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grayintogreen · 11 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY

Hello, hello, it's that time again! I'm about halfway done with Chapter Twenty-Four of YCDHN, so here's a scene for you!

The Olly, Oxen, & Free was a pub that had not been built so much as it had been carved out of the rock walls of the section of city known as the Liber Disk, and owned by a set of dwarf triplets. Molly made a dry comment that if your parents name you things that can be shortened to ‘Olly, Oxen, and Free’ you really didn’t have much of a choice other than to forgo all other options and name a pub after yourself, but the mead was good and therefore he forgave them for being predictable.

They were too deep underground now, and even with the knowledge that there was nothing covering the sky above them, it was no longer visible and that alone was enough to make Molly even edgier. Their confrontation with Reani had occurred just outside the city proper after Caleb dropped them on the mountain and Molly had expected something a little closer to those mountain towns right at the edge of the Empire- even fondly remembered a certain one with so little of a name to it that some mistakenly labeled it as part of Nogvurot even if it was at least sixty miles away from it. But no, Cali had led them downwards into a city built like an auger that was beautiful to behold and anxiety-inducing to keep moving downwards in. He would have been happy to have taken up in one of the taverns on the disk above this one, but Cali said this one was closer to where Reani was taking Fjord and Caduceus and she wanted to stay close.

She had both of her hands on a massive tankard of mead she wasn’t drinking, her lank hair falling to cover the dragon side of her face almost entirely, but when she pushed it aside a bit to speak to locals who came up on her while everyone else was collecting themselves and drinking, no one flinched away at her. Her dragon tail, curled beneath her chair, even thunked a little at the gentle conversation.

“People really seem to like you here, Cali,” Jester noted as she sipped a cup of goat’s milk, her nose wrinkling as she tried to decide how she felt about the taste.

“Oh… Yeah. They do.” Cali’s cheeks pinkened. “They’re some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I wanna do right by them, so that’s why I help Reani with-“ She cut herself off. “Never mind. There’s a lot of stuff I can’t talk about, but I also don’t want you to be angry with her. Reani’s done a lot for me, but so have you and she knows that.”

“She must care a great deal for you to put aside her morals for us,” Caleb drawled. “Not to put more stones in my pockets, but we are, indeed, still assholes.”

Cali was no longer so much pink as she was the color of an unripened strawberry. “You got my letter?”

“Ja, it came at a… very good time for us.”

“Right after we almost got arrested for trying to do the right thing,” Beau shrugged and tried to draw attention to the blue roses in her high ponytail. “Happens to us a lot.”

She, predictably, reacted. “You’re even wearing the roses I got you!”

Jester showed off her own gifts and encouraged those who could at the table to do the same. “We’re all wearing your stuff, Cali. We thought about you all the time. I really wanted to write to you, but it’s been a lot, like, all the time.”

Cali buried her face in her tankard. “I understand. And I never felt anything bad about you for not writing. You’re all actually serious adventurers and heroes and I’m… well, I’m still working on what I am.”

“Ironic, considering you met us at our least serious and least heroic,” Molly chuckled into his drink. Cali gave him a deeply tragic look.

The next few minutes were a blur of Jester trying to shove as many details of the last year of incidents without giving away details that shouldn’t be shared in either public or with someone Lucien and Cree didn’t know- who were currently watching from their space at the table, judging every reaction and microexpression, though there was more of the former than the latter (even now Cali couldn’t keep her business to herself).

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Cree, Mr. Lucien,” she said, at the conclusion of the explanation. “You all have been through a lot, it seems. I’m sorry that the Empire is chasing you because of something that wasn’t your fault.”

“Shit,” Beau suddenly swore. “Should we have been disguising ourselves if those wanted posters made it this far north?” She eyed everyone in the tavern suspiciously, but no one so much as raised an eyebrow in their direction.

“Most people in the Wildlands don’t care for Empire business and after awhile bounty hunters stopped asking questions about you lot.” Cali sighed with relief. “It made it easy for Reani to let it go too, until you came into town like this. No offense, Mr. Lucien.”

Lucien made a noncommittal noise into his drink. Cree was the one to actually speak. “I have heard a great deal of what you are doing now and what we have been doing, but not so much about how you all even met.”

Jester leaned closer to her. “Do you remember when we went to investigate that safehouse in Berleben for my dad?”

“Aye.”

“Well, Cali was also looking for a-“

Cali made a sharp growling sound and then immediately covered her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry, Jester, but… I, um… That is, Reani doesn’t know about my history with Serissa and her cult. I will tell her, eventually! But right now she just thinks I’m… I’m sort of a vigilante myself, just like her. And it’s been really nice.”

Molly lowered his tankard to the ground. “You know if you can’t tell your friend that you used to be in a cult, she’s not really your friend.”

“Exactly!” Nott exclaimed. “Lucien and Cree here were in cults and we don’t like them any less for it.”

“Thank you, Nott,” Cree deadpanned.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Oh is that so?”

Only Molly picked up on the sudden churning emotional dissatisfaction moving like storm-tossed waters in his head. His face remained a mask of blank consideration, while Cali dug her hole a little deeper.

“I just don’t want her to think less of me. She might look at all the things I did and not be as kind about it as you all were. I want her to like me so much… and I will tell her. I just… I need her to know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m a good person, despite everything I did for the Caustic Heart. Do you understand?”

The answer was a murmured assent that was less than convincing, but before Jester could rise to the occasion and help encourage Cali to be honest, Lucien slammed his tankard down with enough force that the contents spilled over onto the rough-carved woodgrain of the table. “So. Let me see if I’ve been followin’ this tale correctly. You wandered into the swamp with this girl- who openly admitted to formerly bein’ in one of the worst cults in all of Exandria, and trusted her word that she stood against them with minimal suspicion thrown her way?”

“I would not call it minimal,” Caleb deadpanned.

Jester deflated and sank down into her chair, her intentions forgotten. “There was a whole thing with a bowl and everything.”

“They definitely didn’t trust me, Mr. Lucien! But I also didn’t tell them all of this up front either. I deserved their wariness.”

Cali’s anxiety and the admittance of the Nein’s distrust was barely anything more than salt on the wound. They hadn’t bullied her or else she wouldn’t be speaking so kindly to them now. They hadn’t treated her or Cree with nearly the suspicion that they had given Lucien. That was all because of Molly, himself- he’d painted them a picture and they filled in the lines with their own biases. Lucien had walked into a game he couldn’t win before he’d even tried to play it.

“Seems to have worked out for you, though, eh?” Lucien leaned in a bit and Cali leaned back. She had the look of someone trying not to be uncomfortable because being uncomfortable might make the situation worse. “Wasn’t quite so easy for me.”

Cali, lighting on something, leaned forwards again. “What cult were you involved in?”

“Oh we don’t have to discuss that.” He waved her off. “We’ve done our bonding, haven’t we? Took a few months, but perhaps I’m not nearly as adorable as she is.”

Beau pursed her lips. “Man, I really wanna fight you on this, but I don’t think I can without looking like a dick.”

Lucien rested his chin on his knuckles and bared his teeth in a grin. “Oh, but I want you to try anyway.”

“All right, all right,” Molly cut in before the moment could go off like a lit match close to Nott’s cloak. “Point taken. Let’s move on.”

#cr fic #wip wednesday #you can't deny high noon

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sapphictealeaf · 7 months

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Dear Creator,

I hope you’re doing well in this merry femslash time! My name is Eli (my AO3 is: sapphictealeaf). My DNWs are already listed in the optional details on AO3, but I’ll take the time to repeat them here as well as specify what I mean by “extremely dark topics/storylines” in case clarification is needed!

The rest of the letter will be below this "keep reading" line!

DNW

Explicit smut (implied is fine)

Non-canon character death (unless it’s temporary/faked)

Tragic endings

Cheating between main pairing

Extremely dark topics/storylines

First & second-person POVs

Mostly the “dark topics” are about things such as abuse, rape, incest, overly graphic violence (especially if it’s not canon-typical) and the like. I like angst, I may even like some extra angst on occasion, but I prefer the internal turmoil and difficult hurdles (emotional, interpersonal, societal, etc.) over grimdark vibes.

General likes

Introspection and character study-esque scenes/themes

Love confessions

Pining

Trans interpretations and autistic interpretations of a character (or both) within the pairing (I don’t necessarily want the interpretations to be explicitly spoken about, but that there is an underlying thought of the characters being trans and/or autistic)

I am absolutely a sucker for hurt/comfort.

I often prefer canon-compliant fics, or canon divergent at the most.

Obviously, I absolutely understand that all of the things except for my DNWs are entirely optional, and ultimately I think that anything you write that you’re proud of will be better than trying to fulfil prompts that you don’t feel comfortable with/don’t like all that much. I list them in case you want inspiration or feel interested in taking my likes into consideration. This is a gift, and as long as it’s made with care I’m sure I will love it!

For the rest of this letter, I am going to write out more specific likes and headcanons for each ship in my sign-up. Just like the rest, this is obviously optional, but in case you want some ideas! May your writing journey proceed smoothly and I'll look forward to see what beautiful story you'll put forward!

CRITICAL ROLE

Beau/Yasha

I’ve always had a penchant for fics that have Beau expressing frustration and anger towards the Stormlord, especially post C2E69. I always felt that they had just come to terms with the idea that there may be feelings blossoming between them, so to have that suddenly snatched away, especially with the looming fear that Yasha may have been lying all this time, feels particularly juicy. Asking why the Stormlord didn’t protect her, cursing him for letting her near the party, begging him to help save her, anything at all that Beau feels will help her process the hurt and grief she feels.

I’m not entirely caught up on C3, but I am also wayyy past caring for spoilers at this point, so I’m very interested in any fics about Yasha worrying about Beau when she goes missing. I’m not sure exactly what the context is, where she is, what happened to her (and Caleb), or if it has been resolved since I last heard of it, but either way I’d love a worried Yasha searching for her wife, especially if it ends in joyful tears.

I have a penchant for Empire Kids, so if there’s any room for that, that would be super cool. I also adore the tenderness whenever Yasha and Jester interact, so those are also always a plus!!

Beau/Jester

I love a pining Beau, especially considering that it seems that everyone always pines for Jester, so it only makes sense. This makes the most sense to me during the very early C2 era.

LATE NIGHT TALKS! ONLY ONE BED! I think capitalising on the fact that the two of them would share a room when sleeping at a tavern or inn or suchlike is a beautiful thing.

When reading Beau/Jester fics that are exclusively Beau/Jes I have a certain draw to lesbian Jester who’s never particularly felt strongly for anyone before, but realising that her attraction to Fjord is very performative, while with Beau it feels a lot more natural, or something to that effect.

However, on that note, I always prefer to either keep Fjord out of it or just make it pre-Fjorester. My man did nothing wrong, he’s just a bit silly!!!! I prefer to have no break-ups between them unless it’s very mutual and minimally painful.

Beau/Jester/Yasha

There are so many possible ways to write this lovely throuple, but one option I like is Beau and Yasha falling for Jester together, slowly, but deeply.

Another option is Beau and Jester falling in love and coming together during Yasha’s absence in E69-E86, but then pulling her in once she returns. I’ve always found that idea fun to play around with, especially when Beau clearly had feelings for Yasha throughout the entire campaign basically, even if it may have cooled off periodically, but then confesses to Nott that she has a crush on Jester.

One thing I really like is how gentle and kind and warm Jester always is with Yasha, especially because Yasha herself is also such a gentle and kind person. As a contrast she is entirely and completely comfortable with Beau to the point where it feels like she feels much more free to not be at her best. She puts up a front of always being happy, always being much more knowledgeable about the world (despite her sheltered upbringing) than she actually is. I think both of those aspects are beautiful and can be beautifully utilised when exploring the relationship all three of them form with each other.

For this, I don’t mind Jester still being with Fjord, so long as it’s clear that the open nature of their relationship has been established and communicated.

STRANGER THINGS

Barbara/Nancy

For them, I am particularly drawn to Nancy’s POV, anything introspective works especially well here. Especially after Barb’s disappearance and after her death has been confirmed. I think the guilt, the wish for things to be different, the hindsight realisation is SO JUICY. Especially for a character who always keeps herself so composed in front of everyone else.

I do also like the idea of Nancy saving Barb, even if it’s just a fantasy of Nancy’s. This can be used and interpreted very freely. Does she save her as in leaving when Barbara asked her to? As in seeing her in the pool and helping her before she gets dragged into the Upside Down? As in El finding her alive and being saved at the same time as Will? Or when Nancy and Jonathan stumble into the Upside Down?

I also like any sort of Barb Lives AU where she is part of the following seasons.

I think that I just love deep contemplation and careful love confessions for them in general.

Eleven/Max

Any point from S2 finale and onwards is good here, although especially S3 sleepover vibes. Love confessions in a dark bedroom, secret girlhood, a space only for the two of them. I mean, it just writes itself!

I have to add Eleven saving Max from being Vecna’d during the S4 finale, perhaps by defeating Vecna before he’s able to kill Max.

Mike in this case can either be ignored where I’m concerned, or that it’s expanded upon and discussed with El and him breaking up because they have different goals and different struggles or something along those lines. Or a bit of canon non-compliance where they broke up ages ago or they were only ever friends. Whatever your heart desires, really, I don’t mind either way!

Oh, one last thing, I’ve always loved the autistic El headcanon I see a lot of people have (myself included). So, if you feel like that’s something you’re interested in incorporating then go ahead!!!

Robin/Nancy

I really, really like post-canon fics for Robin and Nancy. I feel like Nancy is at a point in her character arc and as a person where she needs to be on her own for a while, figure out who she is, pursue her ambitions with nothing and no one holding her back. So, the idea of Nancy and Robin having a chance meeting 5-10 years later or returning to Hawkins for a little reunion is just so lovely. (If they return to Hawkins, this could either be Uh Oh Shit’s Getting Weird Again or just everyone coming home for the sake of reuniting, maybe it’s Thanksgiving or something like that.)

I also think that, while Robin and Nancy would Obviously be the focus, it would be interesting to explore Nancy realising that the feelings she has for Robin are very similar to feelings she once had for Barb. Especially if she suddenly realises that they’re also a bit similar to what she felt for Steve and Jonathan (uh-oh) A.K.A. bisexual panic for Nancy.

STAR TREK

Jadzia Dax/Kira Nerys

This is one of the few ships where I vividly see an AU, which is PIRATE AU!!! Particularly with both of them as captains of their own ships. I don’t know why, but the idea of exploring their personalities through the lens of rivals-to-lovers, reluctant allies, and a pirate setting seems like SO MUCH FUN!

I also think that bringing in religious themes and topics, especially where Kira is concerned, can be so interesting. Perhaps the two of them are going through a religious ritual, tradition, exercise together, with Kira teaching Jadzia about it. I also think that vice versa, having Kira learning about Trill cultures and rites is so interesting and fun. I guess cultural themes and topics is a better word for it, rather than exclusively religious. Perhaps exploring Jadzia’s zhian’tara with Kira, or seeing Jadzia and Kira celebrate the Peldor festival together.

Whatever the setting, the AU, the timeline, I enjoy Kira being a lesbian, but not quite knowing it yet. Not necessarily because of lesbiphobia or the like, but more that Kira hasn’t had the space nor time to fully feel her feelings, to understand what she wants, who she wants, what she likes in a romantic relationship, and that she doesn’t like men. At least, not romantically.

I think that any confession that is very beat-about-the-bush about the whole ordeal is perfect for them. Kira doesn’t know how to express herself, Jadzia isn’t sure what Kira wants (or if she is, then she isn’t sure that Kira knows what she wants, and doesn’t want to be with someone who isn’t sure about her feelings). They sort of stumble around each other, both fairly certain about what the other is trying to say, but not quite being able to spit it out.

Also, for a more silly setting, we do love a bit of holodeck shenanigans. Both holodeck malfunctions or general mischief work perfectly!

Jadzia Dax/Lenara Kahn

Now, here we have the EPITOME of pining and requited but doomed love. Introspection and character studies and ponderings about what could’ve been GALORE!

A fic where Lenara stays and them having to manage exile from Trill is just as juicy as what we got in canon. I think that no matter what they did, there would have been regret or just even the smallest wish to forever want to know what could have been. To know and believe that the life and lives of the symbiont and Trill is sacred, but to still give it up for the woman you love is just…beautiful. Expanding on Lenara staying, or them both disappearing off somewhere would be so fun and interesting.

On the other hand, I love the idea of them writing letters post-Rejoined, perhaps even secret letters, romantic letters, letters written across encrypted channels, is just as beautiful. Maybe they’re not even explicitly romantic, but just clearly yearning while pretending that nothing is untoward or taboo, when the forbidden love hangs from every word.

Seven of Nine/B’Elanna Torres

Now here we can talk about repressed emotions. Especially through the lens of my personal favourite headcanon, which is that they’re both RAGING lesbians. I also highly appreciate headcanons that read Seven as autistic and B’Elanna as autistic, ADHD, or both. I also really like Seven being trans, or at least not particularly caring for/understanding gender in the binary sense.

I love one of those classic scenarios that I see especially in Star Trek AUs where the turbolifts break, or the holodeck breaks, or they crash-land on a desolate planet, or they get stuck in a cave-in. Whatever the catastrophe, it forces them to wait for aid and to talk about things that are usually too uncomfortable, but that they now aren’t able to avoid. Romantic feelings revealed in extremis, I suppose.

I also like all those moments from the show where they have this unspoken understanding for each other. (B’Elanna saying “We difficult patients have to stick together!” comes to mind.) When everyone else finds them odd or difficult to handle, or even complains about how they don’t fit into some imaginary mould, they seem to always understand that feeling of not fitting in and finding comfort with each other.

Also, a minor little thing, but I just ADORE Harry’s friendship with B’Elanna. Any way to get that in is most, most welcome <3 I also really like him with Seven as well.

STAR WARS

Padmé Amidala/Sabé

Themes of girlhood are so central to the things I love about this ship!!! I mean, of course, girlhood mixed with the responsibility of adulthood forced upon not only a young queen (and eventually senator), but also upon a young girl who becomes a bodyguard, ready to lay down her life for the girl she must protect. Those juxtapositions are so filled with potential!!!

I imagine that Sabé, at the start, has a certain admiration for Padmé that turns into seeing her almost as a statue or a perfect painting. Her queen is the one she serves, this beautiful shining figure that she is infatuated with and that she is below. But that is then broken down the closer they become, the more she gets to see the girl with all her imperfections, and not just the queen.

ALSO MIRROR IMAGES!!!! They are supposed to be so alike that they are easily mistaken for each other. I wonder what effect that has on two young girls who fall in love. The teenage years are fraught with insecurities and worries and growing pains, but how can you hate the shape of your nose or the colour of your eyes when you’ve fallen in love with someone who looks just like you? Do you become obsessed with the differences? Or learn to love the differences and similarities alike?

Shin Hati/Sabine Wren

I don’t have that many preferences or headcanons or likes for this ship, both because I’m comparatively new to it, but also because I think there is very little material, and I tend to base my feelings on canon. However, I think they are so much fun and have so much potential!!!

One idea is to have Shin stay instead of running away when Ahsoka offers to help her. Sabine and her begin to form a friendship that turns into something more with time.

I also think it could be interesting to see what potential interactions they could’ve had while they were on their way Peridea. Perhaps Shin doesn’t say much, but Sabine, either desperate for some company or hoping to find an unlikely ally in Shin, coaxes her into talking, even for a brief moment. Maybe Shin reveals doubts regarding Baylan’s plans.

I don’t think there needs to be any explicit romance (depending on the length), but that there is a clear foundation that, with time, and under the right circumstances, something beautiful could bloom.

#femslash exchange 2023 #eli's tealeaves

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lemonentity · 3 years

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FATHOMS🌊

It’s been a while since I made fanart but I’ve had a lot of fun with this piece ✨

#.my art #critical role #critical role fanart #fjord stone #I’ve been wanting to draw fjord for a while and I had a lot of fun making this #dndcharacter #dnd5e #I just realized that some of the piece got cut off ;;; gdi #I posted this version every where ;;; curse my hubris

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niseamstories · 3 years

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10 Lessons on Realistic Worldbuilding and Mapmaking I Learned Working With a Professional Cartographer and Geodesist

Hi, fellow writers and worldbuilders,

It’s been over a year since my post on realistic swordfighting, and I figured it’s time for another one. I’m guessing the topic is a little less “sexy”, but I’d find this useful as a writer, so here goes: 10 things I learned about realistic worldbuilding and mapmaking while writing my novel.

I’ve always been a sucker for pretty maps, so when I started on my novel, I hired an artist quite early to create a map for me. It was beautiful, but a few things always bothered me, even though I couldn’t put a finger on it. A year later, I met an old friend of mine, who currently does his Ph.D. in cartography and geodesy, the science of measuring the earth. When the conversation shifted to the novel, I showed him the map and asked for his opinion, and he (respectfully) pointed out that it has an awful lot of issues from a realism perspective.

First off, I’m aware that fiction is fiction, and it’s not always about realism; there are plenty of beautiful maps out there (and my old one was one of them) that are a bit fantastical and unrealistic, and that’s all right. Still, considering the lengths I went to ensure realism for other aspects of my worldbuilding, it felt weird to me to simply ignore these discrepancies. With a heavy heart, I scrapped the old map and started over, this time working in tandem with a professional artist, my cartographer friend, and a linguist. Six months later, I’m not only very happy with the new map, but I also learned a lot of things about geography and coherent worldbuilding, which made my universe a lot more realistic.

1) Realism Has an Effect: While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with creating an unrealistic world, realism does affect the plausibility of a world. Even if the vast majority of us probably know little about geography, our brains subconsciously notice discrepancies; we simply get this sense that something isn’t quite right, even if we don’t notice or can’t put our finger on it. In other words, if, for some miraculous reason, an evergreen forest borders on a desert in your novel, it will probably help immersion if you at least explain why this is, no matter how simple.

2) Climate Zones: According to my friend, a cardinal sin in fantasy maps are nonsensical climate zones. A single continent contains hot deserts, forests, and glaciers, and you can get through it all in a single day. This is particularly noticeable in video games, where this is often done to offer visual variety (Enderal, the game I wrote, is very guilty of this). If you aim for realism, run your worldbuilding by someone with a basic grasp of geography and geology, or at least try to match it to real-life examples.

3) Avoid Island Continent Worlds: Another issue that is quite common in fictional worlds is what I would call the “island continents”: a world that is made up of island-like continents surrounded by vast bodies of water. As lovely and romantic as the idea of those distant and secluded worlds may be, it’s deeply unrealistic. Unless your world was shaped by geological forces that differ substantially from Earth’s, it was probably at one point a single landmass that split up into fragmented landmasses separated by waters. Take a look at a proper map of our world: the vast majority of continents could theoretically be reached by foot and relatively manageable sea passages. If it weren’t so, countries such as Australia could have never been colonized – you can’t cross an entire ocean on a raft.

4) Logical City Placement: My novel is set in a Polynesian-inspired tropical archipelago; in the early drafts of the book and on my first map, Uunili, the nation’s capital, stretched along the entire western coast of the main island. This is absurd. Not only because this city would have been laughably big, but also because building a settlement along an unprotected coastline is the dumbest thing you could do considering it directly exposes it to storms, floods, and, in my case, monsoons. Unless there’s a logical reason to do otherwise, always place your coastal settlements in bays or fjords.

Naturally, this extends to city placement in general. If you want realism and coherence, don’t place a city in the middle of a godforsaken wasteland or a swamp just because it’s cool. There needs to be a reason. For example, the wasteland city could have started out as a mining town around a vast mineral deposit, and the swamp town might have a trading post along a vital trade route connecting two nations.

5) Realistic Settlement Sizes: As I’ve mentioned before, my capital Uunili originally extended across the entire western coast. Considering Uunili is roughly two thirds the size of Hawaii the old visuals would have made it twice the size of Mexico City. An easy way to avoid this is to draw the map using a scale and stick to it religiously. For my map, we decided to represent cities and townships with symbols alone.

6) Realistic Megacities: Uunili has a population of about 450,000 people. For a city in a Middle Ages-inspired era, this is humongous. While this isn’t an issue, per se (at its height, ancient Alexandria had a population of about 300,000), a city of that size creates its own set of challenges: you’ll need a complex sewage system (to minimize disease spreading like wildfire) and strong agriculture in the surrounding areas to keep the population fed. Also, only a small part of such a megacity would be enclosed within fantasy’s ever-so-present colossal city walls; the majority of citizens would probably concentrate in an enormous urban sprawl in the surrounding areas. To give you a pointer, with a population of about 50,000, Cologne was Germany’s biggest metropolis for most of the Middle Ages. I’ll say it again: it’s fine to disregard realism for coolness in this case, but at least taking these things into consideration will not only give your world more texture but might even provide you with some interesting plot points.

7) World Origin: This point can be summed up in a single question: why is your world the way it is? If your novel is set in an archipelago like mine is, are the islands of volcanic origin? Did they use to be a single landmass that got flooded with the years? Do the inhabitants of your country know about this? Were there any natural disasters to speak of? Yes, not all of this may be relevant to the story, and the story should take priority over lore, but just like with my previous point, it will make your world more immersive.

8) Maps: Think Purpose! Every map in history had a purpose. Before you start on your map, think about what yours might have been. Was it a map people actually used for navigation? If so, clarity should be paramount. This means little to no distracting ornamentation, a legible font, and a strict focus on relevant information. For example, a map used chiefly for military purposes would naturally highlight different information than a trade map. For my novel, we ultimately decided on a “show-off map” drawn for the Blue Island Coalition, a powerful political entity in the archipelago (depending on your world’s technology level, maps were actually scarce and valuable). Also, think about which technique your in-universe cartographer used to draw your in-universe map. Has copperplate engraving already been invented in your fictional universe? If not, your map shouldn’t use that aesthetic.

9) Maps: Less Is More. If a spot or an area on a map contains no relevant information, it can (and should) stay blank so that the reader’s attention naturally shifts to the critical information. Think of it this way: if your nav system tells you to follow a highway for 500 miles, that’s the information you’ll get, and not “in 100 meters, you’ll drive past a little petrol station on the left, and, oh, did I tell you about that accident that took place here ten years ago?” Traditional maps follow the same principle: if there’s a road leading a two day’s march through a desolate desert, a black line over a blank white ground is entirely sufficient to convey that information.

10) Settlement and Landmark Names: This point will be a bit of a tangent, but it’s still relevant. I worked with a linguist to create a fully functional language for my novel, and one of the things he criticized about my early drafts were the names of my cities. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now, but I really didn’t pay that much attention to how I named my cities; I wanted it to sound good, and that was it. Again: if realism is your goal, that’s a big mistake. Like Point 5, we went back to the drawing board and dove into the archipelago’s history and established naming conventions. In my novel, for example, the islands were inhabited by indigenes called the Makehu before the colonization four hundred years before the events of the story; as it’s usually the case, all settlements and islands had purely descriptive names back then. For example, the main island was called Uni e Li, which translates as “Mighty Hill,” a reference to the vast mountain ranges in the south and north; townships followed the same example (e.g., Tamakaha meaning “Coarse Sands”). When the colonizers arrived, they adopted the Makehu names and adapted them into their own language, changing the accented, long vowels to double vowels: Uni e Li became “Uunili,” Lehō e Āhe became “Lehowai.” Makehu townships kept their names; colonial cities got “English” monikers named after their geographical location, economic significance, or some other original story. Examples of this are Southport, a—you guessed it—port on the southernmost tip of Uunili, or Cale’s Hope, a settlement named after a businessman’s mining venture. It’s all details, and chances are that most readers won’t even pay attention, but I personally found that this added a lot of plausibility and immersion.

I could cover a lot more, but this post is already way too long, so I’ll leave it at that—if there’s enough interest, I’d be happy to make a part two. If not, well, maybe at least a couple of you got something useful out of this. If you’re looking for inspiration/references to show to your illustrator/cartographer, the David Rumsey archive is a treasure trove. Finally, for anyone who doesn’t know and might be interested, my novel is called Dreams of the Dying, and is a blends fantasy, mystery, and psychological horror set in the universe of Enderal, an indie RPG for which I wrote the story. It’s set in a Polynesian-inspired medieval world and has been described as Inception in a fantasy setting by reviewers.

Credit for the map belongs to Dominik Derow, who did the ornamentation, and my friend Fabian Müller, who created the map in QGIS and answered all my questions with divine patience. The linguist’s name is David Müller (no, they’re not related, and, yes, we Germans all have the same last names.)

#enderal #dreams of the dying #worldbuilding #resource #writeblr #writing tips #mapmaking #cartography #illustration #realism #writeblogging #novelwriting #writing research #research #writing

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intergalacticwanderer · 3 years

Text

It happened faster than any of them could react.

Overall, things had been going well. The sea monsters were on their last legs, they had the numbers with all of the Mighty Nein present, and it was only a matter of time before they’d come out on the other side. But in combat mere seconds can make all of the difference and one monster slipped through at just the wrong place and time, burying its claws into Kingsley’s back.

He swore, blood bursting from his neck and the monster’s eyes bleeding black, but it wasn't enough, the monster digging the claws in deeper and dragging him off of the ship, two of them going over the rail and into the ocean. He heard someone screaming his name, muffled through the water - and then the claws found his throat, and he didn't hear anything at all.

But something else started to happen.

He didn't know where he was. He knew, at the very least, that he wasn't in the ocean, his surroundings too indistinct and no longer able to feel the water around him. But even with being able to tell where he wasn’t, that still didn’t tell him anything about where he was. In fact, the only source of light Kingsley could see was - himself?

He looked down, startled, and saw that his own form seemed to be made of softly glowing light, a strange in between of tangible and intangible, floating in place. He... he didn’t understand. What was this? Kingsley raised a hand, both confused and awed at the sight.

The fingers began to disintegrate right in front of him.

He recoiled at the sight and the hand - HIS hand - broke apart even further, the once distinct outline now breaking into individual motes of light that slowly drifted away. He scrabbled with his other hand, as if to try and staunch a bleeding wound, but all that did was scatter the remaining bit of light from the hand even faster and he yanked his arm back. To his horror it was happening on other parts of his body as well, chunks carving out and being eaten away, motes continuing to drift, like paper burning into embers, or scattering sea foam, or or or - It felt like he should be hyperventilating. Was he hyperventilating? There wasn’t any sound, he couldn’t tell, could he even-?

Kingsley tried to hold on to his thoughts but they began to disintegrate too, and that realization, the fact that he could feel that happening, sent a bolt of terror through him even greater than the sight of what was happening to his body. He twisted in place, panic rising higher and higher as his body continued to disintegrate, looking for something, anything around him, but. Nothing.

The remaining parts of his legs and tail separated from his torso, stomach now gone, and while it felt like there should have been sound it continued to be completely silent, his thoughts reeling and disoriented as the parts spun away, quickly dissolving and scattering. What was- he couldn’t- who-

Further light scattered and so did his memories. His thoughts. His name. He drifted, motes rising up from near his eyes. Something from eyes. Tears? He didn’t know. Couldn't know. He was small, getting smaller, too small, no stop pleasenoPLEASESTOPNOPLEASE-

Sensation and clarity of thought slammed into him.

Kingsley (Kingsley!) gasped in a breath of air, coughing and shuddering. He was cold. Wet. Someone was holding him, cradling him between arms, one under his shoulders, the other under his knees, and his tail was dangling, limp. He blinked open his eyes. Two faces were directly above him, and there were glimpses of others in his peripheral, just out of direct sight but hovering close. The first face he could see was Fjord, wet hair clinging to his face and breathing heavily. He... he was the one holding him, wasn’t he. The second was Jester, shaking hands hovering over his chest and a faint shimmer fading from the air. He met her eyes.

“Jester...?”

A sharp inhale, and then a laugh, which turned into a heavy, wracking sob, and Jester buried her face into his chest and continued to cry. Others poured in then, crowding close with words of worry and comfort, but Kingsley barely heard them, still too stunned and numb from all that had just happened, and he didn’t react at all.

***

Over the next few days, Kingsley found himself in the company of at least one other member of the Mighty Nein at all times.

Fjord asked him for more advice and assistance around the ship. Jester sought him out even more than normal to ask about drawings, or tattoo ideas, or ship gossip. Caduceus invited him meditate. Caleb and Essek just happened to read their books nearby. Beau dragged him along to sparring practice, his complaints that he didn't even fight hand to hand normally falling on deaf ears. Yasha ended up clinging to him during sleep (though, in that case, he had been the one to initiate at least half of those). And Veth - well, he was pretty sure Veth was just straight up spying on him, but he didn't really begrudge her that.

Usually, Kingsley would have found the hovering his friends were doing to be suffocating, but this time? He sought their company right back, determined to not be alone.

There was no way around it - he had died. Full stop. That would have been bad enough on it's own but of course he had an... interesting relationship with death and revival, and it didn’t escape him that Jester had only started crying once he’d said her name. Like she’d been waiting to hear what his first word would be.

Wondering if that word was going to be “empty.”

He couldn’t tell if that made him feel better or worse. Better because they obviously cared about him, wanted him to be okay and to be the one to come back. Worse, because, well. Last time he’d been the one to come back saying empty. And they had to have gotten that fear from somewhere.

He sighed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders closer as he sat on the deck, watching the bright light of Catha above in the sky. Everyone was out on the deck at that moment, quietly talking after a late night meal and Caleb's dancing lights softly illuminating things along with the moonlight.

The main thing eating at him was the time in between falling into the ocean and the revivify spell, and he shuddered involuntarily at his mind’s word choice. He still didn't understand what that had been, but whatever it was it’d been terrifying, too strange to fall under normal experience and too vivid to “just” be a strange dream. The closest thing he had... his fingers tightened on his blanket. His reoccurring dream- nightmare- memory. Fighting in Cognouza, fighting back against Lucien, breaking free. Drifting away with hundreds of other lights. Drifting...

“Can I ask you all a question?”

Eight other heads turned to him, conversations stopping, and he had to fight to not shrink away. He was the one who’d asked.

“Kind of a morbid one but, wondering about who else has died here. You all know a lot more than me right now.”

He knew of a few past deaths. Glory Run Road. Those in... Cognouza. He wasn’t particularly fond of thinking about any of those from his perspective, however. Better to hear stories from others.

Several of them glanced between each other. Essek was the first to speak up.

“Personally, I have been lucky enough to not require any resurrection magic, and I hope it will remain that way in the future. I believe the same is true for Beauregard?”

Beau nodded. “Yeah. It’s gotten close a couple times but I’ve never actually died. Still kinda shocked at that, honestly.”

“I think I’ve died in a dream? Or maybe it was a vision...?” Yasha said, and when she got multiple confused looks she shrugged. “It was a trial from the Stormlord? I’m not really sure if it counts.”

“Let’s call it an in between,” Kingsley said.

“There’s the time I drowned and came back as a goblin,” Veth said quietly and the mood immediately dropped. She took a long drink from her cup. “And I guess there was also that time in the Happy Fun Ball.”

“Which is why we always check for traps,” Caleb said, giving her a pointed look.

Veth waved a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Checking blast radius is also important,” Caduceus said, sipping on his cup of tea. “I was too close to an exploding crossbow bolt once,” Caduceus said matter of fact, and Kingsley was gobsmacked at how serene Caduceus was at having literally been blown up. Then again, it was Caduceus, so he shouldn't be that surprised.

Veth bristled. “Hey!”

“Not assigning any blame, just stating what happened,” Caduceus said and he took another sip.

Three people left, and he already knew what the answer could be from two of them. Jester met his eyes and he gave her a little nod. He was okay with them talking about it.

“The only one I’ve had was when we were fighting Lucien,” Jester said, hands resting in her lap. “It happened really fast, but Caduceus got me back up, and Fjord protected both of us. It was still pretty scary, though.”

“I also went down to Lucien, but later in the fight,” Caleb said. Essek looked particularly miserable at the reminder and Caleb gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “But the Mighty Nein does not leave anyone behind, so I was okay. And the same is true for you,” Caleb said, giving Kingsley a meaningful look and a nod.

Kingsley nodded back, relieved both at the reassurance and the reminder that they never considered him to be the same as Lucien. Sometimes that was enough against the images of them lifeless below him.

(Sometimes.)

Fjord was the last one left, and he downed the rest of his drink before looking Kingsley directly in the eye.

“I died the first time we were attacked by Uk’otoa’s minions.”

Kingsley gave a start. “Wait, really?”

Fjord nodded. “Really.”

“But- that doesn't make sense.” Fjord was the captain and Uk’otoa attacks, those were just- they were just a thing. An annoying and very dangerous thing, sure, but what had happened to him, that was his fault, he hadn't been careful enough, or-

“Kingsley.”

Fjord still held his gaze, not looking away. “What happened the other day is not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”

“It totally is,” Veth added in and Fjord sighed.

“Regardless, don't blame yourself. I died to just the same thing and it can happen to any of us. And taking care of this problem is why we’re all on the ship right now anyway.”

“Cheers to that,” Beau said, raising her cup in a toast. “I’ve had enough murder fish for my lifetime.”

There was murmured agreement around the group, several others draining their cups and Kingsley staring at the bottom of his when he finished. So that was six. Two thirds of the Mighty Nein had died at least once, himself included, and Fjord even had a similar cause of death to this last time. Definitely not alone. And yet...

“Do you remember anything? From when you died?”

He didn't look up from his cup but he could just imagine the amount of eyes that would be staring at him right now. Whatever, it was already out there.

“A little,” Fjord said. “Mostly just that it was cold, and feeling scared, but...” Fjord’s voice softened and Kingsley looked over at the change in tone. “I also feel like the Wildmother would have been there to catch me. And that’s comforting in its own way.”

Kingsley nodded, mind going back to the scent of a warm sea breeze. Even though he wasn't a follower himself he knew of the comfort that Fjord spoke of.

Which just made him feel even more miserable in that moment.

“So... nothing else? No kind of visions or anything?” No disintegrating and losing everything while completely alone? His voice cracked a little, no longer able to hide his anxiety.

“Nothing in particular.” Fjord frowned. “...are you alright, Kingsley?”

“... not really, no.” He was too worn out to lie at this point and he hunched over, pulling his blanket even tighter.

“Is that what happened to you Kingsley? A vision?” Jester asked.

“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know, vision isn't quite right, but- I don't know.”

“Well, how would you describe it?”

An involuntary shiver ran up his spine. “An experience, I guess? But not a good one, and if anyone ever tried to sell me that kind of ‘experience’ I’d straight up stab them.”

Kingsley went to take a drink before remembering he’d already finished his and he scowled at his empty cup. Caduceus passed over another one without a word and Kingsley murmured a small thanks, taking a long drink to wet his suddenly dry throat.

“I was made out of light or something like that? But-” His throat closed up and he had to loudly clear it to keep going. “I started to disappear. Like I was just a bunch of dandelion fluff and-” he mimed an explosion with his fingers- “poof. Just blowing away. And it wasn't just my body, it was my memories too. I think Jester got me just in time.” It took a moment for him to realize he was shaking.

“C'mere,” Yasha said quietly, moving closer and holding out an arm, Kingsley almost falling into her side and curling close. She held him in her arm and rubbed his shoulder, his shaking slowly subsiding. There was a stunned silence for several moments.

“What the fuck,” Beau breathed out, finally breaking the silence. “That’s so fucked up.”

“And concerning,” Essek said, a curled finger hovering over his mouth. “I have never heard of anything similar, even in death accounts from consecuted individuals. Caduceus?”

“I also have no idea,” Caduceus said, frowning. “Either way, that doesn't sound like how it should go. Not to me at least.”

“Or me,” Veth said, eyes wide. “Dying’s bad enough, that’s- that’s just excessive!”

“This isn’t exactly making me feel better,” Kingsley grumbled. Sure, it was commiserating, but mostly it was just reminding him of how alone he was with what happened.

Yasha squeezed his shoulder. “Well, what would make you feel better?”

“Answers,” Kingsley said without hesitation. “Just... what the hell that was. Or why it happened. Just something.” He curled further into Yasha’s side, his head and tail now the only things peeking out from under the blanket.

“I can research, but it will have to be after the voyage,” Caleb said. “I do not have a personal archive unfortunately.”

“Yet,” Essek added on, giving Caleb a quick smile. “My ability to help is limited but I could still assist with some of this research.”

“And I’ve got the Cobalt Soul stuff of course,” Beau said. “So, definitely a more long term thing but we’ll find out what we can.”

“Thanks guys,” Kingsley said quietly. He wasn’t a fan of the wait but just the chance of answers and the fact they were willing to do it still meant a lot.

All through this Fjord had had a hand on his chin, contemplative, and he looked over at both Jester and Caduceus. “Maybe you two could ask for some godly input? It’s worked before and it shouldn’t hurt at least.”

Caduceus nodded “I say it’d be worth trying out.”

Jester nodded as well. “Yeah! It’d be nice if we could get some answers right away. You want us to give it a shot Kingsley?”

“Please,” he said, latching onto the mention of ‘right away’ and pushing away the small shiver at directly asking the gods for help. That sort of thing was the entire reason he was even alive at all, but even when it was positive the idea of it still freaked him out a little. That didn’t mean he was going to pass up the help however, and he looked at the two of them expectantly.

Jester looked over at Caduceus. “You want me or you to go first?”

Caduceus gestured towards her. “You go ahead.”

“Okay!” Jester said, and Kingsley watched as she brought Sprinkle down from her shoulder and held him in front of her. “Okay Artie, if you’re there, we could really use some answers about what happened to Kingsley, it’d be suuuuper helpful.”

The moment Jester finished speaking Kingsley found himself hit with a sudden wave of tiredness, and as he slipped into sleep at Yasha’s side he saw one last glimpse of Sprinkle’s eyes flashing a brilliant green.

***

The first thing he heard was the quiet shuffling of cards.

He found himself sitting in a room. A tent? The lighting was soft, coming from a few candles scattered around the space and a lantern in the shape of a crescent moon hanging from the ceiling. Colorful cloth was draped from the walls (or was the walls, if the guess about the tent was correct), and while the colors were muted by the low light he saw it was mostly blues and purples, with a splash of red or silver here and there. The sound of shuffling cards came from the back, where a woman sat behind a low table and fanned out a set of cards in front of her, gave a satisfied nod, and shuffled the cards back into the deck, Kingsley catching a brief glimpse of one that said “The Dream” before it disappeared from view.

The woman was wearing a red coat.

She looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. “It has been awhile, has it not?”

Kingsley was unable to speak, heart in his throat but he nodded anyway. He recognized her, would recognize her anywhere, but he had never expected to actually see her again. That dream he’d had in his first day had been precious but fleeting, starting to fade even at the time and he’d resigned himself to never fully knowing what it’d been about. The two parts that had managed to stick with him were the sad angel and the woman in the red coat, and while the angel had been revealed to be Yasha no one had known anything about the woman, and over time he began to wonder if she had been based on an actual person at all. And now here she was.

She placed the deck of cards down on the table and gestured for him to come forward, Kingsley moving up to sit cross legged on a red plush cushion, setting down gingerly and his tail curling up next to him. The fact that he had fallen asleep just before this told him that this should be a dream, but at the same time it felt as if it were something more. Something important. Clasping her hands together on the table she held his gaze, expression serious.

“Normally, I would deliver this kind of message through a reading, to avoid saying too much and to allow ambiguity in the meaning. But what I must say is important enough to be blunt. Your soul is fragile, Kingsley Tealeaf.”

Kingsley swallowed hard. He didn’t know who she was, not really, but absolute truth still rang in her words. “W-what does that mean?”

“In practical terms, returning from death is far more dangerous for you than some of your friends.” She opened up her hands and in between them was a ball of softy glowing light. “If your soul is returned to life quickly enough, as it was this last time, there may not be too many complications. But if you are dead for too long...” At her words the ball of light shuddered and then it scattered just like Kingsley remembered and he flinched back, breathing heavily, having to catch himself on one of his hands as dozens of motes of light rose up around them and then dissipated. She brought her hands back together, looking at him sadly. “I am sorry you had to experience a portion of that. It is not something I would wish on anyone.”

He slowly brought his breathing back under control and righted himself on the cushion, emotions stuck between a giddy rush at the fact that Jester’s intervention seemed to have actually worked and terror at the reminder of what had happened to him. Not to mention that something was wrong with his actual soul itself, so, plenty more potential terror and possible nightmares for him there. But for right now, at least...

“Is there anything I can do to... ‘fix’ my soul? And do you know why it’s like that?”

“For your first question, it will mostly just take time.” She cupped her hands in front of her, smaller motes of light reappearing and coalescing until once again she held a ball of light, and she lifted it up to float above their heads, the space around them now brighter. “The longer it has, the better it will be. It is both as simple and as complicated as that, unfortunately.”

“As for the why...” She spread an arc of cards out on the table with one hand and smoothly flipped them over with a pass from the other, but instead of individual cards it was a picture that continued from one card to the next.

“The journey your soul has gone through is far from normal. In fact, some would say it is astonishing that it exists at all.” She trailed her finger along the edge of the card created artwork, narrating as she did so.

“Your soul began with the sundering of a different soul, life springing from death when none should have been there.” A body pulling itself halfway out of a grave, hands scrabbling on the ground, red eyes shining in the face but also on the body. “This soul fragment may have started as just one piece of a larger whole, but something important happened. It changed. And it grew.” Hands helping the purple tiefling to stand, him walking forward and gaining additional color and vitality with each step. Tattoos, jewelry, vibrant clothes, the gaudiest coat imaginable. A bright and happy smile. “The love and experiences your soul had, both good and bad, allowed it to become a full soul in its own right, separate from where it came from.” Helping out at a circus, performing. Blood flashing along blades and becoming ice in an early taste of combat. Sitting side by side, content, with a certain aasimar. Riding along in a cart with the aasimar and five other individuals, sun low on the horizon. “And then... an end.” Blood stains on snow by a road. A coat placed on a staff, fluttering in the wind. “But not the end.”

A new arc of cards was laid down and revealed below the first, with a new artwork. “The soul that yours originally came from was brought back, and it had forcibly reclaimed your soul.” Four figures standing next to an empty grave, the body of the purple tiefling rising into the air and surrounded by magic. “At first, it seemed that your soul had been subsumed.” The group of five, purple tiefling in the lead, bundled up and trudging through a harsh winter landscape. Bodies left in their wake. “But your soul had become its own, and because of that it could no longer slot neatly into place.” Two tieflings sitting across from each other, one purple, one blue, three tarot cards suspended between them. The purple tiefling standing in front of a circular gate before eight other individuals, many of them from the prior artwork. “Your soul fought back, and it eventually helped to free itself from its prison.” Screaming at those eight from a changed body, nine eye stalks coming from the back. An even more monstrous form, torn in half by its own hands.

One final set of cards was placed. Revealed.

“Your friends then attempted to return your soul. But it failed.” A body lying on the ground, partially covered by the gaudy coat and bisected by a new scar. Eyes closed. “It took a prayer to the Wildmother and her intervention for it to be successful.” The same body, standing, eyes open, the ground now covered in greenery and flowers. “However, your soul did not come out unscathed. Not broken, or missing parts, but... injured.” The body now shown as an outline, filled with glowing light. Light that was rough around the edges, shot through with spiderweb cracks. “The time it was forcibly shoved in with originating soul, and having to separate itself out from it again, was traumatic.” A large pair of hands, each hand holding a source of light, one angry and boiling, the other small and dimmed, but warm. “Still the same soul, but changed by the experience. Needing time to relearn. And to heal.” The purple tiefling sitting in a lush graveyard garden, surrounded by both flowers and friends. Sailing on a ship, hanging from the rigging and hair tossed in the wind.

She pulled back, resting her hands on the table. “Your soul is whole, and your own, but less... stable under stress, as it were. There is no way to know for sure, since it has not happened, but I suspect that if you were brought back after a longer period of death you would be in a similar state as to when you woke in the city, due to the healing your soul would need again. I do know however that your friends would do everything they could to return you from death.”

“They would,” Kingsley said, without even thinking about it. His attention was still stuck on the cards. The artwork, as stylized as it was, captured a certain life to it. It felt... real. Alive. But at the same time, something felt off. Something missing.

“Kingsley.”

He startled, as if released from a spell, and he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw her giving him a concerned look. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I, ah. Thank you?”

Her concern didn’t fade.

“Something about this troubles you.” Not a question. A statement of fact.

“Are there other art cards in that deck?” The words spilled out of him. “I mean, they’re gorgeous, and they worked really well, but, are you sure there’s not more?”

She tilted her head, gaze growing sharp.

“There are if you want there to be.”

Something about the way she said that made him pause. He looked down at the cards again. Three rows.

Three names, he realized.

The last one, Kingsley. Him. His body, his soul, himself. The second, Lucien. Most definitely not him, and she had confirmed that as well with differentiating the souls, even with the strange situation of the shared body and his nightmares. And the first... Mollymauk. A different name, a different life, but according to her, the same body. The same soul. His hand gripped his knee, nails digging in.

His soul was his, and Kingsley would fight anyone who implied otherwise or tried to take that away. He knew from experience, however, that he might not have a choice. His eyes lingered on the second set of cards. Flicked to the first for just a moment.

“... maybe not.”

She inclined her head, and nodded. Her hands hovered over the cards and he made a go ahead gesture, and she scooped them up, one, two, three rows, shuffling them back into the deck.

“I admit, I am not accustomed to speaking of things so plainly,” she said lightly as she shuffled the deck. “Partially due to preference, and partially due to limitations I am often bound to. But a prior... interloper decided to facilitate as a way to make amends.” Kingsley saw a flash of another card, this time with a silver dragon, but it was gone too quickly for him to read the title. “It is difficult to judge the character of one such as him, but he was actually the one to ask for help first.” A small laugh. “Luckily for him, this was something I had wished to do anyway. He simply made it easier.”

Kingsley was almost positive the interloper she spoke of was Artagan, but that just raised even more questions. He’d known coming into this that she was mysterious, and that she had to get her answers from somewhere, but the fact that Artagan had been the one to ask her for help?

Another shiver ran through him, even stronger than the one he had pushed away on the ship. Caduceus and Jester would go to their gods when they needed help. So that meant that if one their gods (or sort-of-god, when it came to Artagan) asked someone else for help, that person was...

“I understand if you can’t answer, but. Who are you?”

The shuffling of the cards stopped.

“Do you want to know that answer?”

She was giving him an out. It was probably even a good idea for him to take it.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t going to take it.

She smiled again and set the now shuffled deck down on the table, drawing the top card and handing it to him. Moon and mirror, with the moon facing him, though with one key difference from the card in Jester’s deck - the crescent moon was strung like a bow.

Kingsley stared at the card, heart hammering in his chest.

“...I’m really sorry, but I have no idea what that means.”

She blinked, taken aback, before noticing his slightly manic grin and she burst out laughing.

“I think you almost believed that yourself for a moment,” the Moonweaver said and she graciously accepted the card when Kingsley handed it back to her, him immediately going and sitting on his hands afterwards to hide their shaking. “Unless you’d still prefer for me to say it out loud?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Kingsley said quickly. He was totally good right now, not panicking at all, nope. He got a raised eyebrow at that response, but her smile was still there as well and she didn’t press him.

Kingsley’s leg bounced as she placed the card back into the deck, having to actively work to keep his breathing steady. On some level, he knew that his perspective on the gods and faith was a bit skewed. Fjord sailed the seas with the Wildmother’s blessing. Caduceus had performed literal miracles with the Wildmother’s help (and, once again, one of those was the entire reason he was even alive at all). Yasha was a full fledged champion of the Stormlord. And proper god or not, Jester was still outright friends with Artagan.

In comparison, his own tentative explorations towards faith and the gods had felt like they didn’t really count. He’d learned about the Moonweaver, and her commandments had resonated with him, so he’d decided to follow them. He didn’t actively worship, or ask for blessings, or go out of his way to do things on her behalf. Instead Kingsley mostly just lived his life, sending a small prayer when it felt right and taking some comfort in the light of the moons. That was it. The big stuff, that was what his friends did. They were the ones who...

He looked around at the rest of the tent again, trying to distract himself. With his new knowledge he saw nods to the Moonweaver throughout, most of the decor having been subtle enough on its own to escape attention the first time around, though, okay, maybe the lantern hanging from the ceiling was a bit on the nose. It was an understated but beautiful space, and just one more reminder that he was talking to a literal actual god right now.

Maybe that hadn’t been the best way to try and distract himself.

Her casual comment of ‘something I had wished to do anyway’ spun over and over again in his head, him trying to figure out what the hell that even meant and dread growing at what it could mean. It didn’t make sense. Why-

“Why me?”

He’d just said that out loud. Fuck.

Kingsley looked back to her and nearly jumped when he realized that she’d been staring at him the entire time, swearing several more times in his head and wondering if he’d just pissed her off. But instead of anger her expression was soft.

“Why not you?”

Whatever he’d expected to hear, it hadn’t been that.

His brain stalled. There were so many things he wanted to say in response. So many things he knew he should NOT say in response. But she hadn’t said anything else yet, simply watching him and her hands resting on the table. He slumped, bringing his hands back to his lap.

“Because I’m not actually who you think I am?”

That got him another raised eyebrow, but this time there was no accompanying smile, and he quickly continued. “I know I’ve met you before, in that dream, but that wasn’t- I wasn’t even me yet. I didn’t know who I was s-so it makes sense that you were there for someone else.” Fuck, he knew this was a bad idea, second guessing the decision of, once again, A LITERAL ACTUAL GOD, but the sour sick fear that had been growing in the background was finally too much for him to ignore.

“Mollymauk, right? You said yourself that he’s where my soul came from and what if I'm just-” His voice cracked, and he hastily scrubbed a tear away from the corner of his eye. “I know he was a follower of yours, and he did a better job than any of the half measures I’ve ever sent your way, so. That’s why not me.” Kingsley couldn’t hold her gaze anymore and he looked down, eyes boring into his lap. “And maybe you were there for me, originally, whoever I was. But I still fucked that up anyway.”

A couple frustrated tears dropped down and landed on the back of his hands, Kingsley feeling like he was about to scream. His soul was HIS. He was Kingsley. He was himself. He knew who he was. He was. He was supposed to know who he was. He...

(Breaking apart. Disintegrating. Motes of light drifting away).

A hand cupped his check and his breath hitched, and then his breathing almost stopped entirely when a gentle kiss was pressed to his forehead.

“Time for that later,” she murmured, and then she was pulling back, tilting his chin up with her hand. She was kneeling in front of him, just a couple feet away and table now gone.

“Yes. Mollymauk is where your soul is from. And yes, my first visit in that dream was to see you, in part because of the sacrifices you had made in Cognouza, and in part because of a life lived in full and prior faith. But there is something important you must understand.” She held his gaze, not looking away. “You are not inferior to Mollymauk. You are not a mistake. And you do not have to fear losing yourself and becoming him, because he has already become you.”

Her hand cupped his check again, and she smiled softly.

“You are Kingsley Tealeaf. And I am so proud of all that you are.”

Mollymauk was... him?

Kingsley swayed in place. He didn’t know whether to cry, or to laugh, or what even to do at all. Instead he just sat there, feeling lightheaded at what had just happened. He wasn’t dead for disrespect. She had actually listened to him. Reassured him. Her. A god.

“I think I need to lie down,” he said weakly.

She gave a small laugh, withdrawing her hand and Kingsley slow motion flopped onto his side, before rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling. There were stars embroidered in the fabric up there. He hadn’t seen that before.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her sitting down next to him, leaning on one of her hands. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” he said. He could almost pick out some constellations in the embroidered stars.

“Good.” She played with one last tarot card in her free hand, just barely visible to him. A sun rising over a grave. Dawn.

Slowly, almost so slow that he missed it at first, the lights in the tent started dim. Eventually the only light left was a faint glow from the crescent moon lantern, and, to his quiet awe, the embroidered stars themselves, silver threads glimmering with magic.

“There are only a few more things left for me to say.”

He tilted his head to look in her direction. Even in the low light he could still see her clearly, and he realized she was actually the final source of light in the space, her white hair and blue skin giving off a faint luminescence.

“If a day comes where things are not fast enough, where others are not able to reach you in time and you cannot remember with your mind, remember with your heart like you did once before. Even when starting over, a home and a family will still be waiting for you.”

She glowed a little brighter, surroundings starting to fade.

“Hopefully, by the time you pass on your soul will be healed enough that you no longer have to worry. But if that is not the case...”

She leaned down, held his face in both of her hands, and placed one last kiss on his forehead.

“I will be there. Shine bright, my little monarch.”

He closed his eyes, for a single blink-

-And opened them to the deck of The Nein Heroez.

“-I told you, I’m not the one who knows. I just sent him along to someone who does, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t smite you,” Kingsley croaked and Artagan whirled around, pointing at him.

“See! I told you, he’s fine.”

Jester gasped. “Kingsley!”

“Welcome back,” Yasha murmured, and she gave him a hug with the arm around his shoulder.

“Wait, smite? Who the fuck did you send him to?” Beau said, shooting Artagan a look.

“Well! It looks like my work here is done,” Artagan said, completely ignoring Beau and clapping his hands together. “Just let me know when you need something again Jester, tah!”

He vanished in a swirl of green cloak before Beau could get another word in, and she groaned.

“Ugh. He didn't even do anything himself.”

“Yes he did!” Jester said, and she looked at Kingsley. “... it did work, right?”

“... yeah,” he said, a little dazed, and he reached up to touch his forehead. He was going to need time to process that. A lot of time.

“See! He did do something!”

Fjord gave him a thoughtful look. “Who did he send you to? You seem a little overwhelmed.”

“T-the Moonweaver.”

That got everyone’s attention on him at once. A couple of them blanched.

“... you were not kidding with the smite comment,” Caleb said, eyes a little wide.

Essek looked around at the group and everyone’s expressions. “Being sent to a god is notable, but I feel I am missing some additional context here.”

“We um. Miiight have had a plan where Artie pretended to be the Moonweaver?” Jester said.

“It went badly,” Fjord said bluntly.

“As in dragged off into the sky in chains badly,” Veth added on.

Essek blinked, then shook his head. “I should not even be surprised anymore.”

“I was pretty surprised the first time I heard about it,” Kingsley said, shrugging. “And I only heard about it cause of all the times the ship docked at Rumblecusp. I think you're good.”

Essek gave him a wry grin. “Well. I am glad I am not the only one to hear about things after the fact.”

“You get used to it,” Caduceus said, smiling. “And we’re all here now, so, you don’t have to worry about it this time.”

“True enough,” Kingsley said and he stretched, sitting up straight but still at Yasha’s side.

“What did you learn?” Yasha asked.

“Well... the main thing is she said my soul is. Fragile? And that if I’m dead too long I might forget things again. But she also said it’ll heal after enough time so it’s not all bad?” Her last words to him, about what she would do if it hadn’t healed yet, echoed in the back of his mind.

“It’s still not great though,” Beau said, sitting with her arm resting on a raised knee. “She tell you any way to fix it sooner?”

He shook his head. “She just said it’d take time.” After a second he glanced over to Essek and Caleb. “And I don’t think she meant your kind of stuff. Sorry nerds.”

“Magic cannot fix everything,” Caleb said. “As much as we might want it to.” He was lost in thought for a moment before Essek squeezed his hand, Caleb returning the gesture.

Kingsley took a moment to inhale the ocean air, grounding himself, before fully flopping back against Yasha like a cat and she chuckled, starting to comb her fingers through his hair.

“What else did you guys talk about? You were gone for a while,” Jester said.

Kingsley hesitated.

He didn’t really know why he was hesitating. Maybe he was afraid. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but that fear that had bubbled over while talking to the Moonweaver wasn’t totally gone. And maybe it was the fact that he still didn’t know what to make of things himself yet. But he also remembered the words she’d said towards the end, that even if he forgot, he would still have a family. And a home.

(An even more distant memory. Of him asking for home, and Jester saying yeah, we can go home).

He saw Caduceus watching him out of the corner of his eye, expression knowing, but the cleric didn’t push, and that was what made the decision for him. The Mighty Nein was his family. And they would be there for him no matter what.

“Well,” Kingsley said, pausing for dramatic effect. “To start, she was wearing this red coat...”

He launched into retelling, knowing that he had his family, his home, and that his heart would remember for as long as he would need.

#Critical Role #cr spoilers #Kingsley Tealeaf #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Mollymauk #The Mighty Nein #The Moonweaver #Critical Role fanfiction #my writing #things get better for him don't worry #he just gets mildly traumatized first #AO3 link in reblog

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wristpockets · 3 years

Note

Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

#essek thelyss #jester lavorre #shadowgast #i guess?

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justaweirddruid · 3 years

Text

Fjorester Week - DAY 5: WATER

This is my first time writing a fic, but I had this idea a while ago and when the fjorester week themes were annouced I thought it’d be great with the theme for today so I had to try writing it.

So here it goes

The Blooming Grove

“You can hold my hand now”, Jester says with a big smile, looking at Fjord. “I’m holding your hand! I’m checking you out”, he smiles back at her.

“I’m checking you out”.

They start walking back to Caduceus family’s house, holding hands, laughing and making small talk, until Jester stops suddenly and looks at him, wide eyed.

“I almost forgot! I wanna show you something!”

“What?”

“Here!”, Jester says and starts pulling him in another direction, further away from the house. “Caduceus showed me this earlier and I thought you would like it”.

Fjord follows with a confused look and thinks about asking for more questions, but who is he kidding? She can take him anywhere and he would follow her without thinking twice. Jester takes a small path, hidden between the trees, using one hand to move the foliage away from her face while the other is busy pulling Fjord behind her. The way her tails is wiggling from side to side shows her excitement and only makes the half orc even more curious to where she’s taking him.

After another minute or two, she stops and turns back to him.

“Look!”

She steps forward, still pulling Fjord by the hand, and he sees what she’s talking about. They’re in a clearing surrounded by the dense vegetation of the Grove, flowers of a multitude of colors, vines, green bushes and small trees. In the middle of the clearing, there is a small lake of clear water reflecting the moonlight, with a spring that flows down into smaller shallow pools below. It’s one of the most beautiful places he’s ever seen.

“Isn’t it great?”.

“It really is, Jester”.

“Caduceus showed me these hot springs earlier and said he’ll bring everyone here tomorrow, but I thought we could check it out before. You know, just the two of us”. Fjord notices how she looked away during that last part and he can swear he sees her blushing a little, just a slightly darker shade of blue in her cheeks.

“That was a wonderful idea”. Still holding hands, he walks with her towards the bigger pool, “It’s been a while since we’ve had a quiet time for ourselves. Not since… not since that night in Caleb’s tower”.

It’s his turn to look away now. He shouldn’t be this nervous when talking about the night they had their first kiss, he knows this. Jester has shown nothing but affection towards him since that night and every time Fjord remembers how happy and giddy she looked after the kiss, he can’t help but feel his heart growing in his chest. However, there’s still a tiny voice inside his head trying to convince him it will all be over soon, no matter how hard he tries to shut it down.

“You wanna sit by the water?” Fjord asks.

“Sure!” Jester notices how quickly he changed the subject but doesn’t say anything. They’re finally alone now, they can take their time.

She takes off her shoes and stockings, and sits with herlegs inside the pool. The water is so warm and it feels so good that it makes her relax almost instantly.

“Hurry up, Fjord! It’s sooo good” Jester sighs happily and wiggles her toes, watching them move underneath the clear water.

“I’m ready! I’m ready!”.

He wasn’t.

Still rolling up his pants, Fjord trips and almost falls down in the water, which prompts the loudest laugh from Jester.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it”, she says, still laughing and not looking sorry at all. Part of him hates how often he makes a fool of himself in front of the woman he adores, but an even bigger part would happily make it all over again just to see that smile. The smile he loves so much.

He smiles back at her and laughs too, he can’t help it, Jester has this effect on him. It’s impossible to be anything but happy when she’s around.

They’re both with their feet in the water now. The grove is quiet around them, only the sound of the spring flowing to the other pools and an owl hooting in the distance. “What were you talking about before? About that night in the tower?” Jester tries to be as nonchalant as possible, as if that night isn’t what she wanted to talk about in the first place and the reason she was looking for more alone time with Fjord.

“I- I just said… Umm” he almost chokes on his words and Jester laughs again. “I was just saying that we haven’t had any alone time, just the two of us, since that night. Since…” “Since you asked to kiss me?”

“…Yes” he’s blushing now, he can feel it.

Fjord takes all the courage he can gather and looks back at her. Jester’s still smiling, looking up at him. She takes his hand again and holds it in her lap.

The way she looks at him… it takes his breath away, it always does. Her eyes are sparkling and the moonlight reflecting on her blue skin almost makes her glow. Only now, he realizes she got a little closer, so close he can count all the freckles on her nose and cheeks. Gods, he wants to kiss her again.

“I- I’ve been thinking about that night, you know” Jester says.

“You… you have?”

“Yeah. A lot” she looks nervous now, drawing circles in his hand with her thumb. “I was a little surprised when you did that, I- I didn’t really know what to say”.

Fjord’s heart starts racing and he thinks for a moment that he made a terrible mistake and she doesn’t feel the same way. But then he notices how she’s still smiling at him and holding his hand even tighter.

“I care a lot about you too, Fjord” she continues. “More than I ever thought it was possible to care about anyone”.

“You do?”

His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it might jump out of his chest. Can she hear how loud is it beating? He think she might, he definitely can.

“I always did, Fjord. I didn’t understand what I was feeling before and there was some stuff I had to figure out by myself, but yeah. I’m sorry it took me so long so realize it”. “No no, don’t apologize! Please”, he’s fully facing her now, getting even closer. “We both had a lot to deal with and I also had to take time to understand what I was feeling. In case you haven’t noticed, I have no idea what I’m doing”.

Jester laughs again and gives him a little bump with her shoulder.

“No, Fjord, you know what you’re doing”.

“I truly don’t” he laughs too.

Fjord looks at the clearing and at the water. There’s still so much he wants to say, so much he wants her to know, and he can tell she wants to say more too. But that’s okay for now, they still have time.

Suddenly, an idea comes to his mind.

“What are you doing?” Jester asks.

“Wait, you’ll see”.

He raises his hand towards the water and she can hear him muttering the words for a spell. The tiefling looks at the pool again, trying to understand what he’s doing but nothing happens. Then she sees it.

It starts as a faint light coming from the bottom of the small lake, slowly spreading throughout the water. Jester lets out a small cry and covers her mouth when she realizes what it is, looking at Fjord with a surprised smile.

“A jellyfish bloom!”

“Yeah. Not a real one, though. It’s just an illusion” Fjord answers.

The entire pool is now filled with hundreds of colorful jellyfish. Every shade of blue, purple, green and pink, swimming in all directions.

Jester is beaming, her face reflecting all the colors of the jellyfish as she watches them. She puts her hand inside the water and one of the creatures passes through it, revealing the illusion for a moment.

“Jester… why are you looking at me like this?”

She has her trickster face on now, the one he also knows very well.

“You knowww, Fjord” she says. “The last time we saw a jellyfish bloom, you talked about how you can’t go in the water with them because they sting”.

“Yes...” he can see where this is going.

“Wellll, these are illusions, so…” Jester raises her eyebrows, the question she didn’t even need to ask up in the air.

“I don’t know what you mean, Jester” he pretends, faking a look of confusion. “Yes you do!”.

Jester starts poking at him, also pretending to be mad which is exactly what he wanted. Using her moment of distraction, he puts one hand underneath her legs and the other on her back and lifts her up. The half orc knows very well he’s not the strongest one of the two, but getting her off guard was enough to give him the edge.

“Fjoooord” Jester yells as he throws her in the water.

She reappears a few seconds later, the jellyfish swimming around her.

“I can’t believe you did that” she looks at him, narrowing her eyes. She’s trying to look mad but her smile is betraying her.

“I’m sorry, Jester, I couldn’t help it” he repeats what she’s said to him earlier. “Do you want some company?”

Fjord offers his hand to her and it takes her less than a second to pull him inside the pool with her, taking him by surprise at how fast she was.

The water feels even hotter, but still very pleasant. They both swim to the middle of the lake and watch the jellyfish surround them, touching them without having to fear their sting. “You wanna see how it looks under the water?” Fjord asks.

“Let’s do it”.

“Wait” he stops her before she goes. “Let me help us a little more”.

She hears him casting another spell and feels the familiar sensation, they can breathe underwater now.

Smiling, Jester gives him a wink and dives under the water. Fjord quickly following her. The jellyfish bloom looks even more beautiful than on the surface, their glow illuminating the entire pool.

Fjord was so taken back by the view that he lost track of the direction Jester went, not able to see her through all the jellyfish. He looks around for a few seconds, trying to decide where to go, when she suddenly reappears in front of him. He thought the illusion looked beautiful but Jester looks absolutely breathtaking surrounded by the colors and the glow of the bloom. She can probably see what he’s thinking in his face because she blushes a little and looks away, not being able to hide her smile.

He takes her hand and they swim together, admiring the effects of the spell and looking at the natural beauty of the lake. After a few minutes, Jester holds him back by the hand and stops swimming.

“Everything okay?” his voice comes out a little distorted from the water. ”Yes. I- I was just thinking about something”.

“What?”

Jester doesn’t answer.

Instead, she swims until they’re facing each other. She puts her hands on his shoulder and stares into his eyes for a few seconds. Getting even closer, inch by inch, slowly, so he has enough time to stop her if he wants to.

If only she knew how much he’s been waiting for this moment, how much he wanted to be this close to her again…

He puts his hands on her waist, pulling her closer. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. She brushes her lips to his, gently. Fjord can hear his ears ringing now and his heart is beating faster than ever. He puts one hand behind her head and presses his lips into hers a little harder, and it’s like something clicked inside of her. Jester puts both hands around him and fully kisses him, parting her lips.

They kiss while the jellyfish swim around them. They can feel a very faint warm sensation whenever one of the illusions passes through them, but both have so many different thoughts racing through their minds right now that they barely notice.

After a while, they separate their lips, still holding each other close. Fjord closes his eyes and rests his head on hers. It’s still so surreal to think he gets to do that, he gets to kiss her and be with her and tell her how much she means to him. It’s almost overwhelming. Jester gives him another quick kiss, takes him by the hand one more time and starts swimming back to the surface. They get out of the water and sit by the edge again, a little closer now. “Good thing it’s not cold here” he says, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah” Jester rests her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand. “You know, kissing underwater is pretty fun too”.

“It is” Fjord laughs. “Although I think being able to breath under the water makes it way easier”. “Good thing you always have this spell prepared, then” she says and gives him a wink. “Anytime you want, Jester”.

They still have a couple more minutes of the illusion, so they snuggle quietly, looking at the jellyfish.

“This place is amazing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s beautiful” Jester answers back, smiling. She’s not looking at the lake, though, she’s watching Fjord as he runs his fingers through the water, seeing how calm and happy he looks now.

He doesn’t notice.

#fjorester #fjoresterweek #critical role #this is the cheesiest thing in the universe #so you're welcome I guess?#fjord #jester lavorre #mine: fic

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larsisfrommars · 3 years

Text

I need to talk about Fjord for a second because I have so, so many feelings about him.

I don’t think I have ever related to a fictional character more.

In my life.

The ambition, the awkwardness, the wanting to be someone else, the poisonous sources from which I drew my self worth. Weirdly enough, the unabiding love for the ocean despite the many times it could have killed me that also so happens to be a place of power for the people who generated poisonous thoughts in me.

I think, most of all, even though Fjord is not canonically trans, his story deeply relates to my trans, and by extension, life experience. Abandon ship now if you’d like, imma get Personal.

I was bullied, a lot, as a kid, for being “weird” and not looking traditionally feminine (cuz hey, turns out, I’m not) so I tried to lean into the whole “tough scary kid” thing, trying to look and be stronger than other kids, it worked, kinda, but not really. I had asthma, I wasn’t very physically strong, and as scary as I would’ve liked to have been, I mostly tried to impress people singing and drawing and showing other kids which plants you could eat without poisoning yourself (chives, honeysuckle). More importantly, I was great at making things up. Pretending to have beat other kids in physical fights, having super powers, being able to talk to demons and other weird coping stuff. I didn’t think I was special, and god I wanted to be special. If Fjord wanting to be special, trying to act tough, filing his tusks down, being betrayed by former friends, didn’t hurt like a bitch as bits and pieces of his childhood unfolded I don’t know what does.

Once I got old enough I started figuring out, to an extent, why other kids didn’t like me, so I started putting on my “girl suit” I was the “mom friend”, the actress, the goodie two shoes, the musical loud mouth. Complete with a fresh new set of unIt was my persona for pretty much all of high school, and honestly? She was also a dick. I thought I had to be mean and controlling and a braggart to be accepted. Honestly, I turned into a version of the person my real poisons sprung from. She didn’t lie as much, not in the literal sense anyway. I was vicerally reminded of her in the Uka’toa arc, I thought it was Avantika that was providing this dark mirror, I was wrong… it was Fjord during the Uka’toa arc.

Then all of the sudden, I graduated and started college and none of the shit that I had built on top of myself from grade school mattered anymore. For the first time, I didn’t feel judged, I was powerless, reputationless and new and it felt so good. I never even got to build one because of the pandemic. So I scraped together Mighty Nein of my own out of the friends that managed to puncture the layers over of the years. I am in awe of the ways my friends and sibling move through the world with their own graces and talents that I find totally alien, while also seeing they’re as clueless as me. I see Beau in my little sibling, Caleb, Yasha, Molly, and Jester in my friends. I found the source of the poison, and have found a guide in a parental figure who is eerily similar to Caduceus. I have discovered I am Not A Girl, through being stripped of my childhood reputation. I have cast out my Sword of Fathoms, and I’m finding a new place, literally, closer to the ocean, closer to home.

I feel I am mid transformation, I’m in the seaweed cocoon, I’m on the crest of receiving my own metaphorical Star Razor. I’ve always wanted to be a Paladin in a real world sense, I’ve always had an affinity for them, paragons, textbook “vanilla” heroes (Link, Captain America, you name it) which is something I feel Fjord emerges from his own darkness to become. I want to believe in something and be someone people believe in and are inspired by, I wanna help people by Being. I want that quiet strength Fjord has made for himself, that vulnerability he is now comfortable expressing, I don’t want to be a burden. I want to be who shows up when someone prays for a miracle, and not at the price of poisoning myself like felt I had to to make change.

All that being said, Fjord, by the end of his character arc, is very much the kind of man I want and aspire to be. From a CR cast member I barely even took notice of and gravely misjudged from campaign one. I will miss this character and this campaign dearly and continue to soak up as much wisdom from his journey as I can.

In summary

Travis Willingham, Fjord Stone,

Thank you.

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Really live your fic on Cabel. Think you can do a M9 one shot with Artificer reader? With a flashback of their war and lost their group.

I hope it’s to your liking. I’ve been caught up in work so sorry for the wait 😅.

You were sitting with the rest of the Nein in a tavern. Tensions had somewhat lowered for now but you’d be off on your next adventure soon. For now you would relax even if for a short while. The band was playing a lively tune and you could feel your foot tapping on the ground along with the beat while sipping your drink making happy conversation with Caduceus. A hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you to your feet turning you around. Slightly caught off guard you stumbled but the laugh from Caduceus confirmed it was safe.

“Come oooon y/n!” Jester exclaimed while pulling you to a makeshift dance floor.

“Okay. Okay.” You laughed taking your place as Jester did hers, waiting for the right beat to hit and starting your dance. Jumping, bouncing twirling and twisting arm in arm along to the beat. Eventually Beau joined in too and she somehow managed to drag Fjord and Caleb with too. How she managed you didn’t know but possibly under the threat of exposing all their secrets. Before you knew it all of the Nein had joined the dance laughing along. How far you’d all come.

——————————————————————————

You’d been captured at the Garrison. The back and forth between sides taking control of the Ashguard Garrison had been maddening. You and your unit had been sent in to defend the garrison once it fell into your hands and now the enemy had gotten it back from you. You had been taken prisoner along with the rest of your group. You were escorted through the mountain passes back to the other side to be interrogated but you and your friends weren’t much looking forward to the ‘gracious’ offer of food and shelter and especially not the prospect of spending your final moments in chains at the mercy of those who would see you dead after you’d outlived your usefulness.

They made a mistake not searching thoroughly and letting you keep your armour. Blessed be the gods for your ability to integrate your tools into your armour. You devised a plan with your friends. Every time you rested they would try and steal some materials. Not enough to notice but just what you needed. The time of your escape came around. While most were asleep one of your friends picked the lock on your cuffs freeing your hands. Another distracted the soldiers in charge of keeping an eye on you, shouting profanities, cursing them and complaining about anything and everything to be as much of a nuisance as possible. It worked.

First up you freed your tools and began the construction of an Eldritch Cannon, small enough to hide it behind your shapes and not draw the attention of your captors. You were successful.

Your friend acting as the distraction got a pretty good beating after refusing to shut up that would certainly result in bruises and might actually be a broken nose but it’s worth getting out. You gave a nod to your friend who’d been picking the locks on the others’ manacles one by one.

Okay you had one chance. They started getting fed up with your talkative friend began losing their interest but he kept trying. It was time for him to get out too so you threw a pebble as far as you could in the opposite direction. The sound gained their attention but the light you made it admit scared them even more. They shouted waking the others, save for a few all going in the direction of the light. Taking this as your cue you set off the cannon blasting the soldiers close to you away. Second another of your group tossed a fireball right at the cluttered mess igniting their supplies and blasting away those within range.

You got up and began running. All of your able-bodied enemies now awake began giving chase but you had the advantage here. You kept running, jumping over rocks, sliding down ledges dodging arrows. You saw one of your friends had managed to sneak your firearm and some ammunition from their stash before it was set on fire. They toss it over and you begin loading a shot while running.

——————————————————————————

You’re hidden behind a fallen decaying tree as Beauregard begins walking over the hunched figure in the swamp. You don’t trust the situation for a second but she insisted in taking the ‘right approach’ as whatever this creature was it might be friendly. You take aim waiting for whatever happens next, ready to take the shot if you need to.

Of course it went south pretty quickly and you took the shot as you expected. The fight began. You really had gotten so used to this that your nerves had gone away entirely and instead were replaced with a calmness every time you took aim. It wasn’t always like that.

——————————————————————————

The enemy was still giving chase and you’d eventually have to stop. Some of your fellow soldiers had fallen and you were forced to leave them behind praying that whatever deity they worshiped would shelter them. You couldn’t afford to slow down but you had to rest at one point. A few of your group had already begun to lose pace. You had noticed a ledge a ways ahead. You were a quick climber and an especially good shot from the distance. Someone had to hold them off because there was no way you could out run them especially not if they had called for reinforcements. Someone had to create a window for them to get away.

“You have to keep going.” You spoke out of breath. “I can hold them off for a while.”

“We’re not leaving you behind.” Your friend spoke.

“We’ve already left behind enough. Someone’s gotta make it out alive. I’ll come find you when I’m done. See you on the other side, old friend.” You clasp your friend’s hand before you let go and begin running to the ledge and jump to the other side beginning to climb up before they can stop you. They try to call after you but don’t want to risk anyone hearing them or exposing you.

You climb up the mountain to the spot you had seen and lay down using the natural rock to stabilise the barrel. You calm your breath but the nerves make you shake a little. And a little is a lot on a long range. You breathe and count. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5…. Breathe. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Breathe. The tremor subsides in the next minute and the first target enters your range. You take aim. And fire. First one down. Reload. Take aim. Fire. Reload. Take aim. Fire. Reload.

——————————————————————————

“Are we there yet?” Jester asked Fjord as you were trudging through the snow, the Kiln far behind you.

“No not yet.”

“Are we there yet?” This time it was Beau asking.

“No.”

“Are we there now?” Beau and Jester asked in unison. You could practically hear the half-orc grind his teeth trying to keep his cool. You knew he loved every single one of the Nein to hell and back but even you had to admit they could be quite something to deal with.

“Maybe it’s best to stop asking so we can focus on directions instead of getting lost? Besides if you’re not constantly reminded of the time it may look like we’ll be there faster and the faster we can get some pastries.” This seemed to quiet Jester down but Beau was about to counter that statement so you instead indulged her in a conversation about her latest workout routine. Fjord shot you a thankful glance.

You continued on your path for many more hours until the sun set. Caleb put the dome up keeping you all warm. You sat around a fire provided by both you and Caleb just engaging in happy conversations.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Y/n can you tell the story of how you found us again! I love it when you tell stories!” Jester exclaimed practically begging you.

“Yeah y/n, tell me more about how you use that weapon of yours so I can shoot Beau in the ass with this!” Nott cackled holding up the pistol she had been holding on for a while now.

“Okay, okay. If you want to hear the story I’ll tell you but Nott, you have to promise you won’t shoot anyone on purpose. These are no toys and they’re only to be used responsibly in self defence.”

“I will make no such promises!” Nott screeched but puts the pistol away.

“I-uh think you should. If not for your sake, for mine besides I’d like to hear the tale too.” Caleb argued which seemed to convince the goblin although begrudgingly so.

“Okay. I promise I won’t shoot anyone I don’t intend to and will use it only in defence.” You were pretty sure you could see Nott cross her fingers behind her back but it was the best you were gonna get and you weren’t gonna derive the others of a story just for that.

“Once upon a time…” You began as you tinker up a quick little trick drawing up pictures using one of your abilities to display some of the scenes like a children’s storybook. Beau lied down stretching her legs across your lap and Jester sat right next to you pointing out little details as you brought the pictures into existence. Nott studied every single one that portrays any kind of firearm while Caleb covered her eyes jokingly every once in a while preventing her from inspecting it closer. Fjord sat back hanging onto your every word as Caduceus poured everyone some tea.

——————————————————————————

You were running out of ammunition but you managed to sent quite a few of them tumbling into the crevices between the rocks and off the steep ledges. You weren’t equipped well enough to take them all out but you certainly got their attention as seemingly they lost the tracks of your group and were only chasing you but you had no intention of getting caught. Covered in scrapes and cuts and arrow wounds you treated on the fly. You were no healer but you managed to patch them up enough to be able to keep moving until you could get proper treatment.

They were gaining on you to the point where you could see them and they could see you. You’d be in open range if you were to stop now and take down as many as you could so your only hope was running. A piercing pain reached the side of your lower back. You suck up the pain and keep going taking a quick glance around for any way to gain an advantage on the terrain. A tunnel not that much further, or climbing up a mountain side again… You’d take your chances with the tunnel. The tunnel drew closer so you turn around and stop for a second casting Wind Wall between you and the soldiers chasing you. That should hold them off for a little bit or at least long enough for you to disappear.

You enter the tunnel… shit…. dead end… You should have gone for the mountain! You slam against the stone wall up ahead and when you do the ground beneath your feet sinks away sending you tumbling and sliding down bouncing between rocks until you reach the ground. You just lay there for a bit. Oh how the fates loved messing with you. You looked up into the shoot you fell down into the darkness up above. At least you got rid of them and no way they were gonna find you now.

You laughed feeling heavy and tired. Closing your eyes you felt the exhaustion go the past days come over you and you embrace the darkness of sleep and your surroundings.

——————————————————————————

“I thought I was dead for sure but then when I woke up I looked into the bright yellow eyes of this goblin woman standing over me aiming a crossbow at my face scaring the living daylights at me. My wounds were cared for and the bad ones were covered by this lovely pink green moss. Then of course in the first moments of consciousness I was questioned by a daring woman in blue inquiring with such expertise any word may give away just exactly what information she needed. I had to prove myself friendly and told them what happened and told them what I wanted to do because you see, I only wanted to end a war, bring peace and protect my people. I wanted to leave this world better than I found it and turned out so did these people.

They told me they were on their way to save someone but couldn’t share who. So in return for helping me I would help them in any way I could. We braved the wilds of Xhoras together…” You continued the epic tale and slowly one by one they started to fall asleep exhausted from the day.

“The story doesn’t end there. There’s still much more to be told as the final chapter is yet to come but that’s for another time.” You catch a smile from Caleb as he lays down and closes his eyes.

“Tell it again please.” An already half asleep Jester mumbles leaning on your shoulder.

“Tomorrow. Time to sleep now.” You carefully lower her to her sleeping bag and make sure she’s tucked in properly as to not grow cold in the night.

“Thanks for the story.” Fjord said, still awake for the first watch. You join him sitting next to him looking over the snowy wilds with a smile.

“You’re the ones bringing the story. I’m just the one telling them. There’ll be plenty more in the future I’m sure.” You glanced over the rest of the sleeping Nein with a smile. To many more stories to come.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #fjord x reader #caduceus x reader #caleb widogast x reader #jester x reader #beauregard x reader

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kienava · 4 years

Text

~~i stayed up til 4 am and wrote beauyasha and i regret nothing~~

When the Nein return to the tower, Beau finally has a chance to read Yasha's poem.

Awkward conversation ensues in a room full of flowers.

_______

how do i wake my spirit cold? [AO3 link]

It had taken Beau a solid three reads to convince herself that this poem was actually real, not just something that her cold-snapped brain had imagined for a fleeting sense of warmth. She’d gone from staring at the words blankly to reading slowly, scrutinizing the angles of each letter, and on her seventh read she’d discovered that it was impossible to tear her eyes off the piece of parchment in her hands. This was now the eighteenth time in a row she’d scanned over these four lines, though she’d long since memorized their contents. At this point, she was less reading a poem and more gazing at a painting. Its beautiful simplicity hit all at once, like a thin blade between the ribs.

Many months ago, Beau might have guessed that Yasha’s handwriting would resemble her intimidating appearance, or maybe even her fighting style: sharp and strong, rough strokes and firm lines. Now, the slight, slanted script on the page came as no surprise, not when Beau had all but reached out and touched the soft edges hidden under layers of rage and anguish - and shawls. Yasha was big on shawls.

Eventually, Beau knew, she would have to put this piece of paper down and stop reading, but her hands and eyes had yet to consider that idea for themselves.

Her breath stayed steady despite her sparking nerves, years of practice kicking in to steady her. After she folded that piece of parchment up, what could she possibly do? Sleep? Not a gods-damned chance. The tower was safe and still, much unlike the thumping in her chest. As skilled as she’d become at controlling her lungs and diaphragm, the ability to keep her heart calm eluded her.

She knew it was a symptom of something that she’d avoided addressing for as long as possible, a creature that would longer allow itself to be pushed off and locked up. Beau had done her best to drown it alive when she’d learned why Yasha pressed her own heart between the pages of a book to desiccate along with torn petals and broken thorns. Loving dead flowers left little room to tend a new garden.

For all Beau’s attempts to do otherwise, she kept coming back to this, perennially doomed to weather the most apocalyptic storms.

In an effort to inspire some new consideration besides poetry, Beau let the paper flutter onto her desk and took to the fighting post. She’d been curious to see how adaptable the tower’s contents really were, and she’d asked Caleb for a variety of weighted staves to train with in this rendition. She grabbed the heaviest one from its mount on the wall. Maybe if she exhausted herself by whaling on the fighting post, she’d be able to fall asleep sometime in the next several hours.

As soon as she started swinging, it was clear that her plan would be fruitless. Her muscles could go on autopilot and run through routines she knew deep in her bones, and she’d built up too much stamina fighting gnolls and ghosts and undead sea monsters to tire herself to the point of genuine exhaustion.

Despite all of her mediation training, she couldn’t shut her brain off. She’d been in research mode for weeks now, mind racing constantly to piece together theories that somehow sounded less and less wild the more their group trekked on. Even while sparring with this helpless post, she exerted more effort willing herself not to sit back down at her desk and scour between the grains of the paper Yasha had given her for clarity and truth.

She made a last-ditch effort at meditating, sitting in the middle of the room with her legs crossed, counting her inhales and exhales. It was the first technique Dairon had taught her, the simplest form of breathwork. The goal was not to control or influence the breath, but to build awareness of one’s natural pace without judgment. At the time, Beau laughed at the possibility that she could go a second without judging (herself or others). But she'd changed so much since then.

She felt herself smile, recalling a conversation from what felt like ages ago.

Thank you for not judging me, Beau.

Have you seen me? Who am I to fucking judge?

I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you a lot.

Was that it? Was that the moment that the harmless flirting had developed its own sense of gravity? That Beau had suddenly found herself tongue-tied during their most superficial conversations, yet secretly hoping for even the briefest moment alone together?

Without intention, her breath had started to line up with the endearingly crooked meter of the poem repeating infinitely in her mind. She inhaled through one line, then emptied her lungs by the end of the next.

Each time she ran through that short stanza again, more questions frayed out like a string splitting endlessly. None of the answers she sought could be found in the library. She’d only need to go one floor down, not two.

All distractions exhausted, Beau considered knocking on someone else’s door instead of seeking the one stamped with lilacs, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason to do so. Veth and Caleb would be together, huddled in front of a cozy fire and having one of those intense conversations meant only for them. Caduceus usually went to sleep early anyway, and he’d eaten a whopping dinner. No way he’d still be up. Fjord had taken up his own meditation practice, and far be it from Beau to interrupt that. Jester - well, that was just a bad idea. If Beau mentioned the poem (and there was very little chance she’d be able to talk about anything else), Jester might just drag her down to Yasha’s room and throw her through right the door.

If Yasha could be brave, so could Beau. In fights, that was the very thing that pushed her to go as hard as she did. She knew that Yasha would be there to pull her out of a giant lobster claw if her risks didn’t pay off. They had each other's backs, always.

Would that still be the case when neither of them held a weapon in their hands?

Only one way to find out.

Beau opened and closed her own door as quietly as possible. Jester had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Beau’s interactions with Yasha, and Beau really didn’t want to explain anything when she wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on herself. She whispered the command word to the lift and sank slowly to the next floor down. She was careful to keep her knock quiet, though it probably wouldn’t wake Caduceus. No promises that Jester wouldn’t somehow hear it, no matter how thick Caleb claimed the walls were.

There was a long beat before Beau heard footsteps. Her stomach flipped - had she woken Yasha up? Normally she relied on some burst of brash confidence to start a conversation, and it had already taken her nearly an hour to build up the courage to step into the hallway and onto the lift. This was too different from the casual check-ins and mid-battle flirting that had happened more often in recent weeks, and Beau forgot every normal greeting she knew when the lilac-emblazoned door swung open.

She only had one thought: “Yasha.”

“Goodnight, Beau,” Yasha said. Quickly, she added, “Not goodnight like ‘goodbye, you should leave.’ Goodnight as in good morning. Like a greeting, I mean.”

“Ha, yeah. Goodnight, I guess,” Beau replied with a little wave. This was going about as badly as possible. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no. I was just - well, I cannot read Zemnian, but those books Caleb gave us have very nice covers.”

“Yeah, they’re cool,” Beau said. She had an opening here. Might as well take it. “Speaking of reading...”

Yasha raised her eyebrows.

Beau tried to swallow the dryness in her mouth. It didn’t work. “I checked out your poem.”

“Oh, you did?” Yasha asked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.”

Beau wasn’t sure where to go with that, and all she could come up with was a stilted laugh.

Yasha joined in with her own quiet chuckle. The way she bit her lip, lost in thought, made it clear that she was just as much at a loss for words.

This was a bad idea. Beau hadn’t been thinking straight, obviously, when she’d come down here with a million questions and no plan for how to ask them.

“Okay,” Beau said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “I guess I’m gonna--”

“Do you want to come in?”

Beau blinked. “What? I mean, sure. Yeah.”

Yasha stepped back from the door to open it wider, and Beau stepped inside the flower-laden room for the first time since Caleb’s magical mansion tour.

The door settled shut behind them, and they were left standing in the middle of the bright, colorful blossoms.

“So,” Yasha started. She didn’t go on.

“Nice plants,” Beau commented, nearly smacking herself across the face for it.

Fortunately, Yasha smiled at that. “Caleb really thought of everything for this place.”

Beau’s mind flashed to the mirror mounted above her bed, and for the first time in many years she had to remind herself to breathe. She was more than getting ahead of herself.

“Anyway,” Yasha said, drawing out the end of the word a little more than normal, “what brings you down to the fifth floor?”

“Ah, just got lost on my way to the kitchen, thought I’d swing by,” Beau tried.

Every time Yasha let out even a small laugh, Beau counted it as a win.

The most concrete question burning in Beau’s skull was rooted in something ugly and frightened. She asked it anyway. “So did Jester put you up to that?”

“It was her idea, yes,” Yasha admitted.

“Oh,” Beau said, not quite catching her voice from cracking.

“I shouldn’t have said that. She only helped because I asked.”

“So it was your idea?”

“Not quite. I don’t think. Not the poem thing, specifically. I told her I wanted to...do something, for you, and that is what she suggested.”

Beau fought against the urge to convince herself that those words could mean anything other than what she wanted to hear. She’d been jumping through flaming mental hoops for weeks, maybe months, trying to talk herself out of this. And then Yasha had the pleasant audacity to write her a poem.

“No one’s ever done that before. For me,” Beau reiterated. She held her hands up. “Hey, I’m no expert, but I thought it was dope.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yasha dismissed.

“No, I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Yasha busied herself by stroking the petal of a nearby flower with her thumb, a small smile creeping in.

“Why’d you write it?” Beau asked.

Yasha’s fingers stilled. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flower in her hand, and her slight smile grew.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Beau?”

There was the answer Beau wanted to give, and then there was the truth. In the dense quiet, the latter won out. “Not really. Kinda wish I did. Do you?”

“I think...” Yasha gently plucked the flower from its stem. “I think they are all my favorite.”

“Really?”

Yasha nodded, cradling the flower in her palm.

It was, quite possibly, the happiest Beau had ever seen her. She suddenly wished that she knew the name of this plant, of every plant in the room. If something could bring Yasha such tranquil joy, it was worth knowing.

“The ones in this room are from all over. I’ve never even heard of some of them,” Yasha said.

“Caleb probably read about a thousand botany books just for this.”

“Probably,” Yasha laughed.

“Come on. You’ve gotta have a favorite,” Beau pushed, in the back of her mind hoping that she could use the information for future reference.

Yasha shook her head. “My book...I was keeping it for Zuala at first, but I think I am also keeping it for myself now. I want to remember the places that I’ve been and the things that happened there. Because those things have brought me here, and I am very happy about that, even if some of what happened was...not so happy. I would not be here, with all of you, without every single one of those flowers.”

She held her hand out, presenting the plucked flower. Beau stared at the five long, carefree, white petals, tinged with a sunshiny yellow at the tips. Slowly, she reached out and was surprised to find the petals were rich and soft like velvet. She couldn’t recall ever seeing it before - maybe it was from Xhorhas.

“And,” Yasha met Beau’s eyes, “finding new favorite flowers to add to my book does not mean I forget the old ones.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Beau agreed.

“This one reminds me a lot of you, actually,” Yasha said, almost whispering to herself.

Beau felt her heart skip. She’d never been given a poem before, and she’d certainly been compared to something so delicate and precious. She wracked her brain for something witty to say, but she’d never been very good at that around Yasha. “It does?” she choked out.

“It grows in the desert,” Yasha explained. “It's very stubborn and strong. We called it Sunsbane. Even with very little water, it survives the hottest days. The buds stay closed for many years, but the plant stays strong. The roots grow deeper than you’d ever guess just from looking at it above the surface. It can take a long time, but when the nights get cool enough, the flowers finally bloom.” She paused, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “You probably didn’t come here to hear so much about plants, though.”

Beau could very well have been in the desert herself at the moment - her mouth went dry again, and she felt like it was about a thousand degrees in that room.

Untrusting of her own ability to form words after that, she lifted the flower from Yasha’s hand, then reached up and tucked its short stem back where Yasha had fixed her hair.

“Hey,” Beau managed.

“Mhm?”

“You can tell me about plants anytime, alright?”

“Alright,” Yasha returned. “Okay.”

Beau retreated a step, realizing how close they’d been standing. “White’s kinda more your color, though. Plus, the yellow really...your eyes, it - works. Looks nice. Um, goodnight.”

There was a strange look on Yasha’s face, like she was thinking too hard.

“What?” Beau risked asking.

“Just that...I didn’t answer your question yet. About the poem.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s cool, honestly--”

“Beau.” Yasha said her name so softly that Beau had no choice but to stop protesting.

Yasha took the flower from behind her ear and clutched it to her chest. “You should know that I like this flower very much.”

So much of Beau’s old self - the person who’d just tried to leave again - wanted to bolt for the door, but her new self locked down and stood her ground. Inhale, exhale. “I think it likes you, too,” she said weakly.

Yasha waved her hand, still holding onto the flower. “Jester said some things, and I - well, I don’t know. I didn’t think I should hear them from someone else in case they weren’t true or--”

“They are,” Beau jumped in. “I don’t know what she said, exactly, but I can guess.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like I tried not to for a while. And then that became more impossible than it already was. Just like Sunsbane, I guess. Deep roots, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said suddenly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Not that I - I wasn’t expecting anything. You’ve surprised me in a lot of ways, is all.”

Beau couldn’t handle the guilt on Yasha’s face. It wasn’t her fault, everything that had happened to her, to them. Beau would’ve waited a thousand days in the desert if it meant letting Yasha heal and find herself.

The gap between them had shrunk again, somehow, but it was more unbearable than ever. It felt like every time they got closer by half, always lessening the space but never quite meeting. But Beau was very good at breaking things, and, for once, she could break something for good. Her palm met Yasha’s cheek, fingertips curling around a small braid hanging loosely.

“You said those flowers are pretty damn patient, right?” Beau said.

Yasha nodded almost imperceptibly, like she was afraid Beau’s hand would pull back.

“Then I think you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still.”

“Well,” with much less confidence than she’d hoped for, Beau asked, “you gonna kiss me or what?”

Yasha’s eyes closed for a moment, her expression neutral save for the slight crease between her brows and the subtle part of her lips. When her eyes opened again, her gaze was angled down slightly, plotting a trajectory that Beau had hardly dared to dream of.

“You’re sure?” Yasha said softly.

Beau’s answer was no more than a breath of a laugh.

Yasha went on. “I just want to make sure that you are sure. I’m very sure, at this point, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be--”

Beau cut her off as gently as possible.

For a moment, Beau’s mind went blissfully blank.

Then it hit her. She was kissing Yasha.

It started soft - not tentative, but quiet.

And then, miracle of miracles, Yasha was kissing her back, and she was much less patient. She was lightning and thunder striking at once, a storm raw and deafening in its power. Beau wondered when her knees would give out under the sheer weight of it - until solid arms circled around her waist and pulled her in.

Desperate to hold onto something, Beau’s fingers wound into Yasha’s hair. Her other hand was trapped just below Yasha’s collarbone, grasping tighter until blunt nails scraped past a cloth edge and found skin.

Maybe Beau did have a favorite flower, after all.

***

#beauyasha #beauyasha fic #beauyasha fluff #i haven't really written for them but i decided to fix that #my writing

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quantummindclassicalheart · 3 years

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Master post of quantum's Critical Role C2 fic

You can now find me on AO3 as FiveCamellia! I will be gradually archiving previous fic there. Various other things I’ve written including scicomm stuff and poetry lives in my general #writing tag, feel free to check it out!

a dream within a dream (AO3, Tumblr. New! Completed 2023/01/21.) > When the fog of Rumblecusp steals away Caleb’s memories, Jester must help him remember. But this time, it’s going to take a little more than a fifth-level spell slot. For Widojest Secret Santa 2022.

The Lovers’ Lie (original song) > There is an old folk song that is sung in Exandria. It goes by a lot of titles–In Marquet it’s commonly known as The Liar’s Love, while natives of Xhorhas would know it as The Fey Groom, and the elves of Syngorn’s version has a title that translates to “The Sacrifice of Truth for Love.” This is one bard’s rendition of the song in Common, as accompanied by ukulele.

verbal and somatic (AO3) > In which Jester has a creative idea for how to use the Polymorph spell, and with a truly heroic effort (and the benefit of War Caster), Caleb succeeds on a series of concentration checks with increasingly high DC. (AKA: Widojest body swap sexy times.) (Post-campaign, established relationship AU.)

a soft place to land (AO3) > A few years after their travels with the Mighty Nein, Caleb and Jester reunite for the summer and kinda sorta fall in love all over again. (Post-campaign, as the summary suggests, but more or less canon-compliant)

a dream of flight (AO3) > My first Loquaerryn fic, about their first dance (and what comes after). Laerryn is used to taking the lead, but when she meets Loquatius Seelie, he challenges everything she knows about following.

rainy days and twisting braids > Yasha braids Beau’s hair, and softness follows. For Beauyasha Week 2022 Day 2: Hair. (Takes place post-campaign.)

like it’s the last time > A Widojest epilogue “missing scene,” i.e. the final conversation Caleb and Jester never got in canon. It’s the night before Fjord and Jester leave Nicodranas, and the Nein are throwing a party. Everything should be great. Except Caleb’s been distant lately, and Jester wants to know why. (Takes place during the Campaign 2 finale, roughly.)

waves of memory > A short Shadowgast piece based on some merperson!Essek AU art.

we must all tend our gardens > A character study of everyone's favorite drow hotboi and his complicated relationship with faith, as told through gardening. (Takes place during the Campaign 2 finale.)

[podfic] Die Smaragdwelle (Jade_Sabre) > A reading of Die Smaragdwelle, a fairy tale about a princess swallowed up by an emerald wave and the wizard who had to find her. (Featuring my vocal impressions of all the Mighty Nein.)

und andere Zemnische Volksmärchen > What if things had gone just a little differently post-Katzenprinz? (Fluff. Fluff is what happens.) For Widojest Week 2021 Day 6: Der Katzenprinz.

four-and-a-half waltzes of caleb widogast > A series of vignettes in which Caleb shares four dances with four of the most important people in his life, and learns to embrace the magic of possibility. (Spoilers for all of Campaign 2, minus the finale.)

the divine transmutation of the self > In which magic changes Veth, and Veth changes her mind about magic. (Spoilers through C2E97)

drawn together > Making stuff for (and with) the people you care about is a love language. In which Beau decides to learn how to draw, and also learns a few other things along the way. (Takes place sometime post-C2E111)

a taste of summer > In which Caleb’s hidden talent for baking and Jester’s love of sweets collide in the best possible way. (Takes place sometime post-C2E111)

sunrise over eiselcross > A little scene between Fjord and Jester from the morning after their big conversation in C2E118.

you're still there > Beau has a nightmare about a path not taken. Yasha’s there to help her through it. Cuddles ensue. (Takes place sometime post-C2E111)

disguise selves > An AU where Caleb and Jester are (human) roommates, preparing for a Halloween costume party over Zoom. Jester being Jester, she insists on a photo shoot in costume. Everything goes better than expected. (no spoilers)

the nature of possibility > Two things possessed me to write this: the concept of including some actual thermodynamics in a fic about dunamancy, and the idea of hand contact during a spellcraft lesson. What ensued was nearly a thousand words of Shadowgast. (Takes place sometime post-C2E77)

an unnatural tide > Caleb doesn't normally forget things. But Rumblecusp isn't a normal island. What did he forget that last morning? Here's my best guess. (Spoilers for C2E105)

#critical role #writing #current ship count: fjorester 1 beauyasha 2 shadowgast 2 widojest 3 #edit: widojest 4 + one poem #edit: and a surprise pairing from exu calamity #i think we have a winner #(it's widojest but also really the winner is caleb)#(the sad wizard who has occupied much of my spare thoughts oops)#much credit goes to my beta d.k.m.#and also to a newer friend whose art inspired some of these fics #fwiw i think that veth fic is very underrated! would encourage folks to check it out #and i will give caduceus a proper fic eventually... as soon as i figure out a good story to tell about him

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sockablock · 3 years

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Chapter 12: The Petals on Her Brow

“No.”

“But—”

“No. Close your eyes.”

“This is boring! Do I really have to—”

“Yes.”

“But—"

“Yes. You do. I will not tell you twice.”

— — —

Back in the cabin, Team Regular People had set up camp in the living room.

Only about an hour had passed since breakfast, but in that time, they’d already managed to turn the couches into literary chaos. On the coffee table, stacks of atlases and maps had been supplemented—then supplanted—by the hundreds of pages of chemistry notes that Nott was supposed to be preparing for the summer semester. Jester similarly had strewn all her summer homework onto the carpet. Fjord was half-slouched in an armchair buried nose-deep in a tome titled The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, looking for all the world like would rather throw himself into the ocean than keep reading.

And as those three languished in the rigors of academia, Caleb, Beau, and Caduceus were sitting at the kitchen table, hunting for Yasha’s mystery flower. So far, they had already eliminated almost everything growing in Eastern Europe, though Caleb had been convinced for a while that the flower was liverwort.

“Its name is ‘Leberblümchen’ in German,” he said. “We used to see it in our garden.”

Beau stared critically at the page, then turned to examine Yasha’s drawing. “Your thing isn’t pointy enough,” she said. “And it doesn’t have enough of those…stringy things in the middle.”

“Liverwort is usually blue, too,” Caduceus said. “Sorry, Mister Caleb.”

He sighed. “It is fine, perhaps we should move farther south.”

Beau pulled over another book and started flipping through the pages. “Do you miss being home?” she asked idly. “I know you haven’t been back there in a while.”

She mentally kicked herself when she noticed Caleb’s smile turn melancholy.

“Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean to remind you—”

He shook his head. “No, no, it is alright, Beauregard. I do miss it, of course. In many parts. Your beer in America is piss poor, for example.”

She immediately rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you say that all the time.”

“It’s a sticking point. Oh, and your trains are very bad—”

“Ugh, I know—”

“—and none of your restaurants know what eggs and soldiers is.”

“No one knows what the hell that is.”

“I don’t,” Caduceus piped up. “What is that?”

“It is a soft egg eaten with little strips of toast. It is the only way to eat toast,” Caleb said wistfully.

“It sounds like you haven’t been back in a while.” Caduceus dipped his head. “It must be difficult, being so far from your family like that.”

“Ah.” Caleb’s expression changed. It was subtle, but the softness in his eyes went still. “That is…I do not have family there, anymore.”

“Oh, I—Caleb, I’m sorry—”

He raised his hand. “It is alright, Caduceus. You did not know. It is not, ah….”

“He doesn’t go around advertising it,” Beau said.

“Well,” Caleb huffed, though not at all angrily, “that is certainly one way to put it. And…yes, to elaborate a little more, since the rest of these people already know, I…some time ago, something happened back home and I decided to leave. It…was not an easy choice, but inevitable, I think, in some ways. And while I do miss Germany, as I said, being here, with my friends, has helped me quite a lot. I am…I find that when I say ‘I’m okay,’ lately, I mean that more and more.”

“You should’ve seen him before,” Beau grinned. “He had such a stick shoved up his ass he could barely smile—though, uh, I guess that’s not surprising since—”

She shut her mouth. She opened it.

“I’m going to go back to staring at flowers now.”

Caleb snorted. He slid another book across the table. “Here, try this one,” he said. “Plants of Italy. If it is not in here, we switch to the Americas.”

She took it. “Thanks. Here’s hoping.”

“Let’s go for another thirty minutes,” Caduceus said. “Don’t forget, it’s important to stretch and take breaks.”

— — —

“Seriously, if you don’t let me, I’ll die.”

“You will not.”

“I will. I swear, I will. I have to take a break. Ten minutes. Five minutes! Sixty seconds, at least, or I drop dead.”

From her perch on the large grey boulder that lay at the edge of the woods behind the cabin, Yasha opened one eye and saw that Mollymauk was already lying down.

He’d rolled off his log and was even in the grass. She frowned. “You are not even trying.”

“I tried, but none of this makes any sense! Sit still and try to ‘feel myself’?” He made air quotes. “Yasha, dear, if that’s what you really wanted, I definitely would not be sitting still.”

He waggled his eyebrows. She ignored him.

“Controlling your energy instinctive,” she said instead. “It is tied to our ability to see and read auras. But because you do not know how to do either, I am doing my best to explain it to you. This is the only way I know how. You are really not taking this seriously.”

“You think I’m not taking this seriously?” He scoffed. “Do you really think I would put myself through any of this if I didn’t think I had to? Need I remind you that my family was attacked by those crazy bikers as well?”

“What? They are not your family,” she blinked. “We were your family. But you left us when you fell.”

He made a show of dramatic incredulity. “Then I also need to remind you, dear, that I haven’t the faintest idea what that means. I’ve got amnesia, remember? Accidental hellfire and devilish charms aside, I really am not a demon. Not culturally.”

She frowned. “Culturally?”

“And I’d really prefer not to dwell on it,” he continued. “As far as I’m concerned, as soon as I get this ‘aura’ nonsense under control, I’m going to go home and get back to living an extraordinary, charmed, non-demonic life.”

Her frown took on a confused note. “But…you are a demon. That is that.”

“No, no, you’re not getting it, Yasha.” He rolled over and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me. Whoever had this body before, maybe, maybe that person could’ve been a demon. But whoever that was, they weren’t me. They were just some stupid asshole who got buried in the earth for, for—I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t even care. Because it’s no concern of mine.”

“Er…buried?”

“Long story,” he shrugged. “Not important. What is important is that the person you see now, that person is me—Mollymauk Tealeaf. Fortune-teller, sword-spinner, lover of…well, lover. You aren’t going to get anywhere until you at least understand that. Alright?”

He rolled back over, crossed his arms on his chest.

“Besides, it seems as if—at least, from the context clues that I’ve pulled together myself—you’re missing a few memories too, aren’t you, Angel? Maybe you should try reinvention.”

Yasha was silent a moment. Eventually, “But I still know who I am. I did not lose that.”

“A pity.”

“It is…no, it is not a pity. It means I still have a purpose. And a past.”

Molly scoffed. “A past isn’t worth bragging about. The present, though, now the present is something.”

She titled her head. “Er…meaning?”

He waved a hand. “Well—well, okay, for example, can you honestly tell me that you aren’t enjoying what you have right now? In this cute little cabin? I still happen to be offended that you don’t think the carnival is my family, but you seem to have found one of your own, too. These people, here, and their delicious pancakes.”

“W—yes, the pancakes are good, but—"

“And those tiny little blueberries, delicious!” he sighed. “I haven’t had berries that sweet since…who knows?”

“You…like sweet things?” Yasha blinked. “Wait, go back, what was it that you said about family?”

“Oh, so you do care that you upset me?”

“I did?”

“Of course you did! My god, The Fletching and Moondrop might not’ve been the most functional of units, it might not’ve been the most traditional, but I certainly cared about them a lot. They found me when I had nothing, was no one. They gave me a home. They took care of me. They were my whole world, and trying to deny me that is basically like—it’s spitting in my face!”

Her gaze drifted downward. “I did not know. I am sorry.”

“Oh, cheer up, cheer up!” He scrambled upright. “You didn’t know, it’s alright, Yasha. God, have I just made an angel feel guilty? Isn’t it supposed to be your job to do that?”

Her brow furrowed. “I have been trying to do my job for two hours. I am supposed to teach you. You do not listen.”

“Because that’s boring. Sitting still is no fun.”

“I explained it already, Mollymauk. You are not just sitting still, you are centering yourself to connect with the world’s energy, then turning it inward—”

“Oh, I know! Why don’t I teach you, instead?”

She stopped. Her brow furrowed. “You…what?”

“Let me teach you something!” He clapped his hands together, eyes shining with glee. “Come on, come on, what do you say? It can be anything you like! Tarot reading!”

“No, what—”

“Alright, alright, it’s not for everyone, okay…how about sword spinning?”

She frowned. “Why would you do that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why not? It’s flashy, exciting, and you can show off your skills! What, think won’t don’t have the dexterity for it?”

Something in Yasha bristled. “I am good with swords.”

“Then prove it! I’ll go back into the house right now and fetch the glass ones, then—"

The fog cleared; she caught on. “Wait, wait. If you go in, I am sure that you will not come back out.”

He laughed, completely unashamed. “Fine, fine, how about…oh! Why don’t I teach you to make flower crowns?”

She immediately opened her mouth in protest, but for some reason, somewhere along the line, the response that came out was a semi-choked, “Huh?”

“Flower crowns!” He grinned again, sensing weakness. “Come on, it’s great if you like flowers. Don’t tell me you don’t have those in Heaven.”

“I…it is called Elys—of course we have flowers.”

“Perfect! Do you have a favorite kind?” He leaned forward. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be quick, and then I’ll absolutely pay attention to the energy stuff. Just ten minutes! Only ten.”

She wanted to argue again. She knew she had to, it was her duty, her responsibility to tell him no way, to pick him up and throw him over her shoulder and sit him up straight and threaten him until he listened…

But what she said was:

“…fine. Ten minutes, and then we start again.”

“Yes!”

— — —

“Do you think he’d look good with pink instead?” Jester let a strand of Caleb’s hair fall from her hand and back onto his shoulders. “Caduceus could probably help, too. Couldn’t you, Caddy?”

“Sure I could.”

“I don’t know,” Nott rubbed her chin. “I mean, pink, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great color—”

“Thank you.”

“—but close to the original. If we’re going to do a dye job, it should be wild.”

Caleb counted to ten. “The ‘if’ in your statement should sound more hypothetical,” he said.

“Well, it’s only if you want it, Caleb. But you know, you’d look really cool with dyed hair!” Jester gushed. “How about a streak? Like Fjord? To be stylish?”

“I’m glad you think I’m stylish,” Fjord called from his armchair, Conventions now draped across his face. “But you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Right, right—”

“What, really?” Nott glanced at him. “What happened? Don’t tell me it was a prank someone pulled.”

“Why?” he grunted. “Upset you didn’t do it first?”

“Yes! Of course I am!”

He sighed, and tugged the book off his face. He ran a hand through his short black hair and found the shock of white streaking through it.

“I got it in the accident. With the shipping company, remember? That whole thing with the engine malfunction. Big storm, boat went down, but, uh, I got rescued.”

“Yeah,” said Nott, immediately relenting. “I…remember. You nearly drowned.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I noticed this grey streak after leaving the hospital. So…either a nurse used some real strong hair dye, or…I dunno, maybe it was from the stress?”

Jester very quickly reached over and squeezed his hand.

He gave a tiny smile. “It’s alright, it’s been a while since it happened. And you know, thanks to all the bad press they got after, they had to do something for me. So…it balanced out.”

“They sent you to college,” said Caduceus, remembering. “The scholarship?”

“Yeah. And an offer to work for them again after I graduate.”

“Hell no!” screeched Nott. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened, do they really expect you to work for them again? Or even to go out on the water?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I really liked sailing, I…I miss it sometimes, actually. But I probably shouldn’t go back to them, that’s true.”

“What was the name of the company?” she demanded. “I’m going to leave them terrible reviews.”

“I don’t think you can do that for corporations.”

“Just give me a name, Fjord, it’ll make me feel better, if not you.”

He sighed and put his book back on his head. “U.K. Toa Shipping Industries. Have fun.”

“U.K.?” Caleb gently tugged himself free. “It is British?”

Fjord was quiet for a moment. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I don’t actually know. I always assumed so, but I guess I never asked.”

“That’s it,” Caduceus suddenly said.

They all turned.

“That’s what, Caddy?” Jester said.

“Fjord’s accent,” he grinned. He sounded incredibly satisfied. “You’re British now, aren’t you? I knew there was something different.”

A pause. Then:

“Oh my god, I completely forgot—”

“Nott—”

“That’s right! You did do that, Fjord—”

“Jester, I’m begging—”

“You told me you were Texan,” Caduceus nodded. “You talked all…twangy, before. In freshman year.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Nott all but beamed.

“I want to die,” Fjord moaned. “I want to die, it was—it wasn’t a phase, but…oh god…” He sunk down even lower in his chair.

“It’s a sweet reason,” Jester said supportively. “Real sweet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Fjord, can I tell him?” she asked.

He vaguely waved his hand and Jester removed his book to tap him on the nose.

“Well, you see, Fjord did it partially ‘cause he was going to America and he didn’t want to stick out as the British kid. But he also did it because he wanted to remember his old captain. Vandren.”

“He was Texan,” Fjord mumbled. “And it wasn’t just, you know, remembering by itself, it was also…I dunno, I wanted to emulate him. He was…he had this way of commanding a room that just…you know.” He shifted awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t the…most confident person, before. When I was younger, especially. But putting on a mask, pretending to be Vandren, it…helped. Especially since nobody knew me here.”

Caduceus hummed his understanding, and nodded.

“What changed?”

Fjord’s cheeks colored. “Well…you know. After a while, I realized it was…pretending to be Vandren was preventing anyone from knowing me. The mask was comfortable, but it wasn’t…true.”

Caduceus smiled. “Jester was right. That is very sweet. I’m happy for you. And this accent isn’t bad.”

Fjord chuckled. “Thank you,” he tipped his book like a hat. “That is—thank you kindly, partner.”

“It’s tragic that you decided to be genuine,” Nott sighed, leaning back into a cushion. “Your southern accent was way hotter—”

“I got it!”

This outburst came from Beau, who had ended her break early to resume the search. Fjord all but threw himself out of the living room in pursuit of this new distraction.

“What?” he asked, sliding into the kitchen. “Is it a match?”

“Fuck yeah it is, look! Everyone, look!”

The rest trailed in behind him and gathered around Beau, who was practically vibrating.

“Trientalis borealis! The starflower!” she yelled. “Here it is—” she slapped Yasha’s drawing onto a page displaying a faded photo. “It’s a perfect match, seven pointed petals, a lot of yellow stringy stuff in the middle. And it’s tiny. Half an inch wide.”

“The starflower is one of the more common spring wildflowers native to eastern North America,” Caleb read, sitting down in the chair next to her. “The species name borealis refers to being from the north, although this plant is also distributed in the Midwest and the higher elevations of the southern Appalachian Mountains. Depending on latitude and altitude, starflowers generally bloom from mid to late spring into early summer.”

He leaned back, and gave Beau an amazed look. “You are right, this photo is exactly the same. You…you did it, Beauregard, that is…incredible.”

She punched the air. “Now who’s the king of nerds?! Wait, gross…”

— — —

“—little longer, you just need a second color. Something, hm…maybe blue. Or yellow. Preference?”

“P—what? Oh, uh…either is fine.”

Yasha and Molly had drifted away from their makeshift stools and into the forest, coming through the grass for summer blooms. Molly was flitting from flowerbed to flowerbed, plucking up stems and laughing when bumblebees had to spiral out of his way. Yasha had taken to sitting below a tree trunk, moving as little as angelically possible, so as to not disturb her crown.

Molly had placed it atop her head, and she could feel the petals on her brow. They were purple wildflowers. They were soft.

Yasha was always surprised by just how soft flowers could get—after all, they had to live outside all the time and there was so much danger, so much weather, it was a miracle they could grow at all. Still, it made her nervous to touch flowers; she was worried that her big, calloused hands would break them, maybe damage or ruin them somehow—

“Don’t be silly, love. You could never do such a thing.”

Yasha flinched, startled. “What?”

“Er…I just asked if you liked these,” Molly frowned. He’d flopped back down beside her and was showing off a hand of pudgy yellow blossoms. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Oh, er…yes. I am fine.” She blinked, and that whispered voice was gone. A second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all.

“In that case, look, look, what do you think?” He held the flowers up to the sun. “Nice, right?”

Yasha felt her face soften. A tiny smile crept into the corners of her mou—

“Hey, where’d they go? Yasha? Mollymauk? Where are you guys?!”

“I think I see them, through there—"

“Uh-oh.” Molly turned to Yasha and grinned. “I think we’ve been made.”

She groaned, and shut her eyes.

— — —

“—you understand how important this is?! We told you what the stakes were, I can’t believe you were picking flowers!”

“Hey! Why does everyone think I don’t understand anything? And anyway, Yasha was with me the whole time—”

“Oh, right, pin it on her, you asshole—”

“Fuck you, I’m not pinning anything on anyone—”

“Hey, hey, okay, calm down,” Fjord stepped between them and raised his hands. “Whoa, déjà-vu. Anyway, let’s just relax. Please?”

“She’s accusing me for no reason,” Molly said, hackles lowered but still with a bite.

“And he’s slacking off,” Beau glared.

“Yasha did say they agreed to take the break together,” Fjord reminded her. “And it’s the first day. It’ll take time to perfect the, uh, formula, right, Yasha?”

The three of them turned to look at Yasha, who was standing back with the rest of their friends, wearing an expression of absolute discomfort.

“Er…er…yes, right,” she said clumsily. “We just got…carried away.” She gave Beau a nervous nod. “Sorry.”

This was enough to soothe Beau’s foul mood. She sighed. “I don’t blame you, Yasha, I blame that one.” She jabbed a halfhearted thumb at Molly.

“Hey!”

“Just let her have this,” Fjord said.

“It’s not your fault,” Beau continued, ignoring them. “And—ugh, I hate being the bigger person—I get it. It’ll take time. You need breaks. I’m…sorry I freaked out.”

“Thank—” Molly began.

“Not you.”

“Well, It was worth a try.”

Yasha seemed more than relieved by Beau’s words. “You do not need to be sorry either, but thank you. And I will be more, ah, better next time.”

“Next time,” Molly grumbled. “Well, as long as she isn’t there, next time.”

“That is right,” Yasha tilted her head. “Beauregard, why did you come outside?”

From the back, Jester grinned. “Oh, Yasha, it’s so exciting!”

“That’s right!” Beau’s face lit up immediately, her annoyance at Molly all but melting away. “Guess what?”

“Er…what?”

She whipped out a book, small and bound with a soft green cover.

“I found it. Your flower.”

Yasha’s eyes widened. “You—what? You did? Where is it? What is it called?”

Her grin widened as she turned the pages. “It’s the Trientalis borealis, let me show you the picture—"

“Tren…” Yasha frowned in concentration. “The…three-foot…no, one-third—”

Beau actually laughed, then flipped the book around, pointing to a small picture beneath text. “Its common name’s ‘starflower.’ Sound familiar?”

“Star…flower.” Yasha hesitated. “That sounds…I’m not sure…”

“It would be ‘ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ,’ I think—” Caduceus said.

“Yeah?” Beau asked hopefully.

Yasha nodded. Her frown had vanished, and now she was staring at the book, nearly frozen, glued to the image of a little white flower. “…starflower,” she murmured. “ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ. You found it.”

“Hell, yes!” cheered Nott from between the others.

Yasha managed to tear her gaze away and this time, it fell on Beauregard.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “You…found it. Thank you.”

Beau’s cheeks flushed. She forced herself to stay still. “Oh, well, you know, it was…it…nothing.”

She did not resist as Yasha took the book, moving it closer to get a better look. “No, it is everything,” she said. “You did it.”

“Well—fuck, I mean, you know,” she scratched her neck and looked down, “I told you I would.”

“And you did. Thank you.”

“Now that she has found the flower,” Caleb cut in, both to Beau’s relief and disappointment, “we can start narrowing down a region. In fact, we already know from this book that the starflower is endemic to the United States.”

Yasha patiently waited for him to elaborate.

“That is, it grows near us. It is common on the east and west coasts, and is usually found in the early summer.”

He stepped forward, and with Yasha’s permission, flipped the page and showed her a map. Much of the US and Canada were blue.

She traced this with a finger. “Wait, then…does that mean I might have been in Iothia this whole time? Or right next to it?”

“That remains to be seen. It depends on how big Iothia is,” Caleb said. “And of course, again, exactly where it is. But we can use this map, and the geographical features we know, to compile a list of locations that would give you the most likely areas of Iothia.”

He gave Yasha a satisfied nod. “You are well on your way to going home, Engel.”

Her gaze fell back to the book. She turned the page to look at the flower.

Its name is ‘starflower.’ Isn’t that funny?

“Wha—why is that funny?” she said out loud.

“Hm?” Caleb cocked his head. “Why is what funny?”

She frowned. “The…name of the flower, I think. Or the…stars?”

“Actually, I was thinking that too,” Nott said. “Since, you know, you fell from the sky, right? And I guess these little flowers did too!”

Beau groaned. “So, this whole time, we were looking for a pun?”

“I think that’s irony, actually—” Fjord began.

Yasha blinked.

—and that whispered voice was gone…

When she looked up again, everyone was staring at her.

“Are you okay?” Jester asked. “You…is everything alright?”

—a second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all—

She shook her head, then realized that looked like a negative and managed to produce a weird, swooping nod.

“I am very happy,” she said quickly. “I am just…it is just a lot to take in. The flower. This…memory, it was…something important.”

Caduceus smiled. “Then it gets to be important again. This time, it’ll help you find your way home.”

Seven little petals. Bright like a star. Tiny enough to fit in someone’s hand.

She passed the open book back to Beau. She noticed Beau’s hand brush the flower.

“I…you are right,” she said, half to herself. “I think it will.”

“We all will,” Beau grinned.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN!

#critical role #critrole #cr2 #critfic #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #woof this is a MEATY chapter #i hope you guys enjoy!!#jay writes #beauyasha #a storm is blowing in from paradise #<3333333333 #text #long post

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

beaujes + "when did you know"

‘can i talk you for a second?’

‘talk you?’ fjord repeats, looking up from polishing his shield with a teasing grin. the expression falls away when he sees the serious look beau levels his way. ‘yeah. yeah, of course. here? or do you wanna...’

beau looks around the clearing, at the others still too close, and she tilts her head toward a nearby set of trees. the spreading vines that wrap tight around the trunks and hang from the branches make a decent curtain but they’re not too far if something comes up. fjord nods and follows her over.

‘everything...alright?’ fjord broaches when beau doesn’t speak for a while.

lightning blue eyes flash to him and for a moment he thinks she’s mad at him—she’s scowling and tense, arms folded—but then she breathes out and the electric charge that surrounds her is gone.

it feels strange; he hadn’t noticed when that tension had begun but now that she has let it go...he thinks it might’ve been there for a while. it’s nothing like her usual energy, always watchful but easy about it. it’s as though that watchful energy had, bit by bit, been needled so many times that she’s completely on edge, unable to slow down or stop looking, and fjord wants to kick himself for not realising it sooner. but he can’t, because she has set that watchful burden down now for the first time in—if he had to guess—a week, set it down at his feet, is trusting him to take it from her and listen and watch her back. the trust makes his heart clench cold and small in his chest, an answering call somewhere deep in his gut that says, if it comes to it, fjord will draw on some pretty terrible powers to protect this girl, his best friend.

‘everything’s fucked,’ beau sighs, rubs a hand over her weary face.

‘not everything. we still have you.’ fjord isn’t as practised at pushing true emotion into his voice as he is at controlling it, but he thinks he succeeds at sounding thankful, and pleased, and relieved, and maybe a little sad when beau looks quickly up at him and then away, rubbing at the back of her neck.

‘yeah. uh. yep.’

‘do i need to have this conversation again?’

‘please don’t,’ beau bites out. fjord nearly laughs but there’s a new desperation in her voice he can’t place.

‘beau?’

she shakes her head. presses her folded arms tighter to her chest. ‘um. look, there’s - something i wanted to talk to you about. and it’s -‘ her forehead crumples into a frown she directs down at the jungle floor. kicks a curious beetle that is crawling over her booted toe somewhere deeper into the underbrush. ‘it might ... change some stuff.’ her face is smooth, other than that hint of a frown, and he can’t pick what she means from it. ‘about me. and you.’

fjord has no idea what that could mean. he goes about asking subtly. ‘what do you mean?’

‘it’s - i appreciate,’ she says, picking her words carefully, ‘what you said. yesterday.’

‘shit, beau - about caring about you?’ now it’s fjord’s turn to rub at his eyes. ‘it’s not something to appre— it’s the truth, beau.’

‘i know, i know,’ she’s quick to assure him. he’s assured for less than a second because she continues with, ‘i know you think that. but-‘

fjord sets his hands on her shoulders. pulls her to face him dead on. ‘i love you, beau. you’re my best friend - nothing could change that. yeah, you’re a shit kicker and you’re smarter than all of us, especially with,’ he flicks the headband, ignores her petulant ow. ‘but even if you were dumb as a brick and couldn’t punch for shit - you’re still our beau.’

‘you don’t know that,’ she points out, which he’s relieved to hear sounds more amused than anything. ‘like, it’s impossible to know that. if i couldn’t punch people, i wouldn’t be me.’

‘you do like to punch,’ fjord agrees, allowing the sidestep, the distraction. ‘you’re good at it.’

‘great at it, thanks.’

they share a grin. fjord hopes that’s the end of it—she needed reassurance and he is happy, more than happy, to provide it. but then beau’s smile slips, first from one side of her lips and then the other before it washes right off her face. he watches as she forces herself to look him in the eye, hold herself steady.

‘i gotta tell you something,’ she says, ‘and it - i’m never gonna do anything about it but it might change things. it will. and,’

‘something i won’t like?’ he asks. beau just looks at him, which is a yes. ‘if you’re never doing anything about it, why tell me? are you trying to make me hate you or something?’

something flickers in beau’s eyes. her voice is abruptly hoarse when she speaks. ‘i don’t want you to hate me. that - would suck. but i gotta tell you now because i- already told someone else and if it comes out ... i don’t want you blindsided and hating me more.’ her voice cracks, quavers the smallest bit and she swallows hard, turns her head away to clear her throat.

he stares down at her, confused. his fingers squeeze gently onto her shoulders out of instinct; she’s shivering, shaking with nerves.

‘okay,’ he says, and when she looks up at him, eyes wet but not yet overflowing, face set in determination that can’t quite cover fear, fjord feels something in him settle. he knows, even if she doesn’t, that there’s nothing she could say now that could break this. nothing that could make him not love her. fjord imagines himself a deep ocean, the one that comes to him when he meditates—uk’otoa’s gifts sunken in its far reaches, the wildmother’s gifts the sky and sea and sunlight, and within that ocean there are boundless stretches that is all him, all fjord, and the tides that pull him pull in one direction—toward beau, toward his friends, toward this weird little family they have made. he’s never said anything like that before so there’s no reason beau should know that, but he knows now. ‘tell me,’ he says, and he fixes his attention on her, meeting her eyes with all the calm certainty of a tranquil sea.

beau opens her mouth. her nose is going red with the effort of not crying. she closes her mouth. makes a sound in the back of her throat like she’s clearing it.

‘i - didn’t mean to,’ she says. ‘i need you to know that, i didn’t mean to, it wasn’t supposed to happen, i didn’t intend for—‘ she stops when he rubs his thumb soothingly over her shoulder. draws in a steadying breath. ‘i like jester,’ beau tells him, and for all that she is technically meeting his eyes, she’s entirely checked out, sunken so far back behind her walls that fjord can’t hardly see her. ‘i like her a lot, and i’m never gonna do anything or tell her if i can help it but nott knows and—‘

‘she runs her mouth on a good day, let alone halfway through withdrawals?’

‘yeah.’ there’s a flicker of normal beau, cautious, when he doesn’t immediately denounce her. he doesn’t know if he could denounce her, not when he knows how that feels. if anything, if anything, could it just be another thing they share? ‘she hasn’t said anything yet, so i’m hoping—‘ she cuts herself off when fjord frowns.

‘hold on.’ he tries to temper his tone, he really does, but a lash of sharpness still makes it in there. beau curls deeper into herself. ‘you thought i would hate you?’

‘i—‘

‘that’s insane!’

‘no, it’s not!’

‘yes, beau, it is.’ he gives her a gentle shake, like he can somehow get her brain to finally sit right and understand what he is saying. ‘how the fuck could i hate you for—you don’t—that’s mad, beau! you can’t pick and choose who you fall for, and if it’s anyone’s fault, let’s be real here, this is jester’s fault for being—what did vendetta call her?’

beau snorts. ‘aggressively likeable.’

‘aggressively likeable,’ fjord repeats, nodding. ‘that’s our girl.’ he waits a moment, turning over reassurances and questions in his head; he can admit that he doesn’t really know what to say so he just goes with his instincts, which have only failed him a few times, and pulls beau in for a hug.

her folded arms are trapped between them and fjord feels her tense even more before suddenly she’s wriggling in the cradle of his arms and freeing her hands, wrapping them tight around him. he groans dramatically at the pressure, grins when she laughs.

‘so,’ she says, quiet, soft, nervous. not like beau at all. ‘you - don’t hate me?’

fjord’s arms tighten around her. ‘no.’ the word is firm. certain. he feels it hit and stun her, feels her go lax against him. ‘your parents really fucked you up, huh.’

beau snorts wet against his shoulder. ‘a bit. i had a hand in it too.’

‘no, i don’t think you did,’ he tells her thoughtfully.’

‘you don’t know—‘

‘i’ve never seen you look the way you did when you told us about the winery,’ he continues over her and beau falls quiet. ‘i didn’t—i actually think it might’ve been the first time you’ve admitted to wanting something.’

‘you make me sound like a freak,’ beau grumbles.

‘not a freak. well. a bit of a freak,’ he amends, and is pleased to peek down and see the hint of a smile on her face. ‘it’s a shitty kind of parent who makes a kid feel like they aren’t allowed to want things.’

‘i could want things,’ beau defends instantly. fjord waits. then, ‘it just...had to be the same as he wanted.’

‘mhm. i hate your dad.’

beau’s fingers drum restlessly against the leather of his chest piece. ‘he’s—‘

‘say complicated again. i dare you.’ beau stays silent. ‘you don’t have to hate him. not entirely. you don’t have to pick one way or the other. but i can hate him for you. if you want.’

beau leans heavier still into him. he wonders at it—this is the longest they’ve ever hugged before, the longest he’s had beau stand still before, and he’s surprised to realise that she’s short. she fits snug under his chin, which he rests atop her head.

‘jes—she wants me to forgive him. or try. she thinks he loves me.’

‘reckon that had any hand in your whole spiral? wanting to leave us?’ he regrets the snide tone immediately when beau pulls away. she doesn’t fold into herself again, looks a little more even keel, but she’s closed off somewhat.

‘i said i’m sorry.’

‘you don’t—beau,’ he sighs. ‘you don’t have to be sorry. i’m not gonna stand here and say i understand but...we just wanna know you’re not gonna offer that again. or walk away next time we zip to zadash.’

‘oh, alliteration.’

‘thought you might like it.’

‘i—‘ beau looks away.

‘jester would be really upset,’ fjord tells her, and grins broadly at the look of outrage that crosses beau’s face.

‘no! absolutely not! i didn’t tell you this so that you could use it against me—‘

‘just so i’d hate you and give you a reason to run?’ that had clicked, finally, and he knows he’s right when shame engulfs beau’s expression.

‘i’m sorry,’ she says again, and he can only sigh.

‘do you even know what you’re apologising for?’ beau looks to hesitate. fjord shakes his head. ‘whatever it is... just make sure it isn’t - that you’re not apologising for being you,’ he says and prods a finger against her chest. ‘i spent months pretending to be someone else, and years before that hating who i was so...i get what you’re feeling. kinda. i was shit scared giving up my powers because i’d let them be who i was instead of something i used.’ beau nods reassuringly and fjord feels a flicker of fond exasperation. smiles down at her. ‘i don’t need to be supported, beau, i’m supporting you.’

‘you were fuckin’ - brave and awesome, okay? i can support that. shut up.’

he rolls his eyes. when he’s done, he frowns down at the ground, the knotted roots and vines.

‘sacrificing yourself ... isn’t your power. it’s not what we need from you, like the snea snakes power wasn’t — what i am, all that i am. we want you, beau.’

he knows it’s not over, not yet fully understood, but he counts it as a success when beau nods slowly. she looks thoughtful, which is better than despair. far better.

‘did you really think i’d hate you?’

beau’s eyes drop and she shrugs, looking every inch an awkward teen. he wonders idly how old she actually is—older than twenty, maybe mid-twenties? she mutters something he doesn’t catch.

‘huh?’

‘how do you feel?’ she snaps. a little louder and crankier than intended, obviously, because she winces.

‘about—‘ he gestures to her and then back toward the camp. beau nods. fjord tucks his thumbs onto his belt, shifts his weight as he thinks, knowing beau won’t be reassured by a half-answer. ‘i don’t know.’

beau grunts.

‘things are complicated.’

she laughs. ‘tell me about it.’

‘there’s so much that i still don’t know. about me. about what the hell we’re doing. about my powers and whether when we get to the ocean uk’otoa is going to drown me,’ he says, which earns him a long, thoughtful look. he hadn’t meant to say it but he’s glad that it was beau he said it to, rather than anyone else. she’s steady, usually, and has his back.

‘i’m a good swimmer,’ she says.

‘you’ll pull me back on the boat?’

‘on the quick, captain.’

they trade smiles. fjord continues.

‘i don’t know how much space there is in that for romance. and - and i like jester, i do, it’s just... sometimes i think, and it’s not her fault i pretended to be someone else for months, but i don’t think she sees me all the time. she can’t,’ he tells beau. ‘i don’t even know who i am, so how can she?’ beau nods. she doesn’t try to convince him or reassure him, just puts a hand on his arm. ‘can i ask you something? you can say no.’ he waits for her to nod, then, ‘when did you know? that you liked her?’

for a moment, he thinks she’s not going to answer. but then the words start, haltingly at first before he recognises the softness in her tone and everything comes a little easier. that’s the jester of it all, he knows. it’s easy to love her.

‘it’s - been a bit. a long while, i guess. not from the start. she just - was always funny and fun, yknow?’ he nods. he does know. ‘and then things started getting hard and i dunno, i was ready to protect her because she’s jester but she—she’s strong. really strong. and kind? and even though we kept seeing all this awful shit, she keeps being kind and it’s weird in a totally jester way. it’s amazing? and i don’t know when it happened but one day i just realised i’d do a lot to make sure she never felt like that effort was wasted and maybe help her out and—yeah. i’m not—it’s not something i’m gonna do anything about,’ she is quick to assure him, ‘i’m not gonna tell her or anything, it’s just a crush,’ beau lies, ‘but it’s there.’

fjord thinks—he doesn’t know, he never seems to know anything for certain anymore, the world so much more complex than he had ever given it credit for, but he thinks—that there is something deeply sad about the idea that beau won’t tell jester. there’s a hurt in his chest at the idea of jester being with beau, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought it might. whether that’s because he loves beau too, or because he doesn’t love jester as much as he thought, or because he knows how good beau is and how well she would love jester...he doesn’t know any of that either. but when he thinks on it a second more, a minute more, he can see it. and the sadness tugs at him again, knowing that beau won’t even allow herself to want it.

‘i get it,’ is all he says, because they’ve talked about enough heavy shit, he thinks. ‘kinda makes you wonder what’s wrong with everyone when they’re not head over heels for her, right?’

beau snorts. her eyes brighten with obvious surprise and a hesitant kind of happiness. ‘yeah,’ she agrees, and when fjord doesn’t react poorly to it, to yet another acknowledgement of how she feels, she relaxes into it. shoulders dropping from where they’ve been lifted around her ears the entire time. ‘yeah.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories #i love the brjeus

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naseemredhorn · 4 years

Text

Why Hotboi is a War Criminal

I’ve seen a lot of shitty Essek takes in the last week but I’m gonna break down why it is Essek is an actual war criminal and why this whole “you’re broken too” line of thinking is bullshit. Understand that I’m not blaming the cast, nor do I hate or am quitting Critical Role, and while I may make some real life comparisons, I’m aware this is just a piece of fiction and I’m engaging with it that way.

1) “Essek is just like the M9, he is as hurtful and broken as they are”

The M9′s biggest crimes don’t even come close to Essek’s. Caleb, who has been beating himself up for a decade, killed two people under duress and conditioning of a mentor. The extent to which he was in control of his own actions is unknown but it doesn’t change the fact that he was manipulated to perform his greatest sin. The same can be said for Yasha under the control of Obann, how much she did what she did is unclear, but she was clearly manipulated at a low point in her life to kill her tribe that already had killed her wife. The other members of the M9 don’t come close: Beau, Fjord, and Nott’s damage all come from other people mistreating and abandoning them and feeling unworthy of having good things occur to them. Cad and Jester aren’t even bad people, at worst they’re annoying or weird but not harmful. They have damage due to putting other people’s problems ahead of their own consistently.

Essek facilitated the death, torture, and displacement of thousands of lives. He ordered Veth’s husband’s kidnapping and oversaw his torture. He left an Empire loyalist to die for treason he committed. And he didn’t do it for anything moral, just his own personal advancement in wizardry.

Essek’s damage isn’t due to someone hurting him or him not feeling worthy, it’s a reasonable guilty response to the harm he did and chose to do for HIS OWN BENEFIT. That’s the big divider here, even in the M9′s mostly morally gray actions, they often are acting on the behalf of someone else (Jester’s mom is getting threatened by a guy? Convince him to leave the continent. Fjord might be cursed by this sea entity? Let’s find it what it wants) as opposed to profiting themselves. Essek was fine throwing thousands under the bus so that he could walk away with more knowledge and power.

2) “But Essek is a little 90-year old baby boy, he’s practically a kid by elf standards”

This has got to be the worst one. There is a difference between the cultural expectations of age and the accumulation of knowledge over time. If you and your people lived for 1000 years, you would be expected to, by the midpoint of your life, reach a level of maturity, knowledge, and wisdom that would be unrealistic for anyone to expect out a human being. Relative to that standard, Essek isn’t too old but it doesn't change that he has had 90 years of lived experiences and knowledge that lets him know with much more certainty than the Nein what the reactions of the continent would be to his choices. Essek is a fully grown adult, more so than any of the Nein. Keyleth has a similar life span and she despised being called a child because of course she did, she had experiences to draw from even if relatively she was only in the beginning parts of her life. The same goes for Essek.

3) “It’s about forgiveness, not what he did.”

The Mighty Nein cannot forgive Essek. Essek is their friend and they are sympathetic to him, not to the people he killed. When the war comes to the Nein, they get to teleport away and not have to deal with it. They hear about it occasionally and worry about someone close to them even more rarely. For everyone else? They have to rough out the war.

The Mighty Nein are not Essek’s victims and they don’t get to say he shouldn’t feel bad or be punished for the death he made happen.

What this sounds like to me, is honestly the legacy of imperialism and the culture of imperialist reaction to the reality of war. Soldiers in imperialist countries often come back complaining about the trauma they faced committing the atrocities they did for the sake of their country’s profit and they are showered in praise, understanding, and empathy for their suffering. But the people they actually killed and hurt are forgotten, their emotions don’t matter or if it does, it matters in the vague moral sense, not in the way that something should actually be done or the perpetrator should have to suffer some form of recompense. It’s a narrative that’s showed itself on the news countless times and I suppose it was only inevitable that I would see it reflected in media that I respected and hoped for better from.

#critical role #essek #essek thelyss #mighty nein #caleb widogast #nott the brave #veth brenatto #beau #yasha #fjord #caduceus clay #jester lavorre

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punkpoemprose · 4 years

Text

Go Figure- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Art Student/ College AU Length: 2600 Rating: T (I mean there’s nudity and... descriptions... y’all can handle it I’m sure)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday Emma @epbaker! I finally finished that art student/ figure model AU for you. I know I’ve been promising it forever, so here it is! I hope you like it!

Anna yawned as she walked across campus. The art building was mere steps from her dorm, but she’d met a friend for lunch in the science building’s café, had ended up spending a bit too long chatting and subsequently was running late, too late at least to catch the bus across campus. It was not, however, so late that she couldn’t make it across campus on foot, and she was making a valiant effort at it.

The weather was pleasant, the sun was warm on her face and someone was sitting on a low wall outside campus center with a guitar, strumming “somewhere over the rainbow” while being kind enough not to sing it.

All was well in the world, until, that was, a rather strong gust of wind rolled off the Fjord, struck her portfolio and sent her sailing straight into the largest man she’d ever seen. Well, not the largest she’d ever seen really, but the largest she’d ever run directly into, which was saying something as, despite her best intentions, Anna had a bad habit of running directly into people fairly often. The apology she always had prepared slipped from her lips.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she tried to steer herself and her oversized portfolio away from the man at her side. “I’m so clumsy, I didn’t mean to…”

She paused when she felt his hand wrap around her portfolio handle, two fingers were just on the other side of her four as he turned the whole thing long so as to not catch the wind again. When she looked up to thank him, her mouth went dry. He was not a particularly “pretty” man like many of the guys she had classes with, but he was handsome and looking mildly annoyed.

“I’s fine,” he responded gruffly, releasing the handle and continuing ahead of her, his long legs carrying him along a lot more expediently than her own could manage.

She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she stood, for a moment, to collect herself and watch him get lost in the crush of bodies heading towards the art building.

She made a sound of annoyance under her breath, deciding that she didn’t like people who didn’t take her clumsiness in stride. It wasn’t really her fault this time anyhow, and while he has said that it was fine, his face and his quick walk off hardly said the same.

“Probably a Grad Student,” she decided, mumbling under her breath, “they’re always crabby. Maybe a music major, they’re the worst.”

She sent a mental apology to the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” guy but decided that as he wasn’t singing, he probably wasn’t a music major anyhow. Music majors always sang, whether they were any good or not. It didn’t matter to them, and their favorite captive audience tended to be anyone on campus who wasn’t in the library and who couldn’t run. Music theory master’s student, the truest breed of asshole in the building, was what she ultimately decided on before regripping her portfolio and heading up into the building.

She found her seat in the studio with a grateful sigh. She’d managed at least, not to bump into anyone else. She did secretly like the idea of bumping into Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome again. Despite his crabbiness, or what she’d perceived as crabbiness, he was nice to look at, and Anna nefariously thought that if nothing else it might be fun to mildly inconvenience him again.

She let the thought fade into the back of her mind with other daydreams like getting Chinese for dinner instead of dining hall food and talking Residence Life and Housing into letting her bring her cat Olaf to campus as her “therapy animal”. God knew she needed one with all the stress she’d been under between classes and trying to live up to her family’s expectations of her meanwhile.

“Good afternoon class,” he professor called as she started pulling her supplies out of her bag. “I think I told you last week we’d be starting life drawing from models this week, so I want you all to turn your attention to the center of the room where our model will be joining us in just a moment. His name is Kristoff and I expect you all to be professional and work at your most efficient speed. We don’t want him holding a pose too long, you wouldn’t think it, but it can get quite uncomfortable.”

Anna had been looking forward to this unit. She still wasn’t exactly certain of what she wanted to do with her art degree, but she was leaning towards being a medical illustrator, so finally getting to draw actual bodies instead of working from photographs was an exciting prospect.

She pulled her sketchbook out as well as the conte crayons that were already her worst enemy. It seemed like every time she went to use them she snapped them under her fingers. She was going to ask her professor after class if he would mind her switching to charcoal pencil for next class. She knew that it was her fault for pressing too hard, but her hands just always seemed to work better with a pencil or marker than with small waxy fragile things. Chalk and vine charcoal likewise hated her.

“Okay, you all set Kristoff?” her professor said, “Alright, whatever is most comfortable for you. Perfect! Okay, we’re just going to do some quick gestures first so we’re going to do five minutes…”

A groan came from the assembled students, and Anna almost chuckled, finishing getting herself together as her professor quieted the dissention with reminders that they’d been warned they wouldn’t have long and that they were going to do some longer poses towards the end of class. He was saying something about warm ups and how he was starting the clock now.

Anna pulled out one of the lighter crayons to start with and looked up to the model.

The crayon snapped and fell to the floor, crunched in her grip when she realized that the man standing before her was very familiar. Not only that but that he was very familiar and very naked.

Her heart raced, her eyes went wide, and she wished more than anything that she had taken another seat. Oh to be one of her classmates that wasn’t facing Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome’s face… and perhaps worse than that, his manhood.

The brief thought she’d had while climbing the stairs to the studio that he was rude because he was compensating for “something” was whisked from her thoughts as she was faced with that particular part of his figure. She knew her face was growing hot, and that he caught her eye made her feel like deflating completely into her chair. Recognition sparked in his eye, and then she saw the slightest shift in his own expression towards embarrassment.

She could hear minutes ticking down in the back of her head, forcing herself to keep looking at him, but not to think about anything other than taking what she saw and put it to paper. She scrambled to pick up the broken bits of crayon and press the nub she managed to collect into the paper. This, she decided, was going to be the longest class of her life.

***

When they had taken a break, Anna had excused herself from the room before she could catch their model, Kristoff’s eyes again. He was slipping a robe on when she made her escape. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and when she’d returned, he’d met her eyes as she reentered the room. She thought that maybe he’d wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to say it.

Now though, as class was ending and he was redressing, she didn’t have much of a say in whether or not he’d be able to say something to her. Her professor had seen her conte crayon incident and was discussing the importance of pressure and tool use to her. He was, also suggesting, much to Anna’s relief, that she start using a toned charcoal pencil set instead of the crayons in order to increase her productivity.

She had only a few sketches, and all of them were as much a mess as she felt. Her professor was kindly, telling her how the first figure drawing class with nude models was always stressful and that she’d do better next time, when she saw Kristoff, the model, staring at her, fully clothed.

She nodded to her professor appreciatively and told him that she’d look into the pencil set and that she appreciated his feedback and that she’d see him next week, when she saw him slipping from the room and into the hall. It was a small mercy, she supposed, that he, Kristoff, didn’t want to talk to her after all. She supposed that there was plenty he could say to her “you shouldn’t be so clumsy with your portfolio you could have hurt someone”, “your crayon falling on the floor ruined my focus”, “you probably would have gotten more work done if you weren’t constantly in a battle to look at and to not look at my dick”. She flushed at the thought as her professor released her and she was able to walk out with her things. She didn’t have another class for the day, so she fully planned to collapse on her crappy college dorm mattress and bemoan her inability to be a normal person.

He was in the hall when she walked out, looking sheepish, and totally un-asshole-ish, which made her wish that he was the jerk that she’d made him out to be before class. It would be easier to draw him next class if she just didn’t like him and was hate drawing him. She’d even take any points off her professor wanted to take if she drew him the with tiniest dick on the planet, a clear and evident incorrect detail.

“Hey… uh… Anna?”

She had thought about walking straight past him, making those muscled legs chase after her if he really wanted to talk, but the expression on his face was nervous and shy and she found herself unable to do any such thing. She realized that he must have heard her professor call her over, or maybe he’d asked a classmate for her name during the break. She certainly hadn’t given it to him.

“Yes?” she said, trying her best not to scowl or smile, both of which felt like logical expressions in reaction to him. Her brain was battling between how to treat “jerk who didn’t have the time to deal with her in the quad” and “attractive and shy guy standing in front of her in a tight fitting shirt that barely hid the strong muscled form she knew to be underneath” in a way that felt logical and satisfying.

He looked down at his shoes, pushing off from the wall he’d been half leaned against, waiting for her to walk out. It struck her as a sort of nervous motion, like he hadn’t really thought this far ahead and like he was much less smooth than he’d like to be. It was enough to make a smile ghost on her lips.

“I… I’m sorry about earlier… in the quad. I was late… I commute and my truck had problems and… you probably don’t care about that… I just, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for acting so annoyed with you. I’m just… not really good with people, even when I’m not upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you though. I should have said that it was okay.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small one, and she did her best to cover it.

“No, don’t… Look I’m really clumsy, I shouldn’t have expected for you to say it was fine. I’m sorry too.”

He was standing close, he towered her, but she wasn’t intimidated. She could tell now that she was seeing him as he was, as he usually was at least. He seemed a little shy, a little nervous, but kind, and it made her wish she hadn’t been so mean earlier, even if it was mostly just in her thoughts.

“Can you answer a question for me though?” she asked, unwilling to help herself.

“I.. yes. Sure.”

She smiled at him, trying to give him the warmth she probably should have given him from the start.

“What’s your major?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but quickly answered, “Pre-vet.”

Oh, she liked that. Not pretentious… at least not nearly as much as she thought music majors were. He looked a little bit older than her, so she wondered if he was a senior or just had gotten a late start to still be “pre-vet” instead of on the vet track. It didn’t really matter she decided. He already liked him.

“Can I ask you something too?” he said, seeming nervous again, even when she assented with a nod.

“Can I get you a coffee or something… you know… because I want to apologize. Not because I…”

He trailed off and she watched him brush a hand through his mussed blonde hair. A part of her had wanted to comb her hand through it while he’d been standing there, naked in the classroom when she’d been trying to decide whether she didn’t like him or whether she found him insanely attractive.

“Not because you…?”

She saw the flush on his cheeks and she felt like she was missing something that she should have caught.

He seemed confused for a moment, and then he flushed harder, avoiding her eye as she looked up at him.

“Oh… I didn’t think… I figured you’d noticed and that was why you’d left during the break?”

She shook her head, trying to think what he thought her motivations could have been other than her annoyance about their interaction outside.

“I… well… I was staring and… you’re very beautiful… and…”

She snorted, “I spent a whole class drawing you naked, why would I be annoyed that you were looking at me when I was trying not to stare at your… Oh.”

She put two and two together in that moment. She had done a lot of staring and trying not to stare at a certain part of his anatomy, and she supposed that she might have just not noticed a certain… change in him while she was drawing.

She thought that she might combust. He was standing a bit uncomfortably, she supposed it made sense, she’d just not connected the signs until he said something.

“Coffee… coffee would be nice,” she said, face hot and voice squeaking out of her throat. “But I think I should buy… sorry about that.”

He gave a little half shrug, red as a tomato himself. “It’s not something you should be sorry about I should have…”

She giggled then, unable to help herself, “No, no. I’m flattered, really! And I mean… I guess if I knew that all it took to get someone this nice and this attractive interested was to smack them with my portfolio…”

He laughed then, a warm sound that made her feel like she was melting on the spot.

“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t. Because now we get to have coffee, and maybe talk a little?”

She smiled and kicked out her portfolio with her toe, bumping it into his side again, before walking down the hall, knowing he’d follow.

#kristanna #Art student AU #College AU #unbirthday fics 2020 #epbaker

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