness of breath to her. She seems unused to the exertion - Aylin recalls some mention of her recently being briefly ill, in the context of a protective flutter her father had gone into.

But now is not the time to think of Ketheric Thorm and his foibles. 

"Lady Isobel," Aylin inclines her head rather formally as she approaches the fence, and clears her throat. "I am here to inform you I have been summoned on an important and urgent errand by my Mother. I will be leaving for Waterdeep at sunset."

"Leaving?" Isobel blurts out, wide-eyed, sounding loudly incredulous and not at all like her usual restrained and polished public self. "But you've only just arrived!"

Aylin knows what she truly wants to say, for it is also blazing hotly in her mind. We've barely had the chance to speak together, alone, to get to know each other and to begin to understand what this is, this nascent-but-ancient thing. This undeniable weighty work of fate between us.

Another beat, and Isobel is flushed - not just from her earlier strain and effort. A strand of hair sticks distractingly to her temple, beneath her starry silver circlet, and Aylin wants nothing more than to reach out and brush it away. "I apologise. Such informality is uncalled-for, uhm, Emissary—"

Aylin raises a hand to interrupt, instead, and shakes her head with a smile. "Please, Lady Isobel. Have I ever made it seem like any formality was called for, with you?"

The hint of relief in Isobel's answering smile is not quite enough to counteract the sad disappointment hanging over her still. "Well, we've made it to 'Lady Isobel' from 'Lady Thorm' in a matter of days, so I suppose you aren't all wrong, Dame Aylin."

"I gladly allow it." Aylin chances it then, braves the first leap, and gives her most charming smile. "Perhaps, one day, we shall make it to simply Aylin. Not many have the honour, but I believe I find myself in worthy company indeed."

Isobel, however, makes a leap of her own; uncharacteristically rushing right past any implications and considerations and diving into bluntness. "So you plan to return?" 

"Of course. My work here is far from done."

The relief on Isobel's face is palpable, and her shoulders sag. The butt of her spear digs into the dirt.

Then she rapidly sobers, and seems reluctantly resentful of her own words; words she clearly feels duty-bound to speak. "You should go meet with my father, inform him of your plans and schedule. I know he had outings and visits and occasions in mind for you both."

Aylin nods along as she prepares for her second leap. "All of them important and necessary, I am sure. But, if you will permit me the selfishness and grant me the honour, I would prefer to spend the remainder of this day with you."

"I would enjoy nothing more," Isobel says without a hint of reluctance or deliberation, so deeply heartfelt Aylin feels a chill run up her spine. A frisson of joy and excitement.

Incredible, what merely being close to this woman is invoking in her ancient flesh and unending soul and immortal heart, all.

An unexpected glimmer in the near distance catches her eye, distracting her from the wonder of Isobel Thorm for a scarce moment - but enough for Isobel to notice. Then, some clamour starts up from a part of the training grounds further afield; the clashing sounds of armed combat.

"My father's guards," Isobel explains. "They are quite capable and very well-trained. I think you'd enjoy their company."

"I have been told of them, but have yet to meet them - or meet them in the ring. We should learn to work together. Indeed, we should each challenge the other—"

Then, a prideful, gleeful, boastful impulse paints a wicked smirk onto Aylin's face, driven even more fervently on by the burn of Isobel's gaze upon her, the arch of her lip and brow and and and…

Maddening. Delightful.

She puts on a bit of a frown and a pout - her best thoughtfully judging and appraising face - and spares a few moments gazing at the sparring guards. 

"They seem well-trained, true. But I spy gaps, inadequacies - nothing unfixable, of course. There is work to be done. For now, I wager I could defeat a score of them single-handedly."

"Oh?" The bluster draws another smile from Isobel, and this one Aylin knows well: challenge and appreciation in equal measure, tinged with mischief. "And are you a betting woman?"

"I prefer to traffic in certainties I can ensure by my own hand, and am lucky enough that many such are known to me."

"What are you so certain of now, then?" Isobel's eyes bore into her, into the very marrow of her. She stands close - unnecessarily so, but it is far from unwelcome. Aylin struggles, for a moment, to draw her next breath; there is a palpable, mounting tension in the air, and she finds it delectable.

That singular, fateful first look at Isobel was enough. The brief exchanges they've had since only served to drive the point home: it would be a delight to be commanded by her. For the rest of Aylin's unnumbered days, if it were only possible. Oh, how sweet it would be, to hear wishes and desires and unlikely dreams expressed in that voice, and make them all in their turn come true.

"I am certain I would triumph over all of them in your name, if you but asked."

"And would you lose, if I asked?" Isobel's eyebrow is arched and an unfamiliar smile curls her lips, with something aching, desperate, and even fearful behind it. She looks away, toying with her spear, shifting it from one hand to the other. "Or would your eternal pride and grand renown and radiant heritage forbid it?"

Aylin bows her head with a small huff, and tries not to let her thoughts catch on the implications drawing on a stark contrast between them. "Impressive though she may be, Dame Aylin is no stranger to defeat." Even if hers were written in gold, cast with a sense of indomitable, enduring, eventual triumph. Victory by outlasting, if by no other means. 

"A defeat upon request, however…" Aylin hums. "A novelty, to be sure. Unusual, but if it were you asking it— surely the wise Lady Isobel would have good reason to. I have not known her long, but I have seen enough to hold her judgement in the highest esteem."

"I would never ask it of you, never," Isobel insists fervently, all playfulness gone in an instant. She seems concerned, even, and troubled. Aylin blinks at this sudden shift, and feels unsure of what to do with herself in the face of it. "To debase yourself in any way, for harm to come to you… I couldn't bear it. Not for a silly game or jest, not for anything. I don't even want to think about it."

Then Isobel gasps, and the hand that was on her spear-haft not moments ago comes away bleeding.

"Gods," she hisses, dropping the weapon to the ground, clutching at her wrist with her other hand. "How did I even manage…"

Aylin tears her eyes away from the vision, the portent, of a spearhead stained with blood lying at their feet, and swallows, mouth unpleasantly dry. Instead, she focuses on the small tear in the palm of Isobel's glove, revealing a fresh and surprisingly deep cut.

"I— I apologise for myself, this is truly— I wouldn't expect this level of clumsy incompetence from a page—"

"No, no, no," Aylin finds herself murmuring, enraptured, dismissing her gauntlets and reaching over towards the injured hand. "The Nightsinger herself, our greatest foe, could only dream of wielding a spear as elegantly as you." Then, as Isobel's frustrated expression turns to confusion, she remembers at least something of herself and clears her throat. "Lady Isobel… permit me to… make amends. For the shocks and distractions I have thoughtlessly caused you this day."

She takes Isobel's wounded hand between both of hers, breath caught high in her throat, heart hammering away, faster than in the grandest heat of battle. Isobel says nothing, but nods her acquiescence with wide, expectant, and hungry eyes.

Aylin peels off the glove as slowly and gently as she can manage. Slight tug after slight tug, painstakingly careful lest the fabric stick to the blood, until Isobel's entire hand is revealed, and skin is finally touching skin.

Overcome, Aylin bows her head, lifts the hand to her lips, and presses a soft kiss first to the fingers, then the knuckles. At the same time, as she cradles it in her own palm, she applies the healing magic that is embedded in her being, lets it flow and mend every littlest gash.

A minute scar yet remains; a slight, barely perceptible white-silver line. 

"No, leave it," Isobel says as she lays her free hand on Aylin's cheek, stopping her from reaching for her oath-bound powers and attempting further healing. "As a small reminder. Of you." Her smile, as she trails her fingers up to smooth the furrow in Aylin's brow, is tinged with sadness, as if there is still doubt that she will see her again. "Would you ask a token of me?"

Only your heart entire, for you already hold mine, Aylin yearns to respond, gazing into those eyes, that face that has drawn so close, somehow. Instead she offers a promise in return. "As soon as duty allows, as fast as my wings will carry me, I swear—"

The tension is no longer delicious. Rather, it has turned painful.

A kiss snaps it clean in two.

In the rush of this relief, entirely uncaring of who might be watching, their lips meet again and again and again.

"Come back to me, Aylin," she feels more than hears Isobel murmur between kisses. 

It is only when she relents for a moment that Aylin can give her answer. "If you bid me to. Always."

[abby118]

Hi Abby, how are you?

I was thinking about something recently.

We have seen that helmets are very important to warriors in Asgardian culture. We have seen them on every eneijar and also Odin, Thor and Loki who have a personalized one. However, we have never seen the 3 warriors and lady sifs with helmets, not even in important moments such as Thor's coronation ceremony or during a battle. Isn't that a little strange?

Technically (following the rules of Asgardian culture) they should have it, but it seems like the writers didn't think of that. Or perhaps it was a deliberate choice to differentiate them from common warriors?

Hey! Hmm that is a good question and, believe it or not, one I have pondered before lol.

I don't know whether or not it was a deliberate writing choice or simply something that was too minor of a detail to consider by the movie's production team, but because these movies were so thought out, I'll always try to come up with an in-universe explanation.

To me, it feels like one of those details that's got both practical and symbolic implications. For one, not wearing a helmet can give the impression of confidence and mastery in combat. Helmets are usually worn for protection, and the Einherjar who wear them are well-trained but not necessarily elite. In contrast, the W3/Sif are a special group. By going without helmets, they might be signalling that they’re skilled enough to take on the enemy without the extra layer of protection. (Or alternatively, it could be seen as inappropriate when their princes don't wear theirs. In Thor's case, I'd say that was purely down to him not liking the feel/look of that helmet and I'll get to Loki in a second.)

As for the coronation, that is debatable because as you've said, everyone wore their personalised (on non-personalised, in the case of the army) helmets, which was symbolic, whereas the warriors didn't. Now, we could explain this by saying Sif could have attended as Thor's intended wife rather than Asgard's war maiden (stood, below Loki who stood below Frigga; similarly to Sif's place close to the head of the banquet table we saw later). As for the Warriors Three, I don't know. It could be a way of signalling that they were below the positions in front of them, as they stood on the same level as Frigga, Loki and Sif.

And to return back to Loki, we know he values strategy and tends to rely more on magic and cutting weapons which might be seen as not intimidating enough by the opponent who has no prior experience with these forms of combat, thus the horned helmet. For him, it’s probably both a symbol of status and a practical choice, because it adds to his intimidating look and supports his more theatrical style (+ it does distinguish him from Thor). As for Thor 1, I don't think he would wear his when his brother didn't (because of the status difference and because he didn't want to seem weaker). TDW is self explanatory.

So in short, maybe the W3/Sif skip the helmets because they want to show they have proven that they’re powerful and skilled enough without them. It’s a subtle but effective way of showing that their place at Thor’s side isn’t just a matter of friendship, but of strength and skill.

I hope that answers your question :]

[scgwitchery]

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