#I KNOW TOO DAMN MUCH ABOUT THESE DAMN KINGDOMS

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs and Platonic GN Reader

AN: How did this get to angsty? Might have to write Caleb's scenario into a fic 😌

Pairing: LaDS boys x Platonic gn reader

Ingredients: 20% fluff, 80% angst.

My Fav: Xavier, Caleb and Sylus. Almost bawled imagining last two.

Xavier:

"Just pull me out already," you snap, smashing another wanderer’s head into a jagged rock. "You can't fight with a damn dagger."

It would’ve been easier, so much easier, to simply be a sword and nothing else. But Xavier, ever stubborn, ever foolish, clung to his ethics about using a conscious weapon.

"I would rather not dirty my hands, my liege," you sneer, tugging the title tight enough to choke him, even as you kick another lurking wanderer creeping behind his back. "This humble sword begs you to use it, my liege."

That's what you were. The royal sword of the Kingdom of Philos. Passed down through generations, an artifact, a legend. Until you came to be in his hands.

And he… he refused to wield you like all the others did.

Rafayel:

"I’m sure Prince Rafayel would have something clever to say, Your Highness," you murmur, shooting a sly look at the sullen boy across the court.

Rafayel grumbles audibly.

Prick. Spoiled princeling.

He glares at your back, face pinched in barely restrained annoyance.

"Father dearest," Rafayel drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, "your advisor speaks in such riddles, I’m sure no one in this court has understood a damn thing in years."

The king only laughs, waving him off, indulgent.

You smile to yourself. Another victory. Another day.

You bow deeply to the Empress. Your sister, seated high above, radiating authority.

Her son, not this incompetent siren currently burning holes into your back, would be the next emperor of Lemuria.

And you would make sure of it.

Zayne:

You were the hot professor.

The one whispered about in the back rows of med school lecture halls, competent, brilliant, professional, and endlessly, compassionate.

To Zayne, you were everything he wanted to become. Your lectures became his worship. Your praise, his lifeline.

He became your unfailing student. Then your teaching assistant. Then your research partner. Until your name, neat and sure, signed the bottom of his residency recommendation letters.

Somewhere along the way, the innocent crush softened into something sturdier. A bond. A place he belonged.

Late nights stacked with patient files turned into home-cooked meals, his mother sending enough to feed you both. Long hours turned into weekend visits. And somehow, he became a fixture in your home.

He met your partner. Held your daughter, just five years old, when she ran giggling into his arms, calling him 'Yane'.

And he much preferred this.

Sylus:

"It was instinct," you murmur, kneeling before him. "I heard the gun and..." You lift your gaze, and meet his.

Sylus stares down at you, silent, stone-faced. At the bruise blooming dark across your swollen cheek.

Behind the heavy doors, he can hear your brothers, Luke and Kieran, shuffling anxiously. But they know better than to intervene now. Not after what you had done.

"Did I not forbid you from entering the room?" Sylus grinds out, voice sharp as broken glass. "So what gave you the right to go against my word?"

You lower your eyes, guilt clawing through you. You had never disobeyed him. Not like your brothers, reckless and headstrong. You respected him too much.

But the hunter...the shot...the sound of his gasp. You hadn't thought. You had just moved.

"I am sorry," you whisper, bowing lower. "There is no forgiveness for this."

Behind your closed lids, the memory burns: Your boss’s body recoiling from the shot. Your hand dragging the woman off him, fury overtaking reason. Your gun raised without permission. Pointed. Defiant.

You went against his orders. Against him.

Sylus’s jaw locks, muscles straining. He should be furious. He was furious. He would have shot anyone else.

But the bruise on your cheek twists something deep inside him, a raw, ugly shame.

You haven't changed. Even after all the blood spilled, all the years hardened. You are still the same stubborn, reckless child he took in. One of the triplets who swore loyalty to him with every drop of blood they had.

Caleb:

"And what," you say carefully, setting your notes aside, "compelled you to do that, Caleb?"

He shuffles anxiously in his chair. Fidgeting. Flexing his fingers. Refusing to meet your eyes.

"I was protecting her," he says, almost defensive. "Keeping her away from harm. That was the only way I could think. I had to keep her close."

It had taken months to even reach this point. Months of silence. Of angry outbursts. Of numbed, dazed sessions where he barely spoke through the haze of medication.

Now, here he was, fractured and raw, finally pulling words out of a healing mind..

He glances up at you, pleading. "It wasn’t to hurt her," he insists, voice cracking. "I could never... I love her. I just—" He chokes on the words. "I had to save her. I had to keep her safe."

Tears slip down his face unchecked. He doesn't even reach for the tissues you offer.

"You understand me, right?" he whispers, desperate. "You’ll tell her? Tell her it was love. That I love her. I was wrong, but—" He clutches your hands, tight and shaking. "Please. She has to know. She has to know, so she can come back. So she can... take me with her. Please."

He is begging now. To bring back a person long gone.

[borkunlimited]

Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s) - 3

Running around the N109 zone takes energy and what is the best way to deal with that? Buying pastries and paying for them later, of course! (They are not stealing if you plan to pay.) Yet, that is only half the fun because what they really come for in that little bakery is that cute sheep hybrid who holds a grudge on them till kingdom come. A Sheep Hybrid! Reader x Wolf Hybrid! Luke & Kieran Tags: Luke x Reader, Kieran x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Predator/Prey Chapter Summary: In which Luke and Kieran brings you to see their greatest prank yet. Author's Note: Finally getting back to this! AO3 Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3 This is a side story of Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Dragon Hybrid! Sylus x Deer Hybrid! Reader)

Attack # 3: Two Jackets Plus 1

“What is this supposed to be?”

“A sheep.”

“Your sheep sucks, Luke,” you pointed out, looking at the video you took of him drawing something in the air using one of the sparklers they brought with them on the rooftop of the building currently under construction all three of you are standing right now.

It was a school night.

You shouldn’t be here but they both said they are about to give the N109 zone an unforgettable night (“Sheepie, it’s going to be so grand!”, that’s what they kept telling you when you followed them out of your bedroom window.)

“Your wolf isn’t any better,” Kieran commented, showing you his phone and he snickered when you slapped his arm.

“It isn’t a wolf, it’s a cat.”

“Oh so here we are drawing your likeness and you did someone else’s?”

“That’s the cat you dump in our bakery, dumbass.”

Technically, they didn’t dump the cat the boss set aside during a shootout near the miss’ tailor shop.

“The correct phrase is leaving Mr. Orange under your temporary care,” Luke said, his arm wrapped around your shoulders while he took a video of his brother doing another attempt of drawing a sheep using a sparkler which is beginning to look more like a cloud.

“You guys could have at least dropped a bag of cat food at home,” you mumbled, pulling their jackets closer to you.

Their jackets because when you complained you were cold, both of them were quick to drape theirs and even when you need just one, it is clear that they won’t take no for an answer.

It isn’t so bad having two, especially when you are just wearing a thin cardigan and pajamas underneath.

“We can just go shopping with you for Mr. Orange,” Kieran shrugged, midway on trying to create another sheep using his sparkler and sure, you are fine with that but they are basically driving you broke (A parfait costs too much these days and it didn’t help you cover for their tab back at the bakery!) so you replied:

“We split the bill.”

“Damn, we are actually going to be the one paying, cream puff, but if you insist-”, Luke said playfully then he laughed when you shake his arm, the last seconds of the video most likely blurry.

“No, no, you handle the finances, I do the services.”

“Don’t know, marshmallow, doesn’t sound like equality to me.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Luke.”

“That’s not how you talk to your financers, sheepie,” Kieran replied, poking your cheek and making you huff in the process before he held your wrist, leading you to sit on one of the crate boxes nearby.

Aside from the sparklers and snacks they have brought with them, nothing gave away what exactly they are planning to show you that all of you should be here, sneaking inside a private property that Mr. Sylus probably owns.

“We love it when the boss gives us this kind of assignment,” Luke laughed, borderline maniacally, and you swear if you aren’t friends with them, you would have run away as far as possible ("What if they eat you up?", your older brother's words echoed inside your head but you still hang out with Luke and Kieran.)

“We’ll let you do the honors,” Kieran grinned beneath his mask, handing you a remote and he pointed at the red button, “Press it for a surprise.”

“If you dragged me here to just glitter bomb me again we will no longer be friends.”

They know it was just playful banter and yet-

-Their grins falter slightly at your words even when you are completely oblivious, your attention towards the item.

(They don’t get cold easily but suddenly, the night breeze has a certain bite on their skin.)

“What? That’s so lame. We don’t repeat pranks,” Luke huffed, his chuckle slightly strained as he sat at your right, “Now scoot over.”

“We’re professionals,” Kieran quickly added, and the small fear that ran up their spines quickly disappeared in favor of getting as close as possible to you, his shoulders touching yours just like his brother’s, “So hit the button, sheepie, we don’t have all night.”

Their tails wagging this hard means whatever they want you to see, it is thoroughly planned out (Get pranked by them multiple times and you will know the gravity of their prank based on their tails alone.)

Fine, since you are already here.

Nothing happened at first when you pushed the button and you were about to throw it straight to either of their faces (Doesn’t matter who gets hit.) until the entire dark surroundings lit up.

The night sky of the N109 zone is filled with colorful lights going in different directions and when you think that’s it, it is followed by a series of fireworks forming a sheep.

No wonder why they wanted to brag it off to someone.

“Boss said to set them on fire after what the owners of the warehouses did outside Miss Deer’s shop.”

“Of course we could have just done arson and called it a day but you gotta send a message, you know?”

The fire from the two warehouses continues to flicker and the sound of fireworks continue to boom followed by the alarms of nearby cars going off and you swear it will reach your small community where all the prey hybrids are now sleeping. 

(‘It’s those damn kids again,’ your elderly neighbor’s voice suddenly springing inside your head, complete with his face peering from his upstairs window every time he shouts at Luke and Kieran already running away.)

“You guys outdone yourself with this one.”

Perhaps they are rubbing off on you, not when there is literally a crime happening in front of you and the perpetrators are sitting on both of your sides but then again, this is the N109 zone.

This is just your usual explosion, a little over the top, but yeah.

“You finally said something nice for once, sheepie,” Luke grinned, poking your right cheek.

“We can’t believe it would take fireworks for you to say that. You really do have high standards, cream puff,” Kieran added, poking your left cheek.

(Which is understandable. Girls like you deserve the best after all.)

Good thing you are busy rolling your eyes at them as you snack on the chips they brought along that you didn’t notice how hard their tails are wagging just by that compliment alone.

Maybe they’ll ask the boss if he has other buildings he wants to blow up when they get back.

────────────────────

Using the front door to your home that also serves as your family’s bakery is a foreign concept to Luke and Kieran.

The boss wants them to get something sweet for Miss Deer? They’ll just go via the back door, much easier that way and they get extra especially when your parents are there 

(“Oh, it’s your friends again!”, your mama will exclaim and your papa is already setting a bag of treats for them as well on the go.)

Your older brother is keeping a lookout for them? That dumb dog doesn’t know they can climb their way inside your home via the attic window.

(“Look at marshmallow during her kindergarten graduation!”, Luke snickered, opening one of the old photo albums stacked in one pile followed by the sound of the camera from Kieran’s phone going off.)

They want to remind you they are still alive and breathing? A wall run, a few jumps on the ledges, and a quick push of your bedroom window would do the trick. 

(Of course, they only do that when they know you are in your room or they know you are on your way up. “Don’t you guys have your own room back at Mr. Sylus’ house?”, you grumbled and they snickered, telling you their room doesn’t have an angry sheep in it.)

It was close to midnight when the three of you got back, the two of them helping you step inside your room through your window with Kieran telling you it wouldn’t be too bad if you break your leg if you fall down. (“That means we get to hang out more,” he explained and you huffed, “Right. At my own expense.”)

You immediately collapse on top of your bed, sinking on top of the cold blankets, cool enough on your skin that you may not be able to wake up with the ten alarms you have set that have a 5 minute interval.

“Why are you guys still here?”, you mumbled against your pillow, pulling your stuffed blue heeler plushie near you. “I still have school tomorrow.”

Your small bed creaked slightly, their weights pressing down and honestly, they are yet to figure out how exactly you know they are staring but they will eventually. The answer must lie to one of the books about prey hybrids that the boss reads every now and then.

“Our jackets, madame.”

“It is cold, our dear holiest sheep, so if you will be so kind to return them-”

Kieran didn’t finish his sentence, not when you already threw in their faces their jackets.

Even when they both look and sound identical at a quick glance, there are still subtle differences that usually only the two of them know.

One of them is how their clothes fit.

One would be quick to assume that they share the same size in clothes but their uniforms that the boss had tailored fit for them have a one and a half inch margin of difference.

Still, it isn’t much but Luke always complains if he wears Kieran’s by accident.

Yet, two becomes three because you always-

-You always get who owns which.

“You know we can loan them out to you,” Luke snickered, putting on his jacket, his brother mirroring his action.

“No thanks, you smell weird, Luke,” you grumbled, pulling the blankets over your head, a signal that you really do need to sleep or else you will be in that state where you think you are awake for the class but already doing an astral projection.

(Hopefully, you can sneak a few minutes of nap time on the way to school when riding the train.)

“Hey, take that back!”

“I told you to shower.”

“I did! Don’t ruin my rep to her, idiot!”

“Spraying deodorant doesn’t count-”

“Please, I just want to sleep,” you moaned against your pillow, your voice breaking their one of many disagreements and of course, Luke just had to appeal to your good graces by acting like a kicked wolf pup (It doesn’t work but 99% of every person who use this tactic quit before they win big.)

“I guess no good night kiss-”

Kieran was quick to cover his brother’s mouth with his hand, getting a hint that any more banter tonight and they will not be in your good side for quite awhile.

“Right, night, cream puff,” Kieran said and he let out a sigh of relief when you nodded under your blanket, too tired to argue with his brother’s unique tricks as they made their way out and onto the night.

“Maybe I am the one who was born first.”

“I heard that, dumbass!”

Every now and then, the younger twin forgets that the older one can also hear his thoughts and as the high of seeing you finally subside with every step they take further, further from your home, from the quiet neighborhood of this small community of prey hybrids, until the only image running in their minds is the reflection of fireworks of various colors on your eyes, Luke finally spoke.

“Did I really smell that bad today?”

“We both have good sniffers. Use yours.”

Luke doesn’t have to see the grin behind Kieran’s mask to know his twin is counting this as a victory in this playful competition for you even when they agreed to share.

Luke - 0

Kieran - 1

“I am going to beat his ass then we’ll be even.”

“Not if I beat yours first, Luke.”

Every now and then, the older twin forgets that the younger can hear his thoughts too.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I have always wanted to write a coming of age fic because I snort media like Skip and Loafer as if they will be removed from the internet tomorrow.

AO3

Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3

[sofiadragon]

Yo, don't read that rough draft full of spelling errors! You want this one instead! Look how much better after some editing.

4,629 words

In his defense, he really hadn't seen the flag. He should have, so it wasn't much of a defense, but he'd only registered the flag as white and red. Xeno had said there was radio chatter in Japanese, so the color made sense. He hadn't checked if it was a Japanese flag. He knew better, but he'd been caught up in finally putting their plans into action to defend and grow their kingdom. After so long stuck in a holding pattern with progress happening by inches, they had the chance for a decisive leap, and he'd gone for it with all he had. He was disappointed in himself for getting carried away like that, he was a professional for fuck's sake.

If he'd fired on anything displaying a red cross without additional confirmation back before the world ended, he'd expect a court marshal. That was just a fact, and the normalcy of it was something he could hold onto amid the disaster he was struggling to hold steady through. This wasn't all that out of line, if he thought about it that way. Out of order, yeah. The two-toned hairdo person in a lilac robe said he was going to have a trial in the morning for the crime he'd already been executed for. It couldn't be more out of order than that.

"I don't follow," Stanley said to that, feeling more lost than he could remember ever being. He'd been executed, and then they brought him back. He was hung up on that when he needed to bring his best game. Why? If they considered him a murderer and had the ability to revive anyone with their advanced technique, then what was the point in bringing him back?

"The trial will determine your punishment, or if being smashed, reconstructed, and resurrected was sufficient punishment," two-tone repeated, as if that was a completely normal sentence. The accent was comforting. Two-tone was as Asian as the rest of them and spoke in Japanese to the red-eyed boy and the two soldier types, but he spoke English in a familiar southern accent. No fancy school would have taught him that, so he had to have lived here in the States a while as a kid to pick it up.

The red-eyed boy with white hair tipped in green had performed the resurrection - dear God he'd been taken apart and reassembled like a misfired rifle - and while his hands were calloused, he was clearly a thinker and not a worker. Xeno was damn proud of his soft hands, keeping them safe with thick gloves, but the albino-looking kid had calluses and little marks on his hands despite performing a miracle. He also had E= MC² on his knee-length coat, so definitely a brain box. Red-eyes hadn't spoken to Stanley, or if he did it wasn't in English, but he did catch his eye for a half-smile and a thumbs up.

Two-tone may have translated, but Stanley was having trouble focusing past the delirious thought that he’d been in pieces. He should doubt the claim, but something in him knew better than to speak up. He didn't want to let on that he was having trouble processing that, either. Stanley certainly didn't want to know if his brain had been cracked or where the seams had been. It was good enough to know his body was in working order according to basic life signs for now.

The medic seemed stupidly young, but his calloused hands moved confidently as he checked Stanley over. They were more like Brodey's hands, clearly familiar with a lot of manual work. The kid was confident and clinical about giving Stanley a check-up, only saying a word here or there to prompt the guards to move Stanley so the examination could continue. A stethoscope checked his heart and lungs. The inspection of every inch of his skin was done without any teenaged hesitation or squeamishness. Two-tone asked if he was in any pain or discomfort, and then he was shoved backwards into his cell.

Two-tone had given Stanley names, but Stanley had been a bit too distracted by all the rest of the sudden burst of activity surrounding his resurrection to catch it. "We've retreated in the meantime, so if you are released it will be with sufficient supplies to get you home from a safe location."

The last thing he'd said into the radio was 'green light, Xen, they can petrif…' and then it all went dark again. Then something happened while he was petrified and considering how likely it wasn’t that he’d be woken from the stone a second time, and Stanley's mind slid around it like a dream he shouldn’t remember. Something the human mind couldn't handle knowing about outside a dark, safe place with a trusted soul pressed up close to his body.

Stanley had woken up still feeling the adrenaline rush and panic from seeing the green light and knowing he was a dead man. He was trained to suppress his panic on the battlefield, and he'd reported what was happening just as he ought to. He could be proud of his performance after the crash and before he was petrified, at least. He'd felt the panic, but did the job to the end. He’d been aware long enough after petrification to process what it meant that these people used it as a weapon, to know that he was going to be smashed to bits and that would be the end of him. It was only after he awoke so unexpectedly that he couldn't quite get back on form.

The second time he woke from stone was nothing like the first time, when he'd been aware and waiting for it. He'd been specifically targeted for petrification by people he'd shot at, people who took his plane down then hunted him, and had no expectation of survival before he'd suddenly been breathing again with two strong men pushing him down to his knees in front of a red-eyed medic. He'd mastered his outward reaction and appeared to be calmly observing everything around him now, but for those first twenty or thirty seconds he'd been gasping like a landed fish. Then he'd swallowed something obviously medicinal without fighting it that tasted not quite like a shot of juiced wheatgrass and vodka just because a gentle voice from just out of sight with a southern accent said it would help him recover. He wasn't sure if it was the shot or just his own mind finally getting a grip that got him back on-form. It was a sloppy and embarrassing lapse, even if it had been for less than a minute, and even then the composure was only skin deep.

In the first rapid explanation of where he was and what was going on, two-tone said they smashed him to get him out of his armor and ensure he was fully disarmed for their own safety. That was fair enough, he'd probably have done the same if he was in their situation. The confusing part was them taking the time and whatever resources it cost to bring him back from the dead only to follow up with a trial for committing a war crime. Stanley and Xeno wouldn't have done that, the trial would have happened before the resurrection if at all.

Stanley was currently sitting on the floor of a brig cell so small he couldn't stand up, roughly the size of a ship's barrack rack but with the small end open to the room rather than the long side. He hadn't turned around to get a look at the cell before he was backed into it, but he imagined nine cells would fit the room if the wall was all cells. There was nothing in there with him but the clothes on his back, and the room outside the cells looked barren as well. He woke wearing only a robe without even a sash to tie it shut, and no underwear, so they obviously respected that he was a dangerous unknown. They were no fools and had clearly done something like this before given the efficiency and lack of conversation. Two-tone with his comforting, gentle voice was a sharp counter to the brutality of being shoved back into this little cage after the initial medical assessment.

He tried to wind back what two-tone had said that had set him off behind the stoic military-trained conditioning that kept him looking calm and unaffected despite his internal panic. Stanley knew the red-eyed kid had to have heard his heart thumping like a nightclub beat, but that probably wasn't all that unusual for someone in Stanley's position. He just had to work through it. He had a new job: get back to Xeno. He needed to focus.

They'd apologized on his radio for the necessity of cracking him apart as soon as they could and explained that they planned to take his armor and plane as salvage and compensation for the unprovoked attack. The person on the other end was so apoplectic already they weren't sure any of the message was received. That was the exact word two-tone used, the thing that made his mind lose traction and spin out: apoplectic. They'd cracked him before they could get to the headset because of the pose he was frozen in, and Xeno probably heard that happen, possibly heard and understood the order to crack Stanley's head off, and then they couldn't get a word in edgewise because Xeno lost his shit.

Which was fair. Stanley would lose his shit if roles were reversed. Hell, he'd lost his shit due to second-hand panic just thinking about how Xeno was doing after hearing that happen. Xeno heard him die. Stanley had been executed, because Stanley hadn't looked at the flag the boat was flying properly. Xeno had been forced to hear Stanley die. That was Stanley's fault.

It had all made so much sense when he did it, but now that he ran the last two days of his life back it seemed like they had been rushing past a bunch of obvious and important steps. The low-tech distress signal of dumping corn in the river had provoked a swift response, just like Xeno predicted, but they hadn't checked if that response was a hostile action or not. They hadn't attempted direct radio contact. Xeno said there was some radio chatter, but hadn't shared what they said beyond that there was a team on the move at speed up the river while the big ship docked at a convenient natural quay. Dispatching an ambulance was worlds different than a strike team on a mission to raid a weakened settlement or hungry scavengers idiotically thinking the corn was naturally washing downstream. Why hadn't they accounted for a humanitarian response in their plans? They weren't Vikings or scavengers, this Kagaku no Ōkoku. Stanley wanted to ask if that was the name of the nation, the main ship, or the division, but for now he would watch and wait.

Stanley was a career marine, a sniper. He was trained for this, to know how to act when a mission went sideways. Even when taken prisoner by the enemy. He knew it wouldn't be long before he was home again after an arrest like this with captors that were friendly and reasonable. Even under these conditions, where he had nothing to work with and if his captors remained vigilant enough that he wouldn't get his hands on more than a bowl and spoon, he was sure to get out if Xeno was coming for him. He trusted Xeno, he always had. He was valuable, even back when he was just one of many soldiers with his skill set, so he might convince them to give him opportunities. He wasn't some helpless damsel in distress; he could bide his time and take the opportunity when it came. Having regained that solid mental footing, he waited for two-tone to finish listening to the medic. The red-eyed boy kept looking at him oddly, like he felt heartsick about Stanley's situation for some reason. That sympathetic attitude might be useful to him. The gentle way two-tone spoke was professional and practiced, but the medic had a soft heart. Two-tone was clearly calling the shots with the others nodding along to his words. All things being equal, Stanley should be fine.

Except Xeno thought he was dead, so no one would be coming for him or negotiating for his return. Xeno would want to sink the ship, not knowing he was in this little cage.

Two-tone started talking to him again, confirming his health was stable and offering him a choice between an alligator burger or fish and rice for dinner. Stanley chose the fish. A tuna steak sounded like a good last meal in case the trial went badly. His momma had taught him to always order steak at a steakhouse and pizza at a pizza place, never the other way around. People who lived on a boat and came from an island would know how to make fish fantastic. With that out of the way, and only one guard left with two-tone, he was given a slower and more detailed explanation for how he got where he was.

There had been no radio contact, the headset in his armor cut out abruptly and there was nothing on any channel they could hear.

It was two days since his petrification. The resurrection process healed all scars and physical damage, but the full benefits of the process took a day and night to be realized and they hadn’t known if he was seriously injured in the crash. When Stanley asked if that meant the marks on his face were gone, two-tone offered up a small mirror so Stanley could see the aggressive looking crack-like scars that ran over his nose and down from his eyes had vanished.

They were already out to sea, far enough they could only just see the shore. This was both so they could fish and so any incoming attack would be easily seen. It was interesting that they were offering him that tactical information, since he had no windows, but he supposed that he was less likely to try and break out if swimming to shore and walking home wasn't a viable option. They'd left as fast as humanly possible, rightly assuming the radio silence was a bad omen, wrongly assuming he was expendable enough for his people to abandon without negotiation.

"If it was up to me, the sentence would be half a year of service for unprovoked violence with a deadly weapon with no injuries sustained, and intentional destruction of property. I'm only one of the five commanders, and we will decide your fate as a group. At least one of the others considers your actions a declaration of war, meaning you would be a prisoner of said war for the duration, and I don't know what the others think of you yet. You will be given a chance to speak in your own defense, but I will suggest you take responsibility for what you did and speak honestly. Your people refused to communicate with us in any way, which we must assume the worst about, and there is little doubt of your guilt," two-tone explained gently.

"So, I'm fucked," Stan said.

"Not necessarily. We aren't slavers, you will be paid for any work you do and have certain rights and privileges even in the worst case. The sentence would be constructive work and community service, likely literal construction unless you volunteer other skills that wouldn't require a weapon in your hand, but the compulsory work wouldn't take up so much time to prevent you from doing other things with your skills to earn additional money." Two-tone produced a pack of cards, the backs of which matched his jacket with the words Gen Tarot written in blocky letters. He shuffled them like the kind of person who could take your whole month's pay in a round of poker without breaking a sweat. "All of us make some kind of craft for sale or barter, or else provide a service that is unique, something we specialize in that isn't an essential for daily life. Our laws aren't so different from what you are used to, but you probably will consider us a bit on the socialist side of the spectrum. Enough food to live is a right, as is a place to sleep and essential medical care, provided you do nothing so serious to earn banishment."

"Could I be banished for what I've done?" Stanley asked.

"As bad as it is, it is a first offence. The penalties of death and marooning are not on the table.” Well, being marooned and being ‘banished’ but able to run home were two very, very different situations. So much for that option. “Community service or rehabilitation during imprisonment are the most likely punishments. The only way to earn permanent death in a single trial is to be a serial killer with two proven unjustifiable murders or attempted murders with different victims on two different days. We have, unfortunately, needed to use that law in our travels, but only once in the years since I've been released from stone," the younger man said, all matter of fact and perfectly pleasant.

"Sounds fair," Stanley said. "What kind of work is there, beyond construction?"

"Oh, there is lots to do before we can start resurrecting a city's worth of people. The goal is to repopulate California and develop one or two safe trade ports, at least one million strong at the end of ten years, so there won't be any shortage of work. Shame your people didn't want our help, really, we came here with the intention of scientific collaboration and wanted to build up an existing local community rather than starting from zero, but we can discuss that more after your trial. Now, while essentials are freely given out I can all but guarantee you will want money because fancy things and special treats like fine clothing or whiskey have to be purchased. If you don't mind me saying so, you and your things smell so strongly of cigarettes it's digging up some old cravings I thought I buried more than five years ago. You'll want to be able to afford that habit or at least some luxuries to make the withdrawal more bearable," the man said. Well, that proved he was just cute and not a young kid. He did look young, everyone did, but the way he'd commanded others already made Stanley second-guess his age. Stanley had originally assumed the guy was closer to nineteen, but he could be as old as twenty-seven depending on how much the make-up covered up. Stanley had a baby face himself and wore more make-up than what two-tone seemed to have on when he wanted to get Xeno in the right mood, but while Stanley's mannerisms where masculine this twink came off as far more effeminate with his sing-song voice and all his flamboyant hand gestures.

That was good, in a way. If he had to live with these people for a while, knowing someone in a leadership role was boldly and openly as gay as the rainbow meant Stanley wouldn't have to worry about homophobia. Not that he planned to advertise his orientation or anything, but with so many checkmarks crowding up the 'I'm fucked' side of the chart it was nice to put one in the 'could be worse' column.

Jesus Christ, this was really it, wasn't it? All that time and effort planning what they would do if they met more people, and they fucked it sideways. What defense was there against the petrification beam? Nothing. They would need some kind of strategic leverage to bargain with these people, but then Stanley got captured instead of capturing one of them, so the scales were tipped even more in their favor. Everything they did in Neo-Sacramento to be the bully with the bigger boom stick who got to call the shots was for nothing. They didn't overwhelm a weaker enemy with their shock and awe tactics, they just pissed off a bigger fish. A group with an established government and laws, an empire in the process of colonizing, people with resources enough for major expansion projects and ten-year plans. They had strong morals, advanced technology, and even universal goddamn healthcare.

Who needed guns when you could zap someone back into a statue at will? Stanley hadn't recognized he was even in danger when he saw that pretty little lady walking up to him. They had the ability to revive even smashed statues, and wasn't that a kick in the teeth when everyone in Neo-Sacramento felt like they were surrounded by corpses when they went out hunting? Everyone he'd seen so far looked young, but that was probably because the brass was elsewhere. They wouldn't send out a colony-building trade ship with their head honcho on it, and whoever was running this ship was just the one leading this mission.

"Sir? Hello?"

"What?" Stanley asked.

"I asked if you wanted to know the exact date," two-tone said, a bit of concern on his face. "Do you need a few minutes to yourself?"

"Yes," Stanley said, as stoic on the outside as he ever was, "to both, please."

"By the same calendar used before petrification it is Saturday, October the twenty-first, 5741, which we know due to a continuous counting of time and is not an estimate based on astronomical or geological observations," two-tone said. "The time is roughly two in the afternoon. Do you need a bucket before I go?"

"Yeah, sure. I might need a bucket," Stanley admitted. Two-tone walked out, what must be his guard walked in with a wooden bucket and a small clay bottle of water, and then he was alone. The guard looked damn good, long brown hair and enough muscles on display to make it clear Stanley shouldn't try anything. It was a decent tactic, and there were men who worked hard enough for their physical strength that they didn't mind showing it off like that. The fancy fur-trimmed cape was probably one of those luxuries two-tone talked about.

A plan and a goal were what Stanley needed, so that's what he focused on. First, he spent some time counting his breaths and taking stock, feeling the motion of the ship and listening to the hum of engines. He'd thought it was only an old-style sailing ship, as reported by the scouts, but that must be a fuel-saving measure. Or maybe the engine only powered the lights and whatever equipment they had, but that speculation wasn't productive. It was enough to know there was the hum of machinery in the wooden ship and electric lights of good quality. For all these Kagaku no Ōkoku people were dressed in a more primitive style and carried swords, they were a high-tech society in other ways. They had simply put different emphasis on how they used their tech. Medical instead of military, and non-lethal weapons would make capture and conversion much easier.

Stanley hadn't a clue how a cost-benefit writeup for a metal or wooden hulled ship might shake out, but he knew that Xeno’s castle only used so much sheet metal because they were mining up what had once been high-rise buildings in Los Angeles. There was also the issue of available skills. Brody could do anything with metal, but they had struggled to do much of anything even with a functionally unlimited amount of wood and stone before they found that rich seam of iron. Even the rough hems and simple clothing the kids had could be a choice. Rugged everyday clothing made cheap and meant to be destroyed and stained, but nobody cared what they looked like during working hours, and then they had nicer clothing for their off time or for showing off like two-tone's higher-quality lavender coat and the guard's fancy cape.

Meanwhile, Xeno had encouraged highly styled clothing and flashy uniforms worn all the time to keep up morale, especially after they lost people to some particularly stupid ancient politics. The people they were able to wake up once they got established in Northern California hadn't liked that their lead engineer Dr. Brody Dudley was black, that Captain Stanley Snyder wore lipstick, or that an 'egghead half-breed with a foreign name' was their leader. Xeno was only a quarter Asian, for fucks sake, and his middle name was Houston! His parents were just hippies who wanted their kid to have a unique name, and all the Wingfields were as American as apple pie. You just couldn't explain that to a guy who got 88 tattooed on his chest above his heart to make himself feel better about being a sad unemployable dipshit. The little insurrection ended with the idiots stealing a bunch of stuff and running off to shiver in the mountains, injuring five and killing two people in the process. Charolette had found them the next Spring, or what was left after the wolves and bears had their share, anyway.

He had to agree with two-tone that his best bet would be brutal honesty; taking his lumps as he deserved while asking for the chance to do better would keep him on this continent. There was no easy excuse for shooting up a boat flying the red cross while responding to a distress signal, and even if he explained the schism Neo-Sacramento experienced and left out that they found almost enough bones to account for everyone who left, it wasn't a sufficient excuse. He'd done wrong, even if he hated admitting it, and if they shipped him back to Japan as a POW that was the worst-case scenario. That hadn't been said, but it hadn't been taken off the table and he didn't know how many ships with trans-Pacific range were in the fleet. If he would be confined in some way until Xeno made peace with these people… that would suck, but best he was confined in this port town they wanted build instead of getting shipped back to their capital.

So long as he was still on his home continent, he could get home to Xeno eventually. The California coastline is about 840 miles, and even the entire length wasn't an impossible distance. It would suck and it would take gear and time, but he could walk or boat home if he had to. He'd waited for several thousand years, he could be patient for however long that journey took. If they revived people in LA that wouldn't be too bad, but it was probably too close for their taste. Stanley wasn’t sure how far two days at full throttle had taken him, either. Even if they went south enough to avoid harsher winters Stanley would make the march. He would get home.

He could earn money, buy or trade for the gear he needed, and plan his trip with care. Clear enough goal, and an uncomplicated plan. At least so far, anyway. He was lucky he was only shanghaied, and by people who valued life and fair justice. It could be a lot worse. It even sounded like he could stay and keep working, if he didn't quite have what he needed to make the trip at the end of his sentence. No matter what, he'd arrive home with all the intel Xeno could want. Intel on the city being built, the builders, their nation, and possibly even other groups they encountered.

Stanley Snyder centric fanfic in the works

Yep, his POV for an alternate season 4 where the KoS gang had a working petrification device. Obviously, this doesn't go so well for Xeno's side, but it diverges entirely from canon and Senku's big heart can't let sleeping dragons take their naps in a Disney castle unbothered.

Stanley has to stand trial for shooting at a humanitarian response to a distress signal, Xeno thinks Stanley's statue being smashed means he's dead dead, and Gen gets to play the role of therapist instead of spy.

Preview under the cut!

In his defense, he really hadn't seen the flag. He should have, so it wasn't much of a defense, but he'd only registered the flag as white and red. Xeno had said there was radio chatter in Japanese, so the color made sense. He hadn't checked if it was a Japanese flag. He knew better, but he'd been caught up in finally putting their plans into action to defend and grow their kingdom. After so long stuck in a holding pattern with progress happening by inches, they had the chance for a decisive leap, and he'd gone for it with all he had. He was dissapointed in himself for getting carried away like that, he was a professional for fuck's sake.

If he'd fired on anything displaying a red cross without additional confirmation back before the world ended he'd expect a court marshal. That was just a fact, and the normalcy was something he could hold onto amid the very unwelcome realizations he was being forced to confront. This wasn't all that out of line, if he thought about it that way. Out of order, yeah. It couldn't be more out of order. The two-toned hairdo person in a lilac robe said he was going to have a trial in the morning for the crime he'd already been executed for.

"I don't follow," Stanley said to that, feeling more lost than he could remember ever being. He'd been executed, and then they brought him back. Why? If they considered him a murderer and had the ability to revive anyone with their advanced technique, then what was the point in bringing him back?

"The trial will determine your punishment, or if being smashed, reconstructed, and resurrected was sufficient punishment," two-tone repeated, as if that was a completely normal sentance. The accent was comforting. Two-tone was as Asian as the rest of them and spoke in Japanese to the red-eyed boy and the two soldier types, but he spoke English in a southern American accent. No fancy school would have taught him that, so he had to have lived here in the States a while.

The red-eyed boy standingvoff to the side had performed the resurrection - dear God he'd been taken apart and reassembled like a rifle - and while his hands were calloused he was clearly a thinker and not a worker. Xeno took pride in his soft hands, protected them to make sure they stayed soft and unstained, but the albino looking kid had calluses like Brody while performing a miracle and checking Stanley's vitals like a well-trained nurse. He also had E= MC² on his knee-legnth coat, so definitely a brain box.

Red-eyes hadn't spoken to Stanley, or if he did it wasn't in English, but he did catch his eye for a half-smile and a thumbs up. Two-tone may have translated, but Stanley was having trouble focusing. He didn't want to bring that up, didn't want confirmation that his brain had been cracked and needed time to heal, and it was good enough to know his body was in working order according to basic life signs for now.

Two-tone had given Stanley his name, but Stan had been a bit too distracted by all the rest of the rapid explanation to catch it. "We've retreated in the meantime, so if you are released it will be with sufficient supplies to get you home from a safe location."

The last thing he'd said into the radio was 'green light, Xen, they can petrif…' and then it all went dark again. Then something happened, and Stanley's mind slid around it like a dream he couldn't remember. Something the human mind couldn't handle knowing about outside a dark, safe place with a trusted soul pressed up close to his body.

Stanley had woken up still feeling the adrenaline rush and panic from seeing the green light and knowing he was a dead man. He was trained to supress his panic on the battlefield, and he'd reported what was happening just as he ought to. He could be proud of his performance after the crash and before he was petrified, at least. He'd felt the panic, but did the job to the end. It was only after he woke the second time that he couldn't quite get back on form.

The second time he woke from stone was nothing like the first time, when he'd been aware and waiting for it. He'd been specifically targeted for petrification by people he'd shot at, people who took his plane down, and had no expectation of survival before he'd suddenly been breathing again with two stong men pushing him down to his knees in front of a red-eyed medic. He'd mastered his outward reaction and was calmly observing everything around him now, but for those first twenty or thirty seconds he'd been gasping like a landed fish. Then he'd swallowed something obviously medicinal without fighting it that tasted not quite like a shot of juiced wheatgrass, alcohol, and honey just because a gentle voice from just out of sight with a southern accent said it would help him recover. He wasn't sure if it was the shot or just his own mind finally getting a grip that got him back on-form. It was a sloppy and embarrasing lapse, even if had been for less than a minute.

They'd really fucked this up.

[morrigan-sims]

another late night / early morning wip pic under the cut

>:)

[vulpinesaint]

kind of unfortunate that so many fantasy epics are also war novels because i will be honest i just do not like war novels that much... the grand clashing of forces is compelling obviously but it requires characters to talk about so much practical battle strategy and while i can get my brain to comprehend all these fantasy maps and kingdoms and borders and battalions and front lines and army movements it takes up. so much space in the book. feels like i'm fighting a war of my own trying to get through it sometimes

[gensnix]

Sigh....

I miss botw Zelda

[flaskuwu]

I like when people make head canons of Ganondorf just being some guy or like working with Link and Zelda because there’s a bigger threat. I think there was something like the in Smash Bros brawl too

[hallowxiu]

How the Brothers Would Deal with MC's Mortality

Mammon:

You casually brought it up as a joke

Probably something like “i’m here for a good time, not a long time” or “why should i care what happens in 100 years? It’s not like i’ll be around to care”

Would probably confuse Mammon at first as to why you wouldn’t be around, but he would put the pieces together in the middle of the night when trying to sleep.

A whole, eyes snapping wide opening and flinging out of his bed kind of moment.

Mammon would worry himself sick

Yes, he knows humans can die, hell, he used to mock you for being so frail when you first came to the Devildom, but now? 

Well, now things are different. How he feels about you is different

He's spending all his money on ways to keep you kicking longer. 

Anything he can think of that’ll help, he’s buying it. Vegetables, fruits, protein powder, comfortable clothes, a nice pillow, vitamins, shampoos- anything. He has no idea where to start, so he just starts grabbing everything. 

I mean, something will have to help, right? 

If you notice he looks panicked, don’t point it out, it’ll only make it worse. Unless you want to be smothered to death from his affection and worry, then by all means. ;)

Leviathan:

Look, he can barely handle his favorite anime characters dying, so you? Yeah, no, that’s way too much. 

Nothing actually popped up to remind Leviathan of your mortality, it was because of Satan throwing his books all around the house that did it. 

Suddenly, it was all he could think about. How did he not think of this before? 

Leviathan is no Satan though, and he’s certainly not Lucifer. Researching medical documents and trying to think of things to keep you alive longer are a little over his head. That being said, there were some things he could do.

Leviathan dove into his own research that would be within his realm of understanding, studying that humans who have more positive mindsets and who are less exposed to depressing forms of media, may live longer than the average person. This- this was something he could work with. 

Suddenly, you were constantly being invited to his room, Leviathan having a variety of slice-of-life anime for you to watch with him, all of which had happy endings to boot. If an anime was even remotely depressing, he made sure to keep that out of reach. 

Video games? He’s keeping it safe; he’s not risking anything here. If it’s not similar to Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Dreamlight Valley, or The Sims (which must be on a good day), you’re just not playing it. Kingdom Hearts if you’re lucky. 

Satan:

Would do an insane amount of research 

Likely overheard the topic on a news segment about the tragically short lifespans of humans before it all clicked together.

Satan, unlike the other brothers, has never experienced death before, so while it sounds silly, he never had reason to think of you dying.

Looks up humans who had long lifespans to see how he can implement those things into your lifestyle.

Books will be littered everywhere (although that’s not really unusual, but what is would be the topic of said books- The Long Lives of Humans, Human Lifestyle for Dummies 101, The Road to Human Immortality, etc. etc.)

This is when Satan learns just how easy it is for a human to kick the bucket.

Heart attacks, brain aneurysms, strokes, seizures, cancer, the list goes on and on and it’s starting to scare him. He didn’t know humans could just drop dead. 

He’s going to start researching curses to increase your lifespan, or at the very least he’s going to make sure you’re careful as hell. 

You won’t even get as much as a cut without him being aware of it; he’s going to hover around and mother hen the absolute shit out of you. 

Try not to get too annoyed with him though, it all stems from good intentions. 

Asmodeus:

He’ll be damned if his shopping partner for life is going to die on him.

Asmo isn’t stupid; if anything he’s pretty emotionally aware. He's known for a long time just how short the lifespan of humans is.

But still, it came in the form of a nightmare. One where he couldn’t save you, despite giving his best efforts. The way you died was tragic, long before your life should have ended. 

This sent Asmo somewhat into a frenzied state trying to find things to keep you alive once he woke up. 

Vitamins, vitamins, vitamins

Humans benefit from vitamins, right? Surely you’d benefit from Devildom vitamins then. If it’ll increase the lifespan of a demon, he sees no reason why it wouldn’t increase your lifespan. 

Of course, it really only gives you nicer nails and shinier hair. 

He’s 10x more intense with your morning and night routines. 

He will be unloading all his facial creams on you, and telling you the benefits of each one and how it might add a few years to your lifespan. 

You want to stay up late at night to finish homework? Maybe watch a movie? Yeah, no, not on Asmo’s watch. 

Your ass is going to bed every night at 10pm, right along with him. You do realize you’ll be getting exactly 8 hours of sleep each night, too, right? 

Beelzebub:

Regarding his trauma with Lilith, it came as no surprise when he started to fret over your well-being. 

Poor Beel saw an article that discussed how tragically easy it is for a human to die. The cherry on top? How they could die from simply overeating. 

Overeating isn’t a concept Beel is overly familiar with (because to him, it’s never overeating), and while he knew most people couldn’t keep up with his eating habits, he didn’t think it could actually cause harm to a human, let alone kill them. 

Grocery trips are now a more anxiety-inducing event. 

He’s suddenly paranoid that any of the Devildom food could and will kill you. Are you allergic to anything? How would you even know? 

What if one day he serves you his favorite boiled dragonhead and you just drop dead at the dinner table?? No, that will never do. 

There’s a list of Devildom foods that he knows for sure you can have without dying, but then comes the issue of portion control. How much is too much for a human? 

Beelzebub swore he would never lose another loved one again, and it’s a promise he intends to keep. From now on, you will only eat what he deems safe. 

You want to try a new food in the Devildom that you’ve never had before? You better get some seriously good convincing skills if you want him to cave in. For someone who only ever thinks with his stomach, he’s surprisingly stubborn. 

Belphegor:

He’s still plagued with nightmares about Lilith, especially since he still thinks it’s his fault. Tack that on to the way he blamed you and the rest of the human race for it? The man is walking trauma. 

 Like Asmodeus, this was brought on by nightmares about you dying. Different from Asmo’s, however, you usually died by his hand. Naturally, considering your tumultuous history. 

Belphegor, unlike his brothers, takes a different approach. He just doesn’t approach you at all. 

What better way to keep your lifespan long than by staying away from you altogether? 

Is it something that he wants? Of course not! But how can he trust himself to never hurt you again? To never kill you again. 

He can’t. 

So, he locks himself away in his room, sleeping most of the day or just avoiding the areas you normally like to lounge. 

On a normal day, almost everyone in the household, including yourself, would notice this behavior change. However, since you’re now being cornered by all the brothers and their concerns about your lifespan, it’s easy for Belphegor’s absence to slip your mind. 

This hurts Belphegor, but at the end of the day, he believes this is for the best.

Lucifer: 

Lucifer didn’t need a reminder of your short lifespan; if anything, it’s something he’s thought plenty about. 

Lucifer has trauma, we all know that much. After Lilith, he’s absolutely terrified of losing another loved one to something outside of his control.

And your lifespan is not something that’s out of his control. At least not how he sees it, anyway. 

If you thought he was overbearing or overprotective before, brace yourself. He’s going to step it up several notches. 

No excess of junk food, no more pulling all-nighters, no more sitting around the house gaming all day, and definitely no more overexerting your use of magic. He’s no fool, he knows the toll your magic could eventually take on your body. 

Honestly? He wasn’t this bad until his brothers started to panic about your mortality, and though Lucifer told himself he was above such nonsense, he quickly found himself taking all the precautions they were taking (and then some). 

Fortunately, if you find yourself becoming overwhelmed, they’ll be more than willing to listen to you (granted you take some of their concerns into account).

[heliosunny]

Hi hi, I read your lucky egg yuan x reader and thought a bond system was super creative!! So I have a request!!

Can I request a streamer/general Jing yuan playing an otome game where you/the reader are one of the love interests? And he was absolutely obsessed with character!reader that he’d literally drop so much money on the game, but one day, after maybe a poisoning incident, he ends up isekai’d into said otome game. Reader has a favoribility bar and everything and he does all the quests to raise your bar 🤭🤭. And and! If a love interest hits 100% favoribility in the game, they go yandere so maybe a bit of soft yan y/n?

It would also be super interesting to see yuan scheme everything cuz of his big brain 😌😌

I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated!!!

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

[𝙇𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙣] Chat: — "Jing Yuan, you’re literally broke because of this game." — "BRO JUST DATE A REAL PERSON." — "He’s already too far gone… let him be." — "Who’s your bias again? (Not that we don’t know lol)." — "Watch him go straight to Y/N and ignore all the others."

The chat scrolled at breakneck speed, but Jing Yuan barely paid attention, his fingers already navigating past the main menu. His voice was smooth, teasing, as he leaned closer to the mic.

“Come now, you all know the answer to that” his lips curling into a smirk. His stream setup was pristine—dual monitors casting a cool glow over his silver hair, the dim lighting making his golden eyes gleam.

The title screen of Astral Regnum shimmered before him, revealing the stunning artwork of the heroes of the kingdom. But his gaze, as always, honed in on the one he cared about most. You.

Chat: — "Damn, he didn’t even LOOK at them LMAO." — "He’s speedrunning a 2D romance with Y/N." — "NPCs crying in the corner."

Jing Yuan chuckled, skipping past the banners of the other love interests like they were mere background noise. “Why waste time?” His voice dipped lower, fond. “Y/N is the only one that matters.”

A swordmaster. A warrior feared on the battlefield, but with a heart that only opened to those they deemed worthy. In the game’s lore, [Y/N] was the blade of the Astral Regnum heroes—a relentless force of nature, cutting down enemies with precision. And yet, their favorability system was notoriously difficult.

That only made it more satisfying when he raised it.

He knew what you liked. What you hated. Every hidden event, every dialogue choice that made your heart skip.

And he had spent—How much money again? He didn’t care.

Tonight, he was going to hit the final 100%.

With a flick of his wrist, he loaded his save file—the one where his favorability with you was already in the high 90s.

The screen faded to black.

…A sharp knock at the door.

Jing Yuan blinked, momentarily snapping out of his immersion. Who the hell—?

His chat reacted instantly.

Chat: — "Uh oh, debt collectors?" — "Jing Yuan’s about to get isekai’d, watch." — "Bet it’s his manager coming to stop his spending spree."

With a lazy sigh, he muted the mic and pushed his chair back. He had just reached for the door when a strange, sharp scent flooded his senses.

His vision blurred.

The last thing he saw was the game screen still glowing on his monitor, your character’s sprite standing there, waiting.

𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝…

The first thing he felt was the cold, the way it bit into his skin—so vivid, so unlike the temperature-controlled room he had been in just moments ago. His ears rang with the echo of distant battle cries, the clash of steel, the unmistakable scent of blood.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes. His smirk returned instantly.

He knew exactly where he was.

Above him, the skies of Astral Regnum stretched endlessly, clouds tinged red by the fires of war.

“…I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to see you- covered in blood, battle-worn eyes feral with focus. Your sword pointed straight at him.

Jing Yuan had always admired you— your presence, your unwavering strength. But seeing you in the flesh, drenched in blood with the weight of battle in your stance?

It was exhilarating.

The tip of your sword hovered just inches from his throat, gleaming under the eerie glow of magic-infused flames.

“Identify yourself.”

Jing Yuan barely resisted the urge to grin. Even in the game, you never trusted strangers easily—it was one of the many things that had made raising your favorability so difficult.

But unlike his first playthrough, he didn’t need to fumble through dialogue choices or waste time figuring out what worked.

He already knew exactly what to do.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, keeping his posture relaxed despite the threat at his throat. “Ah, forgive me. I seem to have found myself in the middle of a battlefield, and I’d rather not lose my head before I’ve even introduced myself.”

Your eyes narrowed, scanning him like a predator sizing up prey. He knew you were analyzing everything—his stance, his expression, any hint of deception.

Chat would’ve gone wild seeing this. Too bad they weren’t here.

“…You’re not dressed like a soldier” you noted, your grip on the hilt still firm.

He wasn’t. The clothes he wore were a mix of modern and fantasy—game mechanics at work, likely adjusting his form to fit the world. He still had his signature robes, but now they looked more battle-worn, reforged in Astral Regnum’s style.

“Observant, as expected” he mused. “I’m not part of any faction. Just a traveler who seems to have ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your expression remained unreadable, but the fact that you hadn’t killed him on the spot meant he had already passed the first test.

“Captain!” A voice called from the distance. A scout.

Jing Yuan watched as your gaze flickered between him and the approaching soldier. You had a decision to make—cut him down now, or deal with him later?

The game’s mechanics dictated that you wouldn’t kill someone outright if they weren’t confirmed as a threat. That much, he remembered.

“Tie him up” you ordered.

Jing Yuan barely bit back a chuckle as rough hands grabbed his arms, binding his wrists.

Oh we're doing this route? How fun.

“Smart choice” he murmured as your men hauled him up. “But I do wonder… how long will you be able to keep me restrained?”

You didn’t answer. You only turned your back on him, leading the way toward your war camp.

He didn’t mind starting as a prisoner.

After all— He was still going to reach 100%.

----

Jing Yuan sat calmly, bound at the wrists, as the flickering glow of firelight cast shifting shadows across the war tent. Soldiers bustled outside, sharpening blades, murmuring strategies, unaware that the man they had just captured knew more about their war than they did.

It was strange watching everything unfold in real-time.

Even stranger was seeing you like this—not through a screen, but right in front of him. The real you, expression unreadable as you stood by a large map, analyzing war strategies.

A part of him wanted to watch forever.

But that wasn’t the plan.

You finally turned your gaze to him, those sharp eyes glinting under the lantern light. “You don’t seem particularly concerned about your situation.”

Jing Yuan gave a lazy smile. “Should I be?”

Your soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but you merely crossed your arms. “You’re suspicious. You’re too well-groomed for a lost traveler, and you don’t have the look of a mercenary. Are you a spy?”

“No,... But I might be useful to you.”

One of your officers scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I expect your Captain to consider it.” His gaze remained on you. “You wouldn’t have kept me alive if you didn’t at least think there was value in hearing me out.”

You didn’t deny it. You're still the same, that calculative and careful one. And yet strangely soft toward those who prove their worth.

He could work with that.

“…Fine” you finally said, tone measured. “You’ll stay here under guard. Prove your worth, or you’ll regret it.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, flexing his fingers slightly. “I thought you weren't the type to threat-”

“Don't test me.”

The chains around Jing Yuan’s wrists weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were a firm reminder—he was not trusted.

But that was fine.

Because trust could be built.

He watched as you dismissed your soldiers one by one, your fingers ghosting over the map on the table. The battlefield was shifting, and you were at the center of it.

Jing Yuan had watched countless cutscenes of you strategizing like this, studying every small movement, every sharp-eyed decision. But seeing it in person was entirely different.

“You’re staring” you muttered without looking up.

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Nothing, I was just thinking.”

Finally, you glanced at him, arms crossed. “About what?”

“That I can help you win.”

“Oh? And why would a ‘lost traveler’ know anything about war?”

Jing Yuan leaned forward slightly, “Because I know your enemies better than they know themselves.”

That caught your attention.

“Go on”

“Your next battle is in three days. Your enemies will try to flank from the west, but their supplies are running thin. If you push them into a defensive position before they can regroup, you’ll win with minimal casualties.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “Does it matter?”

“Fine, I'll test your theory.”

If you followed his strategy, he’d prove his worth.

And when you won?

You’d start to trust him.

The war camp was quieter than usual. Outside, soldiers murmured in low voices, preparing for the upcoming battle.

Jing Yuan stood a few feet away, his hands still bound, watching you with a patient smile.

Just as he was about to speak, the tent flap rustled.

"You're still awake?"

Jing Yuan's smile faltered for the briefest second as another figure stepped inside—one of your close friends. They walked in casually, eyes flickering to Jing Yuan before turning back to you.

Jing Yuan had seen them before, an important side character, someone who frequently appeared in your storyline. But now that he was here, living in this world, they felt like a nuisance.

"I'm reviewing the battle plans again" you replied, rubbing your temples. Your friend sighed, stepping beside you.

"You should rest. You've been at this all day."

Jing Yuan watched as they reached forward, lightly flicking your forehead in a playful manner.

He had never liked this character, even when he played the game. They always lingered too close, always made you smile in ways that should have been reserved for him.

But now?

Now, he was right here, watching them steal your attention.

He could see the way you relaxed around them, how comfortable you were. He knew it was natural—you had a long history together in the game. But that didn’t stop the quiet frustration from simmering beneath his skin.

That should be him.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “for someone so concerned about their commander’s well-being, you don’t seem too worried about distracting them.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “An observer.” He let his gaze linger on your friend a little too long before shifting back to you. “Besides, I don’t think they need to be reminded to rest. They know their limits.”

You let out an amused exhale. “You talk as if you’ve known me for a long time.”

“I just have good instincts.”

Your friend didn’t seem convinced, but they let it slide, instead turning back to you.

Jing Yuan barely heard what they said next. His focus was elsewhere—on the small details.

The way they leaned in when they spoke. The way you didn’t pull away. The way your voice softened, just slightly, in response.

He didn't like it.

But he wouldn’t show it.

----

Jing Yuan was a strategist. Whether in the real world or in this one, he always played to win. Now, you were real. And he would ensure that he was the only one who mattered to you.

The game had always emphasized that actions mattered more than words.

So he made sure every move he made left an impression.

He cooked for you when you were too exhausted after training.

He tended to the wounded, proving he wasn’t just a fighter but someone who cared.

He trained with your soldiers, earning their respect.

He always stayed one step behind you, never overstepping—but never too far away.

And every time you hesitated, every time you looked at him as more than just an outsider, his favorability bar climbed.

[ +15 Favorability ] [ +5 Favorability ] [ +20 Favorability ]

It was slow, steady, but inevitable.

Sure he had made mistakes. Like that one moment where he didn't take your concerns seriously.

"Something’s off about this place" you had murmured, scanning the area. "Maybe, but worrying too much causes wrinkles."

You shot him a look. "Remind me why I even talk to you?"

He laughed. "Because you like me."

At that moment? Not so much. [-15 Favorability]

Or that other time when he was overconfident.

"You should fall back. I’ll handle the rest."

You had scoffed, annoyed. "I don’t need you to protect me."

He shrugged. "Still, wouldn’t want you to get hurt—"

You ignored him and struck the final blow yourself. [-20 Favorability]

Still, everything was carefully choreographed—down to the smallest details. And every time you acknowledged him, every time your gaze lingered just a second longer than before, he knew—

Your favorability bar ticked up.

[ +5 Favorability ] [ +10 Favorability ]

Jing Yuan was patient. But patience had its limits.

When another comrade slung an arm over your shoulder, laughing too freely—his grip on his sword tightened.

When someone dared to flirt with you, his golden eyes flickered with an emotion no one caught.

When you smiled at someone else with the same warmth you gave him, a quiet hum left his lips.

For now, he could hold back.

Because soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Because soon, you wouldn’t even look at anyone else.

----

Jing Yuan never gambled. Because every move has its purpose.

And right now—

Your favorability stood at 75%

It was a beautiful number. But it wasn’t enough.

So, he prepared.

𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠...

The system had always been a passive observer. A tool meant to track your feelings, your reactions, your downfall into love.

But today, it would be more than that.

Today, it would be his weapon.

—— Favorability Shop Opened. Current Balance: [Unlimited] Recommended Purchases:

1️⃣ [Memory Trigger Perfume] – A fragrance designed to evoke past emotions and subconscious attachments. [50,000 pts] 2️⃣ [Heroic Crisis Event] – An orchestrated situation where the player can prove their devotion to the target. [100,000 pts] 3️⃣ [Lingerie Set??? ] – Also a valid strategy.... [25,000 pts] ——

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, amusement flickering in his gaze as he scrolled past the last item.

I'll save that for later.

For now—he bought the first two.

The memory trigger

The next time you saw him, the scent was already on him.

It wasn’t overwhelming. Just a faint trace. Familiar.

You frowned slightly. “What is that smell?”

Jing Yuan feigned confusion. “Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just…” You hesitated. Something nagged at you. Something you couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded you of safety. A feeling you had lost.

And deep down, your heart tightened.

“Maybe you’ve smelled it before” he mused, watching you struggle. “Maybe… it’s something important to you.”

You didn’t respond.

But later that night—long after he had left—you found yourself missing it.

And just like that, your favorability rose to 80%

The Heroic Crisis

Jing Yuan knew you were strong. You didn’t need a savior. You could protect yourself. But even strong people had moments of weakness.

And he was going to be there when it happened.

So, when the system triggered the attack, everything was perfect.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. You dodged, countered, struck back.

But the moment you faltered—

Jing Yuan was there.

His blade met theirs. His body shielded yours.

Blood dripped from his arm, but he barely noticed. His eyes stayed on you.

And then, as if in a trance, your lips parted.

“Jing Yuan…”

Your favorability skyrocketed.

90%.

95%.

----

The fire crackled softly, flickering between the two of you. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this. No battles. Just peace.

And strangely—you didn’t mind his presence.

Jing Yuan sat across from you, his white hair slightly tousled from the night breeze.

“Is there something on my face?”

“N-No..Nothing”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I'm not!”

He chuckled. “Not that I mind.”

You scoffed and looked away, but you didn’t deny it. Truth was.. this felt nice.

Jing Yuan stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a content sigh. “You know, this is rare.”

You glanced at him. “What is?”

He smiled lazily. “Seeing you relaxed.”

“I like it.” His voice was quieter this time. “I like seeing you like this.”

Jing Yuan had always been playful, unpredictable. But tonight—his gaze was softer.

And something inside you stirred.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s... nice.”

“Then let’s have more nights like this.”

Your heart skipped. That's not a bad idea.

----

Jing Yuan knew, step by step, you were falling.

Not yet—not completely. But you were softening.

And tonight, he was going to make sure you fell just a little bit more.

The town was lively even in the late hours. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm golden hues over the bustling streets. You walked beside Jing Yuan, carrying a small pouch of supplies for your next journey.

It had been his idea to take a detour here. A little break from the usual battles, something about “enjoying the little things.”

But just as you passed by a fruit stall—

“Hey—!”

You barely registered the blur of motion before your pouch was yanked from your grasp.

A small, ragged figure darted through the crowd, slipping between merchants and customers like a shadow.

Jing Yuan reacted immediately.

“Stay close.”

Then he moved.

You both weaved through the market, dodging carts and startled pedestrians. The thief was fast, but you were faster.

“Persistent little one, aren’t they?”

You didn’t waste breath responding—just focused on cutting off the escape.

And then—a dead end.

The thief skidded to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, chest heaving.

A boy, no older than ten. Grimy, thin and desperate.

Your pouch dangled from his shaking grip.

Behind him, three younger kids peeked out from behind broken crates, their eyes wide with fear.

He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was trying to feed them.

You felt something in your chest tighten.

Jing Yuan stepped forward—not in anger, but with a sigh.

“Stealing is a bad habit, you know?” His voice was light, almost teasing. “But... I suppose sometimes, there’s no other choice.”

The boy flinched, hugging the pouch close.

“Please...” he whispered. “I—It’s for them.”

Then, to your surprise, he pulled out his own pouch and tossed it to the ground. The coins inside jingled.

“Go buy food” he said simply. “Real food. Not stolen.”

The boy’s eyes darted between the pouch and Jing Yuan, as if expecting some cruel trick.

“You... you mean it?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, ruffling his own hair. “I’m not heartless, you know.”

You stared at him.

The boy hesitated before dropping your pouch and taking Jing Yuan’s instead. Then, with a quick bow, he grabbed the younger kids’ hands and ran.

Silence stretched between you two as you picked up your pouch.

Jing Yuan smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. “Well, that was fun.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “Handsome too, right?”

You rolled your eyes—but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because for all his teasing and laziness—Jing Yuan was... kind.

And when he turned to you, golden eyes glinting under the lantern lights—

98%

Almost there.

100%

A quiet chime echoed in the back of Jing Yuan’s mind.

It's done.

You belong to me now.

The favorability bar had maxed out, but he wasn’t foolish enough to expect an immediate, dramatic change. No, your obsession was something that would seep in—gentle, like ink bleeding through parchment.

And oh... he couldn’t wait to see it unfold.

----

The battlefield was long behind you. The mission had gone well, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet hum of victory. Now, beneath the vast night sky, a small fire flickered between you and Jing Yuan.

For once, the silence between you was... comfortable.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you.

Watching you watch him.

There was a difference in the way you looked at him now. Before, your gaze was wary—guarded, even when amused.

But now?

Now, your eyes lingered.

His lips curved. “Something on your mind?”

You blinked, but instead of denying it, you simply tilted your head. “You’re... a good person.”

His amusement deepened as he sat up slightly, propping his chin on his hand. “Is that so?”

You hummed in response, shifting closer—not much, just enough that the warmth of the fire wasn’t the only heat between you.

And then—you touched him.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, tracing the faint scars that lined his skin.

“Y/N...”

Your fingers paused, but your gaze didn’t waver. “I was just thinking.”

“How long do you plan to stay with me?”

His smirk faltered for a brief second.

Then—he chuckled.

“Forever.”

He expected a laugh. A scoff. A shake of the head at his dramatic words.

But instead— You smiled.

“I like that answer” you murmured. “You’d better keep it.”

Something in your tone sent a shiver down his spine.

I like that.

I like that a lot.

He had reached 100%. And he couldn't wait to see how far you both would go.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all. 

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself back up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 

 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

[solxamber]

Leona, romantic, and “September” by James Arthur. Idk, I just always strongly associated this song with him.

"I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: September by James Arthur

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 580

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Established Relationship

Leona remembers seeing you around back when you were both young. At first, he didn't think much of you—just another face in the sea of students, another voice in the endless chatter that he had no interest in.

But the more he saw you, the more you lingered in his mind, the more he felt like he had to talk to you.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

So he does what any self-respecting, prideful man would do—he bribes Ruggie to drag you to the botanical gardens under some flimsy excuse, and just so happens to be there himself.

"What a coincidence," he drawls, feigning disinterest, stretching out on the grass like he owns the place. But when you plop down next to him, start talking about something mundane yet completely captivating, he knows.

It’s instant. The way he falls. The way you slip into his life so effortlessly, laughing at his sarcasm, stealing his fries, treating him like he’s just Leona and not the second prince of some far-off kingdom.

Even when he scoffs, even when he refuses to admit it at first, you are his friend. You are his.

And then, one day, you’re both sprawled across his bed in a way that feels so natural, as if you belong there. He’s half on top of you, lazy and heavy with the weight of an afternoon nap, and you’re giggling at something on your phone. The sound is warm, golden, wrapping around his heart like the sun after a storm. It’s infuriating.

He can’t let this go on. He can’t let another day pass without making you his.

So he grumbles out a question, as if he’s annoyed by his own need for you. “Go out with me.” His cheeks are flushed, his tail stiff and betraying him, and for a second, he almost takes it back—almost—but then you look at him like he hung the damn stars, and you say yes.

And when he kisses you for the first time, slow and deep and possessive, he thinks—maybe—he can finally look in the mirror and like who he is.

Every weekend, he waits for you. Waits for you to finish your errands, your work, your whatever so you can spend the whole day with him. Because he’s stronger with you, and weaker without you. You’re his soulmate, his lover, his home.

And when the weight of his title presses down on him, when the whispers of "never good enough" creep in, you’re there. Always. Holding him in the dark, chasing away his demons with nothing but a smile and the unshakable belief that he is yours.

Sometimes, he gets mad. He can’t help it. Sometimes, he snaps even at you. Sometimes, he’s too jaded, too bitter, too tired of the expectations forced onto him since birth.

But then you have the audacity to smile at him, that infuriatingly sweet smile, and he wants to drag you back to bed and keep you there until the world forgets both of you exist.

Until he can hear nothing but your laughter and the soft, whispered confessions you think he doesn’t catch when you think he’s asleep.

He’s going to love you for the rest of his life.

And as he lays beside you now, watching your peaceful expression as you sleep, his fingers ghost over the ring he keeps hidden in his bedside drawer.

He can’t wait to make you his family. And for you to make him yours.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[pruneunfair]

Tropes in manhwa are awful yet people still defend them

I'm in a bad mood right now so what better way to release all that pent up anger by ranting on what can ruin a good story.

1: Slavery being inserted only for cheap plot and slaves being demonized as obsessive/greedy monsters for "not knowing their place"

Theres nothing wrong with wanting to insert slavery in your story AS LONG as it's not just cheap plot to make your MC look "better" by buying from a single to all of the slaves because let me tell you this: there is no such thing as a good slave owner, you cannot morally own another human being. A lot of manhwa like to have slavery be a part of their plot completely ignoring that just because the MC goes "wow this is terrible" doesn't make them a good person after they buy a slave.

Remarried empress does this with its villian Rashta by pushing the notion that she's being greedy for not wanting to stay in poverty so Navier won't suffer because apparently a slave wanting what the silver spoon mouthed nobles were born into is so terrible not to mention they justify slave owners and slavery in general as a punishment for criminals (neglecting the fact that children can be sold by their parents)

The villainess has fun again justifies a child slave being bought by the lead and he becomes an obsessive shouta love interest, fans continously justify by using the ancient lolicon excuse "he may look young but he's actually 99182823 years old!"

In divorcing my tyrant husband, Robelia buys 30 slaves and the only 2 that consistently show up have no other personality other then "we love you FL we will worship you till the end of time!"

There's a damn manhwa out there literally called the order of slave breeding and even when a story tries to do this correctly such as VADTD with Penelope being portrayed as a bad person for what she did to Eckles, fans have been so deluded by the idea that FL's buying slaves is "girlboss" that they think Eckles should be grateful to be Penelopes "pet"

2: ML's murdering innocent people after one guy hurts the FL

I already made a specific post about it before and I'll say it again: all this does is make your male lead/father figure look like a horrific monster. While you could say it's because its a medieval kingdom (objectively that is true that they would do this) manhwa and OI is the same place where despite in those times taking a mistress was considered normal they still view it as cheating and "how could you pick that slut when you have such a perfect wife!? 🤬" in most stories. So yes, modern morality is still inserted within these tropes. While I can get it's a way to show that the man in questions loves the FL so much he's willing to go to such lengths to protect her I think just mutilating the guy that actually did the sin would be enough because try imagining yourself as a faithful servant who was amazing at your job getting brutally slaughtered by the Emperor because your boss attacked his daughter or lover.

Into the light once again does this with Aishas dad murdering all the relatives and close friends of a count that tried to kill Ysis and Aisha, Aisha doesn't seem to care despite being in a situation where she was wrongfully executed in her past life.

Remarried empress does this too. After Navier is nearly killed by Krista's brother, Heinrey tortures and kills the dad and slaughters the servants of the zemensias. I can't remember if he also murdered the remaining family members but I wouldn't put it past him.

3: protagonist centered morality

Protagonist centered morality is the biggest indicator that a piece of media is dealing with a mary sue FL. Whatever the protagonist says is right is immediately morally correct. This is actually used to justify the last 2 examples with "it was for the FL!" Things like slavery, murder, workplace abuse, union busting, pedophilia, and being a POS to your loved ones are all justified if the protagonist finds a cheap way to justify it and you HAVE to agree with her because her backstory is very tragic 🥺. Protagonist centered morality also ruins the chance for good characters since the FL herself never has to grow as a person so she stays the same exact thing as she was just with more enablers and random characters will be treated as villains even if they aren't actually wrong about being suspicious of the Protagonist or calling out her behavior. It twists the narrative in such incomprehensible ways that you don't even know what your reading anymore. I can't even list all of the manhwas that do this given how many there actually are so I'll just list some that are at least self aware there Protagonist is awful/morally grey or isn't even a bad person but they still have flaws that can be pointed out

Villains are destined to die

My in laws are obsessed with me

Not sew wicked step mom

Depths of malice

The villainess turns the hourglass

Beware of the villainess.

4: villains being dumbed down to make the lead look smarter

This is unfortunately another common staple often used as a quick way to make the FL look smart and witty but is that really hard to look smarter when everyone else around you is an idiot? Not only does the FL not have to put in actual effort to best her enemies but you just start to pity the villain for basically being a punching bag. Dimwitted villains aren't always bad in fact they can be some of those most entertaining characters no matter much they lose but that only works when they are meant to be seen as a goofy character that your not supposed to take seriously. Villains that are written as extremely childish and stupid but your still supposed to treat them as serious antagonists on the other hand are just annoying since you wonder how the protagonist even got killed by them in the first life if they're so stupid.

Isabella de Mare while admitly having a good reason for being dumbed down (she's a teenager in the 2nd life so it's reasonable she wouldnt be as smart as her adult counterpart) is still a joke of a villainess who keeps flipping back and fourth from a snot nosed whiny brat to a mastermind only at convenient opportunities when the plot needs conflict.

Mielle from the villainess turns the hourglass was first portrayed as extremely conniving as she arranged for Arias downfall in the shadows but in the second life she fails at every scheme she has even though she has Emma and Isis to help her out.

Ragibach is a literal demon possessing the body of another woman with the goal of setting demons loose on the word to start another human vs demon war and she succeeded in that the first time, the devastation was all there so clearly she has to be a formidable antagonist right? Well no, she's another case of being dumbed down further and further so Keira can succeed and while they do understand some plot holes such as Ludwig not trusting her as much in the second life it doesn't change the drastic character change from evil genius to bumbling idiot.

In short: dumbing down your villains so your lead can look smarter is essentially going to give the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb vs a coughing baby.

5: feminine women being demonized as basic "other girls" sluts

Okay this one isn't nearly as terrible as the others on this list because we all love the good old "a demon makes itself look beautiful to deceive humans" kind of villain, in fact as you probably know by me by now, white lotuses are my favorite kinds of character and even in media outside of manhwa I always find myself drawn to angelic villains but it seems like this is less of that and more of "Oh those are all the other girls who just want a man to save them, look at how much better my badass rich boss babe is for working for herself while taking all of their men at the time 😎" in manhwa. As soon as a traditionally feminine girl shows up, comments are already calling her a two faced bitch and half the time protagonist is already skeptical of her. This is the opposite of what being a feminist really is, a real feminist wouldn't be putting down other women just because they dress with more pink with bows and skirts and while I do think for most manhwa this is unintentional I do wish that we could have more characters like Psyche, Helena, Athy, and Jennette that prove that being overly feminine doesn't make you a backpedal on feminism. This doesn't make the badass or sexy fl's bad either, it just means they can co-exist.

An angelic villain should be treated as evil for being a well calculated schemer, not because they have a light colored color scheme

6: toxic relationships being romanticized as good

You know for a large community that claims to be about girl code a good chunk sure likes to look the other way when it comes to toxic relationships as long as the abuser is "hot" and theres always the terrible excuse such as "he has trauma!" Or "he doesn't know how to show his love normally!" No just no we aren't doing that here. Cry or better yet beg has this problem with not only the narrative claiming that Matthias graping Layla is okay because she actually loves him and doesn't know it but a large part of the fanbase also defends it, the same goes with try begging, a manhwa written by Solche who also wrote cry or better yet beg and once again despite Leon being an abuser everyone's ready to justify his actions because he's just a soft little boy who ends up falling in love with Grace awww 😍 (what the hell?) Everyones all about not justifying abusers because they had a sad past until it's the "sexy" male leads with daddy issues.

7: maid slapping

This shit isn't asserting your dominance as a boss bitch it's just work place abuse. This trope has gotten so out of hand of being justified by narratives and readers that there is an entire webtoon called this isekai maid is forming a union that's all about criticizing twisted manhwa tropes that get brushed off with maid absuer being at the biggest one. It's funny because a lot of people complain that Isekai maid union villainizes the nobles too much but they never ask the same questions when a OI is demonizing maids as greedy and lazy in order to deserve a beating. This doesn't just stop at hands either it can escalate to threats of mutilation just to assert dominice which is absolutely sick. Most of the time these leads used to be office workers or terminally ill patients, they know how terrible it is to be treated like garbage by their superiors yet they continue to absue every maid who isn't getting on their knees for them. Most maids in real history would not mistreat a noble even if they were the most hated in the house and even if they did they'd be fired without a letter of recommendation so why can't the FL's just fire the rude maid if they care about dignity so much because I'm pretty sure getting violent with a maid isn't very dignified either.

8: disgusting age gaps

Very similar to #6 but in this case while the ML/FL isn't a cruel monster to their partner it doesn't change the fact that grooming and pedophilia is still a crime worthy of life in prison. You'd think "oh no way, this can't be justified can it?" You'd be wrong. Now I belong to house of Castillo thankfully has a larger fanbase of people who think that a relationship between a girl who got groomed by her knight is bad but in cases like into the light once again a lot of people like to say "Well Aisha is technically 28 so it's fine!" When it really isn't since Aisha is still mentally 14. Taming my ex husbands mad dog is another one that does this with Reinhardt grooming a 16 year old boy and its apparently meant to be "cute".

9: claiming a character as unattractive yet giving them a perfect body and appreance

I just think this is a major cop-out since there's time where they want to make a realistic story yet also wanting a fantasy fufilment. I don't think its a coincidence that the only woman in tears of a withered flower that yout supposed to support is a Victoria's secret model body type. Even though she's meant to be an overworked exhausted 33 year old woman being mocked for losing her beauty she sure as hell isn't drawn that way, the only other women around hae soo are all women with smaller boob's and in general more common body types that are either classed as stupid or jealous that Hae soo is so beautiful that all the attractive men want her

how about we don't pit all the women against each other for once? And let's especially not villainize other women because their jealous they could never be have large boob's and tiny arms+waist at the same time?

10: the commoner protagonist actually being a noble rich person all along

Look I know most of us had loved those "the hated child is the lost princess" GLMM but we need to drop it because it's kinda disappointing that the nobody who had to work their way to the top is actually a secret magical princess who had royal blood in them all along. While I did think the villainess turns the hourglass was a pretty decent read I was super disappointed finding out that Aria was of noble descent all along. I liked seeing a commoner protagonist for once and it really felt like it was critiquing the idea that all commoners and poor people who want nice things like the nobility are greedy animals. Something similar can also happen with certain saintess manhwas that decide to twist itself into "the villainess was the true saintess all along!" And I'm just sitting here thinking "well there goes the hope that you didn't need the super duper rare power to be a strong character"

I feel way better now after writing all this.

[zorosangell]

I love your stories!! Maybe a Zoro x princess!reader would be interesting? She ran away and became a pirate of the crew, but she is still very formal and polite while Zoro is... Zoro 😂😂

⛥ﾟ・。 knight

synopsis: as a princess, you constantly have a bounty on your head, which means you are almost always under attack whenever the crew docks on an island. so, after zoro saves you from being kidnapped again, you both have a heart to heart... which ends in a little confession.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, reader talks very proper, reader's a little dense, zoro's a little emotionally constipated

"Get the princess!" the leader of the thugs shouted, swords drawn as the huge gang chased after you.

Hastily, Zoro attempted to cut a nearby corner, teetering to the side a little bit before he stabilized and continued to sprint down the street.

"What the hell were you thinking, huh?!" he panted, brows furrowed at he glanced at you, who was thrown over his shoulder. "I leave you alone for two seconds! And somehow you find a way to grab the attention of every damn criminal in town!"

"I was thirsty!" you exclaimed, defensively. "I thought I was going into a bar!"

"It was obviously a bounty hunter's nest!" he fired back.

"How was I supposed to know that?!"

"It was called the Killshot! And had a sign hanging outside with a picture of a gun!"

"I thought it was just a colorful theme!"

Zoro groaned, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he cursed whatever god that allowed this to happen yet again.

One of these days, he was gonna pretend he didn't see anything.

You were a princess, plain and simple, heir to the throne of some far off kingdom in the New World.

Ever since you were a little girl, you'd longed for adventure, not wanting your world to be confined to the walls of your castle, or the borders of your kingdom.

So, you promised yourself that the moment you turned eighteen, you'd run away.

And that's exactly what you did.

Though, in hindsight, it was probably not the best decision, as you had absolutely no idea how the outside world worked.

Still, somehow by fate or by fortune, your clueless self had managed to make it all the way to Loguetown, where the crew saved you from a few assassins.

Thus, you became the Strawhat's resident princess and diplomat.

And Zoro's resident pain in the ass.

Whenever the crew docked on a new island, you always insisted on exploring it yourself, excited to see the new sights and sounds.

And, like clockwork, you always found some way to call unwanted attention to yourself, the swordsman always finding himself in close proximity.

He had half the mind to think you did it on purpose.

Brows furrowed, his feet picked up speed, muttering intelligible things to himself.

'Princess be damned... no woman's worth this much trouble...'

Out the corner of his eye, Zoro peeped an alley not too far away, quickly running to duck inside it.

Dropping you to your feet, his strong hands grabbed your shoulders, yanking you into the shadows and covering your mouth as you let out a tiny yelp, eyes widening.

'Brute!'

You'd never been handled with such lack of care...

Back home, you were referred to as the Crowned Jewel of the Kingdom, known far and wide for your beauty and kindness.

Many often sang your praises, sending you buckets upon buckets of fan mail and writing songs about the prosperity your family had brought to the kingdom.

And the few that actually got to touch you did so with the utmost care, often reverently.

Meanwhile... this man talked to you as if you were an incompetent child, and tossed you around as if you were some sort of rag-doll.

Safe to say, it was quite the culture shock.

As the large group of men passed, Zoro tightened his grip on you, watching closely they examined the shops and stalls outside—some of them having split up to search quicker.

"Coulda sworn they were right here..." one of them grumbled under his breath, brows furrowed.

The dark-haired man paused, giving the space one more once over before turning to the others, sheathing his sword with an annoyed sigh.

"Looks like we lost 'em. Let's circle back to where we found 'em and see if that redhead knows anything."

Your eyes widened, knowing exactly who he was talking about.

"Nami!" you whimpered, forcing Zoro's calloused hand to press harder into your face to muffle the noise.

"Quiet," his deep, rough voice ordered, tone leaving no room for argument.

Suspicious, the man glanced in your direction, narrowing his eyes at the darkness as he looked directly at you—though he didn't know it.

Your heart stopped, your entire body freezing up as both you and Zoro stayed as still as statues, pressing firmer against the wall of the alley to avoid being revealed as he left.

And once he was completely one, you both let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders dropping as the tension finally oozed out your back.

"Are you stupid or something?" Zoro spat, curtly, brows furrowed. "You could've gotten us both caught!"

"I already expressed my apologies! It was not on purpose!" you countered, throwing your hands up in the air. "I simply wanted something to drink, but then those thugs just grabbed me! And did so without asking!"

Zoro let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he hung his head.

You couldn't be serious...

"They're bounty hunters, (y/n)... they're not gonna ask permission to kidnap you."

"I'm afraid I just learned that firsthand," you huffed, a small pout gracing your lips and you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "And after I was so generous... I even offered to negotiate the terms over lunch."

With a raised brow, Zoro leaned against the wall with you, confused.

"Terms?"

"A closed contract between me and all affiliates of the Killshot gang that would have guaranteed my continued residency with the Strawhat crew in exchange for a sum total of five-hundred million berries, paid monthly or in advance, depending on their preference."

The swordsman nearly choked on the air he was taking in, floored by the number you said so casually.

"Five-hundred million?!"

You nodded, plainly, confused by his surprise.

"Money is no object for my family. Especially pertaining to my safety," you shrugged. "I extend that offer to my friends, as well. Back at the auction house on Sabaody, I would have happily bought Camie to save her... but Sir Raleigh had already beat me to the punch."

Slowly, a small smile crept onto the swordsman's face, the rigidness in his stance slowly morphing into one more relaxed.

'Well, I'll be damned...'

It was moments like these that he enjoyed, as he was actually offered a glimpse at your true self.

The woman that an entire kingdom absolutely adored.

Princess (y/n).

Sure, you were hard-headed at times, and completely clueless when it came to social interactions outside of high society.

But you had heart, and generosity that quite literally knew no bounds.

Just... maybe some self defense lessons were needed.

"I gotta teach you some hand to hand if you're gonna keep goin' on these little expeditions," he sighed, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the ground.

"Combat?" you scrunched your nose. "What is the point of that when I have you?"

The gears in his head came to a screeching halt, his head snapping over to you so fast, you'd think he'd have whiplash.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You are a swordsman, are you not?" you raised a brow.

"Yes..."

"And you follow me around, yes?"

"I don't follow you around!"

The man flushed, face burning at your plainness.

"You are always there when I am in trouble."

"Yeah... well... that's 'cause I have shit luck..."

"But you care about me, right?"

Zoro froze, throat clamming up.

He had never been presented with questions like these before, and they were forcing him to think.

To read into why exactly he was always there whenever you called for help.

You were always within arms reach of him, the two of you seeming to just naturally float around each other, even as you did your daily routines.

And although you were far from his responsibility, Zoro couldn't understand why he felt the need to worry so much.

He knew million times over that the crew was capable of protecting you, and that if anything were to happen, Luffy or Sanji could more than adequately swoop in to your rescue.

But for some reason, reminding himself of that fact didn't subdue the concern that spiked in his chest when you left his line of sight, or the faint pang of panic in his breath.

'Dammit...'

Too many questions.

"I... yes," he answered, awkwardly.

Instantly, a warm smile broke out on your face, melting the swordsman's heart into a puddle on the floor.

"Then, that makes you my sworn sword!" you beamed, cheekily.

"Your sworn... what?"

"My sworn sword. My knight. My champion," you elaborated. "You stand by my side throughout my travels and keep me under your protection."

"I do WHAT?!"

"Is your hearing all right? You seem to be having a hard time processing what I am saying..."

"No, no... it's... it's not that..."

An uncomfortable silence suddenly settled over you both, the swordsman practically praying that the gang would come back so he could run you both back to the ship and escape the atmosphere.

You, on the other hand, had been feeling quite the opposite, wanting things to be settled right here and now.

Zoro had been your "crush"—lovingly dubbed by Nami—for over two years, and was the only person in the world that was consistently there for you, always rushing to your rescue without fail.

Despite his prickly exterior, and his sharp words, you could tell he was a kind, loyal, and compassionate man.

He just needed a little push.

Just then, the sound of running footsteps began to draw nearer to the mouth of the alley, your eyes shooting wide at the sound.

"Someone is coming!" you whispered, quickly turning to him .

Eyes doe wide, and breath quickened, you settled on something you'd read in a book once, hoping it would conceal your faces.

What possessed you to do it, you had no idea.

Pulling the man in by his robe, you smashed your lips into his, his eye shooting as wide as a saucer.

Everything had gone from zero to a hundred so fast.

Left was up.

Down was right.

But, in that moment, everything felt oddly right.

So, for the first time in his life, he caved, allowing his eye to flutter shut and his body to ease into the kiss.

Sliding your hands up, one of them cupped his face, while the other threw your arm around his neck, keeping him in place as he snaked his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss was electric, and, while very uncoordinated and eager, felt like liquid fire was coursing through your veins, pushing you forward.

Smoothly, the two of you shifted, Zoro pushing you up against the wall and tilting his head in order to get a better angle, deepening the kiss even further.

His hands gripped you even tighter, suddenly fearful he would float away if you didn't keep him grounded.

With your touch burning his skin and your scent flooding his nostrils, he felt like he was higher than the clouds, like this was heaven on earth.

Your lips were so damn soft...

Hell, you were so damn soft...

You washed over him like a wave of calm, the rhythm of the kiss lulling his worry-filled mind until the only thing he could think about was why the hell he didn't do this sooner.

"Aw, jeez! This is what you guys were doing all this time?!" Luffy exclaimed from the mouth of the alley, completely ruining the moment.

'Thats why...'

The two of you quickly threw yourselves off each other, faces burning with embarrassment as you looked in opposite directions.

"At least do that inside. You're gonna catch somethin' out here..." he shrugged, turning to walk away.

Your eyes shot wide, and you snapped your head over to the boy.

"Wait, Luffy, what did you think we were—?" "Don't wanna talk about it!"

"You idiot, we weren't—!" "M'not listening!"

You turned to the swordsman, brow raised in confusion.

"What is he talking about?"

Zoro's eye widened, and it finally donned on him that you hadn't been taught about... the birds and the bees.

'Christ...'

"I'll tell you another time," he sighed, talking your hand and leading you toward the exit of the alley. "Let's go back to the ship."

"Yes, of course!" you playfully bellowed. "Lead the way, knight!"

"I'm not your knight!"

"Whatever you say... knight..."

[woof-verine]

guys I’m sorry I know everyone loves grumpy Wolverine (and I do too) but after he and Wade get together I think he is THE biggest user of pet names ever. like Logan is a flirt (see x1 and x2) and he’s possessive as all hell (see his animal disposition) and do NOT think I forgot about him calling Mariko ‘princess’ in The Wolverine, so..

you can’t tell me that he isn’t calling Wade ‘princess’ and ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ all the way to kingdom come, especially when he finds out how flustered it actually makes Wade when Logan flirts back.

like…. (accidentally wrote a ficlet below, good LORD that’s a lot of yapping for one post)

“Back from the grocery store, honey badger! Picked up those doggy diapers for our disgusting little cuntchkin that you asked me to get. Still don’t know why you said no to me just training her to pee on the neighbor’s doormat, though.”

There’s a yapping at his feet, and Wade sets the grocery bags on the counter, then leans down to rub the scabby head of the aforementioned cuntchkin. Logan is in the kitchen frying up something (smells like bacon? Wade doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but it really, really smells like bacon).

Logan takes the pan off of the stove — it is bacon, and Wade’s never been more excited in his life, not even when Gossip Girl announced their short lived 2021 reboot that immediately flopped — and wanders over to Wade, putting his hands on Wade’s hips to give him a kiss.

Wade doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. Some days, he can’t even believe he’s alive at all, much less that he’s alive in a world where he’s dating the god damn Wolverine.

“Thanks, princess,” Logan rumbles against his temple, arms wrapping further around Wade’s waist, keeping him there.

Wade does his best impression of a large, bald fish that just got pulled out of water and thrust onto dry land. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asks eventually.

“Thanks?” Logan says, taking a step back, confused.

“No, the other thing.”

“…Princess?” Logan tries.

“Yeah. What’s that about?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“No! No,” Wade says, backpedaling. He loves it, he just… he just… he doesn’t know what he thought. The whole pet names thing had always been his schtick, never Logan’s. Wade becomes aware of how hot his face is, of the flush that must be creeping up over his scarred cheeks.

“Ohhh,” Logan purrs, nice and low, stepping forward again to crowd Wade against the counter. Wade’s face heats even more. “You like it, princess?”

Wade swallows. This man is going to be the death of him.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS in Hogwarts AU

AN: Hi anon, thank you for requesting. This was an awesome one to write. Some of these could be multi chaptered but alas I am a woman of few words and even meagre attention span.

Request: a request!! harry potter au :D love and deepspace and harry potter are my two favourites ^^ thank you!!!

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 100% Fluff (damn, this is rare)

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb...this is a trend (tell me which ones you like pls)

Xavier:

He is the legacy Slytherin. Pureblood prince of a faraway kingdom, the kind with a family vault older than the castle and buildings named after them.

He sleeps through class but still scores the highest. Doesn’t take notes, but his potions always come out textbook perfect, somehow even better than the textbook.

Even Snape, ever the grump, seems to favor him.

He was your enemy. At least, he was supposed to be.

The nepo baby. The one who walked into Hogwarts with an heirloom wand and a last name that made professors stand up straighter.

You, who ran away from home for magic, scraping together acceptance letters and scholarships, walking into the castle with nerves and nothing else. You, who earned your place.

You hated him. Hated how the system seemed built for boys like him. How Slytherin’s points climbed every time he so much as blinked. How he didn’t fight for the respect he got. He just had it.

And worst of all? He was nice.

Quietly. Gently. Infuriatingly nice.

He held doors open without thinking. Helped carry books for first-years. Always paired with the struggling students in class because, “Well, they need a win, don’t they?”

He never rubbed it in. Never gloated. Never treated you like you were less, which made it worse, somehow. Because you wanted to hate him. Needed to.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled like you were someone worth smiling at.

And that… was the beginning of the end.

Rafayel:

You sighed when yet another chair was dragged next to yours at the Hogwarts staff table. At this rate, they might just push you off the end completely.

But alas, such is the fate of a muggle-subjects professor in a school where “Calculus” might as well be a curse word. You’re used to the disinterest, the disapproval. The dark arts will always win over derivatives.

You’re halfway through mentally drafting your resignation letter when the new professor takes his seat, by replacing his legs with an enormous siren tail and dramatically splashing half your legroom away.

"Hello," he says, smiling with too many teeth. "Rafayel. Art professor. Lovely to meet you."

You stare. Shake his webbed hand. Stammer your name.

And then it hits you.

Arts. No magic.

Another outsider. Well—not quite the same. But close enough.

To your complete dismay, Rafayel’s subject is met with none of the disdain yours is. Students flock to his class like he’s handing out enchanted paintbrushes dipped in prophecy. Somehow, he’s the cool muggle professor.

You want to be mad.

But he keeps bringing you snacks during staff meetings. And drawing you in charcoal between grading.

So maybe you forgive him. A little.

Zayne:

“Classroom windows need to be elevated above the two-foot mark,” the man drones, leading you through Hogwarts like he built it himself.

The Ministry has to be trolling you. There’s no other explanation for sending him again.

Zayne. The most regulation-obsessed official alive. The man who’s turned passive-aggression into an Olympic sport.

“Yes, of course, Zayne,” you smile with false sweetness. “Filch and I will get right on it.” (Translation: I will do it while Filch glares and mutters about unions.)

He ignores you. Of course he does. Groundskeepers aren’t worth Ministry time.

Then he stops, turns, and hands you a thick folder. “Every storage hinge in the castle needs to be updated to a new spell protocol. Instructions inside.”

You want to hurl it at his head.

Instead, you smile. “Got it.”

What you don’t know: Zayne spent weeks compiling that list. Researching every obscure policy he could dig up.

All just to have an excuse to come talk to you.

He even bribed Filch to stay out of the way.

So that later, when you’re elbow-deep in cursed cabinet screws, he can show up with dinner.

Professionally, of course.

He’s not an amateur.

Sylus:

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… a piece of work.

Many a student, mostly girls, a few brave boys, and one very dramatic portrait on the third floor, called him a work of art.

You agreed.

Which was fair, considering you hired him.

Sylus. Your oldest friend. Keeper of far too many of your secrets. Former war general, occasional assassin, and man bound by an ancient oath not to die. Because of course he is.

Was it an HR nightmare? Absolutely.

Did it matter? Not even a little.

You’re the principal with the most peaceful term Hogwarts has seen in decades. No cursed classrooms. No dark lords. No goblin incidents in the West Tower.

They can’t afford to question your hiring decisions, not when it’s working. Even if “working” currently includes the students placing bets on whether the two of you are dating, dueling, or doomed.

There are whispers. Screams, really. Squeals in the hallways every time Sylus leans a little too close during staff meetings. Every time he calls you, by your name, letting go of the official address, with that knowing smile that turns half the seventh-years into puddles.

You pretend not to notice. You also pretend not to see the doodles left behind in your healing arts studies classroom, little hearts drawn in ink, a chemical formula twisted cleverly into your ship name.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," you murmur with a smirk, holding up the notebook for him to see.

Caleb:

They called it the sweetest story in Diagon Alley.

The Quidditch coach who kept showing up at the same little pub after every match, “for the butterbeer,” he claimed.

(He absolutely couldn’t handle it. Turned red after two sips. Giggled after three. Once tried to do a victory dance and knocked over an entire broom display.)

And the innkeeper, you, who always kept a room open. “Just in case,” you said, as if he wasn’t the reason you looked out the window every Friday night.

Together, you became the unofficial mom and dad to every half-injured, half-homesick player who passed through. Post-win snacks. Pep talks before tryouts. Holiday dinners for those who didn’t go home.

You weren’t just a couple. Your relationship was a blessing.

So of course, when Caleb finally proposed, it had to be with the team. After a big win. Pub packed, cheers echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

He slipped the ring into your butterbeer. A cute idea, in theory.

But you’d just taken a deep sip when he got down on one knee.

Cue: choking, gasping, sputtering.

Half the league panicked. Someone shouted, “She’s dying!” And Caleb, red-faced and frantic, performed the Heimlich in front of two full tables of junior league athletes and at least one reporter.

The ring did come out. Eventually.

You said yes, coughing.

He cried anyway. Ugly, happy, overjoyed tears.

[merakiui]

aww what if during the invasion of the princess’ country, Prince!Floyd falls in love with a simple commoner while he’s playing pretend? Maybe he reveals his true identity and threatens that the only way to convince him to tell his brother not to destroy the entire kingdom (Jade won’t, he just wants the princess’ hand in marriage <3) and enslave the townspeople is if the commoner marries him uwu

>:) hehe concealing his identity with magic because he looks similar to Jade and the last thing he wants is the townspeople panicking if they lay eyes on the “king.” He has so much fun doing whatever he wants in the village: drinking, partying, dancing, laughing and talking, admiring the way the town lights up after sundown. This is so much better than sitting cooped up in the palace, having the royal advisor drone on about all sorts of boring stuff. :/ he much prefers the lively energy of commoners. If he knew how fun they were, he would’ve started sneaking out ages ago!

It’s here where he meets you. Your father is a farmer and you often sell the produce he harvests every morning at the market. He crosses paths with you on his way to neighboring villages, always happy to snag a few apples in exchange for some gold coins. You marvel at this strange, whimsical man who seems to only ever pay in gold and never anything less than that. You think he might be visiting from abroad. Next time you see him, you insist he take much more than just a few measly apples. You feel bad, almost as if you’re scamming this poor foreigner out of his gold, but Floyd doesn’t really care (he has plenty of gold back at the palace; you don’t need to know that, though).

But if you’re really determined to pay him back, how about you spend a night with him? You can share a meal, go dancing, admire the stars, take a walk through the night market—whatever you want! You agree to these simple pleasures and it’s more fun than you were expecting. He spins you recklessly in the town square, an impressive dance partner. “Did you learn to dance where you’re from?” you ask, pressed close. And Floyd laughs, answering with a vague, “You could say that.” He never wants to revisit those horrid etiquette lessons again. All of that slow ballroom dancing is so not his style…until he’s doing exactly that with you beneath the moonlight after countless nights spent with you, and you’re looking at him like he’s your future. You’re more than just a passing fancy of his. He thinks he loves you.

And immediately he realizes he can’t keep up his commoner disguise when he’s a prince. He’ll have to come clean eventually. But then he also wants to confess. >_< he worries over these complicated things so much so that it has Jade asking him “Whatever is the matter?” in that I’m-hungry-for-more-information tone of his. Floyd will shoo him away, citing a foul mood, blaming the royal advisor, grumbling about how this invasion is so boring when it’s all politics between Jade and that princess he’s got eyes for. He hates it. And Jade decides that’s good enough because he drops the matter and never revisits it.

Floyd decides he has to tell the truth. He can’t keep trapping himself in a lie, especially when it seems like you might like him, too. So he treats you to a night of fun and then, while you’re both admiring the sky in peaceful togetherness, he tells you he has something important to say. He cringes under your full attention, unsure of where to go with his confession. The good news first? The bad news first? Which one will be less likely to earn him a slap? >_< which won’t break your heart? Maybe you’ll accept him as he is, invasion be damned.

He allows the magic disguise to fall away, revealing features that anyone would be able to recognize. And he knows you know because your expression shifts from hopeful to horrified in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Oh, no. No, no.” You’re shaking your head now, frantically pacing. “I can’t believe—there’s just no… it can’t be! We can’t—”

He tries to plead with you, grabbing hold of your hands even though you try to pull away. “But we can! I’m not like Jade. I don’t care about any of that stuff.” And then he realizes how bad that sounds and grimaces. “I mean… I care. I do. I just… I like ya.”

He can see the heartbreak in your eyes. The complex feelings reflected back in your glassy stare. He messed up.

“I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness.” Oh, he hates that rotten title coming from your lips. “Please forgive me.”

And then you’re taking off into the night.

Floyd doesn’t want to hurt you or lie to you, even though he technically did both. And he was raised as a spoiled prince, that childish greed returning in full force when he realizes he can’t have the one thing he wants. It’s not his style to use his position and power as royalty, but then it irritates him to think about you with another person. Sharing laughter and stories, smiling together, holding hands, falling in love…

By the King’s orders, you’re summoned to the palace—to be escorted by guards just in case you think of slipping away. Floyd’s really not a bad guy, he promises. But sometimes he just has to do bad things in order to get a good ending. You’ll understand, right?