#then again Gale's whole I want to sleep with you to trust you thing makes me nervous ;v;

[middlingmay]

Soldier!Bucky AU Part 3

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

Bucky has been very sensible in this AU so far, and I promised you some dumb, dumb decisions from our favourite soldier after he meets our favourite pilot.

That time has come.

Enjoy!

After he's scrounged up better clothes and shoes for Gale and Bill, and got them some hot, simple food, Bucky’s display of good sense and reason starts to derail entirely.

Almost as entirely as Gale resists sleep. He just sits across from Bucky and glowers at him. And okay, they’re in the position they’re in; it’s serious, couldn’t be more serious, but John can’t help but find it cute. But he manages to suppress the worst of him smile; he doesn’t want to get into it with Gale again.

So Bucky asks for a map and between them and Evans, his navigator, they figure out where Gale had left the march, their likeliest rest points and and their likeliest route to the Danube etc.

Bucky’s not an idiot; he knows he and his Section can’t take on a full column of armed Nazi guards. But Gale tells him that the guards are fading, too: falling down into the snow, some not getting back up, others absconding because sometimes there are less guards when they wake up. The only thing stopping an all out riot is the sheer exhaustion of the men who weren’t as well fed or well rested as the guards and have absolutely no means of defending themselves.

So Gale thinks if they can intercept them on what will likely be their final rest stop before the Danube, if they can take enough of the guards by surprise, it won't take too much to get the upper hand and convince them to surrender.

Curt, Bucky's First Lieutenant, eyes him. They’ve seen what desperate Nazis backed into a corner can do. But they know Gale knows this particular crop better.

Gale says some fella called Glemnitz gotta be the first to go. And if they have any spare weapons, guns, knives, clubs, anything, there are a few guys he trusts that are still strong enough that could help them.

But Gale starts loosing his fight against exhaustion, like making the slightest plan finally gives his body permission to crash. Bucky has to catch him before he face-plants the ground, and gently lays him back with a rolled up jacket under his head and a blanket over him.

Curt really knows him best. He comes and sits next to him as he watches Gale sleep. There’s no other word for what he’s doing, he’s well aware.

“You got that look on your face,” he’s told and Bucky will not look at Curt to give him the confirmation he clearly doesn’t need.

Curt taps the side of his eye and the side of his mouth and says, “Right there. Usually means I’m following you into a shit show.”

Which is a lie. Curt doesn’t follow John. They walk side by side, getting each other into all kinds of trouble. Their superiors had tried to separate them once, but Curt’s new Major and John’s new First Lieutenant hadn’t been able to handle it, and it hadn’t lasted long.

But, John watches Gale sleep and can’t get that wild, pleading look out of his head. Everything Bucky had said to Gale was true - they were in no state to launch an attack on a column full of armed Germans.

But there were also hundreds of allied men in that same column. And that’s what they were here for - to protect and rescue these men. That was their mission. He knows it. Curt knows it.

“You’re gonna sneak up on armed Nazi’s with a half-starved pilot, ain’t you?” Curt asks.

“Yep.”

“You’re gonna get in a few lucky shots you hope are gonna scare ‘em off before it’s gets too crazy.”

“Yep.”

“You’re gonna let that bucko (meaning Gale) take all our spare weapons and arm a bunch of other half-starved and a whole lotta mad POWs and light that powder keg on fire, ain’t you?”

“Yep.”

“And you know it’s a really shitty plan that has almost no chance of success.”

“Yep.”

And Curt shrugs. “A’ight. I’ll tell the guys.”

John has Shaw radio their platoon leader with their intel, about the Danube and rough ETA,s and if anyone, anyone is nearby, send them for Christ sake. Americans, Brits, Russians, anybody.

He’s not too worried about himself; he’ll live, or not, with the consequences of his decisions. But he knows his Section, and that they’ll follow him anywhere, and he’s well aware he’s leading them into trouble they might not come back from. But all he sees is Gale's pleading and desperate face and he can’t bring himself to think he’s made the wrong decision.

Gale gets maybe an hour and a half of sleep, before he’s up and raring to go. Curt rolls his eyes and shoves a ration bar into his hands along with a canteen of water and calls him a meatball. And Bucky realises he’s not the only one endeared by Gale’s obvious dedication to his men.

Bucky holds a gun and two mags out to Gale and teases, “You pilots know how to work a gun?”

Gale looks so offended Bucky can’t help but laugh and Gale slips the gun and magazines from Bucky’s hand, and it tingles where Gale squeezes it in thanks.

Bucky gives everyone in his Section the opportunity to take the out. None of them want to. But he’s also aware the other airman, Bill, is not going to be fit for what they’re about to do, so he calls it.

He orders Hannigan, who hasn’t shut up about his sister’s new baby since he found out about it in a letter, to return to the platoon with Bill. And just like John thought he would, O’Neil won't let him go alone. They were as good as brothers, those two. Hannigan was even going to be O’Neil’s best man when they got home.

They’re as ready as they can be, and John and Gale share one last look before they get in the jeep. He sees bright blue eyes struck with gratitude and doesn't even want to think about what Gale sees when he looks at him, judging by how hard Curt rolls his eyes before barking, “A’ight guys and dolls, let’s go set some shit on fire.”

[squid-procrow]

SPOILERS !! Digging into gale's BG

I've done wayy to much data mining and thinking about this man-

Isn't it funny how he knows a lot about netherese magic? Isn't it hysterical that he knows karsus by name?? How about him usurping the goddess of magic, sounds REAL familiar 🤔

throw in why would you curse someone with a BOMB if they weren't somehow involved with said bomb before hand.

if you listen to his version of karsus's story...

hmmmmm that dialogue sounds really funny now.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Pinkie Promise? (Astarion x F! reader) MDNI 18+

Author note- this is specifically for @spitfireunhinged who wrote a beautiful little post with a concept that I adored. I hope I did it justice and you enjoy!

CW- NSFW, mentions of SA

Synopsis- You tell Astarion that you don’t think sex is as good as people say it is. Astarion is determined to prove you wrong.

*not my pic. Please let me know if it is yours so I can give credit

I rewrote this like 7 times. This draft is lightly edited, but I couldn’t wait to post it!

Part 2: I Triple Dog Dare You

Astarion had heard the phrase “pinky promise” before. It was usually between Leon and Victoria before Leon left for a hunt. She always made Leon pinkie promise that he would come home and Leon always swore it- his pinkie hooked with hers.

The whole thing made Astarion vomit, but he thought it was just a “them” thing since he had never heard it before.

Then you used it on him and he had hurt your feelings terribly. He had called you a child and then proceeded to mock you.

You had just smiled at him sweetly like you usually do, apologized for invading his space, and for crossing his boundaries.

When Astarion had come by an hour or two later to drop off a book he ‘borrowed’ (it was his book, but he wanted an excuse to talk to you again), he heard you sniffling and asking Karlach if you were a child. You were so upset by his judgment because you like him as a person and thought the two of you were friends. Karlach said that some people just aren’t capable of being nice.

Astarion found you after Karlach went to sleep and pinkie promised to never call you a child again (and that he doesn’t think you are a child).

Suddenly, it was your thing and it slowly became more enduring as time went on. A part of him was envious if Karlach or Gale offered you the gesture first and you would give them one of your breathtaking smiles. He wishes he could initiate it, but it feels far too intimate to him. Asking someone to promise him something? Perish the thought! No one can truly be trusted. Well- maybe you can be trusted.

Astarion doesn’t know when he became so infatuated with you and your existence. Maybe it was that first night at camp when the two of you got to know each other a little bit better. You hadn’t been able to sleep because you were struggling to adjust to the new environment. You asked him lots of questions that he honestly had struggled to answer, but you were actually interested in him- not just his body.

Astarion was beginning to crave your presence and he despised sharing it with anyone else. One time he even went as far as making you pinkie promise you wouldn’t kiss Gale when he had called you over. You had scoffed and said that is ridiculous because “Gale would not kiss you ever, yuck!” , but did it anyway.

Low and behold- Gale did not get his kiss. He’s tried since, but you have rejected his advances. Astarion likes to think it’s because you like him more- want him more.

So maybe that’s why he was quick to drag you away from the Tiefling party after you had made your rounds- not wanting to watch you be with another person a second longer. You let him take your hand and you giggle as he chastises you for taking so long to talk to everyone else.

“How dare my self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ spend so much time not in my presence!” Astarion melodramatically states, “I am hurt, Darling. I thought we had something special.”

You blow air out of your mouth with an eye roll and smile at him.

“Well of course we do,” you say matter of factly, “but I also knew the minute I went to talk to you that I wouldn’t talk to anyone else.

“I’m the fearless leader!” You say with emphasis, “Leader of the Freakshow- welcome one and all to the most traumatized individuals alive!”

Astarion’s chest bursts with laughter, “how very on the nose of you, my Dear.”

“I must keep all of us humble, my Sweet,” you say boldly.

He tsks at you and twirls you around, “I’m afraid you aren’t allowed to steal my lines- that is going to cost you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Certainly.”

“Name your price.”

Astarion pauses- right now doesn’t feel like the moment to go full throttle. He has more work to do.

“I need time to think,” he says lewdly, “there are so many things I could ask for, after all.”

You hum in agreement and smile at him coyly.

Maybe it’s because you are the first person he has actively sought out since he has been released from Cazador’s grasp.

Astarion guides you to a spot in the meadow he had found earlier. Well- actually he had followed Gale to it earlier- Astarion just found an even better spot like 10 yards away.

Gale had stupidly announced to Wyll around the campfire that he was going to ask to spend time with you alone tonight.

There was immediately not a chance in hells that that was going to happen. Gale found a nice spot in the forest- Astarion found a better one. Gale brought a blanket and wine? Pfft, Astarion can do that.

You stop in front of the blanket and wine before you look at him- a nice blush running up your neck.

“Is this for-?” You seem surprised.

Which Astarion finds very interesting considering you are from Noble society- shouldn’t you be used to being courted? Astarion is almost certain you’d have at least a hundred suitors.

“For you?” He smiles charmingly, “well of course, only the best for you, my Dear.”

You duck your head and you blush even harder. Astarion guides you to sit with him. You both drink the wine and talk. You ask him questions about himself and he asks plenty about you.

Astarion isn’t sure when the conversation turns into talking about sex- that had always been the original intention of the conversation.

“Sex can’t possibly be all that great.”

“Pardon?”

You shrug your shoulders and slightly slur the sentence again with emphasis.

“Sex can’t possibly be all that great.”

Astarion is shocked to his core. You flirt back and forth with him as if you’ve bedded at least a couple men.

“You’ve never?”

“No.”

“How?”

You look at him with a puzzled expression. You are staring at him as if he’s grown a second head.

Hypocrite. You’re the one spewing none sense!

“How?” You state incredulously, “you have looked at me right?”

Oh yes and I’ve imagined fucking you until you are screaming my name, but that’s beside the point I suppose.

“I’m nothing much to look at. I’m always the friend- never the girlfriend or the lover or whatever!” You emphasize with your hands, “no one has ever felt that way about me and if they have- they’ve never gone for it so I assume it’s just not that much fun.”

Astarion feels like he’s dying all over again. That was your assumption? Not that you might be horrifically oblivious because he’s only tried to to get in your chance several times. One time he quite literally asked you to come to his bed that night and you showed up with a book.

“Darling,” Astarion’s exasperation obvious, “I’ve been trying to have sex with you for a couple weeks now. Probably even more than that at this point.”

You stare at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

“You,” you stammer, “you want to? With me? No way.”

You laugh nervously, “you are beautiful and intelligent and-“

“No, no way.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and smiles seductively. Your lips part slightly as he pushes you on your back and parts your legs with his knee.

Your arms automatically wrap around his neck- your pupils blown wide with lust. Astarion kisses to the left and right of your lips- grinning when he hears your huff in frustration.

“You sure do keen a lot for someone who doesn’t think sex could possibly be ‘that good’, Darling,” Astarion coos, you tighten your lips in embarrassment.

Astarion rolls his eyes at you and cups your face while putting his thumb in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You hum with pleasure and peer at him through hooded eye lids. Astarion feels his cock strain against his pants

“So, my Dear,” Astarion drawls, “do you want me to fuck you? Would you like to see all the bliss you are missing out on?”

You nod eagerly and Astarion presses his thigh against your growing heat. You whine around his thumb and you run your tongue against his skin.

Fuck.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” He asks hotly.

You nod- Astarion can smell your arousal and feel it seeping through both of your pants.

“Pinkie promise?” He says teasingly, pulling his thumb out of your mouth to hold out his pinkie.

You hook your pinkie with his and whisper, “pinkie promise.”

Astarion pulls you in for a mind numbing kiss- caressing your lips with his until you are keeping up with his pace. He feels your arms around his neck pull him in deeper.

Your kiss against his lips is sweet and intoxicating- for a second he completely forgets about the purpose of the evening. Astarion could sit here and just kiss you like this until the sun comes up.

Your breathing hitches and Astarion watches as you desperately try to find release by riding his thigh- your movements erratic and wanting. The sounds you are making fill him with excitement and for the first time in a while- he’s actually eager to be inside someone.

He realizes your moaning has become muffled all of a sudden and he looks up to find you covering your mouth- your cheeks and ears are bright red while you pant with arousal.

Astarion laces his fingers through yours and holds your hands down on either side of your head- your pupils are blown wide from lust. The galloping of your heart is like music to his ears.

“Oh no,” he whispers seductively, “do not keep those delicious moans of yours from me, Darling. You promised to be good, remember?”

“Y-yes,” you say between heavy breaths- this time you are the one to surprise him by closing the space between the two of you with a needy kiss.

Astarion unlaces his fingers from yours as he begins unlacing your trousers- quickly discarding them to reveal your soaked underclothes. He growls involuntarily as the smell of your arousal hits the back of his throat- you smell incredible.

Astarion could leave it at just taking your pants off for now, but Gods does he want to see more and if you are willing to let him, then he is not going to deny himself the pleasure of being able to touch and kiss every inch of your body.

Your shirt is next and you don’t even fight it- helping him get the article of clothing off and helping him discard his shirt as well. Astarion stops and looks down upon your naked form.

“Gods you are exquisite,” Astarion says as he begins to kiss down your naval, “open your legs for me, Darling.”

He leaves tiny love bites as he goes- wanting to make sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to. You are a whimpering mess underneath his touch as he presses his fingers to your clothed clit- teasing you slowly.

“Asta-“

You are cut off by your own sounds of pleasure leaving your throat as he slips your underwear off- slowly pushing one finger into you while playing with your clit using his tongue. A string of curse words leaves your mouth as he begins to pick up the pace with his fingers and basks in the way pleasure looks on your face, how your body is writhing for him, and the tumbling praises for him echo through the clearing.

He rolls your sensitive nub between his teeth and he has to hold your hips down as you keen underneath his touch. Astarion adds a second finger- still meeting some resistance, but you aren’t stopping him, in fact- you are giving him complete access using your tadpole right now (intentionally or not) and he can feel how desperate you are to feel fuller. Then he adds the second fingers and the euphoria that rings through your body goes straight to his groan. Astarion can feel his cock straining against his pants as he brings you over the edge with his fingers and mouth- your sweet pleasure dripping down his chin and his fingers. He languidly cleans his fingers off with his mouth, humming in delight while making eye contact with you.

Your eyes are half lidded and glassy- your mouth is slightly parted open. He leans forward and leaves a chaste kiss on them and begins unlacing his own pants- slipping them off and throwing them to the side- his underwear quickly following.

Astarion lines himself up with your entrance- your orgasm coating the head of his cock and he has to fight the urge to slam into you right away. He lines himself up with your entrance- teasing you. You look more nervous now than lustful and Astarion feels his gaze soften. He hovers over you and caresses the side of your face with his thumb. The last thing he wants is to start with you in the wrong headspace.

"Wrap your legs around my waist."

You obediently comply- your back slightly arching and your pert nipples are touching his chest. You sigh in arousal at the contact.

“This may hurt a little,” he says, “we can stop whenever or however much you need- we can stop completely and try again another time even.

“But do you want me to continue?”

You smile up at him with relief and nod coyly.

“I trust you, but please go slow,” you whisper.

Astarion feels a tightness in his chest when you look up at him. Your eyes are so vulnerable and of all the people you’ve decided to trust you chose him. Astarion is fighting not to dissociate- wanting to give you his full attention.

Astarion slowly begins to push inside you. You cry out and clutch at his shoulders- taking a sharp breath as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. Astarion has to fight the want- no need to go faster- you are so damn tight and Astarion is almost wondering if he should have done more foreplay.

He rocks in and out of you- making sure to check on your facial expressions. There are tears pricking your eyes, but your look of discomfort is becoming more and more euphoric as he keeps rolling his hips into you gently.

“Hells darling,” Astarion manages to moan out through clenched teeth, “you feel so fucking good.”

You whimper at his praise and Astarion lifts you up by the hips so he can get a better angle. He thrusts a minuscule harder this time and the whimper that leaves your mouth is making him feel positively feral.

“Astarion,” you whine, “ple- please I need more.”

You definitely don’t have to tell him twice. Astarion snaps himself up into you at a faster pass- your keening only encouraging him to go faster- both of you moaning and gasping while clawing at each other. For the first time in the last 200 years- Astarion does not want to stop. Despite the feelings that are always there, this may be the only time he’s actually experienced bliss while being with someone.

"Such a good little pup, aren't you?"

You clench around him at his words, you beg him to fuck you harder, and he drops your hips back to the ground before putting his face into the crook of your neck- kissing and praising you as you ride out your high.

“You were such a good girl for me,” he breathes into your air, “thank you.”

Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging his lips to yours. If he needed air, the kiss would have suffocated him from how intense and wanting it was- the air between the both of you feels alive and Astarion barely registers that he’s finishing inside you until he’s collapsed on top of you- his head resting on your chest as it races in time with your breathing.

“That was amazing,” you say breathlessly and Astarion can’t help but laugh.

“I told you so.”

You plafully slap his arm and laugh- the sound filling his body with comfort. He can hear your heart beat begin to slow down and your breathing becomes deeper.

“Thank you Astarion,” you say sleepily, dozing off with your hands teasing his curls, “not just for this- for everything. I feel worth something when I’m with you.”

You yawn and Astarion tries to focus on the sound instead of the twisting guilt in his stomach. He cares for you too and that might be where he fucked up.

Your breathing quickly evens out and he is drowning in the smell of sex and rose water- a scent he heavily associates with you. Astarion stays there with his head on top of your chest- trying to get his bearings together. That was like no other sexual encounter he has experienced before- it was blissful- so why the hell is he about to have the melt down of the century?

“Shit,” you jolt awake, accidentally pushing Astarion off you- your eyes are still glassy “sorry I should probably not just fall asleep here- I’m sure you want to get back to your tent…”

Astarion pulls you back down and against his chest as if it’s exactly where you belong. The idea of you leaving right now makes his soul twist painfully. No, he needs you to stay. Existing is easier with you around- it has been since he met you on the beach.

“Stay,” he whispers, “please.”

There is a pause and he worries he may have overstepped his bounds. You look up at him with sleepy, kind eyes. If peace were to have a face- it would be yours.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” You smile at him sweetly.

The word leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, “pinkie promise?”

You give him the biggest, toothiest grin he has ever seen. Astarion is certain you may be the single most beautiful person he’s ever met.

You take his pinky in yours and then place a soft kiss against his cold lips.

As you pull away, you whisper against his mouth, “I pinky promise.”

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Everlark (The Hunger Games, Ch. 20)

(in which they easily fall into being a married couple)

"getting the broth into peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing" - this is so funny. threatening?!

it's like once they've started kissing, they can't stop. like it's an absentminded habit

katniss gets into the sleeping bag with peeta and it's "toasty warm" and she "snuggles down gratefully"

she acknowledges that by teaming up with him, she's made herself much more vulnerble but decides to trust the "instinct" that made her go looking for him even when she knew he was injured (i thought you said it was so the district 12 people weren't mad at you, katniss?)

"i woke up and you were gone... i was worried about you" peeta got his girl again and decided that's it, we can never be separated

peeta's capacity to flirt with/tease katniss while possibly dying is truly remarkable. his humour is really something special and so easy in such horrific times for them. never forget what the movies took from us

"he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. i remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and i wonder where peeta picked it up" - three things: one, peeta resembling her father again; two, peeta showing her love and she recognises it as love; three, her wondering where peeta got this from lol

as she lies to sleep, peeta brushes the hair off her forehead and this seems to be a specific thing they do for each other (my mind is brought to her doing it to hijacked peeta to help him sleep), but it starts right in this little cave, their little treasured intimacies. katniss notes that unlike the staged kisses/caresses they've had so far (how many of them were really staged though), that him doing this to her is natural and comforting and she doesn't want him to stop. she falls asleep as he does it.

peeta "brightening" when katniss returns even though he's miserable. he is so obsessed with her

so far katniss has been thinking peeta is acting with her but she chooses not to tell him a happy story involving gale because she thinks it won't go down well with him (or the audience) - so in some capacity she must sense that he is legit 'competition' for gale and that he doesn't like the idea of gale and her together.

the whole conversation about peeta saying he's gonna pay for himself since she's saved him and her asking him what he cost her again (a bit flirty maybe hm) and him saying a lot of trouble but that she'll get it all back. they're too much. flirting in a cave while all this (gestures to the games) is going on

him knowing when she's lying. which is interesting because at the end of the book when he finds out she was acting, he's caught off guard. and katniss isn't a good actress which leads me to believe whatever he's feeling from her is pretty damn genuine

the movies really took away so much of peeta's character traits. like boy is stubborn, he won't go down without a fight and they made him a damsel in distress and a weak one at that (think of the magic josh hutcherson could've worked with a better script)

"'what am i supposed to do? sit here and watch you die?' he must know that's not an option. that the audience would hate me. and frankly, i would hate myself too, if i didn't even try" - so here we have her going into a bloodbath alone just so she can try save him. she could win the games alone and no one would be mad at her for it all things considering but she cannot let him die. like she can't bring herself to even think of it

the whole bit where she feeds him the syrup berries and he realises and tried to spit them back up but she clamps her hand over his mouth to make him swallow. these two. "a stray berry stains his chin and i wipe it away" more casual intimacy

[whatacaitastrophe]

Everything Has Changed - Chapter 11

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Seven Nation Army" - Stevie Howie

Chapter Warnings: Idiots talking about their feelings.

Spotify Playlist: Here

Author Notes: thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting on this fic (and the first one)! if you are interested in supporting me in other ways, I have a Ko-Fi link <3

i also have a discord server! it was created to coincide with my twitch channel but you do NOT need to follow/subscribe/watch my twitch streams to come hang out with us <3 we talk a lot about bg3 and share memes and fics.

Chapter 11: Talkin' to Myself at Night

The night of what she’d started referring to as “the incident” in her mind, Fallon didn’t sleep. Her mind was too busy. It was one thing to imagine her boyfriend and ex-boyfriend kissing, or imagine herself as the middle portion of a vampire and sorcerer sandwich, but it was another entirely for those fantasies to become a reality. Add in the fact that “the incident” in question occurred without her consent, and Fallon was left feeling truly unsure of how she felt, or if coming to some sort of arrangement with Astarion and Gale was something she even wanted anymore. 

Fallon felt betrayed, and not just by Astarion. Gale swore that he never wanted to hurt Fallon again, and it took him less than a month to break that promise. Not only that, but once upon a time, Gale told Fallon that he was only interested in monogamous relationships. Fallon also knew that if the situation were reversed, and she were the one kissing Astarion without Gale’s consent, that Gale probably would have broken up with her on the spot upon catching them. The hypocrisy was rampant, and the hole in her heart that began to fill after rekindling her friendship with Gale was leaking again because of it. All of the reasons Fallon told herself that she couldn’t open her heart to Gale again (beyond the sexual relationship with Gale and Astarion she’d already fantasized about) were completely validated less than twenty-four hours after she’d even realized it was something she might want.

Then there was Astarion: the man who’d seen how fragile her heart was, glued the pieces Gale broke back together, promised to take care with it, and then promptly dropped it on the ground to shatter at the first opportunity. When she first met Astarion, he’d been all honeyed words of affirmation with a perfectly crafted persona to entice Fallon and the rest of their companions into trusting him as a method of survival. Was that still all she was to the vampire? A means to an end to ensure he survived another day? Had Astarion been playing the long con this whole time, and Fallon fell for it? Deep down, Fallon knew this wasn’t true; that Astarion loved her fiercely and genuinely. However, the logical part of her that knew this was currently being completely overpowered by her insecurities and anxieties, both of which were screaming at her for being stupid enough to trust that Astarion would keep his promise. 

It all hurt, and the thing Fallon hated the most was that the person she would normally go to when she was hurting was the source of her pain. She thought about using her sending stone to contact Shadowheart, or Karlach, but Fallon could hear her friends’ voices in her mind already. 

Shadowheart would tell her to go home– to go back to Baldur’s Gate and leave the vampire and the sorcerer to suffer the consequences of their actions and reflect on what they lost simply because they forgot to use their brains. “If they’re stupid enough to make that mistake, then they deserve each other, and certainly do not deserve you.”   

Karlach, on the other hand, would probably jump straight to murder. Murder wasn’t usually Karlach’s go-to method of solving problems. Unless, of course, someone she cared about got hurt. With how happy-go-lucky Karlach was most of the time, it was easy to forget that the tiefling-turned-illithid once served in Zariel’s army, and that she killed a lot of people on Zariel’s behalf. “Say the word, soldier, and I’ll meet you in Waterdeep, sneak up on them in an alley, and make their deaths look like an accident.”  

The solutions her friends would likely offer Fallon were not actually reasonable, or helpful, because they were just different forms of taking the easy way out, of running away from her problems. In the end it wouldn’t solve anything, and the person that was most likely to suffer most would still be Fallon. After all, how she felt about Astarion hadn’t suddenly changed in the wake of everything. How she’d started to feel about Gale again hadn’t gone away. Walking away from the two halves of her heart would do nothing but break her further. 

At the end of the day, Fallon wanted to give Gale and Astarion the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to believe that “the incident” had been as unexpected and unplanned as they said it was. She wanted to believe that Astarion and Gale actually cared as deeply for her as they claimed. 

Most importantly, she wanted them , and at the end of a sleepless night into a restless morning, that was where Fallon’s mind landed. The men who claimed to love her so deeply would get a chance to prove their love, but she would make them work for it. There would be no glossing over their infidelity and jumping right into a conversation about what being “together” as a threesome would look like. No, she fully intended to make the vampire and the sorcerer squirm, and to sit with the consequences of their actions for a while; to make them see earning her forgiveness was not as simple as saying “Sorry, it was an accident, we love you!” 

Fallon slipped out of the inn in Daggerford as soon as she was certain the shops were open, and purchased her own tent, as she had no intention of sharing one with Astarion for the next three days while they made the final leg of their journey to Waterdeep. Fallon knew herself, and having Astarion that close would increase the opportunity for her to have a moment of weakness, to fold too soon. 

When she returned to the inn with her new tent slung over her shoulder in a bag, Astarion and Gale were in the tavern, where the latter was eating breakfast. Astarion noticed her enter the tavern first, and he nudged Gale, nodding in Fallon’s direction. Gale looked at Fallon hopefully as she made her way towards the table. Fallon did not sit down as she observed the two men. They both looked tired, and Fallon did not even feel bad about the fact that knowing they slept like shit too brought her a little bit of joy. 

“I’ve decided I’ll be sleeping in my own tent for the next couple of days.” She explained, acknowledging the bag over her shoulder. Astarion’s eyes flickered sadly as he realized they were not forgiven yet, and that his actions would cost him more than a single night without Fallon in his arms. 

“What you did, what it means…Quite honestly, just looking at the two of you hurts. You don’t get to treat me like that and expect me to carry on like nothing happened, even if the idea of the three of us being an “us” is something I want to talk about. I refuse,” Fallon’s voice was cold, and she could feel her throat threatening to close up as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Gods dammit, she was not going to cry in the middle of the fucking tavern. She furiously blinked back her tears, averting her gaze from Astarion and Gale since looking at them was just making it worse. “I need more time. When I’m ready to talk, I’ll come to you. Be ready to leave in an hour.” She did not stick around to see them silently nod their heads as they agreed to her terms, or the way that they guiltily looked at each other because they made her cry (again). 

Fallon did not speak to Gale or Astarion unless absolutely necessary for the next three days. In fact, a passerby would have assumed that somebody had cast a Silencing spell over their group, with how quiet their journey from Daggerford to Waterdeep was. Fallon’s silent treatment made Gale and Astarion hesitant to even speak to each other in her presence, and while Fallon hadn'tt asked them to do that, if they wanted to deprive themselves of verbal communication until she was ready to speak to them both as some form of self-punishment, she also wasn't going to correct them.

At night, after she retired to her tent for the evening, Fallon often heard them talking to each other in hushed tones as she drifted off to sleep. Each conversation was entirely about her, how terrible they felt for hurting her so badly that she was still ignoring them, and when they thought she would speak to them again. 

“I didn’t think it was possible for her to be quiet for this long,” Gale muttered to Astarion on the eve of the third day. “How much longer do you believe this will last?”

“I’m not sure, but if she didn’t deign to speak to us for another fortnight, would you blame her? I consider us lucky that she’s even considering speaking to us again at all,” Astarion countered, sighing heavily, and Fallon smiled softly to herself as she listened. “We’ll reach Waterdeep tomorrow, so maybe she’ll be ready to talk once we get to your tower?” 

“I hope so,” Gale said wistfully. “Speaking of which, I got a hold of Tara. Everything should be ready when we arrive.” 

“Excellent. Gods, I hope this works. I wouldn’t blame Fallon for ignoring us for another fortnight if she wished, but that doesn’t mean I want her to. I didn’t realize it was possible to miss someone you see every day.” 

Though Fallon could have guessed that Astarion missed her (probably Gale, too) by the way they looked at her whenever she’d grant either of them any brief acknowledgement in the last three days, it was still nice to hear the vampire say it out loud. Giving Astarion and Gale the silent treatment had been harder for Fallon than she thought it would be, because every time she acknowledged them, the hopeful look on their faces, the optimistic thought that, perhaps, the worst of her hurt and anger might be over, nearly broke her resolve. Not speaking to them unless absolutely necessary had also made Fallon miss them , too. By the time they rode through the city entrance to Waterdeep, the deepest parts of the hurt Fallon felt because of their actions had passed. The pain wasn’t completely gone, but the idea of talking to Gale and Astarion about it didn’t reduce her to tears anymore. That was Fallon’s internal sign that she was ready for this conversation, and perhaps, to begin down the path to forgiveness. 

The City of Splendours was just as beautiful as the name would suggest, and Fallon was actually starting to think that Gale had somehow managed to undersell his hometown. She couldn’t help but watch Gale’s face as he took in the city as they passed through the streets. Fallon couldn’t remember the last time she saw Gale look so happy. In fact, Fallon wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever seen Gale as happy as he was in that moment. 

Gale looked back at Fallon, still beaming as they rode beside each other. “If you’ll allow me to take the lead, I will escort us to my tower.” She nodded, pulling back on her horse’s reins slightly so Gale could pass, and even that small acknowledgement made Gale’s smile so much brighter. Of course, finding Gale’s tower wouldn’t have exactly been difficult even if she and Astarion had been on their own. The ornate tower was centrally located, and arguably one of the tallest buildings she could see. To her surprise, there were people waiting to take their horses to a nearby stable when they arrived, and a small bit of sadness filled Fallon as she kissed her own horse’s nose for the final time, at least until they returned. It wasn’t like the horses could go through the portal to Asha with them, and no matter how long they remained in Waterdeep, Fallon had a feeling they’d mostly walk. 

The quiet filling the air as Fallon, Gale, and Astarion entered the landing level of Gale’s tower was a different kind of silence to the one they’d been sitting in for the last several days. Fallon and Astarion were in too much awe to speak, and Gale was just so happy to be home that he looked like he was trying not to cry. “It’s beautiful, Gale.” Fallon said softly as they ascended the stairs to the next level, where Tara was waiting for them in the sitting room. 

“Mr. Dekarios! It is so lovely to see you sir, you’re looking much better than you were the last time I saw you– even if you still haven’t shaved that horrid thing on your face. Nice to see you both again, too.” Tara greeted them. 

“Hi Tara.” Fallon giggled, not able to help herself. She remembered Gale lamenting about how much the tressym hated his long hair and scruffy face, but Gale liked it, so it stayed. Fallon liked it, too, so she was glad that Gale’s companion hadn’t managed to bully him into getting rid of it.

Gale sighed, but the smile on his face never faded as he shook his head at Tara. “It’s lovely to see you as well, Tara. I’ve missed you,” he squatted down so he could scratch beneath the tressym’s chin. When he stood again, he clapped his hands together. “Is everything in order?”

Tara hopped onto the back of the sofa. “Everything is in order and still on schedule,” she confirmed, and Fallon looked back and forth between Gale and Astarion with a curious look on her face. “Is what in order?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Tara was referring to whatever plan Astarion and Gale concocted to get back in her good graces, but there was a schedule? 

Astarion removed his facial covering now that they were indoors again, and he gave her a sly look in reply. “You’ll find out soon enough, darling, but I’m afraid you’ll need to remain in the dark just a bit longer.”

Gale’s look matched Astarion’s, and suddenly Fallon found herself regretting putting the two of them in a situation to conspire against her. “Indeed. On that note, I’m afraid we have to kick you out for a bit,” Fallon frowned as Gale continued. “Not to worry, though! Tara has agreed to act as your guide while you explore the city”

Fallon opened her mouth to argue– she’d really been looking forward to just taking a bath and mentally preparing herself for the conversation she intended to have with the vampire and the sorcerer standing before her; but before she could say anything, Astarion cut her off as he reached into his pocket for a small satchel that had the telltale jingle of coin inside, offering it to her. “I realize we’ve not given you much of a reason to trust us recently, but I promise you won’t regret it. Please.” His eyes were soft and pleading, the closest to a puppy-eyed expression Fallon had ever seen Astarion make. Gale was already rubbing off on him. 

If they really went this far out of their way to plan something for her, the least she could do is play along. Fallon let out a resigned sigh and nodded. “Lead the way, Tara.” She gestured to the door and relief washed over Gale and Astarion’s faces, the latter looked like he’d kiss Fallon if she let him. The tressym hopped down from the back of the sofa and made her way towards the door. “This way, miss Fallon.” Fallon nodded in goodbye to Astarion and Gale, smiling softly at them, and she followed Tara out. 

Once back outside the tower, Tara hopped up onto Fallon’s shoulder, causing the elf to let out a noise of surprise. “Forgive me, miss Fallon, it’s just easier to travel like this– I fear you’d lose me rather quickly otherwise. Our first stop isn’t far.”

“First stop?” Fallon asked warily.

“Oh yes, this is a multiple-stop outing, miss Fallon. Astarion and Mr. Dekarios gave me explicit instructions.”

“Why am I suddenly nervous?” Fallon mused as she weaved through the streets of Waterdeep, Not a single passerby seemed to be surprised to see a tressym sitting on her shoulder, which meant things like this were just…normal here. She followed Tara’s instructions as she took in her surroundings. 

Fallon didn’t know why it surprised her so much, but their first stop was a bookshop. She should have known, since this was an outing at least half-planned by Gale Dekarios. The shop was quiet, with only around twenty or so other patrons milling about and browsing books. “Hello, Norbert!” Tara greeted someone as they entered. The halfling sitting on a high top stool behind the counter looked up from his book, and as soon as he saw Fallon and Tara, his face brightened. “Ah, Tara! I was wondering when you’d be by. Let me go grab your order.” 

The halfling slid from his stool and disappeared into the back of his shop. “Tara, did Gale send me out with you to run his errands?” She laughed.

“Technically, yes, but also no. We’re not here for an order for Mr. Dekarios.”

Confusion etched across Fallon’s features. “Are we running your errands?” 

“Goodness, I thought Mr. Dekarios said you were a bright woman,” the tressym chastised, and Fallon frowned. “He placed an order for you, dear.” 

Fallon’s face immediately softened, and her heart swelled in her chest. Of course Gale would use books as a means of re-gaining favor with someone. The halfling returned with a small stack of books in his hands, and Fallon immediately recognized the book on the bottom of the stack just from its spine. She waited patiently for the halfling to set the books on his counter before touching them. “Here you are, all present and accounted for.” 

Fallon reached for the books and began scanning the titles– the first three were all romance novels, but the last book in the stack made Fallon gasp. It was a first edition copy of the book about the boy wizard. How had Gale managed to find this? The book was printed almost twenty years ago. Fallon carefully opened it, and a folded piece of parchment slipped out, fluttering to the floor. Tara jumped onto the counter as Fallon bent down to retrieve it, and she realized it was a note, addressed to her. Fallon unfolded the parchment and recognized the neat, precise script with which it was written. 

“ Dearest Fallon, 

As you know, when we met, one of the first things that drew me to you was our shared love of literature. Once upon a time I recommended three romance novels to you, and promised to procure copies for you after we saved the world. These are a bit delayed on delivery, seeing as we saved the world two years ago at this point, but I do hope you enjoy them all the same. I’d planned on taking you to this shop to purchase copies for you once we arrived in Waterdeep anyway and then, well, you know what happened. 

You’ve obviously read the last one in the stack, but you mentioned Astarion has been hogging your copy, so I had Norbert find another for you. Admittedly, I was quite surprised when he told me that he had a first edition copy in his stockroom! What a treasure, indeed, just like its new owner. 

I realize that it might seem like I am trying to buy your forgiveness, but I can assure you that is not the case. I would have bought them for you anyway, because you deserve to start doing things you enjoy again, after spending so long sacrificing yourself and your needs for the greater good. Though I do look forward to (hopefully) hearing your thoughts on the romance books once you’ve finished them. They’re quite riveting. 

Yours, 

Gale”

Fallon’s smile grew wider and wider as she read Gale’s not. The sorcerer might not have been trying to buy her forgiveness, but it was definitely helping. “Thank you, Norbert. These are lovely. I can’t wait to read them.” 

The halfling beamed at her. “Enjoy! Gale has excellent taste, so I doubt you’ll be disappointed.”

Tara jumped back onto Fallon’s shoulder. “Tara, do we have time for me to browse for a bit, to see if I find anything else I might like?”

“We do! Mr. Dekarios had a feeling you might want to browse,” Tara confirmed, and Fallon smiled. “He said to tell you to pick out whatever you’d like, and Norbert will put it on his tab.”

Of course Gale had a tab at his local bookshop, Fallon was not even surprised. She spent the next half-hour browsing the shelves and managed to limit herself to two additional books. After all, Gale already bought her four and she didn’t want to seem like she was taking advantage of his kindness (and his desire to get back on her good side). With her books stashed in her bag of holding, Fallon exited the shop and looked around. “Where to next, Tara?” 

The next shop they visited was a dress shop, and Fallon did not even need to ask which man instructed Tara to bring her here. Just as Norbert had, the elven woman running the shop recognized Tara, and she immediately greeted them both with a bright smile as she pulled a note out of a drawer on her side of the counter. Once again, the note was addressed to Fallon and was written in a familiar, elegant script.

“Fallon, my love,

I believe I still owe you a new dress after ruining yours at the Winter Solstice. The shop has your measurements, and I told them what colors you prefer, so they hopefully pulled a few things already. I look forward to seeing whichever breathtaking option you choose.

I love you.

xx,

Astarion”

Even the notes they’d each written for her were entirely in character. Gale’s verbosity extended even to paper, while Astarion was right to the point, and each note left Fallon’s heart stuttering in her chest. Sure enough, as Fallon pocketed the note from Astarion, the shopkeeper had walked across the shop to a small rack of dresses separate from everything else. Fallon smiled at the assortment of dark blue, burgundy, and black dresses that hung there. “Tara, I don’t suppose you know if there’s a specific occasion I should be shopping for, or if I’m simply just to choose any dress that suits my fancy?” 

“I’ve been instructed to tell you that there are plans this evening for which you might want to have a new dress but, and I quote, 'she could show up wearing rags off the floor of the Elfsong Tavern and she’d still look beautiful, so it doesn’t matter.' ” 

Fallon snorted with laughter. Even Tara’s delivery of the instructions sounded like Astarion. “Well alright then.” 

There was a stool next to the rack of clothing, and Tara jumped onto it and sat down. “While I am not privy to all of the details, Mr. Dekarios alluded to the…transgressions he and Astarion committed together. As a result, he and Astarion are now both desperate to prove how much they care for you, and are equally as desperate to earn your forgiveness,”

“Well that’s certainly one way of putting it.” Fallon hummed as she began to examine the dresses on the rack before her with intent.

“So, miss Fallon, if I may make one tiny suggestion? One female to another?” There was a mischievous tone in Tara’s voice that piqued Fallon’s curiosity, and she tore her gaze from the dresses to look at the tressym.

“Let’s hear it.” Fallon agreed.

“Make them crawl.” 

Chapter List

[outeremissary]

3, 27, 42, and B for Kasander?

Gosh, a lot!! Thank you, I'll do my best!! From this prompt list.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Kas settles down to rest by trying to quiet their thoughts and distract themself. They count the stars or watch the branches of the trees swaying. They listen to the little sounds of the people around them: Karlach snoring, Gale sleep talking, Withers softly clacking about his nightly tasks, Scratch whining in his sleep. Sometimes they sing or hum if they're struggling, or they hug themself for comfort.

Rest never comes easily for Kasander. Many nights they give up trying to get to bed and go somewhere quiet to practice lyre until they're too tired to stay upright.

27. What causes them to feel dread? 

Their father. Always their father. They have an unspeakable fear of him, something that threatens to drown them. Even while they can't put the past back together they dread his presence instinctively, and learning more about life before the Nautiloid sends an icy jolt through their body. The shape of their entire life was determined by their father's attempts to break Asperia to his will, and there's so little of their past without his stain on it. Every caretaker his servant, every friend a puppet or a victim. Every lucky moment or new connection poisoned. And for a time without being able to understand what they fear or why, they began to feel a sense of dread at themself as well- without control and with every new revelation making them more dangerous than the last, it's hard not to fall under the sway of that fear and self-loathing.

In a related sense, the other thing that has caused them the most dread is the way that the people around them react to them- their companions especially. Kasander is honest and well-meaning, and they tried so hard to communicate to others what they experienced and how it could be dangerous to others (even if they didn't want to be cast aside or killed). But after being alternately dismissed for their attempts to communicate or yelled at and accused of lying over things they'd tried to warn the others of, they begin to experience a seeping sort of fear of their friends. It's not that they're bad people. They just don't understand, and when it comes to the things that really matter, they can't be trusted, not all the way. The only companions who manage their total confidence in the end are Jaheira, who has always been understanding and able to help them find clarity when they're slipping, and Astarion, who built that trust very, very slowly over the course of things after a rocky start (complicated friendship, that).

(And as an aside- for Asperia, the two great dreads are the feeling of failure and the seeping sense that there's something about himself he doesn't understand. It's all about self-control and status in the end.)

42. How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

Badly enough to die. Badly enough to risk dying. Kasander's not one to do things by half measures, and the evolving goals of "figure out the tadpole situation" and "save the world" and "leave that cult for good" are all things that Kas is willing to put everything into. Especially that last one. They don't like to think about it having more weight than the whole "save a world of innocent lives" thing, but it does. It's been with them far longer, and even if they've come to protect people in general, there's always been someone specific they lived to defend. Recovering that goal does blunt their martyr complex somewhat though- it's for the best even if it does make them feel guilty.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Kasander is a rare one of my CRPG characters who was actually created on the spot for the game in the character creator. I didn't have a lot of thoughts besides "I want to see this new Bhaalspawn," "I want to play an elf again," "I want to have they/them pronouns," and "I want an avatar who's cute since this is the first non-portrait game I've played in a while." Truly, I just dicked around in the CC for an hour before settling on their appearance and picking the paladin class because the starting armor flattened their chest and I hadn't done paladin before. This was, I kid you not, the entire Actual Character Concept I had in my head starting.

That and this message were from right after wrapping up character creation and heading out to do something else with the friend I'd been staying with, so you really have the immediate concept crystallized.

As much as anything "inspired" Kas, I think it was the contrast between the vague sense of DUrge I had and the all time sunshine paladin subclass, Oath of the Ancients. I feel like I build some kind of deep contrast into the foundation of every character I make. That's the core, the interplay between elements at odds with each other. And god this game rewarded that approach beyond my wildest dreams.

Kas ultimately became a lot more than the "two bagels" paladin, and became more complex very quickly (I think I had the original concept for Asperia within two days of starting the game as well). But that's beyond the scope of the question, I think.

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs Mild Sidetracks

But first, a word from the Flirtation Station

Lae'zel: I would have you in my bed.

Alisaie: Um ... on my plane we start with a nice glass of wine or something? Not ... you know, being rude and insulting? That's going to stay with me.

Lae'zel: Your loss. You will think of me and yearn.

Alisaie: Projecting much?

Lae'zel: ...Perhaps. Yes. Shut up.

Gale: Come check out the Weave with me!

Alisaie: *saturates the Weave with friendship*

Gale: ...Aww...

Shadowheart: ...Sooooo ... I thought maybe...

Alisaie: YES.

Shadowheart: ...That's ... gratifying, but ... we're a little public.

Alisaie: Fair. I just wanted to make sure you knew I have a type.

Shadowheart: And ... that would be...?

Alisaie: Dark-haired serious ones with well-hidden softer sides and the occasional reach into adorkable?

Shadowheart: ..........ilikenightorchids...

Alisaie: Hint. Taken.

Wyll: ...So if I hadn't been so cagey about the dancing thing...?

Alisaie: The world may never know.

Karlach: ...Look, I'd have tried, but I think you probably don't want third-degree burns in places, okay?

Alisaie: Look, whatever happens, we will get that fixed. For now ... you don't hurt yourself, do you?

Karlach: *blush that is nearly impossible to see but threatens to set fire to her tent*

Alisaie: Oh shit right you get kerboomy when excited forget I said anything.

Karlach: Already having the mental images and I think I'mma jump in the lake.

Alisaie: Anywaaaaaaay...

Lake: *gives off HUGE billow of steam*

Alisaie: I'm going to collect some people to go confront Kagha while things calm down...

One successful trip to the Emerald Grove and a side-quest later...

Astarion: Honestly, did you have to do that? You take all the trouble of taking me along to a criminal hideout and then you buy someone's freedom.

Alisaie: Look, you got decent armour out of it; shut up.

Shadowheart: It's not as if she paid the going rate, Astarion.

Wyll: Nor did she respond to the cheek of him asking for drinking money after that.

Alisaie: I mean, honestly, I kind of wanted to blow the whole place up around their ears as I left but-- *winces* Ugh.

Wyll: Ugh; not feeling so well either...

Lae'zel: *grabs Alisaie; puts a blade to her throat* It begins; I will end it.

Alisaie: You ... really don't deal with rejection well, do you?

Lae'zel: Wh-what? No! I mean ... I still have great respect for you! That is why I do this; I am sparing you!

Alisaie: Look, we spent awhile recently wandering a putrid bog; it's probably that. Tone down the murder, please.

Lae'zel: ......Fine. I respect you enough to trust your judgement; mine is clouded at present. Rest. Be assured that I will end it if the turning truly begins.

Alisaie: ...Well, there's a recipe for never sleeping again...

After a bit of dreamscape or whatever

Alisaie: Okay, I have gathered us all up again to talk about last night. Hands up who had the dream about the guardian being saying they wouldn't let us turn into illithids.

Entire Party: *raises hands*

Alisaie: Hands up who wants to describe the guardian being and/or divulge specifics of what they said.

Entire Party: *lowers hands*

Alisaie: Figured. Hands up who's chill about the "learn tadpole powers to save the worlds - as in plural worlds" thing.

Astarion: *raises hand*

Everyone Else: *vacilates dubiously*

Alisaie: Yeah, figured. We'll try to keep it to a minimum but seriously? This is all weird so while I want us to proceed with caution, the occasional poke might be vaguely okay. And the minute we get solid proof that the worlds are in danger if we don't do the thing, all bets are off.

Astarion: ...You got altruism in my quest for power, darling. Most unfair.

Alisaie: Live with it. And be grateful I'm not taking you to deal with the hag. Though honestly there's something I want to do first.

Scratch: *approaches with ball in his mouth*

Alisaie: Okay, fine, two things I want to do first. *chugs a Speak With Animals potion* Yes, Scratch, we can play fetch.

Scratch: Yay!

And, a little later

Wyll: You actually want to talk to the dead man?!?

Alisaie: I mean, those redcaps we murdered probably got the brothers? But I want to know if something else out there is worse than those.

Dead Brother: Not ... sheep...

Alisaie: Wait ... they were baa-ing and seemed to think we should-- They looked like sheep to you?!?

Wyll: I suppose they didn't see through the illusion as we did.

Dead Brother: Don't ... drink ... the water...

Alisaie: *looks at horrible putrid bog* You think?!? Look, just ... tell me if there's anyone I have to tell what happened to you; do you have any family?

Dead Brother: Mother ... brother ... sister ... and soon ... a niece.

Alisaie: ............

Wyll: Oh dear. I know that look.

Alisaie: I have a feeling that lady promised her baby in exchange for resurrecting her husband and it's going to come out ugly and ... yeah, no, why are people this stupid? Some bardic tales are fucking cautionary! Glad Astarion isn't here for this insane act of altruism; let's go.

Wyll: If ... if the world doesn't accept me as I am now? Alisaie? You are Blade of the Frontiers now.

Alisaie: Nope! I will spin epic tales of how you protected an abused refugee at the expense of your very physical form, and how the transformation harrowed your soul with torment, and how it only made you more determined to fight for those who can't fight for themselves, and you'll keep your title. And somewhere in there I am going to get Mizora to give up that pact if I have to make her fucking eat it. Come on; Team Dangerous Company goes to be Big Damn Heroes!

Wyll: .........I never thought I'd actually meet the living embodiment of stubbornness.

Gale: *pats Wyll's shoulder* Just be glad she's on our side.

[bg3tav]

My back fucking hurts. Sleeping on bed rolls on a hard stone ground is not for the faint hearted. Ah what can you do. Another day I'm alive. I can handle the discomfort.

Astarion seems to share my thoughts on Gale. Why couldn't we find a competent wizard? I'm still making Gale stay in camp today. Can't risk him fucking up something important like my life. We're packed up and planning to explore the rest of the sanctuary. I still want to know where the hells we are.

We discovered a room with a sarcophagus and a shit ton of traps but no way to disarm them. I'm going to tell myself there wasn't anything good in there anyway. Fucking frustrating. Oh well, we kept moving.

We found The Guardian of Tombs. Whatever the hell... Oh HOLY SHIT. Maybe I shouldn't have opened that one.

Wait, he seems peaceful. He just wants to know my opinion regarding the worth of a single mortal life. But you can't judge based on a single life. Individuals are part of the whole, a path to enlightenment. It seems this is all he wants, the answer, an answer, to that question. I'm promised to see him again, but with his raggedy skeleton ass, not something I'm excited for.

I'm just happy to be out of there and back in the sun, looking for what's next. Maybe we can camp somewhere less stony next time.

Oh gods, apparently some druid is lost, goblins are trying to kill everyone, and a Tiefling is pissed. And of course this becomes my problem. We wiped out the goblins with no issues and the Tieflings invited us into Emerald Grove. Zevlor and Aradin are about to go out at. I'm not getting involved.

JK apparently I'm getting involved. The Druids want to close off the grove and Zevlor asked me to help. I don't want to see them slaughtered so I willingly agreed. However, Astarion and Lae'zel aren't happy about it. But hey, you asked to come with me, not the other way around so we do things my way.

Met The Blade of Frontiers. He's so good with the kids, it warms my heart. Apparently he was on the ship too. Glad he made it off. Glad to have a new friend. I noticed his eye, wonder how he's faring with the insertion in one, and a stone in the other. I'll have to ask him about that sometime. He seems like a good dude. Hunting devils and seeking vengeance. I'll be happy to help him on his mission. For now, he's going to hang out with Gale at camp. God I hope Gale doesn't talk his ear off.

Heh heh... Teeth-ling. I think my new hobby is annoying Lae'zel. She doesn't like it and it gives me great joy. I had to talk her down from practically murdering Zarru. The kid had information, he was willing to give it, just scared. But can her creche really fix our problem? She so blindly believes the creche can do no wrong. I'm more leery. Still don't trust her. I'm starting to like her, though.

I met the sweetest bard, Alfira. Poor girl is going through a hard time. It's so difficult losing someone you're close to, and then feeling like you're responsible. My heart breaks for her. She taught me to play the lite, which I appreciate. I'll have to practice back at camp where no one can hear me mess up.

Saved some kid from the harpies down by the water. Now I have to go check out the Dragon's Lair. I swear if this is some trick.... This Mol person better be legit.

Okay, Mol can wait. Kagha is threatening a child with death by snake? The fuck this bitch think she is? Oh I'm gonna do something about this. I read her thoughts - she's power hungry. Typical. Yeah time to knock her down a peg or three. I don't want to kill her in case the Tieflings gets caught up in the battle. So I guess I'm talking to Zevlor and will help him best I can.

Before I do that, I think it's time to head to camp. It's been another long day.

Holy hell everyone wants something. And all I want to do is relax and play my lute. Guess I should make the rounds. I think I'll go see Astarion first. There's something about him...

...And there seems to be something about me. Is he seducing me? Oh shit, he's seducing me. And I'm allowing it. Not tonight, but soon. This man. This tall, handsome, beautiful man.

Talking to the rest seems like a chore. I want to go to bed and dream of what may come. What will come. A night of passion.

But Shadowheart... She wants me too? That comes as a surprise. But alas, not tonight. Looks like I'm going to bed alone.

As I lay down to sleep, I notice Astarion slipping off into the night. What is he doing? I'd ask but I'm too tired. That conversation is for another day. Maybe one with less clothing on.

[eirikaanemo]

The Eastern Wind

Venti x GN!Wind Sprite!Reader

1.4k Words

Warnings: none

While you knew it was coming, the fight with Dvalin was terrifying for you. There was only so much you could do as a simple wind sprite. Diverting a gale just enough here, adding a little more force to an attack there, small things that you hoped would make a difference. All you could do was hope it would be enough.

The battle was long and hard. Dvalin, though corrupted, was still a dragon, and formerly one of the four winds. His attacks were powerful and you are very lucky that everyone survived. It was a miracle, though, well, everything Venti gets involved in technically counts as a miracle.

And isn’t that a strange thought? For all the time you’ve spent with him, and the two of you have been inseparable for years, he has never really acted like the anemo archon. But ever since Dvalin started attacking as Stormterror he’s been acting the part more and more. On the one hand, it’s good that he’s stepping up to help his people. On the other, it just reminds you how little you feel you really know him.

The day he asked you to wait outside a forest clearing while he tried to talk with Dvalin was the first time you saw this happen. And you’ll never tell him, but it crushed you that he left you behind to go do his ‘archon stuff’. A sense of doubt and worry hit you then that hasn’t left you since. Are you not good enough?

Eventually you decide that he must be trying to protect you because he knows how weak you are. There’s some truth to it. But it still hurts to be suddenly left out and left behind so often. So during the times he ditches you to run off, you start training and trying to build power. That’s how you were able to help with Dvalin at all.

Yet it wasn’t enough. You doubt anyone even noticed your efforts considering how little they probably did. And still, your friends prevailed. Dvalin was freed from the control of the Abyss Order and would no longer be attacking Mondstadt. Everyone is safe now.

Which leads you to now, where most everyone has headed back to town but you linger behind. You see, Venti asked everyone to go on ahead while he hangs back with Dvalin for a moment to talk to him about something. However, you stopped a good ways away instead. Far enough that you couldn’t eavesdrop, but close enough that you’d be able to make the journey back with him. After all, with all this insanity going on, he’d had less and less time with you and you wanted to make up for that as soon as possible.

By the time he finished with Dvalin you had fallen asleep on a low hanging tree branch. Despite your training, doing so much has drained your energy quite a bit. You had tried really hard to stay awake at first but the longer he took, the easier it was to justify just resting your eyes for a little longer.

You wake up to calloused hands picking you up and placing you somewhere warm. “You must have tired yourself out helping today,” someone commented. “I wonder where you learned to do something like that.” Letting out a sleepy hum, you curled up and fell back asleep.

Venti smiled softly as he made sure you were secure on his shoulder between his shirt collar and the collar of his cape. “It was quite impressive,” he mused to himself. “Not even I could have done something like that in your state. It took the belief of a good dozen people for me to be able to reach that level.” He hummed thoughtfully to himself, thinking back on his conversation with Dvalin.

While they had taken the time to catch up, he also had a specific reason for why he wanted to speak with Dvalin. It had been years since Dvalin withdrew from being the East Wind. And considering how things have gone recently, Venti came to the conclusion that his spot needs to be filled.

“I know you haven’t been the East Wind in a while, Dvalin. But before I appoint a new one, I want to make sure that you’re okay with it.” Venti said. Dvalin gave him a funny look. “Of course I’m okay with it. It’s not my position any more and from recent events it’s obvious that Mondstadt needs more active protectors.”

Venti let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. “Alright, if you’re sure,” he replied. The conversation had ended soon after and he bid his friend goodbye. Finding you so nearby was not surprising to him, he knew you after all. And he knew you had missed him a lot with all the running off he’s been doing lately. He felt bad about it, but you being there could have messed things up and things were already so messy.

But there’s no time like the present to make up for lost time, and it’s not like he hadn’t missed you too. Not to mention how he has a surprise planned for you. That, however, would need to wait until you woke back up. So he headed up to windrise and amused himself by playing some songs until you woke up.

Once you did wake up, with a little yawn that he had always thought was just adorable, and lifted off from his shoulder, he gave you a smile. “Did you sleep well?” He asked. “I hope you did, you deserved every second of it. Thank you for your help today.” You let out an embarrassed chirp, followed by a grateful coo.

“Speaking of your help,” he continued. “You did very well today considering your circumstances! And so I’d like to make you an offer.” You tilt your head to the side curiously. “How would you like to be the new East Wind?”

He had to catch you before you fell to the ground, frozen in shock. “Is that a yes or a no,” he teases you. Shaking out of your surprise, you tilt your head in question. Are you sure? You seem to ask. “Absolutely certain,” he assures you. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. We’ve been companions for a long time and I trust you with my life. Who better to entrust the people of Mondstadt too? And don’t worry, with the position I’ll give you a blessing that will help you increase your ability. You will be able to take a human form, too!”

It’s the last part that really sold it. You’d wanted a human form for a long time now, though you would have taken the position anyways. This was just a huge bonus. Looking him in the eyes, you nod your head determinedly. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

He holds out his hands, prompting you to land on them. When you do he brings you in close to his heart and places a chaste kiss on the top of your little hood. Your whole self feels cool and silky soft. If your eyes were open you would see yourself glowing a brighter shade of turquoise.

Quickly, he sets you on the ground next to him as you start growing. When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a human form. You’re wearing the same hooded cloak as you do in your sprite form with a tunic and soft trousers beneath it. You can hardly believe it, it feels like a dream.

“What do you think?” Venti asks from beside you. Looking over at him, you smile. “This is amazing!” You tell him. At the sound of your own voice you are shocked again and Venti laughs at the look on your face. When you hear him laughing at you, you pout a bit. “This is all new to me,” you remind him. “Hopefully I won’t mess anything up. This is a huge responsibility, after all.”

Taking your hand in his, he squeezes it lightly. “I’m sure you’ll do great. I wouldn’t have picked you otherwise.” He assures you. It takes more than that for you to adjust to your new role, but he’s by your side the whole time. And though it gets difficult, neither of you would take back anything.

[theartofdreaming1]

Slightly paraphrased, but Peeta talking about that moment he developed his crush on Katniss is just too sweet 😊

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 22-24 are below the cut (sprinkled in some psychology thoughts again).

heart

Honestly, I think the people in Panem would perceive the whole everlark storyline the same way we perceive and react to our ships on tv (desperately wanting to reach through the screen, shoving the characters forcefully together, screaming “And now, kiss!”); especially the Capitolites who barely recognize the tributes (or people in the districts, in general) as people. The people in the districts would definitely view the whole thing more under a “reality tv” kind of lens, questioning how much of the relationship is real or not (we know that Finnick certainly thought that the entire thing was just a spiel, until Peeta hit that forcefield). The time spent in the cave must have been pretty convincing, though.

mind

I think that Katniss is still torn here - On the one hand, she kind of wants to believe that Peeta is actually into her (remember the happiness she felt when Peeta told her how his crush on her began, and it all added up and seemed so real), but on the other hand she’s terrified of that possibility because A) lingering trauma from her mom’s depression in response the Mr. Everdeen’s death, B) Katniss never even considered falling in love, so that’s a sudden unexpected thing to deal with, and C) maybe it’s just for the sake of the Games; and wouldn’t that hurt, getting your hopes up only to learn it was only for show? (How about we ask Peeta about that?)

soul

Yeah, that quote about Peeta only eating stale bread also struck me as quite sad. It just further adds to his understanding how there should be more to life than just survival, though. (One day, I’ll make that post about Peeta, Katniss, and Maslow’s pyramid of needs, I swear! I’ve already gathered some research material)

Chapter 22

My mother’s hand strokes my cheek and I don’t push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don’t trust her. - Ugh, I can’t... Katniss misses her mom, misses being cared for😢 I’m so glad we’re going to see her patch up her relationship with her mom in CF... On a different note, Katniss craving that gentle touch just perfectly illustrates why she’s so drawn to Peeta, who is generally such a gentle soul (I mean, he’s literally the person stroking her cheek here 😊)

He [Peeta] doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness. - As I was saying... 😉

“I’ll go hunting soon,” I say. “Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.” - I love them so much😊🥰 And then Peeta makes sure she’s well-fed and hydrated, he rubs her cold feet and tucks her into the sleeping back... and she let’s him! 💗

“He [Thresh] let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” asks Peeta in disbelief. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain,” I say. “And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he says. - Oof. This exchange here is interesting in many ways: 1) it highlights their different experiences, tied to their different socioeconomic backgrounds, basically, and 2)  that Katniss is very much aware of this difference, but we also see hints of her own ignorance here - because Peeta didn’t have to starve in his childhood, she thinks that he can’t possibly understand this level of hardship; but there are other ways in which one can suffer/lack fundamental needs, which brings us to 3) Peeta’s response about being “obviously too dim to get it”; I think this is a clue to his mom being also verbally abusive towards him: she called him “stupid creature” when he burnt those loaves of bread for Katniss and when he’s losing it in the attic of the Justice Building in D11 in CF he is mad that Katniss and Haymitch keep things from him “like [he’s] too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them”, which - to me - sounds like he’s tired of being treated that way (i.e. the way his mother treats him)

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a a small child. - God, this is a teenager in a murder-arena who feels like wanting to go home is a childish notion instead of a totally legitimate wish for anyone in that situation, regardless of age 😢

It’s not that Peeta’s soft exactly, and he’s proved he’s not a coward. But there are things you don’t question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Gale questions everything. What would Peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Gale’s tirades against the Capitol? - Geez, Katniss, give Peeta some credit here! A) It’s not like Peeta can walk around District 12 talking publicly about the injustices happening there - she and Peeta hadn’t even talked with each other before the reaping, whereas Gale is her best friend who rants to her while they are outside the confines of D12 and B) Peeta is literally the one who introduced the whole “not a piece in their Games”-idea to her; why would he be clutching his pearls over Katniss and Gale’s irreverent banter?! Just because Peeta didn’t live on the brink of starvation (she again brings up how his house smells like bread and - at this point - still thinks that the family running the bakery actually gets to eat what they produce just like that), doesn’t mean he doesn’t see how shitty life in D12 is - he can still want better conditions for those who are worse off than him!

“I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” - Well, we’ll see this song and dance again in CF...

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. [...] And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.” - I wish CF Katniss would remember this moment when she is questioning her motives about saving Peeta’s life in the arena - You. Care. For. This. Boy! You. Value. Him. For. Who. He. Is!!!

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. [...] This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. - Whoo! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 😉

I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe. - He makes her feel safe in a murder-arena!!! 😭 This is the kind of stuff that makes everlark just a top tier romance, tbh

Peeta telling Katniss about his crush starting on their first day of school 🥰😭 - and her reaction to it... For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy - yes, because you have a crush on him, too! - and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff [...] So, if those details are true... could it all be true? - YESSSSSSSS!!!

“You have a... remarkable memory, “ I say haltingly. - as a severely socially awkward person... I felt that lame response in my bones 😅

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. - God, this would be such an amazing moment if it didn’t get tainted by that immediate sponsor gift, which just serves to muddle Katniss’s feelings with her sense of survival, further complicating her relationship with Peeta... *sigh* 

Chapter 23

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you...” “I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. “Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. - Peeta is the master of being a cheeky little shit and adorable flirt at the same time

“So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?” I ask him. “No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you,” he says. - I appreciate that while Peeta has had a crush on Katniss forever, he clearly didn’t spend the entire time pining after her, oblivious to the rest of the world - he has a life outside of Katniss Everdeen, but ultimately, it all lead back to her

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!” “Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. - Laugh all you want, this is going to end up being your future anyway 😄

He [Haymitch]’s at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to bready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he’s holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of tring to keep us alive. - Katniss is already worrying about her “new pal”, I see ;)

Maybe he [Haymitch] wasn’t always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. - Honestly, that sounds absolutely awful...

Poor, Katniss, when she learns of Thresh’s death :( - But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh’s murder. - It’s horrible how compassion and basic human decency gets construed as ‘weakness’ in the world of Hunger Games (esp. the Capitol)

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. - Honestly, I think a word analysis of THG-series could be interesting; how often does Katniss mention “warmth”, “steady/steadiness” “safe/safety/security” in connection with “Peeta”?

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he says. “Bet that’s expensive,” I say. “Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says Peeta [...] Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it’s true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread - Katniss is starting to realize that the lives of the merchants isn’t a cushy as she thought; also, in a way, we see a “prettier” version of how Panem treats the districts overall -> feeding the districts just enough that they can do their work (plus/minus a couple of people who’ll die of starvation, but at a small, for Capitolites insignificant margin), but not so much that they are in good shape to rebel; here, the merchants of D12 have just enough that they can live a “decent” life (they know it could be worse -> the Seam), but they don’t have enough to live a free, comfortable, self-determined life either. This also just further drives a wedge between the inhabitants of D12 (the merchants won’t want to rebel because they don’t want to get ‘demoted’ in their lifestyle, starving like the people from the Seam, and the Seam folk feel resentful towards the merchant people, while also not having the resources to rebel, due to their awful socioeconomic conditions)

What would be my life like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what my identity is. - It’s so sad who Katniss has been so consumed with ensuring that her most base needs are fulfilled that she barely has had the time to really figure out who she is and what she wants from life (If we’re talking Maslow’s pyramid of needs, Katniss would primarily be stuck on the lowest tier 😢)

At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. - Honestly, Katniss counting on being good friends with Peeta after the Games is the highest honor she can bestow on him at that moment (she’s so into him, lol); of course, knowing that their relationship is going to be a bit rocky once they’ve come back makes this thought a little sad... but we also know they’ll make up (and out ;) in the future

Peeta licking his plate and blowing a kiss out to Effie is such an adorable goofball-moment 😊

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. - This moment would be so cute (also, Peeta’s so confident in Katniss’s skills to protect him, which is adorable - toxic masculinity who?) but... Ugh, he’s just so giddy here, it kind of breaks my heart for when he learns later that (at least some) of Katniss’s reactions were just for show

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds,” I say. “Your call, Just tell me what you need me to do,” Peeta says. - Love how Peeta’s always ready to follow Katniss’s lead :)

Ideally, I’d dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt [...] “Katniss,” he says. “We need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” [...] “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” - Teamwork! If it weren’t for Katniss worrying for Peeta’s safety, they’d be on the same page here

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I haunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. “What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. - I really like how Peeta’s challenges Katniss here; he doesn’t just go along with everything she says, while still being quite reasonable

I feel like I’m eleven, again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. [...] I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. - I don’t know, but Katniss feeling tethered to Peeta makes me think of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, according to which children with a secure attachment to their primary caregiver use  their “attachment figure as a safe base to explore the environment”... Of course, Ainsworth’s Strange Situation was conducted with young children, but attachment styles are supposed to influence the relationships we form with people in our later lives as well (including romantic relationships)... I dunno, just a random association that popped into my brain 😅

Chapter 24

Peeta’s a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. - Heh, Peeta sure knows how to handle fire, huh, Katniss (or should I say: Girl on Fire?) 😏

I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for him when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so greateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.  - Aww, this is so sweet (and domestic)!

It’s funny. I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. [...] But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. - They are a team! Katniss doesn’t have to face the horrors of the Games alone anymore! It keeps boiling down to this.

[mybg3notebook]

Does Gale love Mystra?

So far in EA, we have been shown that this is complicated to answer: human love is complex as well as the delirious lore of Forgotten Realms. 

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

The narrative is clear until the party scene which, as I stated many times across these posts, it's a scene that feels a bit inconsistent for me (reasonable since it's EA). But if we follow what the game explicitly shows us, we know that if we send Gale to sleep at the beginning of the Weave scene in which he is watching the incantation with the shape of Mystra, he will say: 

Gale: Long days, yes. And long, lonesome nights.

If Tav knows that the incantation on his palm is Mystra, Gale will explain:

Tav: [insight] You don't have that look on your face when you're looking at “no one” / There's more to it than that. The figure I saw: she means something to you. Gale: [...] I can’t quite describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her – to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence. [...]

Dev's notes: Passionate. [...] He was recalling Mystra as a lover, but doesn’t say that out loud. [...] Narrator: The Weave evaporates, and as it does so, you realise the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome.

This allows us to infer that, at this moment, Gale is feeling alone and probably very anxious with the oppressing feeling of the "orb" in his chest. The tadpole only increased the number of problems he has, so he resorts to seeing Mystra melancholically. We notice later in the Weave Scene that not having Mystra around increases this feeling of loneliness. The whole scene seems to give us the idea that he still loves her. There is yearning and loneliness in his current situation.

After a moment of passionate description of magic, Gale invites Tav to experience the Weave. The Weave has a particular effect on Gale: "The moment feels intimate. You realise the Weave is making you one." Considering how Gale was feeling while conjuring the incantation, this moment touched him deeply (the narrator implies that this feeling is mutual).

If Tav expresses their romantic interests, Gale will be surprised:

Gale: I.. I didn’t think.. Narrator: You perceive quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, trepidation, and finally.. elation Gale: Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… But it is a pleasant image to be sure! Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome. Dev's notes: Warm, with real affection.

The narrator is giving us meta-knowledge, we can trust in what she says, and we can see that the situation was truly shocking for Gale. These emotional stages described here made me suspect that Gale is a character who has focused for too long on healing his condition, ignoring any chance for romance. His surprise here may confirm that, in my opinion. He feels embarrassment, a feeling that one can interpret as a sign of the surprise of being thrown into a situation he had not seen beforehand (the death protocol and Gale’s conversations show us that he is a character that thinks ahead). It follows trepidation: fear or anxiety about something that he is going to do or experience. Gale is scared of the possibility. Maybe because he is thinking in the danger he is, maybe because he was already burnt by Mystra's attention and having someone else's attention now makes him feel a bit anxious. And then, the final resolution of the process: elation, which is a feeling of great happiness and excitement about something that has happened. Gale is suddenly excited by the possibility. Something he will be thinking about, many times, for the rest of the EA. 

Tav: So what did you think about what I pictured when we were connected by the Weave? Gale: Oh, I was surprised. But pleasantly so, just like I said. Amid the madness that has befallen us, it seems almost out of place to think of a kiss/ of a romantic walk. And yet... now more than ever, it's important to recall what makes us human. [if Tav is not human] Well- you know what I mean. A stolen glance- that sudden heartbeat... Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come.

So romance was not something he had even considered until the opportunity arose (this is why he won't pursue a Tav who didn't show romantic interest towards him). I think that, since he is a character always living on the edge of death, he will take this opportunity to feel “human again”: after all, he follows the concept of "living life to the fullest".

During the Loss (see the post of the "Loss Scene"), we know that losing Mystra was a big blow for him. He regrets his decisions of the past in this scene, and it reinforced the idea that he is the only one to blame for Mystra's loss. There is a yearning for the lost Chosen powers, but Gale's context in the majority of his scenes seem to reinforce the idea that he sought power not as a means, but as a goal itself to be closer to Mystra and Magic. Since we are talking about a wizard, his passion lies in magic itself, in being one with the Weave/Magic/Mystra. A Chosen of Mystra is so entangled with the Weave and magic that when they die, they are part of the Weave itself. This is the level of passion that Gale has for Magic, and since Magic can only be performed by most mortals via Weave, and the Weave is Mystra, the whole three concepts are, in fact, one; and it makes it very difficult from a lore point of view to separate them. 

Tav: There's something I don't understand. If Mystra abandoned you, how can you still cast magic? Gale: The Weave is still here, all around us – inside of us too. As long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch. I've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways I am still a more than capable wizard. It's just that I'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at. To have one hand on the pulse of divinity. You have to remember that the Weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of Mystra herself.She can give and she can take away. I'm afraid I'm still very much on her naughty list. Consider yourself lucky you're not. 

I personally think Gale will never stop being devoted to Mystra (and won't stop loving her in many ways), because his passion for magic and knowledge is his own life, and Mystra IS those things. He loves magic for the sake of it. So losing this unique contact with magic itself that only Chosen of Mystra have was a terrible punishment for him. His abandonment issues are not just the result of a “guy being left by a girl”. They have an extra complexity because of the nature of Magic in this world and how its deity behaves with her chosen. Gale was not only abandoned by Mystra, but was also removed of a good amount of his capacity to perform magic. If magic “is his life”, the abandonment removed a part of his life away. I think some people miss this point, because, once more, it's related to Forgotten Realm lore and not Dragon Age. Many of these people keep constantly comparing this situation with Dragon Age, which has nothing to do with it. Dragon Age has no wizards, their relationship with Magic is natural, it’s sorcerer-like if we want to compare it, and the relationship with their deities (mostly absent, silent ones) are nothing alike the ones in Forgotten Realm. The context is key, as I repeated several times in these posts and in the one about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation". 

Tav: I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but I sympathise. Gale: Thank you. [no romantic weave] I want you to know that you’re a good friend. [romantic weave] I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too. /I'm glad to know you think about it too.

Narrator: You sense a moment of unspoken affection. You want to know where it may lead. Gale: I consider myself very lucky to have found you Tav: I think perhaps we could be more than friends Gale: Perhaps. 

Tav: You said you think about the moment we shared under the weave. Do you think about it often? Gale: Do you? 1-2-Tav: Yes / From time to time. Gale: So do I. 3- Tav: Not really. Gale: And yet you ask. I do, as a matter of fact.

Gale: You see. I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace.

So after sharing this regret during the Loss scene, Gale will show affection if Tav remains friendly during the Weave (but Gale will never directly engage it, he is waiting for Tav to give the first step; understandable if we consider he also has a dangerous bomb in his chest, so he may be torn between wanting to, but knowing he should not to). If there is no interest in pursuing romance, he will show a gesture of gratitude for being a good friend during that night of regrets. 

If pursuing the romance, we can interpret that Gale, at this point, even though he is still struggling with all the emotions that Mystra inspires, wants to experience something more “human”, a romance with a mortal. We know for sure that Gale is getting interested, slowly, while thinking about it, since in each of the following scenes he will ask (or Tav will ask) about that “moment in the Weave”. He has been thinking about it for many nights, and he is “embracing” the idea. 

If Gale is treated with judgement (despite not knowing his whole story) or allowing him to keep the secret of what or who he lost, we will obtain lines likes:

Gale: Good. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. // And try not to think too poorly of me. A cat can look at a king. A wizard can look at a goddess.

Tav: Another fool pays for his arrogance. A tale as old as time. Gale: Arrogance? Ambition, rather. And ambition is a fine thing – until suddenly it no longer is. Then again, if that is how you judge me, there’s little I can do to change your mind. But know that I have this ambition still. First to save myself, and after that, the licence to dream. (Gale Disapproval)

We could interpret these lines as the only ones so far that may suggest that Gale is still wanting something from the goddess. We know due to the tadpole dreams that Gale’s desire is Mystra. On the comments of the second tadpole dream we know more details about his major desire: it is not just Mystra, but her forgiveness.

Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: She's... It doesn't matter. I just know her to be unreal. Tav: What's impossible about what you're been shown? Gale: Forgiveness Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: It's indeed Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. I told you that I lost her. Lost her favour and lost so many of the powers I took for granted. What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence. Mystra has not changed her mind about me. That's how I know our dreams are delusions.

I think this scene shows the difference between a standard desire for power as a means, and power for the sake of power itself (since this power allows Gale to be one with the Weave). The scene is ambiguous enough to see it as Gale wanting to return to Mystra’s side as well as remaining as an ardent devotee of her (because she is magic herself). I keep repeating that these scenes show that Gale’s most important thing in his life is Magic, which is Mystra: the extension and the embodiment of magic. So his desire for her seems impossible to be extinguished completely. In previous scenes we saw that he certainly had thought through the idea of loving her more like a devotee than a lover, but certainly the weight of being his first love will remain, especially since she is deeply related to magic itself.

During the Party Scene we find some information about his feelings for Mystra. 

I personally ponder the book of Amn’s description as very important because, from a narrative point of view, it's a lot of lines/content that, if they were not important, tend to be removed from the script. If they are there, they are meant to be interpreted. For this reason those lines mean to me that Gale has finally embraced the idea of having something important with a mortal. In my post of the "Party Scene" I go into details, but here I will stick to the interpretation related to Mystra: all what Gale numerates in that book are things that he could not access to with a Goddess. Curiously, part of those descriptions are things that make humans human, so I personally think it reinforces Gale's intention in heading into this romance with the eagerness of finding some shelter (never forget the “orb” has a constant oppressing effect in him, increasing his anxiety and fears) and to experience (maybe for the first time) the love of a mortal.

So, for some assumptions made in the post of the "Party Scene", we suspect that Gale needs to share a night to feel confident enough to speak the details of his “orb” condition. Since he wants this relationship to be strong (after all, he implied commitment during the description of the book) he speaks about the true origin of the “orb” immediately after that night, starting with Mystra (which is, after all, the true origin of his folly). Depending on the version that Tav picks, we have extra information provided by Gale about his emotions for the Goddess:

Tav: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. [...] One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. [...] and the wizard was left behind heartbroken. Tav: I hate to say it, but he really could have seen this coming Gale: He was blinded by love. Good stories are rife with lovers’ follies after all.

[Short Version] Gale: Before long Mystra tired of me. What was I after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? You have to realise I was heartbroken. I was a young man, she was my first love. I thought it would last forever. I vowed to win her back.

[after explaining the mistake of the “orb”] Gale: It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through.. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side

Gale is giving a very detailed context about his love for Mystra: she was his first love, and the first love tends to have a special weight in a person's life and their memories. That doesn't mean the person has become unable to build more relationships for the rest of their life. If we add the fact that he was very young when all this happened (more details in the Post "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1") we find him under two effects: the impression of the first love and the naivety of the youth. Both elements made him believe it was a love that was going to last forever. With a Goddess, no less.

Besides, Gale expresses this, highlighting his naivety and foolishness: he is aware of how silly he was back then, and how impossible it could be for a mortal to keep the love of a goddess. He is a pragmatic and realistic character, after all. He recognizes in the end that he was just a mortal plaything for her. 

I think these pieces of information give us a very clear context of his emotional state: he is still nostalgic for Mystra because of all the reasons I enumerated above; she is also more than just a woman, she is Magic itself. But he is aware that those emotions were the consequence of a very naïve and young self that has awakened by the burden of his own mistakes. There is also a reinforcement of “forever”, which recalls the concept of commitment that Gale pursues so much in his romance: he is not there just for the sex “intimacy”, he is there for serious commitment, maybe because he doesn't want to experience another abandonment. After all, we are talking about a character with a profile that shows abandonment issues (see the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Abandonment Issues")

[If rejected] Tav: No. This is too large a betrayal. GALE: I see. I am sorry. I am sorry that it had to come to this. All that’s left to say is farewell. Dev’s notes: hurt but understanding Gale: Farewell. (Leaves) Dev’s notes: A slight hesitation, hurt but understanding. He makes a polite little bow, then we see him walk away.

[If accepted] Gale: I don’t know what I did to deserve the magic that you do. 

Despite being terribly cheesy, this last line shows that Gale was more than convinced that Tav would abandon him because he doesn’t deserve Tav. This is why he doesn't put up much fight if Tav chooses to tell him to leave. He will try to make Tav listen to his story, and once it's done, the verdict will fall and he will accept it. He learnt his lesson with Mystra. This line also shows how everything important around Gale is or has to be worded with magic, even a silly metaphor like this is related with the word “magic”: Tav's acceptance is like magic. For him, as important and good as magic itself.

As if that were not enough, after the scene there is a comment in which Gale will reinforce his gratitude for Tav's acceptance:

Tav: If you ever feel the netherese magic overtaking you, what will you do? Gale: If it should ever come to that... if I ever know I am no longer able to stop it... I will do anything I can to ensure no one but me pays for my mistakes. I will find the remotest place on the surface of Faerûn, or perhaps far below in the depths of the Underdark. I will await that death alone. [*] I promise I will not betray your trust... You kept me by your side despite the menace that I am. If worst comes to worst, I will be gone long before the curtain falls.  [*] If romanced, Gale will say here "I cherish you."

Which makes me suspect that Gale can disappear at any moment (in full game) if for some game mechanics we are unable to get magical artefacts but the deal with Raphael did not happen (if that’s even possible). But that's just me speculating. Nothing in EA seems to suggest this. What i's clear is that acceptance—that strong concept in the book he put so much emphasis on—is really important to him, so he shows gratitude for that: he promises to protect Tav (and many innocents) from his own mistake. He also says pretty soon an equivalent of “I love you”, in a more formal/meaningful way: “to cherish” is not just to love, but to care/protect as well. 

Finally, in case someone lost those hints, or maybe as a consequence of this unpolished scene, we have a direct question with a direct answer:

Tav: Gale, are you still in love with Mystra? Gale: I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know. She is my muse still, the embodiment of magic, but the embodiment of love? Only if we ever meet again will I know

Gale simply says what we have been inferring so far with all the previous information: Gale reinforces the idea that he will remain as a strong, loving devotee of Mystra, because she is magic. I personally don't even consider it possible to remove that love from him. He may not be a cleric, but he loves his deity as one. But he also learnt his lesson that loving gods has its own dire consequences for mortals. He is very aware of it during the discussion about Karsus:

Tav: Nothing good ever comes from mortals wanting to be gods. 

Gale: Loving them has its side effects as well. Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. It tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

Once more, there is no scene where Gale doesn't reinforce that what he did was a mistake, a foolish action, a Folly. 

Finally, if talking about a previous lover immediately after awakening with a new one was of poor taste, Gale acknowledges this, giving an honest apology:

Gale: Before we go on though, do first let me apologise. To share such a night with you only to tell you of a previous lover the next morning... It wasn't the most gentleman-like behaviour. But I had to finally tell you. Silence would have been far worse behaviour still. Nevertheless, I am sorry.

He accepts any rude response or lash-out from Tav without approval penalties. This is an interesting meta-knowledge that speaks about owning up to his mistakes. Unlike the Loss scene, where rude responses made Gale disapprove because Tav was judging him without knowing the whole story [16], in this scene he doesn’t. Now Tav has the whole picture, and he accepts whatever reaction Tav shows. Of course he will approve a forgiving Tav, since Gale is a character very related to forgiveness [12, 12b].

Conclusion: 

So, answering the question that gives title to this section: yes. In my opinion, Gale loves Mystra. But it’s not a white-and-black love; it has the complexity of human love mixed with this crazy lore of deities in Forgotten Realms. I believe Mystra will always be part of Gale's life, because the Weave and magic are his life, and she is both. He will always love her as a devotee, even though he now understands the mistakes of his young self and seems more aware of how naive he was when he was a “very young man”. The comments on the second tadpole dreams explicitly show that what Gale wants the most is Mystra’s forgiveness, but at the same time, he knows that he does not deserve it. And this raw realistic view of himself is what makes him understand that those dreams are illusions. During the party scene he is uncertain about his emotions, but still he emphasises that there is a big chance for him to not see Mystra as the embodiment of love any more but reinforces that she will always be the embodiment of magic to him (a very important concept in his character design). 

Whether Gale is romanced or not, I don't see a difference in the information he shares on this matter in EA.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[ezgithechaotic]

yellow . cedric diggory

pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

AU: soulmates

summary:  Y\N thought the whole “soulmate” business was a bunch of horse shit, honestly.

warnings: Harry falling off of his broom and Oliver losing his mind over Quidditch, but is it really suprising?

author note: I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. But please let me know if you see anthing that doesn’t seem right.  Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

main masterlist

You woke up to your roommate Angelina sneaking in, and it was still early, so early that it was still dark. For a moment, you thought it was the rain that woke you, but then you realized it was Angelina and she was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. You let your head fall to your pillow again, groaning. Your other roommates were still sound asleep.

 "I assume you were with Fred?" Your voice was hoarse since your face was still buried in your pillow.

 Angelina giggled as she dropped herself to the end of your bed. "Oh, I had such a good time, Y\N."

 You smiled at yourself, not knowing if she could see your face or not. "I can tell. But you two need to take it easy, though. I had to drag Percy the Head Boy to the other side of the school so you guys could sneak into the Astronomy Tower." You raised your head to see her face. "And I'm not doing it again."

Angelina laughed as she reached and kissed your cheeks. "You're the greatest prefect slash best friend ever!" She walked to her trunk that stood at the end of her bed. Taking her uniforms out of it, she turned towards the bathroom. "I'll tell Fred to buy you from those green candies you like, I promise."

 "It doesn't matter, you know, since I can't see the color of it."

Angelina stood at the door, looking back at you with lovey-dovey eyes. You hated when she did that. "You'll find him, Y\N. It doesn't always happen at our age. Marry's aunt found hers when she was thirty."

"Wow, you're a great motivator, Angelina. Have you ever thought about turning it into a profession?" You yawned. “And, honestly, I couldn’t care less.” 

“Sure, honey.” Then she turned and went into the bathroom, but you could hear her laughing. You fumbled for your alarm clock and looked at it. It was half-past six. You rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was difficult, now that you were awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. In a few hours, you would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, you gave up any thought of more sleep, got up to eat something before Oliver gave you a hell of a time.

The weather seemed to worsen steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Oliver was making everyone train harder than ever. You loved playing Quidditch, but you had no idea how you survived through training because Oliver Wood was obviously a psychopath. But luckily this was your last training before the match, so you were finally going to be able to rest between your prefect duties and school work.

Now, standing in the cold, all of the Gryffindor Team was waiting for Oliver to arrive at the Quidditch pitch, which was weird because Oliver had never been late for training.

 "Do you suppose he's having a breakdown again?" George asked. You could feel his body vibrate since your head was resting against his shoulder.

 "I hope not; it's freezing out here!" Angelina complained.

 "I don't think he would do that when he has the opportunity to torture us. Surely something is wrong." You said, your head still against George's shoulder and your eyes closed. You wished you had tried sleeping more this morning.

"At least it's not raining." You heard Alicia. "Oh, there he is!"

You opened your eyes to see. Oliver was walking towards you, and you could see the anger on his face. When he finally reached where you were standing, he gave his team some unwelcome news.

 “We’re not playing Slytherin!” he told you, looking like he could throw a fit any time. “Flint’s just been to see me. We’re playing Hufflepuff instead.”

 “Why?” chorused the rest of the team.

“Flint’s excuse is that their Seeker’s arm’s still injured,” said Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. “But it’s obvious why they’re doing it. They don’t want to play in this weather. They think it’ll damage their chances."

 “There’s nothing wrong with Malfoy’s arm!” said Harry furiously. “He’s faking it!”

 “I know that, but we can’t prove it,” said Wood bitterly, “And we’ve been practicing all those moves assuming we’re playing Slytherin, and instead it’s Hufflepuff, and their style’s quite different. They’ve got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory —”

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie suddenly giggled. “What?” said Wood, frowning at this lighthearted behavior.

“He’s that tall, good-looking one, isn’t he?” said Angelina.

"Oi!" Fred yelled. "I'm right here, you know!"

“Strong and silent,” said Katie, and they started to giggle again.

“He’s only silent because he’s too thick to string two words together,” said Fred impatiently. “I don’t know why you’re worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover. The last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?”

“We were playing in completely different conditions!” Wood shouted, his eyes bulging slightly.

“Diggory’s put a very strong side together! He’s an excellent Seeker! I was afraid you’d take it like this! We mustn’t relax! We must keep our focus! Slytherin is trying to wrong-foot us! We must win!”

“Oliver, calm down!” said Fred, looking slightly alarmed. “We’re taking Hufflepuff very seriously. Seriously.”

"Perhaps we could use Y\N for distraction." Alicia slyly smiled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, not knowing what Alicia meant, but surely it couldn't be something good.  

"Don't tell me you've never realized it!"

"Realize what, Alicia?" Now you were sure she was only doing it to get on your nerves. "His eyes are always on you on meals!" She turned to look others. "We believe he has a crush on our little Y\N."

 "Diggory?" George asked. "He better stay away, that git."

 "Why, Weasley, you in love with her too?" Alicia laughed. You didn’t let George speak.  "You're just being ridiculous. We don't even know each other. There's no way Diggory has a crush on me."

"I wouldn't be so sure, honey," said Angelina. But before you could say anything, Oliver was back to yelling about not having any time for your little girl crushes.  

 -

There were a lot of things loved about playing quidditch, but now standing on your broom, drenched to the bone because of the awful rain, dementors lurking around, you couldn't think of one good reason why you were playing this stupid sport. Holding the quaffle under your one arm, you tried to strengthen your grip on your broom, but it was useless; your hands were slipping under the rain. Your muscles were stiff as if screaming you to stop. But you didn't. You knew Harry was close to catching the golden snitch, plus Oliver would have your head if you did. So, you kept flying towards the hoops, but two Hufflepuff players cut in front of you, leaving no way to run. Your ears were ringing, voices were blending into each other, but you could distinguish your teammate Alicia almost screaming your name.

"Y\N! Here!"

In a matter of time, your arm was throwing the quaffle to Alicia without your will. Alicia caught the quaffle and sprinted towards the hoops, passing Fred, one of your best friends, on her way.

We don't mind a bit of rain.

You remembered Alicia's words from earlier, but this was the absolute worst. First, your opponent team got replaced with Hufflepuff, so you had to change all of your strategies because Hufflepuff's play was nowhere near Slytherin's, and now, you had to play under this awful rain, and you could hardly hear or see any of your teammates. In addition to that, all you could see was black and white because your soulmate sucked.

Living in this magical world had its perks, it did. You could channel your magic with your wand, from taming the wildest animals to levitating a cup; it was simply fantastic. But magic also brought disadvantages with itself. No wizard and witch, regardless of their blood status, could see any colors until they touched their soulmates, which was compelety ridiculous. What if you never met your soulmate? Were you never going to see any colors? And almost all of your classmates finding their soulmate and trying to describe the colors and terribly failing at it was nowhere near helpful to you.

Now, at the quidditch pitch, only thing you could do was to trust your instincts because you couldn't see any of your friend's faces at all. And you couldn't see their uniform's color, well, because your soulmate was determined on not showing up at all. And you certainly hated them for it.

 "Harry!" You heard Oliver's crazy screaming. "Harry, behind you!"

You turned to see Harry. For a moment, he stood there, searching for the snitch. The moment he saw snitch, with a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward it. But Cedric was on his tail, following him higher and higher.

"C'mon, Harry," you muttered under your breath. You couldn't take your eyes away, but you were only watching Cedric Diggory. His hair sticking to his forehead, his face features stern, and his wet yellow, at least you assume, robes weighing him down. And in a matter of time, you saw Harry's broom was slowing, then finally stopping in the middle of the air, Cedric passing him and Harry slipping off of his broom, falling to the ground.

You couldn't even react until Harry was halfway through. Then you heard yourself yell. "Harry!" Now, you were flying towards him, but it was no use because he was already on the ground, lying unconscious.

After Cedric caught the snitch, he heard your cry, making him turn around. He saw you getting off your broom, stumbling in the mud of the pitch. Your hair now, free from the hair tie, was sticking to your face. The heavy rain was beating your face, causing you to frown. Cedric found himself following you. His feet touched the ground without even realizing it, and he saw Harry. Cedric stopped one step behind you, not knowing what to do, and then his hand found yours.

"Is he-"

You didn't even realize until you turned around and saw him standing with worry in his eyes, soaking wet, and in yellow robes. You could see the pale color of his skin, almost purple lips from the cold, and grey eyes. Your breath stuck in your throat. Your hand, the one that Cedric was still holding onto, was burning despite the rain and the cold. You almost didn't believe it. But then you heard Fred's voice even though you couldn't figure out what he was saying because your ears were ringing stronger than before, and then you saw your teammates red robes. Your head was spinning, you tried taking a step back, but it was almost impossible as if the ground was shaking.

You stumbled again as you did a minute ago when you were trying to walk in the mud, but this time you felt hands steadying you, making sure you were on your feet. Cedric's looks were burning through your head. It was so absurd. You didn't even know him.

There was no way he was your soulmate. He couldn't be.

You took a step back again, this time fully aware of where you stepped on. Turning your back to Cedric, you saw Madam Pomfrey carrying Harry to the hospital wing. You followed after them, hearing Dumbledore's yelling and Cedric's voice after. But you didn't stop or look back because if you did, you knew you wouldn't be able to walk again. This whole thing was such bullshit, honestly. A boy you knew nothing about but his name was your soulmate. And all of a sudden, your world was upside down because you could see colors now?

A week ago, hearing that he might have a crush on you sounded batshit crazy. But obviously, the universe got offended after all the shit you thought about soulmates and said, here you go, your soulmate.

-

As you were standing next to Harry's bed in the hospital wing, you could hear people talking around you, but you weren't listening to any of them. Your head still spinning, you thought about Cedric and his yellow robes. You felt hands around your shoulders, but they didn't burn through your skin as Cedric's did.

"Y\N, you're shaking," George said, still holding your shoulders and with worry in his eyes. "Would you like me to ask Madam Pomfrey for a blanket?"

You forced a smile. "No, it's alright. I guess I'm just in shock."

Harry's eyes opened. "Harry!" said Fred. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?" he asked, sitting up.

"You fell off," said Fred, again. "Must have been - what - fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," you said, now realizing how shaky your voice was. Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.

“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?” No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. “We didn’t — lose?”

“Diggory got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square… even Wood admits it.”

“Where is Wood?” said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn’t there.

“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”

Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. “C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”

“There had to be one time you didn’t get it,” said George. “It’s not over yet,” said Fred. “We lost by a hundred points.”

“Right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin…”

“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” said George. “But if they beat Ravenclaw…”

“No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff…”

“It all depends on the points — a margin of a hundred either way —”

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace. “We’ll come and see you later,” You told him. “Don’t beat yourself up Harry, you’re still the best Seeker we’ve ever had.” The team trooped out, trailing mud behind you. As everyone made their way to the Common Room, you were still standing in front of the hospital wing. You needed some time alone.

 "Y\N, are you coming?" You heard Angelina. You looked at her, your eyes almost empty. "I think I'll check up on Oliver, see if he's alright."

"You don't look so good yourself, love. Wood will be alright, no need to worry. Let's get you to your room." George said, gently touching your elbow.

"No, I feel fine. I really should see Oliver, make sure he didn't really drown himself. I'll see you later."

George finally let you go; he realized he wasn't going to convince you. As you made your way to the changing rooms, the cold made you shiver inside your soaked clothes. But you couldn't find the strength to reach your wand and cast a spell. You were exhausted. Your arms were almost numb, and you had no idea how your legs still carried you.

A few steps before you reached the boys changing room: you heard footsteps behind you.

"Y\N!" You heard Cedric yelling. "Can I talk to you?"

You turned to him, realizing there was no point in acting as if you hadn't heard him call you. "Not the time, Diggory." You turned back again and took the rest of the steps, diving right into the room.  

"Wait, that's boys changing-" Cedric yelled after you. "Y\N!"

He could swear to Merlin that he had never met anyone as stubborn as you. Were you not going to talk to him after what happened? Well, he understood that you might be in shock, but one way or another, you had to speak to him, right? After all, he was your soulmate. Not having any choice, he followed you into the room.  

"Oliver!" You found him sitting under the shower, his clothes still on, while pulling his hair and mumbling to himself. You were sure that one of these days he was going to lose his mind, well, if he hadn't already. You heard Cedric following after you like a lost puppy, but you didn't have the time to deal with him. You reached to turn the shower off, getting yourself wetter than you already were.

Oliver was still pulling his hair. Now you could hear him better without water running. You sat in front of him, gently pulling his hands off of his hair. "Oliver, you need to calm down."

"We lost." He mumbled.

"It's not the end of the world, you know."

"It's the end of the world, Y\N! We lost!" Oliver yelled; his eyes were almost going to pop off. "Now, there's no way for us to win the cup!"

You held his hand tighter. "Don't be stupid now. Harry is still in the team, he’s alright. Everything'll be alright."

You could visibly see Oliver calming. "Yeah, we still have Harry."

"Also, there is no way that Hufflepuff is going to win against Ravenclaw. So, no need to have a tantrum." You turned to Cedric. "No offense."

"None taken," he said. He knew now wasn't the time to have a fight about which team was better. Cedric stood there for a while, not knowing what to do, and watched you calm Oliver. He could see you still shaking, but you didn't seem to care. Instead, you were helping your friend when you could use some help yourself. Cedric's chest tightened to the thought of you. It wasn't a lie that he had liked you for a while.  He had seen you laughing with your friends, playing Quidditch, maybe throwing a fit at Alicia or Angelina because you lost a few points to Slytherin, but he had never seen you this vulnerable, shaking, in shock and scared.

"I better take him to his room." You said, feeling the urge to explain yourself or share something with Cedric. He helped you get Oliver to his feet. "I'll help you to the tower."

"It's alright. I know the way." You smiled. Why were you even smiling?

"You can't let people help you, can you?" said Cedric, not caring about what you had just said and still holding Oliver. His smile was beautiful. It was beautiful, and it made you mad because you didn't want to think that his smile was beautiful. And it made you angry because you wanted to believe the world was a good place and full of yellow.

The world was not a good place at all.

He was aware that you were tired and had probably a million thoughts in your head, bothering you. So, he didn't say anything. He had all the time in the world to talk to you, the rest of his life. He knew to take his time, especially with you. He wanted to ask you out, but he didn't. You probably would've said no anyway. He just took you in. Your face, your looks, how you tried to stay on your feet even though you were exhausted, how you walked, he took all of you in.

You stopped in front of the portrait of Sir Cadogan and told him the password. When Oliver took a step in you lingered back, turning to Cedric.

 "I'll see you later, then. Maybe at breakfast?" Cedric asked, smiling.

 "Maybe."

[katnissmellarkkk]

AN: Hiiiii, alright I’ve been working on this story since I posted my first chapter and, as it turns out, no surprise, this is gonna be longer than I originally expected. Probably like five-ish chapters? I’m not re-writing every chapter or part of Mockingjay if Peeta wasn’t hijacked, just snippets of the essential plotline and events if Peeta hadn’t been hijacked.... did that make sense? 

Alright, anyways, I wanna also take this time to say I definitely did not expect the amount of love I received on the first part of this and omg I’m so honored and touched. I really wasn't expecting you guys to be so supportive in this fandom. Thank you all so much, for liking, commenting and reblogging. It really made me so happy <3.

Also if you didn’t read part one and you want to, here’s the link. 

I hope everything’s going well for all you reading this! 

Also I need a title for this so any suggestions are more than welcome alright buh-bye.

Shattered Pearl

| Part One |

/

I know I've been shot. I felt it hit me, right underneath my chest. If I didn't vaguely remember standing in the tunnels, appealing to and pleading with the District Two men, trapped inside the Nut, the gunshot of a man standing behind us in the crowd, too cowardly to come closer and confront me to my face, if I didn't retain the image of seeing myself shot on television, I'd swear I'd been hit by one of the Capitol trains that once took me and Peeta district to district.

The thought of the train brought back memories I'd long held close to my heart. I had never spoken of nights shared between me and Peeta on the Victory Tour and prior to the Quarter Quell. Not to anyone. Not even Prim. It felt too personal and too vulnerable a memory to let anyone else claim it. For so long it was all I had to cling to, with him presumed dead and then only seen on Caesar's talkshow, tormented and a shell of the boy with the bread.

I miss him now, as I lay despondently, wherever I am. I feel a jabbing pain right where I predict I was shot, the injury feeling closer to a brutal beating than a penetration.

My mind whirls and flies and wracks itself up and down, backwards and forwards and side to side and somehow I can't remember even a split second where I felt the bullet enter into my body.

I feel my consciousness, my awareness, growing stronger now, slowly crawling in an upwards motion, like I was lying on the bottom of a lake and I'm only now floating to the top.

When my head breaks the surface, there's a bright, ugly, glaring light stinging my eyes and my first thought is one of comparison. Does Peeta experience this too, when he wakes up in his recovery room? Do they actually think that'll help anyone recover here, blasting unsettling yellow colors into their eyes as soon as they crack open? Is it their idea of a luxury, since everything and everyone else is so void of color here in Thirteen, like one of Peeta's drawings that have yet to be painted.

"Disorienting, huh?" I hear a familiar—so familar—voice laugh quietly. "I think Thirteen believes the more the lights hurt your eyes, the less we'll use them and the more energy they'll save in the end."

"Peeta?" I mean to murmur but instead my voice comes out in a whimper.

"Shh," he whispers, his voice all gentleness and sweetness now. The teasing, conversational edge is gone. He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my sweat covered forehead, hoping the ministration will soothe me.

It takes me longer than it should to place, but it strikes me after a moment that his voice now reminds me of a different foreign place and a different wound and an altogether different time.

The confusion. The comforting, appeasing voice. The soft, tender gesture. It eerily reminds me of waking up in the cave, after having bled out from my head, only to find my body weak and Peeta's shockingly strong and the tables turning and him taking care of me.

My hands act to their own accord and cannot be stilled, no matter how comforting Peeta's fingers feel, sifting through my hair.

I fumble roughly with the bandages covering my left side, where the bullet must have hit, and I force my eyes wide open now, in spite of the still disturbing light overhead.

"What am I still doing here?" I ask before I can really register what I'm saying. At his confused and—now I can see his features better, with my eyes adjusting to the brightness—exhausted face, I clarify. "The bullet didn't kill me?" I look to him for confirmation.

"No," he promises smoothly, understanding my puzzlement now. "No, I promise you, the bullet didn't kill you."

"What happened?" I ask, my voice and body both still far weaker than I'm in any way comfortable with. "I think I blacked out after I was shot."

Peeta forces himself to give me a faint ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I imagine that happens when a bullet hits you in the side." He takes my hand in his and begins to softly kiss it, repeatedly. Finally he replies, "you were shot on live TV and everyone in the country saw you go down. Coin and Plutarch decided immediately to spin this and fake your death. But Cinna made your Mockingjay outfit bulletproof. The bullet never touched you," he assures before adverting his eyes as they grew watery with his words.

"Peeta," I start, my voice raspy as it's ever been.

"I don't think I was that scared in the Capitol," he blurts out as if I didn't speak. "Snow knew, he always knew, that you getting hurt would have been worse torture than anything else he could have ever done to me."

"How do you think I felt when Snow and his guards had you prisoner?" I shoot back before I can stop myself. His torture was harrowing enough without me making it all about myself. He flinches slightly at my words but tries to mask it, for my sake, no doubt. I reach out and squeeze his hand, my body's grip embarrassingly lame and in no way soothing. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"No," he automatically refutes. "Don't apologize to me. You have enough people putting their burdens on your shoulders without adding me to that list."

I swallow hard now, my memory starting to piece everything together and I remember suddenly that this is the first time I've seen Peeta since Coin's men had essentially interrogated him into hysteria.

I hadn't told him I was even going to Two. I didn't even tell him how long I'd be gone.

And then I got shot on camera. And—as I should have predicted—the rebels used this opportunity to their advantage.

I can imagine what that felt like for him. I remember on the hovercraft to and for the first few weeks in Thirteen. Refusing to eat. Refusing to speak. Hiding in closets and sleeping only sporadically. Picturing every single time I closed my eyes Peeta being beaten to death, Peeta being abused, Peeta crying out helplessly.

I wait for him to blink back his tears again before final speaking. "Can I apologize for not telling you I was going to Two in the first place?"

Something new crosses his features and in place of the fear, the agony, the pain, comes an almost sarcastic, satirical expression. "Please do, Sweetheart."

I roll my eyes instinctively when he calls me sweetheart. He'd only ever called me that in the past to get on my nerves or irritate me. "You sound like Haymitch," I can't help but point out.

"This isn't sounding like an apology for lying."

"I'm getting there."

"I've been waiting for days."

I raise my eyebrow mockingly. "So that's why you're here by my bedside?"

"Only reason. I'm out as soon as I get my reparation."

"Well in that case," I trail off, shrugging—and inwardly cringing at the movement before bringing his hand to my lips now and planting a kiss there. "I'm not apologizing then."

He laughs and I pretend to be put out, which works until I try to cross my arms in false indignation and involuntarily eject a loud gasp of pain from the way the motion upsets whatever is broken inside of me.

Peeta drops the ruse then too and stand from his chair, sitting on the side of my bed to get closer to me. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, cupping my cheek and turning my distressed face towards him now. "Breathe," he commands genially, leaning his forehesd against mine. "The pain will go away, Katniss, just breathe."

I let out a large breath but it only makes the pain worse and eventually I just grip the hand cupping my face and squeeze with all my might. The lame grip I felt ashamed of minutes before is now replaced with an adrenaline rush of strength and I nearly break Peeta's hand in my much smaller one.

He doesn't complain and begins to rub my back to calm me down. When the searing, paralyzing discomfort subsides, the first thing I utter is, "so if I never got actually shot, what is going on with my body?"

He strokes my face affectionately. "You have a bruised lung. Bruised ribs. And your spleen was ruptured so they removed that."

"So I'm without a spleen?" I realize, my voice raising involuntarily. For some reason, I'm petrified that a whole organ was taken out of my body and I had no say in it whatsoever.

"You don't need it, Katniss," Peeta quickly reassures.

I deflate then, not sure if I feel any better or not. Peeta's words suddenly come back to me.

"Katniss, these people aren't too different from the ones in the Capitol."

Would I trust Snow or his guards to remove my spleen? No. So should I be okay with Thirteen operating on me?

I shake my head, knowing this is redundant and ridiculous. My spleen was ruptured. They'd saved my life. I was being paranoid for nothing and I couldn't afford falsely accusing the very people I needed to survive. Especially not when they likely are what saved my life.

Peeta sees my face contort and the disheartenment etch itself across my features. Still remaining tender and cautious, he leans his own wounded, beaten face down and places kisses against my cheek.

I try to hold off but his lips bring a smile to mine, and even with all the confusion bubbling around my head, all the disbelief and uncertainty, in regards to my feelings towards him, Gale, Coin, this war and the Revolution itself, I still can't help the feeling of hope spreading across my chest, filling my heart up in a way I never let myself consider it could again.

"Peeta?" I whisper then and he pulls back from planting kisses on my face to look at me.

"Hmm?"

"If my lung is bruised, why did you tell me to breathe deeply to stop the pain?"

He freezes for a second, contemplating and considering before a slightly bashful smile crosses his mouth. "You're the healer here, not me," he finally teases. When I smile back at him, he leans in simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the word, and kisses me full on the mouth.

The kiss catches me off-guard but only after the fact. In the moment it feels right and tingly and reassuring and I'm lightheadedly happy and I don't even know what to make of how I feel on the inside.

"I'm not a healer," I remind with very little passion for the correction in my voice.

He laughs again lightly but then bites his lip and brushed my hair back. "You did say that to me in our first games, right? Real or not real?"

I hesitate for a full ten seconds before I respond, my face scrunching up. His words almost seem like an already formed game that no one had explained the rules of. "Real," I finally answer.

He's already elaborating before I can ask. "Finnick came up with it. He said it works for Annie and I should try it. If I'm ever unsure about anything that happened or what the Capitol tried to make me believe, I should ask." He shrugs then, slightly abashed. "It's repetitive-"

"It's actually a really good idea," I encourage, grabbing his hand in mine again and giving him a reassuring squeeze. And he looks at me then and gives me a grateful smile and his eyes are lighter now than they were when I woke up and I don't know where this is even going between us or if it's even going anywhere and I don't know where Gale stands and I really can't focus on my feelings right now because I'm a symbol of an entire revolution, whether I asked to be or not, and it may be selfish or immature, but I push away all my other conflicting thoughts and pull the boy with the pretty blue eyes down towards me.

He goes willingly, wrapping his body to me, only placing pressure on my right side, and I feel his face burrow in my neck. When his lips press to the sensitive skin there, like he's done dozens of times before, I shiver instinctively and close my eyes against him.

For the first time in forever I feel, for a fleeting moment, safe.

//

Prim and my mom interrupt not too long after that, but for some reason—other than Prim's cheerful smile—they don't comment on the compromising position they found us in.

Peeta promptly moves back to his previous chair and remains there for the duration of the day.

Haymitch joins us not even five minutes after my mom and sister, and he brings boiled cabbage stew from the cafeteria in tow.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," he says with a large smile, looking at the disgusting concoction with excitement now.

I look at the bowl, wishing I had more of an appetite so I could actually feel some desire to eat it. In spite of Haymitch's jokes, the cabbage stew would have been a luxury to me once upon a time, when all I could find to fill my screaming stomach was mint leaves and, if I were lucky, the roots I was named after. "How'd you know I'd be awake?" I inquire, turning the spoon around in the bowl.

"Oh I didn't," my old mentor quickly replies, plopping down in a chair against the wall. "It was for the boy." He gestured towards Peeta, who's running his fingers softly along my spine, inconspicuous enough that not even Prim catches on. "But I figure you deserve it more, since you're the one in the hospital. Speaking of that, why did you two switch places?" He asks, brash and wry.

My mom glares at Haymitch, disapproving of his callous comment, which catches me completely off guard.

My mother usually ignores all chatter between me and Haymitch and Peeta, only chiming in if Haymitch is speaking of something from Twelve that I'd be too young to understand.

I remember then watching Haymitch's tape on the train with Peeta, realizing he and my mom shared a permanent tie labeled Maysilee Donner. I look between them for a hint of familiarity I didn't see before and quickly realize Peeta's doing the exact same thing.

My mom quickly turns back to me, and gingerly but vigoriously, coaxes the stew into my stomach, even when I try to refuse because my ribs ache and using any of my muscles leaves me feeling irritable and shaky and hot inside.

"Just a little bit more, sweet girl," my mom murmurs, forcing me to finish the entire bowl, and it's only when Prim looks at me, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, that I realize my mom had used a long forgotten term of endearment. One that I'd rejected since her bout of deep, delbilitating depression.

I didn't comment on it and I don't think my mother even realized, but I avoid Peeta's eyes because evidently, by the looks of his smirk, even he knew the exchange was rare and hard to come by.

Just as I all but lick the soup bowl clean and my mom's whispering mournfully she has to go back to work and was only allowed to come see me for lunch. I am caught off guard once again though, when she kisses my forehead and whispers, with audible tears, that she loves me so much.

I feel like a monster all of a sudden, for the absolute hell I must have put her through.

I squeeze Prim's hand as tight as I can as she takes our mom's seat and scoots it even closer to my bed. "Hey, little duck," I greet in my most comforting voice. "How're things while I was gone."

Prim, as usual, puts up a-albeit, very weak-pretense in order to make me feel better. "They were okay for the most part." She pauses and bites her lip, contemplating to herself before adding. "It was just hard because we didn't even know you were leaving and then we watched you be shot on live TV."

"I know," I murmur apologetically, because it's all I can do. "I'm so sorry, Prim."

But my sister's shaking her head before I can finish and I swear Peeta and Haymitch roll their eyes at the same moment and if Prim wasn't here, I'd be telling them both off.

"No one's mad at you, Katniss," she promises, like that's my concern. People I love being angry, not people I love going through absolute turmoil. "Just... next time could you let us know?"

I nod automatically, because I want my sister to feel better, even though I'm unsure if I can even fulfill this promise. "Yeah, of course."

Prim just stares at me for a moment. "You're such a bad liar," she finally calls out.

Haymitch noisily laughs from across the room, but Peeta remains completely stoic now, and I want three sets of eyes so I could focus on multiple people at once.

I choose to keep my focus on my little sister. "Prim," I start, my voice still unconvincing. "I just... I never know what's going to happen next, so it's hard to know ahead of time what I'll do. The last thing I want, that I've ever wanted, was to worry you and mom."

"Yeah, but, Katniss," She refutes even and diplomatically. "You not telling us only makes it worse. Finding out from strangers you and Gale disappeared off to District Two on a secret mission with the rebels? Only to watch them fake your death? It was as bad as watching you in the games."

I feel my chest constrict and the breath fly out of my aching lungs as I swallow down the lump formed in my throat. "Prim, I never meant-"

"She knows, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, his hand sifting through my hair once again.

Prim looks at Peeta—with more familiarity than I've ever seen between them before—and then back at me. "He's right. I know you never meant for that to happen but... if you could just let us into the loop a little more, it'd make things a lot more bearable."

I nod, meaning my promise to keep her and our mom more informed now. I squeeze Prim's hand again and ask quietly, "how bad was mom when I was shot?"

Prim's eyes shoot to Peeta almost intractably. But I catch it and I press it before they can pretend it didn't happen.

"What's going on with you two?"

They both look at me in utter shock. Or is that the look of getting caught keeping a secret?

"Nothing," Prim immediately covers. Peeta, on the other hand, doesn't react so quick, and instead chooses to just shut his eyes to avoid looking at me.

There's something more going on that they want to avoid telling me. And instinctively, I don't think it's about my mother. Even without him meeting my glance, I can tell Peeta's embarrassed about something.

"Prim," I say evenly. "You're a worse liar than I am."

"You actually are, kid," Haymitch adds. "Didn't think that was possible."

"What happened when I was shot?" I ask again, my voice closer to a threat than a comfort now.

"Let it go, Katniss. It's not important," Peeta urges, his own voice more worn and irritated than I'd heard it since the last games.

"When has she ever let something go?" Haymitch ponders, unfazed by our whole exchange.

"Katniss," Prim starts but I cut her off. I can tell she was going to placate me, like getting shot turned me into our mother.

"As your older sister, you're not allowed to lie to me."

"C'mon now, Sweetheart. That's not being fair."

"Then you tell me, Haymitch. What happened when I was shot that they don't want me to know?"

Our old mentor sighs deeply but I can tell he's relenting. If I couldn't see the resignation on Haymitch's face, Peeta's whole body tensing up in anticipation would be a dead giveaway.

"The boy had a meltdown when you were shot," Haymitch finally states. He gives Peeta a long, measuring look before continuing. "He basically went ballistic and lost his grip on reality." He moves his eyes to train them on the floor of my hospital room. I know he's trying now to avoid Peeta's furious eyes, full of betrayal.

"What?" I turn and look at the boy beside me, remorse overtaking my entire being. I reach out and touch his face but he won't look at me, even when I try to force him.

"He was frantic for days. Couldn't tell the difference in reality and the lies the Calitol fed him. He was only released probably an hour before you woke up. So I guess you guys have good timing," Haymitch adds, trying too hard to lighten the mood.

"Peeta," I whisper after a beat, pleading with him to just look at me, talk to me, but to no avail.

"Peeta, talk to her," Prim begs on my behalf.

"It wasn't that severe," he finally states, his voice extremely muted now as he speaks in a hushed tone, only to me. "I didn't want to tell you because you don't need anything else on your plate. Especially not about me. And it was barely worth mentioning."

"I think it was worth mentioning," Prim chimes and Haymitch points at her and nods.

"She's got better sense than both of you."

Peeta ignores Haymitch. "Prim," he groans with an air of affinity that still boggled me. "Stop. It was fine."

"You were so upset though. And she should know, since she's the one the Capitol wanted to hurt when they tortured you," she advocates, impressing even me with her reason. "And I think we should all stop lying," my pure-of-heart little sister tacts onto the end.

Haymitch nods affirmatively towards Prim again, and I see something akin to wonder now in his eyes as he looks at her, and it takes no more than common sense to realize he's imagining life with Prim as his victor and how much easier that would have been.

"I just don't think now is the time to be talking about this, Prim," Peeta tersely states.

I can't help but interject now, after having witnessed their exchange this whole time, "I'm sorry, but do you two know each other?"

A look is exchanged between all three of them and I'm so tempted to ask if they'd like me to leave so they can freely converse in private. Finally Prim informs quietly, "me and mom were there with Peeta when he got upset. He actually helped mom because she had somewhere to focus all her own emotions. You know how she is, Katniss. When things get rough, she puts all of herself into her healing."

"Glad of be of service," Peeta mumbles despondently and I can see in his troubled eyes, he's blatantly ashamed of himself.

"Peeta," I murmur softly, taking his hand against his will—he tries to fight me from even picking it up—and bringing it to my lips.

He sighs deeply and offers me a half smile. "My being a lunatic doesn't disturb you?"

"Of course not," I quickly dispute. My mind is still processing all of this though. "So you and my family... bonded after I was shot?"

Peeta outwardly groans, dropping my hand. "Let it go, Katniss."

"I just never considered it a huge connecting technique. You know, I could have gotten shot a long time ago-"

"That's not even funny," Peeta chides and there's nothing humorous in his voice now.

I shut up instantly, feeling the mood of the room drop. Even Haymitch falls silent and adverts his eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper and I don't know who I'm apologizing to, Peeta or Prim. I'm know I'm not saying sorry to Haymitch, who is still lolled in his chair across the room. Although maybe I should, since he was undoubtedly as scared as the rest of my family. Not that he'd ever admit that to me.

Peeta shakes his head and his expression softens. Leaning in closer, he gently brushes his lips to my cheek, very lightly and very chaste, considering Prim's proximity.

"Just don't lie to us again," Prim pleads, taking my other hand firmly. "No matter how much you want to protect us."

I nod obligingly, maybe more to relieve my guilt than anything else but I do actually mean my promise. "Okay," I swear.

Peeta pushes back my hair soothingly before running the back of his hand over my cheek. "Okay," he finally repeats, only loud enough for me to hear.

And I know then that he's forgiven me.

///

Within an hour, my mom, Gale, Boggs, Plutarch and my doctor all join the party inside my hospital room.

"Isn't there a limited amount of people allowed in one room?" Haymitch retorts gruffly, unhappy about being squished into the corner and unable to spread out the way he was before.

"Oh there usually is," Plutarch confirms, his tone more joyful than I find appropriate, given my situation. And the state of the rebels now. "But I asked Coin to make an exception for Katniss."

"Can Coin make an exception and give Katniss a bigger room?" Gale mumbles under his breath.

I laugh at his sarcasm and his disgruntled expression. We'd made amends on the way to District Two, not wanting to be in potentially dangerous territories and still on the outs with each other. I expected the issues that made us clash—and whatever feelings that still lied between us—would all come to a head once we returned to Thirteen, but we unexpectedly took longer than anticipated in Two and now I was wounded. And even Gale can't deny he was scared out of his mind when I went down. Even he isn't in the mindset to wrangle with me.

I squeeze Peeta's hand in my own and pretend I don't see Gale's envious eyes staring at our interconnected limbs. I don't feel the same guilt I usually do when it was apparent Gale was upset by me and Peeta, and I wonder, idly, in the back of my mind, if this isn't because of the morphling I'm pumped full of.

My doctor is one of the same people who checked Peeta out after he was rescued and I realize I don't even know his name. It doesn't seem like I'll learn it now either, as he barely speaks. I'm half inclined—though I know it's impossible—to think my own mother is the one who operated on me, from the lack of insight the man provides.

In any case, the doctor doesn't seem concerned in the slightest about me and slips out of the room as soon as Plutarch shifts the conversation in a new direction.

"So, I was wondering," he starts, his face still much too happy to completely sit right with me. "Maybe if you'd be up—once you're out of bed and recovered, of course—to film a propo?"

I just stare at him blankly, wondering how on Earth he expected me to have any desire to film anything right now, while I'm still currently getting pain relievers pumped into my veins.

He misreads my expression and quickly adds, "Of course Peeta would be in it! The Star-Cross Lovers need to be shown reunited. I feel that could help with the cause immensely—"

He keeps talking but I automatically tune out his chirping voice as he prattles on. I can see his vision now. The Mockingjay Lives splayed across the screen, me and Peeta wrapped in an embrace, my voice loud and strong, announcing that we're going to keep fighting to the end.

I'm not the only one looking at Platurch like he's grown a second head. The only person who's not looking at the man with distain or disbelief is Haymitch, who's expression is either mildly entertained or filled with such incredulity that he looks like he's grinning.

Peeta's reaction is much stronger than I expect and it's only after he looks like he's grown nauseous from disgust or is planning on throwing something at Plutarch's joyous face, that I realize Peeta has no real experience with the Gamemaker.

He was in the Capitol the entire time I've really gotten to know Plutarch and the man's antics must seem completely foreign to Peeta.

I squeeze his hand before he can say anything and shake my head in Plutarch's general direction. He isn't harmful and I don't want Peeta to waste the energy he needs to recover.

But he has trouble swallowing down his obvious repulsion and his hands begin to shake and his eyes are far angrier than I would have expected in these circumstances a few months ago.

It's my mom who is murmuring about Peeta needing to check in with his doctors and how she'll walk him down there and she waits expectantly for him to get up and part of me faintly envies him for some reason. And I realize quickly that it's the way she talks to him—it's the way she speaks to all patients of her's, really. It's a firm tone, that's still kind but is very direct. Maybe a little authoritative and unyielding. And I realize at once it's a tone I almost never heard again after my dad's death and I took over caring for the family.

And I miss it. Despite everything. Despite my lack of trust in her and my fear she'll retreat back into her shell one day and leave me and Prim behind all over again. Despite my instincts to never put my faith in my mother again, a big part of me still misses the days when she parented me.

Peeta sighs, seeing through the ruse, and kisses my nose before heading out the door behind my mother.

Plutarch follows too, blatantly unaware of what he set into motion, and saying he was needs to review the film of the other Victors for their propos. I'm still appalled he wanted to parade me out while I'm lying in a hospital bed, but I do feel a bit more at ease knowing it's not just me and Peeta he wants to exploit for the sake of the rebellion.

I wished to myself I could actually go to where the fight was. That I could actually have a shot of getting close enough to really be involved in taking down Snow and his supporters, rather than being filmed as a icon to motivate other people to fight in this war.

I kept this to myself, as my even being in this bed was proof of what happened when I was a more central part of the fighting. And even then, I somehow managed to get shot while they were essentially using me as a talking piece for the other soldiers.

But there was something else on my mind and I turned to focus onto Gale now. Only he, Prim and Haymitch remained in my room and Prim was telling my old mentor about the medical uses of alcohol. I don't know what she planned on accomplishing with that, but it worked as a diversion for me at the moment.

"Okay, so what happened?" I press Gale in a hushed voice when I know Prim isn't listening. He gives me a quizzical look and I quickly clarify. "With Peeta and my mom and Prim?"

Comprehension fills his eyes and he sighs before continuing. "I wasn't there for the beginning. Obviously. I was with you in District Two. But I know that he was watching TV when you were shot, and he completely lost it. Apparently it triggered some kind of flashback to something they used to do to him in the Capitol. He was still yelling when we arrived back. I heard it when I passed his room while you were in surgery. Whatever Snow did to him-"

He's promptly cut off by a new but familiar voice joining the room now. "Ah, yes," Johanna Mason shoves back the curtain separating my cubicle from the one next door. Her's, I guess. "Fond memories you mention, Handsome." She winks at Gale. "One of Snow's favorite methods of torture. The old 'make Peeta watch a thousand fabricated video simulations of Katniss being brutally murdered, on repeat. Don't let him sleep. Beat him. Water him down and beat him some more. Make him watch the Katniss Dying Simmulations again', until he can't even tell you what's real and what's not."

I just stare at her, my heart sinking in my chest rapidly. "What?" Is all I can manage to say, my mouth drying up fast.

"I mean, there were worse forms of torture Snow and his men liked to use on me and your fiancé, but I was told you needed to be kept in the dark about those," she state cheekily, obviously trying to goad me.

"Who told you to keep me in the dark?" I snap, my eyes shooting between Prim, who's now looking right at me, and Gale.

Johanna, much to my surprise, points to Haymitch. The older man is still laid out in a chair in the corner of the room, having made himself comfortable again, but at least now has the decency to look sheepish.

"Listen, Sweetheart," he immediately defends. "You and the boy have your own separate issues, alright? You both don't need to take on the other's all the dang time."

"Haymitch-" I start to growl but am caught off guard by a completely unexpected noise. Johanna's hysterical, dark, morbid laughter.

"I can't believe you were rescued and I was tortured, and I'm expected to protect you from the truth."

I don't blame her. No one could honestly. She was tortured because of me and the rebels. She could say and do whatever she wanted at this point, and no one had the right to tell her differently.

"Johanna," I start but let her cut me off once again, becoming accustomed to the feeling.

"And don't worry about Peeta," she says but the resentful shake of her head doesn't fill me with hope. "Your mom made him her project once they informed her your suit was bulletproof. Her and your sister basically walked him off the ledge."

And because I know she's the only person who will be completely uncensored—something I can't even say about Haymitch these days—I blurt out my next question. "What was Peeta saying? When he lost it?"

Her response is immediate and I get the impression she enjoys telling me, for some sick reason.

"Give me back to the Capitol. They'll find a way to revive her if you give me back. I want to go back. I'll trade my life for her's. Please, let me go back."

As soon as the words sunk into my brain, I wanted to puke.

So I did.

////

Johanna wasn't happy about my vomiting a literal foot away from her and she was downright livid when no one else appeared to be irritated with me but she reached a breaking point when both Peeta—who returned upon hearing my loud gagging—and Gale comforted me.

It was an odd sensation to be in not just conversation with both Peeta and Gale but to have them both be so sweet to me, at the same exact time. Without even so much as looking crossly towards the other one.

Gale held my hand and told me to calm down in a gentle voice he only ordinarily used for one of our sisters or his mom. Peeta was sitting opposite him, on the edge of my bed and telling me softly to just relax as he stroked my hair tenderly. Even Haymitch had gotten out of his seat to call an attendant to clean up my vomit and Prim and my mom were standing at the end of my bed, looking worriedly onto the scene.

Johanna's voice was biting as she took us all in. "How much hand holding does she need? Considering she was apparently strong enough to be the face of our entire cause."

"I shouldn't be," I instantly agree with her. "You should be. No one has to push you or tell you what to say."

"No one likes me, brainless," she says snidely, a leering smile spreading across her face.

"That's because everyone's afraid of you," Prim chimes in timidly, and I drop Gale's hand to reach for my little sister's, almost on instinct upon hearing her scared voice.

But Johanna has the decency to not swipe at Prim and instead gives her a sympathetic look. As if to say you don't have to be scared of me.

Her compassion evidently only extends to the thirteen-year-old, as when Finnick and Annie join the room right on the heels of Prim's words, Johanna barks out a cruel laugh. "Really? More people? Are we having a party to celebrate Katniss?" She gives everyone a mocking look around the room. "Well, I wish someone would have told me. I forgot to bring my streamers."

For some reason her tone suddenly forces back a memory of the last night in the arena. Her cutting my arm open and my red, hot, sticky blood gushing everywhere. My understanding at the time being that this was an attempt to kill me. I know now that this was the rebels' plan and she was really cutting out my tracker but the sense memory can't be so easily rationalized away.

I flinch outwardly and both Gale and Prim's faces silently ask if I'm alright. But I'm quickly distracted elsewhere.

I'm, once again, wholly surprised by Peeta's reaction.

"Don't you have anything else to do, Johanna, besides bug Katniss?" There's a strong irritability in his voice, one I'd only heard from an outsider prospective in the past. On the off occasion I'd witnessed he and his brothers in any sort of conversation. Their relationship was tense at times but they were still siblings and extremely close in age. That made for a lot of squabbling and a lot of fighting and a lot of sparring with each other. And a lot of aggravating each other, causing Peeta to behave in a way I'd never seen him otherwise.

"I don't know?" She shoots back, not even missing a beat. "Didn't I have better things to do than cuddle you after Snow's guards were done for the day? And yet, who's shoulder did you cry on? Who held your hand through our adjoining cells?" She smirks and it's obvious she's speaking for the rest of us to hear.

Annie makes an animalistic squeak and covers her ears. Finnick quickly wraps an arm around her and shoots a glare at Johanna.

"What?" She snaps. "Annie was there in the Capitol, Finnick. She know what went down."

"Doesn't mean you have to remind her of it," I state, my voice grave as I watch the mad girl Finnick loves more than life itself retreat into her own psyche.

And for some odd reason, I relate. To both Finnick, who's doing everything he can now to bring her back from the dark depths of her own mind, and Annie herself, who is buried beneath the ruins of a trauma she'll never be able to escape and is visibly struggling to dig her way back out.

I look to Peeta then, almost imperceptibly, and he just gives me a knowing, almost satirical glance. He was undoubtably thinking the same thing.

Johanna is ready to spit in my face, and she probably would, no doubt, if it were just the two of us. "You have no idea what went down after we were captured," she seethes, growing closer to me, and Peeta places an arm in front of her, blocking me from her reach, but I note the gesture isn't rough or hostile.

Gale and my mom both look like they're going to intervene. Finnick is busy with Annie now. Prim looks shell shocked and Haymitch seems to have lost interest in watching us.

For some reason, maybe it's the morphling, maybe I just feel safe surrounded by so many people who would stop her if she lunged for my throat, but I decide to reply. "Is that why you hate me so much?"

Her violent demeanor dissipates but she still has a spiteful glint in her gaze. "That's part of it. And partially because everyone is so obsessed with you. I've never seen anything about you that's so good or special."

"I agree with you about that," I say quietly, knowing it'll do nothing to mend fences with her.

Haymitch, who out of everyone I thought would agree as well, is the one who speaks up. "There's plenty good in that girl," he retorts sharply, his grey eyes hard as he stares at Johanna.

That caught me—and Peeta, by the look on his face—more off guard than anything Johanna had said thus far.

But it's Johanna's words, which aren't even directed at me, that send a chill to my spine. "Careful, Haymitch. Remember, I'm the one who's always there for the victor you constantly forget about. Or was that you who held his hand while the doctors and Mrs. Everdeen had him strapped down for two days?"

Gale is the one who responds, much to my surprise. "Okay, stop. I know you've been through—"

"Handsome," she cuts off, her voice clipped and snarky but she still bats her lashes in his direction. "You don't know anything."

"Johanna, please," Peeta murmurs now, his tone softer and a lot more understanding. "Please go back to your cubicle. I'll tell the doctors you're complaining of massive pain and need more morphling."

She stares at Peeta, her eyes softening the same way they did for Prim only minutes before. Finally she says, "it's the least you can do. Considering you wouldn't share your fiancé's with me."

And, as soon as she appeared, she had evaporated behind the curtain.

And I feel like somehow, I'm the only person who is left reeling in her absence.

/////

My mom was called back to work once again—and this time, she was made to stay there, my condition apparently too stabilized for them to be letting one of their better healers cut back on her hours—and she took Prim with her. I don't know if it was because Prim would be of use or if she just thought I needed alone time without worrying about my sister overhearing too much.

It occurs to me how much my mom is trying now to wordlessly look out for my needs. I decide to make a point in finding a way to say thank you to her. Even if our relationship will never be what it could have been, had there never been corruption or games or mine explosions. Had there been proper help to those suffering and in need.

Finnick chats with me and Peeta for a moment—and entirely ignores Gale but I suspect that's less about being intentionally rude and more about never knowing what to do with my best friend slash fake cousin—before escorting Annie away. She still looks shaken up and I wonder what happened to her in the Capitol. Or if she was already this unstable. I scarcely remember anything about her or her games, prior to what Peeta reminded me of in the Quell.

"You look tired," Peeta notes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. I smile lightly, about to kiss the palm of his hand before noticing Gale's eyes. They are quite apparently envious of Peeta's affection towards me and my acceptance of it, of how naturally Peeta can touch me, of the innate intimacy between the two of us that I never shared with him. But he tries his best to mask it and for that, I feel even worse.

I look to Haymitch without realizing it and somehow the older man understands without me even consciously thinking of asking.

"Boy," Haymitch grunts, putting on a good show as he stands up. "Let's go get some real food from the cafeteria. I hear if we say we'll participate in Plutarch's Propos, we can get better grub than the rest of Thirteen."

Peeta nods, his eyes gently running over my face, as if memorizing it in his mind. "Will you be okay-"

"Okay, Johanna was right," Haymitch barks now, grabbing Peeta by the back of the shirt, his grip much too docile to pass as normal though. "She'll be fine. Let's all stop hovering. She'll be up and tormenting us in a day."

I roll my eyes at his antics but smile meagerly at him as he guides Peeta out the door.

"Well," Gale breathes out as they leave. "That was subtle."

I laugh loud enough that I hear Johanna hiss from the cubicle next door. "I wanted to talk to you privately."

Gale chuckles. "Gathered that."

I know I have a limited time before Peeta returns and honestly I'm not too mad about that fact either, as I somehow, chessily, long for him now whenever he's gone. I inwardly cringe at myself before shaking it off to hurry this conversation along. "I wanted to apologize for me and Peeta. For how we can act. For..." I trail off, realizing too late I didn't pre-plan my words.

Peeta was right when he'd spat at Haymitch on the Victory Tour, "we all know I'm better on camera than Katniss. No one has to coach me on what to say."

I wished for his ease and talent with words now as I fumble around, trying to convey my message to the person who's been my best friend for years now.

He understands though—thankfully—and needs no more explanation. His tone has become solemn when he speaks. "You're really not faking it anymore, are you? Being in love with him?" His eyes are full of pain and he quickly downcasts them. "You fell in love with him in the Quarter Quell," he says as a fact, not a question.

"I don't know, Gale!" I exclaim, quick to defend myself here, like I'm being accused of something horrific. In truth, I feel like I am. I feel like I am, when I see how much it hurts him when me and Peeta are together. "I don't know how I feel. I just know I feel a lot for both of you."

"That's not good enough, Catnip," Gale whispers, shaking his head. But he uses my old nickname and that gives me hope. Hope that he won't hate me for not being able to give him what he wishes. Hope that I won't lose him entirely by the end of this war. "You really do need him."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, to try and rectify this. But I can't because it's true. Those are my words he's repeating back to me and they completely true. I do need Peeta. Maybe in a way I'll never need Gale. I don't know. I can't know. Not with all that rests on my shoulders already.

"What if I made you choose?" Gale presses now, leaning in closer. "What if I begged and pled and promised I'd find a way to make you happy? Would you pick me then?"

My mouth still hangs open, unsure what to say that get me out of this. I look towards the door, wishing Haymitch would reappear, that Peeta would burst through with his loud footfalls, that Johanna would pop back in and rub some salt in everyone's wounds.

All that would be preferable to this right now and I wonder why I ever wanted Haymitch to take Peeta away.

Gale shakes his head now though, having recieved his answer. "I thought so."

"Gale-" I start, not knowing where I was planning on taking the exchange but before I can even make a redundant attempt to mend whatever broke between me and him a long time ago, he's leaning in and his lips are pressing to mine and after half a second of shock, I'm giving in.

After everything I'd denied him, after all that he'd done for me and for my family, after how much he'd been there for me while Peeta was in the Capitol, I let myself give in and kiss him back.

His lips are different from Peeta's and I can't figure out how I feel about them. He's always been more grown, appearance wise, than Peeta and me, who both still could pass for years younger in the right clothing. But even his kissing is reeks of more experience, more practice, and somehow I find myself learning as his mouth shift under mine, as both his lips suck on my bottom lip expertly.

But it's lacking something and it's only then I realize, what I'm searching for inside Gale's mouth, is the spark that only Peeta's ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn't manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn't be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale's demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I'm not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I'm hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale's face isn't even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

[lairofsentinel]

I love your BG3 analysis posts and wanted to get your insight into one of Gale's lines. On point 21 you discuss his 'doubt' lines. There's another line that I find similar / fitting: if the main char tells Gale they think their night together was a mistake then he says something like "Let me clear your mind of doubts: it absolutely wasn't." He doesn't discuss the 'why' of it - or express he's disappointed but accepts their choice. He tries to discourage that line of thinking outright. Thoughts?

Hey, hello! Thanks for reading those big posts. :D

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

For those who don't know what those numbers mean: [Gale in 27 points or more]

Yeah, in (21) I found curious that he just says "doubt is a spoilsport" in another desperate attempt to make the MC stop thinking about it, and go for him already. Yes, you are right. The other line afterwards, when the MC shows doubts again about the whole night, he desperately tries to cast them aside. Again! They are like attempts of "no, no, dear, stop thinking right there. We are not a mistake, we are just we. Stop thinking. I don't care if I encourage questioning in general. On this matter, question not" XD

Which I found hilarious in comparison with his personality which is ALL the time in his mode "we need to doubt about everything", because well, that's a scholar. Scholars tend to be better at questioning than knowing things most of the time. This shows once more that he is desperate to stay with the MC, so far. I want to believe that there are not more hidden secrets, or ill-intended motives coming from him.

His mental state by the time he meets the MC is quite a mess. If you think that since too young he was abandoned by Mystra with that orb of Netherese devastation stuck in his chest... we can assume that there is a high chance for him to have been alone ever since. The quest in saving himself from that bomb probably prevented him to use time and energy in relationships (like I say in (15)), and by (12) we know he feels deadly alone. Especially if we take his description of how the bomb makes him feel, which is an increasing terror the longer he stays without consuming artefacts.

If you fail in that conversation of the Loss scene, when you insist about what he lost, he will push the MC away and will say something like "I'm strong enough to keep on". But we know that by the end of that night (or after the party in case MC did not romance him), he will say it anyway. He will talk about Mystra abandonment.  He can't hold it anymore. He needs to share the burden and find someone to trust. Which will be the MC, as a friend or a lover.

I still think about the mind-shocking impact that the Weave scene caused him. It's not only what he states, his mindset has been focused on solving his bomb condition for too long. Relationships have been out of question for a while (15).  And then, he has this Weave moment with the MC showing him their romantic interest; it not only took him by surprise, it caught him quite vulnerable too (too much feeling of loneliness and fear and despair plus the tadpoles looming danger), so the event had a stronger effect than he lets show in that moment. We know he thinks about that event the following days in between the Weave scene and the party, and apparently, that makes a click in him.

As I said, he is desperate for the MC who shared that magic moment of the Weave. Magic is his life, as he said, and sharing it with someone who has supported him and giving him their trust, it moves the ground he is walking on.

He is a char that, when a chance appears, he doesn't want to let is waste. And that romantic scene in the weave was a completely unexpected chance happening in front of him. Serendipity, as he said. (I don't know if by choosing the last option, the one in which you imagine nothing, Gale will want something anyway. I have to explore that.) (** I already explored this [here] **)

In sum, the concept here is that, as a scholar, he is into doubts and questioning all what you want. He will encourage such attitude in the MC. Except when it comes to question his emotions for the MC and their night together. Because questioning them, may cause abandon him. We also need to remember he was abandoned. Abandonment issues must to be added to his psychological profile. It was probably this issue the one that made him wait to the last moment before saying the truth. Because he is all about consent and let people know the truth, but he freaked out at the thought that maybe that truth could mean a second abandonment. That fear is there even if the MC did not romance him. He reached to a point in his life where loneliness, the bomb, and the tadpole became too heavy to deal with alone anymore. He needs the MC. And needs to be sure that they won't abandon him. That's why Gale ends up doing that rotten move of saying the truth only after sleeping with the romanced MC and after all that speech of the book of Anm: through intimacy he wanted to have a deeper link with the MC in order to prevent the abandonment. This is why he says “after all what we passed through, after the night we spent together”. He wants the MC baaaadly. And he  wants not to be abandoned again. You see him bending and breaking his usual philosophy just to avoid abandonment. That's... a bit dangerous.

Once more it gives me the feeling that Gale is a nice mature character, who knows where he walks as long as we are not in the emotional ground. Emotional-wise... seems that Gale has pretty bad experiences, filled with over-idealised situations (Mystra) or over-darkened by misery (his bomb condition and now the tadpole) and in the back of all that there is a constant abandonment issue that may make some situations quite... complicated.

Asking for middle reactions to Gale on these matters seems to be a bit too much for his char. XD This is why I like to joke that he is basically proposing the MC right there... I mean, the book of Anm speech? If you choose “hey Gale, we are not newlywed (stressing that fact), but newly acquainted”, he gives a shit to the definitions of the words (the scholar, uh), he says “let's write the prequel”. One can interpret it like... he is assuming he and the MC are walking that path through and through. He is riiight heading into marriage. Lol. I personally would not like this kind of chars, but I make my exception here because, at least, Gale has a solid reason to be this way: he may die at any moment.

This kind of soft emotional instability char may be a dangerous compound in Larian's hands. You see, Larian in DOS2 offered romances that clearly were not going to last after the ending of the game; and you had hints of that pretty early in the game: one companion was married looking for their spouse, and another was betrothed, and had a fling with the MC meanwhile, if you want to. Another companion you can romance, simply disappears later by the end of the game. So... Larian... is not Bioware. Having a man like Gale that can break or bend his usual philosophy and his morals to a certain degree when it comes to matters of the heart.... well... it's dangerous, to say the least.

I fear Mystra appearing, and telling him that she abandoned him not because she wanted to, but because the netherese orb put her in danger (a logical reason that Gale could accept without problems no matter how much he suffered because of it, check (4),(14) and (20) ). And if Gale gets rid of that orb, and Mystra asks him to be his Chosen One “with benefits” once more (lol)... I'm not so sure if he will not abandon the MC. Unless the MC accepts a polyamory relationship (with a goddess? XD), because I totally see Gale has no issues with Mystra or MC having lovers besides him. 

Magic is his life, and he longs a lot the powers granted by the title of the Chosen One. And Mystra's affections are where the true magical power lays (Gale's own words). So.... yes. Dangerous.

Ah, damn... I derailed again. Sorry.

More content of bg3 in general [here]

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Seven Blades in Black (The Grave of Empires #1) by Sam Sykes

★☆☆☆☆

Disclaimer: while I was reading this book, I found out that Sam Sykes has been accused by numerous women of sexual harassment. You can find more information about it below: - a post listing several accusations of misconduct - twitter post responding to the situation - one of the accusations against Sam Sykes - his quickly-deleted apology Suffice to say, I have no intention of continuing this series or reading any more of his books.

I have a lot to say about this novel, so I’ll begin by making a quick bullet point list outlining what I liked and disliked:

Liked:

Cavric <3

Lisette deserved better

Some interesting concepts in the world building

Disliked:

Sal as a narrator

Sal as an antihero

Sal as a person in general

Writing style

Constant interruptions

Meandering narrative

The “narrator knows something but the writer avoids revealing it until the end for the drama” trope

This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy

Lesbians written by a man who harasses women

Unnecessarily long

// image: official cover art Jeremy Wilson //

Let’s begin with the full review by starting with the (few) positives, shall we?

First and foremost, I genuinely enjoyed Cavric and Lisette. It is unfortunate that they had to deal with Sal for the entirety of the novel, but we’ll get to her later. If this book had been a buddy adventure with these two, in which Cavric slowly shows Lisette that she is in a toxic relationships and deserves to move on and find someone better for herself, I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more. Secondly (and finally), Sykes introduced some genuinely interesting world building. The background of the Empire and the Scar was fascinating to read, but unfortunately did not save the rest of this mess.

Alright now let’s rant.

I have 35 notes and 52 highlights from this book, so this might get block quote heavy. (Go check out my notes if you want to see me slowly lose my sanity)

Sal is awful. I know she’s meant to be awful, but she’s not flawed in the way that I think Sykes was trying to write her. I believe she was intended to be a scruffy, lovable antihero who fought her way through a dangerous landscape with her sharp blade and even sharper tongue. A girl who had wrongs committed against her in the past, who did terrible things but is now on the road to an epic redemption arc. She shoots bad guys, she says f*ck and a*s a lot, and she is morally complex. That’s the character that Sykes was trying to make. The one he created, however, is a genuinely terrible person who I had no desire to see come out on top. I have a myriad of issues with her, but let’s outline a couple below: (1) She is incredibly toxic for Lisette. Am I getting a bit too heated about a fictional relationship? Sure. Was I happy to read a toxic lesbian romance written by a man who sexually harasses women? Nope. It kind of grossed me out, actually. Anyway, let me give you a run down of their relationship. Sal arrives. Sal and Lisette sleep together. Sal asks Lisette to give her weapons and or fix things for her. Sal sneaks away, telling herself no good will come of this relationship and they will only cause each other pain. Sal needs something. Sal comes back. Repeat over and over. She constantly says, throughout the book, that it would be better if they just left each other, but then again Sal is the one who goes back to Lisette over and over, causing her renewed heartbreak. I don’t know if Sykes thought that simply making Sal aware of how terrible this behavior was was enough, but it just made me incredibly frustrated. At one point Sal says:

”Intellect like hers is a curse. The more you understand of the world, the less of it you trust.”

Yes, Sal, that’s what’s giving her trust issues. Her intelligence. Nice. By the end of the book, it seems that they are on the mend-I’m getting end-game vibes from these two. But honestly, I spent the entire time thinking that Lisette deserved so much better than Sal. Like literally a chicken would have provided healthier companionship. I’ll end with this quote, in which Lisette outlines perfectly why Sal does not deserve her:

“What am I doing wrong that you’d choose this over me?”

(2) Sal is annoying. Really, really annoying. I kid you not, half of this book is made up of Sal’s snarky comments. She is badass. She has a gun. She is an outlaw. And she will never, EVER shut up about it. Imagine a quirky line after an otherwise dark or action-packed sequence. Funny, right? Might break the tension, make the narrator more endearing, etc. Now imagine one such line after every. Single. Paragraph. Picture a violent battle scene where the protagonist is fighting for their lives against a ruthless opponent. Now insert a snarky comment after every other paragraph and watch the entire flow of the scene fall apart with constant interruptions. That’s what this book is-which brings me to my next point.

The writing isn’t great. There are constant interruptions, meandering narratives, and the trope that haunts me in nearly every dark fantasy novel I read-This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy-is shoved repeatedly in your face. Let’s start with the interruptions, returning to my previous point (ie. Sal never shuts up), by looking at this sequence:

I  followed the shrieking wind. I had come here prepared for something bad. But I wasn’t prepared for just how bad it was. I rounded the corner of the hall, came out atop a battlement. The wind struck me with a screaming gale, forcing me to shield my face and cling to the stone for purchase. My eyes squinted against the harshness of the light, the kind of offensive pale you only see in your nightmares. And through them, I could see the bowed shapes of towers sagging, the flayed flesh of banners whipping in a wind that wouldn’t cease, the shadows of figures frozen in a death that had brought no peace. And I knew where I was. There was nothing that had ever made Fort Dogsjaw special. It had never been crucial for defense, never a hub for trade, it hadn’t even been named for anything special—the commander just liked the sound of it. It lived its whole life a regular, boring Imperial fort on the edge of the Husks. It only got important at the time of its death. Over three hundred mages and a few thousand regulars had assembled here in one day—some to receive assignments, some to man the garrison, some to head back to Cathama on leave. They had been laughing, cursing, drinking when the news came that the new Emperor of Cathama was a nul, born with no magic. And then there had been a moment of silence.

I’ve bolded for emphasis, but do you see what I’m talking about? The paragraph-line-paragraph-line format is so annoying to read, I had to put the book down at certain points because of how frustrated I got. It interrupted the forward movement of the story, making the novel drag on and on.

You know what else makes this feel like the nightmare version of the Never-ending Story? The page count. I don’t mind long books-The Priory of the Orange Tree is one of my favorite reads so far this year, and it’s longer than this one-but they have to have a reason for being so hefty. As I mentioned earlier, a considerable chunk of Seven Blades of Black is Sal making her awful, awful, AWFUL asides. I literally cannot express how much I despise those comments. Okay, let’s move on before I get hung up on THOSE STUPID COM-*cough*

This novel is marred by unnecessary lines and a meandering plot that drag out the story. One instance is the amount of times that Sal is a second away from killing someone and, for some reason (usually not a good one), fails in her goal. She places a gun at someone’s head and goes through a whole monologue in her head until the person miraculously escapes. This type of subversion of expectations is fine every once in a while, but if you are going to build up to a crucial moment and then take away the satisfaction of the defeat of some villain (or mini-boss, as many of the antagonists in this book feel like), then you need to have a good reason for doing it upwards of twenty times in ONE BOOK. Secondly, if you spend almost the entire novel setting up more and more villains and stressing how hard they are to kill and how dangerous their powers are (and presenting them separately and isolated), then when you have them all in one place at the end, at which point the protagonists starts going through them like a plate of french fries at a seagull convention, then you’re kind of taking away the satisfaction of the death. Somehow, this book manages to do both. We are constantly teased with almost-kills, then at the end Sal just blows through everyone in five seconds, easy-peasy.

I’m almost done, I swear-just two more gripes.

So much of the tension of this book rests on the fact that Sal, our narrator and our main viewpoint into the story, knows something that we don’t. I’ll be upfront with you-I hate this trope. If our POV character, the one whose mind we are in constantly, is entirely aware of something that happened before the beginning of the novel, and the author keeps from revealing that something for the entirety of the story solely to add drama, then I will not be a happy reader. Where is the logic. We are in this person’s mind. Just show us already and add tension ELSEWHERE.

And FINALLY (as painful as it was for you to read this, it was worse for me to write it), another issue I have with a lot of dark fantasy (see my review of Nevernight) is that the author really, really wants us to know that this is an incredibly dangerous and dark world by filling it to the brim with edge lord narrators, Big Guns, and, usually, women being harrased-because why not force all your female readers to constantly have to read about women getting assaulted? Apart from Sal’s 300,000 comments explaining to us that she is an asshole, that the Scar is Dangerous, and that she has Killed A Lot of People, we as readers must sit through hundreds of lines of dialogue and exposition that beat us over the head with the fact that this is DARK fantasy. This isn’t your nice little fairy adventure-no sir. Here we have Swear Words and Violence and Men writing Queer Women. To emphasize just how blatant Sykes is with the dark part of dark fantasy, let me tell you about an exchange Sal has with three old ladies who run a criminal empire. In the 2-3 pages that these women appear in, we are told, in some form or other, that they are grandmas who kill people, a grand total of, I kid you not, ELEVEN TIMES. Here are some excerpts from that whole situation:

”“Now, now.” Yoc, old and white haired and sweet as a grandmother—if that grandmother also had people killed on the regular—smiled at me. “I’m sure she has a good reason for being here.” She raised the hand that had signed the contracts that had killed a thousand men and women and took up her whiskey glass. “After all, I’m sure she knows how much we don’t like having our game interrupted.”” *I counted this as one since it’s in the same exchange but technically he mentions it TWICE

”…one didn’t waste the Three’s time if one didn’t want to end up with their teeth pried out.”

”How often do you meet the three old ladies who have people killed for money?”

”I said we should kill her on principle.”

”“But you know how many orphans I’ve made, don’t you, dear?””

”“He’s not so unlike us, is he? A murderer, yes. A monster to some. But, at his heart, a businessman.”

”Theirs were the hands that signed a thousand death contracts a year.”

”When they could be bothered to look up from their game, they decided who lived and died with a stroke of their pen.”

”At a word, they could have me stripped, tied, tortured, and cut up…”

”the Three don’t lie. Their assassins do. Their thieves do. But they don’t.”

”I had already wasted their time and I knew the Three were being generous just letting me fuck off instead of having me killed for the effort.”

TL;DR - Sal is annoying, Sykes is a bad writer, and Someone should have stopped me from reading this book