#how gale is caught up in the weave and how the weave is the world and how. mystra plays into this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mooshywrites · 3 months

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If requests are still open: may we have hcs about how the bg3 boys react to bard!Tav serenading them? I just think it would be so cute

A/N ~ I love this idea so much, I just know it deserves frantic bard writing ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Serenade

Gn!Reader x BG3 men

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Astarion ~

Astarion thought bards were utterly useless until he met you. He had never put that much stock into music either. But the day you sat in front of the campfire with him, plucking your lute to all of the songs you knew, his heart melted.

As the soft melody of your voice filled the air, Astarion found himself captivated by the enchanting sound. His skeptical gaze softened, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and wonder. The flickering flames of the campfire danced to the rhythm of your fingertips, casting mystical shadows upon the surrounding trees.

Lost in the embrace of your music, Astarion closed his eyes and let himself drive sea. Your voice, like silk, wove together tales of love and heroism. With each note that danced upon the night breeze, he felt a newfound appreciation for the artistry that had eluded him for so long.

Unbeknownst to you, Astarion’s icy exterior began to slowly thaw beneath the warmth of your melodic gift. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities long buried within.

As the lullaby reached a gentle conclusion, a momentary silence settled over the campsite. Astarion opened his he’s, finding himself gazing into the depths of your own. In that instant, he saw a reflection of his own longings and desires. The connection between you, forged through the simplicity of this moment, was as delicate as a spiders web.

Without breaking eye contact, the pale elf reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. In that simple touch, a current passed between you, a sliver of magic that pulsed through your veins.

Wordlessly, Astarion leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed to a standstill as the world around you faded into insignificance. The flickering flames cast their golden glow hook. Your faces, illuminating the unspoken words hanging in the air.

And then, with a emotion in his voice that you had never heard before, Astarion whispered,

“Play for me again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Gale ~

Gale always knew there was a magical quality to music. He saw you as a mirror image of himself, being hopelessly in love with a type of magic that would never love you back with the same intensity.

Though he’d never admit it to you, he silently hoped every evening that you would unwind by playing a song. As dusk began to fall, the sunset painting strokes of red and gold, today’s hope was no different.

You sat by the edge of your tent, your fingers absentmindedly plucking at your lyre as you tried to think of a song to sing. You caught Gale’s eye and smiled, his gaze finally giving you inspiration to play.

Your fingers began to dance effortlessly across the strings of the lyre, coaxing out a gentle melody that floated on the evening breeze. The magic of your music filled the air, intertwining with the vibrant colors of the sunset as they painted the sky. Gale watched enraptured, his eyes never leaving you.

As Gale watched on, the wizard felt a deep longing stir within him, a longing for something he couldn't quite put into words. In that moment, he realized that his admiration for you went far beyond your musical prowess.

Unable to resist any longer, Gale rose from his seat and made his way toward you. As he approached, the song you played seemed to weave its way into his very being, tugging at the strings of his heart.

You looked up as Gale drew nearer, a soft smile gracing your lips. The notes from your lyre seemed to synchronize perfectly with the rhythm of his footsteps, as if they were guiding him towards you. The music wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Finally, Gale stood before you, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. You hesitated your playing for just a moment before Gale’s broke out in a grin.

“Surely you weren’t singing about a special someone, were you?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Halsin ~

Halsin was probably your favorite person to play music for as of late. When he had first joined your camp, he only sat and watched when you brought out your guitar. It seemed to you that he was lost in his own mind most of the time, not allowing himself even the smallest of happy moments.

When you finally where able to heal the deep scars of the shadow curse, Halsin’s tune changed dramatically. Suddenly he was sat by you in the camp at all times, asking about what instruments you could play, requesting certain songs, trying to sing along to your gentle melodies.

What he loved most of all, however, was challenging you. He loved to see how quickly you could create a song. How easily you could string a line of lyrics about any topic under the sun. Tonight, he had a very simple ask.

Sing something that reminds you of the beauty of nature.

You could tell by the look in his eyes, the shyness in his tone, that his question had much deeper meaning to him than just that of a pretty song. No, he wanted to connect with you on a deeper level but couldn’t think of a way to make it meaningful for you both.

Despite all of that, you decided to indulge him.

As the moon cast its gentle glow over the camp, you took a deep breath and let your fingers dance across the strings of your lute. The melody flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, each note carrying the essence of nature's beauty.

You sang of sweeping meadows bathed in sunlight, where wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colors. You spoke of ancient forests, their branches intertwined like lovers, whispering secrets to the wind. Your voice soared, echoing through the night, as you conjured images of cascading waterfalls and shimmering lakes that reflected the starry sky above.

Halsin closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the enchantment of your song. It was more than just music to him; it was a bridge connecting his wounded soul to the world around him. As you sang, his spirits lifted, his heart opening up like a flower basking in the warmth of the sun.

When your song reached its final notes, there was a moment of comfortable emptiness. Halsin opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The silence that followed your song was filled with the lingering echoes of your melody, as if the very air was reluctant to let go of the magic you had created.

And then, Halsin spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he feared that any sound would shatter the fragile connection between you both. “Thank you,” he said, his words carrying a weight of gratitude that touched your heart.

“For so long, I had forgotten the beauty that resides in nature. The curse had consumed me, turning everything around me into shadows and sorrow. But through you, I have found solace and hope once again.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Sing it again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Wyll ~

Wyll adored your music. It took him a few days to work up the courage, but it wasn’t long before he was asking you to sing while the two of you were dancing. His dancing lessons had started out with just him humming a simple melody, but soon, it was your voice carrying the timing of the song.

Those nights meant a lot to you, the ones where he’d sweep you into his arms, begging you to sing for him. Tonight, however, wouldn’t be one of those night. Wyll had taken a bad hit in a battle today, his injury burning every time he took a step.

He was in no shape to dance, and yet, he still found you by the stream that evening, ready to try anyways. It took a scolding and a few pleas, but he finally agreed to postponed that night’s dancing lesson, settling for hearing you play him a few songs instead.

His eyes drifted shut as you started to weave your magic tune, transporting him to a world of serenity and solace. The melody danced delicately in the air, casting a soothing spell over his weary soul. He leaned back against the moss-covered boulder, surrendering himself to the enchantment of your music.

As your fingers caressed the strings of your instrument, Wyll's mind drifted away from the pain and turmoil of battle. Images of lush meadows and cascading waterfalls began to form in his imagination, replacing the harsh reality of the war-torn realm they inhabited. He could almost feel the gentle breeze brushing against his face and hear the distant chirping of birds as they celebrated the arrival of a new day.

Lost in the ethereal sounds that resonated through the forest, Wyll's features softened, and a serene smile graced his lips. The worries and burdens that burdened him melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace. In this moment, he found solace within your music a refuge amidst chaos.

You brought him so much peace.

As the song came to an end, Wyll sighed happily, looking over to you with affection across all of his features.

“If I could only put into words as beautifully as you spin a song, I’d tell you what you meant to me.”

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sinnomel · 7 months

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Forget His Goddess

Pairing: Gale x Tav

Summary: What if you kiss Gale after he shows you how to manipulate the Weave?

A/N: this was supposed to be angst - Sin

There was a tadpole wriggling about in between their eyes with a set time limit on getting it out, an unfamiliar place that they landed in Faerûn and new companions that had nothing in common aside from their mission to free their headspace from the illithid transformation. At the moment, Tav’s concern was making sure that all of their new companions at least tolerated them - after all, they were going to be traveling together. Lae’zel proved to be one of the more difficult to make small talk with, and Astarion proved to be overly flirty for reasons they didn’t wish to delve into. Back at camp, Shadowheart would keep to herself, busying herself with the odd prism shaped artifact she collected on the nautiloid.

Gale seemed to be the best at making conversation, but there was something that bothered Tav - he always brought up Mystra, the Goddess of Magic. It would happen, unprompted, during the group escapades into the Emerald Grove, walking the dirt paths, or even when everyone was in the middle of sneaking - he would ask for her blessing, her protection, or just utter her name.

Tav listened to his rambles which they thought were quite endearing, but then unprompted, he would mention Mystra. It wasn’t anything like Shadowheart, who worshiped Shar. Tav thought it was more than meets the eye - it seemed to them that Gale wanted to be in Mystra’s good graces, but for some reason, was not. Strange, Tav thought, as Gale was a wizard and his patron goddess had to be Mystra. There was a glint of sadness sometimes when he mentioned her, but it was never there very long. He would quickly hide it with his signature smile.

One night, Tav was sitting by the campfire, the smell of burning logs and the cracking of the fire comforting them after a long and difficult day of fighting gnolls. They were in the middle of cleaning and polishing their armor, ridding it of the stickiness of dried blood with a damp cloth - that is, until they noticed that everyone else had been tending to their own devices but Gale specifically had his back towards everyone, as if he was holding something. Curiosity had gotten the better of them and they left their armor, the cloth and the comfort of the crackling fire.

Tav approached quietly, trying to see what it is that Gale was holding - it was a magical rendering of Mystra that he was holding in one hand, concentrating to keep the image intact. “Pretty,” Tav said, startling Gale so much that the image he was holding had disappeared.

“O-Oh! You startled me. I…I was miles away,” he said, sounding like Tav had caught him doing something lewd and inappropriate. “Is there a reason you’re conjuring Mystra’s image?” “No special reason. I was practicing an incantation, that’s all,” he stumbled. “There must be something you’re not telling me. There seems to be more to this ‘incantation’ than meets the eye,” Tav said, making air quotes when they said incantation. Somehow, this had persuaded Gale to open up a bit more. “Well, she’s Mystra. I have a…need to see her sometimes. There’s no right way for me to describe this without it sounding strange,” he explained. “Mystra is all magic,” Gale added.

Tav thought it strange how he spoke of his goddess - as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered but Mystra. This tugged at Tav’s heartstrings, wondering if there would ever be a person on this earth who would speak of them the way that Gale spoke of Mystra. Though, it was a bit heartbreaking, as Mystra didn’t answer him when he asked for her.

“I don’t think I understand it. But perhaps you could show me?” Tav asked, slightly coy, leaning towards the wizard. Gale blinked and lit up, “I could do that if you’d like. Do as I do.” Gale started making arm movements and Tav copied after him, creating a cool to the touch purple aura. It was startling to them and they yelped, hopping back in surprise. Gale couldn’t help but chuckle at their reaction. However, a new feeling surrounded both Gale and Tav. It was comforting and warm, as if the air around them was enveloping the pair in a hug. Gale then asked Tav to repeat the incantation after him, which they did and suddenly their senses had heightened - the scent of rosewater erased the smell of the campsite, something sweet tampered with their taste buds and the delicate hair on the back of their neck stood straight, their skin creating goosebumps. Tav was sensing Mystra’s presence. They couldn’t help but look at Gale, both of their gazes connect, creating this tension, this need or anticipation of getting closer…close enough where their lips barely touch, their hands enveloping each other, then of course, closing the gap and sealing the moment with a kiss. But neither of them move and none of that happened.

“How does it feel…Channeling the Weave?” Gale asked, looking around at the magic that Tav summoned. “Obviously magical…surprisingly sensual,” Tav said softly, their eyes looking around the magic. Gale agrees and their eyes lock once more. There was something about this moment that felt intimate with Gale. Tav felt something turn within them. The way that Gale is looking at them made their heart flutter in a way that it didn’t before and the Weave melded their minds. In a moment, Tav’s mind let loose an image of Gale and them kissing once, then twice, the second time more passionate than the first. Gale was flustered - as if Tav had described their intimate image themself.

“I…I didn't think-” Gale started, the emotion the Weave is showing is that embarrassment is now turning to happiness. “Did I startle you?” Tav asked, their concentration was breaking as their concern was now overstepping boundaries. Because their concentration was breaking, the comfort and warmth of Mystra’s embrace was fading, it was feeling colder, more lonely, and that connection that Gale and Tav had was slowly being severed. “No. Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting it. But! It is very much appreciated. Very welcome…very much wanted,” he said, his eyes now showing a more seductive side to the wizard, now in turn, flustering Tav.

The pair was standing in silence. Gale opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking about what it is that he wanted to say.

“You look like you want to say something,” Tav said, watching the wizard contemplate the right words. “Well, you’re not wrong regarding that. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing,” Gale confessed. “I won’t judge you if it’s something you want to tell me,” Tav nodded, trying to keep the conversation from disintegrating. “I wanted to know if that was something you wanted to do,” Gale said quietly. Tav blinked and fought the blush creeping onto their cheeks. Instead of saying anything else, they closed the distance between their bodies and leaned up, but only slightly. They wanted Gale to meet them halfway, just in case this wasn’t something he wanted to do. Luckily for Tav, he closed the gap, pressing his lips against their own. Starting from this moment, Gale knew what it was like to forget his goddess.

#gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale x tav #gale bg3 #baldurs gate 3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 x reader #tav

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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Lorroakan loot:

[fahrquad pointing meme] Athkatlan!

Interesting. The staff is pretty okay for Gale but the robe isn't really even that impressive, at least as compared to the Potent Robe we got from Alfira all the way back in Act 2. So that will go towards the HGS Potions Fund.

I was gonna talk with Rolan but he seems to have disappeared so I'm assuming he's back downstairs and we'll talk to him later? Quick look around the tower first though.

First interesting thing - a note confirming that Lorroakan was a bastard, in case anyone needed it:

[fahrquad pointing meme again] Sellout! Asshole! Liar!

Honestly I'm relieved because if it turned out that he really HAD found some way to use her magic without hurting her then all of this would have felt a lot more complicated than it does. XD

He also has tried to write a book about himself to submit to the "Wizards of Note" book series, apparently:

That's more or less all that's up here, so heading back downstairs...

OK, going back downstairs we are caught by one of Lorroakan's projections and once again ejected from the shop for "HABITUAL VIOLENCE." No sign of Rolan.

INVISIBILITY AND BACK UP TO THE TOWER AGAIN!

Aha there you are. How you doing, Rolan?

"Lorroakan is dead. The bastard is dead."

"Are you all right?"

"I am. Now that the bastard's in bits." There's none of Rolan's old cocky confidence now. He just sounds extremely tired and sad. "Lorroakan was a cruel and vicious man. By day, I'd tend the shop, but at night - he'd fire the most nonsensical questions at me. And for every one I answered 'wrong', he'd beat me."

A pause. He looks down at his own palms. "I could've killed him with my own two hands, but I kept thinking it was all a test. It had to be. I thought it was the price I had to pay to become a true wizard. I realize now he was just a sick, sick man..."

Poor guy. Hector is no stranger, by now, to the terrible things that people in this world are capable of doing to each other. But it never fails to strike him with new ferocity every time he encounters it. Rolan has been a blowhard at times, but he's a good man at heart, and he doesn't deserve how his desire to better himself has been taken advantage of.

"He's dead now," he says quietly. "It's over. And you've won."

Rolan smiles slightly, with a hint of his old air of confidence - though muted now with experience. "I have," he agrees. "With your considerable help." He looks around thoughtfully. "I see things clearly now. If I wish to master the Weave, I must do it myself. Thankfully, I have everything I need - right here."

Hector grins. That sounds more like the Rolan he knows, and cocky though it is, it's good to hear it back, even a little. What he's proposing -- to take Lorroakan's tower for himself -- is certainly aiming high, though. "You'll be challenged," he points out. "I'm sure there are others who want the tower."

Rolan laughs softly. "Let them come. I happened across a book on the tower's defenses, and they are considerable." He's visibly starting to come out of the shock of the battle now, growing more energized. "I'll move Cal and Lia in immediately. Lorroakan refused to let them stay here. The are going to love the tower."

He pauses, then looks at Hector intently for a moment. "I wouldn't have this - the tower, my family - without you," he adds, with a more earnest tone than Hector has ever heard from him before. "What can I do to thank you?"

Hector smiles. The other man's gratitude and respect is worth more than any reward to him, and in truth he never expected to truly earn it. Were there less at stake, he would demand nothing at all.

But very soon, he will need people to stand with him against the terrible threat on the horizon. And Rolan has more than proved himself, over the time they've known each other.

"The city is under siege, from the inside out. I need allies," he says soberly.

"And you'll have me," Rolan agrees at once, nodding. Given everything they've been through, Hector is more than a little impressed at the lack of even a moment's hesitation. "I'll learn everything I can about the tower in the meantime, even if I have to rip this place apart. But know this - Ramazith's Tower, and its master, are now your friends. And when the time comes, we will stand by you as allies."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #yay rolan \o/

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foxisscared · 5 months

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A Meaningful Conversation

Gale Dekarios x Tiefling!Oc!Tav

A/N:Hi,so I have no idea what I'm doing, but I thought I'd give this a try with my Tav. His name is Amadius and he's a Tiefling Barbarian. Also I'm still trying to get a feeling for Gale's character so if you have any pointers please feel free to comment

Amadius was never one for idle company. He was not one for company at all, used to only relying on himself and not staying in one place long enough to forge meaningful relationships. Which is why this group unsettled him and the fact that he was automatically made leader further unnerved him. He was not used to having to care for this many people before and it showed. Even though he was considered their leader Amadius kept to himself, avoiding unnecessary chatter amongst party members, but there was one person who caught his eye.

The silly little wizard named Gale of Waterdeep who often chatted at him about things Amadius didn't quite understand, something Amadius didn't mind quite as much as he thought he would. He'd even come to expect the conversation, dare he say happily anticipated them. Today was no different Gale and Amadius sat around the campfire while Gale was cooking, Amadius looking brooding as always.

"Amadius, are you paying attention?" Gale asks as Amadius looked like he'd zoned out.

"Yes Gale, I am listening. I believe you were talking about certain incatricies of the weave, not that I understand any of it but I do find it quite interesting" He says, still not looking at the man. Gale looked surprised that anyone much less a barbarian such as himself was actually paying attention to him.

"I'd be more than happy to explain it to you. I can't remember the last time someone actually sat down and listened to what I have to say" Gale said with a chuckle but immediately quieted down noticing Amadius' far away look. "Are you okay Amadius?" He asked. "Far be it of me to demand you tell me what's wrong but I am here to support you" He said causing visible hesitation to form on Amadius' face

"Uhm... Its nothing, Gale. Its just very overwhelming going from living on your own for 20 years to leading a group of 6 people to defeat a world ending evil. I'm not used to this many people, much less leading them. I was never one for being emotionally invested and now I fear I'm more emotionally invested than ever" He says with vulnerability that seemed quite out of character for him

"Being on your own for 20 years sounds quite lonely" Gale says softly, looking at Amadius with a look Amadius couldnt quite place.

"Yeah well, that's just how things are. You go through life, prove your worth to those around you, and if you don't, you die alone. Once you disappoint enough people, you learn when to stop being a nusiance and just leave" Amadius said so casually it caught Gale off guard.

"Oh... Well... I am sure you'll prove more than valubale to our party, then there's no way you'll have to leave." Gale said awkwardly, causing Amadius to scoff and smile softly

"One can only hope." Amadius said softly glancing at Gale with an uncharacteristically soft smile. He really did hope he could prove useful, despite his best efforts he was growing quite attached to this little party and didn't want to disappoint them.

"Well... Enough depressing things for tonight, how about I finish up dinner and we eat around the campfire?" Gale says after clearing his throat as he went back to stirring the pot causing Amadius to chuckle.

"Yeah, lets do that... Then you can finally finish explaining the weave to me. Which by the way I still don't understand and I don't think I ever will understand" Amadius says causing Gale to laugh.

"Well that's what I'm here for, my friend" He said, and when the word friend left Gale's mouth, something melted in Amadius, causing him to tear up just the slightest.

"Yeah... I'd like that" Amadius said softly with a smile.

#gale dekarios x tav #gale dekarios x oc #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #tiefling tav #bg3 tav oc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale of waterdeep x tav

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alpydk · 2 months

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Cabinet of Oddities (Part 10)

TavxGale (Custom)

Ao3 link Ao3 Full

Summary: “Please, Nana. I won’t ask any more of you than this.” His voice was sincere with no hint of a lie. If she wanted to remove her hand, he would let her. But not until he had shown her what he needed to, not until he was ready to accept that this might be the last time he ever touched another person.

The party was in full swing. Tieflings could be heard singing, the fire raged brightly and everyone was in high spirits. Shadowheart and Karlach had vanished off alone together carrying multiple bottles of wine that they had discovered throughout the days of travel. Nana couldn’t help but smile as she watched the two laughing as they climbed up the hillside away from the campsite. She wondered how their night would progress and whether there was something more than just the sisterly bond that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

She watched Astarion as he preened in a mirror that showed no reflection. Was he aware of how beautiful he was, or was this a conscious effort to try and maintain the never changing appearance? In a way, she felt sorry for him that he couldn’t see himself the way others did. “Maybe I could draw him a picture, how hard could it be?”

She looked around over the other party members. No sign of Wyll or Gale for that matter. Wyll she could understand, he’d had a tough few days, his past catching up to him, but Gale. He wasn’t normally one to shy away from an open source of wine or people to listen to him talk. She quelled the rising anxiety. “It could be the orb, but he’s got items. He can manage.” She stood and wandered into the forest speaking her concerns for the world to hear. “Maybe he’s been kidnapped by gnolls, or he forgot a book and went to get it. Maybe he just wants to be alone, but then why does he want to be alone? Maybe he’s lost. Did he even come back with us today? No, he did Nana, stop being silly. He cooked that potato you found on that guard. Why was a guard carrying a single potato? Lucky potato?”

“Nana, I’m right here. You can calm yourself.” She looked over to see the source of the voice. Gale, looking up at the stars above. Sitting beneath the trees on the ground, small leaves and dirt dusting his purple robes. She saw how the stray grey hairs above his brow caught the moonlight highlighting them over his natural earthy tones. All she could do was stop and stand just watching him, taking in the small details of the way his chest rose and sank with his breathing, the shaded markings of the orb tracing up the veins of his neck. She smiled and stood beside him, looking up to see what had captured his gaze.

“Are you okay?” She wasn’t sure how to start talking to him. Normally he took the initiative, telling her about the wonders of the world, his books, wine, and his time in Waterdeep, but tonight he seemed distant, as if all the words had run out.

Gale’s voice seemed subdued, he looked out into the distance and sighed deeply. “Just a tad introspective this evening. Saving those tieflings, knowing what we are up against. I can’t help but reflect on the enormity of everything that has happened to us.”

“It’s not all doom and gloom, you know. We’ve got each other after all.” She gave him a reassuring smile hoping it would be enough to ease his mind on the situation.

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

Gale gave a small chuckle and turned to look at her. How he wished he could see her without the mask, hear her speak without the husky tones they heard each day, weave his fingers between the white locks of the changeling form she hid from all of them. But it could not happen before everything was out in the open. He needed to tell her about himself first, to show that he trusted her enough. With that, she might open up as well and allow him to be part of her secret. “You’re right. We do have each other, which is probably why I feel it’s time I was more honest with you. To explain my condition in full to you. Would you be willing to listen?”

Nana nodded eagerly and so he rose slightly to one knee and offered his hand. He saw her hesitate, unsure if she would accept him.

“Please, Nana. I won’t ask any more of you than this.” His voice was sincere with no hint of a lie. If she wanted to remove her hand, he would let her. But not until he had shown her what he needed to, not until he was ready to accept that this might be the last time he ever touched another person.

She reached towards him and as his fingers entwined with hers he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her gently towards him. He placed the outstretched hand upon his chest and held it close as he opened his mind to her, allowing the tadpole to share the memories he had buried so deeply away. He wanted her to see him for what he was and he dreamt that she could accept him, even if he himself struggled to accept it.

He felt her mind connect with his and with it the pain began. The orb and the tadpole in unison sent wave after wave of torment throughout his body but he clung on to her, the warmth of her hand but a blink of light in the darkness of the dread memory. He saw the book and from it the blackened Weave that devoured him little by little. He felt the yearning that plagued his every waking moment, and then suddenly he saw something else, the changeling and the soldier, the vision Nana had sent him by accident over tenday ago. He tried to cling to the image, trying to follow it to its source but before he could she severed the connection and he was again left wanting.

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

She stood before him, a look of shock and confusion upon her face. “What are you?” her voice whispered. She was unsure what she had seen, what she had felt, the gnawing hunger within him. She kept her hand to his chest, despite the discomfort she was feeling, afraid to move for fear she might be hurt, or worse that she would hurt him.

Gale looked at her. She could see the shame in his heart, the guilt that he carried upon his shoulders so heavily. “What I am is a walking shadow of the promise I once held.” He slowly released her hand and turned to look away from her. Nana approached and sat by his side amongst the leaves and grass. She wanted to hear his story, she wanted to believe that deep down he was more than what she had just seen.

“I don’t understand. What was that?”

“To understand, you must hear my full story. Of who I was, of love, loss, and of the greatest of mistakes I have ever made.” He paused to give her a moment to leave if she wished, and when she didn’t he nodded and began his tale.

Nana listened as he spoke of his upbringing, of how he was a prodigy within the wizarding circles, and of how he had caught the eye of the goddess Mystra, eventually gaining her love. As he spoke of their time together Nana pushed aside the feelings of jealousy that reared up from within her, and as he continued to the events with the orb she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had gone through so much to try and win back the love of a goddess who Nana believed was so undeserving of him. And now he was still suffering with daily and constant pain, with the guilt, shame, and loneliness of what he had done, and he had nothing to show for it, no escape from his greatest folly.

“Will you die?” It was not the question she had wanted to ask but as it hung on the tip of her tongue she could not help but say it out loud.

“Rather worse, actually. I will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry…” He paused, and she could see his fear of saying the words out loud as if uttering them would cause the consequences to happen instantaneously, “It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep.”

Nana looked at him with shock. This is who she had been travelling with. It had not just been as simple as the odd magic item, of a hunger for boots, it was something much more. Above all of this though she felt the feeling of protectiveness. The poison is spreading. He’s dying, I can’t save him. Don’t die, please don’t die. She had to stay with him and she had to help him. He couldn’t die, not like Thomas had. She saw his mouth move but did not hear the words, not until he mentioned leaving.

“Say the word, and we’ll part ways.”

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

“What? No. That’s ridiculous.” she spoke with confidence. He could not believe the words he was hearing. “You’re my friend. I couldn’t, wouldn’t let you leave us now.”

Gale looked back at her. His whole body seemed to relax immediately as if some invisible weight had been taken from him. “That is such a relief. You truly are a soul that steels my own. From all my new-rallied heart I thank you.”

She gave him a smile and lay down on the dirt next to him staring up into the stars between the treetops. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed she was next to him as if his whole tale had changed nothing between them, and inside he felt a little embarrassed at how he had built it up, how ashamed he had been of telling her about it. “It’s what you do for the ones you love.” she expressed out loud into the world.

He looked over at her and couldn’t believe what she had said. She threw the L word around so casually throughout their travels, like a random term of endearment to a friend rather than the immeasurable emotion he had felt for Mystra. Maybe this was the same now, just a casual passing remark, or maybe it was more, he could not tell. He lay next to her, looking up at the world, feeling the warmth spread throughout him. He thought of his tressym Tara and how she had stood by his side, gathering magical artefacts in a similar manner to how Nana had been doing. “Yes, yes I suppose it is.”

The two spent the rest of the evening together in silence looking up at the stars. They had both spent so long alone and now found themselves with someone they knew they could genuinely trust. And despite their thoughts running in tandem neither would act upon the impulses they were both trying to ignore, both feeling as if doing so would break the enchantment which had been cast upon them.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #changeling #dnd character

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inquisitoradaar · 3 months

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feel like i need to elaborate on musics love shape. long post ahead bc god there is so much explaining that needs to be done here. the situation is Intricate and Dire. also spoilers for balding gate or whatever

i went in without any idea who i was gonna romance but then i met gale and was like ok. i think this is the guy. and had made up my mind on it until wylls introduction where i was like oh fuck hes so hot but i couldnt change my mind id already promised myself id romance gale.

anyways. the party ends up being music + shadowheart + gale + wyll for a while. this is not because of preference but bc i literally managed to miss astarion (i went to the bottom of the hill hes on and then said out loud to myself 'nothing else here' and went back in the nautiloid.) and lae'zel (saw the two tieflings that caught her but didnt see the cage and decided to avoid conflict). i eventually swap out shadowheart for karlach when i meet her (it was besties at first sight for me) and then get told by some friends who r also playing that im a fucking dumbass and completely missed astarion and lae'zel (id already saved the grove by this point so LMAO)

i go back to the crash site, grab astarion, then use a scroll of revivify on lae'zel bc shes dead in the mountain pass (whoops). theyve both missed literally everything. i go to camp and astarion immediately reveals to music that he is a vampire. awesome. theyre also both charlatans which is a lil funny to me. i add neither of them to my party bc by this point im extremely attached to gale wyll and karlach and music has rlly high approval w all three of them.

now in truth the love shape was already in the equation bc gale is still not over mystra. music is unclear as to whether or not this affection is still reciprocated on mystras part (and tbh so am i . i havent finished act 2 yet ok) but when they shared a Moment in the weave gale enjoyed it so clearly thats also happening. so we have a love triangle going on. this is fine and manageable even if music is not a big fan of the whole the-guy-im-into-has-a-bomb-in-his-chest-bc-of-his-ex-who-he-still-loves thing.

we get to the underdark. i have a long rest. astarion has smth to say. in-game it has been two days since i finally grabbed him from the crash site (has he just been waiting that entire time for someone to walk down that path so he could stab them?). cutscene plays out, he wants music to tell him hes pretty, music responds w 'gales more my type', and astarion makes a comment abt how hell have to work on himself if hes to 'catch up w the competition' um?

so the love triangle is now a sort-of love square. could be just a lil silly fun joke and i think of it as such (at least when ignoring the meta (thats another story)) until i get to act 2 and have a long rest in the shadow-cursed lands. and astarion says to music smth like 'were kindred souls, were walking down the same path, we should take over the absolutist cult and rule the world together' WHAT IS HAPPENING. what coded declaration of love bullshit is this. music and astarion barely even know each other.

so, great, love triangle is now officially a partially unreciprocated love square. but then. but THEN. to make matters WORSE for ME PERSONALLY. having another long rest in the shadow-cursed lands and a cutscene starts to play. wyll is dancing and so music joins in (naturally, theyre best friends w wyll (literally, they have maximum approval from him) and a BARD) and then things start getting. quote. "intimate" and i go oh no i have to put a stop to this bc things have started getting more serious w gale. and when i tell wyll that they should both step away from this he looked so genuinely heartbroken it made me feel so horrifically sad.

so the partially unreciprocated love square is now. even worse. a love shape of no real design. with music, some random loser tiefling bard charlatan in the middle of it all. gods help them

#🍕 mikeys musings #only way it could get any worse is if someone else decided they Also had the hots for music. but the other 3 companions all seem-#perfectly fine being nothing more than friends w them so hopefully. HOPEFULLY. the shape wont get any worse

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weavewilled · 7 months

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❛WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DO THAT?❜ (TEACH HIM SOME MAGIC. HE'S TOO PROUD TO ASK) ↳ magic worlds prompts ( accepting ) / @ramaziths

GALE HAS HAD A CONNECTION TO THE WEAVE FOR AS LONG AS HE CAN REMEMBER. Even when he was but a small child, some of his first memories are tinged with magic — it has, quite literally, been his life. He barely remembers where he learned to do many of the things that come as second nature these days.

Startled, he lets the illusion fall, wisping out of existence with a faint crackle. ❝ Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear anyone coming up, ❞ and he sounds a shade embarrassed, as though caught on his heels. ❝ It’s something I’ve put a lot of my own personal touch into, ❞ he admits. ❝ And if we’re being honest, it doesn’t serve a lot of practical application. It’s just —— creating art, in a way, with the Weave. ❞

There’s a pause, and he regards the other wizard with a thoughtful eye. He was this, once — young, talented, too proud. It both feels like a lifetime ago and feels like yesterday, but that’s neither here nor there; he smiles, faintly. ❝ —— would you like to see how to do it? ❞

#ramaziths #;; & a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. ( main v. )

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valberryy · 3 years

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oh, eurydice (it's an awful sound). — venti

de l'autre côté de l'eau, comme un écho. / tu dis que c'est la fin du monde, c'est ton silence mon eau profonde.

um,, idk what to say cause i dont want this to b my venti summoning post but. anyways. also tagging @starfell-traveler look i finished it!!!! b proud of me /hj

pairing: venti x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions/descriptions of alcohol & blood/injuries, major character death, it's just heavy angst i'm sorry

one.

Venti still remembers the first time he heard you laugh, warm and clear and bright, like the chiming of cathedral-bells.

In those golden days when he was getting used to his new face, he often found himself wandering—much to the chagrin of his friends. If he wasn't in one of the many taverns of the newly-built Mondstadt, he was wandering these new, free lands.

And that was how he met you, the spritely scion of house Gunnhildr, who had strayed away from your envoy with a bottle of wine and leaves in your hair. He noted the mischief dancing in your eyes, the sunlight dappling on your skin, the way your mouth formed a small "o" when you saw you were not alone.

Your eyes had lit up when you caught sight of him. "Oh, my lord!" you called, "Fancy a cup and a chat, perhaps?"

Venti stood still for a moment to ponder your request, but at the sound of you popping the cork off the bottle and pouring it into a cup you had brought, he found his resolve weakening. He took a seat next to you as you pulled a stray leaf from your hair, taking a sip from your cup before passing it to him.

How brazen of you, he mused.

While cherry wine, in his opinion, could never hold a candle to the dandelion wine he had grown fond of, it tasted all the sweeter coming from you.

You had laughed at this sentiment of his, clear as the water from the lake nearby. "Is that so?" you asked. "Perhaps I'll bring some more of this kind especially for you, dearest bard."

Venti responded with a playful pluck at his lyre-strings. "I'd prefer if you called me by my name, young master Gunnhildr."

"And what would that be?"

Just as he was about to respond, the two of you caught wind of voices yelling out your name, and you flinched. "That must be for me," you said. "I shouldn't have expected to be able to hide forever."

He helped you stand, stretching out his arm to pull you up—your hand was soft and warm against his own, and the "thank you," that rolled from your lips made his heart flutter in a way he wasn't used to.

"I'd love to see you again," you said, and he smiled.

"You talk as if this is goodbye forever!" Venti joked. "We can meet here again, if you so wish."

"Then it is done," you said, and squeezed his hand as if in confirmation of your new arrangement.

And with the lightest press of your wine-stained lips to his cheek, you had run off without another word—only the sound of your distant laughter and, "Sorry, sorry! I'm back now, mother!" left in your wake.

two.

That promise had soon become habit, and habit a new way of life—one wherein you would sneak away from the rest of your family to rendezvous with Venti in the forest, to share wine and song and sweet, honeyed words alike.

(And as time wore on, you pressed your wine-stained lips to more places than just his cheek, and the cheeky bastard would have you do it again, and again, and again.)

"What d'you reckon your family would say if they figured out you were sneaking away for this?" Venti mused, "Like a hero in a romance novel."

With a laugh, you lay your head over his lap and smiled when his hand came to rest in your hair, his fingers gently playing with the strands. "Scold me, I suppose," you said. "There are worse fates than not being allowed outside for a month, my love."

You plucked a stray dandelion out of his hair, blowing the seeds to the wind.

"Hmm? And what would those be, I wonder?"

"...You're so infuriating, Venti," you grumbled, and he simply laughed and took another sip of wine—elderflower this time, tasting like spring upon his tongue. "I can't even dare imply that I want to be with you forever without you teasing me for it—what kind of lover are you? Hmph."

He paused, a teasing grin growing on his lips despite your previous words. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

An odd noise left your throat. "I mean," you said, "unless you want me to take your surname instead? ...Now that I think about it, Venti Gunnhildr doesn't quite sound the best."

A laugh, first from him, soon followed by one of your own. "Your family won't allow it, would they? But if the fates allow…there's nothing I'd love more than to be with you," he said. Gently he untangled his fingers from your hair, weaving his fingers between your own instead. "That is, if you want it too?"

A world of just you and him, a life where he would never have to stray far from your side—perhaps this was what Amos so desperately craved for, in those days. Venti watched as you removed the signet ring from your pointer finger and fit it snugly on his own, admiring your handiwork and smiling up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

three.

Somehow it felt odd to see you in clothes other than the casual attire he had always seen you in. When you were seated upon your horse like this, dressed in richly-dyed leathers and embroidered silks with your family crest hanging proudly from your breast pocket, you seemed much less like the cheeky [Name] that would pluck his lyre from his hands to play your own tune, and more like the young scion of house Gunnhildr that the rest of the world saw you as.

"I'm sorry, dearest," you said, your voice thick with regret. "They only told me about this last night, so I've had no time to tell you… And father wouldn't let me refuse, so—"

Venti laughed, "When did you become such a worrywart? It's only one round of hunting, right? I'll be waiting for you back here."

You huffed, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Then I'll be sure to hurry on back to you."

He pulled you back down for another kiss, square on the lips this time, before letting you go. "Don't miss!" he said, calling after your horse, to which you turned and yelled back at him,

"If I do, it's your fault!"

He laughed, settling down beneath a tree and closing his eyes. You'd be there to wake him when you returned.

When Venti awoke, it was not to your hand shaking his shoulder but to a thud and the worried whinnying of a horse. His eyes snapped open as you groaned, one hand clutching your stomach and the other propping you up. When you caught his gaze you smiled weakly, too much blood in your teeth and not enough light in your eyes.

"I'm back, dearest," you said, and he had stumbled over to catch you before your arm gave out.

He pressed down on your torso, where three large gashes ran down from your chest down to your stomach, large and jagged as if from the claws of a bear. You groaned in pain and he pressed a kiss to your hand in apology, your skin pale and clammy in a way that reminded him too much of harsh, cold winds and a boy with his lyre.

"You should've seen me, Venti," you breathed, "I shot it right in the throat…are you proud of me?"

"Very," he said. "I'll always be proud of you."

You laughed, broken and pained and sad. "Good," you said, "good." Then you looked up at him, the tears welling in his eyes, the reality of his fate—your fate—finally looming upon him. "Don't look at me like that, love," you cooed. "Please, smile for me, okay? Sing for me…can you spare me at least that much?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "All of that and so much more, dandelion," he said. "Please…"

"So much more, huh…" you mused. "Then, how about one last kiss before I go?"

"...You talk as if this is goodbye," he says, but doesn't protest when you pull him down by the collar, your red-stained lips pressing weakly against his—

—But instead of the sweetness of wine, there was only the sharp bitterness of your blood in his mouth.

four.

"How far would you go for me?" was something Venti had thrown around a lot, never expecting you to give him a straight answer—not with how you shoved his shoulder and said, "Just because there wasn't a ceremony doesn't mean I'm not your spouse, Venti. Wouldn't the answer be obvious?"

But he still recalled the first time he had asked you and the first time you answered, your fingers tangled with his and your head buried in the crook of his neck. Your voice had been softer, gentler, lacking the playful edge but just as genuine as always, "From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest to the highest peaks in the sky," you said, "Until my hands wither away into dust."

"Maybe you're the bard instead of me, love," he had said, then.

In this new world without you he found himself clinging to whatever remnants of you he could—the dappled sunlight in the forest, the slightest sting of alcohol going down, the glint of your family crest on the ring that adorned his finger.

One of his many laments was how he could never mourn you in the way he felt you deserved—he had not the power to turn back time, lacked the dominion over anything static and permanent to immortalise you with. He only had his lyre and his voice and his winds, and all he could do was paint the skies grey in his grief, have the gales sing requiems that you would never hear.

From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest peaks in the sky he would go for you and back—and if the darkest depths of this world contained the secret to getting you back, perhaps even a mere spirit on the wind could bear the trek through the dark.

(After all, Venti knew in his heart of hearts that you would have done the same for him.)

The heart of the Abyss wasn't a land of mindless bloodshed and fire—it was cold and calculating, like a predator lying in wait. It was this place, in the depths of Teyvat and in the winding depths of their palace, that he knew could somehow bring you back to him.

"Are you the one for whom the skies wept, bard?"

Venti swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I am," he said. "I want a deal."

The person before him raised an eyebrow, canting their head to the side.

"One life," they said, "and no second chances."

Cold, and calculating, and inevitable—but still he would try. Venti owed you at least that much, no?

five.

He squeezed your hand as you trailed behind him, muttering to himself: don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. No matter how much he longed to hold you, to see your face and feel your skin beneath his, he kept his gaze to his feet as you both moved onwards into the dark.

(When he saw you again, just as beautiful as the day he lost you, he dropped his lyre to run into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck and surrounding himself with only you, you, you.

"Venti," you said, and he nearly wept at the way his name rolled from your tongue. "Let's go home.")

You squeezed his hand back, so gently that he almost couldn't believe you were really there. "Why don't you sing me a song, dearest?" you quipped. "Anything you like."

In spite of himself, in spite of the cold around him and behind him and in his own hand, he smiled. "Have I ever sung you the one with the mist flower and the sparrow?"

He heard you huff behind him. "That one again? You know how bad I am at hitting the notes in that!"

"Hmm, sure, sounds like an excuse to me…"

"Venti!"

He laughed and squeezed your hand again, as if to remind himself—you were here, and he was taking you home, and you would be able to feel the sun on your skin and taste wine from his cup in the way you had always loved. He would be able to write you songs and guide your hands across his lyre, and he need never stray far from your side.

You need never go somewhere where he couldn't follow.

"We're almost there," he said, resisting the urge to turn around to smile at you. "There's a bottle of wine waiting for us. It wouldn't do us any good to leave it for too long, you know?"

He squeezed your hand again, but you didn't respond.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. His footsteps hastened, quicker and quicker until he was near-running towards where he knew the surface lay. Had he been tricked? Were you never there all along? Had you gotten lost, or fallen, or left, and left some other person in your stead?

Anxiety clutched at his heart like brambles, and Venti found his mind wandering back to those days with the wintery winds and the friends he had lost to the storms. Not again, he prayed, please, never again.

He ran until his legs ached, ran until the first drop of sunlight finally kissed his skin, and he let go of your hand to turn around—

—to see your face still shrouded in darkness, your eyes wide, your hand still reaching out for him.

"What?" he breathed, "No, please, I can't lose you again—"

You smiled, and though your teeth weren't coated in blood and your body was free from any wounds, Venti's heart had sunk even further than when he had caught you that day.

"No, love, please, I'm sorry—"

"Venti," you said, "I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Please—"

"I love you."

With whatever time you had left, you reached out further to brush the tips of your fingers against his cheek. "Smile for me, okay? Sing me one last song…"

And before he could reach out to you again, you had once again gone somewhere he couldn't reach.

(Yours was a song he sang without end, even when all of Mondstadt had forgotten your name—and even when he felt like he didn't deserve to bear your memory.

On days when he uncorked a bottle of cherry wine or caught the Acting Grandmaster's eye, Venti found himself staring down at the ring you had placed on his finger in those golden days—and if he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to it the way you had done to him, he swears he can still hear your laugh, warm and clear and bright.)

#pls ignore how messy it gets towards the end im sorry i couldnt brain n e more #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #bee writes

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neocity-sarai · 3 years

Text

NCT/ Hunger Games Crossover

☁ hunger games! au (assorted scenes: all films) reader x mark (as peeta mellark), reader x jaehyun (as gale hawthorne) , mentions of jungwoo (as primrose everdeen) and johnny (as finnick odair)

☁ alerts: angst, blood, violence, language, kissing, death

☁ song rec: i know places by taylor swift | exile by bon iver ft. taylor swift | carry you by ruelle ft. fleurie | the end of everything by noah cyrus

☁ this are choppy scenes that I found most encaptivating within the books/ films, make sure to go check out the series by Suzanne Collins! (for non-readers/ viewers, this might be hard to follow, so sorry!)

☁ thank you once again to @regularhuhhh for all the encouragement and inspo ily :)

+Scene 0: Introduction:

In the world you live in, Panem is a society that has been governed by the elitist families of the capitol and the district generals. Public disturbances are handled by peacekeepers- soldiers from the capitol sent by President Snow. There are 12 districts each known for mining, agriculture, and necessities that provide for the classes of those who sit on top of the caste system. Therefore, people in the lower districts didn’t have much. They survived on food scraps and flea market trades. Even so, every year, a boy and girl tribute would be selected to participate in the hunger games. A gruesome war game involving death, bloodshed, and violence all for the sake of entertainment for the elitists. It’s a cruel thing, to force children as young as 13 to compete in this killing game in order to please an audience of people they don’t belong in themselves. But that’s the order of President Snow. Everyone must do as he says, or death comes knocking on your door.

+Scene 1: INTERIOR. DARK CAVE -- NIGHT (74th HUNGER GAMES): “Stay”

Mark grunts back in pain, blood gushing from the wound that cuts the skin of his thigh. You help him scoot back to the wall of the cave, cutting away the loose fabric of his pants. His brows are scrunched in from the sting of his injury, hands fisting the dirt.

You grip your bow even tighter, snapping your dark eyes up at him, “Mark, I’m going out. You stay here, okay?”

Though he��s injured, Mark grabs hold of your arms, his grip tight, “No! You’re not going back out there!”

You freeze from Mark’s raised voice, eyes piercing the fire that burns an imprint into your soul. Then you shout, “You would do it for me! I’m not letting you die here.”

You take one good look at Mark. Mud is smeared all over his face, his black hair matted down on his forehead from his sweat and the humidity of the cave. Yet, his eyes still look warm. They remind you of the warm meadows back home, the view of the bright sun rising over district 12.

Mark’s eyes soften, his busted lips pursed, “Come here.”

You eye him skeptically, “Mark, I have to go. I saw some medicine by the cornucopia.”

Mark pleads to you, “Just..please stay. Stay with me.”

Giving up, you sigh. You set down your bow the prop against the cave wall, the smell of mildew and rainwater filling your nose. You search Mark for answers, only to find his hand tapping his chest, beckoning for you to come over. You lie down, placing your head onto Mark’s chest, your hand resting on his stomach. You feel him melt against you, his chin rested on your head.

He whispers lowly, “If I don’t make it-”

You clutch his shirt, gritting your teeth, “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

Mark stares up at the ceiling, halting his words. He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Waiting after 20 minutes, you check to make sure that Mark is sound asleep. Snores rumble from his chest, stirring when his wound pulses with soreness. Carefully, you raise your head off his body as you make way towards your bow. You’re off. You promised yourself that you’d keep Mark alive. You were going to survive until the end. You had managed to retrieve the medicine though you had run into Clove, an aggressive tribute from district 1. She managed to slice your cheek open with her dagger, right before you had shot her heart with your silver arrow.You never got used to that feeling- the loss of life. Death is always a reminder that humans are mere mortal, not godly beings who have the power to stay young forever.

Making your way back to the cave, you let out a sigh of relief when you push away the curtain of leaves to reveal Mark’s body slumped on the side of the cave, his eyes peacefully shut. His lashes extend over his eyes, casting shadows on his soiled cheeks. It looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. He spent all his time hiding from the other tributes or pretending to join them so he could protect you. He spent so long stalling Cato and Pepper, two aggressive tributes from district 2. They wanted to kill you off from the start, hungry for victory. You set down your bow again, screwing off the container lid of the antibiotic gel from the sponsors. Mark’s obsidian eyes flash open to the sound, eyes darting to the container of medicine you hold in your hands.

“You promised me you wouldn’t go! Agh-”

Mark winces from his sudden movement, causing you to push him back down lightly. You kneel beside him biting your chewed over lip, “I’m fine! I got the medicine.”

Mark leans back, eyes somber when he sees the bloody cut on your cheek, “You don’t look fine!”

You frown, swiping your fingers on your cut, “It’s just a scratch. I ran into Clove.”

Mark lets out a pained yelp in effort to move closer to you, his wound stopping him. He leans back on the cool surface of the cave wall again, gritting his teeth, “Why are you doing this when you can just save yourself?”

You stare at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. You’ve always been one to think with your head, not your heart. Logic over emotion. That’s how it’s always been. You gaze at him, the boy who had thrown you a loaf of bread, the one who shyly stole glances at you during choir class. You put a hair behind your ear, “Mark.. I just don’t want you to get hurt is all..”

Mark sniffles, moving closer to you despite the pain that shoots up his leg, leaving the cave wall so that he’s only millimeters away from your lips. He glances down at them, using his hand to caress your jaw before flicking his eyes up at you. You are in shock, heart beating faster than a million volts zapping through a telephone wire. In a quiet whisper, hushed, Mark swipes a tender thumb over your cheek, “Just kiss me, y/n.”

So you do. You kiss Mark like you mean it. You kiss him like you want him to live. He kisses you even though his leg is hurting but he can’t let go of you. He’s scared in his heart that he’ll watch you climb up to the cave entrance and you’ll be killed by some bloodthirsty tribute who he doesn’t know. He can’t bear to watch you leave that cave. He pulls you closer, your hands weaving through his matted locks and surprisingly, you don’t mind the earthy taste on Mark’s dry lips.

When Mark pulls away, he catches his breath.

You say, grasping the fabric of his shirt, “What was that for?”

He leans his forehead against yours, “I meant what I said during the interview. I’ve always liked you, just from afar. I just wasn’t ballsy enough to tell you.”

In confirmation, you peck Mark’s soft lips again, before taking one good look at him.

Mark takes your hand in his, his forehead rested on yours, “Don’t go out alone. Okay?”

You nod, “Let me help you. We don’t want your wound getting infected.”

You apply the ointment to his wound, causing his muscles to relax from the cooling sensation. He stares at you while you do it, memorizing every movement and every feature. He wants to know what it’s like to braid your hair and touch your face, how your eyes glint and darken in the shadows. He clears his throat, “You need some of that too.”

You shake your head, “I’m okay. I don’t need it.”

Mark doesn’t stop pressing, taking the container out of your hands without warning, “Let me then.”

You narrow your eyes at him, nearing close to him as he dips his fingers into the gel, swiping it on your cheek so that it glistens. You shut your eyes from the feeling, the feeling of Mark’s warm fingers on your skin. It sends shivers down your spine, opening your eyes to the sensation of Mark kissing the corner of your lip, “I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t leave without me, okay?”

You nod, settling back down into Mark’s chest, sleep threatening to take your minds over.

+scene 2: EXTERIOR. 74TH HUNGER GAMES -- DAY: “Together”

You place your sharpened dagger into the palm of Mark’s hand, molding your fingers over his, “You have to kill me, Mark. You have to do it.”

Mark’s eyes widen as large as saucers, pupils darting back and forth between you and the weapon in his palm.

Mark shouts, “Y/n! Are you fucking insane?!”

Your legs tremble, your fingers shaking, “Don’t you see?! Only one of us can make it out of here alive! Only one of us can win!”

Mark cards his smudged hands through his hair, refusing violently, “You can’t ask me that y/n. I’m not killing you. You need to survive.”

The air feels suffocating, tears threatening to spill out from your eyes, “Don’t make this hard. I’ve already decided. It’s okay.”

Mark turns his back to you, throwing the dagger to the ground in anger. He raises his voice and it makes you stand where you are, words caught in your throat. He won’t give up. He can’t see that you’re trying to save him. If anyone’s going to live, it has to be Mark. It has to be him.

Mark looks over his shoulder at you, stepping closer. He nears you cautiously, calloused hands moving up to grip the side of your arms. You stare back at him, Mark’s eyes boring into yours. He uses his fingers to move a hair out of your face, scanning you for some sort of protest- some kind of sign.

Choking out, you whisper, trying to silence your sob, “Mark..”

He wastes no time pulling your body close to him, arms wrapped around your waist. His lips graze the shell of your ear, “Y/n, I’m not letting you die here.”

Your palm moves to the pad of your pocket, something firm in the depths of it. You dip your fingers into the pocket, pulling out small round balls that sit in your palm. Nightlock berries. Poisonous. Your mind flashes back to Fox’s dead body in the woods near the nightlock bushes, the purple juice smeared on her lips. Mark pulls away confusedly to look at your palm, his eyes blinking to register what it is. He hates the idea. You know because he scrunches his nose and narrows his eyes. But, it’s the only way.

“Don’t tell me…”

You split the cluster of berries in half, placing the other half into Mark’s palm.

He looks up at you with concerned eyes, “Y/n, there’s another way. We don’t have to do this and you don’t have to die. I can-”

“No! No, Mark. It’s both of us or none of us. I’m not killing you. This is our best option.”

Defeated, he sighs, playing with the berries with the pad of his thumb. Finally, he doesn’t argue with you. It’s because he knows the capitol won’t stop until one of you is dead. You wrap your fingers around his free hand, squeezing it, “Together, okay?”

Mark bites his lip, “Are you sure?”

You nod in confirmation, “On 3.”

Mark shudders under your touch, holding the berries up to his lips, “Together.”

In your heads, you count from 1.. Then 2.. And when you’re about to toss your heads back, the canon in the sky booms and it makes you and Mark snap your heads up.

“Tributes from district 12! Stop!”

+scene 3: INTERIOR. DISTRICT 13-- DAY (JOHNNY’S WEDDING): “Family”

District 13. The rebels have resided here ever since the Capital issued war on the districts. They burnt 12 to the ground. They killed everyone and destroyed your home with fire bombs, nothing left but ashes and death. President Snow. God, you hated the man. He kills everyone and everything that teems with life, making them suffer a slow and torturous death. To punish you, he turned Mark into a weapon. He took Mark from you during the quarter quell and hijacked him so that whenever he sees your face, he goes rabid. The fear in his mind takes him over every time, there is no soft, innocent glow anymore. The boy you see in that medical cubicle is not the real Mark. He is not the one who you love.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you’re transported back to Johnny and Annie’s wedding. Silly, isn’t it? To have a wedding during a war. It unifies people in the midst of the chaos yet the comfortability doesn't last long when you know Snow is alive. He will not stop at anything. You catch your mother and Jungwoo, your older brother dancing in the middle of the floor under the canopy that’s full of fresh flowers and foliage.

Jungwoo motions you over, a smile slashed on his lips as his bright, blond hair bounces whenever he twirls your mother around. She’s laughing too, she looks so happy that it pains you to know that you’re planning to leave. You have to make Snow pay for all the people he’s hurt. This meant Mark. He stripped Mark of his identity and altered his memories and it made you seethe in anger. Still, you enter the dance floor as you answer Jungwoo's call, taking his warm hand in yours.

You always thought that Jungwoo’s eyes are kind. Out of both of you, Jungwoo had always been the bright one. You always protected him. Your mother joined a circle with the other women, spinning their skirts in a circular motion to the beat of the claps and violin notes. Jungwoo sways with you, teeth gleaming between his pink lips, “What are you thinking about, y/n?”

You shake your head, faking him a small smile, “Nothing, Woo. Just, tired.”

“You should really get some rest. We have time before Coin mobilizes.”

You squeeze his hand, intertwining your fingers, “Woo, could I tell you something?”

Jungwoo raises an eyebrow, his voice floating out in a sing-songy tune, “What is it, y/n?”

Your eyes fall to the prim rose that is pinned to his simple suit, the ivory on the petals matching his hair.

You look at him, closing the gap to hug him, “I love you, you know? I need you.”

Jungwoo laughs, rubbing his hand down your back and patting your head innocently, “What’s gotten into you? Did someone put herbs in your drink?”

You snuggle deeper into the Jungwoo, holding him tight, “You’re my brother. I care about you. I just need you to know.”

Jungwoo giggles nodding, “You’re my baby sister. I’ll always protect you, you know that. Is something wrong?”

You muster a small smile, “Not at all. Not at all.”

Little did Jungwoo know, you’d be leaving him for the front lines in the morning.

+scene 4: INTERIOR. DISTRICT 13 --NIGHT: “Lies”

It’s the first time you’ve seen Mark since district 13 has taken you, Johnny, and Jaehyun. The capitol poached Mark, Johanna, and Annie like burglars, sabotaging a rebel plan to undermine their precious President. The last thing you remember is being told that Jaehyun volunteered to rescue Mark with 3 other soldiers from the rebel side. He was doing it for you. You knew that. You spot Jaehyun leaning by a wooden door, your heart pounding out of your chest.

Breathless, you inhale, “Oh my god, you’re okay.”

Jaehyun wraps his arms around you, embracing you tightly. You’re sure he presses a light kiss to the crown of your hair, “He’s inside.”

You detach from him, rubbing your thumb over the knuckle of his hand, “Thank you.”

He nods. When you leave him, he almost looks sad. He looks wilted. You rush down the hall, thanking the other soldiers who rescued the remaining victors. To your left, you spot Annie running to Johnny as he picks her up to kiss her. Johanna sits on her hospital bed, scoffing when you pass by. She looks different. She looks thinner, scars run lines all over her skin. What did the capitol do to them? You finally arrive at the last door of the hallway. There’s something in the pit of your belly that shakes your nerves. You’re hesitant. Is Mark really here in district 13? A soldier nods at you, opening the door for you to enter. It’s a glass window, space to view into the hospital room. That’s when you see him. Your heart absolutely drops. Mark sits on his hospital bed. His black hair is streaked with grey. His neck is inhumanely bruised with purple slashes. The dark circles around his eyes make it seem like he hasn’t slept in years. He’s different because the capitol tortured information out of him. And it breaks your heart. He’s hurting. Haymitch eyes you, your mentor ever since the first games.

“We’re lucky that Jaehyun got Mark out when he did. Otherwise, they would’ve all been dead.”

Mark sees you through the transparent glass, his onyx eyes absent of the boy who was once your friend, your partner- the part you loved. Gingerly, dressed in a hospital gown, Mark gets up. He treads on his toes, staring right back at you through the glass. You press your hand to the viewing window, hoping that Mark will smile and reassure you it’s alright. You want him to be alright. He doesn’t. He unleashes it all from within him. He screams at the top of his lungs, beating the glass with his fists. The fiber glass doesn’t break. But Mark’s changes scare you, causing you to flinch and trip backwards. Mark’s eyes are rimmed red, and spit is flying out of his mouth from his shouting. You had never seen him so angry. You’re so shocked you can’t register the words that shoot out of his mouth. Haymitch stands next to you, arms crossed. He doesn’t look surprised.

Haymitch sighs, “The capitol used tracker jacker venom on him. They used you as the image of fear to extract information and brainwash him.”

And you feel as if all the noise in district 13 fades into white static. All you can tune in is to Mark’s violent words. He’s screaming to you that you’re a liar and you’re a mutt- meant to kill for district 13. He screams how you’ll end up hurting Jungwoo and Jaehyun, and all the people you love. You take off running. Haymitch calls for you, but you can't hear his voice through the sear. It’s all in slow motion, and you can hear how your heart cracks inside of you.

At night, Mark’s taunts haunt you whenever you close your eyes. You sit up in your bed, unable to sleep. You want to see Mark’s face. You want to look him in the eyes. You’re desperate for any sign he still exists. Jungwoo seems to hear your rustling from the frame of the bunkbed, your mother sleeping in the bed next to you.

“You awake?”

You freeze at the sound of Jungwoo’s voice, tense.

“Yeah. Going to see him.”

Jungwoo sits up too, rubbing his eyes, “Mark?”

You sigh, “Yeah.”

Jungwoo watches you lace your shoes.

“I’m coming with you.”

You bite your lip, “Are you sure?”

“I can’t sleep either. Mind as well.”

“Okay.”

Jungwoo climbs down the ladder, putting on his own shoes. You’re both careful not to wake your mother, slinking through the empty halls of district 13. Jungwoo keeps pace with you as you glance at the empty hospital cubicles. It looks all too eerie. Finally you arrive at the last door one again. The corridor is lit by blue lights, casting a light blue glow on the tiles. Mark lies in his hospital bed, strapped down with leather belts. He stays unmoving, empty eyes pointed to the ceiling. And all you can do is watch him. Jungwoo watches him too.

“They must’ve really messed him up. I feel bad for him.”

You try to stop yourself from crying, “I know.”

Jungwoo sighs, “The doctors said they’re working on conditioning him. So that he gets better. He’s not gone forever.”

Jungwoo wraps a protective arm around you, allowing you to rest your cheek against his shoulder.

“I miss him. I miss Mark.”

Jungwoo rubs your shoulder with his thumb, just like he always does, “I’m sure he misses you too.”

You both watch Mark begin to struggle against his restraints, his cries of frustration reverberating against the white walls of the room.

+scene 5: INTERIOR. BELOW THE CAPITAL-- NIGHT: “Johnny’s Sacrifice”

---START OF FLASHBACK

Back in the quarter quell, meeting Johnny was unique to say the least. He was the tallest among the victors. Handsome, cocky, and his eyes always burned with a glare, a fire that is never stoked. He always glanced with a smirk on his pink lips, golden hair slicked in suave waves. Gleaming golden boy of the capita-- heartthrob from the violent, malicious hunger games. He was untouchable. Everyone showered him with praise and gold costumes, a trident that was fit for poseidon.

“Well, look who it is.. the infamous y/n. What an honor.”

You turn to face the man who stands behind you, his voice smooth like butter. You almost detest it.

“What do you want Johnny?”

Johnny moves his bang out of his eye, raising his eyebrow, “Nothing, darling. Just came over to pay my respects.”

You scoff at him, “I don’t think that’s the real reason why you’re here.”

You hear Johnny chew something, a sugar cube resting between the pad of his index fingers. He hums in delight, “You know, these sugar cubes are supposed to be for the horses but, they’re sweet on my tongue. Would you like one?”

Johnny hold out a sugar cube to you, his tongue swiping his lips. You mutter, “Stay out of my way, Johnny.”

“Hmm. You’ll regret not taking that sugar cube my dear. It’s a different playing field now.”

You adjust the itchy harness on your costume, watching Johnny toss you a knowing look over his shoulder, a sinister smile on his lips.

After the quarter quell, you had gotten time to know Johnny for who he is. His partner, Mags, an elderly woman, volunteered for Annie during the selection. Surprisingly, Mags had made it quite far. Johnny was always on his toes, eyes darting in between the trees, trident searing through the fallen foliage on the ground. He guarded her like her life depended on it, which it did. The killing games were no place for an elderly woman, especially one who couldn’t defend herself. When you and Mark had run into Johnny and Mags in the forest, a thick, musty white fog crept along the trees like a blanket of foggy acid- burning everything and everyone it could reach. But you didn’t know that until you reached out your hand. It was only until your skin started to bubble and you realized you were screaming in pain, it felt like you were being burnt alive. Johnny screamed at Mags to get on his back, her calloused hands wrapped around his neck and his shoulders. Mark ran behind you, his hand guiding along the small of your bag to almost push you to run faster. The fog was quickly catching up. You heard Johnny scream Mag’s name, crying out for her as you looked back behind you to see what was happening. You couldn’t believe it. Willingly, she walked into the fog herself- knowing there was no chance she could make it out of the games alive. She was slowing Johnny down and she loved him too much to do that. He crouched on a mound of soil, hands cradling his head as he cried. His sobs morphed into screams as the fog was beginning to consume him. You tear back in his direction, Mark begging you to wait but you don’t. Instead, with all your might, you drag Johnny eleven though his weight is too heavy. He lifts himself up with you, stumbling over his feet as the fog begins to burn the neck of your skin. You scream, tears forming in your eyes and it’s like you want to claw off the blistering texture but you can’t because it’s so painful. Mark comes bounding for you both, the fog burning his skin too. He lets out a pained sound, struggling to haul both of you.

With your last bit of strength, you, Mark, and Johnny attempt to bound through the forest, tripping over each other as you collapse onto the ground. The soil irritates your burns, causing you to grit your teeth. Luckily, the invisible barrier starts to glow white, the misty fog hitting against the barrier, blocking it from reaching you. You had crossed the border in time. You would’ve been dead. Still, it feels like your skin is being torched off and there's no end to the pain. That is until you see a glimmer of a reflection in front of you. Water. You drag your body, telling Mark and Johnny to do the same. The water begins to cool your skin and it makes you sigh, relief to the sear of the burns. You, Mark, and Johnny got lucky. You managed to survive.

---END OF FLASHBACK

In current time, the rebels have issued a plan to besiege the capitol. The game-makers run the capitol like it’s their own chess board, except it's another game of death. You, Johnny, Mark, and the others decided to move underground to be less visible and less chances of being attacked. Though, you should have known the game-makers would catch on quickly. Snow would stop at nothing to kill the mockingjay’s allies.

The underground chambers of the capital are basically the sewer system. You, Johnny, Mark, Jaehyun, and the others trudge in the darkness, reaching for the walls of the sewer chambers for balance. The air reeked of muddy water and mold, and whatever sludge that stuck to the bottom of your shoes. You lead the pack, Jaehyun hot on your tail and the others follow behind. That’s when you hear Cressida’s scream. You whip your head back, your eyes widened to the sight of Cressida firing into the darkness, sewer mutts launching themselves forward in waves.

She screams, “Go! Go! Go!”

You wade through the water as fast as you can, moving your legs with force. Your heart is thundering in your ears. You feel dizzy and your grip on your bow tightens. You hear someone else scream, Pollux’s brother is dragged by a sewer mutt, the smell of blood and garbage is making you sick. You keep running, Johnny trying to stay behind to help the man. It’s too late. Cressida urges Johnny to keep moving forward, he pushes Mark to move even faster. You scream at the top of your lungs, “Where the fuck are we going?!”

Jaehyun urges you on, “Don’t stop running! Just keep going!”

Your legs are starting to betray you. Still, you painfully dodge through a series of sewer tunnels, hoping that the game makers don’t send sewer mutts down your path. Finally, there is an exit chamber in the center lobby of the tunnels. The only problem is, sewer mutts pour in through each opening. They look like rabid dogs with no faces, just sharp, pointy teeth. You spot the middle platform that secures a ladder up to the exit hatch. Before you can even start grabbing the rungs, sewer mutts surround you. You load your arrow into your bow, shooting off fire bombs at the mutts. Some fall into the water with a screech. From your side view, Jaehyun is firing at them with his crossbow and Johnny’s busy using his trident to skewer their bodies. But where is Mark? You see Mark’s body is half submerged in water in an attempt to roll the mutt off him. In an immediate instinct, you make a running start and tackle the mutt off him, your body crashing into a current of sewer water. A mutt in the murks screeches underwater, grabbing ahold of your foot. You try to shake it off, running out of breath. It doesn’t budge. You reach behind you to grab your last spear arrow, driving it into the chest of the mutt as hard as you can muster. When it loosens its grip, sinking to the bottom of the trench, you feel a pair of strong arms lift you up. The arms drag you back onto the platform, it’s Mark. Before Mark can say anything, a mutt attacks him from behind, causing him to shout.

You scream, “No!”

You grab an arrow from your canister that’s strapped to your back, shooting a specialized arrow at the mutt, causing it to drop dead on the platform.

Mark sits up, shaking his head from the dizziness of being dragged around. He presses his hands to his eyes, gaining his breath. To your left, Cressida’s firing magazines at more mutts. There’s not time, there’s too many.

“Jaehyun, get out of here! Grab Mark! Cressida you too!”

Johnny yells to Cressida and Jaehyun, “I’ll cover for you!”

Jaehyun and Cressida waste no time. Cressida starts to climb the ladder upwards, Jaehyun picks Mark up with ease. Mark protests, “We can’t leave y/n here! Y/n!”

You scream back, fending more mutts, “Just go! I’ll be right behind you!”

You hear Jaehyun urge Mark to follow Cressida. He does. You motion to Jaehyun, “Keep going! We’ll be there!”

Jaehyun gives you a somber look, biting his lip. He follows after Mark, clipping his bow onto his back. While you watch Jaehyun and Mark, you don’t realize it when a mutt chokeholds you from behind, dragging with such strong force. You scream, causing Johnny to whip around.

“Y/n! I’m coming!”

Johnny swings his trident in a masterful move, injuring every mutt that comes from his left and right. Finally, he reaches you and stabs the mutt in the chest, lifting you before you can be submerged in the water again.

“Y/n! Are you okay?”

You gain your breath, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Water wets Johnny’s blonde hair, his trident in his hand. He extends a hand to you, “Go with the others. I’ll be right there.”

You’re surprised that the mutts haven’t attacked during your whole conversation. Instead, they're beginning to encircle both of you in a slow, surround formation. There’s no time to argue. You make your way to the ladder, glancing back at Johnny. He nods. He continues to swing his trident at the mutts that surround him. When you’re high enough, you call out for Johnny. He backs up into the ladder as he starts to make his way up. But then, a mutt pounces on him, causing him to lose his purchase on the ladder.

“Johnny! Johnny!” You scream, reaching your hand out to him. It’s too late. He falls into the water again, screaming your name. A swarm of mutts begin to swallow him up like a raging storm, you’re witnessing your friend be eaten alive. His scream is so violent, so painful. You cry out, screaming Johnny’s name over and over again. That’s when you remember the bomb that was built in case of emergencies. You unlock it, you say, “Nightlock. Nightlock. Nightlock.”

Dropping it down, It falls back down the ladder, fire exploding the platform and the pile of mutts that consume Johnny. You wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer. What will you tell Annie? How will you tell her that her husband, her child’s father is now dead? You climb up the ladder as tears stream down your cheeks, it makes your nose runny. Soon, Jaehyun lifts you out of the narrow shaft.

+scene 6: INTERIOR. DISTRICT 13 BUNKER -- NIGHT: “Drunken Kiss”

You lean your head against the sidebar of the ladder on your shared bunk bed. Air strikes continue to boom over district 13, causing people to murmur in worry. The capitol had launched a surprise attack on district 13. Luckily, Mark had warned Coin in time, though he’ll get punished for it. You yearn for his warm, calloused hand. You yearn for the crack in his voice, innocent and soft. His laugh reminds you of the summer time and his eyes are deep, just like you could fall into them. Your thoughts are disrupted by Jaehyun. The man plops onto the mattress next to you, his ears and cheeks reddened. He smells of liquor.

“Jae, have you been drinking?”

Jaehyun hiccups a little, a frown scribbled on his face, “What if I told you I was? Just a little. I was off duty.”

You playfully punch him in the shoulder, “We’re hiding in a bunker with all these people and you decided to drink now?”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes, running a hand through his hair, “Can you blame me? You’re being distant. It’s because he isn’t here, right?”

You freeze at his words, turning towards him, “Jaehyun..”

Jaehyun shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I sound so bitter.”

You watch him rub a hand over his eyes as if that will wake him up a little more. You scoot closer to him. He searches you for answers, he doesn’t find any. You take it upon yourself. You need a distraction. You grab his face forcefully, kissing him with faux fervor. Jaehyun scrunches his eyebrows, reciprocating the kiss before pulling you onto his lap. You feel him fold his lips over your bottom lip, hot hands running through your hair. Jaehyun moans into the kiss before detaching from you, shaking his head, “This is wrong.”

He knows you so well, he senses it. You swipe your hand to wipe your lips. Jaehyun sighs, “I’m the one who’s drunk but why does it feel like I’m sober?”

“What do you mean? I told you how I felt about you. I love you Jae, I just-”

Jaehyun’s eyes are disappointed but expectant, “You love Mark more. I felt it on your lips. It didn’t feel real.”

You’re taken aback by Jaehyun’s words. Yet at the same time, he knows. He knows. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, “I’m sorry. I do mean it, I care about you. I really love you.”

Jaehyun places his hand over yours before squeezing, “I know. It’s okay.”

Jaehyun lets go, cold air hitting your skin, “I should help Coin with night watch.”

And just like that, Jaehyun’s gone. Mark isn’t here. Jungwoo sits next to you instead, coming back from where your mother sits. He doesn’t say a word. He uses his hand to usher you to rest your head on his lap. It’s like somehow without saying, he knows. The bombs continue to shake the arsenal, and the lights start to dim in and out.

+scene 7: INTERIOR. SNOW’S MANSION-- DAY (AFTER THE ATTACK ON THE CAPITAL): “Goodbye Jaehyun”

“You never came to see me.”

You sit in your leather chair, your hands discarded in your lap. Everything runs through your mind in a series of black and white reels, the siege on the Capitol. You remember people dying in front of your eyes, bombs of fire exploding down from the sky. You remember seeing Jungwoo, your older brother as he tried to heave people away from the fires and the wreckage. His eyes looked so soft then. His hair blew in the smoke, ashes dusted on his cheeks. And then the blast happened. Everything became white, your eardrums bled with white noise. It made the bile in your stomach rise, your head shaking from the impact. Then, you woke up in Snow’s mansion.

Jaehyun enters the room, still dressed in his rebellion uniform. His head hangs low, eyes stuck on the carpet. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

He mumbles, tears forming in his eyes, “I wanted to. Trust me.”

“So, why didn’t you? Where were you?”

Jaehyun’s biting his lip so hard it bleeds red. He sniffles through his nose, tears running down his cheeks, “I.. couldn’t… I failed. I promised I would protect your family and I couldn’t do that.”

When you look at Jaehyun, the boy you’ve grown up with your entire life, you see him. You see your older brother’s face and it makes the knot in your stomach tangle itself even further. You see Jungwoo’s figure being consumed in the flames, unable to run- unable to escape.

You grip the armrest, nails digging into the leather fabric, “Were they ours? The bombs. Tell me Coin didn’t give the order. Tell me it was the Capitol. Tell me it was Snow.”

Jaehyun is silent. His eyes don’t meet yours. He plants his feet, not coming anywhere near to you. It’s enough to confirm his answer.

You ask, “Was it you?”

“I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so sorry.”

You remember Snow’s voice echoing in your head, Coin had manipulated district 13 into bombing capitol children to cause more deaths- unnecessary deaths. Jungwoo’s death. All the medics who were sent out to help civilians are dead too.

You scrape your nails along the leather, boiling with anger as tears threaten to spill out of the dam, “Goodbye Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun doesn’t hesitate to leave. He turns heel quickly, sniffling from his tears. Shutting the cedar wood door behind him, you’re left alone in the cold air of Snow’s desolate mansion.

+scene 8: EXTERIOR. DISTRICT 12 VICTOR’S VILLAGE -- DAY: “I’m Here”

Now that the war is over, Snow and Coin are dead. Two people who craved power, now killed by the mark of the people- it’s a sign of freedom. It’s a symbol for the breaking of the chains that dictatorship has placed upon Panem. There was only one thing left to do. You didn’t want to stay in the Capitol, not to live a rich life now that you’ve lost your brother. You’ve lost Mark and Jaehyun. Effie and your mother promised they would help the other council members rebuild. So, you and Haymitch took the train home. Or, at least whatever was left of district 12. Haymitch takes the house next to the victors’ manor, just as he had during the games. No flowers grow in the garden anymore, the dirt mixed in with ash and soot. The sky is grey and it makes your heart all the more heavy. You must clear your head. You grab your canister of arrows and your bow, heading off to the meadow by the woods. It’s different, walking the path alone. The sun sets over the horizon just above the tip of the mountains. The world is so vast, you can’t but help wonder what’s out there.

Running among the trees, foliage brushing your skin makes you feel free. The light shines through the leaves, it’s warm. It’s like Mark. It feels like your brother’s smile. It feels like Jaehyun’s touch. You run as far as your legs can take you, your grip tight on your bow. At the bottom of the hill, you spot a stag along with a baby deer grazing on overgrown grass. You sit on a rock for a while, watching the stag and the baby. You have no intention of hunting it. It hasn’t done anything to harm you, there’s no reason to take it’s life. You’re tired of it, watching death. The tears just come bursting like a dam. You scream for your brother, you miss Jungwoo the most. You miss his gummy smile and the way he’d cling to you, the way he’d comfort you when things have gone bad. The more you think of Mark’s name in your head, it causes you to break even farther. Grief is a sad, bone-crushing weight. The stag and the baby deer are long gone.

Walking the dirt path out of the woods is lonely. The sky thunders a little, it might rain. There’s nothing but trees, grass, and daisies that grow on little stems in between the rocks. By the time you make it back to the victors’ village, you assume Haymitch is either in the shower or sleeping. But that’s when you stop. A figure is hunched over by the garden, a figure whose back is turned to you. Black hair shines under the gold sun. It can’t be. You drop your bow and your canister of arrows to the ground.

“Mark?”

And he’s right there. Mark turns around, slapping his soil-covered hands together. He stands up, eye-level to you. And he smiles so much that his teeth show, “Y/n.”

You waste no time pulling him in for an embrace, inhaling his mint scent. You feel like you could cry, thinking you had lost him forever. Mark keeps his hold on you, “I’m here now. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

You shake your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Mark detaches from you, wiping your tears with his thumb, “I’ll be right with you. I just need your help to remember, yeah?”

You nod, understanding that Mark hasn’t fully recovered from the tracker jacker venom. Mark takes hold of your hand, ushering to crouch beside him. He places your hands on top of a dirt mound, using his own hands to press it down.

He smiles, “I found some yellow daisies by the forest. Jungwoo really liked these, right?”

You stare back at him, eyes widened. You nod in confirmation. You waste no time to press a chaste peck to Mark’s dirt covered cheek, “Thank you.”

Mark giggles, his cheeks moving upwards as he grins.

The next few months are peaceful. You, Mark, and Haymitch eat dinner together every night in the manor. When there are rainy days, you open the front door, your back against one side of the door frame and Mark on the other. The glow of the rain illuminates the shine in Mark’s eyes, laughing as he sticks his hand out in the rain. The sound of Haymitch playing the piano thrums in the background as you continue to watch Mark smile at the rain, flicking some water at you. In the night, you toss over and over in your bed. So, you grab your candle holder and tread in the quiet of the dark to Mark’s room. He lies on the mattress spread out, eyes peacefully closed. The sight makes your heart beat slow. You set down the candle on the night stand, removing the covers so you’re able to slip in by Mark. Automatically, he wraps an arm around you, a small noise slips from his lips. Half asleep, Mark asks, “You love me, real or not real?”

You answer him, softly, “Real.”

It causes Mark to face you, rolling over, eyes fully open. He reaches his hand up to caress your cheek, only illuminated by the soft light of the candle, “I love you, y/n.”

“I know Mark. I know.”

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awhiskeyriver · 3 years

Text

le cirque monstre

This is the prologue to an old but newly updated story I idea I’ve had for years, sort of forgot about and recently remembered and became interested in again. I honestly don’t know when I will transfer this over to ao3 (probably at least the prologue, soon) or when I will add more. My inspiration for things is very fleeting right now, but I wanted to get your thoughts here in tumblrland on whether or not I should bother continuing!

Unedited and some things might end up changing in the future, but enjoy!

+++

Prologue: 1918, Coney Island

She used to think the cotton-spun candy that tasted like melted sugar was just like a dream; too good to be true. She was younger then, and everything about life was shiny and vibrant. Her nose crinkled with distaste as her boney knee stuck to the floor of the bleachers. Not anymore, though. Now, the popular fair treats were only a nuisance, making her job of cleaning between shows all the more difficult.

“Applesauce,” she muttered, twisting to sit on her butt as she peeled a piece of gum from her skin.

“What are you complaining about now, Katniss?” Gale asked, poking up from the row behind her with a devilish grin. Katniss rolled her eyes when he reached out to poke her nose, wondering how someone three years older than her could still be so immature. Gale and her had been best friends since the time she was small, bonded through unfortunate circumstances of life.

“I’m tired of cleaning these seats,” she pouted, sweating and absolutely exhausted. It had been their fourth show of the day, with five more to get through before calling it an evening. Katniss felt the sharp pangs of hunger vibrate through her stomach and moaned.

“If you quit being such a dewdropper this could’ve been done by now and we’d be off eating lu—“ he cut off, ears perking at the sound of distant voices growing closer. Katniss turned to face Gale before he pushed the top of her head in signal to crouch, doing the same for himself.

Female voices billowed through the auditorium, followed by that of her father, whose voice was authoritative and all business. He cleared his throat loudly a couple of times before joining in their quiet laughter with a hardy one of his own that reverberated off the bleachers. Katniss shrunk further into the ground with the sound. Father had always been a vocal man. Vocal when he was happy, even more so when he was angry. He talked, and Katniss listened. Katniss was always listening.

“The children all loved the performance today.”

“Simply loved it!” another high-pitched voice agreed. Katniss twisted her head uncomfortably in hopes of seeing beneath the bleachers and caught sight of two women dressed in long black robes with matching white-lined headdresses.

Nuns from the orphanage.

Gale had sold them tickets earlier before the last showing, and Katniss had hoped she would’ve finished her chores in time to see the children. Because despite living within her father’s circus (what he advertised to be the happiest place in America) there was a surprisingly low number of people who were willing to keep her boredom occupied.

“Children, what must you say now to Mr. Snow?” A chorus of cheerful thank you’s sounded, and underfed children whose clothing didn’t exactly fit wore bright grins. Perhaps the advertising hadn’t been entirely false. They all sure seemed to think so.

The children lined up behind the tallest sister like toy soldiers, marching towards the opening flap of the tent. All, except for one.

“Not you, young man.”

Katniss had practically turned herself upside down in effort to keep the woman in her line of sight, and caught the faintest glimpse of the child. He wasn’t facing her, but his hair was ash-blonde and unattended. Although he wore the same uniform as the other boys, it was sloppy with his shirt un-tucked and it’s color slightly off-white.

“You are not going anywhere,” she spoke dismissively as the other sister came to stand beside her.

“…But, have I done something wrong?”

His voice surprised her. Strong for a child, despite the same unavoidable squeakiness Gale experienced sometimes, being almost fourteen.

“Part of becoming a man,” he’d said proudly when her and her baby sister Prim giggled. “It’s called puberty.”

“Puber-what?” Prim asked, nose wrinkled.

“Awe, forget it.”

“Peeta...” The one reached out, as if to touch him but recoiled before her hand could land on his shoulder, and drew back. “Our home has no place for you, anymore. There is nothing we can do for you.”

He remained quiet as the softer one peered up at her stone-faced sister, who only nodded with agreement.

“You belong here. There is simply nowhere else for you to go.”

“There is not a soul in New York who cares to take in a crippled boy.”

Father took a step in closer to the nuns, who stood a fair distance from the wilting boy. Katniss watched on, her heart beating explosively inside of her chest in a way that made her breaths almost ragged. She’d witnessed cruelty tenfold and was not blind to its existence. But the reality of what the young man was crashed down on her heavily, and she realized perhaps they were not being heartless afterall.

The boy was grotesque. Evidence of the fact made clear as he turned on a crutch made of wood and exposed his profile. It took a hand covering her mouth to keep from making any audible sound.

So, they were simply right, then. There wasn’t a soul in New York, or most likely any state, that would willingly take him into their care. Nobody but a circus.

He resisted as her father’s thick hand clutched his arm, but surprisingly enough did not scream. He did not say a single word as he finally spun around fully into Katniss’s view. Watching with a mixture of fear and dread as the two nuns who had escorted him in left without him.

+++

“Quit trying to bug him, Kat,” Gale snapped, catching her arm outside of the tent where all of the circus freaks were busy preparing for their shows.

Three weeks had passed since the boy joined her father’s circus, parading around with clowns on stilts and the small people that waddled around in shoes five times too big and circular red noses. Three weeks and any time she tried to catch a glimpse of him outside of the show, Gale caught her.

“Aren’t you at all curious?” she huffed, twisting out of his embrace with a thoughtful rub to her elbow. “Haymitch says he is only thirteen. The youngest carnie we’ve ever had.”

“Then going in there will only make him feel like more of a freak,” he scolded and Katniss wilted, realizing the truth to his words. They both jumped as father’s booming voice sounded from a distance, calling Gale’s name.

“I need to go start selling tickets,” he sighed, turning to leave with suspicion in his eye. “Promise me, Kat.”

“…Oh, alright.”

“Promise me.”

Katniss sighed, smoothing out the fluffy material of her dress as something to keep her hands busy. “Yes Gale, I promise to stay out of trouble. Now go, or you’ll have to answer to the whip.”

He left and Katniss paced the length of the carnie tent. There was music playing inside, the soft blare of a saxophone and some sticks against metal pots. Katniss enjoyed spending time with the performers when allowed. Chaff, the deep-skinned muscle man that could lift four hundred pounds despite missing a hand, made her laugh. And Haymitch, a magician, let her play with some of his props when he was drunk enough.

So, really, her going inside of the tent wasn’t completely for the new boy. She had been keeping her fingers crossed during the promise to Gale, anyways.

Katniss glanced around the abandoned backlot, where dark puddles of mud created divots in the green grass she was forced to hop over to keep her shoes clean. Then, she slipped past the thin curtain, which closed off the strange world of fantasy from harsh reality.

Katniss went unnoticed, weaving her way through lounging performers and billowing clouds of smoke. It was always louder in the back tents – deep laughter and saxophone practices, occasional drunken arguments and the escaped moans from two closer carnies. She winced when the volume grew unexpectedly, and bowed her head as if to provide a thin veil of privacy to a group of outlandish people who didn’t know the meaning of it.

She waved at Haymitch, who only raised up his eyebrows in her direction before blowing up a shining red balloon and twisting it with his skilled hands. The other clowns seemed to be hanging close by; some sleeping, others smoking. The new boy most likely wasn’t far. She bit the inside of her cheek, silently debating with herself whether or not to ask of his whereabouts before she caught a glimpse of something that captured her attention.

There it is again, she thought, following the thin trail of light that bounced off the draped edge of the tent, which was otherwise dark. She bent over in half, silently pushing past it with curiosity in her expression. The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw him, sitting perched on the clear opposite end near one of the long poles, which held the tent in place. With a thin, melting candle for light, he kept a novel perched in his one bent knee, his eyes scrolling the pages like a typewriter.

“Hello,” she offered, jumping in surprise when the boy dropped the book and shot up on one wobbly leg.

“Oh…” she bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep from giggling at his startled expression. His overgrown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes despite his best efforts to push it back.

“Did I scare you?” She asked, reaching out to hand him his cane. He didn’t reply, but accepted the crutch quickly before bending over for the book, which he tucked behind his back away from her view.

“It’s alright, I’m not gonna take it,” she promised. He glanced down at her, bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was just curious.”

He huffed in silence, falling back to the ground silently as he dusted the dirty pages. Katniss frowned, shifting on her feet as she watched the boy flip through his story. She hadn’t thought past the initial finding him, and now that she had, the silence was deafening.

“Can you speak?”

The tips of his ears turned red as he kept his gaze focused at the ground, running his hands over the dirty cloth of his pants.

“Of course.”

“I know,” she smiled slyly, inching closer to him the way one might approach a nervous animal. “I just wanted to hear you say something.”

She sat down, pushing her butt closer when he didn’t protest and leaned over his shoulder to glance down at his lap. She’d never seen a book so close in real life, only in the hands of strangers or in pictures. Father had never bothered teaching her how to read more than a few simple words, claiming it was pointless for girls to fill their heads with nonsense like knowledge. Certainly, as a circus girl, it wasn’t Katniss’s place to argue. But, it hadn’t helped her curiosity. She sat in silence, wondering if the boy could actually read the words on the pages, or if he was pretending. It was just as ridiculous for the time to be spent teaching him such a skill as it would be for herself.

“What is your novel about?”

“You can borrow it, if you would like,” he offered, dog-earing one of the pages before handing it over to her waiting hands. Her lips pursed sourly as her eyebrows furrowed, pushing the book back into his hands with a sting of betrayal in her chest.

“Well, you don’t need to make fun of me.” she mumbled, rising up to her feet. How humiliating, to be made fun of by this boy she’d only hoped to make feel more comfortable.

“Wait.” He grabbed hold of her arm, the first physical contact he’d offered to her since she’d approached. Her body stiffened and the warmth of his fingertips was gone in a flash as his hand twitched back down to his side. He pushed a long lock of hair back behind his ear, eyes boring into her despite her back being turned.

And it was then, under the candlelight that she saw the gnashes and hideous scarring that ripped apart more than half of his face up close. Quickly, she looked away.

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” he promised lowly, sounding almost sincere. “I wouldn’t.”

“I can’t read. You should know that,” she sniffed, chin tilted up in the air as her eyes shifted back to his forlorn face. “I’m a lady.”

“My apologies. Someone I kne—” he stopped himself short with a shake of his head before cocking his chin back in the direction of the book. He ghosted a hand over its impressive script before opening it back up to the page he’d previously closed. “Perhaps, I could teach you. If you wanted to learn, then you could borrow it sometime.”

Katniss took a moment to truly ponder the idea. Plenty of carnie’s had taught her things over the years. Octavia, the lady with facial hair as long as that which grew on Katniss’s head, had taught her how to properly buckle her shoes when she was younger. And to that day, Haymitch took credit for teaching the girl her first words. She didn’t suppose accepting such a proposition from this boy was much different.

“What would you like in return?” she wondered aloud, confused by the boys humorless laughter, sounding through the dark space.

“Your company shall be payment enough.”

She imagined the boy, all by himself in the dark confines of the carnie tent with only the book as company, and pitied him. She knew well that it took more than being surrounded by a sea of people to not feel alone. Gale and Prim would like her new friend though, she was sure of it, and together they would all keep him fine company until he found a solid place within the odd circus family.

“Alright,” Katniss agreed, dusting the dirt from the bottom of her old dress. She needed to be going soon, or Gale would grow suspicious. The last thing she needed was father out searching for her when he had a show to run. “Friends, then.”

“Sure,” he agreed slowly, as if mulling over the word. “Friends.”

“But we can hardly be friends if I don’t know your name,” she argued, waiting patiently with her hands twisted together. Her tightly spun sausage curls bounced with every step she took in the direction of the main tent before stopping just outside of it. “Mine is Katniss.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Katniss,” he spoke, so eloquently for someone of his status. “I’m Peeta.”

#fanfic #writing #circus!everlark #this will definitely be on the darker side...lol #probably the darkest thing ive written #very different #but i hope interesting??#let me know if its worth continuing or aborting LOL #writing is hard #everlark #everlark fanfic #thg #why is putting something out into the universe so hard?? lol

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thelastcetra · 3 years

Text

a glint and a laugh

Gale always had a glint in his eye when he talked about magic, a hint of something more beneath the surface. He never lied, but he never told the entire truth either.

Lin never asked. She learned very early in life not to pry. The life as a half-drow street urchin was not a kind one but it was a damn good teacher. She kept her secrets from everyone as well after all. Not from Lyle though. Never from Lyle. But he was long gone, so her secrets stayed close to her heart, where they're safe.

Lin loved that glint of Gale's. It was a playful one, a promise. She knew he was big on theatrics and it wasn't an act, not exactly. It wasn't all he was either.

She recalled the time she found him deep in thought by the fire. It was shortly after they'd met. He stood there, pensive. Lin had known he wasn't just a gregarious wizard who was bouncing around playfully, wizards rarely were, but she was still caught off guard. He was still kind and open but he was also grounded. For the first time since she found herself on that mind-flayer ship, despite all the uncertainty and the ticking bomb inside her head, Lin felt safe.

After that day, whenever she felt like spiraling, he somehow grounded her. She'd sit in the camp thinking about all the people they might ask for help, not knowing which one -if any- would be able to cure them, and then suddenly hear his laugh, either playing a game of cards with Wyll or trying to pry some info about the astral plane from a very frustrated Lae'zel, and Lin would feel okay again.

She looked at him now. He was talking with Shadowheart about Shar rituals and magic with that familiar glint in his eye. Lin never cared for magic until she met Gale. Seeing it through his eyes, seeing his love for it somehow made her love it too. Because he was magic and magic was him. His eyes drifted and met Lin's for a moment. Right before he looked back at Shadowheart he winked at Lin, causing a lot of blood to rush to her, thankfully very dark-colored cheeks.

She didn't know when exactly her trust had turned into infatuation, but she could never look at him anymore without thinking how delightful she found him. How she could listen to him talk all through the night into the dawn, how she adored the way his hair curled into his neck after a long day of walking, how his laugh was a song to her ears and when he ended up dead in that fight with the goblins, how his death ending the world was the least of her worries, for she needed him in this journey more than she needed the rest of the world. It was never as kind to her anyways.

She knew he had his secrets and his past hanging over him all the time. But so did she. Still, they could find some way to meet in the middle. At least they could try.

Gale looked at her again, more serious this time, and she didn't need the parasite or the Weave to know he felt the same.

archive of our own link

#Baldur's Gate #Baldur's Gate 3 #Gale #Gale of Waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #oc: Lin

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infinites-chaser · 3 years

Text

winter’s end (ao3) | mlqc | gavin/mc | angst.

spoilers for ch.22!

winter world gavin angst.

He first sees her on a winter day, bitter, cold and grey, a far cry from the warm, golden autumn of another world.

There's no ginkgo tree. No blood-stained letter, no blushes and stolen glances and unspoken promises.

She still saves him. She always does.

Gavin’s winds are only ever gales. Strong, biting, cold.

(In this endless winter, they always have been.)

His Evol awakens under scalpels and bright artificial light, accompanied by the words “Experiment Success” from masked scientists looming close and his father’s answering nod of approval.

“Not completely worthless then.”

A scoff. His father’s voice warps in the still air around him—

“With the mother’s genes, I would’ve expected more, but I suppose it’ll do.”

—the sound echoes, takes new life as the wind darkens: it forms a shield, a howling cocoon that drowns out all else, then hardens, shoots out in a sharp, merciless wave, meant to maim, to kill, to silence.

The scientists scatter before the gales, but the winds fade before they can reach his father. Only the barest breath of a breeze brushes his cheek.

His father almost smiles.

Before he can summon up another blade of wind, pain explodes across his back: there, then gone, leaving his limbs numb and leaden.

His vision blurs. His father’s smile distorts, turning to something cruel and vicious, almost demonic.

Then—

Darkness.

He wakes to bright white walls, his father gone, and wonders if it was all a nightmare, some sick sad dream. but when he clenches a fist, black wind forms.

Not a dream, his mind supplies.

The rest is a storm of emotions— disbelief, rage, a grudging wonder.

They all fade, with time.

He lets the air wrap around him in their place.

He doesn’t know if he can call the power his but he doesn’t mind it.

In this world he doesn’t have the stars, doesn’t know ginkgo leaves or soft piano or a warm, warm smile.

But the winds stay.

He doesn’t know what the wind means to him. Flies for miles and doesn’t know why it never eases that tightness in his chest, never feels like wings, never feels like freedom. It’s only ever a weapon, wielded by his father, by the military and the STF, by anyone but him.

Months slip into years, into a childhood gone by with no sign of an answer to the question of the wind, to the question of his existence.

He doesn't know what his justice means. What it's for. Why he fights, if the world he dreams of isn't his, just like everything else he holds close. (The winds. The uniform. The missions.)

Somewhere along the way, he forgets to keep searching. And maybe it's easier this way— to lose himself in someone else's cause. To be his father's weapon, a well-forged blade.

Because how do you find something if you've lived your whole life empty, without it? How do you even begin to search if you don't know what you're looking for or why?

He loses himself to the empty sky, lets the storm consume him. Or maybe there hadn't been anything of him to lose to begin with.

Until—

her.

He first sees her on a winter day, bitter and grey, a far cry from the warm, golden autumn of another world.

There's no ginkgo tree. No blood-stained letter, no blushes and stolen glances and unspoken promises.

(She still saves him. She always does.

But, first:)

"Talk. Who are you? Why are you following me?" It comes out harsher than he intends. Cold. Angry. A mask for his confusion, his suddenly racing heart.

"Not answering? Where's your accomplice?"

(The questions are all wrong, but they’re all he knows how to ask.)

She's silent at first, a thousand emotions and more caught in her too-open, too-vulnerable gaze. Then, soft, stammering, panicked, she responds.

Her answers don't make sense, they sound like lies, bad ones, or at least he tells himself they do.

He pressures her. He wants the truth. (Wants to know why it feels like some almost-forgotten part of him's been waiting all life for this. For her.)

“Why don’t you believe me?!”

Some fragile thing hovering in her eyes falls and shatters. And maybe some part of him, deep down, realizes they’re stitched of the same fabric, their souls weaved from the same red thread because his chest feels like it’ll tear open at the sight. Maybe it does, at her outburst. At the trembling of her mouth. The tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

It shakes him. Softens his hold on her until he’s hyper-aware of her warmth and the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers. It’s enough to melt his ever-present icy rage.

She’s suspicious, she’s been following him, and he shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t even be listening to her, should’ve had her brought in and interrogated at the NW headquarters, and yet— she says she was his underclassman at Loveland High School. She says his name soft and sad, half-hope, half-resignation, and somehow it feels familiar. It feels right.

It feels like being lost all over again. Like being found. Like the thing he’d been looking for all those long cold years was her and her warm, earnest gaze, her hand in his. Her missing smile.

(He warns her away.

He lets her go.)

Or he wishes he could. But in the aftermath of the explosion, he sees her again, jostled and shoved by the crowd and his body reacts before his mind does— he’s across the street, her in his arms, the wind at his heels.

He wonders briefly, distantly, if this is what flying, what having wings, is meant to feel like.

Her eyes, full of disbelief, on the edge of wonder, are answer enough. This, his heart whispers, is what your Evol is meant for. This is what you’d fight for. What you’d live for.

She clutches his uniform, curls fingers tight into the stiff black fabric, and he doesn’t tell her to let go.

But once she’s out of danger, he forces himself away from her, pulls the mission back to the forefront of his mind. warns her to not follow him, again, words meant for her sake more than his.

She follows him anyway. and maybe some part of him wanted her to, but his father’s teachings, dividing society into the weak and strong, ring loud in his ears, give voice to cruelty of his own.

He hears himself mocking her and her Evol, as if from afar.

The words come out all wrong— what he means is don’t run into danger so recklessly. Take care of yourself first.

She argues back. He protects her. This, too, feels familiar, somehow. It feels right.

“This won’t happen a second time,” he says. He doesn’t want it to— not if it means she’s in danger again.

She reaches for him. He pushes her away.

It scares him. The way his instincts cry out for him to protect her, to lead her to safety, to take her hand and never let go.

(His heart’s more painfully alive than it’s ever been.)

He leaves her standing there, alone under the swirling flakes of snow, each step he takes away from her, purposeful, measured, unwavering. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal, not quite. More like he’s trying to escape the new weight of his heart and its storm of feelings.

His winds linger around her a moment longer, then follow, one step behind.

He forces himself to ignore the wind’s whisper in his ear— she’s crying, and maybe it’s his fault, and his heart tells him it is. But when gold winks up at him from where it’s half-buried in drifts of snow, he lets the wind guide his hand to it: it’s a ginkgo bracelet, it’s hers, it’s somehow so familiar it hurts.

He pockets it.

Later, in the cold metal darkness of HQ, he makes his report.

“Anyone suspicious?” The commander asks.

There was a girl, Gavin thinks, but does not say. She knew my name, she knew me. And somehow, I felt like I knew her, too.

There was a girl, and after twenty-four years of wandering the skies alone, her eyes felt like warmth. They felt like coming home.

“No suspicious individuals,” he says instead, and it isn’t a lie.

There was a girl, he thinks, even as his commander updates him with the other intel gathered. He wonders if he’ll ever see her again.

He doesn’t think he will, but he decides he wants to.

(He does.)

Explosions wrack the swirling storm clouds and stinging ice of North Mountain. As the cable car towers collapse in a flurry of smoke and flames, the wind tells him, she’s there. In the center of all the danger. Again.

He’s never flown faster than that moment, every fiber of his being focused on a single purpose: save her. (protect her. stay with her, until the end.)

She’s in the wind, then in his arms a heartbeat later.

“Gavin,” she gasps, snow-dusted, windswept, but alive. “How did you—?”

Her fingers clutch him back, clutch him close. She makes the smallest noise— of relief, he thinks, he hopes— and for a moment, she seems about to bury her head in his chest and he’s not sure if the roaring in his ears is from the cold gusts of air enveloping them or from the pounding of his heart, but. He’d let her, he wants her to, somehow, wants her to hold him tight so he has an excuse to never let go.

“You again,” he says, softer than he expects.

“Gavin,” she murmurs again instead of responding, his name like a prayer on her lips, like an incantation.

“Why…”

“Why—” he starts at the same moment, then breaks off, clearing his throat, daring a glance at her startled face, then looking away.

“You go first,” he says gruffly after a long pause.

She laughs.

It’s barely loud enough for him to hear with the rest of the air still alive with the echoes of explosions, but he feels her chest rise and fall against his, watches a grin break across her face like sunlight through the clouds, and the storm around them fades away— it’s just him and her and their shared patch of sky, made world enough for him with her smile.

But a heartbeat later, her laughter’s faded, her smile replaced by that same sad look: half-hope, half-resignation. In its absence, he wishes she’d laugh again. Wishes he could make her laugh again. Wishes he knew what made her smile.

“Why do you always protect me?” She asks. Soft, hesitant, as lost as he feels.

"Why is it always you?"

Some part of him knows: It's always been her. It'll always be her.

Before she can reply, another explosion rips through the air and why stops mattering as his instincts kick in. He pulls the winds close, pulls her closer, and his brain distantly registers the sound of his radio crackling but she fits in his arms like they were meant for her and her alone, and in that moment, that's all he wants to think about: his arms around her waist, her cheek pressed firmly against his heart.

They confront the cable car operator together, then follow the shadowy iron passage into the mountain's depths. He gives her his spare gun, tells her how to use it, how to hold, tells her to protect herself to ease the worry in his own heart.

"Your first and only mission is to keep yourself safe," he says.

She doesn't listen, it seems she never does, the first bullet she fires is to save him, and it doesn't make sense— he's been told his whole life he's only worth anything because of his Evol, the winds that are his but not, but she holds up the gun she barely knows how to use, and runs to his side, as if his life's more than being a weapon, being someone else's shield.

She saves him. She protects him. He tries to do the same for her.

She has his back, and he has hers, and together, they're invincible— his strength isn't his Evol alone, and maybe it wasn't ever meant to be, it was always meant to be this: the brush of her shoulder against his, the way she aims and fires without him having to remind her how, his nice shot! and her answering quicksilver smile.

"Gavin," she murmurs in the aftermath of it all, the metal limbs now harmless, in scattered pieces around them.

"Gavin, we did it."

She shakily lowers the empty gun, turning to him with a slight grin and a proffered palm.

"High five?"

It's ridiculously light-hearted for someone who's just faced death and won, or at least he thinks it is, until he sees the strain of her smile, the way her eyes shift nervously back and forth, and the way her fingers worry the edge of a tear in her coat.

And maybe it's his instincts again, maybe it's his heart, maybe it's fate and time, lost memories caught in the wind and carried back to him— but he takes her hand in his and pulls her to his chest, holds her close, holds her tight.

"Gavin," she says again, voice muffled but warm, and it sounds like don't let go.

(In another life, he swore to accompany her until the very end.

In this one, he does.)

He tries to give her bracelet back, but she tells him to keep it, even as she gazes at it, eyes soft, wistful, sad.

He tries to ask her about the person she's searching for, but she stays quiet.

He learns to stop, to give her space when her mind's a world away.

Through it all, he stays by her side.

(Maybe he never quite remembers the golden past of a life that was never his. Maybe she doesn't need him to.)

One day, she tells him she's stopped looking for that person, that they're already long gone.

"You sound certain of that," he replies. She nods and lets out a breath, blinks back unshed tears, then gives him a resolute smile.

"It's alright," she says, "because I've realized the me that was looking for them, the me that was destined for them— they're gone, too."

"Maybe they're together then?"

She looks at him for a long moment, a mini-eternity passing through her thoughtful eyes.

"Maybe they are."

He offers her his hand. She takes it.

His winds become soft for her, become gentle, become breezes he can call his own, and no one else's but hers.

She becomes his wings, and together, they fly.

(Their first kiss is still under a never-ending starry sky.)

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #mlqc spoilers #val writes #im sorry it hurt me too c:#alrighttt now we're up to date <3 time to make the masterlist at some point or another

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

August Contest Submission #9: Forget-Me-Not

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: Cannon AU shortly after Frozen II (Anna and Kristoff are just friends :P) Lemon: No CW: None

-o-o-o-o-o-

The soft autumn breeze gently brushed against her skin with the delicacy of the finest silk krones could buy. A sudden shiver from the cool air brought a delightful tingle up Anna’s spine and she found herself tightening her grip against her sister’s hand.

The recently-named Queen of Arendelle glanced towards her side, captivated at the sight of her older sister’s flowing blonde hair and glittering white dress. The fabric behaved in a manner perfectly fitting for the fifth spirit; flowing through the air as if Elsa truly had no definite form to be categorized by other than her shimmering beauty.

“Need something?” Anna watched the words slip past her sister’s lip while quirking her eyebrow upwards.

The blood couldn’t rush faster to Anna’s freckled cheeks. She nearly jumped at being caught admiring the only person within miles of the two. Her light blue eyes darted ahead.

“J-just wondering if you know where you’re going?” She coughed and tried to recover some of her embarrassment.

The excuse seemed appropriate. It had only been a few weeks since the Enchanted Forest had been revealed to the rest of the world. Even if Elsa had been living with the Northuldra for a period of time, it was still a vast, mysterious new environment. It wasn’t exactly clear if Elsa knew how to give a proper tour of the area.

“Hm, are you worried that I’ll lead us down the wrong path your majesty?” Elsa smirked in jest.

It was practically involuntary for Anna to respond with rolled eyes. Elsa took to calling her “Majesty” quite quickly it seemed.

“Gale?” Elsa asked aloud.

In that moment Anna felt a gentle push from behind and a flurry of autumn leaves slipping through her hair as they directed the two women forward. Of course the spirits of these magical woods would come at her sister’s beck and call. The former Queen beside her…being the fifth spirit of this world. The mere idea was still so ethereal.

“So you don’t know where you’re going. You need Gale to lead the way?” She bit her lip to keep the laughter inside.

“Oh hush. We’re practically here anyway.”

True to her words, Anna’s eyes widened as the trees of the forest became more sparse with each step. Streaks of sunlight took advantage of the increasing gaps in the leaves, lighting the dirt path ahead. If Anna squinted her eyes she could barely make out the clearing up ahead.

Unable to contain the energy building in her legs and chest, Anna let go of Elsa’s hand to rush ahead. Her long, auburn hair bounced behind her as she raced towards their destination. A splattering of bright colors grew more vibrant as she neared the meadow up ahead. As her eyes adjusted to the color, her focus became sharp and defined.

Sunflowers, chrysanthemums, daisies. Anna counted all the distinct flowers that came into view and found herself in the center of it all. She spun, letting her dress twirl along with the flowers as Gale merrily danced around her. The fragrance of the meadow weaved through the air and melted the stress of their journey from her muscles.

Anna turned, a brilliant smile on her face as she glanced back towards Elsa. The shadows of the trees slipped away from the blonde as she entered the clearing.

“Elsa, it’s beautiful!”

A reserved, yet meaningful smile spread across Elsa’s lips, “A worthy spot for the Queen’s retreat?”

“Well, just about anywhere with you is a worthy place to be.” Anna smiled while reaching out with her hands and grasping Elsa’s. “But this place is amazing!”

Elsa’s pale cheeks suddenly turned bright red and her eyesight drifted downwards. Anna struggled hard to keep her laughter inside at the sight of her flustered companion. However, she was in too high of spirits to attempt to tease.

With a lethargic sigh, Anna released Elsa from her grip and tilted her heels to send herself backwards onto the soft grass beneath. A short grunt escaped her lips as her back hit the ground but a great sigh of contentment followed as her body sprawled outwards.

With closed eyes, her thoughts drifted to the blissful feeling of being away from Arendelle. Of course, she loved her homeland with all her heart and even took an oath to protect Arendelle just as the ruler’s before her. Yes, Arendelle was her home, but so was Elsa and those two things weren’t exactly mutually exclusive anymore.

The sound of Elsa crawling beside her form and laying by her side, caused Anna’s eyes to slightly open. Elsa’s elbow supported her chin as she positioned her body sideways. It was nearly impossible for Anna to avoid traveling down her sister’s outline, reveling in the delicate curves of her bosom, waist and hips.

“I’m glad you like it.” Elsa’s whispered words pleasantly tickled her ears.

“Mmmm.” Anna hummed in approval. “Are we camping here tonight?”

Her sister nodded. “I told Honeymarron and Ryder to meet us here with supplies later tonight.”

“Good…That’s good.” Anna mumbled.

She could feel herself growing increasingly tired with each passing second. But that wouldn’t do. This was her time with Elsa. A luxury that very few had, and something even more precious to her than the entirety of the royal reserves.

She reached her hand to pluck a little flower within reach. A tiny stem rolled in her fingers and her eyes scanned the light blue petals with a bit of confusion. Her brow twisted as she noted the distinct yellow center.

“Forget-me-not?”

“Hm?” Elsa questioned beside her.

“This is a forget-me-not. They aren’t supposed to be around in late November.” Anna spun the flower within her digits, “I wonder why it’s still here.”

Elsa shrugged beside her, “I wouldn’t know. It is the Enchanted Forest so maybe it can flourish here regardless of the season.”

“True…”

Suddenly, a thought sparked through Anna’s head and she twisted her body to face her sister. The space between them shrunk and Anna found her nose mere inches from Elsa’s. The slightest hesitancy flashed through Anna’s mind before disregarding the feeling. They were truly alone in this clearing.

Blue eyes glanced towards the lips before her, and when she glanced towards Elsa’s deep blue iris’ she could see a similar line of sight reflected.

“You know, “ Anna started in a whisper while bringing the flower in her hand closer to Elsa. “Forget-me-nots have plenty of meanings. One being a promise to not forget someone.”

“You don’t say.” Elsa giggled and Anna joined in before slipping the stem through blonde lockes, just above her sister’s ear. The blue petal perfectly matched her eyes.

“But it can also represent a connection that endures all challenges and measure of time.”

“I like that one.” The words passed through lips in a sound so faint, Anna found herself straining to hear them.

The air around them shifted. The lively forest surrounding the two women faded into the background and all Anna could feel was the pulse racing through her veins, pushing her towards something beautiful.

“And they represent true and beautiful memories.”

Anna noticed Elsa give the slightest frown at her words but couldn’t help her eyelids fluttering shut in the moment. She reached out to place her palm along Elsa’s waist. They were alone, Anna reminded herself with her thoughts. They were safe.

Anna leaned her head towards Elsa, finding their foreheads connecting in a moment of bliss and with the slightest tilt of her chin, Anna seeked out the lips she desperately wanted against her own.

A jolt from Elsa had the younger sister’s eyes opening abruptly. She watched Elsa roll her body up into a sitting position, her eyes staring forward, but entirely unfocused. Anna mimicked the blonde’s position and sat upright beside her.

“Is something wrong?” Anna asked hesitantly while watching Elsa pull the flower from her hair and stare at the petals.

It seemed as if Elsa was in a deep trance, far off in thought. With an outreached arm, she placed her palm on her sister’s far shoulder.

“Elsa?”

“I-” Her ears perked at the sound her voice was shaking with a peculiar emotion…Not exactly fear, but something similar. Apprehension?

“Did I do something wrong?” Anna asked carefully.

They had spent plenty of time together. Plenty of nights together. Not once had she seen Elsa react so…peculiarly. Did her breath stink?

When Elsa’s eyes refocused she turned her head and took a moment to process Anna’s question before leaning into her younger sister.

“Anna, you could never do anything wrong. Forgive me. I just…I want to- No I need to take you somewhere.I know this is sudden and unplanned but-”

“Where?”

“It’s um…” Elsa bit her lip before speaking, “…Ahtohallan.”

Anna’s eyes widened at the name. The mythical location that her sister had crossed a literal sea of danger to find. She wanted to take her there?

Fear was the first emotion that Anna felt rising in her chest, followed by confusion and hesitancy. This was all so sudden. Their plans were to camp in the enchanted forest for a few days as a much needed retreat not…No. That didn’t matter, Anna decided. She trusted Elsa and if this was something her sister wanted. She would oblige no matter what.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Okay?”

Elsa’s eyes observed her face, scanning for what Anna presumed was objection but she was sure her features had been set in nothing but honest determination and trust.

A pleasant rest in a vibrant meadow turned into a whirling adventure. She watched in silent fascination as Elsa called Nokk, the water spirit, from a nearby pond and with a touch of her magic, the horse became shrouded in a gem-like exterior of ice.

While her sister didn’t seem as concerned as she had before, there was an unmistakable tightness that Anna could spot in her stance and poise. When Elsa mounted the spirit she reached her arm outwards towards her younger sister. Anna took the hand confidently and the two were suddenly racing towards what Anna could only presume as the shore.

The rush of wind through her hair would have been a wonderful sensation if not for the strange circumstance of the quest. What had gotten into her sister? Elsa certainly wasn’t the spontaneous type, especially not like herself, and yet it seemed that this journey called to her in a way that was unavoidable.

Anna wrapped her arms under her sister’s arms and took hold around her slender waist. With a tightened embrace, she hoped to ease some of Elsa’s worry that seemed to ooze off her form like a faint fog. Feeling the coolness of the fifth spirit’s garb was soothing in it’s own right as well.

The sun was starting to lower along the horizon and Anna peeked from behind Elsa to see the dazzling sea they were racing towards. The Nokk galloped, unfaltering when the transition from land to ocean began. Anna fixed her eyes below, watching and hearing the hooves of the spirit slam into the surface of the water below, only to turn the shifting liquid into ice on impact.

“Is Attohallen far?” She shouted over the sound of rushing wind. The dimming sunlight was only a slight concern in her mind.

“Not as far as you’d think.” Elsa spoke in a manner akin to light hearted laughter.

Anna smiled, knowing that the feeling of riding the Nokk was the freeing sensation that Elsa craved. It was unmistakable to think her sister wasn’t enjoying journey towards this magical glacier she had only been told about while Elsa had recounted her own perilous adventure a few weeks ago. It made her happy that her sister’s previous concern and anxiety was losing its hold on the woman once more.

Anna closed her eyes and tightened her hold. She cherished the feeling of Elsa in her arms, leaping forth into an unknown adventure. It reminded her of the earlier days in their childhood, when Elsa was far more mischievous, and far less reserved.

Time passed, how quickly, Anna could not say. She merely focused on the clattering sound of Nokk’s steps against the ice below. The next time Anna opened her cerulean eyes, she could see the golden hue of the sunset lowering behind an icy mountain ahead. The sea around the two women was completely covered in pure ice.

“Ahtohallan.” Anna whispered as she guessed their destination was ahead. She leaned to the side to catch the determined look of her sister staring straight ahead.

Shortly after noticing the glacier, Anna realized they were much closer than she thought. Solid ice became packed, dense snow and the Nokk’s movement slowed to a trot.

“Not much further.” Elsa assured and Anna nodded against her back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you out here all of a sudden.”

“What’s so important here?”

Elsa turned to look her in the eyes, the confident smirk on her pale visage did plenty to ease Anna’s hidden concern.

“It’s something you have to see for yourself.”

“That something doesn’t…bite….right?”

The beautiful chime of Elsa’s laughter sent a giddy pressure into Anna’s chest.

“No, you’ll be safe. I promise.”

The rush of emotions that rose within herself had Anna blushing profusely. The confidence and grace that her sister spoke those words with were almost too much to handle. She definitely liked this side of Elsa.

Soon, Nokk arrived at a triangular entrance of crystal clear sculpted ice and Anna slid off the spirit and watched it return to the sea after bowing to the women.

“Okay.” She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “What do you want to show me?”

Elsa smirked before grasping one of her hands and leading her into the cavern. It was dark, surprisingly so. Anna squinted in an attempt to see anything in front of herself but found it incredibly frustrating. That is, until she could barely make out Elsa placing her palm against the icy wall.

Lights nearly blinded Anna as the cavern lit up in a glittering beauty that resembled the stars. Anna could feel her jaw go slack, watching all the pretty lights dazzle around her.

“C’mon.” Elsa tugged forward and Anna found herself following down a tighter section of the cavern.

The entirety of the cavern felt like a maze, paths splintering off in nearly every direction and yet Elsa stayed true in her steps. The lively lights embedded in the walls rushed ahead, and lit the path, as if they were guiding them to where they wanted to be.

“W-Woah hang on a second-.” Anna exclaimed as the floor beneath her boots gradually became stepper and stepper. The frictionless ice sliding her into an uncontrollable momentum.

Her eyes focused on Elsa, watching her knees bend and lean into the slope and Anna shakily copied the movements. The speed of their descent into the unknown cavern had her stomach dropping and a wild energy pulsing through her.

The smile that spread across freckled cheeks was involuntary.

When they neared a ramp that would surely send them flying into the depths of a larger space ahead, Anna didn’t close her eyes or scream in fear. No. Her hand tightened within Elsa’s grip and they flew into the air together, laughing as if it were a wonderful memory from their childhood.

The slightest flick of Elsa’s unoccupied wrist had beams of ice rising from the dark depths below to give them footing. Watching her sister’s magic come so naturally, so gracefully, had Anna feeling just how proud she was to be with Elsa. How far had they both come?

The transition from the air back towards the cool, slippery surface was met with little resistance and eventually the slope they traversed leveled out and their speed eased until they were no longer bound by the steepness of the ice. Watching ahead, Anna followed her sister into the next room.

Blue eyes widened at the sight of crystal clear pillars in the room. It was almost as if the very structure of this place was a throne room, brilliant and beautiful in every sense.

“We’re here.” Elsa spoke, her words echoing through the hall.

At the sound of her sister’s voice, the lights that followed them here split into individual colors. The colors swam through the ice below, passing under her feet and towards a darkened room ahead.

“Are those…?” Anna asked, unable to voice her full thoughts as she was mesmerized by the lights.

“The other spirits.” Elsa confirmed while nodding her head, “Yes.”

“Amazing.” She breathed.

It took a few steps before Anna found herself side by side with Elsa, facing a room that seemed to contain the deepest, unknown black she’d ever seen. A magical presence seemed to waft through the air, leaking from the space before her. This place was special, she could feel it in her bones.

“Anna.” Her head turned towards the voice of her sister, “I…”

She watched Elsa’s lips open and shut, her brow wrinkled in all the ways that would indicate frustration. She could tell the blonde was trying to think of the words she could use to explain what lies ahead, although Anna was already sure it was the type of mythical magic that was near impossible to truly explain through mere words.

“It’s okay Elsa,” Anna spoke while reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder, “Show me.”

An affirmative nod followed by interweaved hands had the two sisters stepping into the darkness. At first, Anna relied on Elsa and her senses to lead the way, but everything changed once she saw the spirits.

Crystals of colored light, last seen in Arendelle’s darkest moments, were free and floating in this vast space. She watched in fascination as the colors swirled through the air, a flurry of blue’s formed a single autumn leaf and Anna then realized what she was witnessing.

“Hi Gale.” She giggled, still enthralled by the sight of the spirit which had no form.

A swirl of pink crystals came rushing towards them, whirling around Elsa in the shape of the fire-breathing salamander that Anna had come to adore. The flashes of varying brightness had perfectly reminded Anna of the fiery spirit they met on their travels. On her left, with the beauty and grace she had always felt from the creature, Nokk was trotting alongside them. Lastly, On Elsa’s side, Anna watched as the crystals formed the gigantic outline of the giants she’d nearly been crushed by. A hesitant wave of her hand was all she knew how to give, but the frim nod from the giant filled Anna’s chest with comfort.

These were not the rage-filled, uncontrollable spirits they’d initially found in their journey into the Enchanted Forest. No, they were legendary creatures of myths but capable of emotions similar to her own kind. Blue eyes trailed to her sister, enjoying the way the gems of her dress glowed in the presence of the spirits. She truly was the fifth spirit.

They stopped in the center of the room. The four spirits delving below to shape large, magnificent crystals that Elsa could control. Pale arms lifted upwards. Anna’s jaw was surely hanging as she watched, yet Elsa took one last glance towards her.

“In that meadow, you said forget-me-nots resembled true and beautiful memories.” Anna found herself merely nodding, unsure of what Elsa was planning, “I want to show you everything Anna.”

“What do you m-” Anna started only to watch Elsa thrust the crystals towards the ceiling in blinding light.

The crystals collided overhead and the dark room that surrounded them was transformed into a dome of ice. In that moment, as the world around her brightened with what seemed to be fractured mirrors, Anna’s eyes grew large and her lips parted.

Taste, touch, sound, smells, even her sight seemed inadequate to truly describe the feeling within herself. Memories. She realized with astonishment. Her memories flooded the walls, playing as if she was watching them within her mind, yet the clarity was unfathomably real.

“Elsa…” Anna breathed, unable to form words.

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

Wide blue eyes flashed towards the sound of her own voice, watching a memory of their childhood. What was once a memory of a traditional Arendelle winter shifted across the ice to reveal a younger version of Elsa swirling her magical power into what appeared to be an earlier version of Olaf.

“Weeeeeee!”

Anna turned once more to see her younger self squealing as rode a sled through the thick of the Arendelle woods. Elsa, pushing her from behind. The image faded and revealed something similar, only the trees in the background morphed into the walls of the castle and the sled was nowhere to be found.

“My memories…” Anna choked, feeling a sudden ache catch in her throat.

All around her, this magical place revealed the memories of her childhood that had been altered. Ice skating in a pond turned into skating within the castle walls. Snowball fights in the summer garden. Everything was revealing itself to her.

The sting of tears pricked at the corner of her eyes yet she knew them to be tears of happiness. With each streak that slid down her cheeks, a piece of herself had been returned. These were more than simple memories being displayed before her, she could feel them unlocking themselves within.

“Catch me! Catch me!”

Anna turned once more towards the sound of her younger voice. She saw her younger self leaping from snowy hilltop to snowy hilltop, all being formed mere moments before she leapt. Elsa’s hand tightened around her own and she glanced towards her sister.

The tears that glittered on pale cheeks had Anna squeezing back with the deepest amount of unconditional love she could offer. Her eyes returned to the memory above.

“Wait Anna. Slow down!”

“Woohoo!”

She could see the younger version of Elsa struggling to keep up with her speed. The distance between each leap was getting farther and the structures her sister created were larger. A momentary slip of balance sent Elsa backwards and Anna watched herself leap into the air without a cushion below.

A single blast of magic to her head was all it took to send the young girl into the snowy bank below.

“A-anna!….Mama! Papa!”

The Queen of Arendelle watched as the young Elsa struggled to hold her unresponsive self in her arms, curling around her as the magical ice began to splinter and spread into something much more coarse.

“Elsa what have you done?”

“She’s ice cold…”

“I recommend we remove all magic. Even memories of magic…to be safe.”

Anna watched as the true events of the past became clear. The ache of confusion and the unknown that had always remained in her heart suddenly faded. Everything was clear now.

“Elsa-” Anna turned, expecting to comfort her older sister, however she found something entirely different.

Elsa was smiling and the tears and sadness Anna thought she understood was replaced by relief. Elsa reached out to take her arms in her hands and their foreheads connected in a loving touch.

“You don’t have to worry Anna. I don’t blame myself anymore. I just wanted you to know everything.”

“Elsa…” Anna pulled her sister closer, so that nearly every inch of their bodies were pressed together. “Thank you.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips into Elsa’s. The gentle connection was met with the brilliant lights of the spirits surrounding them. Anna peeked a single eye open to watch as the fractured memories of Ahtohallan spun into a single memory of their kiss.

When the two women parted they watched as the events they’d experienced were now being played above.

“Now we’re caught up.” Anna giggled.

“There’s one last thing I wanted to show you.”

"Hm?” Anna lifted her brow while Elsa took a step back.

“When we were younger. My magic wasn’t like it is now.” Elsa frowned as she recounted the memories of her own struggles to tame the energy inside herself, “I could make ice and snow…but there was no true beauty in it. Just clumps of magical power and being afraid of that power only made it worse.”

Anna watched as Elsa placed her palm out. Particles of light began forming within her hand and watched as a single flower, small but intricate in all the ways that would define a master artisan.

“But it’s thanks to you that I’m able to practice my magic once again without fear.”

Anna nodded her head in reply, knowing that their love had truly unchained them both from the shackles they carried in the past.

“So…” Elsa smiled while outstretching the flower in her fingers.

“Forget-me-not?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

#elsanna #submission #august 2021 contest #prompt: flowers

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inkberrry · 3 years

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Dancing Lights and the Pressure of Your Palm (ch. 2)

A direct continuation of this, where Gale muses over a way to tell Vehnrix how he feels. Read below or on ao3.

The spark of Vehnrix’s magic lingered on Gale’s fingertips long after the tiefling excused himself to bed. He felt it move across his skin, light and playful in a way magic had never been for Gale. It wasn’t a concussive force, or a deep, aching pull. It was bright and weightless and sweet; Weave made with gentle intentions and passed to him with care.

Gale pressed the tip of his index finger to his lips, the sensation transferring.

Sighing, he let his hand drop to side. Tonight marked twice he had Vehnrix so close, both their thoughts — shared through the Weave — set on the other’s lips. And twice the moment passed, thanks to actions of his own. First the surprise of the tiefling eager for a kiss at all, shocking Gale into a moment of hesitation. Second, tonight, due to his own eagerness and the way it flared through his magic, this time shocking Vehnrix.

He could curse himself he was so frustrated.

But perhaps this was for the best, he thought. This was no place to fall in love, and who was he to allow himself that luxury? He had his chance before, had spent so long tucked away in a world inundated with romance and intimacy and what he perceived as love. He had it all, back then, and it had been lost, partly of his own mistakes. What right did he have to seek it again?

Still, his thoughts refused to settle. They snuck back to the look Vehnrix wore only hours before: lips parted, eyes shining, a flush high on his cheeks. Gale would give much to see that look again. And what would it hurt to give in to the possibility just a little? To not hesitate, to speak a word of his feelings and desire to the tiefling? He was confident it was requited; that much he had seen for himself when the Weave connected them.

His gaze shifting back to camp, picking out where Vehnrix curled near the fire, Gale resolved to speak with him when next he got the chance. The rogue had so readily accepted the truth of Gale’s condition and the history behind it, it was the least he could to speak of this newer, closer secret. Vehnrix deserved to know. And Gale had doubts he could keep it to himself much longer, anyway.

The morning found Gale bedraggled and in need of more rest than he managed. His thoughts kept him awake long into the night, and every time he looked over at the sleeping bundle of furs and blankets that was Vehnrix sleep was chased further and further away.

He groaned as he hefted himself to his feet, stretching out under wrinkled robes. Another side effect of travel, he mused, doing his best to smooth out a particularly worn patch of fabric. His first stop in Baldur’s Gate would most certainly be a tailor.

“Good morning, Gale.” Vehnrix’s cheery voice drew his attention, and he noted with a brief flash of disdain that the tiefling looked as put together as if he’d just stepped out from a fresh bath. “You look like you hardly slept. I should have dragged you to bed with me last night, to make sure you did.”

“Perhaps you should have,” Gale replied, his foul mood of the morning vanishing in light of Vehnrix’s smile and usual banter. “Though I am uncertain how restful a night in your bed would be.”

Vehnrix paused in his act of packing away his bedroll and laughed. His tail curved behind him, scratching at the dirt in quick, excited movements. Gale watched it for a moment, knowing by now that most hints at Vehnrix’s true emotions were given by the state of his tail and little else.

“Stop, stop, it’s too early for all this flirting,” Vehnrix playfully pleaded. He tucked his bedroll into his pack and took a step closer to wink at Gale. “You’ll wear me out before we even leave camp.”

The image from last night of Vehnrix’s lips close to his played back in Gale’s mind when he stepped close. He could press on — gods knew he had a penchant for flirting — but instead he simply gave a small half bow and smiled.

“At your insistence, I’ll save it for later,” he promised. Then, before Vehnrix could turn away and his determination falter, he continued. “In fact, there is something I’d like to discuss later. If you’d indulge me.”

“I will happily indulge you, Gale. Just say the word.”

The double meaning in Vehnrix’s answer was not lost on Gale. He chuckled and braved a quick squeeze of Vehnrix’s shoulder.

“Later,” he said. Then, putting away his own bedroll, began to walk toward the cooking fire. “For now, onward to breakfast. I’m famished.”

Two meals later and Gale finally found time to steal Vehnrix away from the others. They sat by the river again, in near the same spot as the night before. Vehnrix was busy licking stray honey from his fingers after the treat Gale made for them, which had consumed a fair bit of the remaining flour stored in his rations. It had been worth it, though. Vehnrix’s eyes lit up at the mention of something sweet, and Gale had found a new way to make the tiefling happy.

“Thanks for dinner,” Vehnrix said, sighing in satisfaction and leaning his back against the still sun-warm stone. “I like your cooking.”

“And I like when you compliment me!” Gale nudged Vehnrix’s shoulder and smiled. He wiped his own fingers on a small handkerchief before pushing it back into a concealed robe pocket. “I’m glad you enjoyed. I do try my best out here, but you can’t find a decent rising agent for miles.”

“How dreadful,” Vehnrix teased, slowly shaking his head. It wasn’t the first time Gale complained about lack of proper cooking materials, but Vehnrix never seemed to truly mind.

“Well, I make do,” he said, taking the teasing tone in stride. It was easy with Vehnrix; no comment was meant to hurt, no deeper, malicious intent hidden behind soft promises or pleasing laughter. His intentions might not always shine though, Gale noticed, but the kindness behind them certainly did.

Vehnrix didn’t have a reply to that, and soon the sound of the river covered their comfortable silence. Gale rested his head back against the stone and let his eyes shut to the setting sun. He felt Vehnrix’s hand moving next to him, perhaps idling plucking at the grass or fingering his sword.

Gale himself was still as he attempted to gather his thoughts. It had been a long while since he put to words feelings like the ones that welled in his heart whenever Vehnrix’s nimble hands accidentally brushed his. A long while and a different place; a different version of himself. One younger and less worried over the future, and one that did not fear the consequences of his actions.

Now, the peace of the waning evening hanging over him and the sweet taste of honey still on lips, Gale was worried, and he was afraid. He had found something precious and for once truly understood the value, and the devastation, of such a thing.

When he finally opened his eyes the sun was halfway past the horizon. The warmth still lingered, giving him a boost of needed courage. Turning slightly, he caught Vehnrix’s attention and took a steadying breath.

“Vehnrix, I’d like to tell you something but —“

“ — But I have to promise not to ask questions,” Vehnrix interrupted, laughing into the darkening night. Gale couldn’t help but chuckle too, the tension of the moment broken. He supposed this wasn’t the first time he’d made such a proclamation to the tiefling, and like the last, he hoped Vehnrix took it just as well.

“No, you can ask as many as you you’d like,” he said, considering only after he’d already spoken. “Well, a few at least. Within reason. Nothing too difficult.”

Vehnrix just smiled and leaned back on an elbow, watching Gale and waiting for him to continue. It was moment before he did, the last spike of nerves clamping his lips shut until he saw the encouraging expression on Vehnrix’s face. Taking a breath, Gale nodded in decision, and forged ahead.

“Have you heard the story of the water sprite and the widow?”

Vehnrix’s answerer was a shake of his head, his hair tossed over a jutting horn.

“It’s a story often told in Waterdeep, though maybe I overestimate its reach,” Gale explained. “It begins with a woman — a woman who has led a life she is proud of, who has loved and lived and enjoyed to the fullest. But in time she suffers a great loss at her own hands, and that pride and spark slips away. She begins to question the choices she made: who she loved, how she lived.”

Gale paused, his animated retelling of the story ceasing for a moment. He switched his gaze from Vehnrix’s face to the distant horizon, the sun now nearly gone. The timing was appropriate, he thought. A story such as this was best told in the dying light.

“She goes through her days in somewhat of a daze after that,” he continued. “Living them but not truly feeling their passage. She thinks ‘this is what I have earned, penance for my deeds done.’

“But! One day on a trip to the river she spots a water sprite, splashing in the current. It is full of life, so much it bubbles and sparks around the creature. ‘Come swim with me,’ it calls to her. She is tempted; she wishes for that carefree warmth. But she declines. That world is not meant for her any longer, she reasons. So she leaves, the echo of the water sprite’s cheery laughter following behind.”

Gale, caught up in the story now, turned back to find Vehnrix watching him closely. He was a captive audience, providing the stage Gale needed. Winking, he went on, adding flourish to his words.

“The sound lingers in her mind, and for the next seven days she returns to the river. Each time the sprite calls to her, asking her again to join it. It promises nothing but laughter and good things, and it bares its small, beating heart to her. But our leading lady is stubborn, and she is at war with herself. Does she deserve that offer? Or is she meant to live the rest of her life damning her past?”

Again Gale paused, this time his shoulders slumping and his thoughts drifting. He knew when he chose this story the parallels would be evident; it was why he chose it, after all. Speaking it aloud made them all the more clear, and he felt the heavy weight of them press down on him.

In time Vehnrix reached out, his fingers settling on Gale’s wrist. “How does it end?” he asked, and Gale realized he had cut the story off without its finale.

“Oh, she gives in in the end,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She plunges herself in the river and it is not the warm embrace the sprite promised. The woman is never seen again, lost to whatever lays beneath the surface of the roiling current.”

Vehnrix blinked, blue eyes hidden for a moment before he opened them and laughed. Gale imagined it sounded much like the water sprite in his story: full of life, bubbling from inside Vehnrix’s heart and tumbling towards him.

“That’s a lovely story,” Vehnrix said, his fingers squeezing Gale’s wrist before lifting off and returning to their spot in his lap. “I can see why you wanted to tell it to me.”

The hint of sarcasm was soft. Gale wanted to laugh along with Vehnrix, to pass the story off as just that. Instead he took a deep breath and steeled himself to bring up the point he meant the tale to lead into.

“Vehnrix,” he started, and reached over to grasp the tiefling’s hand in his own. It was warm, as it always was on the occasions Gale had the pleasure of holding it. He spoke his next words slow and clear, his eyes never leaving Vehnrix’s face. “I find myself incredibly drawn to you. More and more each day you fill my mind. You are an extraordinary treasure I have never quite seen the likes of.”

Something softened behind Vehnrix’s eyes, and the first sparkle of the night’s stars reflected back in their depths.

“Gale,” he said, the laugher in his voice replaced by affection. Before he could continue, though, Gale held a finger up to stop his words.

“I am the widow in this story,” he said, his shoulders slumping further and head shaking in resignation. “I am resisting the pull, uncertain if I deserve what you promise to make me feel.”

And there it was: his feelings laid out, truth told and set free. His heart beat frantic in his chest, the worry over Vehnrix’s reply shaking him. Gale prided himself on his confidence, yet right now he felt young and uncertain in a way he hadn’t in years uncounted.

Vehnrix was slow to answer, and when he did he turned his hand in Gale’s and squeezed it tight. The sharp tips of his nails pressed into Gale’s palm, tiny pinpricks of pressure.

“I’m no water sprite in a story,” he said firmly. “And you’re no less deserving of happiness and warmth than anyone else.”

“There are things you don’t know about me,” Gale argued, one last effort to ward away the feelings held back. One last attempt to warn Vehnrix that not everything about him was what it seemed, and that happiness and warmth with him may only be fleeting.

“And there are things you don’t know about me,” Vehnrix replied with an easy shrug. “That’s what time is for, right?”

The tension held in Gale’s body released and left him feeling light and almost dizzy. Had he expected any less from Vehnrix than acceptance and comforting, gentle optimism? The tiefling with brimming with it, and it spilled over to fill the broken cracks and hollows in Gale’s heart.

“Gods, you truly are something entirely special,” he said, soft and in awe of the building warmth between them. It was then he noticed how close Vehnrix was, and how hushed the night around them had become.

“Flatterer,” Vehnrix teased, and Gale was drawn to the movement of his lips, edging steadily closer. “Now will you kiss me? I’ve been waiting for weeks.”

Gale’s own lips lifted to a smile, the first since telling his story. He took his hand from Vehnrix and placed it at the back of the tiefling’s head, the other on his cheek. His skin was smooth, marred only by the faint sticky trace of missed honey.

“With utmost pleasure,” Gale whispered, and this time neither of them were shocked away or plagued with hesitancy. Their lips met, Vehnrix’s tasting sweet, Gale’s searching for the magic he knew resided within and finding it in the subtle spark that connected them.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale/oc #gale of waterdeep #my writing #oc: vehnrix

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