#like would his weapon even still work after all that time

[pixel7777]

Editorial Prerogative - A Bloodweave Fanfic

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🪶📜Astarion, making a whole meal of his trust issues, volunteers to beta-read Gale's in-progress historical chronicle of their adventures, intending to control his image and gather intelligence on his companions. Instead, their written exchanges through margin notes and editorial comments evolve into genuine intellectual discourse and unexpected intimacy.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Reader Beware: story features massive geeks perpetrating geekery until they finally manage to get it on. And then they are still geeks. ~14K words.

Work Content Tags: During Canon, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Snark to Spark, Happy Ending, POV Astarion

This fic about beta-reading had amazing beta readers! Any remaining errors are my own 'editorial prerogative' (did you see what I did there?) at play. Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Editorial Prerogative

The wizard had been at it for hours now, pausing only to reference other texts or mutter to himself about proper phrasing. Earlier, Astarion had overheard Gale telling Tav about his 'chronicle' of their adventures.

What was the wizard scribbling about him? That first day, with a knife at Tav’s throat and Gale ready to incinerate him at the first sign of treachery? His nature, his past, his… appetites? The mere thought made his stomach twist—was Gale immortalizing his every misstep for future generations to gawk at? Or, gods forbid, leaving him out entirely, a footnote overshadowed by Tav’s heroics and Gale’s arcane bravado?

Either possibility rankled.

He could nab Gale’s manuscript easily enough for a little peek—he never slept, after all, and the wizard did. A night or two of sly observation would reveal exactly where Gale tucked it away. But Gale insisted on scribbling new pages every evening, which meant Astarion would have to spend every evening sneaking off to steal the damned thing, then sneaking it back. He wrinkled his nose just imagining the tedium. Enough nights of cloak-and-dagger espionage, and Gale was bound to wake at an inconvenient moment. Much better to manage this legitimately—or at least with minimal risk of being blasted by a startled wizard.

Gale dipped his quill again, and moonlight caught the movement. The slight furrow in his brow, the way he mouthed words as he wrote them—all screamed scholarly perfectionism.

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. Of course. The wizard wouldn't be able to resist proper academic review, would he? Every writer needed a critical eye, especially one so devoted to accuracy and detail.

He shifted position, letting his gaze drift over the camp while his mind raced.  What self-respecting scholar wouldn't jump at the chance for feedback? Especially someone who could offer such... unique perspectives on current events.

The more Astarion considered it, the more perfect it seemed. He could track exactly what Gale wrote about him, suggest helpful corrections where needed, and ensure the wizard's account painted him in an appropriate light. Astarion found it difficult to think past his current list of pressing and potentially disastrous emergencies, but there was a chance he would live a very long time. If Gale's narrative could be weaponized in his favor, this chronicle could make his long future more pleasant. All while appearing helpful and scholarly himself.

Astarion settled more deeply into his cushions, considering the angles. Tav had proven frustratingly immune to his usual charms—barely responding to his most practiced lines with more than a distracted smile before turning their attention back to Wyll. Always Wyll, with his tiresome heroics and his endless stories of saving orphans or whatever nonsense occupied would-be heroes these days.

Right on cue, Wyll's booming laugh carried across the camp. Tav had just handed him some sort of trinket—a child's doll rescued from gods-knew-where—and the warlock clutched it to his chest like it was made of solid gold. "This will mean everything to her," Wyll gushed, and Tav beamed at him with such nauseating earnestness that Astarion had to look away.

He'd chosen Tav deliberately. As the group's de facto leader, having them wrapped around his finger would have provided security when—if—Cazador found him. But perhaps he had been going about this all wrong.

His gaze drifted back to Gale. The wizard was still absorbed in his writing, absently running one hand through his already-disheveled hair. And really, this could work out even better. Gale was still thoroughly shattered by Mystra's rejection—he'd probably welcome any distraction that didn't involve discussing his romantic failures.

A scholarly partnership. Much more palatable than his usual methods—which, come to think of it, were really beneath him now—and likely more effective, more predictable, more interesting, more fun, with someone like Gale.

Astarion rose and crossed the camp with calculated nonchalance. "Still burning the midnight oil, I see."

Gale barely glanced up, quill still moving. "Mhm. Just trying to capture today's events while they're fresh."

"I couldn't help but overhear your plans for this little project." Astarion leaned against the desk, automatically positioning himself where the light caught his best angles. "A proper historical chronicle, you said?"

"Yes, exactly." Gale's quill paused mid-word as something in Astarion's tone finally caught his attention. He looked up, eyes brightening with interest. "Though I must admit, the scope is rather daunting."

"I imagine so. Particularly when it comes to the more... nuanced aspects of our adventures." Astarion examined his nails. "You know, I spent two centuries observing Baldur's Gate's political landscape. The sort of context that might prove invaluable to a historian."

Gale set down his quill. "Are you offering to contribute?"

"I thought perhaps I might review your drafts. During those long hours while you're sleeping—I only need four hours of trance, after all, and hunting doesn't occupy nearly that much time." Astarion gestured at the parchment. "I could note any inaccuracies, provide an independent perspective. That sort of thing."

"That would be..." Gale's whole face lit up. "Actually, that would be incredible. I really could use a fresh eye."

"Precisely." Astarion fought to keep the triumph from his smile. "I'd be happy to leave notes in the margins. For accuracy's sake."

"Yes, absolutely." Gale was already shuffling through papers, practically vibrating with scholarly excitement. "I can leave the latest sections here each night. Just... perhaps use red ink? To distinguish your comments from my original text?"

"Of course." The eagerness in Gale's expression sent an unexpected uneasiness through Astarion's gut. The wizard clearly took his offer at face value—pure academic collaboration, no ulterior motives.

He pushed the guilt aside. This was necessary. And really, he would be helping Gale create a better historical record. The fact that he'd be controlling his own narrative—and perhaps even the way Gale saw him now—was simply... a bonus. His consulting fee. It was a win-win, really.

"I should wrap this up soon anyway," Gale said, stifling a yawn. "The first few chapters are ready for review whenever you'd like to start."

"Wonderful." Astarion kept his tone light, casual, despite the triumph zinging up his spine. "I'll fetch them once you've retired."

He waited in his tent, listening as Gale shuffled papers and packed away his other materials. Only when the wizard's breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep did Astarion slip back to the desk.

The manuscript sat neatly stacked, exactly as promised. Beside it waited a bottle of red ink and a fresh quill—thoughtful of Gale, really. Astarion didn't have a desk at his own tent, and it felt generous of the man to share his… domain with Astarion, although it was obviously sensible given their circumstances. The desk itself was organized chaos, scattered with reference texts and marked maps, all meticulously labeled in Gale's flowing script.

Astarion settled into the chair, oddly aware of occupying the same space where Gale had sat earlier. The cushion was warm. Had Gale enchanted it? For himself or for Astarion? He supposed he could enjoy it either way. He shifted, trying to ignore how strangely intimate it felt to be surrounded by Gale's books and papers, breathing in the lingering scent of ink and parchment and whatever herb the wizard used in his hair oil.

The first page bore Gale's precise handwriting, complete with numbered sections and footnotes. Astarion snorted at the dramatic opening lines describing his capture by the mindflayers.

The mindflayers struck without warning, their nautiloid vessel descending from the night sky like some terrible leviathan of legend. As a scholar of the arcane, I had of course studied accounts of these fell creatures, but no dusty tome could have prepared me for the horror of their presence. The very air seemed to congeal around them, thick with psychic malevolence that pressed against one's thoughts like a physical weight.

Trust Gale to turn even that horror into something almost poetic. The nautiloid crash wrapped up the first chapter, fairing similarly with particular attention paid to copious speculation about the mechanics of the helm.

But the next chapter fully drew him in. Here was their first meeting, when paths had coincided in the aftermath. Astarion leaned forward, dipping the quill in red ink as his eyes flew across the page. Time to see exactly how the wizard had interpreted those early days, and where his perspective might lack a certain nuance. Where it needed... adjustment.

Our peculiar fellowship formed under circumstances that could only be described as extraordinary. The crash of the nautiloid—that impossible vessel of the mind flayers' astral voyage—scattered us like seeds, each bearing our own bitter secrets alongside the parasitic passengers in our minds.

Really, darling? "scattered us like seeds"? A bit precious, don't you think?

The vampire spawn hiding among us proved particularly intriguing—a being of refined tastes and careful mannerisms that spoke to centuries of rigid self-control, yet harboring an almost desperate hunger for freedom.

I do not harbor anything "desperately," thank you very much. Though I'll grant you the "refined tastes" observation.

Astarion continued reading, his quill hovering over particularly egregious passages.

His skills at stealth and subterfuge proved invaluable during our early encounters. The precision with which he dispatched threats—silent and lethal as shadow itself—spoke of training far beyond mere noble upbringing.

Finally, someone notices. Though you might have mentioned how that "precision" saved your life at least twice.

Yet these same abilities served to conceal his true nature from us, a deception that might have proved fatal had circumstances aligned differently.

Oh, that's rich coming from the man carrying a magical bomb in his chest. At least my secret wouldn't have obliterated half the Sword Coast.

Astarion skimmed past several pages of Gale's theories about the tadpoles—all premature speculation without proper data. The wizard had filled entire pages with arcane formulae and references to obscure texts—none of which would matter once they actually understood what they were dealing with—and he noted as much.

His attention caught on a new section about their mysterious camp guest.

Withers presents an enigma worthy of deeper study. His apparent mastery over death itself suggests connections to powers beyond our current understanding. While his services prove invaluable, one must question the price of such assistance.

The skeleton's ability to maintain our camp's location across vast distances implies either incredible magical prowess or access to ancient technologies we've yet to comprehend.

Or both. Have you noticed how he always appears precisely when needed, yet never seems to actually travel with us?

Astarion sat back, tapping the feathered quill against his lips. Gale's observations about Withers were surprisingly astute—he'd clearly been paying attention to details Astarion himself had noted but hadn't shared. Perhaps the wizard's chronicle might prove more valuable than expected, beyond mere image control.

He dipped his quill again, adding one final note before finishing:

We should compare notes. Over wine, perhaps? I promise not to bite.

Astarion stared at his last note, quill hovering as he considered the impulse to strike through the words. The flirtation had slipped out—an old habit, really. He'd spent centuries using charm as armor, wielding it like he now wielded his daggers. Even now, when he'd meant to keep things purely academic...

But scratching it out would only draw attention. Questions. And truly, the prospect of discussing their observations over wine didn't sound terrible. Gale's writing showed genuine insight, even if his prose needed work. Perhaps Gale wouldn't make much of it anyway.

He set the quill aside and stretched, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of Gale's workspace. The desk had become a familiar space over the past hours—comfortable, even. Strange how the wizard's scholarly clutter felt almost welcoming.

Astarion gathered the marked pages, sliding them carefully into the protective folio Gale used. He weighted them down exactly as he'd observed the wizard doing earlier, ensuring nothing would scatter in the night breeze.

His throat tightened—he'd need to hunt soon. But first, everything had to be perfect. No carelessness that might make Gale hesitate to share future drafts.

With one last glance at the desk, Astarion slipped away toward the forest.

* * *

Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of camp, watching Gale scribble frantically. The wizard hadn't properly written in days—just hasty notes between battles, ink-stained fingers marking his urgency to capture details before they faded. Their promised wine and discussion never materialized, pushed aside by the constant demands of survival.

The past few days had been a blur of stealth, combat, and gathering intelligence. The ruins of a village crawled with goblins, their crude camps dotting the landscape like festering wounds. Each encounter brought them closer to finding Halsin, but left little time for scholarly pursuits.

He had caught glimpses of Gale's newest notes—rough sketches of goblin fortifications, hurried observations about their strange devotion to the Absolute, tactical assessments of their numbers and capabilities. All practical, nothing like the flowing prose and careful analysis of his earlier work.

The parchment Astarion had annotated sat untouched in its folio, carefully preserved despite their rushed camp relocations. He'd seen Gale glance at it occasionally, a slight smile touching his lips before duty called him away again. The wizard clearly wanted to respond to his comments—Astarion had caught him reaching for his quill more than once, only to be interrupted by some new crisis.

It was maddening, really. Here he'd crafted the perfect opening for deeper investigation into Gale's thoughts, and instead they were crawling through mud and blood, tracking a missing druid. Though he had to admit, watching Gale fling spells with precise fury was its own kind of fascinating. The wizard's academic nature masked a surprisingly vicious approach to combat. Astarion liked it.

Astarion watched Gale pull fresh parchment from his satchel, arranging his writing materials with practiced efficiency. The random goblins had been dispatched, the hag dealt with, and the blighted village seemed clear of immediate threats. Finally, a proper evening for chronicling. His fingers itched to see what observations the wizard would make about their recent skirmishes—and more importantly, about that business with the Necromancy of Thay.

He'd snatched that book right from under Gale's nose, hadn't he? The wizard's disappointment had been palpable, though he'd covered it with polite grace. No doubt that incident would warrant several footnotes and perhaps a biting observation or two about the distribution of magical artifacts within the party.

Best to give Gale space to write without hovering. The wizard composed more freely when he thought himself unobserved, and Astarion needed to feed anyway. The deer in this area were plentiful, if a bit gamey for his taste.

"Don't wait up," he called to no one in particular, though his eyes lingered on Gale's bent head. The wizard's quill was already flying across the page, completely absorbed in his work. Perfect.

Astarion slipped into the shadows beyond camp. A few hours of hunting would give Gale plenty of time to document their recent exploits. And perhaps, if he was lucky, to process his feelings about losing that book to a mere rogue with no formal magical training.

When Astarion returned to camp, he found fresh pages waiting on the desk. Gale had even left a bottle of wine. He recognized the vintage as one he'd mentioned enjoying during their last proper conversation.

Settling in the chair, he uncorked the wine and lifted the first page. Gale's familiar script flowed across the parchment, still carrying traces of sand from the hasty drying powder.

The diplomatic acumen of our leader continues to impress. When confronted with three ogres checking for brands of the Absolute, Tav opted for negotiation rather than combat. Their astute observation that the ogres were underpaid and underappreciated led to a remarkable employment negotiation.

Oh, is that what we're calling it? I distinctly recall Tav offering them "all the goblins they could eat" as a signing bonus.

The resulting arrangement has secured us formidable allies, though I confess some ethical concerns about the terms of their compensation.

Darling, they're ogres. They were going to eat someone anyway. At least now it's goblins instead of travelers, and the goblins are dead either way.

Astarion smirked at the next passage, which detailed their unfortunate timing near the windmill.

Our tactical infiltration of the ruins was somewhat compromised by an unexpected encounter with an amorous hobgoblin commander and his ogress paramour. While the resulting combat was brief, the psychological impact of interrupting such an intimate moment cannot be understated.

You've missed the best part—the look on Tav's face was priceless. Perhaps this scene could benefit from illustration?

In truth, Astarion had most enjoyed Gale's face during the hilarious encounter, and wondered if he could manage to observe Gale's expression when he read Astarion's commentary on this bit.

The rescue of Barcus Root earned several paragraphs of Gale's most precise prose, complete with footnotes about the historical significance of windmills in torture techniques.

Astarion paused, wine halfway to his lips. He was actually enjoying this—not just for the intelligence gathering, but for the genuine pleasure of adding his observations. How quaint.

Astarion turned the page, eager to see Gale's take on their exploration beneath the alchemist's shop. The account was unusually dry—just facts about the layout, details of the mechanisms they'd bypassed, and a catalog of items discovered.

The chamber contained several items of note, including a tome of necromantic magic originating from Thay. After discussion, the party determined the book's optimal allocation lay with our roguish companion rather than myself, despite my expertise in matters arcane.

The clinical tone set Astarion's teeth on edge. Where were Gale's usual meandering footnotes about Thayan magical theory? His typical asides about the historical significance of finding such a tome in a simple alchemist's shop?  Most importantly, where was Gale's actual indignation at Tav's decision to give the book to Astarion? Astarion couldn't glean insights about Gale's state of mind if Gale were deliberately hiding it.

The rest of the passage continued in the same detached voice, lacking any of the wizard's usual flair for dramatic description or academic passion. No mention of the way Gale's fingers had lingered on the book's spine before passing it over, or how his scholarly mask had slipped for just a moment.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink, considering his words carefully.

My dear chronicler, your attempt at objectivity is painfully transparent. Where's that florid prose I've come to expect? The fascinating personal reactions which readers of a first-person account will expect? I do believe you're censoring yourself on my behalf.

He paused, then added:

Perhaps we should discuss this over that wine we keep postponing? Your tent or mine—I promise to bring the book.

The invitation felt dangerous somehow, more revealing than his previous notes. But he couldn't resist the opportunity to draw out Gale's true thoughts on the matter. After all, what good was reading an eyewitness historical account if the historian refused to include his actual perspective?

Astarion's invitation hung unanswered in the margins. Days passed, then weeks. Gale always had a reason—spell preparation, research, tactical planning with Tav. The excuses were perfectly reasonable, yet rang hollow.

The wizard's avoidance became a subtle dance. He'd duck into his tent whenever Astarion approached with the manuscript, leaving fresh pages or collected edits on his desk instead. Their paths crossed constantly in camp, yet somehow never quite aligned for that promised discussion.

Still, their written exchanges deepened. Astarion found himself spending hours crafting the perfect cutting remark or clever observation, just to see Gale's reaction. He'd position himself carefully in camp, pretending to sharpen his daggers while actually watching Gale read through his latest comments.

The varying sleep patterns of our group present both tactical advantages and social challenges. The distribution of watch duties must account for individual requirements and capabilities.

Your snoring presents a particularly fascinating tactical challenge. I've heard owlbears with quieter sleeping habits.

The wizard was expressive when he thought himself unobserved. His eyebrows would arch at particularly biting criticism, and sometimes he'd bite his lip to hold back laughter at Astarion's more outrageous suggestions. Once, Gale actually snorted aloud at Astarion's detailed critique of his purple prose regarding their encounter with the Myconid colony.

Our encounter with the Myconid colony presented a unique opportunity to observe a complex fungal society. Their method of communication—the release of specialized spores creating a shared consciousness—demonstrates remarkable evolutionary adaptation. The resulting telepathic rapport manifests as a symphony of thoughts, though the experience might be likened to an especially enthusiastic group hug for the mind.

A "group hug for the mind"? Darling, you were high as a cloud giant’s sky-castle on mushroom spores. The only "symphony" was your giggling while trying to pet Shadowheart's hair.

The sound of Gale's laughter had sent a rush of satisfaction through Astarion that lingered for hours.

Gale's responses appeared regularly—thoughtful rebuttals, acceptance of suggested edits, and even playful counter-arguments. But that section about the Thayan tome remained untouched, a conspicuous gap in their otherwise comprehensive collaboration. The clinical tone stood out even more now, contrasting ever so sharply with Gale's increasingly engaging writing style elsewhere.

Astarion found himself reading and re-reading their margin conversations, tracking the subtle shift from academic discourse to something more intimate. Gale's formal footnotes had evolved into personal asides, sharing opinions and observations he never voiced in camp. The wizard was far more candid on paper than in person—except about that damn book.

Astarion watched Gale set up his writing materials as they set up camp near the blighted village. Their final expedition had yielded surprising treasures—including that curious amethyst from the well. His fingers traced the spine of the Necromancy of Thay, anticipating Gale's written reaction to their discovery of its key.

The wizard had been particularly quiet during that encounter, his usual commentary conspicuously absent as Astarion declared his intention to unlock the book's secrets himself. Now that they were heading to Moonrise Towers, surely Gale would want to document this significant development in their journey—and perhaps finally address the tension around the tome.

Instead of settling into his usual writing routine at camp, though, Gale approached Astarion's tent directly. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand and wore an expression Astarion couldn't quite read.

"I believe we have an outstanding appointment to discuss certain editorial matters," Gale said, holding up the wine. "Unless you're otherwise occupied?"

Astarion's carefully prepared remarks about the amethyst scattered like startled birds. He'd imagined a dozen ways this conversation might finally happen, but none quite matched the reality of Gale standing there, waiting for his response.

"Well, this is unexpected," Astarion said, leaning against his tent post with studied carelessness. "I'd almost given up hope of collecting on that promise."

His fingers itched to reach for the book, to use it as a shield or bargaining chip—but something in Gale's direct gaze made him hesitate. Their written exchanges had shifted something between them, created a space where masks seemed less necessary.

"Your tent or mine?" Gale asked, echoing Astarion's long-ago invitation.

"Yours," Astarion said quickly. Too quickly. He covered it with a flourish toward Gale's tent. "You've the better furniture, after all."

Gale's tent welcomed them with its familiar scholarly clutter—stacks of books, scattered scrolls, and that ridiculously comfortable reading chair Astarion secretly coveted. The space smelled of ink and parchment, with undertones of arcane components.

Gale poured the wine, his movements measured yet somehow uncertain. He handed Astarion a glass, their fingers not quite touching in the exchange.

"I've been meaning to discuss—that is to say, I've observed—" Gale cleared his throat, started again. "The Necromancy of Thay."

"Ah." Astarion settled into the reading chair, feeling quite smug at the chance to try it out. "I was wondering when we'd address that rather clinical passage in your chronicle."

"Yes, well." Gale paced a tight circle, wine sloshing dangerously in his glass. "I've been researching similar texts, you see, and the contents are often... particularly unpleasant. Designed to inflict maximum suffering before giving up their knowledge. And given your previous experiences—"

Astarion's grip tightened on his glass. "My what?"

"I mean no offense," Gale said quickly. "But you've endured more than enough horror for several lifetimes. I worry that delving into such dark magic might... reopen old wounds."

The wine turned bitter on Astarion's tongue. He'd prepared arguments about his right to the book, about the tactical advantages of understanding such magic. He'd even rehearsed a few cutting remarks about Gale's obvious desire for the tome.

But concern? For him?

"I—" Astarion found himself without words, a rare and uncomfortable state. "That's why you've been avoiding this discussion? Not because you want the book?"

"Of course I want the book." Gale settled into the chair opposite, his expression earnest. "But I've had time to consider, and perhaps it would be best to set it aside. For now."

Astarion's jaw clenched. First Tav's rejection, then the others' constant suspicious glances, and now this? He'd thought at least Gale understood his need for advancement, for power. The wine glass creaked in his grip.

"How magnificently patronizing." He kept his voice light, though acid burned beneath the words. "Shall we lock it away with all the other dangerous toys? Keep the spawn from playing with sharp objects?"

"That's not—"

"No? Then what exactly are you suggesting? That I'm too fragile to handle a bit of dark magic?" The words tasted like ash. He'd worked so hard to appear strong, capable, worthy of trust. And here was Gale, trying to take away perhaps his only real advantage.

"I'm suggesting," Gale said carefully, "that I'd rather not see you suffer needlessly. These texts are notorious for extracting a terrible price from their readers. The knowledge they contain—"

"Is power. Power I need." Astarion caught himself, smoothed his voice back to silk. "Power that could benefit us all."

Gale leaned forward, his face so damnably sincere it made Astarion's teeth ache. "I wouldn't deny you power. Never that. I only..." He ran a hand through his hair, scattering loose strands. "I find myself concerned. For your wellbeing."

Astarion froze. The admission hung between them, heavy with implications he wasn't prepared to examine.

"That is to say," Gale added hastily, clearly reading something in Astarion's expression, "as my editor, naturally. Can't have my primary source of objective feedback suffering adverse magical effects. Think of the footnotes I'd miss."

The silence stretched too long. Astarion's grip on his wine glass loosened as he processed Gale's weak attempt at humor.

"I only meant—" Gale stumbled over his words. "If you're determined to unlock the book's secrets, that's your choice to make. But would you consider letting me be present? As a precaution? These texts can be... unpredictable."

Their eyes met across the cluttered space of the tent. Something unspoken passed between them—concern, understanding, perhaps more. Astarion's throat tightened with an unfamiliar sensation. He looked away first, unable to maintain contact under the weight of whatever this was becoming.

"Fine," he said, aiming for dismissive but landing closer to relieved. "If you insist on hovering."

"Now?" Gale asked.

Astarion retrieved the book and amethyst from his tent. The skin binding felt greasy against his fingers, hungry somehow. He and Gale sat on the bedroll in Gale's tent as Astarion inserted the amethyst into the cover and the book opened for him at last.

The process was excruciating. Each page fought him, magic lashing out with memories of pain and darkness. But Gale remained steady beside him, watching, occasionally steadying Astarion's hand when it shook too badly to turn a page.

The wizard's presence anchored him through the worst moments. No judgment, no criticism—just quiet support and the occasional murmured encouragement.

It was... nice. Different. Just someone watching out for him, with no agenda beyond keeping him safe.

When the third page yielded its secrets, Astarion closed the book with trembling fingers. "Well," he managed, "that was certainly an experience."

Gale's hand hovered near Astarion's shoulder. "Are you—"

"Perfectly fine." The lie came automatically, though his hands still shook and dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. Perhaps Gale had been right about the book's defenses. His back burned where phantom knives had traced familiar patterns, and his throat felt raw from screaming he hadn't actually done.

"You don't look fine." Gale's voice held no judgment, just that damnable concern again.

"Well, I am." Astarion forced his fingers to release their death grip on the tome. "And I've gained… well, something. I know how to speak with the dead now. I just know—isn't that strange?  I think putting myself through that… whatever that was—I'll be stronger resisting similar attempts to overcome my will in the future."

He started to stand, but the tent tilted alarmingly. Gale's steady hand caught his elbow, keeping him from stumbling.

"At least finish your wine first." Gale pressed the forgotten glass into his hands.

Astarion accepted, using the moment to collect himself. The wine helped, washing away the taste of remembered terror. When he could trust his legs again, he rose more carefully.

"This was a gift," he said, meeting Gale's eyes. "I won't forget it."

He meant the support, not the wine, and from Gale's expression, the wizard understood. Before either of them could say something unfortunate, Astarion slipped out into the night air.

His own tent felt hollow after the warmth of Gale's. He sat the wooden plank that served as his bed, turning the necromantic tome over in his hands, unsure what to make of the evening—or the confused tangle of emotions it had stirred up.

* * *

Astarion traced his fingers over Gale's latest annotations, the wizard's precise script filling the margins of yet another chapter. Their written exchanges had grown more frequent as the landscape changed around them, the verdant wilderness giving way to twisted shadows and blighted earth.

The pages had become a refuge of sorts. Here, safely confined to ink and parchment, they could maintain their usual wit and banter without the awkward tension that now plagued their face-to-face interactions. Astarion lost himself while crafting the perfect cutting remarks about Gale's overwrought metaphors, and the wizard responded in kind with increasingly elaborate defenses of his prose style.

He shifted in Gale's chair adjusting the manuscript to catch the lamplight. A fresh comment caught his eye—Gale questioning his edits to the account of a particular skirmish with some shadow creatures. Astarion's lips curved despite himself. The wizard had a point about the improbability of that particular acrobatic maneuver, but he wasn't about to admit it.

A movement across camp drew his attention. Gale sat by the camp's central fire. The flames caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell forward as he put away the things from dinner. Astarion looked away quickly, focusing on the pages before him.

These... thoughts had been occurring more frequently lately. Intrusive little observations about Gale's hands, his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. In the past, Astarion would have known exactly how to proceed—a carefully calculated seduction, another conquest to be manipulated and discarded. The very idea turned his stomach now.

He had no other template for desire, no framework for whatever this unsettling attraction might be. Better to ignore it entirely. Focus on the safety of their written discourse, where physical proximity couldn't muddy the waters of their intellectual sparring.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink and began composing a particularly scathing critique of Gale's latest philosophical tangent. This, at least, was familiar ground. He could lose himself in the comfortable rhythm of their literary fencing match and pretend the rest didn't exist.

Astarion flipped to the next section, where Gale's neat script filled the page:

The Last Light Inn stands as a testament to the power of Selûne's blessing, maintained through complex abjuration resonance. The metaphysical architecture of Isobel's protective wards demonstrates an intricate understanding of lunar phases and their correlation to planar barriers. Of particular note is the way the silvery radiance...

For someone who claims to write for posterity, you've managed to make sanctuary sound absolutely tedious. The contrast is what matters—a bastion of safety amid endless shadow. Save the technical treatise for your next symposium.

...The mathematical precision required to maintain such a barrier suggests years of careful study and preparation, likely drawing from ancient texts preserved by the Church of Selûne...

Oh yes, I'm certain future generations will be riveted by the arithmetic of salvation. Perhaps mention how it felt to step inside? The relief of finding light when all hope seemed lost? No? More equations then?

Astarion smirked as he turned the page, finding Gale's account of their encounter with the "surgeon" of Reithwin town:

Our investigation into the source of the Shadow Curse led us to confront one of Ketheric's agents, a deeply disturbed individual who had perverted the healing arts. While the exact nature of Ketheric's involvement remains uncertain, the evidence suggests...

Evidence suggests you've developed selective amnesia, my dear wizard. Have you forgotten how I avoided a battle for all of us by talking the man into slaying himself? Now that's the kind of detail readers want.

The theological implications of Ketheric's actions require careful consideration, particularly regarding the balance of divine power in the region...

Theological implications? The man turned an entire region into a nightmare, and you're pondering metaphysics? Sometimes I wonder if you actually experienced any of this or just read about it in one of your dusty tomes.

He dipped his quill again, adding:

Though I suppose I should be flattered that you've managed to make even my finest moment sound like a lecture at the College of Lore. Quite a gift you have there.

Astarion finished his notes on the newer pages, capping the ink with more force than necessary. He flipped back through the manuscript, searching for the section about their encounter with Elminster. Finding it, his jaw clenched.

The Sage of Shadowdale's appearance proved fortuitous, offering vital intelligence regarding the nature of our adversary. His message from Mystra herself provided clear direction for our efforts against the Absolute...

Astarion's fingers tightened on the page. Astarion had filled the margins of this section with vitriolic commentary about Mystra's manipulations, comparing her to Cazador in explicit detail. He'd outlined exactly how she groomed young wizards, used their devotion, and discarded them. He'd particularly emphasized how she'd cultivated Gale's obsession from childhood, only to send him on a suicide mission.

Yet Gale had addressed none of it. His newest draft remained unchanged—still that same reverent tone, still treating her "mission" as some grand destiny rather than the calculated disposal of an inconvenient ex-lover.

The red ink from his previous notes stood stark against the parchment, a furious indictment that Gale had simply ignored:

So the great Mystra collects pretty young mages, fills their heads with dreams of glory, beds them, then sends them off to die? And you are defending this?

Astarion's quill hovered over the page, tempted to write it all again, larger this time. But what was the point? Gale clearly preferred his delusions about divine purpose to facing the truth about his goddess's machinations.

He traced one finger over Gale's unchanged text, fighting down the urge to tear the page to shreds. The familiar rage at seeing someone else trapped in a Master's web of lies burned fiercely. But Gale couldn't—or wouldn't—see the parallel between Mystra's manipulation and Cazador's control. He'd rather die believing he'd chosen his fate than admit he'd been shaped into a willing sacrifice.

Astarion shoved the manuscript into its folio. What was he doing, getting invested in someone who'd already chosen their path to destruction? He'd spent two centuries under Cazador's thumb—he wasn't about to watch someone else march willingly toward their doom, no matter how fascinating their written exchanges had become.

Better to maintain distance. Keep things professional. Academic. After all, hadn't he originally approached this project to manage his image? When had it transformed into caring about Gale's welfare?

Across the camp, Gale finished with his tidying and stood, presumably heading to his tent to sleep. Astarion's fingers twitched with the urge shake some sense into him. To demand how someone so brilliant could be so wilfully blind about their own situation.

But Gale's tent meant privacy. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that made it harder to ignore the way Gale's presence affected him. No, that conversation would be dangerous—for multiple reasons.

Perhaps Tav could handle it instead. They'd already tried talking Gale out of his martyrdom once before. Maybe with the right leverage, the right arguments... Astarion could provide some choice phrases about divine manipulation, let Tav deliver them without the complicated baggage of whatever was developing—or not developing—between himself and Gale.

Astarion watched Gale disappear into his tent, the blue fabric swaying closed behind him. The lamp inside cast the wizard's shadow against the canvas—a dark silhouette bent over his trunk.

His throat burned. Usually, a good hunt helped clear his head of such distracting thoughts, but the Shadow-cursed lands offered no such relief. No rabbits darted between the twisted trees, no deer grazed in the blighted fields. Even the rats had abandoned this cursed place.

He checked his supplies, counting the bottles of blood tucked away in his pack. Three left. He could do without—had done so for most of his life—but it would be another irritant grating on his nerves.  He would ration as best as he could while the party wasted time chasing down lost (almost certainly dead) parents and playing with creepy children.

Astarion settled onto the wooden plank that served as his bed, arranging the thin blanket around himself more from habit than necessity. The familiar discomfort of hunger gnawed at him as he closed his eyes, preparing for what would undoubtedly be another restless trance.

* * *

The party trudged back into camp, boots caked with the muck of Reithwin Town and depressed from the events of Moonrise Towers. Astarion's skin still crawled from their encounter with that insufferable drow. He needed a proper wash, fresh clothes, and most importantly, to forget the entire ordeal.

But Gale made straight for his writing desk, barely pausing to dump his pack.

"I'll take first watch," Wyll offered.

"Excellent. And dinner?" Shadowheart asked.

"Also Wyll," Gale called over his shoulder, already pulling out fresh parchment.

Wyll's protest died under Shadowheart's glare. "Fine. But tomorrow—"

"Yes, yes," Gale waved vaguely, ink already flowing.

Astarion settled on his usual perch, watching Gale's quill dance across the page with unusual urgency. Normally the wizard labored over each word, consulting references and muttering to himself. But now he wrote as if possessed, barely pausing for more ink.

Strange. Their routine typically involved Gale cooking dinner and then writing late into the night before retiring, leaving the pages for Astarion to review in privacy. This feverish pace was new. Intriguing.

Astarion had just resigned himself to wait when Gale suddenly stopped, gathered the fresh pages, and marched over.

"I need your input. Now. Before I continue."

"What, no beauty rest first? How irregular of you."  Astarion tried to mask his annoyance with humor. Could the man not give him a few minutes of distance before making him relive the whole unsavory encounter?

"This can't wait." Gale thrust the pages forward. "I need to know if I've captured the, ah, nuances correctly."

"Nuances?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Of what, precisely?"

"The encounter with Araj. The political implications. The, um, historical context of drow-vampire relations in Baldur's Gate."

It was a terrible excuse. Gale knew perfectly well that Baldur's Gate's drow population was minimal, and Astarion's knowledge of them even more so.

"Historical context?" Astarion drawled. "How fascinating that you'd need that particular detail at this exact moment."

Gale shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. Well. Will you read it or not?"

Now this was interesting. Gale was many things, but abrupt usually wasn't one of them. Whatever drove this urgency, it wasn't academic accuracy.

"Oh, very well." Astarion plucked the pages from Gale's hands. "Since you're being so charmingly mysterious about it."

Astarion settled back against the log and began to read as Gale retreated. His eyebrows rose higher with each paragraph. This wasn't Gale's usual measured prose at all—no footnotes, no academic distance, not even proper punctuation in places. Just raw, unfiltered fury poured onto the page.

He'd completely skipped their confrontation with Ketheric. Nothing about finding Minthara again. Instead, Gale had filled pages with increasingly creative invectives about Araj Oblodra.

The absolute gall of this creature, Gale had written, to demand such intimacy from someone who had clearly refused. Her presumption that Tav could simply order Astarion to perform such an act speaks volumes about her own twisted relationship with consent.

The next paragraph contained several crossed-out words that looked suspiciously like swearing in the old Thorass language.

I cannot fathom why Tav didn't simply let us dispose of her after such a display. The way she kept pressing, kept trying to manipulate the situation—disgusting. Utterly revolting.

Astarion's throat tightened as he read on. Gale had captured every micro-expression, every subtle tension in his shoulders when Araj wouldn't take no for an answer. But rather than clinical observation, the writing blazed with protective rage.

Astarion's refusal was admirably firm, Gale had written, and I find myself quite proud of how he handled the situation, though I shouldn't have expected anything less.

Something warm bloomed in Astarion's chest. He'd been ready to deflect questions about his reaction, to laugh off the whole incident. But Gale had seen. Had understood.

Had been angry on his behalf.

The writing deteriorated further into personal commentary about Araj's parentage and probable relationship with various Underdark creatures. It was messy, emotional, and completely unlike Gale's usual work.

It was perfect.

Astarion looked up from the pages to find Gale had vanished from the campfire. A quick scan revealed lamplight flickering in his tent. After a moment's consideration, he slipped over to their stores and liberated a particularly nice Sembian red—the kind Gale favored when deep in his cups. The rest of the party watched him cross to Gale's tent, but he ignored their stares.

"Knock knock," he called softly, unable to actually rap on the canvas.

"Come—" Gale cleared his throat. "Come in."

Inside, Gale perched on his bedroll, having made an absolute disaster of his hair. His fingers twisted in the ends of his sleeves as he watched Astarion enter.

Astarion settled beside him, close enough to share the wine but not so near as to crowd. He uncorked the bottle and poured generously into their cups. Gale accepted his with visible relief, taking a long swallow.

"So," Astarion said, tapping the pages. "I can see why you might want feedback before adding these particular... observations to the official record."

Gale's shoulders hunched. "I shouldn't have shown you. It was unprofessional. I'll rewrite it properly—"

"Don't you dare." The words came out sharper than intended, and Astarion took a measured sip of wine before continuing. "It's refreshing to see you write without stuffing every sentence full of footnotes and qualifiers."

Astarion traced the edge of the parchment, weighing his next words. "Perhaps this particular passage isn't suited for your grand historical chronicle. But..." He folded the pages with careful precision. "If you've no objection, I'd like to keep these."

Gale's eyes widened slightly. "You would?"

"Mm." Astarion slipped the pages into his vest pocket, next to his heart. "It's rather remarkable, isn't it? How well we've come to know each other through ink and paper."

"I was just thinking the same." Gale's fingers drummed against his cup. "Though that makes it all the more frustrating that I still—that is to say—" He took another fortifying sip of wine. "There are still considerable gaps in my understanding of, well, certain matters. Particularly regarding how to... that is, what might be welcome or unwanted in terms of..."

Gale's usual eloquence abandoned him entirely as he rambled on, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "The last thing I'd want is to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted advances or assumptions about—not that I'm making assumptions! Or advances. Unless they'd be welcome. Which I have no way of knowing, hence my current..."

Astarion felt his smile growing wider as Gale continued to tie himself in verbal knots. The wizard who could lecture for hours about the minutiae of magical theory was completely undone trying to navigate this conversation. It was, against all odds, utterly charming.

Astarion indulged a wicked impulse to let Gale continue stumbling through increasingly convoluted sentences. This brilliant, powerful man who could probably level the camp with a thought was sitting here blushing and babbling like a schoolboy, all because he was worried about making Astarion uncomfortable.

Astarion watched Gale spiral deeper into his verbal maze, now fretting about consent and boundaries and "not wanting to be anything like that presumptuous drow." The wine in Astarion's cup caught the lamplight as he swirled it, considering.

He'd surprised himself today, hadn't he? That firm "no" to Araj had felt... right. Natural. After centuries of being unable to refuse anything, he'd found his voice. Found his limits.

But knowing what he didn't want was only half the equation, wasn't it? The other half sat right here, working himself into knots trying to be considerate of Astarion's feelings.

"—and I would never presume to—"

"Gale." Astarion set his cup aside. "I need you to choose me."

Gale's mouth snapped shut, eyes wide.

"Not as some temporary distraction while you wait for your goddess to take you back." The words spilled out, sharper than intended. "And certainly not if you're still planning to martyr yourself for her at the first opportunity."

Astarion's fingers clenched. "I won't… invest in someone who's already plotting to abandon me."

Astarion's throat tightened as Gale continued to stare, mouth working silently. The silence stretched painfully, and Astarion's carefully constructed walls began to rise again.

"Though if you're worried about how… this might affect my editorial contributions—" He forced a light tone, reaching for his familiar armor of wit. "I can assure you I'll be every bit as ruthless with your purple prose if we... if certain advances were made and accepted." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "I cannot make any promises beyond trying right now, but I would like to.  Try."

Gale's surprised laugh broke the tension. He set his wine aside with deliberate care, and Astarion's couldn't pull his gaze from the serious look in Gale's eyes.

"Very well then." Gale's voice was soft but certain. "I choose you. Mystra can find someone else to blow up."

The words hit Astarion like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Everyone who'd ever shown interest in him had wanted something—his body, his skills, his submission. Even Araj's recent attempt to "offer him blood" had been about using him, treating him like a toy to be passed around at her whim, rented by her alchemical prowess.

But here was Gale, casually tossing aside his divine destiny, his life-long obsession with Mystra, all for... him. Just him. No conditions, no demands, no expectations beyond what Astarion was willing to give.

Joy bubbled up, wild and unfamiliar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like it.

"Stay tonight?" Gale asked, voice soft. "Just to rest. Nothing more than you're comfortable with."

Astarion hesitated. The offer was tempting, but old habits died hard. "I don't sleep."

"I know. But you could trance here. If you wanted."

The earnest hope in Gale's expression melted Astarion's remaining resistance. "Well, I suppose your cushions are more comfortable than mine. Alright. After your dinner, then."

They emerged from the tent to find Wyll's attempt at dinner nearly ready. Shadowheart's knowing smirk made Astarion bristle, but Gale's steady presence at his side kept him from snapping at her.

"About time," Wyll called from the fire. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Astarion drawled, earning a quiet snort from Gale.

The stew was barely edible—Wyll had somehow managed to both burn and under-season it if the general consensus was to be believed—but Gale seemed oblivious and Astarion couldn't eat it anyway. He focused on the way Gale's knee pressed against his as they sat, the brief brushes of their hands as they reached for and passed wine and food among the party members.

Gale hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left the tent. It transformed his entire face, softening the worried lines around his eyes. Astarion caught himself staring more than once, but surprisingly didn't feel the need to hide it.

When the others began drifting toward their tents, Astarion followed Gale back to his. Inside, they faced each other awkwardly until Gale gestured around from the reading chair to his bedroll.

"Whereever you're most comfortable."

Astarion considered his options. He could maintain some distance. But Gale's warmth beckoned, and for once, Astarion allowed himself to want.

In the end, after a stupid amount of awkwardness, he settled against Gale's side, tension melting as strong arms wrapped around him. Gale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Good night, Astarion."

Astarion tilted his face up, catching Gale's lips in a soft kiss. "Good night, Gale."

The kiss lingered on Astarion's lips as Gale's breathing slowed and deepened beside him. Such a simple thing, really—just the brief press of mouths, no heat or urgency behind it. Yet his mind kept circling back to that moment, analyzing every detail. The slight roughness of Gale's beard. The way Gale's hand had cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. The soft sound of contentment Gale made when they parted.

Gale shifted in his sleep, arm tightening around Astarion's waist. The wizard radiated warmth like a furnace, his heartbeat steady against Astarion's chest. The sound should have made him thirsty—it frequently did, with others—but in this moment it felt... comforting. Like a lullaby.

Astarion nestled deeper into the embrace, savoring the novel sensation of being held without ulterior motives. No demands, no expectations, just the simple happiness of closeness. When was the last time anyone had touched him like this? Had anyone ever?

The thought should have been depressing, but somehow it wasn't. Not with Gale's steady breathing in his ear and strong arms around him. Not with the memory of that kiss still lingering on his lips.

His racing thoughts gradually settled as the night deepened. The familiar patterns of meditation beckoned, and for once Astarion didn't fight them. He let his consciousness drift, secure in the knowledge that he was, perhaps for the first time in centuries, truly safe.

His last coherent thought before slipping into trance was how perfectly they fit together, like pieces of a story neither had known was incomplete.

* * *

Astarion emerged from his trance hours before dawn, finding himself thoroughly entangled with Gale. The wizard had wrapped around him like a vine, one leg thrown over his hip, face buried in Astarion's neck. Their position left no room for modesty—or denial about the way Astarion's body had responded to the intimate contact.

His erection pressed insistently against the soft curve of Gale's hip. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through him with each tiny movement, making it difficult to think clearly. When was the last time he'd felt genuine desire, untainted by calculation or necessity? Even his attempted dalliance with Tav had been strategic rather than passionate.

This was... different. Dangerous, perhaps. There were no scripts to follow here, no carefully crafted personas to hide behind. Just raw want, as honest as it was unexpected.

Gale shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pressing closer. The movement dragged a quiet gasp from Astarion's throat. Gods, but it felt good. Too good. He should extract himself, retreat to safer territory. But Gale's warmth surrounded him, tempting him to stay, to wake the wizard with kisses and see where this newfound hunger might lead.

The choice was terrifying. Exhilarating.

Astarion impulsively traced his fingers along Gale's jaw, admiring how peaceful he looked in sleep. "Gale," he whispered, voice rougher than intended. "Wake up, darling."

Gale stirred, eyes fluttering open. Astarion watched as awareness dawned, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Gale registered their entwined state. A flush spread across Gale's cheeks, and Astarion felt a corresponding press of heat growing against his own hip.

"Astarion," Gale began, voice husky with sleep and something more. "You're... we're..."

"Quite the predicament, isn't it?" Astarion murmured, trying for his usual nonchalance. But his voice was too tight, too breathless.

Gale shifted slightly, enough to look into Astarion's eyes. "What do you want, Astarion? What do you need?"

The question caught him off guard. No one asked what he wanted. Not Cazador, not the countless pawns in his games of seduction. He was a tool, a plaything, not a participant with preferences.

But Gale was asking, waiting patiently for an answer. And gods help him, Astarion wanted... something. Anything. Everything.

Gale must have seen the confusion in his eyes. He reached up, cupping Astarion's cheek. "Would you like me to leave it alone? Or would you like to explore this further?" He pressed gently against Astarion, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. "I would very much like to make you feel good, Astarion. To focus on your pleasure."

Astarion swallowed hard. "I... I want..." He trailed off, unsure how to voice the desperate need building within him.

"Tell me," Gale coaxed softly, thumb brushing Astarion's cheekbone. "My hand, my mouth, my body—what do you want, Astarion?"

The words sent a shiver down Astarion's spine. No one had ever offered him such a choice before. And he found, to his surprise, that he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Your mouth," he whispered, barely able to believe he was asking. "I want your mouth on me, Gale."

Astarion's eyes widened at his own audacity. But Gale only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "As you wish."

Gale cast a hasty spell, and a dome of silence enveloped them. Then he leaned in, capturing Astarion's lips in a searing kiss. Any lingering hesitation dissolved under the onslaught of sensation. Gale's mouth was hot and demanding, his hands roaming boldly over Astarion's body.

Astarion moaned into the kiss, arching into Gale's touch. His sleep shirt was in the way, and he tugged at it impatiently, wanting skin-to-skin contact. Gale seemed to read his mind, breaking away just long enough to strip off his own shirt before attending to Astarion's. Soon, both shirts were discarded, forgotten on the ground as their mouths found each other again.

Astarion's hands wandered over Gale's bare back, relishing the feel of warm skin under his fingertips. He mapped the contours of Gale's spine, the subtle shifts of muscle as the wizard moved above him. Gale's lips trailed down Astarion's neck, sparking pleasure wherever they landed. He nipped gently at the juncture of Astarion's neck and shoulder, earning a sharp gasp.

Their hips rocked together, the friction sending sparks through Astarion. His control slipped, desire coiling tighter with each touch, each kiss. His breath came in ragged gasps as Gale's mouth worked its way down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on his nipples.

By the time Gale's mouth reached the waistband of his sleep pants, Astarion was already dripping with need. He could feel his desire slicking his belly. He bucked his hips involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Gale looked up, eyes dark with desire. Astarion had seen Gale's eyes narrowed in thought, sharp and fierce in the middle of combat, soft and cow-eyed when they had spoken of their feelings, but never like this.  Knowing, wanting, undone with passion.

With gentle movements, Gale pushed Astarion's sleep pants down, baring him completely. Then Gale was settling between his legs, kissing Astarion's thighs and palming him gently before cupping his balls.

Gale stroked his thumb over Astarion's balls, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Astarion's breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation. Gale's hand was warm, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed just behind Astarion's scrotum, applying a steady pressure that made Astarion's eyes roll back.

"Is this alright?" Gale asked softly, looking up at him with those dark, desire-filled eyes.

Astarion could only nod, words failing him. It was more than alright. It was overwhelming, consuming. He spread his legs wider, inviting more.

Gale smiled, a sweet, almost reverent expression. "You're incredible, Astarion," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Astarion's inner thigh. "Every part of you is perfect."

Astarion's head spun at the words. Perfect. He'd been called many things, but never that. Not like this.

Gale took his time, exploring Astarion's body with a thoroughness that left him gasping. He licked and kissed his way up Astarion's shaft, his tongue hot and wet. Astarion's hips bucked, seeking more, but Gale held him down, his hands strong and steady.

"Patience," Gale whispered against his skin.

He took Astarion into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Astarion's hands fisted in the bedroll, his body trembling with need. Gale's mouth was heaven, his touch divine.

All the while, Gale's thumb continued its steady strokes and his finger pressed rhythmically. Astarion panted, his body coiling tighter with each lick, each kiss, each sweet word murmured against his flesh.

Gale's eyes flicked up to meet Astarion's, and the raw hunger in them sent a thrill through him. This was real, raw, unscripted.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Please..."

Gale hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. He took him deeper, his head bobbing slowly, his tongue working magic.

"You taste so good," Gale murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. "Like sin and sweetness all at once."

Astarion's head fell back, his body writhing under Gale's ministrations. It was too much, too good. He could feel his control slipping, his body racing towards release.

Gale seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more focused, more intense. He took Astarion deep, his throat working around him. His finger pressed harder, the pleasure cresting.

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing. He was close, so close. And Gale was right there with him, his eyes locked on Astarion's, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony.

"Gale," Astarion gasped again, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm going to..."

Gale hummed in encouragement, his eyes never leaving Astarion's. And that was it—that undid him. With a cry, Astarion came undone, his body shaking with the force of his release.

Astarion shuddered through the aftershocks as Gale's mouth gentled, working him through the last waves of pleasure. Even as he softened, Gale continued to place delicate kisses along his length, each touch sending tiny sparks through his oversensitive flesh.

Finally, Gale pulled back. His expression was pure self-satisfaction—that particular brand of smugness he got when successfully casting a difficult spell. He settled between Astarion's thighs, resting his cheek against Astarion's belly and looking up at him with twinkling eyes.

"Well," Gale said, grinning. "That was rather spectacular, wasn't it?"

Astarion huffed a laugh, reaching down and running his fingers through Gale's disheveled hair. "Aren't we pleased with ourselves?"

"Mmm, shouldn't I be?" Gale pressed a kiss to Astarion's hip. "The sounds you made were quite encouraging."

"Insufferable." But Astarion couldn't keep the fondness from his voice. He traced his thumb along Gale's jaw, feeling the wizard's smile against his skin. Then he noticed Gale's obvious arousal still straining against his sleep pants. "What about you, darling? What would you like?"

"Oh, don't worry about—"

"Let me take care of you," Astarion purred, running his fingers through Gale's hair and then tugging gently. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Gale's face—or at least match it with one of his own.

Gale caught his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Actually, I had something else in mind." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he shifted the tilt of Astarion's hips. "If you're amenable?"

Astarion allowed himself to be repositioned, curiosity piqued. Then Gale's hands were on his ass, spreading him open, and—oh. The quick press of lips against his hole sent a jolt through him.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Only if you like that sort of thing." A wicked grin spread across Gale's face as he darted his tongue out, the quick, teasing flick against Astarion's sensitive rim sending electric shivers up his spine. The warmth of Gale's breath ghosted over his exposed flesh as the wizard pulled back just enough to catch his eye, one dark eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and the smugness radiating from him made Astarion want to both kiss and throttle him. Instead, he found himself caught in that questioning gaze, his own body trembling with anticipation for what might come next.

Heat pooled in Astarion's belly. He absolutely did like that sort of thing, when done well—and he was deeply convinced Gale knew how to do this well—though he couldn't resist teasing. "My, my. This seems rather focused on my pleasure again."

"Trust me," Gale chuckled, the sound rich with promise. "I'll get as good as I give, in the end." He reached for his nearby bag, rummaging until he produced a vial of oil. "But first—ground rules. If I tap twice anywhere on your body, I need verbal confirmation to continue. Three taps from either of us means stop immediately, no questions asked. Understood?"

Astarion nodded, already anticipating what was to come. "Crystal clear, darling."

Gale set the vial of oil nearby and pulled off his pants before settling back between Astarion's legs, his eyes locked on Astarion's.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice low and husky.

Astarion nodded, spreading his legs wider in invitation. Gale leaned in, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. He placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then another on his inner thigh, teasingly close to where Astarion wanted him most. Then, finally, Gale's mouth was on him, his tongue circling his rim, slick and hot and perfect.

Astarion gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Gale's hands steadied him, holding him open as his tongue worked its magic. He licked and sucked, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out each sensation until Astarion thought he might scream from the pleasure of it.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Alright?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Gods, yes," Astarion panted, his body already craving more. "Don't stop, Gale. Please..."

Gale grinned, his eyes dark with lust. "As you wish."

He dove back in, his tongue pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's tongue slipped inside, the sensation overwhelming. He could feel his body opening, welcoming the intrusion. His cock twitched, already hardening again with need.

Gale's tongue fucked him slowly, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Astarion.  Gale tapped twice against his thigh.

"More," Astarion gasped, his hands fisting in the bedroll. "Gale, I need more..."

He could feel his control slipping, his body coiling tighter with each movement. And yet, he loved this feeling of control—of directing Gale, of guiding his own pleasure.

"Like this?" Gale asked, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. Before Astarion could respond, Gale's tongue was back, pressing deeper, pushing into him faster.

Astarion's breath hitched  "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, like that."

Astarion sank back and rode the waves of pleasure for some time as Gale worked him, his body opening eagerly. Astarion's hips bucked upward, seeking more contact as a desperate whine escaped his throat. When Gale paused, tapping twice against his thigh in silent question, Astarion couldn't stop himself from begging.

"More," he pleaded, voice rough with need. He could feel himself flushing, the borrowed blood in his system rushing to color his pale skin. "I need... I need more inside of me."

Gale pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire and something softer, something Astarion couldn't quite name. Gale poured the oil over his fingers.

Gale's fingers circled his entrance, slick and smooth against his heated flesh. Astarion pushed back against the touch, craving more. While his fingers stroked, Gale put his mouth back to work, sucking one of Astarion's balls into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue.

Astarion cried out, his body jolting at the intense sensation. Gale's finger pressed into him, slow and steady, filling him perfectly. He could feel his body stretching, accommodating the intrusion. It was intense, overwhelming, and exactly what he needed.

Gale's mouth released him, moving to place soft kisses on his inner thighs. He nipped gently at the flesh, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through Astarion. All the while, his finger moved in and out, fucking him slowly.

"You're so tight," Gale murmured, his voice rough with desire. "So perfect, Astarion."

Astarion could only moan in response, his body coiling tighter with each thrust. Gale's mouth moved back to his balls, sucking the other one into his mouth. The sensation was intense, almost too much. But Astarion craved it, craved more.

Gale tapped twice against his thigh. Astarion nodded eagerly then gasped a yes, remembering their rule about confirmation. Gale's finger slipped out, leaving him feeling empty. But then, two fingers pressed against his entrance, circling, preparing.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," Astarion panted. "Gods, yes, Gale. More."

Gale's fingers slid in, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed the sensation, his body opening to accommodate them. Gale's mouth moved up, kissing his hip, his stomach, his chest.

Finally, Gale was above him, his fingers still moving slowly. Astarion reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. He could taste himself on Gale's lips, and it sent a thrill through him.

Gale moaned into the kiss, his fingers picking up speed. Astarion's hands roamed over Gale's body, feeling the firm muscles under smooth skin. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Gale's cock.

Gale groaned, his hips bucking into the touch. Astarion stroked him slowly, matching the rhythm of Gale's fingers. The sensation of Gale's cock in his hand, hard and hot, sent a wave of desire through him.

Gale pulled back from the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "You feel so good to me.  Does this feel good?  Is it good for you?"

Astarion could only moan and nod in response, his body on fire with sensation. Gale's fingers curled inside him, hitting a spot that made him see stars. He cried out, his hand tightening around Gale's cock.

Gale's hips bucked, his breath hitching. "Astarion," he gasped. "If you keep doing that, I won't last long."

Astarion grinned, a wicked curve of his lips. But he didn't stop, didn't want to. He wanted to feel Gale come undone, wanted to know he was the cause.

"Isn't that the point, darling?" he purred, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of Gale's cock.

Gale paused, his breath hitching as Astarion's thumb dipped gently into the slit. His eyes locked onto Astarion's, a hesitant, almost vulnerable look in their depths.

"Astarion," he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. He tried again, his voice soft. "Can I... Would it be alright if I... came inside you instead? I want to be inside you."

Astarion's stomach flipped at the question, at the raw need in Gale's voice. He nodded, his own voice barely a whisper. "Yes, that would be… yes."

Gale's eyes fluttered closed briefly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire and something softer, something that made Astarion's chest ache.

Gale's fingers began to move again, scissoring and twisting to stretch him gently. Astarion stroked Gale lightly, matching his pace, drawing out soft gasps and whispered curses from the wizard. He could feel Gale's cock twitching in his hand, could feel the way Gale's body trembled with restraint.

A third finger joined the others, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed it, his body craving more. He rolled his hips, fucking himself on Gale's fingers, his own cock leaking onto his stomach.

Gale's eyes were locked onto the sight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gods, Astarion," he murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

Astarion preened under the praise, his body flushing with heat. He wanted more, needed more. He was about to beg, to demand that Gale fuck him properly, when Gale pulled his fingers out. Before Astarion could protest, Gale gently unwrapped Astarion's hand from Gale's cock, slicking Astarion's hand with oil and placing it instead on Astarion's own length.

Astarion stroked himself lightly, his eyes never leaving Gale's. Gale watched him while he poured out more oil and stroked himself to spread it.  Astarion found himself smiling at Gale and Gale smiling back as they touched themselves and watched each other for several long moments.  Then Gale leaned over him again and lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion could feel his body tensing, anticipating the intrusion. He held Gale's eyes, seeing the reflection of his own need mirrored back at him.

Gale pushed in slowly, the stretch burning, the sensation overwhelming. Astarion's breath hitched, his hand stilling on his cock. Gale paused, his eyes searching Astarion's face. "Alright?" he asked softly.

Astarion nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. More, Gale. I need more."

Gale's hips flexed, pushing him deeper. Astarion could feel his body opening, accommodating Gale's length. It was intense, almost too much, but he craved it, craved more.

His hand began to move again, stroking himself as Gale sank into him fully and began to move, slowly. Their eyes were locked, their breaths coming in sync. It was intimate, raw, real. And it was terrifyingly beautiful.

Gale shifted, adjusting the angle of his hips. Astarion gasped as Gale's cock hit a spot inside him that sent sparks shooting through his nerves. "There," he panted, his hand tightening on his own cock. "Right there, Gale."

Gale smiled, a soft, intimate curve of his lips. He shifted again, settling into a rhythm that hit that spot perfectly with each thrust. Astarion could feel his body coiling tighter, the pleasure building with each movement.

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, all tongues and shared breath. Astarion stroked himself in time with Gale's thrusts, his body trembling with need. Gale's hips moved faster, his cock fucking Astarion deeply, while he whispered to Astarion tenderly.

Astarion moaned into Gale's mouth, his free hand grasping at Gale's shoulder, his back, any part of him he could reach. Gale's skin was slick with sweat, his muscles taut under Astarion's touch.

"Gale," Astarion gasped out between kisses. "It's good. You're so good."

Gale's breath hitched, his hips stuttering. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "You feel incredible. I'm close, love. I'm so close."

Astarion's heart—or the memory of it—swelled at the endearment. He tightened his grip on his cock, his body chasing release. "Me too," he panted. "Gale, I'm right there with you."

Gale's thrusts picked up speed, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside Astarion with each movement. Astarion's body tensed, his breath coming in short gasps.

Their mouths met again, their kiss sloppy and desperate. Astarion could taste the salt of Gale's sweat, could feel the wizard's heart pounding in his chest. He stroked himself faster, his body racing towards the edge.

"Come with me, Astarion," Gale whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you come around me."

Astarion moaned, Gale's words sending a shiver through him. His body tightened, his cock pulsing in his hand. He was right there, right on the edge. And Gale was there with him, his breath hitching, his body trembling.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Astarion felt connected, truly with someone, for the first time in centuries. And it was that look, that connection, that sent him tumbling over the edge.

His orgasm hit him like a storm, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came undone, his cum painting the space between their bodies. His body clenched around Gale, his muscles tightening as waves of pleasure crashed through him and zinged up his spine.

Gale groaned, his hips stuttering as Astarion's body gripped him tightly. "Astarion," he gasped, his voice rough with need. His hips moved faster, fucking Astarion deeply as he chased his own release.

Astarion could feel it, could feel Gale's cock swelling inside him, could feel the pulse as Gale came, filling him with hot, liquid warmth. Gale's hips jerked, his body trembling as he rode out his orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Astarion watched Gale's face as he came—eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack with pleasure, all that clever wit stripped away to raw need. Beautiful. His to witness. His to have.

"Say it," Astarion demanded, voice rough. "Tell me you're mine now."

"Yours," Gale gasped, still shuddering through the aftershocks. "Only yours, Astarion."

Astarion marveled at the words, spoken with such earnest abandon. He pulled Gale down for a messy kiss, tasting the salt of sweat on his lips. Gale slumped forward, his weight pressing Astarion into the bedroll, his cock still buried deep inside him. The wizard's skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his dark hair falling in his face as he scattered feather-light kisses across Astarion's chest. Each press of his lips felt like a benediction—reverent, tender, almost innocent compared to what they'd just done. Astarion's hands found their way to Gale's shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer, just holding on as if to anchor himself in the moment.

When Gale finally withdrew, they both gasped at the same instant—a shared, breathy "ah" of loss and sensitivity. Their eyes met, and Astarion couldn't help but smirk at their synchronized response, even as his body clenched around the sudden emptiness. Gale fumbled, managing a weak gesture. The sticky mess between them vanished with a shimmer of magic.

Astarion waited for the familiar crawl of shame to surface, that centuries-old reflex of self-loathing that always followed intimacy. The edges of it whispered at his consciousness—

"So," Gale murmured against his neck, "any editorial commentary on my performance? I do value your critical analysis."

A startled laugh escaped Astarion's throat. "Are you actually asking me to grade you?"

"Well, you've been quite thorough in your other assessments." Gale's hand splayed open on Astarion's chest, stroking softly. "I'd hate to miss an opportunity for academic discourse."

"Academic discourse?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Darling, if you want me to critique your technique, we should establish proper parameters for peer review."

"Ah yes, of course." Gale propped himself up on an elbow, eyes dancing. "Shall we start with methodology?"

The creeping darkness receded further as Astarion found himself grinning. "Your approach was..." He paused dramatically. "Adequate."

"Adequate?" Gale's mock offense was delightful. "I believe I heard rather more enthusiastic feedback in the moment."

"Perhaps a practical demonstration of improvements is in order?" Astarion stretched languidly before fixing Gale with an imperious look. "But first, hold me properly. I refuse to conduct this evaluation without appropriate accommodations."

Gale's smile softened as he gathered Astarion close, arranging them so Astarion's head rested on his chest. "Better?"

"Marginally." Astarion nestled closer, feeling unexpectedly safe in the circle of Gale's arms. "Though I may require extensive testing to be certain."

Gale's chest rumbled with laughter. "Extensive testing? Well, as a dedicated scholar, I could hardly refuse a request for thorough investigation."

Astarion hummed contentedly, tracing a finger along Gale's collarbone. The wizard's skin was warm against his cooler touch, and he could feel the steady thrum of Gale's heartbeat beneath his ear.

"Though I must point out," Gale continued, his fingers carding through Astarion's hair, "that proper research requires multiple trials under varying conditions."

"Does it now?" Astarion smirked against Gale's chest. "And I suppose you've already devised a testing schedule?"

"Naturally. Though we may need to adjust for... spontaneous variables."

Dawn's first light began filtering through the tent walls, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Astarion noticed but felt no burn, protected as he was by the tadpole's gift. Still, old habits died hard, and he pressed closer to Gale's warmth.

"Spontaneous variables?" Astarion affected an academic tone. "How very unscientific of you."

"Sometimes the best discoveries come from unexpected directions." Gale's voice was growing drowsy, but his arms tightened protectively around Astarion. "Like finding love in the margins of a manuscript."

Astarion's breath caught at the casual mention of love, but Gale just pressed a sleepy kiss to his temple and continued stroking his hair. They lay there as the morning light grew stronger, trading quiet murmurs and gentle touches, neither quite ready to face the day ahead.

* * *

Later that evening, Astarion watched Gale stir the pot over the campfire, the wizard's movements mechanical after a draining day. The day's revelations about Ketheric's past had left them all subdued. Another noble life twisted by circumstance—it felt sadder than Astarion cared to dwell on.

His fangs ached. These cursed lands offered nothing to hunt, and he was tired of rationing bottled blood. He uncorked another vial, grimacing at the stale taste. At least it took the edge off.

Gale served the others before retreating to his usual spot with his writing materials. The familiar scratch of quill on parchment filled the evening air. When Gale finally set aside his writing, he approached Astarion with an endearing mix of confidence and shyness. "I thought perhaps we might retire together first? The editing can wait until later."

"Eager to continue our other research project?" Astarion smirked, but his teasing tone couldn't quite mask his pleasure at the invitation. "And here I thought you were devoted to academic pursuits."

"I'd say this qualifies as field research." Gale held out his hand.

Astarion took it, but guilt suddenly twisted in his gut. He had to come clean. "I should tell you something. About why I originally offered to review your writing."

"Let me guess—you wanted to control how you were portrayed? Perhaps gather intelligence on the rest of us?"

Astarion stiffened. "You knew?"

"I suspected." Gale's thumb traced circles on Astarion's palm. "But your feedback was genuinely helpful, and I rather enjoyed where our collaboration led. Unless you regret—"

"No," Astarion cut in quickly. "No regrets. Though I'm beginning to think you're far more cunning than you let on."

Astarion allowed Gale to tug him back to Gale's tent, and they sat on the bedroll. Astarion noticed the wizard's hands fidgeting with the edges of his robes. Fascinating—Gale hadn't shown a trace of hesitation last night. Perhaps he was one of those who needed time to warm up each encounter? Astarion found himself holding back too, uncertain how to navigate this unfamiliar territory of a second night. He'd had more first nights with someone than he could count, but no second nights, none that he could remember anyway.

"I've been thinking," Gale started, then paused to adjust a stack of books that didn't need adjusting. "That is to say, I couldn't help but notice—well, observe really, in a purely academic sense of course—that the Shadow-Cursed lands have been particularly lacking in, shall we say, sustenance options for your specific dietary requirements."

Astarion blinked, trying to parse through Gale's nervous rambling. "Are you attempting to discuss my eating habits?"

"Yes! Well, sort of." Gale's hands stilled. "I've been remiss in my duties as camp cook, haven't I? Everyone else gets hot meals, while you make do with whatever you can find or brought with you."

The academic veneer cracked, revealing genuine concern underneath. Astarion's eyes flicked away at the care in Gale's voice.

"What I'm trying to say is—" Gale touched his own neck. "I think with the orb stabilized, well… I'm offering. If you'd like."

The words hit Astarion like ice water. Fresh blood. Willing blood. His fangs ached at the mere thought. He'd been denied the blood of thinking creatures so long, trained himself to reject even the possibility...

"You don't know what you're offering," he managed.

"I believe I do." Gale scooted closer. "I trust you."

Those three words scattered Astarion's thoughts completely. Trust. From someone who knew exactly what he was, who he had been. His gaze fixed on Gale's pulse point, watching it flutter beneath tanned skin.

Two firsts in one night. The thought drifted through his mind as he struggled to form words past the hunger suddenly roaring through him.

Astarion's attention snapped back to the present as Gale produced a scroll from his robes with a flourish.

"Lesser Restoration," Gale explained, setting it carefully on the cushions beside them. "Just in case. And I've been reading about proper recovery techniques—fascinating stuff really, though the texts are woefully lacking in practical application data. But the theory suggests that proper hydration and rest afterward are crucial. Not that this is any sort of transaction, mind you. The blood isn't payment for—well, for anything we've done or might do. Or for the editing either. Which has been invaluable, truly, but this is entirely separate from that arrangement—"

A smile tugged at Astarion's lips as he watched Gale's hands wave through increasingly elaborate gestures. The wizard's nervous rambling was oddly endearing, especially given how commanding he could be in other situations.

"—and I want you to know that while I'm certainly amenable to continuing our other activities, there's absolutely no expectation or obligation tied to this offer—"

Astarion moved before he could overthink it, sliding onto Gale's lap with practiced grace. The sudden motion cut off Gale's stream of words, his eyes widening slightly.

"Darling," Astarion purred, "you're talking too much." He caught Gale's mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing whatever response the wizard had been about to make.

Astarion broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Gale's. "Tell me again that you're mine."

"I'm yours." Gale's breath ghosted across his lips.

"Not Mystra's." Astarion's fingers curled into Gale's robes. "Mine."

"Yours." Gale's hands settled on his hips. "Only yours."

"And if anyone tries to take you from me?" The words slipped out before Astarion could stop them, vulnerability raw in his voice. "If Cazador—"

"I'll incinerate them to ash." Gale's tone hardened with an edge Astarion had rarely heard. "Sixth level fireball should do it, or—" He twisted, reaching for his scroll case. "I have a disintegrate spell in here somewhere that would work even better."

Astarion caught his hand, tiny sparks tickled his throat with something that felt dangerously like joy. "That's quite alright, darling. I believe you." He pressed his lips against Gale's mouth, delighting in how eagerly the wizard responded.

He found it all deeply gratifying. Following their many shared notes, his meticulous corrections and commentary, Gale had at last mastered the art of perfect responses. Maybe his role as a critic held more rewards than he'd initially thought.

Armed with red ink and centuries of snark, Astarion had set out to control his narrative—and lost control of his heart instead.  He supposed if someone had to write his story, it might as well be Gale.

Though of course, he reserved editorial prerogative. Writing romance was tricky, and Gale's prose tended to be purple even when describing the most mundane activities.  Astarion smiled into Gale's kiss as Gale pulled him closer.  There was no need to worry.  He was sure that between the two of them, they'd manage to get the ending right.

[cherry-romper]

Flirting Headcannons

+ Lui kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung

Warnings; none

Contains; GN!Reader, fluff

Re-upload for anon <3

Liu Kang; 

Keeps it tame. Much prefers intimate moments over flirting. For example, he’ll say things to you in privacy so only the two of you hear it.

He’s most prone to calling you beautiful or just watching you, he is completely enamoured by you and can’t believe you exist, he didn’t really plan it so he just enjoys being in your company. 

Loves watching the sun rise or fall with you, he thinks you look etherial on the pinkish glow and will always remind you of that. 

Once you’re more official he’ll be more open to flirting in public, but he still prefers to keep things between the two of you. 

Kung Lao;

Back and forth banter is his way of flirting. 

He loves the little games of wit the two of you have. However, he also loves sparing with you, its a reason to be around you for longer and you get to through cocky insults at each other the whole time. 

When the two of you are alone, he’s still gonna be saying stuff to get you fired up, but on occasion he’s been known to go out his way to do things for you, its absolutely his way of flirting without words. 

Speaking of, will show off big time when he feels he needs to. He’s literally THE Kung Lao, he doesn’t often feel the need to impress people, he’s already pretty impressive, but when you’re around, he can’t help but go the extra mile.

Raiden; 

Tries his best, but his friends are normally the ones to help him along. 

Mostly because doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, he’s worried he’ll come off too strong if he starts to outright call you beautiful or say he likes your company. 

He will often bring you things that make him think of you, like a flower or a souvenir from Outworld. If he doesn’t bring you something, he’ll sit with you and tell you tales of how he saw something so extraordinary he couldn’t help but think of you.

Sometimes he can get a little corny, but it’s so sweet you don’t mind.  

Bi-han; 

His flirting is praise.

If you do good, or do something without him having asked, he’ll tell you how good you did and how much he appreciates it.

He’ll probably give you a promotion or something. Maybe he’ll upgrade your weapons or give you a squadron to command. 

Other than praise, power is his other love language. He’ll give you whatever you need to defeat whoever you need too, your enemies are his, and vice versa. 

Kuai Liang; 

He never really hid it. He knows what he wants and known that life is too short, especially in his line of work, to beat around the bush. 

He won’t go straight in with being overbearing, but will absolutely tell you how he feels. 

Has no issues flirting with you in private, but in public he’ll keep it tame. 

Prefers just being in your company than physical touch or even words of affirmation. He get’s kinda tired and after all the emotional trauma he’s been through he just needs someone he can exist with. No expectations, just being together. 

Tomas Vrbada; 

He’s super respectful. Almost to a fault. 

Johnny got him on romance movies so he toke notes from there, but they didn���t feel authentic, so he changed his approach to just getting to know you as best he could.

Offers you help with anything. Training, studies, even offers to go on hikes with you. 

He’s comfortable in the silence between the two of you, but he’s great at small talk, he loves talking to you and hearing how you see the world.

Johnny Cage; 

He thinks his presence is flirting. Why would he need to say a thing when the Johnny Cage is in the building?

However, he can be sweet, when he wants to be. Gives you gifts and makes sure you never have to lift a finger. 

Shows off all the time, with everything. Needs you to know how amazing he is at everything. BUT, he also likes making you feel like you’re also amazing. HE has taken an interest in you, so you’re the awesome by default. 

Secretly loves banter. As much as he loves praise, playing hard to get or insulting him in a playful manner will make him happy. 

Kenshi Takahashi;

He builds his relationship with you in private. When it’s just the two of you is when he’ll flirt, but its not super romantic, sweep-you-off-your-feet flirting, he’s subtle in the way he compliments you.

Can be sarcastic with his humour and likes it when you are sarcastic back.

Even though he can’t see, he uses his other senses more attentively, he almost always knows when something is wrong by the changes in your breathing patterns or the way you shuffle if you’re uncomfortable. He’ll always make sure you’re okay. 

Loves sparing with you. Is happy to see how you’ve improved and what’s to see you better yourself. However, is more than happy and willing to protect you if he needed to.

Syzoth; 

Can be kind of shy when it comes to flirting but he’s worried about the rejection. He’s lost enough and he’s really intrigued by you, so he takes things slow; he puts a lot of thought into what he says to you.

He’s incredibly observant. He picks up on everything. Sometimes it can be a bit jarring when you just want to keep something to yourself, but he already knows about it. If you’re not feeling well or something is bothering you he’ll always know.

He can be a tease at times. He can be sarcastic and might even laugh when you say something cocky but he’ll never overstep. It’s just the right amount to make you smile. 

He’s a fan of physical touch. Not too much to be overbearing but just enough that he can feel your warmth. Is different that what he’s used to, its such a strange sensation but a welcome one. 

Shang Tsung; 

Flatters you any change he gets. Is really good at seduction and knows the right thing to say all the time.

Part of the way he flirts is with keeping himself mysterious enough to leave you wanting to know more about him. It puts him in a position of control. 

Often will hold prolonged eye contact. It’s intense and he uses it to create a connection between you. Even though he’s sharp with his tongue, sometimes the eyes say more. 

Can be a tease, but never in a way that leave it open for you to tease him back. He always has the upper hand. Always.

[starmocha]

oh my gosh what if he's got her wrapped around him, calling his name and he's got to hide his face on her neck cause his eyes are watering?? and just to add to the papa!caleb hcs: going those six weeks of no sex after the baby's born to let her heal, waiting out one more until they finally have the time but he's holding back and she's pulling him into the sweetest kisses, whispering in his ear that it's ok, that she can take it, she just misses him. he gives in so easily after that 🙂💕

🫵 this is now possible material for my future 3-part Caleb breeding kink series that I've been yapping about for like three months. /lh no seriously I am going heavy-handed with the breeding/pregnancy kink in this series (ialsorealizeineedtofinishSylus'epilogueforhisseriesbutshhh)

Caleb is the best malewife ever He has done his research, asked the doctor all of the necessary questions, and even after receiving the A-OK, he is still cautious, because your health and safety matters more than sex.

It's only after the baby is put down to sleep that she drags him into the bedroom and pushes him down onto the bed and he is wide-eyed and confused, because just a few minutes earlier, they were having a cute family moment with their newborn, but now the mood has shifted in a completely different direction. On the one hand, he thinks he should be getting excited about this, but on the other hand, no seriously, wtf is happening, the man's head is spinning.

It seems only one person can make the colonel lose his composure and it's his fucking wife. She can see the bewilderment on his face and she relishes in this upper hand moment and takes pleasure out of messing with him.

"Caleb, am I not attractive anymore after having the baby?"

Fuck's sake, he is panicking now, thinking she's being for real, and not noticing that sly smile she is hiding. He reassures her that she is most definitely still attractive in his eyes, and the man is just word vomiting all sorts of praises and accidentally reveals how he sometimes get hard at seeing how much more voluptuous her body is now.

There's an awkward silence after his inadvertent confession before she breaks down laughing at him and he realizes she was messing with him earlier with her wounded act.

"This girl..."

Before he can get too annoyed/mad at her, she is straddling him now, her hands grabbing his face and kissing him all over. She is mumbling about how much she misses him and they shouldn't wait any longer. They already have the ok to resume activities and she promises him that if she gets uncomfortable at any point, she would let him know.

Even though he is still a little hesitant, he could never say no to her, always meeting her at least halfway. When she bites his earlobe, his resolve weakens and his arms are around her, pulling her to him. His lips find hers, his own lazy mumbles slip out in between kisses.

"Promise me—"

"I promise," she interrupts, "Come on, I want your dick now, Caleb."

"Ugh, we need to work on your sexy talk."

"Another day. I need that weapon to destroy my pussy now."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

[taleeater]

The Captive Scientist

Here is a very rough outline for an angsty Jayvik and Ambessa idea.

Tw: Ambessa cucks Jayce, slight non-con, abuse, illness

I went overboard and even wrote a happy ending after the angst 🫣

Ambessa arranges behind Mel’s back to meet the geniuses behind Hextec. Jayce is apprehensive, but Mel isn’t around to interject so he gets pressured into it. So Ambessa visits the lab with her guards, and as soon as Ambessa lays eyes on Viktor, she realizes this handsome twink is really the only one who is keeping Hextec research progressing while Jayce is too mixed up with Mel and politics. She decides then and there to steal him away for herself, and use him to advance her own holdings and army. Jayce is called away for some meeting and leaves, knowing Viktor can handle himself, but also not knowing about Ambessa’s unique… tastes and general demeanor. So once they’re alone, she forcibly comes onto Viktor. He tries his best to fight off her advances, and refuses to work for a warlord and leave Jayce, but she basically has him kidnapped. Jayce discovers that Viktor is gone hours later once Mel discovers what her mother has done. Jayce not for one second believes the claim that Viktor quit and is abandoning him and Piltover to work for Ambessa and go somewhere he’s more ‘appreciated’. So the night before Ambessa has arranged to go back to Nexus, with Viktor in tow, Jayce breaks into their room looking for Viktor, only to discover Viktor tied up on the bed being seduced by Ambessa. The guards apprehend Jayce frozen in his shock, and Ambessa has him bound to a chair in the room to make him watch. And Viktor, for one, is surprised that Jayce came for him, but also surprised to see Jayce seething with rage and… jealousy? It stirs something inside him. So Ambessa cucks Jayce and fucks Viktor in front of him. 

The next morning, Ambessa carries out a completely exhausted and barely conscious Viktor past an angry and upset Jayce. He doesn’t have the power to stop her. So Ambessa leaves Piltover with Viktor, and Mel and her guards later rescue Jayce from the empty suite. Jayce goes to the counsel to arrange for a rescue mission, but they won’t allow it because it would be like a declaration of war with Ambessa. They won’t risk war over a mere ‘Zaunite lab assistant’ when they have the real creator of Hextec right there in Piltover. Jayce is furious. Viktor is his equal, and they never would have gotten to where they are now without Viktor. Mel has to hold him back and convince him to wait. She’d do her best to pressure them, but in the meantime, she’d use her resources to arrange a secret infiltration mission to get Viktor back. But then, disaster strikes. The counsel is attacked and bombed by Jinx, and everything comes to a screeching halt. War breaks out between Piltover and Zaun, and Mel and Jayce are forced to dedicate all their time and effort into trying to quell the fighting. At least Viktor wasn’t there to get hurt, but Jayce can’t stop thinking about his partner. 

Here’s the other thing: Ambessa doesn’t know that Viktor is sick. 

Some time goes by, and Ambessa gets HexGates built in every major city under her control, bringing immense power to her empire. She spoils Viktor, giving him lavish gifts and pleasuring him when she has time, despite his continued resistance. He can’t do anything besides let it happen, because she holds so much power over him, and he is still a prisoner there against his will. Then the attack on Piltover happens, and Ambessa orders that Viktor not be allowed to find out. Knowing that he would become distracted from his work and she wouldn’t allow for anymore resistance.

Months go by, and Ambessa is losing her patience with him. No matter what she does, she cannot get Viktor to create weapons for her. Instead he makes tools, medical devices, agricultural improvements, structural improvements, everything for the betterment of the common people. But nothing to empower her military’s might. And another thing, Viktor is extremely limited in his research capabilities since he no longer has access to the HexCore. He misses Jayce and the memories they had together more than anything. The memory of the look in Jayce’s eyes that fateful night is still a constant presence in his mind. And that’s really the only thing keeping him going, as he slowly becomes more and more ill. But then one evening, Viktor has a horrible coughing fit in his lab that leaves him dizzy. He goes to the door to ask the guards to have someone fetch him some medicine, but then he overhears. The guards are quietly gossiping about the ongoing war between Piltover and Zaun, and how Ambessa was sending resources and troops to help Piltover exterminate Zaun. Viktor is SHOCKED. Immediately, his mind goes to Jayce. Was he okay? Was he injured? Was he fighting Zaun? Or was he fighting to protect it like he had promised him? So many emotions were swirling through him. He demands to speak to Ambessa immediately. 

This is where it gets messy. Ambessa arrives and listens as Viktor unleashes his fury, demanding to be released and set back to Piltover to find Jayce and help Zaun. He paces around the room ranting at her, until he gets up in her face waving his finger at her for working to commit a genocide against his people, when her stoic expression cracks. She backhands Viktor, hard, sending him sprawling across the floor and his cane clattering. He coughs as she approaches him, barely having time to push himself up on shaky arms before she reaches down and grabs the front of his shirt and hefts him up, feet dangling above the floor to hold him at eye level. “I think you’re forgetting who has the power here.” She threatens him as Viktor gasps for breath and struggles. She then drops him in a heap on the floor and leaves him, ordering the guards to make sure he keeps working as she leaves for the night, all his demands forgotten and brushed aside. 

Viktors life becomes a living hell. No more kindness, no more gifts or attention, or bribes, being forced to work tirelessly without rest for days on end until he collapses over and over again. No one will tell him what’s happening in Piltover, his body is failing him more and more everyday, until he’s left coughing horribly at almost all hours. Forced to work at his desk hooked up to all kinds of machines just to keep him breathing and healthy enough to work properly. And every time Ambessa visits it’s the same. He’s beaten for refusing her demands to design weapons, for not working harder. He’s no longer left alone to his own devices in his lab, he has guards armed with guns and lab assistants breathing down his neck to ensure he stays on task. 

It’s around this time that Jayce can’t stand it anymore. Caitlyn had taken over leading the purge of Zaun, and he didn’t have any power to stop Piltover from their invasion. Eventually his efforts to stop the fight got him evicted by the counsel, and he makes his decision. He was going to go find Viktor. Mel tried to dissuade him from his suicide mission, stating that she needed him there, despite Jayce’s distance and aversion to their relationship ever since Viktor was kidnapped. But he brushes her off. She gets upset and pressures him, and forces him to make a choice. “You can’t keep doing this. Will you fight for Piltover, or Zaun? You have to choose. Viktor, or me.” “I choose Viktor.” Jayce says it immediately with absolutely zero hesitation, but Jayce is just as shocked as Mel that he said it. He’s silent for a long moment, finally taking a moment to search inside himself for what he really wants. And it finally dawns on him. All he’s ever really wanted was Viktor. And Mel can see the realization on his face, sighing with defeat because she’s always known those feelings were there, and could do nothing about it. So she finally concedes, and informs Jayce that she will help him get Viktor back from her mother. 

She quickly arranges a task force, and sends word that she intends to visit Ambessa in Noxus with the intention of a diplomatic meeting to discuss aid for Piltover's fight against Zaun. So Jayce hides aboard her ship, and when they arrive at the Noxus capital, Mel gets information from some of the guards where Viktor is being held. She gives the information to Jayce, and covers for him while he sneaks into the tower where Viktor is being held. Mel distracts her mother with the meeting. But Ambessa can see right through her, and knows they’ve come to retrieve Viktor. But she knows Viktor is on death’s door, and she won’t be able to squeeze anything else out of the feeble scientist. So she allows for it to happen, and tells Mel right to her face that she shouldn’t try to deceive her family. Mel is shocked that her mother knew and confused as to why her mother is willing to give up Viktor so easily. Meanwhile, Jayce fights through the guards at the lab, and breaks in to find Viktor thin and worn, bruises on his jaw and peaking from any hints of uncovered skin, passed out at his desk pale as a ghost and bleeding from his mouth, his breathing labored and raspy. Jayce drops his hammer and rushes to his partner’s side, tears welling in his eyes as his hands hover above Viktor as he’s too scared to touch him. Viktor looks so fragile now, all his hidden strength Jayce came to know and admire over the years gone from his sick withered frame. Eventually Jayce’s hands find Viktor’s shoulders and he shakes him awake, calling out his name. Viktor blinks awake and thinks for a moment that he must still be dreaming, or dead. But Jayce starts to carefully disconnect him from the machines and IV, gently scooping him up in his arms as he mutters reassurances to Viktor that he was going to get him out of there, and bring him home safe and sound. But as Jayce is finally carrying him out of the lab, his hammer all but forgotten, Viktor finds his voice. “I-…. I never… wanted you... to see me like this… Jayce…” and Jayce’s heart shatters into a million pieces. 

He should have been there for Vik, should have come to get him sooner, and never should have left him alone in that lab, alone with Ambessa, and all those nights alone when he left Viktor to attend parties and be with Mel. His place was always next to Viktor. Jayce makes it back to the ship, with Mel close behind after her mother comes to see them off, with the promise that she will be visiting Piltover again soon enough. Viktor is fading fast the whole ride back to Piltover, and Jayce is panicking. He waited too long, and now Viktor was going to die if he didn’t do something. And fast. They arrive in Piltover and Jayce jumps out of the ship with Viktor in his arms before the doors even fully open, ignoring Mel’s shouts from behind. Jayce rushes to their old dusty lab, where the HexCore had been left all but forgotten those past few months. Jayce lays down Viktor and starts pouring over Viktor’s old notes and research with fervor, looking for anything, any way he can use their technology to save Viktor. 

Viktor ends up merging with the HexCore and becoming the Machine Herald. His life was saved, his illness cured and his body fixed. But this time, when Viktor emerges from the cocoon in the lab with Jayce, he receives a different kind of response than what he expected. Jayce declares that he loves him. Straight away, whole heartedly and truthfully, with every part of himself. He loves Viktor. And he should have realized it sooner. Should have stayed by his side where he belongs, shouldn’t have let Ambessa take him away, shouldn’t have let Mel and politics and power come between them and take him away from their dream together to save people, to save Zaun, and make the world a better place. And he wanted Viktor’s help to save Zaun from Piltover, once and for all. His words reach Viktor, touch deep inside him, and all at once his very human emotions come flooding back. This is everything he’s always wanted, it felt too good to be true. So to make it real, Viktor drops his staff and reaches up to cup Jayce’s face and kisses him. Like he had imagined time and time again, had dreamed about for months, for years. He needed to know if this love was real. The warmth of his lips and Jayce’s hands on him immediately burn away any lingering memory of Ambessa’s touch. And for the first time he feels whole and loved. 

Together, Viktor and Jayce, with Mel’s support, stop the fighting between Zaun and Piltover, defeating Caitlyn’s soldiers easily without her leadership now that she has reunited with Vi, and bringing aid to the Zaunite citizens. In Piltover and Zaun’s weakened state, Ambessa arrives with her army, carrying Jayce’s forgotten hammer into battle to take over the counsel and invade Piltover. Mel and Caitlyn, with Vi, Jayce, and Viktor’s support, face off against Ambessa, and manage to defeat her once and for all. Mel leaves for Noxus to take her mother’s place as head of the family, and arranges generous aid to be sent to Piltover and Zaun. Both cities repair themselves, and a new peace is founded as the city of progress becomes a state ruled by science and equality. Jayce gives up all positions of power so that he and Viktor can live together at the college peacefully. Inventing technology that improves the lives of all the people in Zaun, and across the world, and sharing a wonderful domestic relationship together into old age. 

Damn I really ran with this idea 😅 hope you enjoyed it.

[rabbitwitch2poems]

Part 4 of the story based off a prompt by @ready-to-read7

          To be fair, the only real reason the first few weeks of his new life were as ordinary as they were was because Danny was still settling into the new universe. Clockwork was right when he said that Danny may lose some memories, he couldn't even remember his families faces, it causes a small pang of pain deep in his core but he knew that what he lost was probably for the best. Thankfully he seemed to have kept most of his other memories. His powers (if he gets them in this life, clockwork never said...then again Danny never asked, Danny accepted that as his own fault) and how they worked were like innate knowledge, something he couldn't forget if he tried. The rest came back slowly through the weeks, though learning how to multiply did little to nothing in terms of helping him navigate being a child.

      Everything was newer, brighter, and more colorful to his new eyes and his body was as weak...well as a babies he supposed. Took five weeks before he could even slightly push himself off of whatever comfy place momma had put him. It was about his second full month that he started to be able to figure out speaking. Danny figured it was probably best to keep that to himself though, seeing as he wasn't so sure if just...instantly being able to hold a conversation was ok in this world. That didn't matter though cause his mom was so cool.

      It was about two weeks in that he realized who momma was. Usually she tried her best to hide her costume, but one day she came back home looking dead tired (heh...dead). The rings around her eyes had Danny concerned for her till he noticed the tiara on her head. His mother was a princess! And not just any princess, his mother was Wonder Woman! princess of themyscera, protector of man and woman kind!

       Honestly Danny was shocked at first. He had figured he would be in the hands of batman or mabey even green lantern (seeing as he is a being of emotion and...well lanterns entire thing is about emotions) but nope. Some god or mabey even the ancients had capital WW be his parent. Danny just knew that means he is safe no matter what! His momma never lied, even talked to him like he understood her (he did obviously but the fact she could tell was awe  inspiring) and always kept him informed. Of course his momma freaked a little when she realized she still had the costume on but a smile and giggle from Danny helped console those feelings, that made the ghost boy happy, his core purring which his mother seemed to feel; if only a little.

      The months seemed to fly by after Danny got most of his memories back, he still didn't remember his family or most of his human life beyond the basics but what he did remember told him that if he had the choice...he didn't want to. His ghost life, or half ghost life he supposed, seemed almost all intact which was nice; he didn't have to worry about not being able to control things and didn't want to have to deal with hitting his face constantly from his hand phasing through a table on accident.

      Danny was always curious, whenever his momma would hold him his eyes would be scanning the area. Weapons of all kinds seemed to cover every inch of their house (besides his room of course), some ancient, some modern, all were intriguing to Danny though. Sometimes his mother would catch him staring at one in particular and would start telling him the history of the weapon.

      Today she was talking about a spear. It had a golden tip and a long blade that ended in a oval towards the staff. The staff had intricate carvings, words he couldn't understand, and drawings that seemed to glow slightly. Momma said it was a gift from Ares after she defeated him for the fifth time, apparently it could collapse into a small staff for transport if needed. Next to it was a creepy shield with an indention that looked like a scary monster with large slitted pupils and snakes all over their head. Momma said it was a creature called a gorgon, that their gaze could freeze you to stone; naturally Danny kept from staring at it for too long in fear of not being able to move...he didn't want to deal with that again.

      Hours would seem to fly by, his mother teaching him all about her culture and history, how she helped  save the world multiple times (even fighting in WW2!). She said that as soon as he could walk she would be taking him to her homeland for training to be a powerful warrior! That day Danny started trying his best to get his body to comply and after a few days started to crawl. His mother smiles wide as she took video of it saying "truly a warrior of the gods able to crawl at only four months," which honestly Danny didn't understand; mabey babies took longer here to learn to crawl? Back in his last life it only took five months.

      Speaking of videos, Danny always sees his mother with what looked like a phone, always smiling wide even when all he was doing was sitting down watching the TV and all it's wonders. He figured it was an adult thing that he never really got to grow up and see. He was watching a neat show about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole and into a strange new world; he hated the weird queen with a knack for chopping people's legs off. Then there were the times he would be checking out his feet (how can feet be so interesting? Has to be the baby brain) and his mother would be staring at him with utter joy, Danny usually just ignored her and continued doing his baby stuff.

 

      His powers first started appearing a couple of days before his first birthday, now to Danny this was awesome, it meant he can be a hero like his mom (though he probably would have been one even if he didn't have powers). To his momma though...it seemed to cause some...stress. While slightly funny to him the look of shock on his mother's face as she found him up on the large refrigerator only to watch him slowly float down to the ground, he was also very sorry. He could feel the shock and fear emanating from his mother so his head was pointed down at the floor,

"sowwy" the young child whispered slowly looking up expecting anger, instead his own face imitated the shocked look his mother made only a short few seconds ago for what he found was his moma...smiling wide. With a quick swoop his mother picked him up gently tickling him.

"My little warrior there is no need to be sorry, you used a tactical advantage of me being out of sight to seek what you desired, now while it was against my rules of asking first I am very proud of you young one" she ended her onslaught of tickles with a booping in his nose,

"just promise not to get cookies without permission first, but more importantly, you have been gifted powers by the gods! That is something to celebrate little one! Now you are indeed ready to go to themyscera and start your training!" His momma beamed at Danny who returned the smile "but first," his mother said interrupting his cheers, "we will have to see some of mommas friends so we can learn more about your wonderful gifts," she exclaimed booping Danny again, "a warrior must be what young one?" She smile down at Danny who stuck out his chest and proclaimed, "a warrior must be pwepared for all scemarios and learn to control all they have at their adwantoge." His mother gave a small chuckle and ruffled his hair, "yes young one, now is there any other gifts you should let me know you have?"

      Thankfully he didn't have many yet, so far it seems he only had the ability to float and go invisible but he did tell momma that there is a chance for more. That made her eyebrow raise, "it seems you know more than you tell me young one, but I understand the need for secrets, when you are ready to tell me I will always listen," she smiled and sighed, "I have been keeping some truths from you too, when you are older I'll tell you ok?" Danny nodded, he wondered what the secrets could be that he didn't already know but he figured his mother was already being kind enough to not pry into his own so he let it go (best part of reincarnation Danny had decided right then is he can control his emotions better than most...which is probably why his mom knows he is hiding secrets from her).

      With all said and done the rest of the day was fairly average for the mother and son, they played some games, did a puzzle, and soon enough it was bedtime. Danny was snuggled up to the small minotaur plushie his mom gave him when she first got all the stuff for his room as his mom read him a story. This one was about a pirate in search for treasure...but in space!.

      After the story his momma gave him a kiss on the forehead and tucked him in. Before turning off the light she whispered an "I love you little one, get a good night's sleep, tomorrow we go somewhere I'm sure you will absolutely adore and meet all of your moms cool friends." With that she flicked the light switch and went off to her own room to sleep. Danny did his best to fall asleep, excited for what tomorrow has in store.

[kei-ann8]

DAZZLING STARLET (Stanley Snyder x Reader)

CHAPTER 1: IN HINDSIGHT

''It's not part of the job description.''

She wasn't supposed to be part of the crew, more like Ryusui just happened to cross paths with her statue back at the Ishigami Village. 

The stone were covered with moss, has a few cracks here and there which is not a problem since there wasn't any missing limbs that won't be able to be glued back together. After they had arrived back to the village from their treasure island travel, they set their eyes on reviving [name] along with Tsukasa. 

Though hers and Ryusui's reunion were quite expected, she didn't imagined that her revival was marked with a travel to North America. 

''You're serious about this?'' [name] asked them, her eyes darting around the room as she was filled in with all the details that she had missed prior to her revival, ''I-I mean... you managed to do all of these...but reviving the world?'' 

It wasn't an ideal situation, to play a role of a savior in a stone world along with the petrification device in their disposal, [name] knew that this won't end well. 

And now, they're telling her about their plans which involves travelling all the way to America for a chance to see if the potential Ground Zero, the source, and all the possible solutions would be found there. Although the group is quite diverse in terms of knowledge and specialty, [name] could see that they lack a lot of things, especially when it comes to weapons. 

''No guns?''

''Nope. Limited ammo.'' Senku responded nonchalantly. 

''Alright.'' [name] said dejectedly, letting out a sigh as she began to assess over everyone else on the deck. 

The rest of the crew are taking their time to rest and unwind from today's work, some of them are drinking, others are simply eating their food, and some are training. To her, they looked like a bunch of young adults who had so much free time in the world and decided to spin the globe and it landed on America which they concluded as their next destination. 

As she took a sip of her drink, [name]'s eyes landed on her star shaped marks on her arm. From what Senku had explained, the marks are from the petrification and was likely weathered down over the years. 

[name] doesn't like it. Not one bit. 

There are various marks all over her body, some small while others are visible from afar. From her right arm, the back of her neck, her legs, and even underneath her eyes, it meant that she would be an easy target due to how distinct their patterns are. 

Ever since she woke up, those around her openly expressed how rare it was to acquire those marks, as they barely have any on their body. [name] sees it as flaws even though it added to her looks, but not like she could do anything about it. 

''I'll join...'' [name] said to Senku, who looked genuinely glad that she finally made a decision halfway through the trip, ''However, you do realize that I'm from America right?'' 

The scientist let out a chuckle at her words, ''Don't worry. Ryusui had told us about it.'' Senku said, his eyes glancing on the blonde man as he opened up the casino for the night, ''He won't stop yapping about -'' 

''That's not what I'm concerned about.'' She said to him, ''I want you to know that I will be taking this as a job, not just me voluntarily joining your group.'' 

Senku could only hum in response, not fully grasping her words. There were no records of her existence back in the modern world and in Japan, Ryusui and Francois are the only ones who seemed to know her very well. As the scientist looked at her more closely, if he had crossed paths with her back in the modern world, he would surely remember her face. 

With stories that Ryusui had told them, it reflected that [name] has a very curated life ever since she could remember. A very close confidant of the Nanami Conglomerate, but not well known enough to be recognized as one of their daughters. Still, she let the main family be on the spotlight while she simply lived her life away from it, and fleeing to America is a way for her to break free from everything else. But that wasn't enough. 

The family have various connections all over the world and [name] would still be on their radar unless she do something about it. If there's one thing the family hated the most, is involving themselves in politics and the government. Not because they didn't like how things are being run but rather it affects their business as a whole. Therefore, she joined the military once she turned eighteen and had been part of it ever since. 

''I may or may not encounter some folks once we arrive.'' [name] said, her voice soft as the scientist listened to every word she said. She was calm, as usual, eerily calm for someone who seemed to know what awaits them in the foreign lands, ''But I won't betray you if that's what you're worried about.'' 

.

.

.

Weeks had passed and [name] had fallen into a routine along with the rest of the warrior group. They immediately began their training as a form of preparation of what may happen once they arrived in America, and also to teach them new skills that may be useful later on. The voyage wasn't easy as it require a lot of manpower due to limited time frame and rushing to arrive just in time for the harvesting of corn that Senku is after. 

In the training room on the 2nd floor below the deck, Ginro couldn't help but hide away in a secluded place as Tsukasa and the others began sparring with each other. [name] had been watching him for a while but she didn't say anything since he wouldn't listen to anyone but Matsukaze and his brother, Kinro. Instead, her focus are on Kirisame and Kohaku, who she admit is far more advance in terms of fighting skills, especially in their generation. 

Their entire schedule consists of training sessions and those who came from the modern world had taught them how to read and write Japanese, which won't be easy for those who never learned formal language throughout their life. Although the villagers speaks Japanese, the likelihood that they know how to write in that language is slim to none. Since their main mode of passing knowledge from one generation to another is through word of mouth, there are no written records or any kind of basis on what they know. 

Still, they tried to learn the terminologies used in the modern society as well as pick up a few English words here and there which could be useful somehow, [name] hopes so. 

As she hangs out with Homura at the upper deck, they were looking for signs that land may be near when she looked up and saw the pink haired girl signaled that she had seen something through the scopes. And just like she suspected, they are now nearing America. 

"It's been so long...too long." Ginro said while tearing up then cheered along with others.

"Land for our feet! And our bellies want meat!"

"Ha ha.... Of course." Ukyo said watching them from afar, chuckling as he sees them prancing around and celebrating, "We couldn't consume much meat on our long sea voyage."

"Hm. And with all our training, the battle team has been really craving animal based protein." Tsukasa continued while Kirisame visibly drooled on the idea of eating meat since all they had been eating is either seafood or desserts.

"Oh duh. We can probably hunt wild animal on dry land!" Taiju said, more like yelled, "What sorta beasts live in this continent?!"

'I got one in mind..... And he certainly live up to the name.' [name] thought to herself as everyone seemed unaware on what kind of danger awaits them.

"I wouldn't know since this is my first overseas vacay. Wa ha ha! Never thought my first time outta Japan would be like this."

"Vacay? Really?" Minami asks.

"Heh heh heh. Jokes like that are part of this peabrain's charm." The white and green haired scientist said.

"Look, past the fog." Homura said gaining their attention.

There are mountains of statues and some had already become one with nature. [name] noticed the silence that soon followed afterwards upon seeing the reality of the circumstances that they live in. Among all the petrified statues residing here on Earth, only a few had managed to be freed from that state.

But not everyone else was fortunate enough for that. Nature is neither an enemy or an ally and being turned into stone, being eroded away is a slow and sure way to die without having the consciousness of being alive.

"Come on people... We knew as much already." The mentalist said. "But I suppose, this is the first time we've ventured outside of Japan we have no way of really knowing what had become of the world. There was still a chance that our impostor Lillian's story could have been somehow rue-tay.'' Gen knew that the little white lie he had once told to everyone could have a chance of becoming true. But reality was quick to diminish that idea, ''That Japan was still petrified while the rest of the world had already been revived or even some countries had somehow beaten the petri-beam to begin with! Somewhere in our hearts... We we're holding on to hope! However faint it might have been."

Sensing the sudden change of mood from everyone, [name] quickly pinched Gen's side who shrieked from the pain. He looked at her silently asking what was she thinking but only gotten a glare from her.

"Read the atmosphere you dimwit. I appreciate the fact that you're trying to keep things within the boundary of reality but they just got depressed! You're a mentalist for god's sake! Next time this happen I'll-" [name]'s ranting was cut off by Kohaku, who spotted something.

"That cape jutting out.. I see a bunch of statues clumped together."

Gen mentally thank the blonde warrior for saving his ass and also for changing the topic of the conversation.

"You're right. But why?"

The question was answered by Senku easily, "Must've been a series of car crashes. A huge pileup. Then the cars eroded over time... leaving only the petrified drivers."

"But why were the cars under the water?" Yo asked.

"There must have been loads of cars around here. I passed by my own boat a few thousand years back." Ryusui said, remembering the time he had traveled here.

It's once marked the gateway to the Pacific. Cutting through San Francisco's fog with it's red brilliance. The Golden Gate Bridge.

"Right..." Yuzuriha muttered, "It's all gone now, though. Everything humanity have ever made."

"Deep down, we kinda thought that...this was our last chance for finding help."

"Don't look at it that way, guys!" Taiju yelled. "Once we find some corn and starting growing it...we can totally revive everyone in the world with the power of science!"

"Yeah." Senku said with hands on his hips. "We're gonna save 'em all. All 7.8 billion members of humanity."

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.

"We're gonna scour the land till our feet hurt real baaad... To find that corn!" Chrome said inside the lab.

"It'll be ifficult-day. The U.S. is absurdly vast." Gen said worriedly.

"We were always taking a gamble on finding any corn at all." Senku said while staring at the map. "But one spot near here could be the corn belt we're looking for. Since we arrived on the west coast, it had to be Northern California, enter San Francisco Bay and follow the sacramento river to where it used to be sacramento....."

"Slow down please, we don't all have encyclopedic knowledge of american geography." Gen said as he didn't understood one single thing that Senku had just explained.

"You mean we gotta follow this river to find corn? Why didn't ya say so?!" Chrome yelled.

"You're always ready to dive in and adapt, dear Chrome. The ideal search team leader...."

"It's nearly the time of the year where the corn will wither. I wonder if we make it on time." Ukyo said out loud.

"Yeah. That's the issue. But the earth experience called precession. Kinda like how a toy top starts titling as it spins. And the planet's rotational axis has tilted a little over three thousand and seven hundred years... It affected the Earth's climate in a way that will help us since the season is changing nine days later now."

"Oohhh."

"And extended deadline! Nice!"

"The downside is that climate change is gonna affect the ecosystem in weird ways. Let's just hope that no beasts decides to attack us."

"Actually, we would welcome a beast attack." Tsukasa said bluntly.

"Yeah." Kohaku said in agreement.

"Mhm..wait-what?"

Gen was looking at the window and saw a very familiar looking animal in the waters.

"Speak of the devil..as always, dear Senku. I should have ealized-ray. " The mentalist took a deep breath and continued. "It's not merely you have bad luck, you have none to speak of! You use your scientific mind to concoct the worst-case scenario and as soon as you utter it..."

The battle team appeared out of nowhere with serious expression on their faces, until they saw the alligators.

"Meat! Meat! Meat!" Kohaku and Yo chanted.

"So that's what they meant...about welcoming an attack." Ginro said finally understanding what they had stated earlier.

"Yes, I'm grateful for the circle of life." Tsukasa said with a blank expression on his face.

"How.... antastic-fay."

[name] stayed behind and let them handle the alligators by themselves. Her senses are telling her that she should, and she did just that. So far, nothing is wrong. It was calm before a storm, she mused. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Senku has now found the corn he had been searching for and the land they've covered barely have enough evidence that there's a group of people residing in this continent.

"Now that we've stepped foot on the American soil... there's one thing we definitely need to eat!" Ryusui said, snapping his fingers.

Francois cooked the alligator meat while [name] serves them the burgers. Everyone had gathered around the campfire as they took a quick break. Things had been going well

"Senku." Tsukasa suddenly called, showing him what looks like the gut of the animal. "The alligator swallowed this whole."

The scientist caught it in his hands, "An ear of the corn? And just the special American variety we're after."

[name] saw what he was holding and muttered, "Corn City is where we're going?"

He nodded before handing her what Tsukasa had thrown at him, "Yes. We need these for the production of alcohol. The key ingredient for revival fluid."

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.

.

"We've only made camp dear Senku. And you're putting white cloth over a light?" Gen questions as the scientist continued his work.

"Wouldn't shining a bright light at night just attracts bugs?" Taiju asks.

"That's the point. And if my guess are right..." Senku trailed off as he saw what kind of moths he caught. "The European corn border moth subsists mostly on corn. Which means there's a ton of corns nearby!"

"A butterfly? How pretty." Kohaku muttered, staring at it. Insects isn't something she really paid attention to but she can't deny that what she's seeing right now is really pretty.

"A moth, actually." Senku answered nonchalantly, but then realized that Kohaku had mistook moths as butterflies. "Kohaku...and the rest of you villagers. Have you guys ever seen this type of moth before?"

"Hah! Come to think of it, no. Never. But I don't really pay attention to different types of moths." Kohaku replied with her arms crossed on her chest.

"These things love to snack on grains so...when humanity went extinct you'd expect this moth's population to take a serious hit." He looked at the moths dancing around the light, which is the opposite of what he expected this to be, "But look how many have gathered in less than no time. Seems way too many right? Enough to make one wonder if someone out there is growing a cornfield."

Taiju looked at the two scientists who have this troubled expression on their faces, "Wa! Ha! Ha! What's got you looking so gloomy!? I mean, we've got a whole heap of people to revive so finding out cornfield sounds like good news to me!"

[name] could only wish she have Taiju's carefree attitude and being optimistic about dire situations like this. Francois is busy tending to everyone else and Ryusui is also busy doing something else.

Standing right beside Tsukasa who is near the river, looking outwards to the forest filled with large and tall trees. The terrain isn't any different than what it was like back in Japan yet the two of them couldn't deny that they have a disadvantage here. They've just arrive and if there's indeed an enemy after them, their sole advantage would be the environment. Tsukasa noticed [name] clutching her sword and gazing at the distance. He couldn't see anything in the darkness nor hear anything beyond like Ukyo or her, but he could tell that they're not alone in this place. And the presence on the woods is more than enough reason for him to be on high alert. 

"I sense, bloodlust." Tsukasa said as he stare deep into the woods, trying to see if someone's is lurking nearby but to no avail due to the darkness of the night.

"Is it some sort of wild beast?" Kohaku asked as she held her sword tightly.

"But with the ultimate battle squad here, there's nothing to fear!" Ginro stated, smugness laced in his voice as his elder brother is having none of it.

"Says the one hiding behind me."

"Yes I am very familiar with that sort of ki." Matsukaze added on.

"Ki? There's no such thing." Tsukasa stated. "I believe this odor comes from the breakdown of the adrenaline but I'm not sure of it."

The brown haired man need to protect the people he is with right now. 'What's that faint scent on the wind?' Tsukasa thought. 'Smoke? From the gun that had been fired?'

[name] turned to see where Ryusui is and quickly ran to his side. There wasn't any malice directed at any of them, but rather, it is focused on the whole team. ''He's targeting us.'' She said, staying close to where he is, ''Let's leave.''

Hyoga heard what [name] had said and then soon realize that everything was way too suspicious. They found corn floating down the river and it ended here, near the forest. "The enemy had done well." Hyoga said. "Seems like we were the one who got lured in."

With that Tsukasa yelled to alert everyone, "To the boat now! Take cover!"

Right then and there, they are being rained by bullets and at the same time, they tried to avoid it. [name] reflected them easily with her sword and ensured Ryusui and the rest are alright. Senku barely got in the lab and protect himself with the carbon shield, while the woman was grabbed by Hyoga into the lab.

As they made their escape down the river, [name] was certain that she saw the lower half of the person's face, and they were smoking a cigarette and smirking. They are waiting, she thought to herself as they fled the forest and went back to the Perseus. 

Once they arrived back at the ship, [name] was still trying to rack her mind on where she swore she saw that face before. Even though she only caught a glimpse of half of their face, she was certain that she saw is somewhere. 

The entire night was eerily familiar. This very place. She doesn't know if she should run or flee or stay. For a moment, the group saw [name] froze for a split second before we went and protected them.

''Do you know them?'' Hyoga asked curiously, as they made their back to the ship to come up with another plan.

''No.'' Was all [name] said as she thank Hyoga for what she did earlier and stayed silent throughout the trip.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Link for the first chapter in wattpad: Dazzling Starlet (Stanley Snyder x Reader) - CHAPTER 01 (on Wattpad)

https://www.wattpad.com/1511609067-dazzling-starlet-stanley-snyder-x-reader-chapterutm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=_snowpiercer_ - Dr Stone Fanfiction - Follows the main storyline

https://www.wattpad.com/1511609067-dazzling-starlet-stanley-snyder-x-reader-chapter

[linkemon]

Beauty and the Beast (Bakugō Katsuki x Reader) Good Ending

ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀꜱᴛ. ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ. ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ], ꜰᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛɪᴍɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴀᴜʟ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ. ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟ ʀᴇʟᴜᴄᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴏʀɴꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

The whole series can be found here. Part 1 is here. Bad Ending version.

Good ending

— Shigaraki is on his way! With a group of people! — Eri burst into the training grounds.

The enchanted objects froze. They had always known this day would come, yet they still weren’t prepared. They had hoped they would never have to lay eyes on the cruel man they had only heard about in stories. But now, their time was running out. As the snow melted, so did their hope. They lived from day to day, avoiding the temptation to count the weeks. April loomed before them like a grim executioner. They moved more slowly with each passing day, unable to keep up with the other palace residents.

Eri ran up to Mei, who was stubbornly tinkering with a prototype net. She wanted it to be able to fire and catch intruders. But it still wasn’t working — she tapped it impatiently, frustrated. She seemed lost in her own world. When the girl delivered the news, Mei wiped grease from her face and got back to work. She had to be extremely determined to fix what was broken. Maybe that was her way of helping her friends as best she could.

[Reader] lowered her silver sword. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Fear for her loved ones but also determination. She had made her decision long ago. She wasn’t going to back down. Not even if Katsuki disagreed.

Bakugō wasn’t doing well today. In fact, he hadn’t been for weeks, though he refused to admit it. He looked exhausted. Given his worsening condition, she didn’t want to agree to further training. But he had insisted that if she truly intended to stay, even after the thaw, she had to promise she would continue honing her skills under his watchful eye. So she spent her days swinging her sword. Eri would sometimes join them, just to watch. She couldn’t lift the heavy weapon but whenever her sister wasn’t paying attention, she would pester the beast to teach her how to handle a dagger. And with that knowledge, she had demanded to stay in the palace until the curse was broken. Despite everyone’s heated protests, she had been adamant and no one had been able to change her mind.

Katsuki had hoped to avoid exactly this situation. If only Shigaraki had arrived a little later, he wouldn’t have found [Reader] or Eri here. At most, he would have stumbled upon a few household objects and a wild, unconscious beast that wouldn’t have cared either way. But now, it seemed he would have to face the man who wanted him dead.

— You have to leave — he said, sheathing his golden sword in an old, battered scabbard.

— No way. We’ve already talked about this... Katsuki?! — The girl rushed forward as soon as she saw the beast start to sway.

She helped him lean against her but it wasn’t much use. He was far too heavy for her to support properly. She cast a worried glance toward the palace entrance. She had no choice but to drag the protesting king to the greenhouse. Everyone except Mei followed them.

The blue rose was in a dreadful state. The last bloom withered before their eyes. Each petal seemed to fall faster than the last. [Reader] remembered how magnificent the bush had looked when she first arrived. Now it was nothing, and, worse, it didn’t seem to be helping Bakugō at all.

The beast collapsed heavily beside it. His breathing became ragged. His eyes were clouded. A roar escaped his throat. The girl was certain that Shigaraki would be here in an instant because of it — and, unfortunately, she was right. Her former fiancé had brought a sizable crowd.

Strangely, they weren’t all mercenaries. At least not as many as she had expected. The vast majority were local farmers and townsfolk. There were also a few richly dressed noblemen but not many. Most of them were likely waiting for the situation to unfold before openly supporting the man.

[Reader] drew her sword. She allowed herself a quick glance at Katsuki. He was standing, though unsteadily. Behind him were Eri, gripping her dagger and the enchanted objects.

— Behold the beast! — Shigaraki called out calmly, drawing a black blade.

The crowd hesitated to move. Besides, the greenhouse wasn’t large enough for them all to attack at once. Despite their numbers, they were wary. No one wanted to be the first to fall to the monster.

From the group emerged Kurogiri. His black cloak billowed ominously. His eyes burned with murderous intent. He must have craved revenge deeply, for his knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his weapon. He lunged at the girl. Though she was prepared, Bakugō was faster. Gold gleamed in his hand.

With an unsteady, weakened motion, he parried the strike. His opponent twisted, attacking again. But this time, he aimed for Eri.

The girl dodged and struck out with her dagger. She only grazed him but that didn’t matter. Katsuki swung his clawed hand. Kurogiri hadn’t expected it to be a feint. The sword cleaved through bone. The man staggered back, missing his right hand. He panted heavily, trying to stem the bleeding. One of the mercenaries clumsily wrapped the stump in the fabric of his black cloak. Kurogiri lost consciousness. Shigaraki glanced at his men. This display was supposed to rally them into battle. But now, it seemed he would have to dirty his own hands. He stepped forward.

[Reader] heard a dull thud against the floor. Katsuki’s body had collapsed beneath the rosebush. Eri tried to wake him, but to no avail. The enchanted objects seemed frozen in place, their eyes darting around as they desperately tried to grasp what was happening. Shigaraki attacked. [Reader] took a deep breath. Silver danced in her hands. This was the first time she had ever fought someone for real. And her former fiancé had spent the past years training with some of the finest swordsmen. Though many had underestimated him due to his hunched posture, he quickly proved to be a dangerous man. Even if he was better at pulling the strings of power than wielding a blade himself. He struck mercilessly. She parried, searching for an opening. Desperation crept in. His defense seemed impenetrable. Worse still, she saw, from the corner of her eye, the crowd preparing to take advantage of the moment. The braver noblemen edged closer, tightening the circle. She struck again. Sweat trickled down her skin, pain searing her arm. The fight was nearing the end and she was losing.

She struck once more. She recalled her first lessons with Katsuki. It was one of the things that had brought them closer when they first met. He had been terrifying when she arrived at the palace with Overhaul. He had also been rude and unfriendly when she was getting to know him. And then, without her quite knowing when, he had become bearable. Over time, she had wanted to see him more and more. She liked his sense of humor. The fact that he didn’t treat her like the 'Beauty' she had been in the estate. And, though he rarely admitted it, she knew he enjoyed their time together too. Long conversations with him had become a part of her life. The time when he was right there, beside her, with their magical friends and Eri, had become something that filled her heart with joy. Because of him, she had begun to think of the palace as home. A real one. The kind she had never experienced before.

Holding back a sob, she attacked. The silver blade was mercilessly blocked. Emerald eyes flashed as Shigaraki knocked the weapon from her grasp. Was this how it was all going to end? No more tea with La Brava and Gentle. No more stacks of new compliments from Kaminari. Stories of Midoriya from Ochaco and Kirishima would fade into oblivion. Eri’s laughter, ringing so cheerfully in her ears ever since they arrived, would be silenced. And most importantly… Katsuki…

He could say whatever he wanted. Push her away for the sake of her safety. She knew he cared. She wanted to break the curse so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. She longed for him to regain his freedom and, without the enchantment hanging over him, finally tell her whether he felt the same as she did. At first, she had thought it was just friendship. And maybe it had been. Until it wasn’t. Something changed in the winter. She started looking at him differently. It was love. She was certain of it. Not the wild, sudden kind described in Eri’s fairy tales. It didn’t give her butterflies in her stomach. It was calm and steady. She was sure of it. And now fear gripped her heart. In just a moment, everything would be over. A single second stretched into eternity.

She wanted to live. To tell Katsuki everything that was racing through her mind. She didn’t know where the sudden courage came from. At the last moment, she grabbed the blade. She recreated the wrist movements the king had tried to teach her months ago, twisting the tip of the sword. For a moment, she thought she saw Izuku. Which was impossible, considering he had been dead for so long. She stared in a trance as Shigaraki’s defense was broken. The man stumbled over the vines of a rosebush. He fell straight onto the blade of a mercenary who had just charged into battle. A horrifying wail escaped him. With the last of his strength, he clutched the wound near his heart. But [Reader] paid him no mind.

— Not another step! — she shouted breathlessly, pointing her sword forward.

Seeing their leader in a pool of blood, the crowd hesitated. Someone called for help, while others gathered around Kurogiri. They didn’t know what to do. But she hadn’t expected them to simply drop their weapons. It started with the farmers.

— It’s... it’s him! — An old man looked shaken.

— He looks just like her… like Queen Mitsuki — added the woman beside him.

— People, the legend is true! — One of the mercenaries let go of his sword.

The counts fled the greenhouse in panic. They knew they had lost. Some of the people ran outside the palace. Others, intrigued, moved closer.

The girl turned her head. She, too, dropped her weapon in shock. A boy lay on the ground. At first, she wondered who he was. It wasn’t until she saw Eri’s smile that she understood — it was Katsuki. He was no longer a beast but a man. She had never seen any portraits of him. After all, he had destroyed all his human likenesses before she had arrived at the palace. His blond hair was disheveled. He blinked a few times, revealing red irises. He stared at his hands in disbelief before looking at his subjects. They looked older than they had on the day the curse was cast but other than that, they were unchanged. He got to his feet unsteadily, still dazed. His gaze landed on [Reader]. Before he could say a word, she rushed at him, laughing through her tears.

— You’re alive… Katsuki, you’re alive! — She threw her arms around his neck.

— It takes more than that to get rid of me, idiot — he whispered, pulling her into a firm embrace. — I never got the chance to tell you before. I was afraid of how you’d react. You wouldn’t be safe with me, so I tried to hide it and that was a mistake. I want you to know the truth. I love you, [Reader]. — The king gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand tenderly cupping her face.

— I love you too, Katsuki. — [Reader] pressed their lips together in a kiss.

All other sounds seemed to fade. The only thing that mattered was how close they were. A warmth spread through their hearts. Maybe Eri’s fairy tales weren’t so far from the truth after all. This had to be a kiss of true love.

What happened next was described in many different ways. Perhaps because each person in the greenhouse remembered the events a little differently. But there were a few things on which they all agreed. The blue rosebush miraculously came back to life, despite its terrible state just moments before. Kirishima grew into the title of Captain of the Guard. He organized the farmers and mercenaries with the help of gold from the treasury. They helped capture the fleeing counts. Mei’s net came in handy, finished just in time. Was it entirely legal? Probably not but no one who could spread the story too soon managed to escape the palace. Despite his supposed retirement, Gentle proudly tossed Kurogiri into the dungeon. La Brava rushed to the throne room to fetch the royal insignia for the king, even though not everyone present was fully convinced of his rule. Ochaco took on the task of explaining to the gathered crowd who the blond boy in the crown truly was, with the help of a few others. As it turned out, some of them had worked in the palace long ago. They recognized both her and Katsuki, so much like his mother. Kaminari played a significant role in negotiating with the many opponents of the new monarch. His natural charm made him perfect for the task.

Rumors spread in the palace that on that April day, Princess Eri had hugged everyone she could out of sheer happiness. Of course, the younger staff refused to believe the older ones, claiming it was impossible for Her Highness to be so open. At least until they themselves experienced her joy during a grand birthday celebration when she personally embraced each person who had helped with the preparations.

— Not ready yet? — Eri burst into the chamber, her dress rustling. — Come on! You don’t have to kiss every time I see you… — She pretended to be disgusted.

— Have you ever heard of knocking? — [Reader] laughed as she adjusted Katsuki’s shirt cuff.

— We’re leaving now — the man announced, fastening the red cloak over his shoulders.

The second coronation was quite the challenge. After long months of securing allies and several more spent convincing the public that Bakugō truly was the descendant of Mitsuki and Masaru, they had finally succeeded. Legally, it wasn’t necessary but the people and the council insisted on an official ceremony. Katsuki had spent a long time pondering whether he truly wanted to go through with it. For much of his childhood — perhaps all of it — he had longed to escape the responsibility that came with sitting on the throne. But in the end, he concluded that if someone like Shigaraki was to rule Musutafu, then it was better for him to take matters into his own hands. Surely, after the late king, many others would come scheming for power. His mother would never have forgiven him for leaving the country in their hands. The king had promised himself that he would try to introduce democracy. Step by step. After poring over books he had long avoided, he realized that it could be a great solution. Some neighbouring countries had already begun implementing it and with good results. Even if it were to happen only years from now, when Eri ascended the throne, it was worth trying.

The girl had grown into a remarkable person. Though she had become a bit more serious, her immense kindness remained unchanged. The people adored her, demanding that she be included in the line of succession. He didn’t want the teenager to be forced into it the way he once had. However, when he asked her opinion, she declared that she was ready and would work hard to earn the crown. [Reader], in contrast to her sister, wasn’t particularly interested in the legalities of succession. She helped the two of them as best she could but at the mention of 'queen' she merely shrugged. That didn’t mean, of course, that she wouldn’t become one in the future. Katsuki, despite his many duties, found himself dreaming of proposing.

The guards opened the doors to the restored throne room. Kirishima was scolding one of the new recruits in the Palace Guard. Moments later, he stood beside Bakugō. He smiled, and his friend returned the gesture. The men walked into the chamber, following the long carpet. Katsuki took his seat on the throne. The crown on his head no longer felt as heavy as he remembered it years ago.

Gentle announced that everyone was invited to join the festivities. La Brava led the first dance alongside him. They twirled across the ballroom, inviting foreign diplomats into conversation. No doubt many more cups of tea would be poured that evening. Kaminari had disappeared from the king’s sight — he had probably gone to spread the word that the celebrations had begun. He had designed the festival games in the city. Along with Ochaco, he had made sure that the cheerful atmosphere extended beyond the palace. Food and attractions had been prepared well in advance for the large public squares.

The head maid stood to the side, scolding Eri for wrinkling her dress. From time to time, she glanced at the large portrait of her fiancé, which hung prominently beside His Majesty. A smile graced her lips. Mei, as the royal inventor, occupied one of the raised platforms, adjusting her equipment. Despite her ball gown, the grease on her hands revealed that she had spent the day working. Another one of her creations was about to be presented for use in the agricultural sector. She hoped it would be useful for farmers. Her assistants approached her cautiously, asking when everything would be ready.

— What are you thinking about? — [Reader] asked when the king placed his crown on a cushion and invited her to dance.

The dance steps they performed surprised some of the guests. Surely, not every foreign visitor had heard of their wild love story. No one outside their circle of friends ever learned why they moved sideways across the ballroom, dancing to a street song that hardly suited the grand surroundings. Just as not everyone knew that they woke up an hour early each morning to start the day with sword training. Or that their future vacation plans involved an incognito journey to foreign lands. Those who frequented the palace, however, were already used to the fact that the current ruler and his loved ones were anything but ordinary.

— I’m thinking about how lucky I am. We’re all here together and you’re right beside me. — Bakugō smiled.

— Thank you. — [Reader] placed a brief kiss on his lips.

— For what? — Katsuki tilted his head.

— For meeting you — she replied, spinning.

— In that case, I thank you too. — The man took a few familiar steps.

— Oh? Are we competing now? ��� [Reader] gave him a mock-disapproving look.

They had changed so much, yet at the same time, they were still the same as when their journey together had begun.

— Thank you for breaking my curse. For teaching me how to love.

[scarararo]

itadori yuji | you outshine everything, even the sun at its zenith

jjk fluff , wc : 920

————————————————————————-

itadori yuji never really believed in the fact that fate was set in place. it could always be changed, and that if he worked hard enough, he would change something; anything. which was why he worked so hard at jujutsu high, working tirelessly to learn and grow his knowledge to save others. he who smiled like the world hadn't crushed him yet, he who smiled like his life wasn't a whirlwind ; as if one moment he was a typical high schooler, and the next he was fighting curses.

after all, he wanted to die an honourable death.

which was why he had always believed that his life was too short for something as fragile and delicate as love.

this belief tried to root it's way into itadoris heart, and it did; but that was until you came.

you, who changed how he thought, and how he wanted to grow.

it all begun when u joined shortly after he did, with both of you shadowing maki and yuta in their missions. he admired your courage, the way you flinched when you saw a curse, yet stood your ground and held your weapon high to fight.

more significantly, the more he got to know you, the harder he fell.

you stood by his side, through mission and mission, time and time again. despite the fact that it seemed like the world was trying to break him apart, you were like the glue that held him together- you made him feel like he could still hang on.

it was the little things that you did, which awed him every time.

little things like how you would save the last piece of food for him during dinnertime even though you pretended like you didn’t - and that you were just “full”. little things like how you would always put a blanket on him when he would fall asleep in the dining room. little things that seemed so insignificant, yet they spoke volumes. little banters, late talks at night, studying together, and looking out for each other - he felt complete when he was with you.

————————————————————————-

“yuji, you have to be more careful, you can’t keep going so far out during battle - it’s almost as if you want to get eaten by a curse or something..” you huffed, dabbing antiseptic on his fresh wound after a battle you both had that evening.

“sure, you’re one to talk,” he retorted smugly. “if you hadn’t been so persistent on standing beside me instead of behind me, i would have demolished them in the blink of an eye!” he joked, chuckling to himself.

yuji worried about you. always wanting to protect you from the formidable world of curses that he knew all too well, wanting you to stand behind him so he would be at ease. he couldn’t physically bear to see you get hurt.

you rolled your eyes in response. “i’m not the one who throws myself into battles all day, every day. but i know someone who does…” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“i can handle it if i get hurt, but you…” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. you saw hesitation in his eyes before he spoke again, gripping his knee before his voiced dropped to something raw and vulnerable. “i don’t want to see you get hurt, i can’t bear to see it..” he trailed off.

silence hung in the air for a few seconds. it stretched between the two of you, unspoken and unbroken. the tension wasn’t thick, nor awkward. it was comforting, it was one that was filled with mutual care, warmth, and love.

you placed the bandages down slowly, looking at him with eyes full of love, placing your hands onto his. he lifted his head, finally meeting your gaze.

“i feel the same way, yuji. whenever i see you return with a new cut or scrape- or something even worse than that, something in me aches.” you begun, rubbing your thumb against his.

“but we can’t protect each other from everything. all we can do is fight for our lives, and live for each other. i want to see our future yuji…” you replied softly, tender voice comforting him like a warm hug.

you squeezed his hands, interlocking fingers with him. “if we live to see each other, thats more than enough for me” you smiled, gently easing the tension in the room.

yuji was never good with these types of flowery, romantic scenarios that seemed so strange and foreign to him. he knew that he shouldn’t promise someone a future, even if he wanted to - because forever was never a guaranteed for him.

however, under the dim light of the medical room, his heart echoed one thing and one thing only, and this, he was sure of.

“i love you, y/n.” he whispered.

your lips parted slightly, surprised that those words came out of his mouth, but then you smiled as you let out a chuckle.

“yuji, you outshine everything, even the sun at it’s zenith”, you said, voice like a gentle sigh.

no one had ever said something like that to him before, no one had ever looked at him the way you did, saw him above fighting, above the curse he had been burdened with, above his inescapable fate.

maybe fate had taken too much from him, but amidst the gentle luminesce from the soft lights, he thought to himself, maybe, just maybe, just this once, it had given him something too.

[laubhaufen97]

Sooo I finally read the TBC scan and my brain is a bit less fried from today so new thoughts:

I completly missed Saul saying that the third world is based on the present so defintely a prophecy. Also explains Ripley not knowing about the giants teaming up with other races, it just hasn't happened yet. TCB also translated Ripleys statement as 'this kind of cooperation is unheard of' so that changes it from we never worked with other races to there have never been this many races working together that we know of. For some reason her line about it possibly being a kid's dream hits different now. Like THIS specific alliance is just impossible. Would be nice but not happening.

The TCB translation made it a bit clearer to me that Loki might in fact just be mad about not being able to avenge his furry friends.

The mural of course stays the same but the Harley text sounds way more detailed now. There are also some minor changes. The world still burns and the god of the sun still pops into existence after the slaves pray for him but now they are the ones who reach for the forbidden sun. They don't touch it. The serpent of hell is now a serpent of fire which fits the mural way better with the snake breathing fire and all. I'll just assume that this is the myth of Nika, it fits too well with what we heard from Who's who.

In the second world the god of the forest weaves their magic to nurture devils? I'm now thinking this might have to do with devil fruits? The sun now started the embers of war instead of 'merely spreading' them and the sun slayers don't ascend to divinity anmyore, they claim it which again irks the god of the sea.

In the third world the fragmented moon became the half moon, the promised day sounds more like a given rather than something to hold close. Like the first translation this one uses 'void' specifically and considering that the world is in this void it actually might refer to the void century. On the topic of the void century: If I interpreted the placement right the left half of the mural refers to the third world while the right half refers to the first. That would leave the void century undepicted safe for the tree and dragon on top of it.

If the left side is actually the present day the Nika figure would be Luffy. With a sword and shield. Might just be the childrens depiction of him as a warrior because I can't see him with either one of those weapons. He used a sword exactly once and even then just pommeled people with his fist that was holding it. And I just noticed that the mural seems oddly human sized. It was made by kids but compared to Franky's height it looks liek a regular sized wall. That might just be Oda's wonky sizing though, it wouldn't be the first time that happened.

Really curious for the offical volume translation, those are usually the ones where the last mistakes get fixed...it's gonna take forever for this one to come out.

One Piece brainrot is real. Always has been but recently it's been at an all time high. I got so annoyed with (mostly) mild spoilers for 1138 that I checked out other pages for scans and I got lucky. I just need to get my thoughts out without spoilering my sister so here are my ramblings, somewhat sorted:

Luffy's adoration of Shanks/the ongoing mentioning of it still worries me. He said Shanks wouldn't do something so senseless in response to the attacked giants and I really hope that the senseless is the key aspect here and not a romaticised image Luffy has that Shanks wouldn't absolutely demolish someone. He did see the Red hairs do that as a child so I have a bit of hope. The giants that got attacked don't seem to known Shanks very well, Luffy calls him by his name but they keep referring to him as the Red Hair, same as Zorro. Nice touch of Luffy remembering Namis story considering though he took a walk when Nojiko told it...even if he got Belle Meres name wrong. She either told him or the others did. But this has happened a few times in recent chapters. Luffy remembering Robins story (I'm fairly certain Robin didn't shout her past over the abyss in Enis Lobby so she must have told them afterwards)

Also: Shanks went to the Holy Land? Doflamingo and Corazon weren't allowed back even though their parents took them to the surface but apparently going missing as a baby and growing up a pirate doesn't count as abandoning divine status? I really need more insight to his time there and how he got there and back and found out about his heritage in the first place. It was probably after Rogers execution right?

Shamrock defends his place in my head as the biggest snob ever seen. 'Not even getting his hands dirty' to finish of Loki is a cheap move in his part. As well as going after the children. But considering he used the Buddhist version of hell for the surface it shouldn't be too surprising. That's one way to keep his true power a mystery. Gunko seemed to try to talk him out of it too? Shamrock calling the surface an underworld reminded me a bit of Elbafs sections. The lowest part is an underworld as well, the upper part is seen as divine. Elbafs sections are reminiscent of Norse mythology so I didn't think much of it but it kind of resembles the world governments order. The Holy Land, the place of the gods is all the way up, even the sky islands fit into this with Skypias ruler being called god. Below is the common realm. Would that be the surface? It wouldn't fit Shamrocks definition but eh he seems hateful. The underworld would lay below it then. So the bottom of the sea? First place that came to mind was Impel Down with it's own levels, it was literally called hell but another place at the bottom of the ocean right below the Holy Land is Fishman Island with it's inhabitants being seen as less than human. Just a spontaneous thought, nothing polished here. Also Loki kind of went againts his own words when he got stabbed. He told his wolf friend that a warrior doesn't kick and scream in the face of death yet that' what he did. Granted, everyone was gone so maybe he didn't care but even in 1137 he made excuses for why he was getting beaten up (which again fair, he couldn't move mor than his head). Did he yell after the Holy Knights because he couldn't avenge his animal companions?

Robin reading the Harley text got my attention as well. Two chapters earlier it was said they were written in an archaic language which led to the numerous interpretations. Is Robin reading a translation or the original? If she can translate the original on the fly like that she might end the confusion about Nikas true nature(s). Franky thinkin of Robin the moment he learned about the scribbles was adorable. The Giants not having record of fighting alongside other races was a bit weird to me as the drawings clearly seem to imply that exact thing. Giants get old, such a thing shouldn't be forgotten as easily in three generations.

The mural. Oh my the mural. I'm not one for theories, more like hunches but this chapter got me good. In the first world the sun god appeared due to the slaves wishes so that would explain the role of the liberator. The god of the earth as and the serpent confused me, I'm open to suggestions. It kind of makes me think of Skypia again, or rather Jaya as it was before half of it was yeeted skywards. They called upon the gods mentioned in the Harley and wanted to sacrifice Mousse to the snake god (roughly translating from my german version, I hope the names match). It might have been inspired by this? Eloping the world in Darkness sounds mighty familiar too. I can't recall if it was explicitly said in he manga or outside of it but Blackbeard has been said to go for an age of darkness.

The mural itself though. I guess it can be divides in three parts? With the tree being the middle part? There's so much to spot I don't even know if some of the details are meant to be important.

The bottom right seems very factory-ish, there's even emissions, very technical and very dark shaded. The right creature could be the serpent of hell? Right above it should be the moon, it seems to have craters. And towards the moon flies a ship that looks like the Arche Maxim that Enel build, it even has lightning coming from it. I'm really curious what the figures are transporting though, next to the moon it looks like a star and it's the same shape throughout the mural so I'm just going for star shaped things. Left to it: the Noah from Fishman island. Complete with an angel and two of each kind in line like in the Bible and it seems to go upwards. 'Humanity succumbed to desire and touched the forbidden sun' does sound very forbidden fruit like. And right on top of the Noah is a crowned shape that is shaded darker than all the other figures. The contrast seems to be a bit too deliberate to be coincidence, it's the same shade as the monsters and the factory, nothing else on the right side has that shade.

I'm guessing the god of the forest is the dragon on top of the tree, it would fit the forest theme. It does breath fire towards the serpent, the serpent breathes back thouhg so does the serpent represent emptiness? The tree itself is probably the tree on Elbaf. Again: Norse mythology influences. The text makes a distinction bestween the half moon people and the moon people. Curious for that to clear up. And the demons? I can already hear the theories about the D meaning demon, it's not a new thought within the fandom. If the tree IS the tree on Elbaf it might have to do with the island directly though. I have seen theories about Kaido having a giant lineage due to his horns, a lot of people went the oni route before that though. 'The god of the sea became enraged' why is my first connotation the seas hatred for devil fruit users? Could also be the rising sea, it HAS swallowed entire countries in the past. 'Humanity killed the sun and ascended to divinity' sounds mad as hell. Celestial dragons? The see themselves as gods and have been trying to prevent Nikas awakening.

The third world seems to be either the present or the future. So either in the void century or the current present. If it is the void century the second world could only showcase the formation of the world nobles as a parallel society to the ancient kingdom. If it is the current times the children would have been able to see into the future which would be wild. It has happened and there seems to be a plan. 'They hear the voice of the fragmented moon' makes me think of the voice of all things. Nika guiding the world to it's end does fit the description of him a a destroyer, him doing it laughing and dancing fits the laughter role. I guess Robin can't clear this up that easily after all. It also fits Luffy. Laughing and dancing as the world slowly sinks into the ocean towards it's end, a stark contrast to the beginning of the first world in fire which fits the entire mural being framed by it. 'The sun will return and a new dawn will come' again could be Luffy as the new sun or maybe the next user of the fruit? It is one of only two parts that clearly references the future. The other being 'they will surely meet again' a direct opposition from the ending of the first two worlds where it's 'they could never meet again'. The mural is so stockful of references. Top to bottom from the tree to the demon we have a mink(?), Emmet, what looks like a sandship like in Alabaster that carries the same symbol on it's sails as Nikas shield, one lonely star shape from the left half right under it, a ship full of samurai, two more ships that I can't categorise, a giant whale with people on it (Laboon? The stripes make it look a bit like the Moby Dick) with rain from above, the only instance of rain in the entire mural, a big big giant that is shaded slightly darker than the rest, a Tontatta, a fish (what? it looks so lost it's quite big though so maybe a sea king. It was painted by children after all), a very dark ship it's the same shade as the gods/demon, a winged person (at first I thought sky island but those wings are big so maybe Lunarian...I'm dumb they're probably part of the moon people right? Took me until right now to make the connection. Maybe the distinction between the moon people is the Lunarians and the civilization that was on the moon?), a very big Nika with a sword shield and very long arm that is shaded the same colour as the gods/demon, a very big mermaid, a regular ship another mink and another giant. We have met quite a few characters that would fill those roles perfectly and they are friendly and allied with the straw hats.

The demon is weird as hell, he has horns as well as wings, he is bigger than the giants, he holds the literal sun and his outstreched arm is surroundes by the star shapes from the left half of the mural. The ship below the demon seems to beoing towards the rest of the group so is it fighting them? The people have been shaded gray until now, the ones one the ship wear white. Only their faces are the same grey. I don't see Zunesha though, I wonder why our elephant isn't in the mural.

There are a few repeating themes between the worlds. In the first world there is fire and a forbidden sun, in the second world the dragon berathes fire towards the serpent, the god of the sun spreads embers of war and the sun gets killed, the third world prophesises the return of the sun. Another common theme is the emptiness. The first world gets swallowed by darkness (not exactly empty but rather close if you consider the darkness fruit), the second breathed out of emptiness and the third starts void (peculiar choice of words here).

Thinking that maybe the sun in the demons hand might have to do with the motherflame. Maybe the starshapes are used to power/create it?

I feel like I had a million other thoughts but this thing is like three pages long already so I'll just add them if they come back.

[onebizarrekai]

Can we have Ds Randy lore pls pls 😣..

oh my god his lore is absolutely bonkers. have I ever ranted about it. I don't remember.

ya boy randy grows up in a Magic Nightmare Dimension that's meant to be like, a real nursery rhyme. that like, kids are told by their parents that they'll be snatched away into the Nightmare Dimension™ if they misbehave or act out or whatever, except the dimension is real. it's like, horrortale-esque, just without the entirety of horrortale. for some reason randy's name is dino and he works as the abused lumberjack assistant of a blacksmith and he's supposed to be like the most sentient person in the dimension who's the only one who questions his purpose because everyone around him has an innate desire to kill intruders, those being the children that fall into the dimension when they sleep at night.

then JR just, magically finds this extremely specific dimension, kills everyone, except randy because he's "really good at hiding" (amazing) and so randy's just. straight up the only survivor. he lives in this nightmare dimension for years BY HIMSELF and gives company to the children who still slip into it to try and make it less scary for them. and because core frisk is still an element of the story, they show up multiple times, they tell him he shouldn't be alone in a place like this. it takes a bit of convincing because randy is afraid of leaving it empty, but he eventually concedes. and the evil nightmare dimension disappears because it has no more inhabitants.

fast forward, randy, for some stupid reason, wants to do core frisk's job. he's like "I wanna save people from their timelines and give them a place to stay" and core frisk is like "no that's my job, go be a member of society" and randy is so upset that he breaks into the omega timeline's resident avengers tower (I don't know what it is! it's a skyscraper! my brain says it's a random skyscraper!) where they're keeping their experimental Dimension Traveling Fluid. randy splatters it all over his lumberjack axe that he still has for some reason, and you guessed it, tries to do core frisk's job. because this story loves being extremely over the top, randy accidentally rescues a like murderer rapist who hurts people and everyone in the omega timeline is like "oh my god! you bastard!" because apparently this random criminal is the only guy in the history of the omega timeline who's hurt anyone. and core frisk is all like "randy don't ever do that again" and randy is so ashamed and knows that everyone hates him and he just. leaves entirely. because somehow, even though they confiscated his weapon, he breaks BACK INTO THE SKYSCRAPER TO STEAL IT BACK. and core frisk purposefully does not go after him. I don't know. maybe they did it on purpose. maybe it's a mind game and they were trying to get rid of him. who even knows at this point.

and this guy just, he just does whatever for the next however long. my notes just say "he stumbled into JR one day when they had coincidentally rescued a bunch of children from a murder cult". and JR just immediately sees him in the cams, and they're like, who's that guy, so they bring him in, and randy's panicking because these guys killed off his whole universe. and they just put him a cell! for no reason! they're like "he's got classified technology in his weapon" and they throw him in jail, say they're going to "deal with him later" and bunny coincidentally happens to be in the cell next to him because when you are a traumatized baby teen and you're melting down because a bunch of guys in white army suits started killing everyone you know, they put you in a cell. and for some reason randy starts talking to bunny about being free from the cult despite this being way out of his depth, and despite him only knowing what he briefly overheard. and JR has waiting times like a doctor's office so like an hour passes before bunny will say a single word to him. and then like, they just start sort of talking, and there's a guard there, he just stops existing, stops caring that they're talking about breaking out and then some more guys come in and take bunny somewhere else and interrogate randy some more.

and here's the thing. I do not know how they broke out. my notes stop there. I don't know. I think bunny got away and stole his weapon back?? and they escaped together?? that's insane. oh yeah, this is the part where randy is like "I was just passing through" the guards are like "do you have any idea how high the security is here" and it just makes me laugh every single time. why is JR so incompetent. it's just funny at this point.

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[hauntingblue]

WATER SEVEN BABYYYYY

Look at robin reacting when luffy says he wont give her up.... 🥺🥺

This is a joke right now but its actually a one piece tenet aldjsisjka

Usopp aksbaksjakqk the foreshadow is foreshadowing... Also Robin being happy with the crew after the Aokiji incident... Fuck!!!!

Sanji thinking robin just vanished or flew away and suddenly usopp is soaring thru the skies... imagine

AAAAARGGGGHHHH YOU CAN SEE THE GEARS TURNING

Zoro talking to merry..... only while he is alone of course

Why are nami and sanji matching ajdhakjsk look at the citrus sisters

Carpenter: maybe it was the government

Gov agent: I don't think so, also don't say that they are everywhere

LUFFY SUPPORTS WOMEN'S WRONGS!!!

Don't scream att chopper like that!!! Look at him... So small....

Imu tease???? (No) (Also I've changed websites again bc the translation is kinda off , I can't find a good quality b&w spanish translation and the colors scare me (i want the real manga experience))

GET HIM ICEBURG!!!!

I truly forgor if this is just a lie about her wanting to find the rio poneglyphs or genuine because she wants to die and will do it for them... because in skypiea she says she is not interested in the weapons so maybe if the gov pardons her but considering what she wants is illegal then idk abdjabjs this is such a dumb thing to forget... like thats important girl where did it go (reading this after remembering and it's kinda funny... i will make any sacrifice to kill myself (and keep you safe)... she goes HARD)

Little paulie and mozu and kiwi.... omg hello (the SBS says the twins wanted to be shipwrights too omg)

Franky's backstory is small but it does so much for me like it is so central to the themes... boats and people...

DID SOMEBODY ORDER MORE TRAGIC BROTHERS?

The fact that franky needs to learn this lesson to pass it on to robin.... do you understand how big this is.... also Tom does exactly as he says and takes responsibility for franky and what he has done... because he has done nothing wrong AND THAT'S HIS SON and he just punched spandam bc he wanta him to feel the pain franky feels... Tom is such a man..... proud of having built eater 7 up with the sea train.... goes out with a boom.... should we all kill ourselves....

I am crying again................... franky my god.... and the fucking frog!!! And of course franky can't stop Tom's hope for his island... of course he can't.... he hasnt learnt the lesson yet but this guy isn't over yet!! He has a life of being a pervert cyborg ahead!!! Iceburg following Tom's footsteps but franky not being able to do that bc of his guilt....

This is one of the coolest things chopper has done btw...

NAMII 😭😭😭

Robin damning the world for her crew when all she has ever done is damn her companions for her own sake.... how big is this...

I can't take this...... it's always nami in these positions... it happens AGAIN in Zou with Sanji... there is no way

The love letter gag is too good like damn that's so funny

AND IT'S NAMI GOING THROUGH IT AGAIN!!!! SHE LOVES ROBIN SO MUCH!!!!

[pulchrasilva]

Nobody fucking talk to me i just finished rewatching arcane and it was DEVASTATING I need to KILL

[otome-dissection]

yakuza 0 majima they could never make me hate you

[a-lil-rat]

I don't want to be a conspiracy theorist on main but all the memes about Luigi Mangione kind of piss me off bc I am 90% sure he is not the assassin.

I know I've joked in the past that all white men look alike but Luigi Mangione litterally does not look like any of the shooter pics.

The shooter has a long face and a sharp chin, Mangione has a more square face and rounder chin, and THE EYEBROWS!! You're gonna tell me he groomed his eyebrows before commiting a murder and they just grew back completely in less than a week? Nah

Not to mention, police claimed he was wearing the same jacket and backpack from the day of the shooting. You know, the same jacket and backpack the NYPD found discarded in Central Park?

And they're saying his fingerprints match the crimescene even though security footage clearly shows the shooter wearing GLOVES!!

Not to mention, after every meticulous step taken to get away with the shooting, why would the perpatrator still be carrying the murder weapon and a manifesto??

I genuinely believe the cops are using Luigi Mangione as a fall guy. They found a centrist Ivy League kid who kind of matched the description in order to shift the narrative from class war back to a less threatening "left vs right" culture war.

His politics are messy enough that people will spend more time debating over what side of the spectrum he is on than the actual issue at hand. THIS IS A DISTRACTION!

Also the story is all over the place. Was it a McDonalds employee or patron that reported him? The story keeps changing but either way it sends the message that the working class will turn on itself during an unprecedented moment of class unity and solidarity in the United States.

Also I think pinning this on an Ivy League kid was done in an attempt to shift the narrative from the assassin being a working class hero to just another trust fund kid. That being said, even if it WAS him, an Ivy League trust fund kid has more in common with you than you have with the 1%.

So people in the US, please think critically about the distraction tactics being pushed onto you and don't forget who the real enemy is.

Keep solidarity.

Deny

Defend

Depose

Edit: I have since been informed that Italians grow eyebrows at a very fast pace.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ playing dangerous ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ player 177. your assigned number. the three digits stitched in stark white thread on the coarse forest-green tracksuit now clinging to your body. you didn’t remember putting it on. you didn’t remember anything between falling asleep in your cramped apartment and waking up in this sterile, alabaster void. the tracksuit was loose in some places, tight in others, the fabric rough against your skin, a similar sensation for the discomfort that had settled deep into your bones.

˚ ༘♡ the air here was heavy, oppressive. tension hung over the room like a storm cloud, pressing down on everyone in its path. you sat on the thin mattress of your cot, the iron bars of the bedframe biting into your back as you leaned against them. your throat was dry, your lips chapped, and a faint crust of dried blood clung to the edge of your mouth, an unpleasant reminder of the chaos you’d barely survived. in your lap rested a cold metal bento box, unopened. the thought of eating its contents of rubbery eggs and starchy rice, made your stomach churn. it wasn’t hunger gnawing at you but dread. eating felt like acknowledging the possibility of another day here, in this place where death lingered so close you could almost taste it.

˚ ༘♡ death. it wasn’t something you’d ever had to think about seriously before. you were young, healthy enough, aside from the occasional winter flu. life’s struggles had been mundane, bills, work, nothing quite noteworthy. you’d thought financial trouble was the worst of your problems. how naive that seemed now. the sharp crack of gunfire still rang in your ears, and the memory of bodies crumpling mid-run played in an endless loop in your mind. every scream, every desperate gasp for air as life left someone’s body, was etched into your mind.

˚ ༘♡ this wasn’t life. it was survival, twisted into something grotesque. children’s games weaponized against desperate people for the amusement of others, with the promise of money as bait. one hundred million won for every life taken. your own life, reduced to a figure on a balance sheet. you’d survived the first game, the horrifying version of red light, green light, but at what cost? surely, after witnessing such carnage, the others would have voted to leave. you’d been certain of it. but the desperation was stronger. greed was stronger. most players had chosen to stay, ignoring the horrors of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ “the next game,” player 456 had said, “will be cutting shapes out of dalgona candy. pick the triangle. it’s the easiest.” his voice had carried a strange conviction, and he claimed to know these games intimately, even to have won before. but how could you trust him? maybe he was lying, or maybe it didn’t matter. maybe none of you were meant to leave this place alive.

˚ ༘♡ “hey, 177!” the crude voice shattered your thoughts, dragging you back to the present.

˚ ༘♡ you glanced up to see player 230, “thanos,” as he called himself, sauntering toward you. his garish purple hair stood out like a bruise against the sterile backdrop, and his brightly colored nails flashed as he gestured. he’d painted them to match the infinity stones, leaning fully into the nickname he’d given himself. behind him, player 124 followed, all sharp angles and slicked-back hair, his grin as eager and sly as ever.

˚ ༘♡ “why didn’t you vote for one more game, huh?” thanos sneered, his voice laced with mockery. “you had no problem playing foul last round.”

˚ ༘♡ you frowned, rising slowly to your feet. “you and i both know it was an accident,” you replied steadily. “everyone was running for their lives. i didn’t block your way on purpose. we both finished in time, didn’t we? no harm done.”

˚ ༘♡ he rolled his eyes, his expression exaggerated and spontaneous. “yeah, sure, whatever. typical cold-hearted bitch behavior.”

˚ ༘♡ player 124 cackled at the insult, his laughter harsh and grating. “that’s right. cold, stuck-up bitch,” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn.

˚ ༘♡ their taunts were designed to provoke you, but you refused to give them the satisfaction. your hands curled into fists, but you forced yourself to relax them, forced yourself to breathe. these two thrived on conflict, and the best thing you could do was walk away. you turned on your heel, ignoring their shouts, and started to move toward the far corner of the room.

˚ ༘♡ “hey! i’m talking to you!” thanos barked, stumbling after you with heavy, uncoordinated steps. he didn’t get far. player 001 stepped into his path, his expression stoic and unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t you boys have any respect?” player 001 asked, his voice quiet but firm. there was something about him, an emanation of authority that made everyone within earshot pause.

˚ ༘♡ thanos bristled, his arrogance faltering for just a moment. “mind your own damn business, old man,” he snapped, jerking forward.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 didn’t flinch. when thanos lunged at him, the older man moved with startling precision, sidestepping the punch with ease. he grabbed thanos by the wrist mid-swing and twisted sharply, forcing a guttural yelp from the younger man as his knees buckled. with a swift motion, player 001 yanked him forward and drove an elbow into his chest, the dull, cracking impact echoing in the room. thanos collapsed onto the floor, clutching his ribs and coughing violently.

˚ ༘♡ player 124 scrambled forward, his face twisted in fury. “bastard!” he yelled, charging with reckless abandon. player 001 turned just in time, catching the younger man by the collar and using his momentum against him. a sharp twist and a well-placed shove sent player 124 sprawling into the edge of a nearby cot, the metal frame rattling as he hit it with a thud.

˚ ༘♡ the fight wasn’t over. thanos struggled to his feet, his face contorted in pain and rage. “you’re gonna regret that, old man,” he spat, lunging again. this time, player 001’s response was more deliberate. he ducked under thanos’s wild swing, stepped inside his reach, and delivered a devastating blow to his lower torso. the younger man doubled over, gasping, before player 001 swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor once more.

˚ ༘♡ not finished, player 124 staggered up again, charging at player 001 with fists raised. the older man sidestepped and grabbed player 124 by the arm, wrenching it behind his back and forcing him to the ground with a hoarse cry of pain. he planted a knee firmly against player 124’s spine, holding him there as the younger man squirmed and cursed.

˚ ༘♡ thanos, blood now trickling from his nose, crawled toward his friend, wheezing apologies and swearing obscenities all at once. player 001 released player 124 with a shove, stepping back as the two younger men lay crumpled together on the floor.

˚ ༘♡ the room was silent, every player watching in stunned awe. then, slowly, the silence broke into cheers and clapping. player 001 straightened his posture, his expression as calm and inscrutable as ever. without a word, he turned and walked back to where player 456 and a few others were gathered, leaving the two troublemakers to nurse their wounds.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, then followed him. when you reached his side, you spoke softly. “i wanted to thank you, sir. if you hadn’t stepped in, they wouldn’t have stopped harassing me and disturbing the peace. you’ve done us all a favor.”

˚ ༘♡ player 001 turned to look at you, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before he nodded. he said nothing, his expression unreadable. there was something deeply weary about him, a weight that seemed to press down on his shoulders. his posture was rigid, his face lined with exhaustion, and though he was relatively handsome, it was the kind of masculine appeal eroded by time and hardship.

˚ ༘♡ you wondered what had brought him here, what had led him to the point where he’d chosen, or been pushed into, to enter this place. you didn’t ask. prying into his past would be an impolite gesture and an indignity for what he had done for you.

a/n: my first squid game fanfiction! i definitely want to write more for hwang in-ho in the future so let me know if you have any requests! 🤍