• Jesus Bedelia... you can't do sexy helpless like Will Graham. Stop trying.
• Bedelia just realized the gravity of what she said! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 .....im dying!! And Hannibal's face the whole time just screams 'Not my plan but let's see where the night takes us.' 🙂
• He didn't kill Anthony because how it upset Bedelia. Like 'Oh, you think I'mma do that? Not now I'm not.'
companions with a wild magic sorc who has a really hard time trying to control their magic ? :3
yessssssssss I love this idea ahahahahahaha
Karlach:
The battlefield was still thick with the scent of blood, the air crackling with leftover magic and heat. The fight was over, bodies littering the ground behind you, and your chest heaved with exhilaration. That had been intense. Your pulse roared in your ears, your magic still buzzing beneath your skin like static before a lightning strike.
Karlach stood beside you, her hands clenched into fists, her grin wide and wild. Her infernal engine thrummed, but it was already cooling, the forced regulation kicking in as she let out a heavy exhale. You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky.
Your magic wasn’t calming down.
It crackled unpredictably, dancing across your fingertips in flickering arcs of chaotic energy. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your body unable to stop trembling from the sheer rush of it all. You wanted to run, to scream, to cast—your magic begged for release, surging up your throat like a pressure too great to contain.
Karlach turned to you, grin softening into concern when she saw the way your whole body twitched, the erratic glow in your eyes. “Hey, hey, hey—breathe, baby. Breathe.”
You tried. You really did. But instead of steadying yourself, your next breath came out as a sharp, involuntary laugh—one laced with too much magic. A ripple of force burst out from you, sending the discarded weapons around you clattering and kicking up a gust of wind strong enough to ruffle Karlach’s hair.
“Whoops,” you muttered, biting your lip.
Your fingers tingled, your skin shone faintly with some unstable, unknown spell.
“I can’t—I can’t turn it off,” you admitted, hands twitching as another spark of wild magic sent a few pebbles into the air, where they promptly started orbiting your head.
Karlach huffed out a small laugh, stepping toward you before she suddenly dodged to the side as a wayward arc of electricity zapped the ground where she had just been standing. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s not turn me into fried bacon.”
“I—I can’t think, it’s too much, I—” Another tremor of wild magic made your body pulse, and suddenly, a random bouquet of brightly colored flowers exploded out of your palm, flinging themselves dramatically into Karlach’s face.
Karlach snorted, plucking a tulip from her forehead. “Babe.”
Your voice was tight, panicked. “Karlach, I can’t stop.”
Her grin faded into something softer, something understanding. She had her own battle with too much energy, with too much fire inside her. But at least her engine forced her to calm down. You? You didn’t have that failsafe.
“Alright, c’mon, focus on me,” she said firmly, holding her hands up in a steadying gesture. She took a slow breath in. “In…”
You mirrored her, sucking in a breath through your nose.
“And out.”
You exhaled, but your magic surged with it, another unpredictable burst escaping from you and—
Karlach ducked just as a rain of glowing pink bubbles started floating down from nowhere. She blinked, watching one pop harmlessly on her nose. Then she grinned. “Okay, could’ve been worse.”
You groaned. “I hate this.”
“I love this,” Karlach said with a laugh. “This is the most fun I’ve had post-battle since I figured out I could headbutt gnolls.”
“I am being serious.” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers twitching. “I—I feel like I’m going to explode.”
Karlach sobered again, stepping closer—slowly, cautiously, avoiding the crackling wild magic still sparking off of you. “Then let’s get it out of you, nice and controlled, yeah?”
You met her gaze, still panting. “How?”
She tapped her temple. “Grounding techniques, baby. I use ‘em all the time. Let’s try…” She hummed, thinking. “Five things you can see.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Five things you can see,” she repeated, voice steady. “C’mon, focus. Tell me.”
You clenched your jaw but did as she said. “Um. Your stupidly pretty face. The battlefield. My hands. The… floating rocks still circling my head. And—oh, shit—my boots are levitating.”
Karlach looked down at your now two-inches-off-the-ground stance and wheeze-laughed. “Okay, that’s actually pretty rad.”
“Not helping.”
“Right, right. Four things you can touch.”
Your breathing slowed as you focused. “The wind. My robes. The magic—it’s under my skin, I can feel it. And… your voice.”
Karlach softened. “Good, babe. Three things you can hear.”
You swallowed. “My heartbeat. Yours. The bubbles.”
Karlach grinned. “Two things you can smell.”
“Blood. And—you.”
That made her pause. “Me?”
“Yeah,” you said, blinking hard. “Like… metal. And heat. And you.”
Karlach’s grin turned wicked. “Damn, you been sniffing me, sweetheart?”
“I swear to the gods, Karlach—”
“Last one,” she interrupted, stepping closer, brushing her fingers against yours. “One thing you can taste.”
You hesitated. Your lips parted, your breath still ragged from the rush of it all, but now Karlach was right there. You looked at her, the way her infernal glow lit up her face, the warmth of her body so close to yours.
“…You,” you whispered.
Karlach’s pupils dilated. “Oh, fuck.”
And then your mouth crashed against hers.
The instant your lips met, the magic inside you pulsed—and suddenly, the storm inside you wasn’t dangerous anymore. It flowed into Karlach’s touch, into her lips, into the warmth of her, grounding you as you melted into her grip. Your boots hit the ground again. The floating pebbles plummeted. The bubbles popped and vanished.
The magic was still there—of course it was, it was you—but now it was quiet, steady.
Karlach pulled back just enough to mutter against your lips, “Hells, babe, if I’d known kissing you was all it took—”
You huffed a breathless laugh. “We should test the theory. Again. For science.”
Karlach grinned, fangs flashing. “I love the way you think.”
And she kissed you again.
Minthara:
“By the gods, Minthara, what were you thinking?”
The words burst from your lips like a fireball, laced with exasperation, frustration, and just the tiniest bit of incredulity. You stood with your arms crossed, glaring at the drow before you, barely aware of the way your magic crackled and shimmered around you. It wasn’t unusual for your wild magic to act up in moments of heightened emotion, but you were too focused on your righteous anger to notice.
Minthara, ever composed, had the audacity to lift her chin, still maintaining that infuriatingly regal air. “I was thinking, my love, that my experience—”
“No. No, no, no, don’t you dare try to justify this!” You pointed at her, your finger sparking slightly with a rogue ember. “You walked into that hag’s lair without backup! Without me! And why? Because you ‘had it under control’? Minthara, she turned you into a squirrel!”
Minthara pursed her lips, her eye twitching slightly. “A temporary setback.”
“A humiliating setback,” you countered, throwing your arms in the air—unaware of the way golden sparks trailed from your fingertips. “And then I had to come in and fix it! Again! Just like last week when you thought you could intimidate a mindflayer into submission—”
“I nearly succeeded.”
“You did not! It tried to eat your brain!”
She opened her mouth to argue again, but you weren’t done. No, you were finally the one who was right, and you were going to bask in this rare moment of victory.
“I swear, Minthara, your ego causes you to have no sense of self-preservation! And then you tell me that I am reckless? That I am impulsive?” You let out a sharp laugh, magic crackling around you, the air growing thick with the scent of flowers. “You are infuriating! Stubborn, arrogant, foolhardy—”
Minthara tried to interject, but your magic flared again, sending a gust of wind that knocked over a nearby pile of scrolls. She sighed through her nose, already regretting her decision to let you rant uninterrupted.
“—And do not get me started on that ridiculous notion that you don’t need anyone’s help,” you continued, your wild magic shifting again, responding to the sheer intensity of your emotions. “Because guess what, Minthara? You do! You do need help! You do need me! And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, so help me, I will—”
You paused. Minthara had gone silent. Too silent. Your righteous fury momentarily faded as you blinked and looked at her properly—only to realize that she was no longer standing.
She was on the floor.
Bound.
And gagged.
By flowery vines.
You stared.
Minthara’s white-hot glare could have set you on fire. The vines wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides in an almost mocking embrace, while another curled delicately around her mouth, muffling any words she might have been trying to speak. Wildflowers bloomed along the bindings, soft and fragrant, an utterly ridiculous contrast to the absolute fury in Minthara’s eyes.
A slow, horrible realization dawned on you.
“…Oh.”
Minthara’s nostrils flared.
You winced, stepping forward as if that would somehow make up for this situation. “Um. How long have you—?”
A muffled snarl.
“Right. Okay. Uh. I might have gotten a little… carried away.”
Minthara arched a single, deadly brow. You pursed your lips, fighting the urge to laugh. You couldn’t laugh. That would make this so much worse.
“You look—”
A warning growl.
“—very dignified, actually.”
Minthara closed her eyes, as if calling upon the patience of every god she had ever rejected. You rubbed the back of your neck, shifting slightly.
“So… should I…?” You gestured vaguely to the vines.
Minthara’s golden eyes snapped open, filled with an icy promise of retribution.
“Right, right, I’ll fix it.”
With a flick of your fingers, you focused on dispelling the magic, watching as the vines loosened and slithered away, fading back into nothingness. Minthara immediately pushed herself up, brushing off imaginary dust as she straightened her armor. You took a cautious step back, suddenly less confident in your victory.
“So… no hard feelings?”
Minthara turned to you slowly, deliberately, her expression deadly.
“I must admit, my love.” She took a step forward, and you resisted the urge to take a step back. “I did not expect to be humiliated today, twice.” Another step. “And yet, here I am. Tied up. By flowers.”
Your lips twitched. “It was very aesthetic.”
Minthara inhaled sharply through her nose.
You cleared your throat, schooling your features into something apologetic. “But in my defense, I was right.”
Minthara’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.
“Yes,” she admitted. “For once.”
You smiled. “Glad we can agree—”
Minthara grabbed you by the collar, yanked you forward, and whispered in your ear, “Run.”
You blinked. Then, without hesitation, you ran. Her laughter—low and deliciously vengeful—followed close behind.
Lae'zel:
Lae’zel was winning. Again.
Your chest heaved, sweat slicking your skin, and your arms ached from parrying her relentless blows. She was relentless in every way—strong, fast, utterly brutal in combat. It was infuriating. Your magic crackled beneath your skin, simmering at the edges of your control, waiting for an opportunity to break free.
But you didn’t need it. You could win this sparring match without wild magic. At least, that’s what you told yourself—right before Lae’zel swept your legs out from under you with a single, infuriatingly graceful motion.
You hit the ground hard, groaning as you rolled onto your side, glaring up at her. Lae’zel stood over you, spear in hand, expression sharp with satisfaction.
“Yield,” she demanded, eyes burning with that arrogant certainty that she always had when she bested you.
You refused.
Instead, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, breath heavy, and lifted your hands. Lae’zel grinned, shifting into a defensive stance. She liked this, liked that you didn’t give up. But you were so tired of losing.
She lunged forward. You dodged—barely. Her spear grazed past your ribs, and the shock of the near-hit sent something surging through you, something electric. Your magic flared before you could stop it.
Lae’zel’s next strike never landed. Instead, the wind shifted violently around you, and your body blurred—one moment you were there, and the next you were behind her, your own momentum carrying you faster than you should have been able to move. Lae’zel snarled, spinning to face you, but you were already striking out, landing a solid hit against her side.
She stumbled. She never stumbled. Lae’zel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “You—”
You grinned. Lightning crackled at your fingertips as your wild magic lashed out again, this time turning the ground beneath her feet slick—not with water, not with ice, but with something unpredictable, something that sent her footing completely off balance.
She barely caught herself, growling, golden eyes narrowing. “You cheat!”
You laughed, full of reckless joy. “And?”
Lae’zel lunged again, and this time, you knew you had her. Your magic flared, pushing you just fast enough to evade her, just strong enough to flip her onto her back with a well-timed sweep of your leg. And then—finally—you pinned her.
Your body hovered over hers, hands braced on either side of her head, wild magic still crackling in the air around you—glowing embers and swirling wind, the scent of ozone thick between you both. You could feel the energy rolling off you, could see the way the world warped around your magic’s chaotic influence.
Lae’zel looked up at you, utterly unamused. “Well?”
You beamed.
Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “Are you pleased with yourself?”
You let out a breathless, triumphant laugh, still grinning down at her. “You have no idea.”
Lae’zel clicked her tongue, shifting beneath you, her expression a careful mask of irritation—but you could see it. The slight curl of her lips. The way her fingers twitched against the dirt, as if resisting the urge to drag you down and flip you over instead.
“You fight like a fool,” she muttered, voice lower now, quieter.
“And yet,” you teased, leaning just a little closer, “the fool won.”
She huffed. “Only because they cannot control their magic.”
“Or maybe,” you murmured, feeling your magic spark warm and golden between you, “you just underestimated me.”
Lae’zel scoffed, but there was something else behind it now—something that made your magic hum for an entirely different reason.
“You will spar with me again,” she declared. “Without your magic.”
You grinned, slowly pulling away, offering her a hand. “And if I win?”
Lae’zel took your hand, gripping it just tight enough to remind you of her strength as she pulled herself up. She leaned in, voice low and deliberate. “Then, perhaps, I will allow you to celebrate properly.”
Your wild magic sparked, sending a burst of shimmering light into the sky. Lae’zel smirked.
Shadowheart:
Shadowheart pressed a finger to her lips as the two of you stumbled down the darkened path toward camp.
"Quiet," she whispered, though the word was barely more than a giggle. You tried to nod solemnly, but the movement made the world tilt, and you ended up bracing yourself against her shoulder instead.
"I'm always quiet," you mumbled, completely oblivious to the fact that you had not been quiet all night.
Shadowheart snorted. "Liar."
The two of you had spent the evening at the local tavern, ignoring Lae’zel’s strict warnings about muscle development and alcohol consumption. In hindsight, maybe that had been a bad idea. Not because of the drinking itself—no, that had been fantastic—but because sneaking back into camp while absolutely inebriated was turning out to be significantly harder than anticipated.
Especially because your magic had other plans.
The first sign of trouble came when you stepped forward—and promptly teleported ten feet ahead.
Shadowheart yelped as she was suddenly left behind, and you barely managed to stay upright, wobbling dangerously as you turned back to her. "Oops."
Shadowheart stared. "What—?"
Before she could finish, another magic surge took hold, and suddenly, a cluster of faintly glowing bubbles floated up from your skin, drifting lazily into the air like some kind of drunken sorcery hiccup.
Shadowheart’s mouth opened, then closed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're going to get us caught."
"No, you’re going to get us caught," you shot back, even though it made absolutely no sense.
Shadowheart sighed and grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward. "Come on, before—"
A bright, multicolored spark exploded from your fingertips, arcing across the sky like a tiny firework. You both froze.
Shadowheart’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide with horror. "What was that?"
You gave a sheepish smile. "Uh… magic?"
"Why?"
"I—hic—don't know," you admitted. "It just does things sometimes."
Shadowheart groaned, rubbing her temples. "Lae’zel is going to murder us."
You tried to look serious, but then another hiccup escaped—and with it, the faint sound of tiny chimes.
Shadowheart exhaled sharply. "You are literally jingling."
You clamped your hands over your mouth in an attempt to stifle any further magical nonsense. It did not work. Instead, your magic decided to transform your hair into a shifting mass of glowing strands, like the aurora borealis.
Shadowheart just stared at it in awe and disbelief. You gave a weak chuckle. "At least it's pretty?"
"You are glowing," she hissed. "They are definitely going to see us now!"
Panicking, you tried to suppress the magic, to focus on keeping everything normal. But—unfortunately for you—the harder you tried, the worse it got.
Shadowheart gasped and shoved you behind a tree just as Astarion’s voice carried through the night. "Did someone light a bloody torch?"
Your heart pounded. You peeked around the tree, only to see Astarion squinting into the darkness, clearly suspicious. Shadowheart clamped a hand over your mouth. "If you make a sound, I will let Lae’zel have you."
You nodded rapidly, holding your breath.
For a moment, it seemed like Astarion was about to investigate further—but then, by some miracle (or sheer dumb luck), he shook his head and muttered something about not having enough sanity for this nonsense before walking back toward his tent.
You and Shadowheart stayed completely still. Then, slowly, she removed her hand from your mouth. You exhaled. "That was close."
Shadowheart glared at you. "If I get in trouble for this, I am blaming you entirely."
You grinned, grabbing her hand. "Fair. Now hurry up before—"
With one last, particularly unfortunate magic surge, the two of you vanished from the tree—only to reappear right in the center of camp, directly in front of Lae’zel.
She blinked. You blinked. Shadowheart swore violently.
Lae’zel crossed her arms, scowling. "I told you that alcohol ruins muscle development. You inebriated, reckless-"
You and Shadowheart exchanged a look. Then you both bolted in opposite directions.
Jaheira:
Jaheira walked a few steps ahead of you, the golden light of the late afternoon sun catching in the streaks of silver in her hair. She was effortlessly graceful, her movements as fluid as the wind rustling through the leaves. You, however, were slightly less composed—partially because you were trying (poorly) to be charming, and partially because your wild magic had other plans.
This was meant to be romantic. A peaceful stroll through the woods, away from camp, away from the chaos of battle, away from the many, many interruptions that came with traveling in a group. You wanted to impress her. You wanted to make her see that you weren’t just a reckless, chaotic spellcaster prone to magical mishaps—you were someone worth taking seriously.
Unfortunately, your magic had never been good at listening to what you wanted.
"So," Jaheira said, looking back at you with a raised brow. "You insisted on dragging me out here—what exactly was your plan?"
You flashed a grin, trying to exude confidence. "Well, I thought we could take a moment to enjoy the beauty of nature… and, you know, each other."
Jaheira hummed, amused. "Oh? Are you trying to woo me?"
You opened your mouth to respond—only for your words to be drowned out by the sudden, unmistakable sound of quacking.
You froze.
Jaheira blinked. "Was that a duck?"
You turned your head very slowly toward the source of the noise, only to find a small flock of ducks waddling through the underbrush, staring at you expectantly.
Jaheira followed your gaze, then turned her eyes back to you, suspicious. "Did you do that?"
"I—uh—" You swallowed, trying to play it off. "M-maybe it’s just… a very duck-heavy part of the woods?"
Jaheira folded her arms. "Is that so?"
As if to completely betray you, another surge of magic rippled outward—and suddenly, the ducks had tiny, shimmering capes sprouting from their backs. You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Damn it."
Jaheira let out a low chuckle, her amusement barely contained. "I see. So you have enchanted ducks now."
You sighed, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at regaining some dignity. "This wasn’t part of the plan."
Jaheira smirked, stepping closer. "I certainly hope not. Otherwise, I’d have to question your approach to romance."
Before you could answer, another magic surge flared up—this time with a sharp pop—and your clothes completely changed. Gone was your usual traveling attire. Instead, you were now wearing an elaborate, flowery ball gown, complete with a ridiculous amount of lace. Jaheira clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.
"Oh," she said, eyes glittering with delight. "That is quite the look for you."
You threw your hands up in exasperation. "I was going for charming rogue, not—whatever this is!"
Jaheira stepped back, pretending to appraise you like an art piece.
"Regal," she mused. "Elegant." Her smirk widened. "Utterly impractical for the woods."
"Jaheira," you groaned, fighting the blush threatening to creep up your neck.
She chuckled again, shaking her head. "You are truly something else."
You let out a long breath, finally giving up on controlling the situation. Instead, you turned to her, crossing your arms. "Well? Are you wooed yet?"
Jaheira tilted her head, as if actually considering it. "Mmm… I think I could be."
You perked up slightly. "Yeah?"
Jaheira leaned in just a little, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of herbs and earth on her skin. "If you kiss me before your magic teleports you into a tree."
Your heart definitely skipped a beat at that.
Not wasting a second, you surged forward and kissed her, pressing your lips firmly against hers. Jaheira responded in kind, one hand coming up to cup your face, the other resting lightly on your waist.
For a brief, blessed moment, there was no wild magic, no chaos—just the warmth of her lips, the steady strength of her presence, and the thrill of realizing that despite all of this ridiculousness, she still wanted you.
Then, of course—
Pop.
You disappeared.
And reappeared.
In a tree.
Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, looking up at you as you dangled from a branch in your ridiculous ball gown.
"Well," she said, hands on her hips. "That was predictable."
You groaned. "You are wooed, though, right?"
Jaheira shook her head, but there was undeniable fondness in her expression. "Yes," she admitted. "Unfortunately, I am."
Gale:
The fire flickered low in the camp, casting warm golden light over the both of you. Gale sat with his back hunched, staring into the embers as though they held all the answers in the world. His fingers were loosely curled, twitching slightly, as if resisting the urge to conjure something—anything—to distract himself from the weight pressing down on his shoulders.
You had seen him like this before. Pensive, lost in thought, burdened with the knowledge of what Mystra had tasked him with. But tonight, he looked particularly hollow.
You scooted closer, resting a hand over his. He barely reacted at first, lost in his own mind.
"You're thinking about it again," you murmured. He let out a slow, measured breath.
"I suppose I am," he admitted. His voice was softer than usual, devoid of its usual flair and wit. "It's a rather difficult thing to ignore. When a goddess tells you your death is necessary, it tends to linger in one's thoughts."
You squeezed his hand, shaking your head. "You know that's not going to happen, right?"
Gale gave you a ghost of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And you know that certainty is dangerous. What if it does? What if there is no other way?"
"Then I'll find one," you said fiercely. "I'm not letting you go, Gale."
He looked at you then, properly, and for the first time that night, his expression softened just a little.
"You have a habit of saying things with such conviction," he mused. "It makes me want to believe you."
"Good," you said, squeezing his hand again. "Because you should believe me."
And just as you thought, just as you felt the mood settling into something steady and warm—your magic decided to act up.
It started as a tingling in your fingertips. Then a low, crackling hum beneath your skin, creeping up your arms and down your spine like an untamed storm waiting to break free. You tried to ignore it. You really did. You were saying something important, this was not the time for a random surge of magic.
But your magic had never cared about timing.
There was a sudden, sharp poof!—and Gale let out a very undignified yelp as a bunch of conjured blueberries rained down upon his head and several plump berries rolled off his shoulders and onto the ground.
"Ah," Gale said slowly, picking one up between his fingers. "A… fruit-based outburst, this time?"
You cringed, rubbing your face. "Oh, come on."
But then—Gale chuckled. It was quiet at first, but it quickly turned into a full, warm laugh. The kind of laugh you hadn't heard from him in far too long.
"You must admit," he said between chuckles, plucking a blueberry from his lap and inspecting it as if it were an artifact, "your magic has a rather dramatic sense of humor, my love."
You exhaled, shaking your head but unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips. "I swear, it knows when I'm trying to be serious."
Gale smiled—properly this time. "Perhaps it simply knows you well." He held out the blueberry toward you, tilting his head. You huffed but accepted the offering, popping it into your mouth. Sweet. Tart. A little ridiculous. Much like the moment itself.
But it worked. Gale was smiling again. The weight in his eyes had lessened. Maybe your magic wasn't so bad after all.
Astarion:
It was a rare, golden afternoon—the kind of summer’s day where the warmth of the sun soaked into your bones, easing every ache and tension. The air smelled of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass, and the only sound was the lazy hum of insects and the occasional contented sigh from Astarion beside you.
You lay sprawled on a soft blanket, basking in the sunlight, your head tilted back as you soaked in the heat. Astarion was doing the same, his shirt discarded, his pale skin almost glowing in the light. He stretched languidly, a smug smile curling at his lips.
“I think I was made for this,” he mused, shifting slightly so he was propped up on one elbow, gazing at you through lidded eyes. “Lounging, basking, looking irresistible…” He ran a hand through his silvery curls with a self-satisfied sigh. “Yes, I could certainly get used to this.”
You chuckled, turning your face toward him. “You’re just enjoying not bursting into flames.”
“Well, yes, obviously. But also, look at me.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I am gorgeous in this lighting.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t exactly argue. He was gorgeous—always was, really, but there was something almost unfair about how the sunlight caught in his hair, how it made his usually pale skin look just the faintest bit warmer.
It was, in fact, the perfect moment. So, naturally, that’s when your magic decided to ruin it. The first sign was the chill against your skin.
Astarion blinked, then frowned, tilting his head toward the sky. “Darling, did you feel that? It just got—”
A fat, freezing-cold raindrop landed square on his forehead.
You winced. “Oh.”
Astarion’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, oh?”
You slowly turned your head, looking upward. A tiny, gray raincloud had materialized directly above you—no larger than a dinner plate, floating innocently against the otherwise perfect blue sky.
Astarion followed your gaze, eyes narrowing. “Are you kidding me?”
Another raindrop splattered against his bare chest. He screeched—a dramatic, offended sound—as if the heavens themselves had personally slighted him. You, meanwhile, tried very hard not to laugh.
“I swear,” he gritted out, sitting up and scowling at the little cloud, “your magic has a personal vendetta against me.”
“It’s not personal!” you protested. “It just… gets excited sometimes. Hard not to around you my love.”
“Flattery will not save you, my dear,” Astarion flicked damp hair from his forehead, thoroughly unimpressed. “Though, perhaps it could excite itself somewhere else.”
Before you could respond, the cloud trembled—and promptly doubled in size and a steady drizzle began to fall.
Astarion let out a highly offended gasp. “No. Absolutely not.”
You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but Astarion heard it. Slowly, he turned his glare on you.
“Are you laughing?” he accused, scandalized.
You shook your head furiously. “No! I would never—”
A sudden plop of water landed directly on the tip of Astarion’s nose. There was a moment of silence. Then, you lost it. You howled with laughter, clutching your stomach as you rolled onto your side. Astarion looked deeply unamused.
“I despise you,” he grumbled, running a hand down his soaked face.
“I’m so—pfft—sorry,” you wheezed, though you made absolutely no effort to stop laughing.
Astarion dramatically flopped back onto the blanket, arms spread as he stared at the sky in despair. “This is my eternity now. Soaked to the bone. Drowned in tragic irony. Oh, the suffering.”
The little cloud gave a tiny, happy rumble of thunder. You wiped at your eyes, trying to catch your breath.
“Okay, okay. I’ll fix it.” You held up your hands, closing your eyes in concentration. “I just need to—”
Your fingers sparked. Astarion sat bolt upright. “Wait—!”
With a loud whoosh, the cloud exploded. Instead of disappearing, however, it multiplied. Three more little storm clouds materialized above you, drifting in lazy circles. One gave an ominous rumble before releasing a tiny zap of static into the air.
Astarion yelped and scrambled away. “Oh, for the love of—”
You bit your lip, watching the clouds with a nervous chuckle. “Okay. That was… unexpected.”
Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, dearest, do you ever get tired of constantly defying logic and reason?”
You grinned at him. “Never.”
He gave you a long, long look. Then he sighed, moving to lie next to you. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“Owe you what?”
Astarion stretched, pulling you closer, now clearly enjoying your suffering. “A proper sunbathing day. Without your chaotic little curse ruining it.”
You grinned. “Deal.”
You both lay there for a while, the warm drizzle continuing to fall. And despite all his very dramatic complaints, you noticed Astarion didn’t actually move away. He stayed right there beside you, letting the warm summer rain kiss his skin, his hand eventually finding yours.
Maybe your magic wasn’t all bad.
Wyll:
It had been too long.
Between battles, group politics, and Wyll’s ever-present sense of duty, stolen moments had become few and far between. Every time the two of you had tried to sneak away, something had stopped you—camp business, emergencies, or someone just needing Wyll for something. It was infuriating. You loved him, but gods, the man was too beloved.
But tonight? Tonight, there was a window of opportunity.
Gale was deep in one of his long-winded magical lectures, Shadowheart was tending to her prayers, Lae’zel had gone off to sharpen her sword in solitude, and Karlach was keeping the others entertained with one of her enthusiastic stories. No one was paying attention.
So you grabbed Wyll by the wrist and all but dragged him into the privacy of a secluded tent. The moment the flap fell shut, Wyll let out a breathless chuckle. “Gods, darling, someone’s eager—”
You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You crashed your lips against his, hands already pulling at the laces of his tunic.
Wyll groaned into your mouth, hands finding your waist, pulling you in flush against him. “You really—mmh—don’t waste time, do you?”
“Not when we barely get a chance for this,” you muttered, tugging at his belt, desperate to rid him of the layers between you.
He laughed, but it was rough, needy. His hands roamed over your body, mapping out familiar curves and lines, fingers tugging at your own clothes with equal impatience. It was frantic, messy, all teeth and tongue and desperate hands fumbling to remove anything in the way.
And then—
The air crackled. You froze. Wyll did, too. A telltale shimmer of wild magic pulsed in the air around you, like static before a storm.
“Don’t,” Wyll said immediately, as you opened your mouth to acknowledge it. He cupped your face, pressing another desperate kiss against your lips. “Just try to ignore it my love.”
You wanted to. Oh, you really did. So you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, trying to drown in the feeling of him.
The magic had other plans. A sudden whoosh of wind swept through the tent, making the fabric ripple. Then, your fingers—your fingers in Wyll’s hair—began to spark. Wyll let out a startled grunt, pulling back just slightly. “Ow, love—”
“Ignore it,” you said quickly, mirroring his words, diving back in to kiss him. You both tried. You really tried.
But then Wyll’s levitated off the ground. You pulled back just in time to see him slowly, involuntarily, rising into the air. His eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh, no.”
You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh.
Wyll tried to glare at you but his own amused smile gave him away. “Don’t. Say. A word.”
You held up your hands innocently. “I—”
A sudden pop of magic sent a rain of flower petals cascading from the air. Wyll, now hovering midair, arms crossed, let out a long-suffering sigh as pink and white petals rained down on him. “…I do hate your magic's timing sometimes.”
That did it. You lost it.
Dissolving into laughter, you clutched your stomach, shaking your head. “I’m’m so sorry—”
“You are not sorry!" Wyll half laughed incredulously. He was right, you weren’t. Not at all.
But you were very.... frustrated. Wyll, still floating, looked down at you with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you able to, perhaps, undo whatever this is?”
You huffed, trying to reign in your magic, but it was lively tonight. “Maybe if I focus…”
You took a deep breath, concentrating. The magic shivered—and then, with an audible pop, Wyll dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
“Oof—!” He grunted as he hit the floor with a thud, sprawled on his back.
You winced. “Okay, so, uh. That worked.”
Wyll groaned. Then, slowly, he opened one eye, looking up at you. “…You owe me for this.”
You smirked, crawling on top of him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, straddling him. “Oh, I plan to make it up to you. Thoroughly.”
Halsin:
You hadn’t meant for it to turn into an argument. Really, you hadn’t.
But you couldn’t ignore the way Halsin’s shoulders tensed every time you passed through the city streets. The way his usual warmth dimmed ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered between the towering stone buildings and the struggling patches of green fighting to reclaim space.
And then there were his remarks. Always calm, always measured—too measured.
"The city suffocates the land, forcing nature into corners where it struggles to thrive."
"Civilization believes itself above the cycle, and yet it relies upon it more than it knows."
"It is a balance long since broken, though I still hope it may yet be mended."
Each time he spoke like that, with such a deep-seated melancholy in his voice, your heart clenched. Halsin put so much on his shoulders—he always had.
And he didn’t talk about it. Not really. So, naturally, you decided to push. Which led to the two of you standing in the middle of your shared tent, the flickering candlelight casting shadows against the fabric walls, you weren’t sure how things had escalated to this point.
Halsin stood opposite you, arms crossed over his broad chest, his brow furrowed. “I do not know why you insist on making this a debate.”
You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Halsin. I just—” You paused, searching his face. “I want you to talk to me. Really talk to me.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “What would you have me say?”
You gestured, exasperated. “I don’t know, maybe that it bothers you? That the sight of Baldur’s Gate makes you want to rip your hair out? That it hurts you to see nature reduced to nothing but parks and gardens?”
Halsin sighed, rubbing his temples. “You already know how I feel about the balance between civilization and nature.”
“Yes, but I want to hear how you feel about it. Not as a druid, not as the former Archdruid of Emerald Grove—but as Halsin.”
His expression flickered, something shifting behind his golden eyes, but then—
A sudden zap of static shot through the air. Halsin stiffened and you did too.
“Oh no,” you muttered. You barely had a second to react before a gust of wild magic whooshed through the tent, sending the candle sputtering and the blanket on your bed suddenly jumping to life, flopping onto the floor and wriggling like a fish out of water.
Halsin blinked. “…Is that meant to be happening?”
You put your head in your hands and took a deep breath in, willing the blanket to stop. The blanket gave one last twitch only to scuttle off to sulk in the corner.
You shook your head, refocusing. “Look, I’m serious about this, Halsin. You don’t always have to be the wise, collected druid, you know? You can be angry about this. You can be—”
Pop.
Your clothes disappeared. All of them.
You let out a choked sound as you realized you were now completely, entirely, naked. Halsin went rigid. His gaze immediately shot up to the ceiling, his ears turning bright red.
“…I see.” He cleared his throat, voice suddenly very strained. “A rather unfortunate surge of magic.”
Your face burned. “Oh for the love of—!”
You hastily grabbed at the nearest thing to cover yourself, which, unfortunately, was the cursed blanket that had been sulking. The moment you touched it, it wrapped itself around you like a desperate lover, squeezing tightly and pinning your arms to your sides.
Halsin made a strangled sound that might have been laughter. You gave him a look. “Not. A. Word.”
He coughed into his fist, though the corners of his lips definitely twitched. “I… understand.”
You sighed, struggling against the blanket’s clingy grasp. “Anyway—as I was saying—”
Another pulse of magic crackled through the air and Halsin suddenly shrunk. Like, literally.
One second, he was standing there, arms crossed, looking like he was barely restraining himself from laughing at your predicament. The next? He was barely a foot tall, his clothes now comically oversized and draping over him like a discarded cloak.
You both stared at each other in stunned silence.
“…Ah,” Halsin said, his voice now ridiculously tiny and squeaky.
That was it. That broke you.
You doubled over, nearly toppling onto the floor as you wheezed with laughter. “Oh—oh my gods—”
Halsin sighed, pinching the bridge of his now miniscule nose. “I am glad you find this amusing.”
Tears pricked your eyes as you tried—and failed—to control yourself. “Halsin. Love. My dear. My tiny bear—”
“Don’t,” he warned, in his high pitch voice. You wheezed harder, your entire body shaking with laughter.
Halsin exhaled through his nose, crossing his tiny arms. “If you are quite finished…”
You wiped at your eyes, still grinning. “Okay, okay. I’m done. Just—hold on, let me—” You focused, trying to reign in your magic, trying to fix this.
A shimmer of energy pulsed through the tent—
And then Halsin was big again. But, now he was completely naked, too. However, he did not care and merely put his hands on his hips.
"Must we really continue this argument? It is evident your magic believes we should be participating in other heated endeavours." Halsin proposed as he began to saunter over to you, that sly look in his eye. But you were resolute, you were going to get through to him.
"Yes, Halsin it is important for us to-" Whoosh! The blanket was gone in a gust of wind that forced you to stumble forward into Halsin's massive frame, your naked bodies now pressed flush together. You groaned and rested your forehead against his chest. "Fine, but we are talking about this afterwards."
Halsin smirked and kissed you roughly, he was going to ensure that this argument would be the last thing that was on your mind.
I took a mixed approach with this, a bit of fluff, a bit of angst, a bit of crack. It was super fun to write and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
During my old university days, I studied Media as part of my Drama degree. I was interested in film at the time, until they made us all sit through 2001 Space Odyssey. Absolute torture. Anyway, we studied a whole lot of Hitchcock also. I learned a great deal about the auteur, the male gaze and the 'McGuffin'. Stick with me reader, I am going somewhere I promise. In fiction, a MacGuffin (sometimes McGuffin) is an object, device, or event that is necessary to the plot and the motivation of the characters, but insignificant, unimportant, or irrelevant in itself. (Wikipedia) For example, in Pyscho the lead female character Marion Crane turns up to Bates Motel with a suitcase full of stolen cash. It ends up being irrelevant because that is not the main plot. Marion (spoiler) is stabbed to death by Norman Bates and the suitcase of money ends up in the lake with her car. That is her story over. A modern day McGuffin in my mind would be Dennis Nedry stealing dino DNA in Jurassic Park using a can of aftershave cream. The plot point is irrelevant, even though it causes the fences to shut down and chaos to ensue, the can is lost as Dennis is eaten by a Dilophosaurus and that is the end of that. The main narrative is elsewhere.
In university, I was fascinated with Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill. As a Buffy fan, I was almost ecstatic with joy to see another badass female lead slice her way to revenge and justice wearing a yellow, leather jump suit. It is an incredibly gory film, but I see it as a masterpiece of cinema. This is where I was made aware of the term - Chekhov's gun. "is a narrative principle emphasizing that every element in a story be necessary, while irrelevant elements should be removed. For example, if a gun features in a story, there must be a reason for it, such as being fired at some later point." Usually in film, the director will make a point of showing the object/device and it will come up repeatedly or later. In Kill Bill, there is The Bride's sword which is made and then shown later with her lopping off a hundred or so heads. In Kill Bill part 2, in a flashback to years earlier, Bill tells the young Bride of the legendary martial arts master Pai Mei and his Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, a death blow that Pai refuses to teach his students; properly used, the attack is reputed to leave an opponent able to take only five steps before dying. This is how (major spoiler) The Bride defeats Bill in the end. She was shown by Pai Mei. I could go on and on about how these devices are used in cinema and television, but you will be aware of them. In Bridgerton, we can see that Penelope's feather quills are Chevhov's gun, because they are representative of a secret that she is keeping that has indirectly and directly affected so many people. Lady Whistledown has massive plot implications.
So, ZG where are you going with this blog post? I have struggled with keeping my mouth shut these last few months and running things through in my mind. It is easier to just chat in my discord and much less hassle, but it also grinds my gears that us Lukola's feel the need to be underground. I want to be a voice of reason for the fandom and not be stifled. A few days ago, I was made aware of a picture. This picture had my eyes widening and my heart thudding, because it was confirmation to me that what I had suspected and read in my cards, was absolutely right. I have struggled in the past with even writing this down, because people get so mad. I am a mother of four. I have actually had six pregnancies. I have dealt with early miscarriage, gestational diabetes, premature labour the lot. I am an experienced mother now of many years and I recognise another mother when I see one. I do not take pregnancy and childbirth lightly. I know what I saw last year from Nicola and I stand by that. This has NOTHING to do with fat shaming or commenting on Nicola's body, which I NEVER have.
It is now up to the story narrative to play out and for us as an audience to find out whether the buggy/stroller in the picture that Nicola is pushing, is a McGuffin - irrelevant. I saw someone say it might be a doggy stroller. Sigh, sure Jan. Or she could be pushing her sister's baby around Dublin. It is possible, but why are all her friends there that particular weekend? Where is her sister? Why is Aimee there? Why was Louisa tagged in the photo? What was so special about that weekend? We have worked out from Louisa's clothes that the weekend was most likely the 5th April. Jake shared a photo with Louisa in a pub that Saturday and the clothes match. I will come back to Jake in a moment.
Or is the stroller Chekhov's gun? A massive plot point and integral to this whole damn narrative and why my friends, we have been dragged along on this bumpy ship navigating an endless storm, that has included missiles, hurricanes, a great white shark, shelves, anchovies, tiramisu etc. My question from a few blogs ago was, what are Nicola and Luke hiding in the attic? In my opinion, it is the stroller. As I said on X yesterday, if you see the picture but refuse to acknowledge at least the possibility of what that stroller means, then that's on you if a harsh truth is ever revealed.
The Jakeholes have been quiet about this. It almost makes me giggle. Nicola liked that post, so she is absolutely aware of it. It has been sitting on Instagram for two weeks literally like a smoking gun undetected until the Lukola FBI finally dug it up. Lets face facts here. Jakey boy was filming from April - June last year in Wales and Nottingham for What it feels like for a girl (I loved it by the way! It weas excellent). Nicola was on a massive six month press tour with her co-star Luke Newton. We all saw the way they looked at each other in Brazil. We are not blind or stupid. We don't have amnesia either. I can look at the live footage at a touch of a button. Us Lukola's do not have to manipulate footage of Jake from WIFLFAG, where he plays a male prostitute and pimp, with footage of Nicola from Big Mood, where she plays a woman with mental health problems, and mash it together to make it look romantic. Those edits are sickening. They are also pathetic because whereas we have actual footage from Bridgerton and in real life, the Jakolas have nothing. Even Tiff couldn't make the Cannes footage look romantic. He looked like Nicola's assistant and we caught Jake making horny eyes at a man in the pre-Bafta party. My point is, Jake was not around when Nicola likely became pregnant and I will quote someone in my discord, Jake hasn't seen a vagina since he came out of one.
I believe the person in Nicola's recent post is Luke. My very dear friend @pikanchidouble-blog has done excellent analysis on this over the weekend of the ear and thumb and I absolutely think it's Luke. If it was Jake, why not tag him? She's not been shy about tagging him before. The sweet treat is also Luke coded and the fact he loves Italian food. Jake is also at the moment busy shooting a film. Nicola has better things to do than sit alone in a hotel all day in Australia alone, waiting for him.
We are yet again back to waiting game. If that was Luke in the selfie, Nicola has made a massive step forward in showing an aspect of him. She has made strides in showing the stroller also. I love Nicola for this. There must be a reason that she has decided to show us this. It has to be part of the larger story.
So do we have a McGuffin on our hands, or Chekhov's gun? You decide. We wait.
Hinata woke up thinking it would be a normal day. Maybe some morning tea, a little training with Hanabi, then helping out at the hospital.
What she did not expect was for Shizune to show up at the Hyuga Compound with an official scroll bearing Tsunade’s seal.
"Lady Tsunade has assigned you a training partner for the next two weeks," Shizune informed her with a polite smile.
Hinata blinked. "A… training partner?"
"Yes." Shizune handed her the scroll. "Apparently, Sasuke Uchiha needs help refining his chakra control. Given your precise Byakugan techniques, Lady Tsunade believes you’d be the perfect sparring partner."
Hinata’s soul ascended. She read the scroll three times just to be sure it wasn’t some cruel prank by Naruto. But no—this was real.
Sasuke. Training. With her.
Hinata barely managed to nod before Shizune left. And once she was alone, she promptly buried her face in her hands.
Why. Why was this happening?!
-
Sasuke had also received a scroll that morning. He stared at it with his usual deadpan expression before sighing.
"Tsunade really has too much free time," he muttered.
Regardless, he showed up at the designated training ground, only to find Hinata already there, nervously fidgeting.
He exhaled sharply. "You don’t have to look so terrified."
Hinata immediately straightened. "S-Sorry! I just… didn’t expect this."
"Neither did I," Sasuke muttered under his breath.
There was an awkward silence before Hinata clasped her hands together. "Um! Lady Tsunade mentioned we’ll be working on chakra control. You specialize in fire techniques, so I thought maybe… we could try adjusting the chakra flow in your hands for more precise control?"
Sasuke tilted his head slightly. Hn. Not a bad idea.
"Alright. Show me."
Hinata nodded, stepping closer. She gently took his hand.
And that was when things went downhill.
Now, Hinata had held hands before. She had sparred with plenty of people. This shouldn’t be a big deal.
But this was Sasuke Uchiha—Konoha’s broodiest, most intimidating, and currently most rumored love interest.
And the moment her fingers brushed against his palm, she felt every muscle in his body tense.
Sasuke, to his credit, didn’t pull away. But he did go rigid, staring at their joined hands like she had just handed him a live explosive tag.
Hinata tried to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. "I-I need to adjust the way your chakra circulates through your hands. Um, if that’s okay?"
Sasuke made a noise of acknowledgement. It was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.
Hinata took that as permission and activated her Byakugan, focusing entirely on his chakra flow.
It was intense. His chakra was raw, powerful, and difficult to control—like an untamed storm. She carefully pressed her fingers against his wrist, guiding the flow to smoothen out.
Sasuke didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted slightly, as if he could actually feel the difference. "Hn. Not bad."
Hinata smiled. "Good! Now if we just—"
BOOM.
A giant dust cloud exploded beside them, and suddenly, they were not alone.
"AH-HA! I KNEW IT!"
Hinata jumped nearly five feet in the air. Sasuke, on the other hand, clenched his fists, already sensing the absolute stupidity that had arrived.
Emerging from the trees were Naruto, Sakura, Ino, Kiba, Shikamaru, and Sai.
Kiba was grinning like a madman. "DID WE JUST WALK IN ON YOU TWO HOLDING HANDS?!"
Hinata wanted to die. "I-It’s training!"
Ino, ever the dramatic one, gasped. "Oh my god, is this a secret romance?!"
Sakura, meanwhile, looked like she was going through all five stages of grief. "Sasuke… I…"
Sasuke rubbed his temples. "Why are you all here."
Naruto cackled. "Well, funny story! We might have overheard Shizune talking about your training session, and Kiba bet me ramen that you two were up to something interesting."
"AND I WAS RIGHT!" Kiba howled.
Shikamaru sighed, looking tired already. "You guys are so troublesome."
Sai, as usual, had no filter. "Ah, so this is how physical intimacy begins. I see. Should I take notes?"
"Sai, shut up."
Hinata was on the verge of a meltdown.
Sasuke, done with everyone, shot a very visible Chidori spark at Naruto’s feet.
"OW—OI! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"
"For existing."
Sasuke turned to Hinata, completely ignoring their ridiculous audience. "We’re leaving."
Hinata blinked. "W-We are?"
"Yes. Before these idiots find a way to ruin this more than they already have."
And with that, he grabbed her wrist (to more gasps from Ino), activated his Sharingan (to more panicked yells from Kiba), and body flickered out of there.
-
Hinata sat on a grassy hill with Sasuke, both catching their breath.
"…Sorry about that," she said sheepishly.
Sasuke sighed, rubbing his temples. "You have nothing to apologize for. It’s those fools who can’t mind their own business."
Hinata giggled. "They mean well."
Sasuke rolled his eyes. "That’s the problem."
Another comfortable silence fell between them.
"Um… thank you for training with me," Hinata said softly.
Sasuke glanced at her, then gave a short nod. "Hn. You’re not bad."
For Sasuke, that was basically a high-level compliment. Hinata smiled. Maybe this training wouldn’t be so bad after all.
-
Naruto, still recovering from Sasuke’s murder attempt, groaned. "Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…"
Ino was still freaking out. "I CAN’T BELIEVE HE GRABBED HER HAND LIKE THAT."
Sakura sat in absolute silence, staring at nothing. "Is this how I die?"
Kiba, now significantly richer from his bet, snickered. "Man, this is the best day ever."
Shikamaru sighed. "This is only going to get worse, isn’t it?"
Sai smiled in a way that was deeply unsettling. "This is fascinating. I look forward to observing further developments."
Suguru is enjoying a relaxing evening on the couch when his peace and quiet is being rudely interrupted by Satoru marching into the room as if it’s his.
“You used the wrong door,” Suguru mildly says without looking away from the TV but of course Satoru is not derailed by that.
“Suguru! What are we doing?” he asks, flopping down on the couch, his long limbs immediately sprawled out in every direction which unfortunately means his legs end up on Suguru’s lap.
“I was enjoying a rare night off,” he pointedly says, but of course Satoru doesn’t pick up on the hint.
“If you’re free, let’s spend it together.”
Suguru sighs. This is exactly what he didn’t want to do. Every once in a while he needs a short break from Satoru, if only to reset his aching heart. He loves Satoru just a little bit too much to easily endure all the physical contact Satoru bestows him with and it always goes to his head just a little bit when Satoru’s entire focus is on him.
Just like it is right now. Satoru might still be wearing his glasses, but Suguru can tell that his eyes are fixed on him and he doubts it has much to do with Satoru’s innate technique.
“How about, and here me out here, we spend one evening alone. Just one. Just for tonight,” he tries and immediately knows it won’t have any effect.
“Why, you’ve got a date?” Satoru asks him as if Suguru could ever go out and look for anyone else when Satoru is right there and holding his entire being in the palm of his hand.
“No.”
“Then I don’t see the issue,” Satoru pouts and Suguru sighs.
“Of course you don’t,” he whispers and chides himself when his traitorous hand wraps around Satoru’s ankle, keeping his legs exactly where they are. “Fine, stay, then. But we’re watching what I want to, tonight,” Suguru says, louder this time and fights the urge to smother Satoru in kisses when he beams at him.
Suguru doesn’t even know why he even still tries, it’s not as if he can ever say no to Satoru anyway.
“Fine by me, as long as we do it together,” Satoru says as if watching TV alone would kill him. “What are we watching, though?” he then asks, squinting at the screen.
“Carnival in Brazil,” Suguru shortly gives back, unwilling to admit that he was mindlessly clicking through the programs, unable to settle on anything because not having Satoru there to trash talk any of these programs killed the entire point of watching TV in the first place for him.
Satoru’s ego is already big enough; he really doesn’t need to know that. And it’s way too close to a confession for Suguru’s comfort.
“Huh,” Satoru hums and wriggles himself deeper into the couch, clearly content to watch whatever. His legs stay in Suguru’s lap, though, and not only because Suguru still has his hand wrapped around them. Satoru doesn’t even try to move them and Suguru hates to admit just how much he likes that.
“What’s the big deal with that anyway?” Satoru mutters after five minutes. “It seems like such a pain.”
“It probably would be, for you,” Suguru agrees because the Six Eyes are straining enough as is on Satoru; a huge festival like that would probably make his head explode with pain in mere seconds. Or maybe his brain would melt with all the information he had to take in.
Either way, Suguru would be in no rush to drag him to something like that even though—
“You’re kind of missing out though,” he muses. “Maybe not on that particular one, but generally there are a lot of sweets being thrown around with things like that. You would have enjoyed that.”
“I’m not a kid, Suguru,” Satoru snaps back, so clearly he knows what Suguru is talking about and Suguru squeezes his ankle.
“Never said you were,” he shoots back. “Carnivals are for everyone. You could even still go as an adult without it being too weird.”
“How is that not weird?” Satoru mutters and Suguru shrugs.
“I think it involves more alcohol then.”
“Bah,” Satoru says with feeling and Suguru laughs.
It’s always kind of funny just how much Satoru hates alcohol, though it makes Suguru wonder if he ever tried the overly sweet cocktails. They seem right up Satoru’s alley, apart from the alcohol.
“Couldn’t even have gone as a kid,” Satoru goes on eventually. “Ignoring the fact that my family would have never let me go, I only started to eat sweets when I was no longer a kid.”
“You mean you were not born with a sweet in your mouth?” Suguru gasps in mock surprise and Satoru digs his heel into Suguru’s thigh.
“Rude.” Suguru squeezes Satoru’s ankle in turn. “Why did you start to eat your bodyweight in sweets anyway?”
“Cause my lessons bored me and I found that sugar helped with stimulating my brain.”
“But you were no longer a kid? So you started with nine, then?” Suguru deadpans because he knows how incredibly easy anything school related comes to Satoru.
And going by the way he sticks his tongue out at Suguru, he didn’t mature much since then. Maybe the sugar stunted his mental growth; it would explain a lot, Suguru muses.
“I was eight, actually,” Satoru admits then and even though Suguru wants to make a joke about that, the words die on his tongue.
He sometimes forgets what an incredibly lonely and fucked up childhood Satoru must have had and even though it hurts Suguru to hear about it, he always clings to these information. Satoru doesn’t often speak about his childhood.
“And already bored?”
“I think I was born bored,” Satoru quips and then shrugs. “Didn’t change until I got here.”
Now that is new information to Suguru because Satoru complains about being bored every other hour.
“How can you even say that when you whine my ear off about being bored out of your mind all the time?” Suguru asks and pokes Satoru’s thigh.
“Hey, hey, stop that,” Satoru gets out, trying to squirm away from Suguru but his hold on Satoru’s ankles is relentless and so there’s nowhere for him to go.
Suguru does take note of the fact that even now Satoru doesn’t activate Infinity, and his heart swells in his chest.
“It’s the truth, though,” Satoru pants out when Suguru finally stops assaulting him.
“What changed then? You still have lessons here and you’re still miles ahead of all of us. I mean, it’s good that you’re no longer bored, but how?” Suguru asks and then freezes when Satoru stares at him over the rim of his glasses.
“Because you’re here,” he says easily, as if it doesn’t cost him anything to say that, as if it doesn’t mean the world to Suguru. “I could never be bored with you around.”
Suguru’s mouth drops open, because it’s so close to what he truly wants to hear—so close in fact, that he thinks he might have a chance after all.
His mind is whirring and he hopes Satoru doesn’t notice how his hands sweat but by the time Suguru is in control over his mouth again, Satoru has already turned back to the TV.
Suguru sits in silence for a few more moments before he speaks again.
“If you’re no longer bored, and you only started to eat sweets to stave that off anyway, then why do we always have to go for something to eat after a mission?” he asks, because that is actually puzzling with everything else Satoru just revealed.
“What, I can’t crave a little bit of comfort after a mission? I did develop a sweet tooth, so even though I’m not dependant on sugar for entertainment, I crave it nonetheless.”
Something doesn’t add up here. Suguru frowns.
“But why always be so goddamn insistent? I know you have a stash of sweets in your room. You could just eat there.”
Satoru lets out a deep sigh.
“You really need me to spell it out for you, huh?” he then mutters and sits up, bringing his face close to Suguru’s.
“An explanation would be nice,” Suguru agrees faintly, though it’s hard to concentrate with Satoru this close to him.
“It’s because of you.”
“Huh?”
“You feel sick after missions, after swallowing curses. So we go out for something sweet to chase that feeling away.”
Suguru blinks at him.
He has never mentioned to anyone just how vile curses taste, how they rest heavy and disgusting in his stomach for days sometimes, how it makes it hard to eat something, anything. He also never mentioned to Satoru that it helps when they go out for something sweet immediately after a mission.
“How do you—“
“Please, Suguru, I know you. Of course I noticed.”
This makes three, Suguru faintly thinks; three times just in the last hour that Satoru has given him the feeling that maybe he’s not alone in this. And maybe it’s time for him to do something about it.
“But have you noticed this?” Suguru asks, and finally takes his hand away from Satoru’s leg, but only so he can take his glasses off. “I’m in love with you,” he simply says once Satoru’s piercing gaze is on him and even though there are butterflies in his stomach, he’s almost not nervous at all.
This is Satoru after all.
The way Satoru splutters at his words give Suguru his answer and it’s so Satoru to notice all these small things about Suguru and not notice the big metaphorical elephant in the room.
“Since when?” he finally wheezes out and Suguru smiles at him.
“Since always,” he easily says, because it certainly feels like it. He hardly can remember who he was before he loved Satoru.
“That’s just—how could I have not noticed that?”
“Good question,” Suguru gives back and then slightly tilts his head. “This doesn’t let me know if you feel the same, though,” he then says, even though he’s reasonably sure about Satoru’s feelings because the red colour in his face alone gives him away.
“Well, I basically just confessed twice to you, so take an educated guess,” Satoru huffs out but Suguru corrects him.
“Three times, actually.” He only elaborates when Satoru raises an eyebrow in question. “You didn’t turn on Infinity when I poked you.”
“Infinity is always on, you just don’t register for it,” Satoru informs him, as if Suguru could love him any more than he already does.
“Four times, now,” he whispers and leans in to brush their lips together. “I have some catching up to do.”
“You literally make my existence worth it, how much more do you want to catch up?” Satoru whines out, tangling his fingers in Suguru’s hair and pulling him in for a kiss again.
He doesn’t give Suguru a chance to say anything to his declaration and Suguru thinks that might be for the best because what does one even say to that?
So instead of finding words to express just how much he loves Satoru he vows to press his love into every inch of Satoru’s body and he’s going to get started right now. And with the way Satoru clings to him it doesn’t seem as if he has any complaints about that.
Also, there will be a double update this Valentine's Day as well as next weekend... Yeah, you heard correctly-
Teach Me Tonight will finish updating next Sunday!!!
For now, enjoy a snippet from the next chapter-
He checks his watch which reads 7:10. He grabs his stuff, and heads to his car to stash it. He comes back and passes the time on his phone. He checks to see the text Amir sent him- Great meeting you today. It was excellent- the first draft. Hopefully, with the Christmas break, you can finish the changes and we can have a Summer pub date for the book. Jess sighs; in many ways, he’s glad to have made this career change, because if anything, he’s loved being a teacher for the past few months. Not to say, that there were other benefits, such as...
And then he hears Rory’s room door open, and he chuckles and says as he turns to face her, “You know, Gilmore, I have to say-”
And he stops short upon seeing Rory. And it’s as if Uma Thurman’s The Bride has hit him with the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique.
Because Rory is... transcendent. She is dressed in a flowing shiny black gown with a V-neck with illusionary see-through satin sleeves. Her dress has a slit and Jess can see her left thigh so easily from where he stands and her high heels which looks too sexy than what she usually wears when she’s at work. Her hair is tied up in a neat bun with a silver hairclip and her bangs combed to the side. But it’s her lips which has a pale pink hue and eyes streaked with a little mascara which bring out the cobalt blue of her irises that has Jess swooning. He meets her eyes after what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few seconds, and there’s something in the way she’s looking back at him that has him suppressing a shiver – heated, surprised, pleased. God, he’s sure he’s looking back at her in almost the same way. “Hey,” she says after a beat, clearing her throat. “You, uh, you clean up pretty nice.”
“Yeah,” Jess says, feeling himself almost shrink as he exhales. “You…I mean….” He pauses, sighing, the sound wistful and hopeful all at once. “You look beautiful.” The stark, honest words, spoken with a voice that is low and almost raspy, filled with heady cocktail of emotion that is impossible to suppress, are like a shock to the system. He’s suddenly very aware that the two of them are completely alone and standing here like this, dressed like it’s a romantic night out and it takes everything he has to keep from leaning in to kiss her, to coat himself in the taste of her, the feel of her, until their mouths are swollen and glistening, his lips as red as hers.
Rory blushes under the weight of the compliment and she looks down, demure but smiling. “Thank you,” she says. She sighs, breathing out a light laugh. “C’mon, let’s drop off our things at the concierge and then head in to supervise the dance.”
Right, the dance. “Yes, sounds good,” Jess says after clearing his throat. “Lead the way, partner.”
this might seem weird but uh could i get an annie leonhart x reader— where like should i put a spoiler on this? uh aot spoilers ig but like she won’t hurt reader kind of thing like she refuses and actually like protects her when in titan form, i dunno maybe that’s weird but just an idea
first aot request omg im so excited!!!! this contains season 1 spoilers only!!! thank you for requesting, and i hope you enjoy, my love <333
warnings; descriptions of blood and death. angst. so much angst.
━ as the second red smoke signal fires into the air from your right, your heart sinks into your stomach. the feeling that’s settled deep in your bones isn’t unusual, considering the threat and danger the expedition poses in itself, but it’s incredibly unwelcome. you feel unsteady, a large contrast to the horse whose reigns you grip tight, white-knuckled. you inhale — the dirt gathering from the horses’ hooves, the scent of wet grass, and distant, faint smell of blood rest on the bridge of your noise — and you grasp the breath tightly within your lungs, counting down the seconds from ten, grounding yourself, and then you exhale. if you die on this battlefield today, then you can only hope your corpse is another setting stone towards the truth.
your thoughts are interrupted when a thud silences your heartbeat for a split second too long, and then it repeats. it’s building up slow, and you recognize it — how could you not? — as easily as you would identify the sound of your fellow comrades’ footsteps. the thuds steadily increase in volume and speed, and it’s closer, too close, it’s right behind you, you’re going to die —
the sun disappears for a moment, shaded by the large figure of the titan that barricades through your formation, separating the five of you apart momentarily as you avoid being crushed beneath its feet, and forcing the tilt of your head back, then to the side, eyeing its figure. it’s large, larger than any titan you’d faced, let alone killed, obviously faster and much stronger, just by the quick observation of its physique, and it’s distinctly female.
more importantly, however, it’s completely ignoring you.
huh. an abnormal?
the other members of your squad seem to have skimmed over that important detail, and instead of avoiding it, they convince themselves it’s their solitary duty to eliminate it. before you could react in any way, a hoarse cry of a warning — wait! it’s not... — completely ignored, three of them leap from their horses, odm gear attaching to the titan’s limbs, blades sharply prepared.
it’s almost as if the titan is prepared for it.
she grabs at the wires, tangling two of them together, before two of your companions land in her large fists, and she crushes them with ease. blood sprays across her body, staining her hands, and you watch with horrified eyes as whatever pieces are left of them falls to the ground. the other two soldiers, fueled by anger and frustration, charge at her with the same ferocity, any technique or plan abandoned, minds clouded with the remnants of their fellow comrades decaying frames.
and just as easily, they fall victim to her.
during the commotion, you’d landed off your horse, onto the soft grass beneath you. the horse neighs, despite your desperate attempts to calm it down and steady, and flees, leaving you deserted, with nothing but the corpses of your fellow soldiers and the one to blame for their demise. you’re not sure why you’re not filled to the brim with as much anger as them, why your blades aren’t in your fists, and you’re not charging at her as blindly and as cruelly as you can muster. maybe you’re in shock, maybe you’re drowning in guilt — if you’d been faster at warning them, four deaths would’ve been easily avoided, they would still be here, with you, but you’re all alone. alone, in unknown land. unknown, and very dangerous land.
your thumps loudly in your chest, mirroring your erratic breathing. the sun is too bright, worsening the gradual warm up of your body. you feel bothered, suffocated and overwhelmed. it’s not supposed to be this way. how did it all happen so quick? what good of a soldier were you if you weren’t able to react quickly, quickly enough to save your people?
the sun is hidden again. you feel cooler, the shade eliminating one threat towards your body. when something heavy rests on your head, you’re reminded awfully of the actual, real threat. your head lolls back, body trembling pathetically and eyes wide and watery. she’s kneeling by you, your head resting between her thumb and index finger, and you think to yourself that this is really how it ends, your head crushed between a massive titan’s fingers, gone as quickly as the blink of an eye.
and then you look into her eyes, and your heart sinks for the millionth time that day.
the days that pass by after are a blur, a shocking blur. your brain and body aren’t responding accurately to each other, their reactions off. the information that you’re fed is overwhelming, but you don’t process it properly enough for the effect to linger long enough.
all you remember hearing is annie, annie, annie.
you want to scream.
somehow, amidst it all, a plan is formulated, and on a sunny morning, much like the one a few days past, you find yourself within wall sina, specifically, the stohess district. you’re not entirely sure why you walk by the most essential people of the plan, ranging from eren to mikasa to armin, but it had been some theory armin had thought up, and having trained with him, you’ve learned better than to trust his judgement. and with the four of you, is annie.
annie, what have you done?
annie, is this real?
annie, lie to me. please.
you’re staring up at her from the lowest steps of a staircase leading to a tunnel, and her eyes — her eyes look so familiar like this, bright and blue and shining and beautiful and familiar.
annie, with her beautiful blue eyes.
you distinctly hear yourself plead for her to follow you down — annie please, please come with me — and you barely recognize the falter in her movements as she registers your voice, as she meets your eyes.
annie, with her strong hands, picking you up always.
the world shifts. it explodes around you, and it falls apart. slowly, you feel yourself pick apart at the seams, drifting away from yourself as you watch her emerge from the suffocating cloud of smoke. you feel a tug at your arm, but you can’t, you can’t. you’re rooted in your place, watching as she swings her arms and knocks away the attackers as if they were mere nuisances.
annie, with her stupid desire to always be alone.
— i want to be with you, i want to love you, annie, let me love you, annie, please, let my love you —
you’re lifted, too gently. it feels the same way you’d imagined flying through the clouds would be, with your body a little too light, your head a little fuzzy, with the blue enveloping you a warm blanket. except the blue is not the sky, it’s her, her, her.
she holds you in her palm, and you stand, your hand outstretching towards her. you have seconds; you can hear the time ticking by you, almost in a mocking manner, and when your hand rests upon her cheek, she blinks slowly, and her eyes read i’m sorry.
annie, with her beautiful blue eyes.
annie, with her heart too big.
annie, who you loved till you couldn’t breathe no longer.
this time, your heart doesn’t sink. it simply breaks.
end note; so fitting that i start off writing for aot with an angst one shot
Harry’s shrill screams filled the house once more. She groaned and collapsed back onto her pillow. The baby had been so lovely for the first few weeks of his life, but at one-month-old, all hell broke loose. Almost nothing made him happy. Not his soft blue blanket, not the mobile of quidditch players flying on brooms that hung above his crib (a gift from Uncle Sirius), and certainly not his sweet, well-meaning father. Nothing, it seemed, but her own soothing touch.
“James,” She grunted, face-down on her pillow, “it’s your turn.”
There was no answer.
Lily stilled. It wasn’t like James to ignore his fatherly duties, even at 3 o’clock in the morning. With her face still pressed into her pillow, Lily stretched out her left arm and felt for James next to her. She met only covers. Cold covers.
Lily sat bolt upright. “James?” She called, trying to keep the panic at bay. Where had James gone? He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the house, ever. Dumbledore had been very clear about the rules of the protective charms that guarded their cottage. No venturing beyond the far gate, not even with the invisibility cloak.
She swung her legs off the side of the bed and grabbed her robe. No, James was surely just downstairs. Perhaps he had woken up for a glass of water and fallen asleep on the couch again. She hurried past the door to their bedroom, trying not to feel guilty that her child was still screaming bloody murder in the other room. James’ disappearance was more pressing at that moment. She had just reached the top landing when she heard soft whispers from Harry’s room.
Lily let out a deep sigh of relief. She was being stupid. Of course, James was with Harry. She padded down the hallway and leaned against the nursery’s doorway.
The light from Harry’s yellow nightlight outlined James’ profile. He was hunched over in the blue rocking chair, frantically attempting to rock the squirming child back to sleep. “Shhh,” he hushed desperately, swinging Harry from side to side, “it’s alright, Dada’s here, please go back to sleep. I’ll give you five galleons if you stop crying.”
Lily snorted. “James,” she said softly so that she wouldn’t startle her sleep-deprived boyfriend, “you can’t bribe a baby into going back to sleep.”
“Watch me,” James muttered as Harry screamed again.
Lily frowned. She could hear the stress in James’ voice. She walked toward him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Hey,” she whispered, “are you okay?”
“Do I look bloody okay?” he said distractedly. Harry’s shrieks had grown so ferocious she worried his head would explode with the effort. “He won’t stop crying. I’ve tried everything. I tried Padfoot,” he motioned to the black stuffed-dog that lay abandoned next to the rocking chair (a gift from Uncle Remus), “and the blanket and that swaddling technique Molly told you about, and nothing’s working. He hates me. He only wants you.”
“You know that isn’t true.” She tried to sound reaffirming, but she knew how futile her words were.
James rounded on her. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull. He searched her face as if the answer to silence his son was etched upon it. “Here.” He held the baby out to her. Harry’s face was bright red and covered in tears. “Take him. He’ll calm down when he gets away from his useless dad.”
She hesitated. On the one hand, she knew how it would look to James if their son stopped screaming as soon as he was safely in her arms. On the other, the cries were starting to make her head ache. She gingerly accepted the child, bounced him softly a few times, and whispered, “Hello, sweetheart, Mumma’s here.”
Harry immediately stopped crying. His breathing slowed, and he reached a tiny hand up to grab a strand of her hair. Lily used all her remaining strength not to smile too hard at this display. She could feel James’ disappointment hanging thick in the air between them. Then, to her horror, James burst into tears.
“Oh, not you too, love,” she sunk to her knees in front of James, clutching Harry to her chest, “we’ve just got him to rest. It’s going to be alright.”
“I’m s-s-sorry,” James buried his face in his hands, “I’m just exhausted. I just want him to want me too, you know?”
“I do,” she rested her hand on James’ knee and squeezed gently, “he does want you, James. He’s just a baby, he doesn’t know what he needs.”
James wiped his eyes with his t-shirt, his chest heaving as he tried to slow his breaths. “I know. It’s stupid, really.”
“It’s not stupid,” she said fiercely, “right now he’s driven only by instinct. For some reason, he likes my smell or my voice or whatever it is, but someday he’s going to be bloody obsessed with you.”
James lifted his bloodshot eyes to her. “Yeah?”
“Are you kidding?” She grinned, and cupped his cheek in her free hand, “Gryffindor quidditch champion Chaser? Best prankster Hogwarts has ever seen? Soldier on the front lines of The Order? You’ll be his hero.”
James scoffed. “Yeah. Less of a hero these days, though.”
“Stop it,” she gripped his leg tighter, “that isn’t your fault.”
He sighed. “I know. I just feel so cooped up here. And you have Harry and he has you, and I just want to be useful too. I can see how tired he makes you, but I can’t even stop him crying in the dead of night.”
Lily smiled softly. “You are useful, James. You’re my sunshine.” He laughed at the reference to an old muggle song she’d taught him to sing to the baby. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. Here,” she stood up and handed the bundle of blankets to James, “he’s not crying now, let him fall asleep in your arms.”
“Lily, no,” James scrambled away from her, “don’t, he’ll just scream again.”
“He won’t!” She pressed the baby into his arms more insistently, “Come on, let him fall back to sleep, and then we can finally get some sleep of our own.”
James looked at her uneasily, but finally relented and accepted his son. Harry stirred as he settled into James’ chest. James froze, clearly afraid to provoke the baby, but Harry just snuffled softly. After a few quiet minutes, he was fast asleep.
James beamed up at Lily. “Holy shit, I did it!” he whispered excitedly, “I’m an amazing dad!”
“Yes,” Lily breathed, “but I don’t think amazing dads say the s-word in front of their newborns. Come on, let’s put him down and get to bed.”
“Nah, you go,” James gazed down at his son, beaming stupidly down at him, “I’m going to sit with him a bit. Remind him that he’s got a kick-butt dad in addition to a wonderful mum.”
Lily rubbed James’ back soothingly. “Fair enough. Just don’t stay up too late, yeah? There’ll be plenty more baby duty when the sun comes up.”
“Aye aye, captain.” James grinned, then caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Get some sleep.”
She nodded, then turned her back on the peaceful pair. She paused in the hall just outside the nursery door. Could hear James singing under his breath.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.”
James sang the last phrase slowly, his voice wavering slightly. She pressed a hand into her mouth so that James would not hear the desperate sob that escaped her. It was moments like this where she realized how much they had to lose.
