#((every problems can't be solved by magic))

[gloriousmonsters]

koume and kotake were like 400 years old... y'all think they raised any other kings?

[the-enchanted-mistakes]

Why not ask a witch help you out? They should be good with magic!

[kianamaiart]

"Pretty Pretty Please I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl" Bios!

NAME: Aika (she/her) AGE: 15 Main Protagonist CV: Anairis Quiñones

BIO:

Aika is an easily excitable and energetic girl. She's generally optimistic and very friendly. She's always eager to try new things as long as it's not her fulltime job of being a magical girl.

As soon as her magical girl duties are brought into the picture, her demeanor changes. She checks out, and often looks for the quickest solution to solve the issue. No flashy transformations and special moves here. She's good with a metal baseball bat or a rocket launcher.

All Aika wants is to live a normal life, make friends and go to school. Unfortunately, like every main protagonist, trouble manages to follow her wherever she goes.

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NAME: Zira (she/they) AGE: 16 Love Interest Best Friend CV: Bennett Abara

BIO:

Zira is everything Aika wants to be. Painfully average, under the radar and a self proclaimed loser.

She's a smart girl but has a hard time applying herself. Instead of paying attention in school, and doing extracurriculars, Zira would much rather be reading her favorite magical girl manga "Moon Sailor".

After Aika forces her friendship upon them, Zira now has to tag along on all of Aika's escapades and experiences new things. Ew. However, they admire Aika deeply and admire her even more after Aika's magical secret comes to light.

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NAME: Hoshi (any/they/them) AGE: unknown Magical Sidekick CV: Christine Marie Cabanos

BIO:

Hoshi is a magical star being sent to Earth to find the chosen one. They made a great choice with Aika, as she's amazing at her job. The only issue is she hates it and is often trying to dodge responsibilities (and Hoshi).

When Aika first started, and still had her heart in it, Hoshi was definitely more neurotic and acted as your typical mentor/magical sidekick. But over time, they gave up on trying to tell Aika what to do and also became a little more apathetic. Aika was getting the job done at least, so what's the problem?

Hoshi still has to make sure Aika doesn't completely give up on being the Star Guardian: Guardian of the Stars, which Aika finds annoying.

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NAME: Eclipse (he/him) AGE: 15 Minor Antagonist CV: Aleks Le

BIO:Eclipse is a flamboyant and theatrical individual whose showmanship is out of this world. He refers to himself as

"Eclipse: Servant of Darkness".

He was a D-list antagonist that Aika and her team would fight on occasion. Mostly just saving citizens from him being a nuisance. Eclipse has deluded himself into thinking that he's Aika's rival, main antagonist and love interest. Their love is simply forbidden as he's chosen the path of darkness and her, the light.

After Aika ran away, he managed to find her again. However this time he actually has powers??? Where did those come from? It's as if he's made a deal with darkness itself.

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NAME: Lady DeVoid (she/her) AGE: Old Main Antagonist/Big Bad CV: Shara Kirby

BIO: Lady DeVoid is darkness itself. She's a mysterious being with an incomprehensible amount of power. Power that is currently weakened and that she actually has no idea how to use. She can't seem to remember for some reason...

All she knows is that a long time ago she was defeated and banished by a Star Guardian and that she now wants revenge. The only power she has at her disposal is creating particles of darkness that she can use to possess animate or inanimate objects to create monsters. She prefers others do her dirty work.

She enlists the help of Eclipse to spread these particles with the hopes that it'll eventually destroy the Star Guardian.

___________________________________

NAME: Miss (she/her) AGE: 39 Side Character CV: Michele Knotz

BIO:

Miss is Aika and Zira's very tired teacher. Looking at her, you might assume she hates her job, but it's quite the opposite. She pours everything into her work and into her students, leaving very little time for her personal life.

She's recently started trying to get it together (after her ex-wife left her) but is still struggling to find that work-life balance.

Prior to Aika enrolling, Miss was Zira's only friend at school and, though she'd never admit it, Zira's probably the closest thing she has to a friend also (oof). She's subsequently become a secret Moon Sailor fan too.

[dismalflo]

can't help myself

Sirius Black x reader who aren't great communicators ✩ 6k words

summary: you and Sirius sleep together for the fun of it. no strings. you decide to call it off when it all becomes too much and the cons outweigh the pros. and maybe you have some feelings.

cw: allusions to sex, friends with benefits with feelings, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, accidental wingman james

“Hello?” you call, letting yourself into the Potter’s house, frowning a little when it seems oddly quiet. James had insisted the first warm day of the year called for a proper get-together—and really, who could say no to seeing all your friends in one place?

You’d pulled on your sweetest summer clothes, ready to soak up the sun and laugh until your stomach hurt.

James’ head pops around a doorway, curls a messy halo around his face, and he grins the moment he sees you—that big, eye-crinkling kind of smile that makes it impossible not to smile back.

“There you are,” he says. “You look very nice.” He nods toward the back door. “Everyone’s in the garden. Want a drink?”

“I’m alright for now, thanks,” you say, walking toward him.

You give him a quick hug—though, he turns it into a full-body squeeze—before he leads you outside.

The garden’s full of chatter and laughter, warm in every way. You give out quick hugs, a few hellos, before settling into a fold-out chair next to Lily.

“God, you look like you're ready to pop,” you say, leaning in to give her forearm a friendly squeeze.

You haven’t seen her and James as much lately, with the baby on the way and everything. It makes these little moments feel even more special. They’re glowing, both of them, like love has settled around them in something soft and golden. It twists at something in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, just a strange ache. Being loved like that, freely and without question, is… unfamiliar.

“I feel like it too,” Lily says with a groan, glaring half-heartedly at her belly. “Still a few months left.”

She lets her head loll back against the sun-warmed chair, eyes fluttering shut as she exhales dramatically. “Swear to God, if one more person tells me I’m glowing, I might hex them.”

You snort, reaching for the lemonade on the little table between you. “You are glowing, though. Like. In a glowy, magic-sunbeam sort of way. Sorry to say, it’s very annoying for the rest of us.”

Lily cracks one eye open, smirking. “You’re just mad I outshine you.”

“Always have,” you agree easily, bumping your knee against hers. The two of you smile at each other for a beat, and it’s one of those soft, warm silences that doesn’t feel like anything needs to be said.

James appears again, this time with two sweating glasses of something stronger in hand. He passes one to Remus and drops into the grass next to Lily with a content sigh, resting his chin on her knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They start whispering lowly to each other, and even though you know them both incredibly well, you still feel like you're intruding. So instead you turn to eye up the buffet spread, covered in cling film, spying what you might like to eat. 

Just as you ready yourself to move, a ring clad hand holding a plate moves into your field of view and suddenly it's being placed in your lap. You look up squinting against the sun, ready to say thank you, but Sirius shifts to solve your squinting problem and the words dry up in your mouth. 

“Eat that, please.”

“I was just about to get up for some.” you say, dumbfounded. 

“Almost like I can read your mind, babe.” He replies, winking at you. “Eat.”

He flops down next to James and they start talking about something you don't care to listen to. When your eyes meet Lily’s, she gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, staring down at the food on the plate instead. 

You and Sirius have, for lack of better words, been fucking for a while. It started after a drunken night out and it continued from there. It's fun. Casual. But the more you’ve thought that recently, the more it feels like you're trying to convince yourself. The lines are starting to blur and it doesn’t really feel like two friends shagging for fun anymore. Or it doesn’t to you. You can never tell what's going on in Sirius’ head.

You’re jolted from your thoughts by Sirius gently shaking your knee, his hand warm where it rests. You blink, realizing James and Lily have disappeared. Embarrassment flushes hot in your chest—you hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with quiet concern.

“Yeah. Yes.” You nod quickly, offering your best smile.

He studies you for a moment, like he’s not entirely convinced, but then relaxes with a little huff of relief.

“You’re coming home with me, yeah?”

You hesitate—just for a second—but you nod again. Of course you do. You can’t help yourself.

-

When you arrive at Sirius’ flat, it's a well rehearsed routine. He offers you a drink or something to eat, because he’s sweet, and when you decline a switch is flipped. Rather quickly, your mouths are moulded together in bruising kisses, tripping over yourselves as you make your way to his bed. Or his couch. Or twice, his kitchen.

Tonight it's his bed.

-

Despite the exhaustion rolling over you, you get up to pilfer one of Sirius’ band T-shirts before crawling back up the bed toward him. It always shocks you how comfortable he is in his nakedness. He lies there like he owns the world, stretched out and unbothered, utterly bare. There's nothing coy about him. He’s the very picture of ease, of indulgence.

He should be that comfortable, you think. He looks like a man sent by the gods to cause your damnation. His tattoos stand stark against his pale skin, and his sharp features are magnetic. He’s beautiful.

When you make your way back to him, he pulls you quickly into his side, intent on closeness. You’re grateful for the small barrier of fabric between you then. It makes it feel less real. He starts talking—properly, about little things that have happened since the last time you saw him. You listen, your head tucked under his chin, fingers idly tracing the lines of the tattoo curling over his ribs. His voice is low and warm, somewhere between storytelling and confession, and you let it wash over you.

It’s a strange thing, how this always happens—how easy it is to fall into this rhythm with him. Just bodies. Just convenience. Just friends.

“I missed this,” he says eventually, like it’s nothing. Like the words don’t lodge somewhere deep in your chest.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “You missed getting laid? I saw you a week ago,” you tease, your tone playful.

But Sirius just looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment too long. Then he huffs a laugh, brushing a thumb over your shoulder where the shirt has fallen slightly. “That too.”

You laugh, the sound low and comfortable, and brush your hand through his messy hair. "You know, you're impossible," you say, rolling your eyes before resting your head back against his chest. You can hear his heart beating beneath the skin, steady and calm.

He shrugs, his hand drifting down your side, tracing the curve of your waist with lazy circles. “Like you can talk,” he murmurs softly.

You lift your head to retaliate, but his gaze catches you off guard, and the need for space becomes overwhelming.

You pull away from him, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go,” you murmur, voice softer now. Your fingers curl around the hem of the shirt, readying yourself to change back into your clothes. Something about leaving feels necessary.

Sirius watches you, his eyes tracing your movements with an unreadable expression. You grab your shoes, your phone, your scattered things, but before you can make it to the door, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time.

“Stay.”

It’s a simple request, a command almost. You hesitate, your hand still on the doorknob, and glance back over your shoulder.

“Why?” you ask, not unkindly. He’s done this a lot recently—asked you to stay when he shouldn’t. Usually, you’d stay without a second thought. It doesn’t help the scrambled thoughts flying through your mind, so you need to know why.

His gaze is intense, his lips parted slightly as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I don’t want you to leave,” he admits, the vulnerability creeping into his voice in a way you’re not used to hearing. It catches you off guard.

You could leave. You should leave. But you also know, without a doubt, you want to stay.

The way he said it lingers in your mind, replaying over and over, keeping you awake long into the night. You find yourself staring at Sirius’ sleeping face, running the pros and cons of this arrangement through your head. Quickly, the myriad of negatives outweigh the few positives.

The biggest one is that, despite the closeness of it all, you feel lonelier for it. A deep, gnawing sadness tightens around your chest every time you think about it. There’s doubt too. You wonder if there’s something wrong with you—something wrong for him to want you this way and no other. To know you, and to think that a good fuck is all he’s ever wanted. To know that you’re feelings won't be reciprocated.

-

The morning light creeps in through the blinds, pale and soft, casting a hazy glow over the room. It’s quiet, except for the faint sound of Sirius’ breathing beside you. You try to focus on the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, but all you can think about is the conversation you know you need to have.

You try to ease out of his arms without waking him, but his hold tightens around you, instinctual, almost possessive. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled in the sheets with him, eyes closed, wondering what it would feel like to simply stay. To keep pretending this is all fine—that you can keep moving like this: no strings, no complications. But the gnawing feeling in your chest is louder than the silence in the room. It’s impossible to ignore anymore.

Finally, you gently disentangle yourself from him, sliding out of bed and standing still for a moment at the edge, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful. So at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

You move quietly to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together. When you return, Sirius is awake, blinking sleepily, his messy hair even more disheveled than before. He reaches for you without saying anything, just a simple gesture—a pull toward him.

You hesitate, then sit down at the edge of the bed, wringing your hands together, unsure of where to start. Sirius notices the change in your demeanor immediately, his brow furrowing in concern as he sits up beside you, the sheets falling around his waist.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice rough from sleep. “What’s up? You okay?”

You want to say something flippant, something easy to brush it off, but it’s not that simple. You can't make this easy for either of you anymore. You exhale slowly, gathering the courage to speak.

“I think we need to talk,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the floor, suddenly acutely aware of the space between the two of you. It’s too much now. You know what you need to say.

Sirius sits up straighter, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, but you pull back slightly—not enough to be distant, but just enough to let him know this is serious. "What about?" His voice is tinged with uncertainty now, the light teasing that usually lingers in his words gone.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it feels like it’s skipping in your chest, pulsing painfully with every word you know you have to say. “I think we need to stop... sleeping together,” you say finally, the words hanging heavy in the air. "I don’t think we should do this anymore, Sirius."

His expression falters, confusion flashing across his face like a wave. He blinks at you, his lips parting as if he’s not sure he heard you right. "Wait, what? Stop? Why?" His voice sounds a little too light, like he’s hoping you’re joking.

Your heart races, and you pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees for comfort. "I just... I don’t think it’s working for me anymore. This—us. Sleeping together, I mean." You shift uncomfortably, trying to find the right words, but they feel inadequate, incomplete.

He leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. His voice drops to a quieter, more serious tone. “I thought we were having fun.”

Your chest tightens at that. Fun. It’s all he ever thought it was, wasn’t it? To him, it was just easy, simple. The word "fun" sits there like a wall between you both.

“We were," you say, your voice softer now. "We are. But I think... I just don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Sirius stays silent for a moment, his eyes watching you with a mixture of confusion and something deeper—something you can’t quite place. The playful charm is gone, and you feel the weight of your words settle between you like a thick fog.

You turn to face him, trying to meet his eyes, but it’s harder than you expected. 

Guilt creeping up your spine. "I just can't keep doing this." you repeat.

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately, but the silence between you thickens. His brow furrows deeper, eyes scanning you as if he's trying to decipher a puzzle he doesn’t quite understand. It makes the pit in your stomach grow. You thought you had been clear enough, but the confusion in his gaze says otherwise.

Finally, he speaks, his tone low and edged with frustration. “You’re not making any sense,” he says, his voice rougher than before, as though it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that you’re pulling away.

You want to explain, want to make him understand, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, unsure if jumping is the right move, but knowing you can’t stay on the edge forever.

“I just… I can’t keep doing this, Sirius,” you say again, but your voice wavers, and you curse yourself for it. “I can’t keep pretending this is just fun. Because it’s not. I can’t… feel like this, every time, and still act like nothing’s changed.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his face a mixture of confusion and something else—something raw, like he's hurt. The weight of it presses on you, and you wish you could take the words back, or at least make him see how much this hurts you too.

“This is what you want?” he asks softly, leaning forward slightly, still trying to figure it all out.

You nod, though it feels wrong, like your heart’s trying to convince you otherwise. “I think so,” you whisper.

He leans back, running his fingers through his hair again, his lips pressed tight. You can see the frustration building, feel the distance stretching between you, even though you’re sitting right next to each other. His eyes flicker to yours, searching. “I don’t get it. We’ve always been… like this. What’s changed?”

You shake your head, unsure yourself. "Maybe it was always too much. Maybe I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. It’s just—" you falter, trying to put it all together. “I’m not sure what I want, but I know I can’t keep doing this with you. Not like this.”

For a moment, the silence feels endless. He watches you, his face unreadable, his hand still resting on the sheets. Finally, he speaks again, softer this time. "Are we… Are we still friends, then?" The question feels tentative, like he's afraid of the answer, as if that one word—friends—might fall out of his reach.

You take a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You’re not sure how to answer. Your own heart is unsettled, but you know deep down, this isn’t something you want to lose.

"Of course, we are." You manage to force the words out, even as they feel fragile

-

You’ve started to think that you and Sirius don’t know how to be friends without all the extras anymore. Maybe you never were just friends to begin with. You can’t remember. That much is painfully clear in the three weeks you’ve spent avoiding him.

And you've gotten good at it—dodging group plans, slipping away without drawing too much attention. Until Remus catches on in less than five minutes when you meet up for coffee. 

“Are you coming to Lily and James’ this weekend?” he asks, casually sipping his drink.

Another get-together in their garden to celebrate their anniversary. You want to be there—you love your friends, and you love seeing them so happy together—but the thought of facing Sirius for the first time since you called things off feels like swallowing glass.

“I can’t. My cat’s at the vet, y’know how nervous she gets.”

“You used that excuse for the pub quiz on Wednesday,” he replies, blunt as ever. You feel your face flush, caught.

“Yeah, well… she’s very poorly.”

“No, she’s not. You’d be a wreck if she were.”

“How would you know, Lupin?” you shoot back, defensive. He gives you a knowing look, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you deflate under his gaze.

“Fine. She’s not.”

For a brief moment, Remus looks victorious before his expression softens into something more serious.

“Has someone upset you?” he asks, his tone quiet and gentle.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reply quickly, nodding a little too hard. “I’ll be there.” He doesn’t believe you—he’s too good at reading people for that—but he lets it slide, for now.

That’s how you end up wedged between Remus and Lily on a sofa that’s far too small, trying your best to ignore the weight of Sirius’ gaze from across the room. It’s strange—you're trying so hard not to look at him, but every time you do, your eyes lock. Sirius gives you a shy smile, and you can’t help but return it, even though it stings more than it should.

The party hums along as it always does, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music in the background. You find yourself slipping into the familiar rhythm of the evening: catching up with friends, teasing James about his terrible taste in music, and joining in on the lighthearted bickering about the best way to cook some dish. For a moment, you almost forget about the ache that has been gnawing at you these past few weeks.

The evening passes quickly, the hours slipping by in a haze of friendly conversation and the occasional awkward silence when your eyes meet Sirius’s across the room. But as the night deepens, you realize you’re starting to feel more comfortable—like maybe you can be around him without everything falling apart. Or at least, you tell yourself you’re starting to.

Lily is standing now, announcing she’s about to make another round of drinks. "Anyone need a refill?" she asks. You wave her off, content with the drink in your hand. You’re already nursing it as much as you can, using it as an excuse to avoid conversation and, more importantly, Sirius.

You take a deep breath, pushing yourself off the sofa, silently grateful for the chance to escape the moment. "I’ll be right back," you murmur, heading toward the bathroom. The warmth of the room suddenly feels too much, and you need a space where you can breathe.

Before you can make it far, James appears in front of you, dragging you by the arm to the nearest unoccupied room.

“Do I need to go get your wife, prongs?” you joke as he shuts the door behind you.

“What's going on with you and Sirius?” The tact that Remus had skirting around the issue is nowhere to be seen in James Potter. To be fair to him, he looks distraught and you can't tell why.

“Nothing, why?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Come off it, L/N, did you fall out? Have you stopped shagging?” 

“You knew?” you mutter, your confusion only growing. As far as you’re aware neither of you had told anyone you were fucking. But it was never a rule, so you suppose Sirius telling James is probably quite likely. 

“Everyone knows, you’re both bloody obvious. All smiley goo-goo eyes when the other isn't looking.” you can imagine yourself like that, sure, but Sirius? Never. Not over you anyway. 

“Then, yes, we’ve stopped sleeping together.” 

James lights up then, triumphant.

“I knew something was wrong with him, he’s been moping around for weeks. Weeks!” James rambles on, his words so fast you struggle to take them in. “I knew it had something to do with you too since he’d stopped mooning over you. I thought you might’ve just rejected him and it was taking a while to get over all the pining, this makes more sense.”

You’re stunned to silence at that. What does he mean ‘all the pining’? It’s more the other way around surely. When you look back at James’ face he’s got a hand covering his mouth, and regret covering his face. He’s told you something he wasn't supposed to.

"James," you begin, your voice quieter than you'd intended, "What exactly are you talking about?"

James winces, looking incredibly sheepish, as if he realizes the weight of what he’s just let slip. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

"Well… I didn’t mean to—shit. You didn’t know, did you?" he mutters, sounding almost guilty

You stare at him, trying to piece everything together. “Why didn’t he tell me?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and your chest tightens uncomfortably.

“I don’t know, but he’s miserable, Y/N,” James says, his voice softer now, like he's trying to be delicate. “He tried to play it off, but I’ve never seen him this down. It’s not just because of the… whatever you want to call it between the two of you. It’s because he really liked you. And I think he thought it was more than just a casual thing.”

The words hang in the air like a cold draft. You swallow thickly, feeling suddenly dizzy. He can't be right. That's exactly why you had ended it, too scared of feeling something more than casual for him. Too scared knowing that he doesn’t want more, not with you. Or at least he didn't.

James freezes, the words hanging in the air for a long moment. His eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens and closes like he's trying to figure out the best way to proceed. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing his next words carefully.

“Maybe you should speak to Sirius, yeah?” He says softly, pulling you into a steady hug, hand sweeping across your back. 

You nod, pulling away trying for a smile, landing on a grimace. 

“I need to think for a bit, I’m gonna go home.” 

You don’t remember getting home, not really. The rush of thoughts, the confusion, the words James said—they're all spinning in your head in a dizzying circle. You pace your room, your fingers tapping against your phone like you're trying to ward off the silence, but it only amplifies the questions in your mind.

The uncertainty, the back-and-forth, had always been there, but you’d convinced yourself that it was just... something casual. Nothing more. But what if you were wrong? What if everything you thought you knew about Sirius, about what you two had, was actually completely backwards?

You pick up your phone, stare at it for a moment, before unlocking the screen. Taking a breath, fingers hovering over his contact name. It’s late, but what else do you have to lose at this point?

You press the call button before you can talk yourself out of it, your heart hammering in your chest as the phone rings. You count the seconds, but when he picks up, it feels like the world tilts.

“Y/N?” Sirius’s voice is low, groggy, and it makes you pause for a second. “It’s late. What’s up?”

You hesitate, unsure of what exactly you're asking for, but all you know is that you need something. You need to see him.

“Can I come over?” you ask, the words falling out almost too quickly. “Please.”

There’s a long pause, and you hear a faint rustling on the other end of the line. “Uh… I don’t know,” he murmurs, clearly still trying to piece things together, just like you. “It’s late, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on. What do you want?”

You swallow thickly, the uncertainty creeping back in. But you push it aside, determined. “I need to talk to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment longer. “Alright,” he finally says, voice softer now.

You don’t reply, just hang up and grab your coat, your mind racing faster than your feet as you rush to the door.

When you arrive at his flat, you don’t bother knocking—you simply open the door, your pulse pounding in your ears. He’s standing there, pacing, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. His hair’s messy, his shirt slightly wrinkled, but it's like seeing him in this state makes him look more human, more real.

He glances up when you step inside, his expression unreadable. His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes flicking to the floor for a moment before landing back on you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice cracks slightly. “I thought you didn’t want me—this.”

The question is simple, but it feels like he’s asking something deeper.

You take a step toward him, your throat dry, but your voice is steady. “I never said I didn’t want you, Sirius,” you reply, your words firm but quiet, like you’re testing them as much as you’re saying them.

His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and he opens his mouth to say something but pauses. The air between you crackles, charged with everything that hasn’t been said.

You swallow, your gaze flickering down to your hands before looking him in the eye again. “James said something this afternoon. And I need to know if it’s true.”

Sirius freezes, a hesitant breath escaping his lips as he shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed. “What did he say?” His voice is almost cautious, like he's afraid of what you might say next.

You take another step closer, your heart beating louder in your chest. “He said… he said you liked me. More than just… whatever it was between us.”

The silence that follows is thick, heavy. You can see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to process your words. His fingers twitch slightly, but he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t move at all, except for the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“I don’t…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to find the right words, but everything feels tangled. “Y/N, I—"

"You don’t have to say anything," you interrupt, your voice quieter this time, softer, even though your insides are a storm of confusion and uncertainty. "I just need to know. I need to know if it’s true."

Sirius looks at you for what feels like an eternity. His eyes are wide, and the way he shifts on his feet makes it clear he’s struggling to find the right words. You can see the conflict in him, the way his mind races through possibilities, each one more tangled than the last. And you can feel the same confusion mirrored in your own chest.

"I—" he starts, his voice rough, but he stops himself. The weight of the question seems to sit heavily between you, like a physical thing pressing on both of you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it," he says finally, the frustration evident in the motion. "It’s not like I set out to fall for you. I didn’t even want to, if I’m being honest.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a second, you don’t know how to react. You want to respond, but it feels like everything inside you is twisting.

Sirius continues, his voice softer now, as if he’s carefully choosing his words. "But I did.”

The honesty in his voice is raw, unexpected. It’s not what you thought you’d hear. And, for the first time in weeks, you feel the tight knot in your chest loosen just a little. Maybe you were wrong.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he admits, eyes flicking to the floor, then back up to meet yours. “I didn’t want to ruin everything we had… I thought if I said something, it’d mess it up. So I kept quiet.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” The question feels almost ridiculous as it leaves your lips, but the confusion is still fresh. “I—I was scared too, Sirius. Scared of wanting more, scared of what it meant. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I pushed it away. But… I thought it was just me.”

Sirius looks at you, something raw in his eyes, like he's waiting for permission. You see the hesitation in him, but you also see something else. Something familiar, something that makes you take the final step forward, closing the distance between you. Your hand finds his, and for the first time in weeks, it feels right.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse now, his thumb brushing against your hand. “That I made you think all I wanted from you was a fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to make it work.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of it all finally begin to lift. “We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” you say, trying to lighten the moment, but your voice trembles just a little.

Sirius chuckles softly, the sound bringing some relief. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You both fall into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, not really—it’s just… full. Full of everything unsaid, everything finally surfacing, finding its place between the two of you. His thumb keeps brushing over the back of your hand, soft, hesitant, like he still can’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll vanish.

Your heart thuds loud in your chest, but something inside you is steadier now, like the ground beneath your feet isn’t shifting quite so much. You glance up at him—he’s watching you, eyes dark and unsure, but softer than you’ve seen them in a while.

You take a breath, then another. And then—quietly, almost like you’re afraid of scaring the moment away—you say it.

“Sirius?”

He hums in response, eyes locked on yours. There’s something nervous in the way he looks at you now. Like he knows something’s coming, but doesn’t dare hope for it.

You press your lips together, cheeks warming as your voice dips into something almost shy. “Do you… do you want to be my boyfriend?”

The words hang there between you, fragile and small.

Sirius blinks. Then blinks again. You watch as something shifts in his face—like whatever wall he’s been holding up finally cracks, just a little.

“Are you serious?” he asks, lips twitching like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling too fast, too much.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. “I mean… yeah. If you want to be.”

And then—finally—he grins.

It’s a real grin, wide and crooked and full of disbelief, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’ve just said but doesn’t want to waste another second trying to overthink it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pulling you in before you can even blink. His arms wrap around you like they’ve been waiting to do that forever, holding you close. “Yes. Yes, I want to be. I thought you’d never ask.”

You laugh, a bit breathless, as you bury your face in his shoulder. “I almost didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for me you’re braver than you look,” he teases, but his voice is thick with relief, with something tender. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your hands are on his chest now, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms as he holds you there, forehead to forehead, like neither of you knows how to pull away. His grin is lopsided, all teeth and scruffy warmth, and you’re laughing, really laughing, the kind that bubbles up from your chest like champagne, unstoppable and a little giddy.

Sirius pulls back just a little to look at you properly, but he doesn’t let go. His hands stay right where they are—one at your waist, the other brushing along the curve of your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it. “God, you’re really here,” he murmurs, and there’s so much wonder in his voice it makes your breath catch.

“You’re really mine,” he adds, quieter.

That makes your cheeks burn in the best way, and you duck your head a little, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “I’ve kind of always been yours,” you mumble.

That gets a full-blown, slightly shocked laugh out of him—deep and real—and before you can say another word, he tilts your face up and kisses you.

It’s warm and a little clumsy at first—like he can’t quite believe it’s happening, like he doesn’t know where to start—but then you’re kissing him back, and it clicks into place.

And when you both pull back, a little breathless and a lot smiley, his thumb still brushing lazy circles on your hip, you don’t let go of each other.

“You taste like toothpaste,” you whisper, nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Wow. Rude,” he says, grinning as he bumps his nose against yours. “I brush twice a day like a responsible adult.”

You giggle, the sound escaping before you can stop it, and he just stares at you for a second like he’s completely and totally ruined. “God, I’m so screwed, I always was,” he says with another laugh, and then he’s kissing you again—this time slower, gentler, like he’s savouring it.

And you let yourself melt into it, into him, your fingers curling into his shirt like maybe if you hold on tight enough, this will never end.

There’s laughter between kisses—stupid, breathless laughter when your noses bump or when Sirius makes a ridiculous sound at the back of his throat just to make you snort.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmur against his lips.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he counters, barely pulling away.

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips again, like he can’t help himself. “Because I’m definitely obsessed with you.”

You kiss him again, just to shut him up. And he laughs into your mouth.

-

masterlist <3

[demon-at-peace]

DC + DP

Danny helped people. That was what he did. He protected others. That was his job. he ignored the little voice in his head that dreamed of visiting the stars. He did his job well. But it never ended.

"Help us," people screamed at him after they'd shot at him, and he did. They never said thank you. Not one. He helped them nonetheless.

"Help us," the ancients asked him after ignoring his place on the throne for years. After they pretended he wasn't worthy because he was still alive. (at least part of him was.)

"Help us," his friends asked as they applied to colleges. Colleges he'd dreamed of attending, colleges they promised they'd go to together. But he stayed behind, because people needed him.

"help us,' the newly dead begged, uncertain and lost. Just like him, unguided and stuck, wanting to move on. They did, moving forward. Danny remained behind tethered and lost.

"Help us," the GIW begged when the ghosts tried to declare war. Danny did, saving those who cut him open. There was peace once again. Still no one thanked him

"Help us," and Danny did. He helped. he didn't protect, he'd solved all their problems. Now he sheltered them, the little boy who dreamed of the stars stopped dreaming. Some days he'd dream. Not often.

Today was one of the few days, Danny was sitting watching, space was silent, Danny liked that. He was alone with the stars, the stars he'd reached but could never be his. Like something just out of reach on a shelf. Right there, your fingers brushing it but never close enough for you to grab it.

Danny wasn't held back by gravity but by people. By a job he never signed up for. A job he wished he could quit. Couldn't he though? wasn't it just a matter of saying no?

His thoughts were halted by the jerk of a summons. I'll say no this time, he decides. He arrives and waits there's a silence. And suddenly someone bows, others follow suit.

To him. The Ghost Boy. The fake king. The Halfa, a freak of nature. The boy who'd dreamed of the stars.

"High king phantom of the infinite realms," they began. And Danny stares. High King, he'd never been called that before, never with such respect. So he stares, at the man who looks like a wind could blow him over. With a name from the pits of hell and the magic to match it.

"Hellblazer," he whispers the name of rumors. The man startles surprised at being recognized. Danny studies them, he's waiting for them to say it. Demand it as every other has.

"We'd like to negotiate a deal," The hellblazer speaks with such confidence and Danny freezes. This isn't how it goes. This isn't how it works. People don't make deals deals, bargains, agreements, with Danny. They simply make demands of him.

"What do you want?" he asks already bored, waiting for the ridiculous request.

"Well we've tried everything," this time it's a man dressed in complete black who speaks, with a horned cowl, "But we can't defeat them so we were wondering if you could help?" he asks gruffly.

"Who?" he asks quietly.

"Darkside," the name is unfamiliar to Danny but the way the Hellblazer says it. "In return we're willing to offer a soul, or anything else you desire."

Danny stared at them in shock. A deal. They offered a deal, offering a soul for him to defeat a villain they'd tried to defeat,]. They were scared, terrified even. They ddin't tell him to help them. Didn't demand it. He didn't need a soul though.

He didn't need anything, but for once he didn't want to say no. ahe wanted something though. "A home," he speaks first, "A place to stay in this dimension," he specifies just incase.

"Thank you," the Hellblazer breaths, then holds out his hand. "Deal," he offers looking tired and relieved but a bit worried. Danny smiles wearily.

"Deal," he breathes, and magic fills the room, an oath, a binding one. "Guess I'll deal with your problem now?"

"I guess?" the hellblazer smiles and Danny leaves.

--

John doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do, the king is powerful, it hangs around him, heavy and soft. When he said deal though the room broke. The magic latched onto his and John didn't know what to say. It was gentle, powerful, and terrifying.

He left without a word, simply vanishing, but he was doing what he'd said, and now it was there turn. Guess he was going house shopping? "We need to fulfill our end of the-" he begans only to be interrupted.

"Done," Batman stares out the window in frustration. "It's by Fawcet so we have one hero constantly monitoring them."

"Why you don't trust him?" John asks sarcastically but the bat nods utterly deadpan..

"Besides they have the most heroes besides gotham," he says easily, "Gotham is cursed, and metropolis has too big a population to be risked."

The rest of the league doesn't argue with his logic the they look amused. "Let's just watch the fight," he grumbles seeing their expresions.

they do so without complaint and the fight is.... horrifying. the king is hardly trying, and Darkside is already down. The king stares him down with those toxic green eyes of his and smiles.

when he starts talking though is when John's blood runs cold. his voice is like ice, nothing like the whispery tone he'd taken with them, it's cruel and dark and angry.

"Help you?" he laughs, "why should I?" the king laughs. "I help people, when they ask nicely, I help people who say please and thank you," he scoffs. "Most don't."

There's a crunching of bones that makes John almost hurl. Or he would if he hadn't forgotten to eat lunch again. "Besides you should know already, I don't like killers, so have fun!" they grin as they wave and suddenly darkside is gone, all that is left is destruction. "

"Hello," the king greets them calmly and John shudders at the sight of him.

"We found a home," John says with as much confidence as he can. "Here's the address," the king smiles, it's surprisingly human.

"Thank you!" the king smiles at him as he passed and John remembers his comment about manners.

"You're welcome," he stutters as the king leaves again.

--

Danny stares at the house with wide eyes, it's large, warm and homey, in a rundown part of the city so he's less likely to be bothered. He smiles softly, until he remembers the fight.

Danny had lost his temper, but the way he said it. "Help me," an order, like he actually expected Danny to listen. Like he expected Danny to just obey. Danny was sick of that, he wanted to live. Wasn't that okay?

He didn't need to obey others, he wore a crown, a mockery of one but it's power was the same even if the title was mocking. He ruled the realms, every detizen had to obey him. He didn't use the power but still... he had the power.

Still he went overboard, he'd thrown him to the realms to be treating, certain that Frostbite would help. He finds a kept on the door, magic practically coating it, metallic and recognizable.

He smiles softly, the hellblazer wasn't who demons painted him out to be.

[elumish]

I've been reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and it's gotten me thinking about how worldbuilding is multilayered, and about how a failure of one layer of the worldbuilding can negatively impact the book, even if the other layers of the worldbuilding work.

I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, so I'm going to talk about it more broadly instead. In my day job, one of the things I do is planning/plan development, and we talk about plans broadly as strategic, operational, and tactical. I think, in many ways, worldbuilding functions the same way.

Strategic worldbuilding, as I think of it, is how the world as a whole works. It's that vampires exist and broadly how vampires exist and interact with the world, unrelated to the characters or (sometimes) to the organizations that the characters are part of. It's the ongoing war between Earth and Mars; it's the fact that every left-handed person woke up with magic 35 years ago; it's Victorian-era London except every twelfth day it rains frogs. It's the world, in the broadest sense.

Operational worldbuilding is the organizations--the stuff that people as a whole are doing/have made within the context of that strategic-level world. For The Hunger Games, I'd probably put the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and even the existence/structure of the districts as the strategic level and the construct of the Hunger Games as the operational level: the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and the districts are the overall world that they live in, and the Hunger Games are the construct that were created as a response.

Tactical worldbuilding is, in my mind, character building--and, specifically, how the characters (especially but not exclusively the main characters) exist within the context of the world. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has experience in hunting, foraging, wilderness survival, etc. because of the context of the world that she grew up in (post-apocalyptic, district structure, Hunger Games, etc.). This sort of worldbuilding, to me, isn't about the personality part of the characterization but about the context of the character.

Each one of these layers can fail independently, even if the other ones succeed. When I think of an operational worldbuilding failure, I think of Divergent, where they took a post-apocalyptic world and set up an orgnaizational structure that didn't make any sense, where people are prescribed to like 6 jobs that don't in any way cover what's required to run a modern civilization--or even to run the society that they're shown as running. The society that they present can't exist as written in the world that they're presented as existing in--or if they can, I never could figure out how when reading the book (or watching the film).

So operational worldbuilding failures can happen when the organizations or societies that are presented don't seem like they could function in the context that they are presented in or when they just don't make any sense for what they are trying to accomplish. If the story can't reasonably answer why is this organization built this way or why do they do what they do then I see it as an organizational worldbuilding failure.

For tactical worldbuilding failures, I think of stories where characters have skillsets that conveniently match up with what they need to solve the problems of the plot but don't actually match their background or experience. If Katniss had been from an urban area and never set foot in a forest, it wouldn't have worked to have her as she was.

In this way (as in planning), the tactical level should align with the operational level which should align with the strategic level--you should be able to trace from one to the next and understand how things exist in the context of each other.

For that reason, strategic worldbuilding failures are the vaguest to explain, but I think of them like this: if it either 1) is so internally inconsistent that it starts to fall apart or 2) leaves the reader going this doesn't make any sense at all then it's probably failed.

[rowie264]

If someone criticizes something, it doesn't mean that they hate it. It also works the other way around. If you like something, it doesn't mean that it's done well from an objective point of view.

I love Jinx. Her design, her story, her personality, her character arc... I was just fascinated by her. Jinx has become one of my favorite characters in media in general. It was the continuation of her story that I was waiting for the most.

Jinx is still my favorite character in season 2. I love almost every scene with her. How she did Sevika's arm and the subsequent fight with the Smeech, the fight with Vi in Act 1, the prison break, search for Vander in the mines, epic appearance during the battle against Noxus.

I got a lot of positive emotions while watching s2 and especially during Jinx's appearance on the screen. But… an emotional response and objective assessment are two different things. And objectively, Jinx's character in season 2 is OOC and poorly written.

Removing very importand part of her story and personality. Her mental issues almost completely disappear. This is a very important aspect of her character. And no, Isha's presence and a "more favorable environment" would not heal her, the whole 2nd act is completely unrealistic and looks stupid, since all her problems with her mental health were magically solved off-screen;

Irrelevant piece of plot. Her arc of "Zaun symbol" passes by her - she becomes a symbol by accident, ignores the consequences and directly encounters all this revolutionary mood only during Isha's saving from Stillwater (at the same time saving her followers - an indirect action, not a purposeful one). So this arc is kinda about her, but she doesn't seem to participate in it herself, and it ends with literally nothing (like the whole Zaun revolution);

Making her more appealing to wider audience. Her hatred of Piltover and Caitlyn just disappeared. Yes, while she was with Vi in the mines she said "piltie goons who murdered mom and dad," but… that's all? Jinx doesn't kill a single enforcer in the entire 2nd season (although, for example, she could have in Stillwater) and tells Caitlyn "I didn't know your mother was there." Let me remind you that Jinx literally giggled in s1 when she killed a dozen enforcers during gemstone kidnapping, killed enforcers on the bridge without any care, she hated Caitlyn fiercely because she "stole" her sister from her, and she couldn't not know that Cassandra was a councilor. It isn't showed how and why she changed her opinion and this is important thing to her character, you can't explain such change with microexpressions or parallels;

Unrealistic happy family reunion. The reunion of Jinx, Vi, and Vander is a spectacular moment from Disney. Do you remember how Jinx reacted when Vi returned? Yes, she was happy but as soon as she spotted Cait she freaked out and immidiately thought that Vi betrayed her. Imagine what would happen if her supposedly dead - bc of her btw - father had returned and now looks like some animal;

Silco mattered much more to Jinx. A very "subtle" replacement of Silco for Vander in the role of father (Jinx calls him father, sniffs Vander's jacket and not Silco's), although Silco played probably a bigger role in this? And Jinx remembers about him like 2 times? Although it's been about 7-10 years since Vi's "death" in season 1, Jinx was still triggered by just a similar appearance. Apparently, Silco wasn't that important to Jinx (which is not true); I could still keep talking about Jinx, but let's leave it at that.

I love Jinx even in season 2. I like watching scenes with her. But my emotional attachment doesn't stop me from seeing that Jinx's character in s2 is not a continuation of Jinx's character of the end of s1. Her image is broken, the arcs are not completed, the relationships with other characters are poorly written.

[tsuki-in-faerun]

can we talk about jammer consistently refusing opportunities that give him an advantage over other people in his community?

i keep getting stuck on the magical community kitchens that he wanted to create in the epilogue of the initial season. evan thinks about abolishing the wall between magic and mundane, k thinks how to facilitate access to information, sam thinks of leading with kindness and education. jammer thinks of the essentials of life. if we have a kitchen that can make anything without the burden of material resources, why would any being in the world go hungry?

jammer leaves school to preserve his sovereignty over his body and freedom of movement, but he also gives up something that would make him meaningfully more powerful than anybody in his day to day. with magic being wild and unpredictable, he can't funnel it into solving the most pressing problems affecting the people around him and therefore, there's not enough incentive for him to push past how freaky it might make him look to whip out a wand and do magic about it.

whitney doesn't have to be at LEEP as much as he is. he doesn't have to be getting 40-50 points a game. he tries to do a little magic because someone specifically asked about it but magic itself is not making enough of a fundamental impact on the way he can achieve his goals for him to use it. so he puts it away.

what i am getting out of jammer's arc so far is that the other members of the pilot program function to ask what magic can do. what is the nature of it in this form or that form? jammer is on this quest to ask "what is magic for? can we use it so that every body has everything they need to live a good life?"

love jammer.

[varpusvaras]

More All-Caste/Magic user Jason because I can't stop thinking about him.

Ya'll know for a fact that he isn't telling anyone about it. He knows very well what Batman thinks of metas and magic in Gotham, and he's already in too much trouble with him, so he just doesn't say anything. And besides, it is not their business, anyway.

But magic just does. not. stay. out. of. Gotham. And most of the time it's the type of thing that they would need Jason to deal with it, anyway, or Bruce would have to call for Zatanna or worse yet, Constantine, to deal with it instead, and Jason is sure that if either of them even looks at his general direction they are going to know. Zatanna might keep her mouth shut, but Constantine? Absolutely not.

So every time Jason gets even a sniff of something magical going on, he is on it instantly. There. Problem solved, and no one is the wiser. Everything is good.

Except. When someone deals with magic that quickly and that efficiently, it also creates a pattern. All things that are magical are starting to figure out that something is going on in Gotham. Whatever or whoever goes there never lasts for longer than a day. It's a curiosity, a mystery, and many beings want to solve it.

So now there is Gotham and Jason, and they have a reputation. And things just. keep. coming. And now they are seeking out whatever it is that deals with magic in Gotham on purpose, and Jason is getting really fed up.

Then he goes against a stronger foe, and calls up the All-Blades, and everything really goes up in flames after that. Because now the rumors are going even harder. That there is an All-Caste in Gotham. An All-Caste? Aren't they all wiped out? Apparently not. They gotta see it now for themselves.

So it is all going splendidly, one might say. Jason is not the one saying so.

But. Rumors are...finnicky. Especially when it comes to Gotham and its residents. And especially when it comes to the powers at play there. The city is guarded by the Bat. The man who trained with the League of Assassins, the man who has gone against enemies with earth-shattering powers and won. The Dark Knight himself.

So that has to be him. The Heir to the All-Caste.

So now every other week there's some Magic User coming to challenge the Protector of Gotham. And the Batman keeps beating them without ever using the All-Blades. This is shattering so many egos of so many Magic Users. They weren't even worthy of seeing the Blades! That's the most devastating part.

And Bruce is sitting in the Cave and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Why are all of these people coming in all of a sudden, wanting to fight him? What did he do? He doesn't remember going against someone noteworthy in quite some time. There has to be something, and he can't put his finger on it and it frustrates him.

All the kids are throwing every kinda theory at him, except Jason, who is standing in the background, hoping that if he justs. stays completely still. they can't see him.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Oh my gods, so many people seem to try to use AI at your university! Is this just the state of education now? It's been decades since I graduated and I've never been more relieved!

It's everywhere, in every uni unfortunately. Thing is, you can see why - it has always been true that uni is stressful and difficult and when deadlines loom and you don't have anything written, my god is it tempting, right? The answer to your prayers. When I did my first degree and the rampant undiagnosed ADHD meant I wasn't even starting to write until the evening before, I would spent hours sitting at a computer until the early hours of the morning, hating the assignment, hating life, hating myself, trying to squeeze words out of my stupid brain. And honestly, I think if the Magic Solves The Problem machine had existed, I honestly don't know if I wouldn't have gone for it. I was in a bad place, and it's an easy out.

It's just the absolute ultimate in "Congrats, you played yourself." Those all-nighters were work that was less good than it should have been; but I did learn those topics to be able to write about them. At the end of that degree, poor though it was, I knew the damned subject. If someone asked me about it, I could answer. The ChatGPT generation can't; they also cannot analyse anything. They simply can't. The drop in soft skills in the last two years has been stark and terrifying.

That said, though, higher education in the UK is now entering crisis anyway, because the UK government has spent years blocking student visas and stopping overseas students (with their much higher tuition fees) from being able to study. To give an idea, our Masters course last year had thirty (30) applicants from overseas; take a quick guess at how many were granted visas.

Did you guess one (1)?

You're correct.

And on top of that, there's a cost of living crisis that's halting domestic applicants. So everyone is now scrabbling for a diminishing pool of students, courses are closing, staff are being made redundant, and so on.

So. Whole thing's a fucking shitshow.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your expectations are absolutely shattered when you get to North Island with your class and find out you're going on the field trip of your dreams. Bradley pulled all the stops, and if he wasn't already, he was about to become an absolute legend in your classroom.

Warnings: Fluff, adult banter, Bradley in love, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You took Bradley's breath away every time he saw you. Even when he was standing tall between Maverick and Cyclone, it made no difference. He was reduced to a lovesick wreck when you walked down the stairs of the school bus with your students in tow.

"Well done," Maverick muttered, and Bradley felt his cheeks grow a little warm. You looked incredible in a pair of jeans and a plain top, but the look was really completed by the lanyard around your neck with the visitor's pass with your name on it. He'd work on getting you a permanent pass so you could stop by whenever you wanted. God, he was a mess every time he thought about the future.

When you smiled directly at him, he knew he'd take the reprimand if it came; you wanted him to kiss you right now, so he was going to. "Welcome to North Island," he told your kids with a grin. Then he looped one arm around your waist, pulled you close, and kissed you in front of everyone. "I can't wait to show you everything."

You made a soft sound when he released you, and your eyes darted from Maverick on his right to Cyclone on his left. "Thank you for having us today," you said a little breathlessly, biting your lip. You were flustered. He made you that way, and he loved hearing it in your voice.

"Fourth graders," Bradley called out. "This is Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson. They both outrank me. By a lot. Let's all give Admiral Simpson our attention."

"Welcome," bellowed Cyclone in his stern voice, and Bradley watched the kids fall in line silently. "This is an active military base. It is important that you remember that fact while you're visiting today." Half of them looked scared while the other half looked excited beyond belief as he said, "The last thing we want is an injury, or worse. Stay with your group. Stay near your teacher. Never go off alone." A very stiff smile appeared on his face as he said, "But have fun."

Bradley cleared his throat. "Thank you, Admiral Simpson," he told the other man, saluting him. Then he addressed you and your class again. "Does anyone have any questions before we get started?"

When Violet's hand shot up into the air, Bradley pointed to her with a smile. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, how many different kinds of jets are we going to see today? And do they all fly at the same speed? And can you help me solve a math problem that I thought of on the bus?"

"Well," Cyclone said, looking pleasantly surprised. "These children sound like aviation experts."

Bradley noticed how your smile grew as he said, "That's because their teacher is incredible." He kept his hands at his side instead of flinging his arm around your shoulders like he wanted to as he nodded toward the hangar. "To answer Violet's question, we will see three different kinds of aircrafts and get to sit in one of them."

"No way!" Oliver said in excitement. "Do we get to sit in your jet?"

Bradley winked and said, "You'll just have to wait and see."

He and Maverick led the group into the busy hangar, the kids trailing along single file as the chaperones brought up the rear. He positioned you in the middle of the group, because nothing was more important today than keeping everyone safe. He pointed out the EA-18 Growler and the E-2 Hawkeye before some Super Hornets came into view.

"Who wants to see Marty work some of his mechanical magic?" Bradley asked as soon as he saw the tarp on the ground where there were engine parts lined up like a surgical procedure was about to take place. Every child's hand shot up into the air, and he chuckled as you and the three chaperones all enthusiastically raised yours as well. "I have some good news. We get to watch while he rebuilds the engine mount and part of the intake manifold on my colleague's jet."

"Phoenix," Jayden read, pointing to the name emblazoned on the side. "That's a cool call sign."

"It's an even cooler pilot," said Natasha as she peeked around the workstation in her flight suit. "You must be the pen pals," she said with a smile. Bradley watched her wave to you, and he'd have to remember to make a comment later about how his best friend finally saw you with pants on.

"It's a woman," Violet said in complete awe. "She's a pilot."

"The best of the best," Nat replied. "You can all call me Lieutenant Trace or Phoenix. Oh! Here's my backseater, Lieutenant Floyd."

When Bob strolled around the workstation and waved to the kids with a smile, he said, "I'm Lieutenant Floyd, but my call sign is Bob."

"He has glasses!" gasped Henry. "Like me!"

Bob gave him a fist bump on his way to the rec room. "I sure do. You can fly with glasses."

"Wow."

Bradley watched all of the kids staring at him, Nat and Bob like they were the absolute coolest adults to ever exist, and maybe they weren't wrong. But they had to know they were in the presence of someone just as fascinating on a daily basis. "You all have your teacher to thank for sparking such an avid interest in aviation in your minds. She probably knows just as much as we do."

Your eyes went wide. "I'm sure I don't," you muttered glaring at him playfully. "Is that Marty? I recognize him from your deployment videos."

When you nodded past Bradley, he turned to see his favorite mechanic stroll back into the hangar with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Hey! It's the fourth graders!" he greeted. "And their teacher who I heard so much about when I was deployed with Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"Did he now?" you asked softly as Bradley gestured for everyone to move in a little closer to Marty's tarp. The mechanic was showing the kids where they could sit on the floor while he grabbed some folding chairs for the chaperones, but Bradley discreetly wrapped his fingers around your hand to keep you next to him.

"Come on, Gorgeous," he whispered, keeping his eyes on Marty as he leaned a little closer to you. "I was smitten with you right away, and I was very lonely. That man heard more than his fair share about my crush on the fourth grade teacher from Mira Mesa Elementary School, that's for certain."

You let your fingers tangle with his as you said, "You're too charming for your own good."

---------------------------

Other than Marty talking his way through the repair he was working on, you could have heard a pin drop. Your students were sitting with rapt attention, and so were the chaperones. You were standing a little bit off to the side, trying to hold Bradley's hand without anyone noticing, but you were pretty sure Captain Mitchell was onto you.

"Who wants to feel how heavy the crankshaft is?" Marty asked before he started passing it around to your excited students.

"Mine's heavier," Bradley whispered next to your ear, and you tried to fight the smile that threatened your lips. "But you already know that."

You elbowed him in the side as you watched everyone around you having the time of their life. Marty let everyone try their hand at tightening a bolt to Naval standards, then he laughed and pulled out a hydraulic machine to take care of it. Once the engine components were all in place, he let your kids try to pick it up before he informed them that everything put together weighed over five hundred pounds. He lifted the engine using a huge hook while everyone cheered like he was performing a magic trick, and then he posed for a photo with everyone.

"I can't thank you enough," you told him, shaking his dirty hand after he tried to wipe it on his jumpsuit. "My kids were just as excited to meet you today as they were to see all the jets. You're a bit of a celebrity in my classroom."

The older man blushed and smiled down at the tarp at his feet. "Well, ma'am, that's just the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

You hadn't even mentioned it to Bradley let, but as you released Marty's hand,  you asked, "Is there any chance you would consider visiting my school for career day to give a five to ten minute presentation?"

"Oh," he grunted, his blush deepening. "The stuff I do isn't as interesting as the aviators."

"It is," you insisted. "My kids were hanging on your every word. I could pass the information to you through Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

He kind of shrugged and grinned at you. "I'll think about it."

When you nodded and turned away from him, you found that Bradley had lined your class up again, and then he started leading them to the cafeteria for lunch. "I need you to help me make a definitive ranking of all the menu options," he told them. "This is some very scientific stuff."

"Is there meatloaf?" Nia asked. 

"Every day," Bradley promised. 

"What about the cabbage rolls that you said were yucky?" said Oliver as he bounced along. 

"Only on the aircraft carriers," Bradley informed him. "You all lucked out on that one."

He had each of you scan into the cafeteria with your visitor's badge, and then he nodded toward a long table with RESERVED signs on it. "Is that where we're all sitting?" you asked in surprise.

"Absolutely, Gorgeous. And you better sit by me."

He handed you a tray and pointed you toward the end of the line of officers getting their meals. "It's almost like a date, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

He smirked as he handed trays out to your kids. "They do have some Thai options on the menu. I will warn you and say the pasta is terrible compared to Salvatore's."

You were smiling nonstop as you selected a few different options, including some Thai curry, and made your way to the long table which was now lined with juice boxes and water bottles. Somehow Bradley thought of everything, and if he thought the last blowjob you gave him was a nice thank you, he was definitely in for another one. 

When he slipped into the seat next to yours, he asked, "Do you think everyone is having a good time?"

"This is better than anything I could have imagined," you promised.

Soon your kids were all poking at and sampling the foods on their trays, calling out opinion after opinion as Bradley pulled a small notepad and pencil from his pocket. "Okay, okay. We all hate the baked ziti?" he asked, giving you side eye. "I told you the pasta was terrible." He made a note and said, "But we all like the meatloaf and the breaded chicken?"

"Yes!" shouted Jayden.

"The chicken is so good!" called Violet.

"So is the macaroni and cheese," said Oliver.

Bradley was actually taking real notes which made you want to push him down onto the table and climb on top. 

"It's like you're really in the Navy now. You have opinions on the cafeteria food," he said with a salute. "Ready to earn your wings?"

Eighteen pairs of eyes went wide. "We get wings?" Henry asked Bradley, lunch completely forgotten.

"Only if you're brave enough to sit in the cockpit of my Super Hornet."

The table erupted in cheers.

---------------------------

"It's huge," you gasped. "It's so much bigger than I could have ever imagined."

Bradley led everyone outside to the tarmac near the hangar where his F/A-18 was parked with the ladder down. Natasha was sitting in the cockpit with Bradley's helmet in her hand, waving down at everyone.

"Why don't you go first and show everyone how it's done," he said, and you looked up at his smiling face.

"Alright," you agreed, still clearly surprised by the sheer size of the jet.

There was something about seeing a military aircraft in person for the first time that nothing could prepare you for. Some of the kids were looking at it with their mouths hanging open, and Violet looked like she was on the verge of happy tears.

With one hand in the middle of your back, Bradley helped you start to climb the ladder. The fantastic view of your ass was a perk, but he really was trying to make sure you got up safely. When you were standing on the last rung, Nat helped you climb inside, and she plopped his helmet on your head. It was comically large, and you were laughing as you waved down at everyone from the seat.

"This is incredible!" you shouted.

"You just earned yourself some wings," Bradley promised, and you pumped your fist in the air while the kids all cheered. He took his phone out to get a picture of you and Nat up there with his name on the side of the jet, and then it was time for you to climb back down. You probably didn't need the extra help, but his hands ended up on your hips anyway, and you looked back at him over your shoulder once you were on the ground.

"Thank you," came your breathless voice, and he had to remind himself that he was at work and not allowed to push you against the ladder and make out with you like he wanted to.

"Who's next?" he asked, prying his hands away from your body. The chaperones sent Jackie up to the ladder first, and Bradley held her hand until she was securely on the ladder. "Be careful on the rungs. Phoenix still slips on them all the time."

"I do not!" Nat called down from the cockpit. "I never slip on them, ever. But Rooster always does."

"You got me there, Phoenix," he said with a laugh as Jackie scaled her way up to the top. 

Each kid got a turn. Oliver told him that his jet was probably fast enough to feel like you were slam dunking off the back of a dragon after all. And Violet looked at him as she climbed down and said, "I'm really sorry Lieutenant Bradshaw, but Phoenix might be even cooler than you."

He laughed as he said, "You're breaking my heart, kiddo," and she nodded somberly. "That's okay. I'd probably agree with you most days. Go line up with everyone else so you can get your wings."

Maverick and Nat helped you and Bradley pin some replica golden wings on each lanyard, and then Bradley pinned one on yours as you grinned. "What if I want to wear the real thing?" you whispered as the kids all gushed over their little treats.

Bradley glanced down at the insignia pins on his khaki uniform. "You want to wear my shirt around, Gorgeous?"

"Maybe," you told him softly, and he could already picture it.

His nostrils flared, taking in your sweet scent over the jet fuel. "You sleeping over tonight?"

"I don't see how I could possibly stay away after you gave us the perfect day."

He swallowed hard, once again wishing you just lived there with him. Then he wouldn't have to ask or invite or assume. He would just know you'd be with him after work. "Then I'll make sure my shirt is ready for you."

"Rooster."

Bradley released your lanyard and turned toward Maverick. "Sir?" he asked as Mav nodded toward the air traffic control tower.

"They're ready for us."

"Excellent," he replied as Nat folded up the ladder next to him. "We have one more thing for you to learn about. Naval aviation wouldn't be possible without skilled air traffic controllers making sure we have safe flight paths. If you promise to be quiet, we can all climb the tower stairs and listen in."

The kids were bouncing around excitedly again as Bradley and Maverick led the troops across the tarmac with you and Nat bringing up the rear this time. "You look like you're having as much fun as they are," Mav remarked.

"I think I might be," Bradley replied with a chuckle. "Their love of aviation is pretty infectious."

Mav was quiet for a beat before he said, "That's true. But there's something else." He glanced at Bradley over his sunglasses with a very serious look on his face. "You remind me of your dad today."

"I do?"

"Yeah. Absolutely," he promised. "And I think it's because the love of your life back there reminds me a bit of your mom."

Bradley stumbled, his boot skidding along the ground, but he managed to stay upright as Maverick reached for his bicep. "Really?" he asked his dad's best friend, voice hoarse as he thought about how his mom mourned his dad for the rest of her life.

"Yes. Make sure you treat her well."

------------------------------

The tower wasn't large, and all of you had to really cram in there. But as soon as your kids saw all of the instrumentation panels and the line of officers in uniforms wearing headsets, they started asking questions.

"Quiet," you reminded them. "We promised we would be very quiet."

Bradley squeezed through the group until he was facing everyone, and he waved so everyone's attention was on him. "We have two pilots who are out over the desert and in position for you to give them some flight commands. Their call signs are Coyote and Hangman, and each of you are about to be tasked with telling them how and where to fly."

You gasped, heart beating a little faster. "Is that safe?" you asked, looking from Bradley to Natasha.

"Well, it's just Coyote and Hangman, so if anything happens, it's not such a big deal," Natasha said, earning a bland look from Bradley while she laughed at her own joke.

"It's perfectly safe," Bradley said, holding up a stack of papers. "I'm going to have everyone read off of one of these sheets." He started handing them out to the kids. "Once Lieutenant Maxwell here gives us the go ahead, she's going to turn on the speakers so we can communicate with Coyote and Hangman without a headset. And that way everyone will be able to hear the transmissions. Sound good?"

It sounded too good to be true to you, but you nodded silently. A minute later, the woman sitting in the chair at the end, removed her headset and flicked some switches. "It's all yours, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Maxwell." He raised his voice a little louder. Coyote. Hangman. Do you copy?"

"We hear you loud and clear, control," came a voice with a southern drawl.

"Copy," came a second man's voice. "Ready at the throttle."

Bradley pointed to the paper in Oliver's hand and nodded. "Go ahead and read it," he whispered.

Oliver cleared his throat and practically shouted, "Hangman, break right. Coyote, breach the hard deck."

"Copy tower," came the immediate response.

"See it on the screens?" Bradley asked, pointing to where there was some sort of radar output of the placement of two aircrafts dipping and diving. "Nia, your turn."

She read, "Hangman, bank down to five o'clock low," and sure enough, one of the jets changed position on the screen. The children were taking this entire mission very seriously, and you were almost shaking with excitement from everything that happened. This was literally the best field trip in the history of field trips. 

Jayden was the last one to go, and after he shouted out the commands, he said, "Hangman is kind of a dumb call sign, isn't it?"

"I resent that!" drawled the first voice.

"I mean, it's just not as cool as Coyote," Jayden told him while Bradley stifled his laughter.

"He's not wrong," came the second voice. "Please tell your teacher you earned a bonus point for being so smart, courtesy of Coyote."

"Copy that!" you said, and Bradley handed the reigns back over to Lieutenant Maxwell. As quietly as could be expected, the group headed back down the stairs and onto the tarmac where apparently there was another surprise. 

Bob was waiting with a crate full of noise canceling headphones. "Hangman and Coyote are on their way to land their jets on the runway!" he said, passing out the headphones to everyone. "With proper ear protection, we can stand here and watch them come in, but we need to keep our ears covered at all times."

The kids were all reaching for a pair, and Bradley walked around to adjust them and make sure they fit nice and snug. When he got to you, he took some extra time, letting his thumb tease your cheek before moving on. Bob stood ahead of everyone with a radio to his ear, then he turned and gave a thumbs up before stepping to the side and securing his own ear protection. 

Off in the distance, you could see two dots rapidly growing in size, and even though you knew what was coming, you still jumped a bit at the noise they made as they screeched through the air and touched down on the runway. You were overwhelmed. Your heart was full. It was hard to believe that your aviation lessons in your classroom led all nineteen of you here.

You'd never be able to top this day for the rest of the school year, and you were okay with that. As long as Bradley would visit you again. And again. And again. If he hadn't already reached legend status, he definitely had after this, and you were certain an hour wouldn't go by for the foreseeable future where the kids weren't asking about him.

"Can I walk you all back to your bus?" he asked after collecting the headphones with Bob.

You let your knuckles bump against his. "Please do, Lieutenant Bradshaw. And on the way there, please tell us how we're your favorite field trip group of all time."

"I can do that with an abundance of detail."

------------------------

Legendary. I want to go on the same field trip a million times with Bradley as my tour guide. I've started to think about what I'm going to include in the rest of this fic, so let me know if there's something you're dying to read about these two! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 17

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[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Sebek Zigvolt - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Cafeteria]

Sebek: …Mm, today's lunch was delicious, as always. That should hold me through the afternoon. Now, for dessert…

Azul: Sebek-san. May I take this seat beside you? I cannot seem to find any other available seat.

Sebek: Azul-senpai, huh. I care not. I am just about to finish eating, anyway.

Azul: Well, thank you. Oh, by the way, I heard tomorrow is your birthday, is it not?

Azul: Is there anything you desire? No matter how difficult it may be, I will make a special order to acquire it for you.

Sebek: No, thanks. Who knows what you'll require from me as compensation. And how do you even know my birthdate in the first place!?

Sebek: As I expected, I absolutely can't let my guard down around you Octavinelle folk. I see your whole reason to sit next to me was to shill your services, too.

Azul: Of course not! Sitting next to you was pure coincidence. However, if you ever feel the need, you may call upon me whenever you wish.

Sebek: I promise you, there won't ever be a time I feel that need! Excuse me.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Hallway]

Sebek: …Hm, NO SIGNS OF ABNORMAL ACTIVITY IN THIS AREA!!

Sebek: Seeing that nefarious intruders could sneak into the dorm at any time without our knowledge...

Sebek: As Malleus-sama's retainer, I cannot neglect doing my rounds of the dormitory.

[Silver appears and speaks]

Sebek: Ah, Silver. So, there were no problems on the western side, I see. …You made sure to look in every nook and cranny, yes?

Sebek: You're always zoning out, after all. I can't help but worry about you overlooking something.

[Silver speaks]

Sebek: Hm? You're saying you didn't fall asleep during your patrol?

Sebek: SAYS THE GUY WHO WAS SLEEPING UP A STORM DURING EQUESTRIAN PRACTICE!! DON'T BE TAKING IT EASY DURING YOUR ROUNDS AS WELL!!

Sebek: I will head towards the northern area for my patrol. You should go take care of the southern area with the utmost care. …DO NOT FALL ASLEEP!!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Now then… I've finished my rounds, and taken my shower.

Sebek: A proper knight must also build the proper knowledge. Time to work on my studies in my room!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Now that I've finished my homework, I should review my magical history classwork. While I may have a good grasp of what happened and where…

Sebek: When it comes to reading the textbook, I find it difficult to put together the chronological events as well what directly caused them.

Sebek: I should re-compile the notes I took during class and attempt to re-organize everything.

[Roommates chatter]

Sebek: You lot are too noisy! Why are you all huddled together and groaning?

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: There's an Enigmics question that none of you can solve?

Sebek: I won't be able to focus if you all keep on groaning like that. Here, show it to me…. Oh, it's this problem?

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: Heh, what, you can't even solve an easy question like this? If you were paying attention to class, this would be a snap to figure out.

Sebek: At this rate, you're being a disappointment to your status as Diasomnia student under the domain of Malleus-sama.

Sebek: Fine, fine, here. I'll show you how it's done. You should be thanking me on bended knee.

[Roommate B speaks]

Sebek: …Hm? I'm full of myself? Haah, the one being instructed doesn't have the right to complain!

Sebek: First, you'll use this formula. Then you'll take the number derived from that and plug it into this formula… And this is the answer!

[Roommate A speaks]

Sebek: Seems like you've finally understood. You should hold yourself to a higher standard as a student from Diasomnia and focus better on your studies.

[Roommate B speaks]

Sebek: …You're thankful, but I'm still rudely full of myself? Well then, what should I make of your attitudes towards me, despite teaching you!?

Sebek: I've finished reviewing my lessons and preparing for tomorrow's classes. All that's left is to answer this.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body

Sebek: I am attending the same school as Malleus-sama and living in the same dormitory. There's only one thing I could possibly want in this circumstance.

Sebek: "I'D LIKE TO BE PLACED IN THE ROOM NEXT TO MALLEUS-SAMA."

Sebek: As his retainer, I am here to protect Malleus-sama and I strive to be of use to him at all times…

Sebek: So if I were to have the room next to his, I could immediately be at his side were anything to happen! I could also greet him first in the morning!

Sebek: I wouldn't care the condition of the room, so long as it was next to his. "Please make this a reality as soon as possible," I'll add.

Sebek: That's it for the survey. Time to prepare for bed…

Sebek: I think I'll pick up my novel where I last left off. I did end up having to stop at a very interesting point…

[flips page]

Sebek: So that advisor shows up here, do they? It’s true that that position would have existed during this era… Well, this is a fascinating interpretation of their interactions.

Sebek: This author is definitely a good read. Their stories are faithful adaptions of historical events, and yet their interpretation always surprises me with a different perspective.

Sebek: Their writing style is dynamic which suits the profound nature of history. I can't help but to be sucked in.

Sebek: If they continue along these historical events, there should be a massive famine after this. Now, how will the protagonist deal with that, I wonder…?

Sebek: I would like to continue reading, but it is time to sleep. I'll leave the next part to read tomorrow.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

[RIIIIIIIING!!!!]

Sebek: Nnngh… It's morning already…

Sebek: Urgh, I'm still sleepy… And it's somewhat chilly. Everyone else is still asleep, so maybe I can stay like this for a little longer…

Sebek: …NO, I SHAN'T!! GET IT TOGETHER!!! I WILL AWAKEN!!!!!

Sebek: It is absolutely preposterous to blame my lack of self-discipline and be tempted by a comfortable bed.

Sebek: As Malleus-sama's loyal subject, I cannot allow myself to look slovenly. Right, to the washroom!

[Diasomnia Dorm – Washroom]

[splash]

Sebek: …Whew, that's refreshing.

Sebek: I'll use my moisturizer, as usual. It's frustrating how my skin dries out almost immediately without it.

Sebek: Now, next is my hair. I'll take a dab of the pomade and spread it thin across my palms…

Sebek: Stroking from front to back, use a comb to help spread the pomade evenly through the hair.

Sebek: Hrn… My hair isn't listening whatsoever. I was able to reduce the severity of my bedhead ever since I started wearing my nightcap…

Sebek: However it seems nothing can be done about my hair texture. It springs up on its own every time I think I've set it in place.

Sebek: Urgh, this blasted bedhead! Do as you're told and lie down flat!

Sebek: It sprung up again…! But I will not ever surrender. I will triumph and present a perfectly styled head of hair!

Sebek: Alright… It's staying up perfectly!

Sebek: It wouldn't do to appear before Malleus-sama without properly setting my hair.

Sebek: Now, I have to cleanly was all the pomade off my hands with soap.

Sebek: All that is left is sunscreen, and moisturizing lip cream… That should be good enough.

Sebek: Wait, hold on. I recall Lilia-sama saying as a bodyguard, I should take proper care of my hands as well.

Sebek: Today is my birthday, so what good timing. I'll use this opportunity to gladly open up the hand cream that I received.

[Diasomnia Dorm – Sebek's Room]

Sebek: Hm? I could smell something nice as soon as I opened the lid… Oh, this hand cream is scented!

Sebek: It seems like the fragrance is a combination of citrus and of the forest… This scent is nice and refreshing.

Sebek: I've used ointments here and there, but is the first time I've ever used scented hand cream… Oh, everywhere I apply it is starting to give off an amazing scent.

Sebek: [sniff] …I am getting the feeling that this may be too refined for me. I wonder if this doesn't suit me…?

Sebek: No, Lilia-sama himself gave it to me. I'll use it with pride!

[Main Street]

[Azul spots Sebek chatting with another student]

Azul: Sebek-san, good morning.

Sebek: Azul-senpai, hm. What a coincidence to meet again so soon after yesterday.

Azul: Indeed. By the way… You seem to be giving off a more mature look today.

Azul: Ah, perhaps it is due to that fragrance of yours. It gives off the fresh scent of a forest. What a lovely scent.

Sebek: Right, I used a new hand cream. I thought it may not have suited me, however…

Azul: Oh no, it suits you very well. I believe it is a wonderful choice as you take another step closer to adulthood.

Sebek: Is that so? …Then all is good.

Azul: Happy birthday, Sebek-san. I do hope you enjoy yourself today.

Sebek: Hm, I suppose I should at least thank you, especially since I received some unexpectedly kind wishes from you.

Requested by Anonymous.

[ohcorny]

my chobits post is going around again and it's occurred to me just how much my problems with it would have been solved if it was a fantasy and they were magical homunculi/automatons rather than constructed robots. the fact that it's science fiction forces it to be more grounded in reality and invites scrutiny as to why some things are the way they are.

i'm not going to question as much why a man would put functional, but cursed, vaginas on his constructed daughters if they were magic automatons made of bones and potions. you can just say that was the first time he made one and it's how they turned out! magic is wibbly like that!

but you really can't do that with robotics. every aspect of a robot is a choice made by an engineer. you can't accidentally put a reset button in your robot daughter's perfectly realistic vagina. you had to decide from the start to give your robot daughter a perfectly realistic vagina. and then put a reset button in there. why did you do that. why did you do that!!!

[foolishlovers]

With 2024 coming to an end, I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to my favourite fics I (re)read this year. I have so so much appreciation for all writers creating beautiful works about our beloved angel and demon pair. Reading these sometimes funny, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes sappy, sometimes deliciously filthy stories has been a constant source of joy. I truly can't even begin to describe how thankful I am to be part of such an incredibly creative and loving fandom. So so much gratitude for all the different versions of them, all the genders, all the tropes, all the canon fics, and all the human AUs. There are so many more amazing fics I read this year and there are so many more to explore in 2025, but the following few have made themselves a home in my heart. I promise they're worth a read! 💜 [I do fic recs all year long, check out this tag for more.]

Date by @ddagent (2.5k, T)

Every year, Aziraphale is spoiled on his birthday. This year, he decides to do the same for Crowley. There's only one problem - he's not actually sure when Crowley's birthday is.

Roller Derby Queen by @summerofspock (2.5k, M)

Crowley skates for Hell on Wheels and she's pretty good at it too. She'd be better if she weren't so distracted by the new skater on the opposing team.

Sweet Nectar of the Eldritch Gods by @brenna (3.2k, G)

Azira writes a letter to the purveyor of her favorite honeys and sweetness ensues. No offence, but who says “by the by,” by the way? It’s adorable? By the by, do you like wine? Crowley

Poor Men by @why-not-go-with-style (3.9k, G)

What To Do When Two of Your Professors Are Hopelessly in Love With Each Other: an instruction manual by Adam Young (featuring Pepper Moonchild because someone has to be the voice of reason here).

!False (It's Funny Because It's True) by @mirjam-writes (6.4k, E)

Aziraphale drew a long breath through his nose. Crowley, of course it had to be Crowley. The new guy in the sales department, who would promise potential customers just about anything to close a deal. Arrogant, annoying – and wildly, stupidly attractive. Aziraphale hated him.  Aziraphale is a stellar software architect and a project manager, who is so done with the sales department selling unrealistically scheduled and budgeted projects. And he definitely doesn't have a crush on anyone, thank you very much.

Show me where the Nightingale sings by @sabotage-on-mercury (6.5k, G)

After settling into their new home in the South Downs there are still things to process for Aziraphale and Crowley before they can start a new chapter of their life. But winter is turning into spring. There is magic abroad in the air. And finally, the nightingale is back.

The Art of Human Nature by @ineffable-doll (6.5k, T)

Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster.

Lit by @fellshish (12k, T)

Crowley takes a university course on literature and surprise! The book they’re discussing is Good Omens. Uh oh.

Paradigm Shift by @hakunahistata (13k, E)

“Apologies, apologies! The time got away from me.” Aziraphale Fell entered the room brightly, a binder in one hand, tea mug in the other. Crowley’s languid sprawl went rigid as the senior accounting analyst who had been the indulgent secret in the back of his mind took the seat opposite him.   Or, Crowley Pines at the Office: An AU.

Feast by @ashfae, mostlyjustgoose (15k, E)

Crowley's spent the whole of lockdown asleep. Aziraphale has spent the whole of lockdown baking, cooking, and becoming increasingly frustrated with his solitude. Which eventually leads him to the perfect way to solve all his problems at once... Or, Aziraphale attempts to seduce Crowley with a truly excellent meal, and Crowley is amenable.

Ever-Fixed by @hkblack (19k, E)

Aziraphale Fell had a plan. Go to school, get his degree, and start his life with his beloved at his side as man and wife. Until one day Crowley disappears. Decades later he meets a man, and finds the love of his life again. Anthony J. Crowley, suave, cool, masculine, in control, unflappable, has spent decades building himself up. He refuses to let his confident facade disappear for Aziraphale, who once almost tumbled down the stairs to certain death because his nose was stuck in a book. It’s just sex, and they’ve been dating for months, this time around. There’s no need to get his knickers in a knot. But the past isn’t easy to let go of, even if you’re both avoiding it. A story about love, intimacy, and finding each other again. (Alternatively: Tender smut, but then I wrote love story flashbacks, and now it's just emotional and there's plot in my pornography)

Fireworks by @optimistic-starlight (19k, E)

He had to get himself under control. Aziraphale needed him. That prick boyfriend of his drained so much of Aziraphale's time and energy, dampened so much of the gentle, beaming happiness that Crowley had always adored about him. He needed Crowley there to support him, to do the things a best friend should be there to do. And, well, if Crowley needed him too, if he had to subsume his own pain to focus on making Aziraphale happy, that was something he could bear quietly. He could do it for his angel. Crowley groaned and dropped his head against the tiled wall of the shower. His angel. He had to stop thinking of him like that.

Maybe Next Christmas by @flamingbentleyy (21k, T)

Airports were tricky business, but waiting in airports was as close to hell as one could possibly get. Nobody knew it better than Aziraphale, whose luck had made him end up in one right on Christmas Eve of all days. Although his airport experience turned a little less hellish and a whole lot more entertaining after he ran into an old college friend in that same airport. And then again. And again…

The Small Ad by @theladydrgn, @sylwritesstuff (32k, E)

WORK WANTED: Partner For Hire. Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other to keep pesky relatives, nosy coworkers, or well-meaning friends at bay. Able to be as annoying or as polite as you like. Causing a fight over Christmas dinner with your odd, bigoted uncle/aunt/cousin will require an extra £200 up front. £50 for the first hour, negotiable otherwise. Ciao.   It isn't the sort of advertisement Aziraphale usually paid any attention to, but desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.

Heavenly Wicked Cafe by @waitingtobebroken (33k, T)

There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

Petrichor & Parchment by @katnoggin (33k, E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face? Now also available as a podfic from Literarion  [Huuuge recommendation for the podfic!!]

The Heart of the Forest by Kalimyre (33k, E)

Retired librarian Aziraphale moves into a small, isolated cottage deep in the forest with a strange history. He soon realises he's not alone in the woods; a presence watches him. But as he begins to befriend the stranger that lurks in the trees, Aziraphale comes to understand there's more to him than appearances suggest - and Aziraphale's own destiny may be tied to the mysterious creature with the golden eyes.

in your own time by @ineffabildaddy (33k, E)

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (45k, T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

Loving You Slow by @tawnyontumblr (46k, E)

Crowley just wants to dance, but he's not prepared to sell his soul (and other things) at Mayfair's Hellfire Club to do it. Tending bar at The Bookshop in Soho is just the escape he needs, providing Crowley can convince the club’s owner he really belongs on the stage. Unfortunately Aziraphale Eastgate is not quite the generous guardian angel Crowley has been led to believe. Welcome to The Bookshop, where it always pays to look under the covers.

A Billion Points of Light by akitsuko (50k, E)

The firefighter lifts the visor on their helmet, and Crowley may not be able to see very well, but those are the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen in his life. Crowley has never been one for the whole 'love at first sight' business, but he may need to reassess after Aziraphale - a gorgeous firefighter - saves his life.

More Than by @naromoreau (55k, E)

Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.

Lavender Apiary Of Your Honey Eyes by @snek-of-eden (66k, E)

The first thing Aziraphale registered was fiery red hair matted with sweat. The second thing was the man’s face, sharp and intelligent and a little guarded, sunlight dappling a spray of freckles. Upon seeing this, two contradictory thoughts crossed his mind: ‘Gosh, he’s pretty’, and ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a man use that many expletives in the space of a minute’. “Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. “Hello, then.” __________ When Aziraphale inherits a small, cosy cottage in the countryside, he finds unexpected company in a gardener he didn't even know he had. Crowley is sweet, and strange, and about as foul-mouthed as you can get. Before he knows it, he's falling pretty goddamn hard for a man whose friendship he's terrified of risking. Ah, the foils of love.

Old Vines by @sevdrag (189k, E)

A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity. Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in. Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds. [Big recommendation for the podfic here too!!]

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Kidnapped Astarion

I have a very specific thing I can't stop thinking about. That involves Astarion getting kidnapped by Cazador for the ritual and him taunting him over the lie that Tav gave him away. Sold him even.

Tw: Lies, manipulation, mentions of torture, bad times had all around, it's long as fuck, betrayal (or at least the lie of it). Like Cazador is involved so all bad. Very bad. This also has VIOLENCE. Like canon game violence but it is BLOODY. You've been warned. Also happy ending :)

So now let's get to that angst:

It had all happened so fast.

One moment Astarion was laid back in the tent you share, reading a mediocre book as he impatiently waited for your return. He loathed when you went out without him, even if it was for good reason. He wasn't exactly welcome company when it came to solving Gale's problems, especially when it came to the bomb nestled in chest. You both knew his inability to keep his sarcastic quips to himself would not be an asset while exploring a sacred library. Besides, he didn't have much room to complain, not when he accompanied you on ninety-nine percent of your outings.

But that didn't mean he had to like it. Even if it was shaping up to be a nice, uneventful evening. He had set your tent a little farther away from the others, considering the complaints that some....well most had made about the volume of your nightly activities. It was quiet, peaceful even. The atmosphere tranquil enough for him to fully relax.

What a mistake that had been.

When the flap of the tent opened he didn't even look up, fully expecting it to be Shadowheart or Lae'zel coming round to dig about in his darling's things. It made sense, considering how it was one of the few times they wouldn't be risking walking in on something. You had such a bad habit with that "open door" policy of yours. One that had exposed nearly every party member to quite the show. Though in Astarion's view, they were just unreasonable. When you were both loud they complained. When you were quiet and they walked in on it they would whine even more. How could you win with people like that?

Perhaps a sign on the door would have done the trick, but Astarion would be lying if he didn't enjoy the others being fully aware of who could make you cry and moan. The risk was just more thrilling, if not the slightest bit annoying.

But the intruder was staying still at the opening, quiet as could be. It was odd enough to have Astarion glancing upward, his heart stopping in his chest at what he saw.

It was a man, frantically muttering something under his breath. A man that he recognized. The idiotic Petras, trying to cast some kind of incantation. It had Astarion scrambling upward, reaching for his dagger. But it was already too late. The spell was finished and Astarion could feel his senses start to fade away, one by one.

He had gotten sloppy, relying on the safety of camp that had never existed. And now he was paying the price, and what a price to pay. Even as he fell to the magic, one feeling managed to stay in place until the bitter end.

Terror.

And then, he felt nothing at all.

The next thing Astarion knew he was being awakened by a slap of cold water to his face, blinking up into horrifyingly familiar light. He immediately recognized where he was. The torture room, his arms hanging from the ceiling, his toes barely scraping the floor. It hurt to be suspended like this, a pain he was still so familiar with despite going months without. And in front of him was the cause of it all, sneering at him like the maniac he was.

Cazador.

"You're finally awake," He grinned, dropping the bucket that was in his hands, "You've been a very bad boy Astarion. Just what am I to do with you?"

Astarion wanted to answer, to curse at him, maybe even beg to just be left alone, but nothing came out. He was too stunned, too stupefied that he ended up here after everything he'd gone through. Everything you'd gone through. How could it end like this?

"I don't fully know what you were up to with all that time away from your family," Cazador continued, stepping close enough for Astarion to feel his disgusting breath on his skin, "But I think I may have the gist. Galivanting around with your merry-band of degenerates. Seems fitting."

Astarion gave a full-bodied flinch when Cazador started to graze along his collarbones with a gentle finger, his touch freezing and revolting. The gentleness wouldn't last, Astarion was surprised it was even there to begin with.

He should have realized there was a reason for it.

He trailed up his neck, stopping to trace a bruise you had left the night before. If only he had known that it was almost certainly the last time he would get to touch you. The realization was nearly enough to bring tears to Astarion's eyes, but he refused to cry in front of this creature, not if he could help it.

"Seems like you may have even found yourself a favorite amongst them. Tell me pet, who was it?"

"Fuck you." Astarion spat out, his fury managing to shine through his despair.

Astarion expected a hard slap for the insolence, but instead Cazador just laughed, loud and full-bellied, "You've gotten quite the temper since you've been away, haven't you? I wonder where that came about?"

It was a false question, Astarion could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled. Like a child excited to reveal a surprise. Cazador answered it for himself, "Is it that lovely little thing that you've been following around. Gods, what's their name again...Tav, is it?"

"Don't you dare say her name," Astarion growled, his righteous fury overcoming the ever-growing terror and dread, "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh but they do," Cazador grinned, stepping back to do one of his famous gloating sessions, "Just how do you think I found you? Luck? No my dear, you were given."

Astarion's answer was as immediate as it was hateful, "You're lying! You know nothing of them. Nothing of us."

He won't believe it, he has no reason to. You...you loved him. And you were probably looking for him as they spoke. You would never betray anyone like this, least of all him.

But Cazador remained unphased. If anything he was looking at him with pity, "Oh you poor thing. You think she cares? You think she loves you? I'm disappointed Astarion, it seems you've learned nothing from our time together. What is there to love, hm? Nothing that I can see. Though...they sure did seem to love the gold. You fetch quite the high price my dear. But it will be worth it."

Lies. It was all lies. It had to be. Astarion shoved his uncertainty back down, bellowing out, "Liar!"

It was forceful enough to even make Cazador falter for the briefest of moments, a split second that anyone else would have missed. But he pressed on, shaking his head, "Darling, don't you find it strange that you were all alone that day? That no one came to your aid? Where do you think you're love was, hm? Wait, don't tell me. I can remember...ah yes! With Gale, correct?"

Astarion swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How...how did he know that?

"It was a fabulous excuse, was it not?" Cazador continued with a laugh, "We came up with that one together. After a little fun that is. I can see why you fell for their treachery Astarion, they are quite lovely, aren't they?"

No. No, no, no.

"Stop it," Astarion hissed, "Shut your mouth. I-It's not true."

"Oh but it is. I'm not sure if you're aware but you're quite the headache darling, not many can handle it. Not including myself. She even told me of that hilarious speech you gave. About wanting something real. It was just as funny to her as it was to me."

Astarion stared at him, at a complete loss for words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. But...how else would he know that? In a camp full of people why did no one come to his aid? But the cruelty of it all...it was exactly the type of thing Cazador was versed in.

Setting up the same type of trap that he'd trained Astarion for, that he had used on others countless times. And he fell for it, he lost the game he thought he'd mastered.

His faith was slipping, hard and fast when he asked the horrible question, "How do you know that?"

"Because I sent them to you," He said with that disgusting grin, "It was no coincidence that you met. You were kidnapped, I needed you back, so I hired some help. It's a pity that they were captured as well. The pause to our plans was quite inconvenient. Our Tav just can't help but get distracted, can she?"

"No..." The word slipped out of Astarion without his consent, his mind racing. That couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. T-There had to be another explanation. If he could just think he'd find it. But...what point was there? He was already captured, taken. If anything, all of this being a grand scheme from Cazador was more logical than someone loving him.

He had gone through many, many tortures during his time here. Unspeakable, horrible things that he would never wish on anyone, excluding the man in front of him. But this...this was the worst thing he'd ever done to him. He had tricked him, you had tricked him, and he whole-heartedly fell for it, like the fool he was. The fool he would die as.

He didn't know it was possible, but this would be the greatest pain he ever knew. He was sure of that. Cazador had managed to do it. He had broken him, finally.

His tears were falling on their own accord, plentiful and pathetic. Cazador cooed at him, tracing his cheek with his horrid hand, "It hurts, doesn't it? I missed that expression on you my boy. You were always at you're prettiest when you had given up."

He wiped Astarion's tears away, gently holding his face as he spoke, "If only this was enough. The things I want to do to you for running away... I want to make you scream, make you beg for death. Just like how things used to be. If only we had the time."

Cazador let go, stepping back with a sigh, "How I wish that they had gotten you to me earlier. Though it's too late to pout about it now, the preparations are almost complete. But don't fret my boy, your end will have the meaning that your life failed to posses. Come along now."

Astarion hung there, limp as Cazador unhooked him from above. This was it. He was going to die here, as nothing but a pawn. He didn't even try to fight it when he was led down, deep into the palace to a place he'd never known existed. He kept his eyes closed for most of the journey, simply for the fact that he didn't have the strength to keep them open.

It was...a horrendous feeling to be incased in that red energy, floating in the air with all of his brothers and sisters as Cazador finished his preparations. It forced his eyes open against his will, making him see the hell that had been hiding beneath his feet all these years. He had been wrong about the sacrifice it seemed, it wasn't just them. There were thousands of bodies, barely alive in hanging cages, strewn throughout the place.

It was horrible, but fitting. Where else would something like him die? All he wished was that Cazador would hurry, so he could be done with it all. He has to much time to think in these last moments, too much time to examine your betrayal.

He...hates you. For it all. He hates you more than anything, enough for that same fury to come bubbling back to the surface. How dare you do this to him, after everything you'd been through. He should have killed you while you slept, while you let him drink from your throat. He should have killed them all, the vile sacks of shit.

If his soul ever found it's way back from the hell it was about to be damned too, he'd find you. His revenge was no longer reserved for Cazador, but for the wretched bitch hat tortured him in ways he didn't even think were possible. He'd do worse to you than anyone could imagine.

You were the cruelest thing to ever exist, as heartless and horrid as the monster before him.

So why was he still crying over it?

It didn't matter anyway. Not now. Now, all he could do was wait for the bitter end.

But then...he felt something. A familiar presence tickling the back of his mind. A barely there whisper, no words that he could make out. But it was getting stronger. Clearer.

It...it was you. Calling out to him with your illithid connection, begging for an answer.

My love, where are you? Astarion please, please tell me your there. Help me find you.

He can scarcely believe it. But he wasn't going to wait for his emotions to catch up to what could be an escape. He was screaming in his brain, trying to send out any signal that he could.

I'm here. I'm here. Don't let him take me. Please.

He could hear you in his head, the sheer relief from your mind nearly overwhelming, I'm coming. Hold on, I'm coming.

Astarion didn't even have the time to doubt. Because the next moment you were bursting through the ornate doors, nearly your entire team in tow.

Astarion had never seen you look the way you did then. He was so used to your kindness, the warmth and light that you tried to spread everywhere you went. You were always smiling, always laughing, always trying to share the same with others.

But now you were breathing hard, near feral in your posture as your eyes darted around, landing straight to the shocked Cazador. You looked murderous, vicious enough to send a shiver down Astarion's spine. Your teeth were bared, your whole body trembling with rage as you started to advance, weapons already drawn.

And in that moment Astarion was sure that you were the most gorgeous, perfect thing he had ever seen. Or ever would.

It was brutal, bloody battle. One that ended with you slitting Cazador's throat as Astarion watched in awe. You let the body fall to the ground, blasé before you finally ran to him, releasing him from his prison.

Then he was being pulled into the most crushing hug of his entire life. One that he was helpless to return. He clung to you, uncaring for their rather large audience.

He was too busy burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as you whispered into his shoulder, "Thank the Gods that you're still here."

The pain in your voice was so raw, so real. Astarion needed no other evidence to be sure that every word from the dead man's lips had been a lie. He was also positive that he had never cried this much in his life, but now it was a different kind of sob he was trying to choke back. The flood of relief was crushing, the truth that your love was real was nearly enough to destroy him all over again. Not for cruelties sake, but to make something new. To kill every last doubt he had that he was nothing, worthless. How could he be when you were here? When you came for him?

He pulled back reluctantly, smiling down at you with tear tracks on his face. He kissed your forehead, covered in sweat and blood, and gods knows what else.

It was all finally over. You both turned to the rest of the group, your hands clasped together as you made your way to where Cazador lay dead. It was satisfying to see, but such a shame that Astation wasn't the one to do the deed. A regret he'd have for the rest of his days.

Or so he thought.

But then you were turning to Shadowheart, your sweet face curling back into the disgust from earlier when you ordered, "Revive him."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as she did what she was told. Cazador came back into consciousness, in what looked to be an extremely unpleasant experience. He was coughing blood, the spell doing just enough to mend his mortal wounds, but not nearly powerful enough to give him a fraction of his strength back. He stared upwards, his eyes wide at the sight of you lording over him.

And for the first time in two hundred years, Astarion saw fear in the other man's eyes. Wonderfully delicious fear.

He felt you squeeze his hand as he stared at him, speaking quietly, "He's yours. To do with what you please. Do...do you want us here for this?"

He could hear the hidden meaning in your words. This wasn't just a choice of what to do with him. It was a choice of what to do with them all. He had taken notice that he was the only one that you had freed, his brethren still suspended in air.

He turned to you, his voice strong for the first time since he'd come back to this pit, "I want you here for this."

You nodded before looking back to the others to tell them to wait outside. They did so reluctantly, obviously without confidence in his decision making abilities. He ignored the especially worried look Karlach sent his way, too focused on the piece of vampiric trash in front of him.

Cazador was still coughing, his mouth forming more vile words, "Y-You don't have to do this. I can-"

"Silence," Astation seethed, partly surprised when it worked to shut him up. But then again, he had never been placed in a position to see his master be the one without an escape, "Your life is in my hands now. Tell me the truth. How did you find me?"

Astarion could see the fury behind his eyes, the humiliation of being ordered around by his own spawn. But his desire for life won out in the end.

"Luck," he spat out, "Sheer luck. Yomen saw you in the city, at Shar's Caress with this one. He followed you, found your camp and reported back. I sent Dalyria and Petras to fetch you, gave them a powerful sleeping scroll to knock out your allies. And then you were mine again."

Astarion shouldn't have been surprised that he had the audacity to glare at Tav, seething, "Or at least you would have been."

"And my memories?" Astarion pressed, "How did you know of us?"

"The tadpole squirming behind your eyes doesn't change the fact that I am your master," Cazador said, "Your mind is mine to shape, to understand. It was more difficult than before, yes. But I had enough to know what to say."

Of course. He should have known, "So that was your last torture then?"

"Yes," Cazador said simply, a sneer managing to appear on his bloodied face, "And you have to admit, it worked wonderfully."

"You can kill him now if you'd like," You piped up from his side, staring down at the vampire like the trash he was, "Or...you can take his place."

You hesitated for a brief moment before steeling yourself, looking Astarion in the eye, "Whatever you choose, I'll be here for you. I promise."

Astarion nodded, weighing his options. It was so very difficult to not just kill him where he laid, like the pathetic dog he was. But then again...the ritual would mean endless power. Power that he could use to protect himself, to protect you. So nothing like this could ever happen again.

Astarion looked up, his eyes searching every last one of his brothers and sisters faces. They looked scared, perhaps even resigned to their fate. Just at the hands of another. Astarion hadn't expected the image to make him feel ill, yet it did.

Could he do it? Sacrifice them all, along with everyone else trapped in the bowels of their personal hell? He could. He knows he could. Yet...

He looked back at you, the only thing he had ever loved. The one person to show him a different way to live, who was giving him the freedom to be his own person. But... he wanted that person to be someone worthy of you. Someone who would make you proud.

And there was only one way to do that. Astarion let go of your hand, reaching for the dagger you kept at your belt before striding over to Cazador. He stabbed him with little fanfare, no warning, no chances to beg. And then he did it again, and again, and again. Until he lost count, until the body of his former master was mutilated, his chest nothing but unrecognizable gore.

He wasn't quite sure when he started crying again. He only realized it when he could barely breath through his own screams, every bit of rage, hurt, and humiliation that had been beaten into him coming straight to the surface. He sunk to his knees as he sobbed, tossing the knife to the side.

The whirlwind inside of him was too much, so overwhelming that he was afraid he'd be lost to it. But then he could feel it, you wrapping your arms around him, kneeling next to him as he broke down.

He clung to you, burying his face into your neck as he cried, desperate for your comfort, your touch. You were crying too he realized, your voice breaking as you gently spoke to him, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect you. I love you, you did the right thing. I'm sorry."

You had nothing to apologize for, but that didn't stop your words from acting like a soothing balm to all of his internal wounds. But he would get through this. Because for the first time Astarion knew, without a shadow of a doubt he wouldn't have to get through it alone. With you by his side, he would never be alone again.

He wasn't sure how long you both spent there, kneeling in a pool of his tormentors blood. But he knew he felt different when he pulled away, changed.

Free.

He cupped your face, wiping away your tears while only managing to smear the mess about. But it didn't matter that you were both covered in blood and viscera, not when he had you.

"I love you too," Astarion whispered, finally allowing himself to unload the burden of hiding away from you. No more of that. He was yours, fully and completely, "I love you so much. I-I thought that this was it. That I'd never see you again. That you betrayed me-"

"Never," You interrupted, your voice fierce despite how it was breaking, "I never will. You're all I want, all I need. I should have been there, I'm so sorry-"

"No more apologies," Astarion murmered, pressing a quick kiss to your bloody mouth, "No more. We're here. That's all that matters."

You nodded, kissing him again, so sweet despite everything that should have made it sour. Despite his own words, Astarion couldn't help the white hot shame that passed through him. How could he have doubted you, even for a moment? Doubted this, the most beautiful that ever happened to him. Never again would he question what you had together, to let his mind be poisoned by others.

But there would be more time for the two of you later. The rest of your lives if he had anything to say about it. But for now...you freed him. And it was his turn to do the same.

Astarion pulled back, sighing as he looked around the room at his brethren. They were still hanging in the air, all privy to quite the show. He freed them, forgave them even, despite every horrid thing they'd done to eachother over the years.

But that didn't stop him from clocking Petras squarely in the face the second his feet touched the floor. The other man took it well enough, fully knowing that Astarion was capable of much, much worse. Though he was well aware that Petras had been compelled to kidnap him, it didn't change the fact that the punch was very satisfying.

As for the rest of the spawn, the thousands trapped here, he let them go as well. Down to the Underdark, where they could at least have a chance of controlling their feral nature before associating with mortals again.

Then it was time to leave this wretched place, forever. He would never be hurt here again, never controlled. He was free, finally. And with you by his side, what else could he ever ask for?

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

So let's flip the entire what if mc can't keep up and ask what if all of your characters can't keep up with the mc?

AHAHAHA LOVE THIS! 🤣🤣🤣

Morkai: *aggressively chugs smoothies and herbal concoctions meant for stamina, trains for endurance, would rather be caught dead than admit he can't keep up

Straasa: *will frantically try to use hands, toys, his mouth, anything to give himself some time to recuperate. If nothing works, will plead and bargain for his life

Manerkol: *will FIND a way to make it work. There's magic, there's hidden knowledge--some way to keep up! If nothing works, might start considering if the MC is the one who needs to do alterations... But really, will not stop until the problem is solved somehow

Daelynn: *is actually super shocked that someone has a bigger appetite than her and will enthusiastically cheer the MC on. Doesn't matter if she's barely moving, keep going

Eledwen: *would actually find a way to recharge and keep up through sheer willpower. Watch her unlock secret Dragon powers simply because she must and will accept nothing else

Sielthan: *has zero survival instincts in this regard, so will keep going until they drop. Is super surprised every time it happens, but never stops going until they faint

Rai: *always strives for excellence, so will get creative to get the job done. If they can't keep up with the quantity, then they gotta make the quality so explosive that you pass out

Zach: *will slap a toy onto you that provides stimulation, and you're not allowed to take it off until they say so. They hold the remote, so prepare to be buzzed at the worst possible times

Cy: *is impressed and believes you deserve a reward for such an excellent drive, so they'll be in your head and making you come nonstop, no need for touching

Mornie: *ties you up to the bed and smirks as she suggests you work on some deep breathing and meditation techniques. Watches you struggle with sadistic glee