#Essek what do your elf eyes see?

[captainkingsley]

Mollymauk isn't monogamous. And he's never hidden that fact, not from Caleb or from anyone else, especially not while getting more intimate with Caleb. He's not worried about it anyway, as after he and Caleb had gotten closer, Caleb had explained his own past. Not all of it, definitely not all of it, but enough to reassure Molly of his own comfort with the idea. Caleb, as it turns out, is also not monogamous, which Molly chalks up to the universe handing him the perfect man.

Since they'd started their little dance between each other, their relationship has been open — Molly had slept with a paid partner here and there, and Caleb had been flirted with to no concern from Mollymauk. It was simply a part of their relationship, and neither of them minded. 

So, with all of that known — why does Caleb feel as though Mollymauk is glaring daggers at him any time he spends time alone with Essek? He tries not to think too much into it, but every now and then he catches a glimpse of Molly looking through a doorway or passing by with a strange look on his face.

They're just studying. Essek is teaching him complex dunamantic theory — they need the quiet time together to focus. Molly can join them any time, he's aware of this, but he never does. Maybe the magic talk is too complex, maybe he'd get bored too fast and cause a distraction. 

Even so, why Molly doesn't simply explain himself is concerning. Caleb makes a note to himself to ask later, after Essek has gone home for the evening. 

Caleb doesn't really get a chance to ask, though. 

Essek goes to leave that night, pulling his cloak on and heading through the halls of the Xhorhouse, intent on getting home to rest and be away from the energy and chaos the Nein bring. Just before the main entrance, however, he sees Mollymauk. His usual coat is gone, and he's left in a tight-fitting top that exposes his scarred arms and hips, his pants covered in a strange pattern of multicolored astrological patterns that glimmer in the dim torchlight. 

"Mollymauk." Essek greets, nodding once as he moves to pass by him. 

Mollymauk puts a hand on the wall, effectively blocking Essek from exiting. A half second later, Essek is staring at him with a furrowed brow, a questioning look, and he's about to open his mouth when—

"You like Caleb, don't you?" Molly says. Essek's face turns a darker shade of purple.

"He's a good student." Essek says, lifting his chin. Molly stares down at him, shifting just an inch closer. 

"You know what I mean, smart boy." Molly says. 

"I'm afraid I do not." Essek replies, keeping his voice level. His expression returns to its normal cold demeanor, making Molly feel a surge of frustration. 

"All I'm going to say is that I love Caleb with all my heart, and if you so much as make him uncomfortable, or try to use him for your own gain…"

He watches as Essek's face pales slightly. 

"...I will kill you."

"You'd put another layer of tension on the war, Mollymauk Tealeaf, killing the Shadowhand." Essek says. 

"War be damned, I'll do anything for Caleb." Molly says, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer to Essek. A hand swiftly drops onto the elf's shoulder, pushing him an inch lower to the ground. Essek shrugs off the hand after a moment. 

"You have interesting priorities." He says. 

"I care about the people closest to me before anything else.  I don't owe the rest of the world shit, but I owe Caleb — and the rest of the Nein — everything. I love him. And I've crawled out of a grave once before, so don't think you could kill me and be done with it."

Essek's eyes widen. Molly grins. 

"I would pull myself out of the ground a second time just to hunt you down if you hurt my Caleb. Got it?" 

“I…” Essek’s voice is now quieter. His eyes scan Mollymauk over, taking in the scars, the tone of his lean muscle, the fangs that peek out of his mouth as he smiles at him. “I understand. Do not worry, I have no plans to ‘use’ Caleb in any way. Nor will I intrude on your relationship.”

"Glad we're on the same page. You're a good boy." Molly says, and taps his hand against Essek's cheek. “And listen. You’re pretty. Stick around long enough, be nice, and maybe Caleb and I will let you between us for a bit. How’s that sound?”

“What?” Essek says, his voice an octave higher. Mollymauk laughs.

“Think about it.” He says, and steps away from Essek. 

Leaving Essek to head home with many, many questions.

#widomauk #shadowmauk #shadowidomauk #Molly doing that wall pin with Essek #this is a short one so #maybe I'll start collecting all my under 1k stuff and put it on ao3 as a collection. hm

[thebest-medicine]

Day 22: Ticklish Kiss

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - C2 - The Mighty Nein - Shadowidomauk - lee!Essek (implied)

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics] [read on AO3]

A/N: inspired by this art. also inspired by ‘imagine two wizards.’ shadowidomauk dynamic reminds me of me trying to sleep / read / study vs my cats speeding around the house like demons at 3am

Words: 450

—

Caleb is fully engrossed in his text when Essek tears into the room in a rather un-Essek-like fashion.

Like a cat, Caleb bristles with a startle at the interruption as his bedroom door slams open and a purple body flings itself into the bed with him. He’d much sooner expect this brash behavior from his other purple partner.

As though on cue, Molly saunters into the doorway behind him, unhurried and unbothered. He gives the two a once over and smirks. “Well, well — I am quite famished you see, and I think two wizards will do nicely instead of one.”

Caleb’s eyes flick between them, settling on the frazzled elf scrambling to get behind him on his bed. “…What did you drag me into, Essek?”

“He—” Essek swallows. “He kissed me, but— it, it was…”

Molly snorts out a laugh in delight. “Oh, dear, that was your first raspberry, hmm?” He cocks his head with mock pity. “That’s a shame. We’ll have to make up for lost time.”

When Essek looks back at Caleb, his face has shifted, Essek realizes; it has taken on a complexion far more red than usual, and his eyes have a little twinkle of compassionate understanding. “Oh.” He takes Essek’s hand and draws him closer, shelving his book on the table for the time being. He presses a kiss to the back of Essek’s palm and, noticing the pulse racing away anxiously, gives him a sympathetic smile. “He lives up to the devilish blood, truly.” Casting a rueful glance at Mollymauk, Caleb sighs. “I know that look in his eye. There’s no getting out of this, I’m afraid.”

It takes Essek a surprising amount of effort to suppress the whine that builds in his throat when Caleb’s words settle in. But— after a moment, a defiant streak flashes in his eyes, his fingers twitch with arcane potential.

Mollymauk chortles out a little laugh. “Now, now. None of those magic tricks. That’s not going to help.” Molly tsk’s at him. “Unless,” He looks to Caleb, “you’d rather I go and get Jester to help me...”

Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up. “No.” His head shakes as he waves Molly into the room.

Essek turns to face him, betrayed. Caleb nods to him with a knowing look and a shrug. “Trust me. This is the better option.”

Mollymauk steps in with a grin and kicks the door shut behind him. “That’s more like it.”

…

A short while later, Jester is drawn anyway, like a moth to a flame, by the sound of their laughter.

#tickletober 2023 #tickletober23 #tickletober2023butits2024 #critickle role #ticklish kiss #raspberries #ticklish!essek #cr tickles #cr #critical role #essek thelyss #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #jester mentioned #shadowidomauk #tickling #tickle fic #mine #Drabble #drabbles #fic #fluff #cuties #studious Caleb disturbed by two purple cats #cute things #m9 #mighty nein #mighty nein tickles #campaign 2 #c2

[essektheylyss]

wiki trivia on Caleb's page reminded me that Caleb claimed he didn't have a favorite color, so have a ficlet:

The disguise lately has been a wood elf with warmly-tanned skin and an angular face, and Caleb has enjoyed, as he always does with a new disguise, finding the places the features underneath push through.

The one he has noticed the most in this disguise, that he has looked for whenever Essek’s tone takes on the warm, dry cadence that tends to pair with it, is a particular smile that curls the corners of his mouth and nothing else. It is generally accompanied by lashing verbal wit, to various extents, and Caleb likes to watch it spread on his face.

They are in a sweet shop this afternoon, Caleb browsing through several buckets of saltwater taffy while Essek orders several cupcakes for the two of them, and a few more for him to bring to Jester and Fjord when he visits them tomorrow.

“That is all for the half dozen, I think,” he says, peering over the counter, and then points to a set of sweets under the glass with one delicate finger. His fingers have become rather less delicate than they used to be, but never as calloused and worn as Caleb had allowed his own to become on the road. “And two of those, if you would be so kind.”

“We’ve got those with a couple of frosting colors,” the shopkeep grins. “What’s your favorite color?”

Essek hums lightly, and Caleb turns to see the curl of his lips out of the corner of his eye. “I think I am partial to colors other than these, but I will take the blue,” he says, and his smile widens. “But orange for my partner.”

Caleb freezes. He leaves the barrels of taffy to step into a place at Essek’s side, and leans over him. “Orange?”

Essek fixes him with that small, amused smile. “Of course. That is your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

A wrinkle ripples into Essek’s brow. “What?”

Caleb blinks at him. Essek is far too clever to not have understood his comment, but he’s looking back with bemusement. “I mean, orange is satisfactory, but—”

“Caleb,” Essek snorts. “I have borrowed four different orange sweaters from you since last week when I arrived.”

“I have many sweaters. I think you are talking about your own preferences.”

“I know you have many sweaters,” he agrees, speaking a bit slowly, as though Caleb is the one being bewildering, but Essek leans in to drop his voice, “and I primarily borrow those that you wear most often, because they smell of you.”

Caleb stares at him for a long moment, his brain catching up, and finally—

“Caleb Widogast, have you not realized because you simply tend toward orange as a default?”

“I—“ His eyes drift to the amber stud in Essek’s earlobe, a gift from him several years ago. Absent of the disguise, it contrasts sharply—beautifully—against his skin. “I suppose I do have a favorite color.”

“I am glad to have prompted this moment of enlightenment,” Essek says wryly, and brushes a thumb across Caleb’s jaw. “And I am very excited to have the opportunity to recount the story to the Lavorres tomorrow.”

“That is rude,” Caleb murmurs absently. He is still rather dazed at being known, and Essek laughs.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, and winks. The smile reminds Caleb of the features underneath, but he suddenly has an impulse to ask what else Essek could say about him that he has not known, if it might earn him a wink again. “I think you will find that this has only been a secret to you.”

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #cr fic #this also brought to you by the time I mentioned my spouse's favorite berry was blackberry #and he was like '.......I didn't realize I had a favorite berry but.... you're right? /what/' #anyway iirc caleb said this under zone of truth influence too so it's funny if he believes it and simply. does Not realize lol #cuz he just does it unconsciously

[thatonesadending]

How Caleb got that silly red ribbon

(I had to take a break from editing the 16,000 words I have yet to post for my main fic, and this happen) Established Essek/Caleb + feelings about Molly/Kingsley 

Angst/Pining/Not really a happy ending/open ending - Mild Mighty Nein Reunion Spoilers

_____

“I don’t know why you insist on wearing this thing, but if you must, at least insure that it is straight,” Essek sighed dramatically, leaning into Caleb in front of the others, pointedly ignoring their snickers and whispers while he adjusted the red bow at Caleb’s collar.

“Nothing about him is straight, Essek. You should know that,” Beau teased from the bean bag she was sharing with Yasha, pulled into the circle of furniture in the salon where the Nein had gathered for their first of many monthly gatherings in the Tower. 

Essek ignored her goating. They hadn’t made their relationship public yet, but there was increasingly less of a point to it since it was fairly obvious to everyone, especially since the spymaster elf could not contain his sly smile as he smooth his hands down Caleb’s shoulders after correcting the crooked bow and making the human blush. 

“It’s a tie,” Caleb offered as an excuse even though he knew none was needed for the playful ribbing.

“I may not be an expert in Empire fashions, but I am quite certain that this is not a tie,” Caleb opened his mouth to argue, but Essek swiftly stopped him by continuing, “and do not insult bow ties by insinuating that is one.”

“My students like it.”

“They like having something to snicker at,” Essek flicked one of the ends of the red ribbon before smiling into his half drunk glass of wine. It was good to see him like this, relaxed and enjoying himself. Not that that had been an uncommon sight for Caleb the past few months, but the rest of their friends hadn’t gotten to see much of it, and it made Caleb’s heart a little more full to be able to share it with them in their magical home. 

They all were gathered around a warm fire in the Salon, glasses all at different levels and with full bellies, relaxing in each other’s company with no looming threats for what felt like the first time. Or at least that’s what Caleb had thought, somehow missing the agitated swish of a lavender tail in the corner of the room. 

“Godsdamn,” Kingsley abruptly stood up, his stride smooth after a wobbly first one thanks to the endless refills of ale provided by the tower cats, “Had I known it was gonna bother your boyfriend so fucking much, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

The swashbuckler was attempting to keep his tone light, play off his annoyance as a joke, but Caleb could feel his hurt by how he squatted in front of where the human sat on the loveseat next to Essek and lifted his bearded chin a bit more roughly then necessary. Quick fingers and a tug, and the ribbon was gone from around Caleb’s next. He wanted to protest, ask to keep the ribbon at least, but Kingsley stood and already had his deft hands tying the colorful gifted ribbon around the wizard’s ponytail instead. 

“Ta-da! Better?” He asked Essek with a half sarcastic flourish, to which the elf stayed quite unsure how to interpret Kingsley's mood.

“Aww, now he kinda looks like a schoolgirl! I am sure your lady students will love it, Cayleb,” Jester was trying to defuse the tension, but Kingsley’s eye twitched before his face turned hard as stone. 

“You lot really will make fun of him for anything, huh?” The ribbon was pulled free again, and this time Kingsley took it with him as he walked away, leaving Caleb with his protests caught in his throat lest he make his friend more frustrated. He hadn’t reached the chaise lounge he had been occupying before another of their friends spoke up, and Caleb kicked himself for not stepping in sooner to defend the ribbon.

“What the fuck man? We are just having a little fun, it's just a ribbon,” Beau chuckled, half confused and half dismissive. 

Kingsley sighed, shaking his head as to dispel his foul mood. However, Caleb saw how his gloved hand clenched around the ribbon repeatedly before dumping the object of contention in one of the waste bins, and then stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets that were lined in the same material. 

“No, no you are right, I am just tired, is all. Bit sensitive from a day trying to keep the crew from ruining the hull further while we patched her up, apparently. Gonna go take a bath. Night y’all.” 

Kingsley didn’t give anyone the space to challenge him, but ducked out of the Salon much quicker than a sore sailor should be able to. An awkward silence stretched for a time, until a dark purple Mage Hand fished the discarded ribbon, and Essek dutifully cast Prestidigitation on it a few times despite there being nothing soiling it.  

“I sincerely apologize, Caleb. I had not meant any ill —”

“No need, Schatz. You did not do anything wrong, I know you only tease because you care. I took no offense,” the confusion and worry ebbed a bit from Essek’s eyes, which was worth admission of affection in front of their friends. 

“I do believe I need to apologize to Kingsley, however. I had not known he had gifted it to you, otherwise I wouldn’t have—”

“He did not,” Caleb felt horrible about cutting Essek off again, and worst for the listening ears now on him looking for an explanation, “He did not give it to me, not really. It had been meant as a gift for Frumpkin.”

The seconds dragged as Caleb fought not to get overwhelmed by the Nein’s silence as they all understood the unspoken in what he had said. All except for Essek. 

“To my knowledge, Kingsley never met Frumpkin, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Oh.”

The skin on the back of his neck burned, but he dropped his voice closer to a whisper, knowing it wouldn’t do much good to the more inquisitive of their group. 

“I hadn’t expected him to be so upset when he found out Frumpkin was no longer with me. I took the gift and wore it myself as more of a joke to make him less sad. I will admit to continuing to wear it because it made him smile, and in turn me, because it reminded me of my friend,” the confession brought up so many conflicting and confusing feelings for the wizard that he had been stuffing down since they left Cognoza, and he couldn’t help the guilt that washed over him as he told his friend turned lover what he had been keeping private, “I am sorry, Essek. I should not have kept that from you.”

“It seems like both have a habit of apologizing to the wrong people,” Essek huffed, but still gave Caleb a kind smile while cupping his cheek with understanding the human was sure he didn’t deserve, “Go talk to him. I am sure he will be glad to retie it if you ask.”

“Nein,” Caleb shook his head, taking the hand away from his face and giving it a definitive kiss along the knuckles so Essek wouldn’t think for a moment he was wavering on his feelings for the other wizard.  “This is for the best. It hadn’t been meant for me, it will be better if I let it go.”

Let him go.

”Besides, you are right,” he continued, louder and with an attempt to return to casualness he did not feel, “it was a rather unprofessional tie. You will just have to help me select a new one before the start of the new semester at the Academy.” 

Predictably, there was a chorus of cheers and questions from the others at this confirmation that Caleb had finally accepted the offered teaching position at his old school. He answered all of them except for Jester’s more filthy ones about how he planned on christening his office. Eventually the good-natured mood returned to their group, aided with refilled glasses and fresh pastries. 

Everyone that was, except for Essek, whose gaze was watching Caleb a little too carefully in that way that told the human his partner was not happy with his evasiveness on the subject. Caleb watched the red ribbon disappear quietly into the elf’s WristPocket, he had almost reached out to grab it, to ask to keep it. But he didn’t think his heart would survive the explanation, that it was the only reminder he had left of his old friend. The colorful tattoo’s glamored away in an effort to make Kingsley more of his own, all his old jewelry lying in a shallow grave where Lucien had tossed them, the coat and cards all now belonging to someone new. 

The ribbon might have come from the scraps of Kingsley’s new identity, but it was all Caleb had to know that little fragment was still there, not completely lost to the ether. Reaching out to pet his cat like Mollymauk always used to, when really what the BloodHunter had wanted was Caleb’s attention. But the dirty old wizard had never given when he had had the chance, too scared of being hurt. Now too scared of being the one to hurt others. He owed it to Essek, to Kingsley, to not hurt them by holding on to a silly ribbon.

#critical role spoilers #shadowgast #widomauk #widoking #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #mollymauk tealeaf #kingsley tealeaf #this is messy and sad #just thank the gods CR didn't do this #Caleb COULD have two hands if he could get his head out of his ass #Essek is a good boyfriend #Kingsley is going through it

[glossolali]

(Shadowgast Cat Café AU)

ao3: hand in hand is the only way to land

5.1k, fluff, getting together

"They are truly ridiculous, are they not? Just look at them."

"They are sooo cute. Ahhh.." Jester sighs, her chin in her hands, dreamy look on her face.

Molly looks back at the two wizards. Essek is sitting at the bar, on his laptop, and Molly can see from here that he's just scrolling up and down absently, as he stares intensely at Caleb, whose back is turned as he steams some milk for a customer's drink. When Caleb turns around and smiles at Essek, Molly can see him awkwardly duck his head to stick his nose in his laptop again.

And now, Essek is busy with whatever the hell he’s always tapping away at, Caleb in turn sits there drying cups with a dreamy look on his face as he watches the other wizard. When Essek looks up, Caleb startles and fumbles the glass, and it drops to the floor and shatters. He gets up to help him, and it’s right out of a movie scene with their heads together as they both crouch on the floor with their hands “accidentally” touching as they pick up the glass shards.

Fuck’s sake. Molly could wring both their necks.

They’ve been doing this dance around each other for weeks (or maybe months at this point, who knows) and it is infuriating. It was cute at first, but now… Molly just wants to be able to chill out after a long day of work, and have his Iced Triple Red Eye in peace without having to sit in the constant treacle-like tension in the room that the wizards are holding between them. Other than this being (one of) his places of work, this is his favorite coffee shop, and they’re ruining it.

So, they should do something about this.

“We should do something about this.”

When Jester turns to him, she has stars in her eyes and she looks what can only be called delighted .

“Oooh! Molly, can we really?! They can be cute little boyfriends who work in a cute little cat cafe together and oh my GOSH - I am SO excited!” Her tail lashes behind her eagerly, then wraps around his leg as she leans in and almost yells in his face.

The wizards were making him feel grumbly, but as usual, Jester’s energy is contagious, and he grins back at her.

“Alright darling, love the enthusiasm but hold your horses – we need to come up with a plan first.”

Jester settles down and puts on a very silly serious face, complete with a tightly knotted brow and a pout as she starts thinking. Molly ruffles her hair because she’s cute and he loves her, and because she lets him.

Just as they both settle in for a good plotting session, the café door slams open and Nicodranas’ hottest local celebrity and resident rich bitch strides in, phone in hand, baby dragon on a chain on the other, and half his face obscured by his giant bug-eyed sunglasses.

Yussa Erenis. Haughty elf wizard (gosh another one, what did Molly do to deserve all of these wizards) who is well-known for– actually wait—

“What’s he famous for again?” Molly whispered from the side of his mouth at Jester. 

“No clue. But he knows Mama, so he must be important!”

Molly hums in assent, and keeps watching the scene unfold in front of him.

Yussa’s pug-faced, silver baby dragon is having a hiss-off with Frumpkin, and Yussa looks like he could care less, prattling out his order before he’s even asked.

“Triple hazelnut iced chai latte with oat milk and espresso cold foam. And don’t forget the topping like last time.” And he ends the order with a dismissive hand wave.

Molly rolls his eyes to the heavens. The ‘topping’ is sprinkles arranged in the letter ‘Y’, as evidenced by the ridiculous man’s socials.

He’s a right git to be sure, but looking at how he fills those gold pants (and who the fuck wears gold pants anymore?), Molly would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he found him sort of hot. And that he sort of wanted to sleep with him. In an ironic sort of way, obviously.

Essek makes his way back to his seat after all the glass had been cleaned up (and the blue eyed redhead had been sufficiently looked at longingly), and Molly watches his expression turn from blissed to disdainful in one fell swoop, and he rolls his eyes as he turns away from Yussa, just as Caleb says, “Ja, coming right up.” 

Dealing with customers already wasn’t Essek’s favourite thing, and the dressing down his teacher had given him for forgetting his ‘‘‘topping’’’ last week had rocketed Yussa to the top of his shitlist. Yes, his teacher. Essek was in Nicodranas for a magic apprenticeship, and he had the misfortune of ending up as Yussa Erenis’s apprentice. 

Essek had walked in once to the café hair and cardigan looking singed and smelling smoky, and announced irately that he was going to ‘murder his teacher for leaving him with his ugly bastard of a baby dragon for ten days while he frolicked around to Light knows where’. Amidst giggles, Molly had made him sit down and given him some of his famous spiced chicken soup to help him calm down. Essek was a simple man, and terribly predictable, so it worked.

He’s also kind, attractive, sassy, and a nerd, and clearly a great fit for Caleb.

He just wishes they would do something about it.

So, back to the matter at hand.

“Any ideas?”

Jester’s drawing in her sketchbook, and looks up just as she completes a pink heart around a doodle of a small, cutesy version of the wizards kissing.

“Nope!”

Molly grumbles again and places his head on the table, cheek smushed into the surface, and he turns towards Jester and whines, “Jessie, I can’t take it anymore. Help meeeeeee.”

“Hmmm okay, okay.. maybe I’ll ask mama for help when I go home today. She’s really, super good at romance ,” And she wiggles her eyebrows, which makes Molly laugh. “Everyone always falls in love with her right after they meet her.”

“Alright.”

He listens to Jester sing something under her breath that sounds like, ‘ do do do dooo, the Ruby of The Sea is the best lay ever –’ as she continues doodling, and he spaces out, turning over fleeting ideas in his head as they come and go.

(read the rest on ao3)

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #cr fic #caleb #essek #cr 2 #glossofic #glossopost

[untraceable-ace]

Almost 2 hours late to the live react shitpost party bc I was dying my hair while watching it when it started but anyways

Under the cut bc it both contains spoilers for the m9 reunion p2 and also because it’s really fucking long lmao

They’re kicking these guys asses holy shit

wtf is going on with Kingsley btw like pardon?????

See my question is if Ukotoa is in the process of being released while they’re fighting or if he’s still locked away rn bc like

If he’s not in the process of being released waIT

NVM HE’S OUT

IN THE TEMPLE???

Oh god creepy snakes moving in tandem i love snakes but not like this

Run boy run byeeee

NO

NOONONONO

YEAH NO SHIT THATS NOT RIGHT???

fshshshsh the giant just knocked over in the center of the set is so funny to me

fr hes just

there

Oh wait worm???

Not Ukoatoa??

Caleb my god you are a noodly wizard why would you try to intimidate a betrayer god

LMAO A 17???

“That’s me” jester my beloved

Cmon cmon NO

eight whyyy

Uh ohhhh

HAHAHAHA WARLOCK PACT

Which one which one

Is he just flexing w that ring of telepathy or did that have a purpose

Oh Jester <3

KINGSLEY???

“You just got this body” LMAO

First an accidental pact with an ancient evil sea deity then a pledge to essentially mother nature and now a betrayer god woooooh

Creepy

Wait this guy hates Melora does that mean Fjord can’t connect with her anymore?

LMAO the face

Oh not another cursed sword

i think its a cursed sword

maybe

Them putting up his stat card has me concerned uh oh

LMAO “thanks I hate it”

Ooooh a rapier fancy

its official I love Kingsley

AUGH GOOD BANTER

THE SNAKES

“Martial our forces” HMMM??

Darktow who is in darktow hold up

OHHH RIGHT plank king

Cant go back there

Fantasy DMs jfeoghehgaio;ewhaoge

syphilis gang

DAMN that was one efficient sending

You can just hear the agony in his voice ijodfsihjogiho

If anyone’s a glorified librarian its caleb idk what you mean beau

Charcuterie board

Mamas house has more tiddies followed by “That’s a good point” is fueling me

Winds in the east

mist comin in

something is brewin

about to begin

“I know all languages” jfc how many do you know now????

Im still wondering about that monkey yall what was that about

my original thought was that it was Artagan but it was so antagonistic idk

“We were probably a huge pain in your ass like a year ago” yeah sounds about accurate to what I know

I like her too jester she’s fun

risk esseks life cmon cmon cmon I NEED TO HEAR HIS VOICE AAUUUAUUGH

HES LEAVING PLS BE CONTACTING

damn wrong elf

fshshshsh hermit elf

WOW thats a lot of potions

break to wash out hair dye hold up

before i leave

haha charcuterie board

ok now brb

Okay hair’s done back to reacting

“Okay so you don’t blow yourself up” mood

Wtf is that rod??? Bc we all know he probably wouldve made it amber if he could

Fuckin dope move though omg

EIGHTY ONE????

GOD DAMN

OOOH OH I KNOW WHERE THIS GOES

GET HIS EYESSSSSSS

dainty sip of sherry in the midle of abttle from a flask i love it

holy noises followed by the camera panning to a glowing silouette of a dick on the floor

THREE DRAGONS?????

i mean ik two are illusions but DAMN

Dude I’m not sure Kingsley’s had one bad move this entire two-shot like wtf

soooo AC is 21? I think?

wait do different parts have different ACs?

HAHAHA YES EYEBALL WEAKNESS

Stab the eye, stab the eye, stab the eye, stab the e-

Gently give a slice to an eyeball muah

so eyeball AC is 27> (or equal to 27)

There has been an assault, far as i can tell sam is being a shit again

New tatoo?? Chainbreaker

Fancy

Ohoho oh nvm rip yasha’s dope ass thunderclap

won wound

Ooooh the big bad demigod can be frightened damn

DUNAMANCYYYYY

aw damn rip spell

new form who dis

Half of this live react is just me repeating one liners i found particularly funny oops

Oh nvm?? Dunamancy spell lives????

Nvm

Well ok its alive just half damage

Boy Veth I would love to see you try

“I can dodge gravity” can you????

HOLY FUCKING SHIT CHARACTER GROWTH INDEED

THAT WAS SO FUCKING COOL

Rip Beau taken out of the game bc piss

OKAY RIP BEAU FR???

FUCKING LEGENDARY HDYWTDT

GET FLUFFERNUTTERED BITCH

RIP FJORD SENT OFF INTO SPACE MY GOD

OH

OHOHOHOHOH

CMON CMON CMON SEAL HIM AWAY DO IT DO IT

OooUuUhfhdbdjfe I love the lighting change for going under water

Cmon pls pls pls work seal that bitch away

WHAT

OHOHO

FUCK YEAH MATE

Uh oh my boys gonna get the bends good call w the far step tbh

Actually bad call that’s too fast a pressure difference

Ayo Travis w the accurate bends rep

Ugh I love Caleb’s level 17 art sm

Well damn Melora!!!! Queen shit tbh

I hope “keep that just for me” means he swallowed it again

LMFAO MATTS FACE

Dicks and Other Things

The Molly Look™️

Promptly steal I love him

DAMN Kingsley’s on some king shit

Literally

ORPHAN TAKER IM SOBBING

WAUUAUAUGHFHFB CMON CMON

HIS BOICE I GOT TO HEAR HIS VOICE SJRJQIFUJEHE

THEY GOT THEIR SHIT TOGETHER SO QUICK????? SIX MONTHS??????????

CRYING SOBBING LOSING MY MIND

That was so fucking good oh my god

stimmed so hard at the end that my limbs started to actually cramp lmao

#my posts #critical role #critical role spoilers #I’m so glad i got to watch this live im so happy #ill be going back to rewatch that epilogue as soon as it’s up on youtube what an ending

[warriorbard2012]

Beau to Dairon, “It’s okay to cry, you know.” Because when was the last time Dairon allowed themself to cry, for any reason?

Hi! Thank you so much for the prompt! You can find the link to this story on AO3 here or check out the story under the cut! I hope that I did this prompt justice!

Beau knew something was wrong during sparring practice. Dairon’s mind didn’t seem to be present and Beau found herself holding back to prevent injury to her mentor. 

Finally, after 30 minutes of trying not to hurt them, she got the Elf in a hold and pinned them to the ground. Dairon tapped Beau’s wrist with her fingers and Beau let them go. They got up and walked over to the bench, both breathing hard. 

“What’s wrong?” Beau said, leaning over to grab a towel, and she threw the spare, hitting Dairon in the chest with it. 

“Nothing. Let’s go again.” Dairon said, putting the towel on the bench and moving back towards the chalk-marked ring. 

“No. You aren’t present… I could hurt you. I would have hurt you if I wasn’t paying attention like you taught me to.” Beau said crossing her arms. “So what’s wrong?“

“I said nothing!” The Elf shouted. Their breaths were heavy and fast, not from exertion but anxiety and fear, and Beau could see that their fists were clenched. Beau just stared at them, giving them the same look that they always gave her when they knew that she was upset and hiding it. 

Eventually, Dairon looked away. Beau took that as a signal to move closer and gently put her hand on Dairon’s shoulder. 

“Come on. I think we need to get out of here for a while. I know someone who can help.”

Dairon grunted, but they let Beau gently guide them from the room and out the door. 

They walked the few blocks from the Soul to Beau and Yasha’s house. Yasha was away with Caleb for the afternoon, so Turtle was with Essek. 

The sounds of happy laughter greeted them as they opened the door. 

“Turtle, Essek! I’m home.” Beau called, wanting Essek to know it was them. 

The Drow’s head peaked out from the kitchen. 

“Oh hello. Miss Turtle and I were just eating lunch.” 

Beau guided Dairon into the kitchen, where the four-year-old greeted them both enthusiastically. 

“Mama! Da!” Beau laughed when as if on cute, Dairon blushed. 

“Yep, that’s your Da,” Beau said, kissing her daughter’s head. “What do you got there, kiddo?” 

“Pancakes!” Turtle said. “Catch!” The tiny tabaxi threw a piece at her mother who caught it with one hand. It was their thing and nobody questioned it anymore. 

“Thanks, Kiddo,”  Beau said, popping the piece into her mouth. “You finish up. Mama and Da need to talk and then You and Da can play blocks.” 

“Yay!” Turtle stuffed a piece of pancake in her mouth and chewed enthusiastically. 

Essek laughed. “Do you want me to stay, Beau?” 

Beau patted his shoulder. “I got this if you want to head out. I know you have that experiment that you and Caleb are working hard at. Thanks for watching my kid.” 

Essek hugged her. “Any time.” He gave a nod to Dairon. “See you both later.” 

Dairon returned the nod, then watched as Beau snagged a bottle of wine and two glasses. Beau motioned towards the breakfast nook. It was far enough away to where tiny ears wouldn’t hear their conversation, but close enough to where Beau could still keep an eye on Turtle, who was contentedly eating and playing with her pancakes. 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Beauregard,” Dairon said softly. Beau noticed that it was a half-hearted protest. 

“Eh, It’s five o clock somewhere or so the saying goes.” Beau handed them their glass and took a sip. 

“So spill. You know you might as well talk to me, you can’t be mad when you are playing blocks with my kid.”

Dairon frowned. It was true, but they didn’t want to admit it. 

“You play dirty… well done.” Dairon sat back on the bench seat and looked out of the window for a long moment. Then they sighed. 

“Your mother and I got into a bit of a row this morning.” 

Beau willed her face to be neutral. “Oh?”

Dairon took another sip of their wine and then set the glass down. “If this is awkward for you then, I’ll just drop it.” 

“No, it’s fine. But if this is a sex thing please keep the details vague for the love of the gods.” 

Dairon wrinkled their nose. “Nope, I agree. That’s not a discussion I want to have with you, and no it’s not about that.” 

“Good, then spill. I’m not here to judge Dairon.” Beau said softly. 

“She asked me about my parents, about my life from before we met. It caught me off guard, and I… was a bit defensive.” Dairon crossed their arms over the chest, self-soothingly. “There’s a large part of my life that I don’t like to remember or to talk about.” 

“So then tell her that. I’m sure if you explain it, she won’t care.”

“Maybe, but it feels like a cop-out. I know everything about her, she’s told me the good the bad, and the ugly, but I realize that I’ve barely shared anything with her. I just wonder if it’s fair to her.” Dairon looked at the floor. “A part of me wonders if it would be better to open up. I’ve spent a lifetime being closed off, both for my job and to protect my own heart.” 

Beau gently took their hand. “You are worried if you open up then, she might reject you?” 

Dairon nodded. It was then that Beau realized that the Elf was holding back tears. 

“First of all, it’s okay to cry, you know? You don’t have to be strong all of the time.” Beau said softly. 

Dairon sighed. “I’m not used to it.” 

“All the better to let it happen. Crying is cathartic, it’s good for the soul. It’s cleansing. Or at least that’s what Caduceus says.” 

Dairon chuckled at that, even as they let the tears fall. They looked up towards Beau. “What if I messed this up?” 

Beau just pulled them in for a hug. She knew that they were a lot alike, but here in this moment, she felt the weight of that. “I don’t think you did. But even if my mother surprises me and she is upset by this, just please remember that you don’t owe anymore your story. You are allowed to deal with your emotions in your way. And I’m here for you even if you weren’t dating my mom and I still will be even if something ever happens. You are my family now and part of the Mighty Nein. You are Turtle’s Da. You can’t get rid of us that easily.” 

That got a bigger laugh out of the Elf. Dairon pulled back. “When did you get so wise, kid?” 

Beau smiled. “I learned it from you, and Yasha mostly.” She turned slightly to look at Turtle who was contently coloring something on the table cloth that Yasha had bought for that purpose, having finished her lunch. Bright yellow eyes looked up from their drawing and met hers. 

“Mama.” She said, a toothy grin breaking out on her furry face. “Blocks?” 

“I’m here, sunshine. Give Mama and Da one minute more and then it’s block time.” Beau turned back towards Dairon, who had picked up their wine glass and had finished the rest of it. 

“So… anything else you want to talk about?” Beau asked quietly. 

“No. But thank you for this Beau, I appreciate your love and concern. You are a good kid.” 

Beau grinned and blushed a little. She reached for her wine glass and took a sip. “Thank you for coming to me, and allowing me to do this for you. I believe we both have changed significantly over the years.” 

“We have, and I think I need to remember that. I’m not the lone wolf that I used to be and sharing my life and my past with someone doesn’t always mean that I will get hurt.” Dairon said, quietly. 

Beau nodded her head in agreement. Then she stood. “I love you, and don’t be so hard on yourself okay?” 

Dairon nodded. It was still hard to say the words but they did it anyway. “I love you too.” They stood as well and turned their attention towards Turtle. “Now where is my favorite Turtle? It’s block time.” 

Turtle giggled in her chair and held up her hands to be picked up. Dairon obliged, and then laughed. “Well, maybe we wash your hands first, and then it’s block time.” They swept Turtle up into their arms and tickled her belly as they walked towards the washroom. Beau watched them go and smiled. 

#Beauregard lionett #Dairon #critical role fanfiction #warriorbard2012writes #answering voicemail #Tiamat-ZX

[fixationsrus]

My brain only lets me draw Essek and who am I to refuse

A little wip I’ll likely never finish since I can’t focus but I wanted to give him some kinda glowy cat eyes

#Essek what do your elf eyes see? #essek thelyss #critical role #wip

[natp20]

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr2 135 #cr liveblog #essek what do your elf eyes see

[tarydarrington]

(Also on ao3 now, if you prefer!)

These are the facts. Essek Thelyss is a traitor to the Dynasty. He has collaborated with the Cerberus Assembly on dunamantic research. His loyalties are an entirely unknown quantity, and likely nonexistent. He is, above all else, a liar.

Also, he all but lives in the neighborhood now, and it’s very uncomfortable.

Astrid ducks her head down to glare at the pavement as she passes Bren’s place. Last week, on the way to the market, she had made the mistake of taking a peek at one of the windows and made eye contact with the drow. Or rather, with the sun elf she knows is the drow underneath. Why Bren takes the risk of having him over so often is beyond her. Why he agrees is beyond her. If he’s caught, there will be hell to pay - he must know that.

No, there must be a reason. He’s up to something. High-level government spies do not simply decide to stop scheming when their positions change. It’s the magic, she suspects; Bren has put together a fair number of spells of his own design, and anyone inclined to harness the arcane would be interested. Or perhaps he’s bleeding Bren of information about the Assembly. She pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders. He could be learning about her own movements, waiting for an opportune time to strike, and she would never know.

He’s using Bren for something. Of that, she’s certain. And when whatever house of cards he’s built falls down around his shoulders, he’ll cut and run without a second thought.

It’s still on her mind when she makes it to her own doorstep, eyes lingering for a moment on the vibrant, yellow hyacinths in the window box - a parting gift from their time in the Blooming Grove. Astrid had thought they were certainly doomed this past winter, but at the last second, they had sprung back to health as though by magic.

The firbolgs would probably twist that into a metaphor about something or other. Astrid makes a face and pushes through the door.

Wulf is seated in his chair with a book when she enters. She spares him only a passing glance before striding straight past toward the staircase.

“All right,” Wulf calls before she reaches it. “Something’s on your mind. What?”

Astrid lets out an irritated breath as she lets the conversation pull her back into the living room. “That drow,” she admits. “I want to know what his business is with… with this city. He is here far too often.”

She’s already plotting. Contacting either the elf or Bren himself directly is out of the question, but she can pull off some subtle surveillance. The results will not come as quickly as she would like, that way, but it’s the safest route. Spend a few evenings lurking nearby and tail him when he leaves the house, see where he goes. It will give her a lead to follow, at least. She can work from there.

“Thelyss?” Eadwulf says without looking up. “He’s fucking Caleb.”

Astrid's head snaps up. "What?" She rests her satchel on the table before her grip can tear a hole in it. "How do you know?"

Astrid has personally kept eyes their old friend; his treasonous tendencies require it for his own safety as much as hers. But she has yet to come up with that particular tidbit, and spying from the bushes has simply never been Eadwulf's way. Besides, he's claimed time and again to be through with the political game.

Wulf shrugs and flips to the next page. "Asked."

She blinks. "When?"

"Ah…" He looks up from his book, at last, to frown at the calendar on the wall. "A week ago, maybe."

"A week?" Before he can return to his reading, Astrid ducks down into his eyeline with a glare. "You spoke to Bren a week ago?"

"No."

"Then how did you--"

"I spoke to Essek."

She does not at all appreciate the laugh she gets for the look on her face.

“You went to Bren’s house,” she says flatly. “Without telling me. What if he had--”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” Wulf says. “I would never go there without backup.”

“Where, then?” she demands.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but the way he’s retreated behind his book says he knows he’s in trouble. Essek Thelyss, in their house. If anyone had seen--

“Why was he here?” Astrid presses when he fails to elaborate.

Wulf shifts uncomfortably, and she knows she’ll hate the answer. He clears his throat.

“He was helping me with something.”

She raises an eyebrow. “With what?”

He mutters something under his breath, and Astrid leans closer, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Wulf sighs, letting the book whump closed in his lap. “Your flowers were dying.”

Her flowers? She turns back to the door with a frown, as though she could see them through the wall.

“Wulf, my flowers have been flourishing since spring.” They’d had a rough winter, to be sure, but ever since the turn of the season-- oh, no. Oh, he wouldn’t. She braces her hands on the arms of his chair. “Wulf,” she repeats pointedly. “My flowers have been flourishing since spring.”

Wulf meets her gaze head-on, looking unimpressed. “Maybe you should thank him, sometime,” he suggests casually. “They look pretty good.”

“Wulf!”

“What?”

“What if he was seen?”

“Then he was in disguise. Do you think we’re stupid?”

She certainly thinks they’re something. Astrid pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. The headache birthing itself in her temples is bound to take days to wear off. Essek Thelyss, the former Shadowhand, wanted by his own government and under constant threat of assassination from her own superiors, has been tending her garden. For half a year. She doesn’t know what’s worse: that Wulf has been condoning it behind her back, or that she never suspected a thing.

“Fine,” she says thinly, because this is an issue that will take more than a moment’s conversation to resolve. "Thelyss is... with Bren. And he, what, volunteered this information?"

"Told you, I asked."

"You asked if he was in bed with Bren."

"No, I asked if he'd like to get in bed with me."

"Wulf."

"What?"

She groans. "That man is dangerous."

He grins. "Yeah."

"Wulf."

Wulf looks at her skeptically. "He still has those little flowery gloves, you know." He wiggles the fingers on one hand to illustrate. “Tools of a cold-blooded killer.”

She levels him with a glare, but it has little impact. Instead, he cocks an eyebrow at her, daring her to ask what he knows she's wondering. She presses her lips together.

"Well?" she asks.

"Well…?" Wulf prompts with infuriating smugness.

Astrid sighs and addresses the ceiling. "Well, did you… what did he say?"

She can hear him grinning. "Told you," he says. "He said he's fucking Caleb."

Astrid has trouble imagining the word fuck slipping between that man's teeth, but the point is clear enough. This farce of a relationship is exclusive. It makes sense. Keep everyone else’s prying eyes away, and the elf is free to pull Bren’s strings in whatever way he wishes.

The gears are already turning. That must be it; she’s more convinced now than ever that whatever he’s up to, he needs Bren on his side. Perhaps he saw the tides changing against him and jumped ship before he could get hurt. Ingratiated himself with the person he thought could provide the best protection. Perhaps he’s manipulating Bren as a means to keep himself safe. It’s what she would do.

“No, it isn’t,” Eadwulf points out when she voices the thought. “Things turned against us, too, and that’s not what you did.”

She frowns, straightening her coat. “I would have,” she says. “If it had been what the situation called for.”

But it does make her angry - more so than she would have expected. Bren has not been hers for years - has not been Bren for years - but that doesn’t make it sit right that someone else is… using him this way. He has always been the softest of them, even when they were children. He was too weak to handle their education, and now someone else is here to prey on that very same weakness. That soft heart. That idiot man who refuses to believe anything but the best of the people around him.

“Astrid.”

Wulf’s hands close around hers, and only then does she realize her nails have dug crescents into her palms. She stretches her fingers out, avoiding Wulf’s gaze as he digs his fingertips into the muscles there.

“You’re very cold and heartless, I know,” he tells her with the tone of one agreeing with a child who has declared herself a unicorn. “Thelyss, though - he’s… soft.”

Her derisive breath of laughter has him rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. The woman who keeps pretty yellow flowers by the window and the man who comes over and tends for them every week--”

“Every week, Wulf?”

“--are both hardened manipulators. Hearts of stone, these two.” He presses a kiss to the back of one of her palms, then lets her hands drop to her sides.

“Ikithon had a garden,” she mutters. Hobbies aren’t everything. People like them don’t change. With a frustrated sigh, she turns back to the door. “We’re running low on fruit. I’m overdue for a trip to the market.”

Wulf sits back with a deep breath as she retrieves her satchel. He doesn’t say another word as she heads for the door, but he doesn’t have to. He knows what she’s really up to, but he also knows there will be no stopping her.

It’s not out of care for Bren that she finds herself lingering discreetly outside his house. If the elf is up to subterfuge, the Archmage of Civil Influence ought to know about it. She ought to root it out as a matter of national security. Regardless of Thelyss’s target, she would have done the same.

Besides, they really are running low on fruit.

In a stroke of luck, the front door swings open after only a quarter hour of waiting. And to her surprise, Bren is not alone when he steps outside. She ducks her head down as they pass, then falls into step behind them.

The two of them weave their way through the crowd a block or so ahead of her, arm in arm like a pair of lovesick fools, Thelyss wearing the familiar sun elf’s face. From this angle and this distance, only snatches of conversation float their way over the din to her; every word is completely mundane, as though the two of them really are the picture of domesticity. Which vegetables should they get for tonight’s stew? Should they pick something up for so-and-so’s son? How late ought Bren to be awake tonight?

It’s quite the act. She’ll give him that.

Then, the two of them stop to examine a cart of apples, and through the ebb and flow of the crowd, Bren’s eyes flick up to meet hers.

It’s uncanny how quickly they slip into their old language. Bren tilts his head in silent question, and Astrid nods with her chin towards Essek. He follows the motion easily, brows knit together apprehensively when he looks back to her. A question he still trusts her enough to ask: is she here on behalf of the Assembly? She shakes her head just once and watches his posture relax almost imperceptibly.

She watches it settle in on his face what her true purpose is. They always have read each other like a pair of picture books.

Bren holds her gaze for a moment longer. The silent request comes across: watch. She crosses her arms over his chest, a signal of compliance. For now.

Breaking eye contact at last, Bren turns to casually drape an arm around Essek’s shoulders. Astrid’s frown deepens at the way the elf twitches instinctively before relaxing into the touch. This isn’t natural for him. Bren should see that. Bren should know that. He isn’t even hiding it well.

But if Bren has noticed the slip, he gives no sign. Instead, he steers Essek about until she can see their faces. Something she refuses to name twists in her stomach at the way Bren smiles down at him.

The din of the market drowns out the sound when he speaks, but Astrid can read his lips. The thing in her stomach tightens. Schatz. Very original. Whatever it is she's supposed to get from this display, he had better deliver it quickly. Otherwise, she'll need to find an alley suitable for vomit.

Then, he kisses the elf on the nose. And there in the middle of the market, his disguise flickers.

Wide-eyed and red-faced, Thelyss snaps the spell back under control almost as soon as it wavers. Careful, Schatz, Astrid reads Bren’s lips - but his eyes read only fondness. Thelyss frowns up at him in reply, but the affection bubbling through is Bren’s perfect mirror. Something catches in Astrid’s chest.

When Thelyss turns away again, Bren catches her eye with a challenging smile. He’s already looked away again before she can glare back with the proper degree of heat. Instead, she trains her eyes on the elf. The little viper is flustered by affection, that’s plain enough. Proof of very little aside from his lack of comfort with such things. The look in his eyes, though… Astrid shakes herself, shoving the image to the back of her mind. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the puzzle, the way he looks at Bren.

But-- there.

Essek’s hand tucks behind his back, and while Caleb is looking the other direction, Astrid can follow the subtle muscle movements that betray spellcasting.

Foregoing subtlety for the moment, Astrid shoulders her way through the crowd closer to the pair. The motions for a counterspell ready at her fingertips. Starting a fight with this many eyes is a bad idea - she’ll need to incapacitate him quickly, make sure that no one sees either her or Bren, see to it that the three of them are teleported as quickly as possible to a secure location where she and Bren will have the upper hand. They’ve been through worse before - they can do it again. Through the bodies still between them, Astrid watches as the elf draws his hand from behind his back, angled toward Caleb, and…

And presents him with a vibrant, orange flower.

The counterspell fizzles out of her grasp. The thing in her stomach begins to claw its way up to her heart at the soft, fond surprise on Bren’s face as Essek tucks it gingerly behind his ear.

Essek Thelyss is a liar, a traitor, and a thief - but an actor, he is not. It shows every time Bren places a hand on his shoulder, every time he brushes their hands together at their sides, every time he leans into the elf’s space and the elf flinches just the slightest bit.

Why, then, is the look on his face when he gazes up at Bren the perfect picture of-- of--

He’s fucking Caleb, Wulf had told her - but that’s not it. That’s not all. Astrid tugs her hood up over her head, ducking into the crowd without another glance. The flow of foot traffic carries her out of the market and down a series of streets she doesn’t bother to register. For a while, the tides of the city buoy her where they will; then, at last, Astrid takes a deep breath, orients herself, and heads for home.

These are the facts. Essek Thelyss is a traitor to the Dynasty, a loose end for the Cerberus Assembly and a liability for herself and those to whom she is connected. She would, very likely, be better off were he to disappear under mysterious circumstances before another sunrise.

But these are the facts, as well. He loves Bren and Bren loves him. Wulf likes him, enough to secret his presence away from her for half a year. The bright yellow flowers in her window box survived to see the frost thaw.

Astrid tucks it all into the file in her head, then closes it and sorts it away somewhere out of sight. She doesn’t trust him - not by a longshot. People don’t change. Not her, and not Essek Thelyss.

Sure, says Wulf’s voice in her head, keep telling yourself that.

She shakes herself, paying no mind to the flowers as she pushes through the front door. It doesn’t matter. But if he wants to continue to throw himself directly into danger by coming here, well. She won’t be the one to make him stop.

She’ll have to find another route to the market.

#critical role #shadowgast #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #mine #mine:fic #if you saw this last night when tumblr betrayed me no you didn't #astrid #eadwulf #caleb #essek #mn

[night-filled-mountain]

From the first day we met him, I have had such strong feelings about Essek’s relationship to Caleb--not as a love interest (though I’m into that now, don’t get me wrong), or as a friend, or even as a trustworthy individual--but as the best teacher he’s ever had. The teacher he’s always deserved. Kind, respectful, patient. Tailoring everything about their lessons to make him feel safe and comfortable. Deeply appreciative of his talent without ever seeking to harness or control it for his own ends. Giving solid advice at every turn, whether he follows it himself or not.

And as I’m re-watching the latest episode, I’ve realized that’s still the case. It might sound funny to hear Essek pull the age card when we know he’s incredibly young for an elf, and especially for a Kryn; it might be outright hilarious to hear him dropping all these pearls of wisdom about resisting the allure of knowledge and power, keeping your eyes on your highest goal, etc., considering, you know...everything about Essek Thelyss.

But ultimately? He’s doing what he’s always done for Caleb. He’s falling back on familiar ground, on those teacher/student roles. And there’s something incredibly touching about it. Caleb’s life was destroyed by a teacher, a powerful mage who was entrusted with his education and abused that trust in every conceivable way. Essek might not know that for sure (though he probably has a pretty good idea at this point), but he’s long since clocked the general air of trauma (“I’ve seen those far older than you that have experienced maybe half the pain I see in your eyes”).

And Essek might be a traitor and a liar, he might have wrought evil on a scale that he doesn’t even believe Caleb can understand, but he can still do this much for him: he can pour everything good in him, every noble impulse he’s ever had (or simply believes he should have had), into these lessons, into a student he clearly considers worthier of them than he’s ever been. Do as I say, not as I do, and all that. I don’t even know if he intends all that “young man” stuff to be flirtatious, not because I don’t think Essek wants to flirt, but because I don’t think he believes for a moment that he deserves to. He’s always been Caleb’s mirror, and this is classic early Caleb: shying away from the very intimacy you crave, believing that you only have a right to interact with other people (especially “better,” “purer” people) in very specific ways.

Essek believes he’s going to die. If not in this battle, then at the hands of the Cerberus Assembly; if not theirs, then his own people’s. And honestly? A significant part of him probably believes that he should. And listen, I want wizard kisses, I want them so much, and I even think Caleb might be coming around to that idea. But Essek? Essek is in the mindset of Let me share all my knowledge with you while I still have a chance, it’s the only thing I can give you that isn’t tainted, and I just.

I just.

I have a lot of feelings.

#critical role #c2e135 #cr spoilers #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #essek #caleb #no clue why but i am really feeling my ships today

[mllekurtz]

wip wednesday

Hello, it's Wednesday! Have another snippet from the shadowgast witcher au (here's the first one if you missed it), and be sure to check out Kuro's amazing character design ♥

***

There were several minutes of silence between them. In the end, Essek was the one who broke it. “That spell you cast earlier.”

His voice was gentler than it had been. Caleb scoffed softly. “Hardly a spell.”

“You tossed that thing to the other side of the room with a flick of your fingers. That’s a spell, and a nice one at that. It reminds me of my own gravitational magic.”

Caleb focused on what he was doing and not at all on Essek’s words.

“Was it a witcher Sign?”

“Sorcerers are really like dogs with a bone where magic is concerned, aren’t you?” Caleb’s tone ended up being more irritated than he intended, and he sounded petulant to his own ears.

Essek, though, didn’t look offended, and he surely wasn’t deterred. “It looked very advanced, compared to the parlour tricks I’ve always seen you cast.”

“You really need to work on your compliments.”

Essek waved those words away like so many bothersome but innocuous flies. “Can I see it? I would love to study it more closely.”

Caleb dared a cautious look at Essek, trying to gauge if the earnestness in his eyes was genuine or a trick. Then he shook his head. Trusting a mage was never a good idea, even when they weren’t acting untrustworthy.

“See it how?” he asked anyway.

Essek levelled an unimpressed look at him. It wasn’t very different from how he usually looked at Caleb, but with some added disbelief for good measure. “Can you replicate it?” he asked, enunciating slowly.

Caleb hadn’t felt this particular kind of unease since his training days. Part of him wanted to show off, and that was even worse.

“Show me,” Essek insisted.

“I would rather not,” Caleb said in a tone that he hoped would bring the argument to an end.

He was sorely mistaken. “Why not?” the elf insisted. “Caleb, I think you have a gift. I don’t understand why you want to deny it.”

“This is the thing with you mages, isn’t it?” Caleb’s reply was so suddenly vehement that Essek recoiled a little. “You can’t contemplate the thought that not all kinds of power should be exploited.” He shut his mouth then, bowing his head. He looked at his hands and found them curled into fists. He relaxed them, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

He expected Essek to take it personally and act offended, but once again the elf surprised him. After a fairly long silence, he asked quietly, “Have you ever received any formal training in this?”

That part of Caleb’s memory was kept carefully under lock and key, but sometimes he felt things rattling behind those closed doors. “Of a sort,” he replied noncommittally. “Not like you have, surely.”

“Sometimes the right teacher can make all the difference.” Essek’s tone was so gentle that Caleb couldn’t help but look up at him. His expression matched his voice. The cold arrogance was gone, and instead of the belligerence Caleb expected there was a cautious earnestness. “I am interested in your magic for itself, Caleb, not because I wish to exploit it. If you’ll let me, once we go back, I would like to help you understand it better, so you can wield it as a more effective weapon. I don’t want to wield you as a weapon.”

After some resistance, something in Caleb melted and settled. It was truly remarkable, that this man—this mage—understood the distinction. There was a part of Caleb that wanted to distrust him out of habit, but he believed Essek when he said his only interest lay in magic, with no ulterior motives. That disregard for the consequences was probably also Essek’s fatal flaw, one that Caleb understood very well. Once upon a time, he would have related. Bren had been exactly as reckless.

Without warning, he flicked his hand as he had done before, in the heat of battle, and the rock Essek had tried to levitate earlier floated gently in mid-air. Then, when he rotated his wrist, it hit the wall next to Essek and fell on the floor, disappearing among the other rubble.

To his credit, Essek barely flinched, but the points of his ears trembled for a few seconds. “Slower, Caleb,” he only said. His lips were thin with displeasure or the effort to repress a smile, Caleb wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

Something unpleasant churned in his stomach. It was one thing to show off with magic he barely understood, possibly saving Essek’s life while he was at it; it was entirely different to let a specialist study his handiwork closely, warts and all.

As it was to be expected, Essek didn’t pick up on his discomfort. He looked around quickly and picked a book from the top of the stack, holding it like an offering. “Here, try it again with this.”

Caleb sighed. “Don’t get mad at me when I smack your face with it.”

“You won’t,” Essek said confidently, but he extended his arms a little further.

#have i ever said that i love these idiots? #i was just thinking that it's been a year (a year!) since the aeor arc #and the shadowgast brainrot is still very real #shadowgast witcher au #critical role #shadowgast #wip wednesday #the witcher #critical role fic #fun fact: this was one of the first scenes i wrote because i wanted to flesh out caleb's relationship with magic and hint to his backstory #and also essek's reaction to his suspicious reluctance

[the-kaedageist]

It is VERY rare for me to have time on any given Wednesday, so I am posting a snippet of my consecution fic for WIP Saturday! I began rewriting my first draft of this a few weeks ago, and I’m very pleased with how the revision is turning out.

If you are interested in more of this WIP, I also posted a snippet of my original draft a few months ago.

All you have to know to enjoy this snippet is: Yann is Caleb reborn and has only scattered memories. Essek is in disguise as a sun elf Transmutation wizard, Imbros Vrinn, and has no idea that Caleb was consecuted.

Yann swallowed, steeled himself for a boring and awkward afternoon showing strangers around the city, and knocked on the door.

It took a moment to garner a response, and even then the door was only opened a crack, a suspicious golden eye peeking out.

Yann was so out of his depth. “I’m Yann Surefire,” he said to the eye. “I’m…your guide?”

The sigh from the other side of the door might have almost been comical if Yann hadn’t already been so on edge. The door closed again, as though whoever was on the other side had to remove the protective chain, and then it was opened fully – and standing in the doorway was one of the most beautiful men that Yann had ever seen.

Yann stared at him, his mouth dry, somewhat speechless. “What,” he said.

The sun elf in front of him looked supremely unimpressed. “Yes?” he asked, raising his finely-groomed eyebrows. Everything about him was golden, from his hair to his eyes to the jewelry hung off of both ears. From the way he dressed, there was no doubt in Yann’s mind that this man was a wizard – his entire person swirled with magical essence from Yann’s Detect Magic, as though he was practically shrouded with it, mostly transmutation mixed with a few other schools.

Yann’s brain felt as though it was filled with white noise. What was happening to him?! “I’m Yann Surefire,” he repeated again, somewhat awkwardly.

“Ah,” said the beautiful man. “Isolde’s son?”

Yann nodded. He genuinely considered using magic just to make the earth swallow him whole and end the entire interaction.

The man looked like he also desired for Yann to be anywhere but there. “Well,” he said, stepping backwards. “You might as well come in.”

When Yann stepped into the room, he discovered that the man was shorter than him, which seemed an odd juxtaposition to the imperiousness with which he held himself. There was something strangely familiar about him, but Yann had never met such a person before in his life; he shook away the sense of déjà vu. The door was closed behind him, leaving himself and the beautiful elf staring at one another awkwardly in the sitting room.

“Ah—” said the man.

“Do you—” Yann started at the same time. They both went silent once more. Yann wondered if his terrible luck had begun to resort to embarrassing him.

Thankfully, an icebreaker appeared in the form of a young half-orc in chain mail. She poked her head out of one of the bedrooms, gave a wordless exclamation, and emerged a moment later. “Hello!” she chirped to Yann, yanking on one boot and hopping slowly over to them via the other foot. “Are you Isolde’s son?”

“I’m Yann Surefire,” Yann said again, feeling utterly foolish.

He was grateful to discover that this young woman possessed quite a force of personality; she quickly took charge of the conversation and directed it away from the awkward energy of earlier. “I’m Fiona! And I see you’ve already met E—Imbros.”


Buoyed a bit more by the charisma coming off the half-orc in waves, Yann quirked one eyebrow in the handsome elf’s direction. “I had not yet caught his name,” he said dryly.

“I am Imbros,” the man said stiffly. Even something about his accent was strangely familiar. “Imbros Vrinn.”

“You’re here to deal with the blight?” Yann asked.

“I do not know if we will be able to ‘deal with’ it,” Vrinn replied. He refused to meet Yann’s gaze. “But we are certainly here to investigate.”

“Imbros has been studying the Savalirwood longer than I’ve been alive,” said Fiona. “It’s his life’s work.” Something about the way she spoke implied that she was teasing Vrinn, who genuinely seemed quite humorless. Yann could not imagine someone sending two stranger personalities to deal with such a crisis. “I’m just here as the muscle. So don’t try anything funny!” She shot two finger guns in his direction, a gesture he’d never seen before. Perhaps guns were more plentiful on Wildemount than Tal’dorei.

“I, ah, don’t intend to do anything funny,” Yann said. “My mother just asked that I bring you to her office once you were settled in.”

“We are ready,” Vrinn said. There was a coldness to his voice, but Yann got the impression that it was hiding an inherent awkwardness. “Whenever you are.” He gestured at the door.

Yann took another moment to glance around the room, noting the way Fiona’s armor glowed with magic, along with a few items that she had secreted around her person. Unlike Vrinn, though, her entire person didn’t pulse with a magical signature. Could it be a protective spell? Yann didn’t know much about how the magic of wizards worked.

Vrinn and Fiona followed Yann down the rickety stairs, Vrinn hardly making a sound and Fiona so loud that the clank of her boots and chainmail woke Jamar, who glared at them sleepily from next to the fire. Yann waved cheekily at him as he led their guests out of the inn and into the bustling square of Lyrengorn.

“Are we going to be late to meet Isolde?” Fiona asked, squinting up into the sun. “I forgot to check the time.”

Yann shook his head. “It’s only 15 minutes past noon, and she never specified a time. We could even stop on the way and grab some lunch—” he cut himself off when he saw Vrinn’s stare in his direction. “Or not. We can just go to her office.”

Fiona glanced in Vrinn’s direction with a stern look on her face. Great, Yann thought. Apparently this wasn’t even usual for Vrinn, he just had decided to hate Yann in particular.

Vrinn glanced around the square before asking, very pointedly, “how did you know the time with no timepiece?”

Yann felt the back of his neck warm. “Just a skill I’ve always had,” he said. “I always know the time.”

Vrinn was still glaring at him, as though he could light Yann on fire with his gaze. Yann abruptly was sick of this; he began to walk across the square at his usual scout’s pace, hearing Fiona squeak a little bit behind him and then the clang of chain mail as the two of them presumably followed.

“Why are you acting like a jerk?” Yann heard Fiona hiss. Ah, he’d been right; something Yann had done had triggered this strange animosity. Maybe it had been all the staring.

“I am not acting like a jerk,” Vrinn responded sharply. “We will discuss this later.”

Yann didn’t get to do any further eavesdropping; soon, they stood in front of the main government building, a large wood-and-stone building centered on the northern edge of the square. He glanced up at it, shading his eyes from the bright autumn sun. “This is your destination,” he said conversationally to his charges. “I’ll show you to my mother’s office.”

Then, thankfully, he would be free of this extremely awkward assignment.

#my fics #wips #my wips #I do apologize that I have two ENORMOUS multi-chapter wips that I'm slogging through #and only giving little glimpses of either one #(I actually have a third one too that I have not revealed!) #(and farmergast) #(and the jestrid apocalypse fic) #anyway someday I will finish a fic and post it #do I know which one? no #yann surefire's reincarnation extravaganza

[dhwty-writes]

A Wizard’s Spellbook

I honestly don't know what this is. This whole thing was just born from the "a wizards spellbook" prompt for Shadowgastober and the missing apostrophe that got me wondering... Because it makes a pretty big difference where you place that.

There’s not a lot of shadowgast in this, I still hope you’ll have fun reading this!

Summary:  Why, you will ask yourself, does your professor leave his book on his desk during his lessons? Why then, does he keep it open, why does he invite you to look at it, why is he so careless? Doesn't he know that only the wizard who works alone will succeed? Doesn't he know that solitude mitigates risks? Doesn't he know that that's the thing about wizards? Eventually there is only one left.

Professor Widogast, his wizard's spellbook, and the many lessons he learned from his friends.

Warnings: light lifespan angst

Read on AO3

A wizard's spellbook, they will tell you when you start to study magic, is their most prized possession. They will not share it. They will not lend it. They will not leave it unsupervised.

Guard your spells and guard your knowledge, they will say, lest they be perverted, perfected, poached. Write in a cypher no-one knows, they will teach you, that you have created yourself. As a dragon hoards its gold, a wizard hoards their magic.

If you are offered a spell, grab it and take it, you likely won't get another chance. If you can find a wizard's spellbook, grab it and take it, you likely won't get another chance. If you are offered friendship, don't take it, you likely will end up with a knife in your back. 

Be selfish. Be cruel. Be stronger, better, mightier than anyone else.

So why then, you will ask yourself, does your professor leave his book on his desk during his lessons? Why then, does he keep it open, why does he invite you to look at it, why is he so careless? Doesn't he know that only the wizard who works alone will succeed? Doesn't he know that solitude mitigates risks? Doesn't he know that that's the thing about wizards? Eventually there is only one left.

"Professor Widogast," you will say, "should you not keep your spells secret?"

He will laugh and say: "That is the way of wizards of ages past. I learned from my friend at the Cobalt Soul that all knowledge must be shared."

Your professor will have many stories like that, learned from many friends. The first time he shows you a page in his spellbook you will balk at the obscene drawings in the margins. Again, his eyes will crinkle and he'll say: "I learned from my friend, who gave powers to her god, that the world always needs a little more chaos."

You professor is a strange man with strange antics, as old men are wont to be. But he just might be the strangest of them all. He will laugh and joke, he will ask you to give your opinions, to think for yourself, quiz you on the ethics of wizardry (which is the test most of his students fail, even more than their dreaded final thesis). He will drink dead-people-tea and occasionally talk about a traveller named Artie, who apparently stops by from time to time. He's voyaged aboard legendary ships such as the Nein Heroez and was close friends with Archmage Beck, a Shadowhand, as well as a Plank King. You will be convinced that not even half of his stories are true—there can't be a weasel inhabited by an archfey pretending to be a god, surely not—but then he returns with proof and you will have to reconsider your entire worldview. 

Once he will walk around and gesticulate with his spellbook and a pressed flower will float out. When they ask about it, he will reply: "This is a lesson I learned from my gentlest friend: it is important to remember those you love; and it is important to learn how to move on."

Once you realise his offers are genuine, you will stay longer after class and ask if you might see his spellbook. When you look at the first page and ask about the dozens of names and titles that are all attributed to him, he will nod solemnly and say: "If you are in a relationship that does not suit your needs, it is never too late to change your allegiances. This I was taught by my friend who challenged, threatened, and denied a demigod and lived to tell the tale."

You will be taught that wizards do not share, yet that is exactly what your professor asks you to do. So eventually, you have two options. Eventually, you will drop out of his class—his school is not the one you're interested in anyways, you want to learn Evocation which is his third-favourite school. Or, eventually, you will learn to speak up when your professor asks for your opinions. Eventually, you will learn to challenge his. And eventually, you will learn that he will just listen and nod along. In the end, he will praise you for your thoughts and say: "This is what I learned from my considerate friend, who almost let another live his life, because he thought it was the right thing to do: solitude might be safe, but it's not fulfilling. You need to share with others who have the same powers as you do and might just find out that what they do is way cooler." You are not quite sure what that statement has to do with a spectral lollipop.

When you will ask about a spell you try to remake, your professor will smile and offer his help. You had just hoped for advice, maybe, and do not know how to deal with that offer. At your confusion he replies: "I learned from my friend who's an alchemist and detective, that when you work together you just might make the impossible possible. And you just might become who you're meant to be."

You learn how to work with your professor and learn more about his wizard's spellbook. You learn that it is so heavy he cannot lift it without adjusting its gravity. You learn that this is not his first spellbook, that he began creating it with his husband. You learn that there are some pages that are so covered with annotations and corrections, that they are barely legible; some are annotated with glued-in papers that together could cover the entire Academy. You will whisper to your friends about this and he'll hear you and chime in: "This is a lesson I had to learn myself. You will make mistakes and you may regret them. But you cannot erase them, so you will just learn how to live with them, learn from them, and do better in the future." 

At some point, when you are working on your third or fifth or tenth spell, you will reach the part where you are stuck. Where none of the knowledge either of you have amassed, none of the rules and guidelines can help you. Then, your professor will sweep his age-white hair out of his eyes and sigh: "I have almost no lessons left to share with you, but this is what my friend, the pirate, taught me: fuck the rules." Surprisingly to both of you, that will work. Surprisingly to one of you what will solve the problem is a combination of Transmutation and Dunamancy—an idea your professor will not tell you where it originated. 

    When you finish that spell, your professor will laugh and hug you and do a little dance. After, you will finally ask him about his strange wizard's spellbook. Your professor will sigh and deflate and suddenly you will realise just how much time he must have spent on this earth (how long does it take for an elf to even show a single wrinkle? How long until they are looking as ancient as him?)

"It's easy," he will reply, "for this is no wizard's spellbook. This I learned from my husband, who taught young mages like you before me: this is a wizards' spellbook. Every student I ever taught, every friend I ever made, every soul I cared for, I ask to add to this tome." He will smile thoughtfully, tears glimmering in the corner of his eyes." Look," he will say, "it's almost full. Hopefully, in time I may pass it on."

And hopefully, in time you may find that what they tell you is wrong. Hopefully, in time you may find that Professor Essek Widogast and his many lessons from his many friends are right. Hopefully, in time you may pass them on and leave the world better than you found it. 

#My writing #critical role #critical role fanfiction #essek thelyss #the mighty nein #the mighty nine #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #fjord stone #kingsley tealeaf #caduceus clay #veth brenatto #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #shadowgast #sgtober2021 #i literally don't know what to tag this as #this might be the weirdest thing i've ever written #i like it #but it's weird

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Aw these are all good prompts. How about...

58. Sharing clothes/jewelry/personal items, M9 + Essek

Or 109. Going people watching, Jester & Essek

Only if you feel like it :)

Hopefully you enjoy existential crises with your cute?? cw: Essek's on-going crisis of self “Ooh, what about them?” Jester points down into the crowd, indicating a brown-skinned person with a sheet of silky pink hair and polished hooves shod in copper.

Essek follows the line of her pointing pencil. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes despite the awning over the patio and his wide-brimmed hat. “Jester, you will have to pick people closer to us if you want my opinion.”

“Really? They’re only, like, just over there by the fountain.”

Essek hears the fountain, but he cannot see it except as a blur of mosaic blues shining in the strong sunlight. Everything beyond the shade of the building and jacarandas is sunhaze. He’s beginning to get a little dizzy with it, but this outing is important. Jester agreed to create him a book of faces to wear, and they are choosing inspiration today.

“I’m going to sketch them into the book anyway. They’re hot.”

“You know that is not a required element.”

Jester smirks as her pencil flies across the page. She’s not drawing exact likenesses. This reduces his chances of being ‘recognized’ by strangers. And, if the people searching for him mark a false face as one of his disguises, a real person would be in danger.

“If you use this one, you’re gonna have to remember to clip-clop.” Jester mimes mincing hooves with her hands.

The waiter glides by with refills of their drinks, cold mint tea for Essek and a strawberry lemonade for Jester. The cafe patio is quiet, set a half-storey above the street with two little tables and a shaded view of the plaza. Mid-way between town proper and harbor, this plaza sees constant traffic of all sorts. Tourists, merchants, sailors venturing farther inland than the pubs near the docks, townspeople about their business - many faces, many choices.

“Would you want to be a lady?” Jester’s artist’s eye follows an air genasi woman as she browses the curios in a nearby window.

Essek draws a fingertip through the condensation building on his tall glass of cold mint tea. “It might be good to have a few female faces in my repertoire.” The desire to entertain Jester rather than real doubt prompts his next question. “Do you think I could manage it?”

Jester looks up from her sketching. “Oh yeah, no problem. Except,” she laughs, “since you’re only interested in men, people will think you’re straight.”

“That,” says Essek, “will not be an issue.” If he never stays anywhere long enough to make that vital connection, that is.

Even this trip to Nicodranas is dangerous for him, for Jester, for Veth, and their loved ones. He chose the ivory features of a pallid elf for his current illusion, mostly as an excuse to cover up against the summer sun.

Back to wearing masks.

He stirs his tea with a long-handled spoon. Ice clinks musically against glass. Essek does not know if he has ever worn his own face. Childhood saw him a slate to be overwritten by a soul that never woke within him. New, empty of experience, he wore whatever face served him best at the time. He almost became the Shadowhand’s soft, perpetual smile. The Nein ripped that off him, exposing the paucity of self beneath.

For a century, Essek could lock eyes with his reflection in the mirror without any recognition past the superficial. He considers the vertiginous horror he feels now an improvement.

And now, just as he begins to see someone looking back: it is not safe to be himself. He must be someone else, and he does not understand why that grieves him when there is so little to lose.

“You could be anyone.”

Essek lurches out of his thoughts.

“Anybody at all!” Jester cannot read minds without casting a spell, and Essek is certain enough she hasn’t. “I’m the littlest, smallest bit jealous.”

“Oh?” He props his chin on his fist attentively, biting back several caustic, sarcastic replies.

“Yeah!” She pushes the sketchbook towards him. “You get to decide who all these people are, then you get to be them. Like, this guy,” she flips to an early page, “is obviously a gem broker. Look at his mustache and tell me he’s not a gem broker. And this person here is a poet.”

Jester’s excitement is a balm. Her sketches breathe life, and her imagination pulls dozens of people from thin air. While Essek cannot bring himself to share her enthusiasm, he decides he likes the idea of deciding who each face will be.

He is deeply, irrevocably broken, twisted out of shape long before he shattered, all the pieces sharp or warped. But they are individually interesting. Instead of a single, intact perfect mask with nothing behind it, he has the chance to lay a mosaic and create a new, composite whole. Perhaps he can make someone whose eyes he can meet in the mirror.

#¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #I think my concepts for a couple different characters #are bleeding into each other here #anywho!! #thank you for the prompt!! :D #Box attempts CritRole #Happy Fun Box of Writing #I will eventually post the 'I am not particularly interesting' fic #someday... #Essek Thelyss

[nonwal]

so like. you’re the elf equivalent of a 19 year old who's working on his second PhD while also in a powerful political position. everyone is super impressed with you but also, you’re a fucking baby to them. They’re all hundreds if not thousands of years old with multiple lifetimes under their belt, and all they see is someone on his first life who has spent far too much of his first hundred years buried in books.

it’s not that they don’t think you’ve earned your place. but you are quite literally peerless. you substitute your own growing ambition and thirst for knowledge for friends. you’ve accomplished more in one century than most of these pretentious fuckers have in a millennia. you don’t need them. you need them to let you do your work.

but they’re too obsessed with ~religion~ to let you do anything interesting. so. you make a deal with mages from the empire. you’re basically committing an act of both treason and heresy, but like. hey. if they’re going to stick to their stupid rules and grudges at the expense of progress and knowledge, someone’s gonna have to do it.

obviously everyone is super upset over this, but you figure they’ll figure out how to fucking deal with it. things are tense but more or less okay for a decade-ish. no one suspects you, and you begin to think that you got away with it. then shit falls apart, and you realize you don’t have control over the situation anymore. your country goes to war, which turns out to be incredibly inconvenient, because your job during wartime is 1000% suckier and you barely have time to study things you’re actually interested in.

then some foreigners show up with the beacon you traded away, claiming they want to end the war.

you try not to panic. you keep an eye on them, try to figure out what these shifty weirdos know, what pieces of information they continue to uncover. one of them is a wizard with direct ties to your collaborators, and you’re not sure if this a test or some bizarre coincidence.

but shifty as they are, they do seem to be telling the truth, or at least an abbreviated version of it. they’re bizarre and unpredictable and have no sense of decorum, but they’re endearing and they’re trying so hard. 

and. they seem to like you? treat you as a confidant of sorts, send you ridiculous messages at inopportune moments, ask you to teleport them around to find an ancient dragon (how are these idiots still alive) or chase after their lost friend (whoops we actually meant a different spot) or or or

you try to be annoyed. you try to view it as a transactional relationship. you tell yourself this is a preventative measure to prevent them from uncovering your secret. but they’re trying so hard, and you want them to succeed. and that feels. 

bad. 

because you have always been the enemy they're hunting, long before you wanted to be their friend. you started this fucking war they’re trying to end—indirectly, yes, but callously, knowing it was a possibility and not caring.

and now you care about someone besides yourself. it is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you. it used to be that discovery would mean your death. now it means that you will die knowing that the mighty nein hate you. betraying your country meant almost nothing, but this—

Essek. We don’t know anything about you, we just realized—do they suspect?—we should really hang out more. Are you single? Do you have kids? Swipe right? Also, mom’s name? 

...you don’t deserve this. you’re going to go over for dinner anyway, aren’t you? 

(they ask you what the worst thing you’ve ever done is and for one insane moment you want to tell the truth.)

you help them and use them in the same breath. you want—need—this war to end. if you do things carefully, they never have to know, right? you’ve lost your resolve, your unwavering confidence in your own arrogant importance, but it’s worth the trade. you can simmer in your own private guilt for years, lifetimes, as long as you don’t have to see a look of betrayal on their faces.

you’ve never regretted anything this much. you’re starting to hate yourself.

then. of course. they’re on the fucking ship. you feel as if you are being watched, but maybe that is just your newfound conscience hounding you. you go to the damned party. you avoid them. it is in Jester’s nature to be completely unavoidable. she makes idle chitchat while you stew in your own anxiety and guilt. you’re terrified. you’re tired. you take a sip of your drink.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #essek thelyss #this is a mess but I have a lot of feelings about essek right now #long post #my fic