#It could be similar to jester that she's repeating something she read

[stardustedknuckles]

Not being in any way against the ship but the longer we go, the less convinced I am that Laudna and Imogen are a couple, or more specifically in love. Queerplatonic is as on the table as it's ever been, but the way people talk about ships by and large is nowhere to be found on these two so far.

#I'm seeing people interpret FCG's question and the response as 'confirmed in love' and I'm like #Squinting #Because laudna purposefully dodged that #She said she loved Imogen the same was Ashton said he loved his group of friends #I am intrigued by Imogen's assertion that you know what love is if you've been in it #It doesn't have to mean she's been in it #It could be similar to jester that she's repeating something she read #But the way she said it carried weight #Maybe for laudna #Maybe for someone she had to leave behind when her powers manifested #cr spoilers #imogen temult #Laudna #CR c3

[dent-de-leon]

Mollymauk, 4, 5, 11, 13, 14, 15, 21, 22 :D (feel free to trim down if this is too many)

asksjkdf I'm sorry in advance because I got a little carried away so this got a little long, but thanks for the ask! I love any and every excuse to talk about Mollymauk...

4.) Best places to kiss on their body

I think Molly is actually very partial to forehead kisses! I feel like he uses that to ground Caleb in part because it’s something that’s always been very comforting to him--for instance, when Yasha finally gets to embrace him again, she also kisses his forehead. I think I remember Molly doing this for the twins back at the carnival too, so I feel like it’s a habit he picked up from the circus? Just the kind of little thing you do for someone to show you love them.

Aside from that, I think he would really appreciate a kiss on the neck, where most of his blood hunter scars--and that haunting red Eye--are. A bit of loving tenderness to soothe the pain.

5.) Guilty pleasures

Oh I love this pick for Molly cause boY does he have a lot of these!! He builds a life off joy and hedonism, so he’s got this in spades. I forget where, but I’ve definitely seen someone theorize before that the reason base pleasures are so appealing to Molly is because he started out just feeling like an “Empty” body, so anything that’s very stimulating on a physical level is very grounding for him? I really like the idea of that. I think wanting to feel like he was really “alive” and “whole” is part of why he gravitated towards decadence and indulgence, anything that made his heart beat faster.

The episode where we get the famous “Long may I reign” scene definitely covers a lot of his favorite indulgences. But as much as he loves being spoiled, I think he also likes making sure the people he cares about are pampered like royalty too. Taliesin mentioned before that the reason Molly likes gold so much is because he’s got this very childish perception that money is Good because you can use it to get Nice Things that make other people Happy. Since Molly’s been alive for only two years, I feel like a lot of his guilty pleasures actually stem from this sort of sentiment. The fact that he’s still so young and everything in the world is very new and exciting and he just wants to be as happy as possible--and make his loved ones happy too. It’s a very endearingly innocent sort of view.

11.) Bad or petty habits

Hmmm I feel like the one thing that makes Molly the pettiest is when someone tries to tell him his tarot readings are bullshit lmao. Even if he mostly thinks so himself, he adamantly refuses to hear it from anyone else.

13.) What gets them flustered

I think whenever someone is being very genuine and having a real heart to heart with him. Molly is perfectly at ease talking bullshit or telling pretty lies. He’s also very comfortable being very sincere and compassionate when it comes to comforting others, like the little ways he’s always trying to cheer up Jester, the forehead kiss for Caleb, promising Fjord the Nein won’t let him die, bringing Yasha a four-leaf-clover with the wish that one day she’ll feel happier.

But whenever people are openly affectionate and trying to have an honest conversation with him? I think that makes him tense up and panic a bit. He’s not good with letting himself be vulnerable, dropping his showman’s performance. We actually see a lot of this when Molly is resurrected and starts going by Kingsley. He knows he has feelings for the Nein, but he’s definitely a little nervous and overwhelmed when he confronts that.

Several times, Caleb assures King he’s still welcome in the Nein, and that always makes Kingsley either defensive or very quiet, keeps catching him off-guard. “Well for starters, you are with friends.” “Perhaps this is your first time meeting us. It's our second time...Stick with us.” “We have a habit of taking in strays.” “This is the newest member of the band.” Being accepted just like that, loved by all the Nein so unconditionally, just like that? I think it leaves him a little shaken, because he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything to earn it. Like he doesn’t deserve to be this missed and wanted and loved.

14.) Ingrained habits/forces of habit

I think there are some nights where he keeps looking over his shoulder and feels like he’s being watched--when the Eyes of Nine start to itch and burn, when it feels like something’s crawling under his skin--and he looks at the mirror and swears he sees a face that looks just the same but somehow isn’t his. And for a while after he first wakes--and again when he’s resurrected--I think there are still moments when he’s scared or panicked and he’ll just keep repeating Empty over and over.

I also really like how Taliesin used to just pick a random card from his tarot deck to decide what Molly should do. I can definitely see Mollymauk doing something similar--just pulling a random card from his deck on a whim, trusting it’ll lead him in the right direction.

15.) What it takes to make them cry

I feel like Molly rarely cries, mainly because he hates feeling sorry for himself or ruminating on any bad memories. He’s kinda funny that way; he refuses to let himself be unhappy, especially when he feels like he’s always living on borrowed time. The one thing I can see really making him break down is seeing his loved ones hurting--he literally spits at the face of his own death, but I think he’s really terrified of losing someone else.

If there’s one scene where I can really see Molly crying, it’s when Jester falls in that final battle. When Caleb makes this desperate plea that breaks through to Molly for a single heart-wrenching moment, “You’re killing her, you’re killing her! You love her. You’re killing her!” The absolute horror of that shakes Lucien’s control for just a moment, and Molly claws at his own face in retaliation. You can just tell how much his heart is breaking just then, how scared he is, how much he must hate himself. I could definitely imagine Molly shedding a few tears right then, if he had enough control of the body to do it.

Having to watch Lucien use his body to kill Jester and Caleb, the amount of pain Lucien caused Yasha and all the others, the nightmares of his death and black chains that forever haunt him after--I think those are the kinds of things that would bring Molly to tears in his lowest moments. And when he finally reads Beau’s book and finds out about how Yasha suffered a similar fate under Obann? Yeah, I think he’d get choked up over that too.

21.) Turning points in their life

Oh, there’s so many interesting twists and turns Molly’s life takes in just a few short years. Undoubtably, I think every life, death, and rebirth left the biggest impact. The fact that he woke all alone that first time--and then found himself surrounded by so many loved ones a lifetime later--I think that had a profound impact on his sense of self worth and his attachment to others.

That first life, Molly convinces himself that he must have been someone awful before, to have been left alone in an unmarked grave on the side of the road. With no one who missed or mourned him. He believes he somehow deserves that fate. And when he’s taken in by the circus? Taliesin mentions he never spends more than 24 hours alone. He’s...very lonely, I think. Someone who can’t bear to be isolated again. So when he wakes up again to a whole family of people who love him? Who welcome him wholeheartedly and insist they’ll love him unconditionally, no matter who he is? It’s beautiful, and it means the world to someone like Mollymauk/Kingsley. “I’m looking forward to the future. And I hope to deserve to have woken up surrounded by such people.”

Molly’s also mentioned that it was the Moonweaver who helped guide him when he first woke, who gave him comfort in having a new start in life. “Can you imagine what it would feel like to not feel anything about anything that had happened to you so far?...It’s very freeing. It’s the best thing--It’s the thing that happened to me. It’s not the best thing that happened to me, it’s the thing that happened to me. I found peace in building a new person. The Moonweaver--” However he came to worship the Moonweaver, I think it was definitely one of the most formative experiences in all his lives. I also like to headcanon the woman in a red coat Molly/King met in his dream was another visit from the Moonweaver, and she was either trying to return his memories or offer him another chance at a fresh start.

22.) People who’ve influenced them greatly

Oh, pre-campaign I think Molly modeled a lot of his behaviors and mannerisms after others in the circus, especially Gustav. He’s the one who named Mollymauk and presumably the one who spent the most time raising him and caring for him in that Empty period.

Molly has his own set of morals he feels very strongly about, and it’s entirely learned from the circus, “Things came back quick, and the circus helped. They were good people. They did a lot for me, and joy can fill an awful lot of a person’s life.” “I may be a liar, but I’m never a betrayer. I’m honest in my work and I believe in doing a good turn...I stayed with that circus for two years, and I know how people treat each other. It’s important.” When Molly is resurrected again, I think all of the Mighty Nein have very much the same effect on him.

#i just...love this little tief a whole lot

[fortunes-favor]

As if I Am Looking in a Mirror

Co-written with @nottthebest

Paring: Essek thelyss/Caleb Widogast 

Word Count: ~2.8k 

Rating: T Summary: Caleb Widogast and Essek Thelyss both have plans to facilitate spending their lives together. Yussa helps.

Read on Ao3

Caleb and Essek are together for years. And though time is his specialty, Essek finds it slipping through his grasp.

As the weeks and months go by, Essek starts to notice strands of grey hair among a sea of red. And then another. And another, until Caleb’s hair is a mess of orange and red and white and silver.

It hurts seeing Caleb get older when he stays much the same age, at least in appearance. While Caleb is far past middle-aged, Essek is still only barely halfway into his second century.

So one day, he makes up his mind. It comes to him as they sit and study together, Caleb leaning against Essek’s chest, with Essek’s fingers absentmindedly running through Caleb’s salted strands. Caleb’s reading a book, and Essek has his own, though he hasn’t been able to concentrate on it. His fingers come to a stop, catching Caleb’s attention. Caleb leans his head back to see Essek’s thousand-yard stare.

“What’s the matter, liebling? I know that look,” Caleb teases lightly, his voice more gravelly with age.

Essek smiles in return. “Lost in thought. My mind’s been drifting so much these days.”

“Where to?” Caleb puts down his book and shifts to get a better look at the man he loves, causing Perle, one of their three cats, to yowl in protest before jumping off of Caleb’s lap. Caleb mutters a soft apology at the white cat before turning back to look at Essek’s face.

“Oh, places. I wonder what our friends are up to.” He deflects.

If Caleb knew his real train of thought… Well, that conversation will happen later.

“I’ll be visiting Beauregard at the Soul tomorrow. I’ll give you a rundown on what she and Yasha are up to.”

And at that moment, an idea strikes Essek.

“Perhaps I will go pay a visit to Jester and Fjord then. I hear Veth could also use a hand with her summer camps. Maybe a day or two on the coast would be nice.”

Caleb places a quick gentle kiss on his temple. “That sounds lovely. Just, make sure to take your parasol. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Essek scoffs, unappreciative of the reminder of the sunburn incident, but gives Caleb a soft smile followed by a sweet kiss on his lips anyway.

The following day, Caleb packs his things and, with a kiss goodbye, teleports directly to the Cobalt Reserve.

Knowing now is his chance, Essek gathers his spellbook and some gem dust. He puts precisely hundred-and-twenty-seven pounds of clay in a vault of amber. And he teleports to Nicodranas.

Jester and the others receive a quick visit, just in case Caleb asks about it later. He’s sure Jester will have sent him a message the moment he walked out the door. But he has a mission for today. With an illusioned disguise—not of Dezran Thain, he never wants to be him again— he quickly makes his way to the monumental tower he knew a friend of a friend would be at. He only hopes he can convince the mage to help.

He greets the goblin servant at Tidepeak, introducing himself as Essek of the Mighty Nein. He says that he has a spell to share with the goblin’s master, one that he’s sure the mage will find fascinating. The goblin lets him in after some persuasion. Once inside, Essek drops the illusion.

“Um. One moment.” Wensforth politely gives a slight bow before scurrying up the stairs, leaving Essek in the foyer. After a few out-of-earshot comments are passed, Essek’s ears perk up.

“Essek Thelyss,” an amused sounding voice rings from somewhere above the entryway. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Come upstairs. Please.”

The mage looks different from when Essek last saw him, but the last time Essek saw him, his face was a void, and his soul was trapped by a living city, so it’s not surprising.

Now, Yussa Errenis sits with thinly-veiled interest on his very-much-there face. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a favour to ask of you.”

Yussa’s interested look turns to one of surprise. “And why would I do you a favour? Do you offer me anything in return?”

Essek grins. “I am a member of the Mighty Nein, as well as one of the people who helped save you from the Astral Sea. I’m sure we can work something out.”

He luckily convinces Yussa to perform the transmogrification ritual to turn him into a fifty-seven-year-old human. Same age as Caleb. Yussa doesn’t quite understand why he would give up the many centuries he has left to live, but it’s fascinating magic that Yussa hasn’t yet had the chance to test, and if the drow wants to be foolish, he’s not going to stop him.

An hour later, Essek is human, skin darker than Beauregard's but cooler in tone, and hair still snowy white. His facial structure is as similar as it can be without raising suspicion. He’s a little taller but not enough to make much of a difference. The wrinkles are new. His skin feeling too loose on his body is new. His ears are definitely going to take some getting used to, and he’s going to have to stop wearing some of his ear cuffs and caps, specifically ones meant to fit pointed elf ears.

At the end of it all, Essek is packing his belongings, still trying to get used to the new body. He is exhausted but also feels like he’s floating, content. He will be able to spend his life with Caleb.

He suddenly stands up straight. “One more thing.”

Yussa’s humoured sigh is not well hidden at all. “Yes, of course, I am at your service. what else?”

Essek hesitates for a moment. “Do not tell Caleb what we have done here today.”

That interested look from before returns to Yussa’s expression. “I hesitate to ask for clarification on that request.”

Essek gives him no clarity, and after a quick thanks, disappears in a show of teleportation magic.

Through the elation of practicing an advanced spell, a similar happiness comes with a thought.

He can grow old with Caleb now. Even if they have very little time left, their time is going to be spent together. And if there is an afterlife, one won’t have to wait long for the other to join him there.

*********

Not too long after, Yussa has yet another visitor. He’s fully expecting the drow––human?––to be back, regretting his decision and asking to work on a reversal of it, see if they can revert him back to an elf, without having to wait the one year. It surprises him to see, instead, a slightly nervous Caleb Widogast, shifting his weight lightly from one side to the other.

“What a coincidence, Mister Widogast. I was expecting-” He shakes his head faintly, remembering his promise. “Nevermind that. What can I do for you?”

Caleb looks skeptical for a second before his expression turns neutral. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Deja vu is not something Yussa has experienced much in his 400 or so years of life, but then again, it's not often you befriend– no, become indebted to a group as unpredictable as the Mighty Nein.

“Of course.”

Further to Yussa’s surprise, Caleb is asking him much the same thing as his partner did. Except, Caleb is asking to be turned into an elf. Yussa doesn’t know why they wouldn’t have just done this in the first place, if the goal was to match the other’s life expectancy. Then it dawns on him.

He considers divulging Thelyss’ secret, but he did swear to him he wouldn’t tell Widogast about it. And the thought of them seeing each other's plans after they’ve been carried out is amusing, to say the very least. Plus, what’s the harm in watching the world burn just a little? He’s not beyond wasting someone else’s spell components to have a little fun, especially when that person is convinced that this is the thing to do. What’s another point of exhaustion compared to a good joke?

So he agrees. And the ritual begins and ends with expected success. Caleb’s silvering hair is now returned to its coppery brightness, the skin stretched more taught against his sharper, slimmer, ever so slightly more elegant features, his ears now pulled to fine points.

Oh, Yussa would very much enjoy seeing their reactions to each other’s new forms.

Yussa stifles laughter that’s building up at the thought. It really is too bad that both Thelyss and Widogast still wear the amulets that would keep him from Scrying on them. Oh, well, he will surely hear about it later, if not from the pair of knucklehead wizards then from their blue friend who is all too enthusiastic to Send to him.

He’s once again surprised that he’s looking forward to hearing from them.

*********

Essek returns to an empty home several hours later, having enjoyed the Nicodranas sun for the first time in his near-century-and-a-half for a while before returning. Faer, Perle and Fate filter into the room that houses their teleportation circle and all come to a confused halt upon seeing Essek. Essek is unsure of the reason for the change in behaviour for a moment before it hits him that he’s no longer in the body his cats are familiar with.

“Oh, it’s me,” he quickly says in Undercommon, kneeling down in front of the three cats with a hand reaching out to them. “I, ah, look––and smell I’m sure––a little different, but it’s me.”

Perle starts taking tentative steps toward Essek and cautiously sniffs his hand before gently nuzzling her head against Essek’s hand in a show of trust. Faer and Fate soon follow suit after being assured that Essek means them no harm, even if they don’t know it’s him.

Oh, gods, would they ever recognize him again? Would they think that Essek abandoned them if they never notice Essek’s human form to be the Essek that they know?

Essek shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts. Even if the cats never know it’s him, this will have been worth it to not have to live a life without Caleb at his side.

He feeds the cats before grabbing his book from the study and making his way to the bedroom. He trades his day clothing for his flowy pyjama pants, noting the slight difference in fit to his new, slightly less lithe body.

A while after he gets comfortable on the bed and starts reading, Faer jumps onto the bed and curls up at Essek’s side. Essek smiles softly to himself and lays a hand on Faer’s dark grey fur, petting him softly. Over the next couple of hours, while he reads, the other two cats join him on the bed. Perle making biscuits on Caleb’s pillow for a few minutes before settling on it, and Fate lies at the foot of the bed, almost at the very edge. Essek knows he will have to be careful not to kick him off the bed in the night.

Sleep takes him not long after he thinks; It seems there is hope for me with the cats after all.

*********

The next day, Essek hears Caleb come home before he sees him. Essek’s in the study, mulling over scenarios of how best to tell Caleb what he’s done when he hears his partner. Fate jumps off his spot on the desk next to the journal Essek’s jotting down ideas in, presumably to welcome Caleb home.

“I’m in the study, ussta che,” he calls out, standing up promptly. He dusts off imaginary lint from his leggings and wills his hands not to shake. “I, ah, have something to show you!”

“As do I,” Caleb says. Essek waits for rustling, the telltale noises of his wizard going through his bag in search of one thing or the other. It doesn’t come. Instead, Essek hears the approaching footfalls of Caleb.

When Caleb appears at the door, Essek is about to give Caleb a sheepish hello. However, he is shocked out of it the moment his eyes land on Caleb’s elven face. Caleb seems to be faring similarly as his mouth falls open in surprise and his long pointy elf ears twitch.

“Was..?” Caleb manages to get out weakly.

“It, ah, appears that we had a similar train of thought, chathtiu.”

Essek tentatively starts walking toward Caleb, never taking his eyes off the elf. Caleb Widogast is an elf.

“You’re human.”

“Oh,” Essek says, realizing the hilarity of the situation. He is a human now. And Caleb is an elf. Oh, gods. “Yes, I am,” he remembers to respond. “You’re an elf,” he adds immediately after.

“Is this one of your disguises?” There’s a trace of worry in his laugh.

“No.” He laughs in return, trying to ease the weird tension. “I paid our friend Yussa a visit. Something I assume you may have done as well?”

“Ja,” Caleb confirms and cradles his face with a smaller-than-Essek-is-used-to hand. “Schatz… You did this... You would have given your centuries away for me? You have such a long life to live.”

“No,” Essek says, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s neck. “Centuries without you would not have been living.”

“You didn’t think that I might also want to spend centuries with you?”

“I know you wouldn’t want to make your parents wait for you that long, Caleb. I also do not wish for you to have to watch the rest of the Nein die one after the other. I would never ask that of you.”

“I am offering, mein sternenlicht. You would need only accept,” He says, pressing a kiss at Essek’s temple.

“Caleb,” Essek protests softly and lets his eyes fall shut with a deep sigh.

“Unless that is, you find yourself not wanting to spend an elf’s lifespan with me,” Caleb amends, pulling back from Essek. Caleb doesn’t go too far, but Essek feels his warmth pull away anyway and snaps his eyes open.

“Caleb, you know I would stay with you through everything. But elves grow up knowing that they are going to be alive for hundreds and hundreds of years. Humans… You… I fear that you cannot fathom just how long those centuries are.” He runs a loving hand through his partner’s once-again-fully-copper hair and causes his hair tie to come undone, letting down strands as bright as the sun. “I do not want you to grow to regret your decision, chathtiu.”

“It’s good to know that you don’t have enough faith in me and our relationship that you would believe I might regret you if I am given more time,” Caleb teases, but Essek can still feel his hurt through the playful tone.

Essek rubs his temple and carefully chooses his next words to avoid any further miscommunication-related hurt. “Caleb, my love, that is not what I am implying. I trust in us enough to know that you will love me through the remainder of your days. I simply mean that I do not want you to regret this decision.” He gestures at Caleb’s elven body. “You will be the last of the Nein; even Caduceus will have a shorter life than us. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I do not want to see you go through that.”

Caleb’s face softens. “We,” he says.

Essek tilts his head in question.

“We would be the last of the Nein,” Caleb says, punctuating his words with a kiss on Essek’s lips. “Even still, I see your point, schatz. As much as I would love to spend centuries with you, I did not think about how lonely we both would be without our friends.”

“We could turn them into elves too,” Essek says, joking.

“That is a tempting idea.” Caleb smiles. “But maybe we could meet in the middle.”

“What did you have in mind?”

*********

About a year after he helped an elf become human and a human an elf, Yussa watches two half-elves walk towards the entrance of his tower, one with bright red hair and fair skin, the other with white hair and ashen brown skin. He tells Wensforth to go put some tea on and that he will greet their guests himself, before making his way down to the door.

“Mr. Widogast, Mr. Thelyss, I see you’ve worked something out.”

#shadowgast #fic #shadowgast fic #my fics #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #yussa errenis

[witchesoz]

After Oz: Legends of Oz

I hesitated before doing this one, because this movie is mostly based on the book "Dorothy of Oz" by Roger S. Baum, and I haven't read said book. It is something that tends to get on my nerve, when people actually don't care about the original material an adaptation was based on, and consider the adaptation as its own entirely original piece of work, when in fact, a lot of it was taken from somebody's else work. I mean, the perfect exemple is Shining. Some people praise Kubrick for being a pure genius for inventing this story from A to Z, and consider Stephen's King television series a "poor attempt at a remake of the movie", when... you know, King originally wrote the Shining and Kubrick merely adapted it. In fact, people tend to forget most of Kubrick's movies were adaptation. Dr. Strangelove? Loosely based on "Red Alert". Lolita? Everyone knows it is Nabokov. A Clockwork Orange? Anthony Burgess. 2001: Space Odyssey? Inspired by shorts stories of Clarke, the co-author. Eyes Wide Shut? A 1920s German book, Traumnovelle. And so forth and so forth...

  Hum. Sorry for the rant. I just needed to explain why I always want to take in consideration the original material when tackling an adaptation.  But since I haven't read and can't get this book, I will mostly rely myself on the Wikipedia plot and other reviews I read. If you wonder, yes, Roger S. Baum is Baum's great-grandson (or great-great-grandson?), and he wrote "Dorothy of Oz" as a direct sequel to the first book, "The Wizard of Oz", ignoring all of the others, and... apparently he is not a really good writer. But anyway... I still decided to do a little something about this movie, because... well just because I wanted    Oh yeah, another thing... an elephant in the room I have to adress right now. I only discovered it this year, by doing research about the movie (because before I only saw it at the time of its released and then forgot about it). You can know it, or completely ignore it - yes, I know that this whole movie was the result of a huge scam that robbed hundreds of people out of their money, and that the case has been even brought to trial. But... well the movie is still here, people still saw it, it is still around, will be for still quite a long time, and it is now part of the Oz inheritance, that you want it or not. Anyway, a lot of Oz movies had a dark and troubled production. It seems almost like a pre-requisite: if you do an Oz movie, you'll never end happy. Maybe it is a curse? Who knows.

       So... let's get into the subject. Is "Dorothy's Return" a bad movie? (I'll use this name, because "Legends of Oz" was the name of the intended franchise of three, maybe ten movies). I wouldn't say so. A lot of people said it was crap, or worthless, but I wouldn't call it bad. People also said that it is a bland movie, and I would say yes - but only partially. I think a good lot of the extreme bad reactions were caused because of 1- people who just disliked the idea of more Oz adaptations, 2- people too old for this movie, because you have to remember that this is a movie aiming at children and 3- people who are hard-die fans of the MGM movie and not so much of the original Oz books. It may also play in account that Dorothy's Return was roughly released the same year, and played as a "rival" to "Oz the Great and Powerful".

    Now, note that it isn't a memorable movie (except for a few bits). It isn't an excellent movie. It isn't a cult classic (even though it may become it with the whole scam background, who knows?). It isn't something I would watch again and again with pleasure. It isn't something exceptionnal or groundbreaking, it is even quite generic. But, it has some good parts, and it manages to be entertaining, and honestly as a child I could have sit in front of it and watch it with no problem. Because, yes, it is a children movie. The action is rushed, the characters lack depth, some moments are too sugary-sweet or even cringy (for exemple the song "We'll work together". Seriously, I just looked away and sped up a bit because that was too sickening-sweet for me.) As a result, as a child movie they missed things that could have been really good (the old tree agreeing to be use for a boat, which is played straight up as him being killed, the characters even say so, but then it turns out he is still alive as a boat? You could have had a great, deep, fascinating almost philosophical moment, but you just waste it for a happy ending). Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, a children movie. As a result, some people called the movie "too simple". On the other side, people called the story "too confusing".

  To an Oz fan like me, it isn't actually confusing. It isn't at all - but indeed, for someone with a limited knowledge of Oz, it will be confusing. Because, while they base themselves on an Oz book that re-uses many elements from the books (the Queen of the Field Mices, the Sawhorse, the China Country...) it also decided to include a lot of elements from the MGM movie (the Wicked Witch of the West is the one from the MGM, Glinda is also quasi-identical from her MGM counterpart, the Winged Monkeys work with the evil people...). As a result, yeah, it may be confusing. But the inclusion of the MGM elements actually managed to correct some flaws of the original story. For exemple, in Roger S Baum's book, the Jester was merely a normal jester possessed by the ghost of the Wicked Witch of the West, through her magic wand. Wait, magic wand? There wasn't any magic wand mentionned in the original book! But in the movie, to use the broomstick of the Wicked Witch makes much more sense.

      I'll take a short time here to comment on the character of the Jester, who is, I think, the highest point of this movie. He is a good villain. A cliché but interesting backstory cashing on the idea of Oz vilains as siblings, a clear shout-out to the Joker which isn't so bad, interesting plans. He is also the provider of many nightmarish elements (the fate of Dorothy's companions, which I think was a very good idea, or the people turning into puppets and being used for a creepy dance) that made this Oz movie feel... well Ozian. Because a good Oz work is a work that will traumatize your kids! I guess a bit part of why the Jester works so well is that he basically repeats and remakes all his sister, the Wicked Witch, did in the MGM movie, and let's be honest, she was a great villain. (And this again makes sense when you remember the Jester is originally supposed to be possessed by the Witch's ghost). But at the same time he has his distinctive signature and style, with his Jester persona, his circus-related punishment and his personal plots to conquer Oz. [People noticed obviously the sweet irony of things in this movie. You have a double-character that, on the Earth world is a cheater and criminal trying to steal people of their houses and using several fake identities, while in Oz it is a villain that turns people into puppets he can manipulate and relies mostly on cheating and misleading Dorothy to her doom. Which is eerily similar to what the creators of the movie/franchise did with their financers and investors.]

  Talking about the Earth side... The whole "earthly" parts are all bland and not memorable. Just like Dorothy, who isn't really... anything to be honest. The songs sung aren't memorable either. All of that is a fail. A lot of people also considered the Earthly animation uncanny, or even disturbing, but I personally wasn't bugged by it at all. I saw much more uncanny animation.

    When it comes to the Oz part, I actually think they managed to create a perfect "Ozian story". As in, the general schema of the girl entering in Oz through an uncommon mean (here a people-eating rainbow, that I have to say was quite a scary scene to look at), then passing through many small kingdoms, meeting new friends, forming a team, discovering the villain and fighting him off - this plot was repeated by Baum times and times and times again, and probably comes from the original novel Dorothy of Oz. But it still works, as simple as it can be. Plus, the use of the China Country and the Candy County (I think its their name?) was quite a good choice. The China Country was one of Baum's earliest invention, while the Candy County (originating from the Roger S Baum book) is eerily similar to the Bunbury village, an invention of Baum, inhabited by living baked goods that also get angry at the protagonists for trying to eating them. Yes, all in all, the characters feel really Ozian. As for the other member of the team, "Wiser the Owl". Well... he had the potential to feel an interesting and Baum-ian character. But it falls flat because he just becomes one living fat joke. I mean, fat jokes can be funny. But when the character is mostly the joke itself well... yeah, not really working. He had a much interesting role in the prequel comic book.  

   Because yes, there is a comic book associated with this movie! As I said before, originally the project was to create a franchise of several movies, with toys, goodies, applications and video games. (Or at least that was the project the scam used). The comic is however found under the original title for the movie "Dorothy of Oz". I don't have much to say about it, outside that is was quite pleasing (even though it sometimes doesn't make sense when put in direct relationship to the movie), and that it introduced one interesting idea: that the magic of the broomstick/Witch relied mostly on manipulating the weather and nature. The Jester causes a flood to destroy the Munchkin town, he causes an earthquake to break the China Country, he uses heatwaves to melt the Candy County... And another interesting point, the role of Wiser. Indeed, in the movie he is presented as a "motor-mouth" that keeps talking about everything, knows a lot of stuff and has the tendency to finish other people's sentences. But it gets quickly overshadowed by the fat jokes (cause a big part of his character is that he used to be able to fly but now, because of his love for candy, he is too fat to fly). However, in the comic book he has rather the role of the one voice of reason and intelligence that offers down-to-earth, simple solutions to problems where the other Ozians search for more extravagant and magical possibilities. Exemple (SPOILERS: when trying to create a rainbow, the team searches everywhere, thinks of asking witches, wizards and candy makers. Wiser has to remind them that anybody can create a rainbow with just a good crystal and some light. SPOILER ENDING.)  

   (I actually read the comic book before looking at the movie, which may explain why I consider it better than the movie.) To return to my opinion on the movie... Not the greatest Oz movie, but certainly not the worst. Average, but on the good side. Entertaining and interesting, even though bland and generic. They got the feeling of an Oz story but they just didn't found a way to freshen up or make the story shine on its own. A good villain for a heroine easy to forget. Simple. Ideal for children, or to kill time, or just to inspire one for more Oz work.

#oz #review #after oz #opinion #animated movie #legends of oz #dorothy's return #legends of oz dorothy's return

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt 33: Ew that is so sappy I just might vomit

Want some self-indulgent fluff with a side of my secret addiction to poetry?  Cause that’s what you’re getting.  

AO3  

“You know you could just talk to him”

“I have no idea what you mean, I am reading”  

“No Cay, you’re holding a book up and occasionally glancing at it” Beauregard flicked his cheek, her voice rising as she continued to speak “in between staring at Fj—”  

“Shh!” Caleb glared, cutting her off “okay okay I was looking, I was not staring, please keep it down”  

She sighed, but the smirk on her face told him that it was sarcastic.  

“Some sister you are”  

“This is literally exactly what sisters are supposed to do, who even reads at a party?  Do you want me to talk to him for you?”  

“Absolutely not”

She bumped her shoulder into his suddenly, throwing him off balance and sending his book sliding across the old hardwood floors.  He cursed, shoving her back and standing up as she laughed, eyes locked on his errant book.  

As he caught up to it and stooped down, it was swiped from the floor by a large green hand.  Caleb swallowed and stood slowly, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up into Fjords smiling face.  

“Beau messin’ with your books again?”  

“You could say that, ja”  

Fjord flipped the book open, and the heat in Caleb’s cheeks turned fierce, spreading to his ears and neck.  Fjord read with a curious look on his face, amber eyes trailing across the page.

“I never saw you as the poetry type” Darrows voice teased from as he walked up “Pablo Neruda?”  

Fjord smiled and shrugged “it’s not mine, but I like it” he turned back to Caleb “you highlighted this one, a favourite?”  

“I--well in a way, yes... I only read it this morn--”  

“Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?”

Caleb tried not to shiver as Fjord read, his low, smooth voice doing the words a service that Caleb felt his own never could.  He made the almost-anger that Caleb had associated with the sonnet soften into something so much more vulnerable, almost sweet.  Fjord smiled and held out the book, still open to the page he had been reading from.  Caleb took it slowly, a jolt like lighting going through him as their fingers brushed, and he could almost convince himself he saw a similar expression flash over Fjord's face.  He held the book to his chest, taking a steadying breath and mentally cursing Beauregard.  

“Th-thank y--” “Do you have any other favourites?”  

They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fjord chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry, I just figured if you’ve been reading it, you might have some favourites?”  

“I... do not usually read them out loud, I likely would not do it justice”  

“Well” Fjord’s smiled softened “I won’t force you, of course...”  

Caleb felt the familiar flutter in his chest when Fjord’s eyes found his again, and he opened the book instinctively, flipping through the pages.  

“I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you I broke into houses to steal your likeness, Though I already knew what you were like.  And, Suddenly, When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped.”  

He stopped reading, realizing with a sudden jolt that the room had gone quiet and the weight of many eyes was on him.  He looked around in horror, seeing that yes, in fact, this was his worse nightmare.  Everyone was staring, Beauregard���s expression dropped from good-natured teasing to guilty horror as she caught his eye.  He looked up and met Fjord’s amber eyes, a look of shock on his face.  

He dropped the book and ran.  

He ran all the way out the door of the old duplex, down the three blocks to the nearly identical one he shared with Beauregard and Jester, and up the stairs.  He fumbled with the key, collapsing against the inside of the door the second it was closed.  He panted, chest heaving and lungs on fire as he tried to calm himself enough to get up without falling.  His legs ached, his head ached, his chest ached.  He absolutely could not ever go back there, in fact, he should probably just start packing now.  He couldn’t face them again, not Beauregard or Jester, and definitely not Fjord.  

Eventually, he dragged himself up and into the shower, pulled on his most comfortable pajamas, locked his bedroom door and burrowed down into his bed.  

Maybe he could just hide out in here forever.  

---

He did hide, for a good three days in fact.  He managed to sneak food into his mini-fridge while the others were sleeping off the hangovers from the night before and knew his housemates well enough to know when he was safe to use the bathroom without running into them.  Beauregard knocked at one point, speaking in the tone closest to kindness, telling him that everyone got so drunk they wouldn’t even remember (“and it wasn’t even so bad anyway man, you’re good at reading out loud and stuff!”).  He elected to ignore her.  

Jester slid pictures under his door, a couple from her instant camera that showed the three of them at the beginning of the Cursed Evening, and one that she had drawn for him.  It was pretty, and abstract piece with almost floral patterns hidden in the colours.  He hung it up... but still did not speak.  

He checked his socials almost obsessively, looking for any mention of his social faux pas.    

Being one of the awkward quiet kids paid off sometimes, it looked like Beauregard was right about everyone forgetting.

By the end of the fourth day, he felt nearly ready to face the world again.  In an effort to test the waters he crept out of his cave that evening and threw together an easy dinner of pasta with meat sauce.  Half because he was sick of cold food, and half because it was something that both women would be distracted enough by to only tease him for a little while.  Just as he was setting the table he heard the tell-tale sound of keys in the lock.  He turned and pinned on a sheepish smile as the door opened.  

Jester walked in laughing, but her eyes went huge when she caught sight of him standing there.  

“Uhhmmm...”  

Before she could explain, Beauregard walked through the door... followed by Fjord.  

They all paused, staring at him as he stared back, feeling the colour drain from his face.  He cleared his throat, setting down the last plate.

“Hallo.”

“Hey Cay” “Hi Caleeeb”  

He looked at Fjord, whose cheeks had gone a ruddier shade of green, as he coughed.  

“I um... I have extra, if you want to stay”

“No, I—well actually that would be—that is...” Fjord stumbled over his words before setting down his bag and pulling out Caleb's book “I came to give you this, and maybe talk to you?  If you want I mean”  

“Oh” his instinct to be polite kicked in as he nodded towards the living room “ja sure, do you want to-?”  

“Yeah, yeah that works”  

He heard the shuffle of the girls tossing their jackets and shoes and making their way to the table, and his nerves ramped up.  They would definitely be eavesdropped, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go in the house at the moment.  He stopped in the middle of the living room, wishing absently that he had tidied up more today.   There was a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence, before Fjord stepped closer to him, a sheepish look on his face.  

“So... I wanted to return your book” he reached and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the nervous tick was endearing and Caleb felt his expression soften “I also... well, I wanted to—want to apologize, for what happened”  

“Apologize?”  

“Yeah, I kinda pushed you into reading, and I shouldn’t have, it was shitty of me when I knew you’d probably be uncomfortable” he looked down, face dark again “You just have a great voice, I wanted to—well, it doesn’t matter, it was shitty”  

“Oh” Caleb blinked in confusion “Well, thank you?  You did not need to apologize; I do not blame you for it.” he paused, the rest of Fjord’s statement settling in his brain “you... like my voice?”  

“Yeah” Fjord looked up, a tentative smile on his face “it’s nice, I like your accent.  Why do you think I started going to those books and wine things Jester set up?”  

“Oh” Caleb repeated, feeling like more of an idiot every time he said it “I-I never thought about it, well, no, I did think about it but I thought you were into Jest--” he bit his tongue, trying to stop the waterfall of stupidity that seemed intent on flowing from his mouth.  

“You thought I liked...Jester?”  

“Yes?”  

“No”

“Oh”  

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Fjord's expression softening to a fond smile.  He stepped farther into Caleb’s space, holding up the book slightly.  

“You’re smart Cay, really smart, but I think you maybe missed a few points here”  

“Explain them to me?”  

“I started going to the wine nights because I liked listening to you talk, I asked you about your books, and your cat, and I wanted to hear you read the poem at the party because I like your voice.  I like you darlin’, not Jes”  

“You like... oh”  

“There you go” Fjord flipped the book open, revealing a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark “you missed part of the poem you know”  

Joy soared in Caleb's chest as the understanding that not only did Fjord like his voice, but he also liked him settled there.  It filled him with a new kind of warmth, and sent a bright smile across his face.  

“I know, tell me anyway?”  

“When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: You stood before me, ruling me.  And you reign:   Like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion”

He reached out as he spoke, capturing a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers.  The red of his hair only looked more vibrate against the rich green of Fjords skin.  A wildfire among the trees.  

Caleb blushed, pulling his eyes from where Fjord held him to catch his gaze instead, and found him staring back.  As they stared, Beauregard's voice rang out from the adjoining kitchen:  

“Ew, that is so sappy I just might vomit.”

Caleb caught the mischievous glint in Fjord's eye only a moment too late.  

“If you didn’t like that, you’ll hate this”  

And then Fjord was kissing him, soft, almost chaste really, but with one hand in Caleb’s hair and one still trapped between them holding the book... it was perfect.  

#I'm on my Widofjord Shiz as always #fluff #soft #WidoFjord #critical role fanfiction #my deeply secret love of poetry

[stomachflu]

Ooo, for c//ritical r//oll concept, something with sick Mollymauk? Maybe he's got a really bad stomach flu but is covering it super well with his usual showmanship. He's gotten used to taking care of himself and not showing weakness while on the road-- cant miss a performance for a lil bug. Pretends to be totally fine until he crashes, cue the rest of the m9 taking care of him? Bonus for belly rubs and drawn out nausea.

🚫don’t rb to non-sickfic/emeto/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

thank you so much for this really good prompt! i’ve been working on this for a REALLY LONG TIME but cr//itical r/-/oll has become one of my new fave interests so i enjoyed writing this a lot!

have over 5k of nausea buildup, multiple puking sessions, and caretaking!

(i only realized after writing this fic that not only does jester not have the cure illness spell, but it’s not even a spell in dnd 5e, and i’m thinking of a similar spell from my 3.5e campaign. whoops! there’s probably a lot more errors in here due to me being new to the show, so please be nice to me and ignore them! ^_^)

Molly certainly hadn't objected to taking shelter out of the storm, but the town was small, with only a few small rooms in their only inn, and not much in the way of entertainment, so by all means, he should've been more than happy to be moving on as soon as the rain passed.

The thing was, he had definitely picked up something in that weather. He'd spent most of the previous day huddled in blankets, trying to rid himself of the chills that racked his body. He was lucky that they'd had enough money for four rooms this time, luckier still that Beau and Jester were still insistent upon rooming together, and Caleb and Nott were stuck like glue, leaving him and Fjord with separate rooms. Molly had to make appearances at mealtimes, of course, but he'd put on a good show then, mustering up enough energy to entertain the room with simple tricks – disappearing coins and such.

Molly had hoped that it was just a momentary illness, that it would pass in time, but when he'd woken up burning with fever, he knew he was in it for the long haul. He felt terrible, hot and cold at the same time, aching down to his very bones. It hurt to swallow, but he needed energy if he was going to beat this, so he choked down breakfast as quickly as possible.

The sky was clear now, not a cloud in sight, and they needed to be moving on. The group didn't have time to waste on a cold – Molly was no use bedridden, and, besides, there was nothing that would cure him but time. Jester needed her spells, and it wasn't like he wouldn't have plenty of time to rest in the cart.

Once they jerked into motion, though, Molly quickly realized that he'd made a mistake. He had eaten breakfast with everyone else, and his stomach was not happy with that decision. He took deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to concentrate on something other than his suddenly-churning gut.

Probably motion sickness. Traveling had never made him ill before, but there was a first time for anything. If he had to guess, it probably had to do with how dizzy he was – having the world spin around him while he was jostled back and forth? That would make anyone queasy. What was it that people always said? Something about focusing on the horizon, but that just made him feel more queasy.

Fjord had the reigns, with Caleb keeping watch next to him, so Molly snuck a glance at the rest of the group – Nott and Beau in an animated conversation, Jester with her sketchbook – and risked placing a hand on his tender belly, rubbing it gently. He swallowed back a burp, grimacing as the pressure in his stomach only increased.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Molly needed a distraction from what was quickly becoming nausea, so he spread out his cards in front of him, shuffling through his deck.

"Ooh!" Jester exclaimed, bouncing into a sitting position across from him. "Do a reading for me, please?"

Despite himself, Molly smiled. With his view of the horizon blocked, he did feel a little better. Perhaps it was simply motion sickness after all.

"Alright, cut the deck for me – good. Now, two more times..."

--

Molly's momentary relief didn't last long. He did a reading for Jester, and then one for Beau. By the time Nott asked, he was certain his fever was up, sweat beading on his forehead, so he feigned exhaustion and put the cards away.

His stomach hurt. It was an on-and-off kind of pain, the cramps coming in intervals, leaving him shivering with chills each time. Maybe it's simply hunger, Molly thought, fishing out some strips of dried jerky out of his bag and gnawing on them absently. At any rate, he needed to eat to get over this illness, but putting food in his mouth, but swallowing it down just made him more nauseous.

He needed to throw up.

The thought struck Molly at the same. time that a wave of nausea washed over him, and he swallowed hard. Not right now, not this moment, but at some point in the near future, he was going to vomit.

The cart pulled off to the side of the road, jostling Molly's sick stomach and forcing a soft burp up his throat.

"Alright," Fjord said, hopping down from his position at the reins. "Short break to feed and water the horses, but 's about all I got in me. Anyone else wanna drive?" A beat in which nobody else answered, and he repeated, "Anyone...?"

"Fuck it, fine, I'll do it," Beau grumbled.

"If we are to be switching positions, is there anyone else who would like to take watch?" Caleb asked.

Molly slowly slid out of the cart, his hot, aching joints protesting every movement.

"I volunteer," he said. Maybe the fresh air would help. Already, he felt a bit better, standing in the open air like this.

That was settled, then. Fjord and Nott went about taking care of the horses, and the others took their time walking about, stretching or disappearing into the woods bordering either side of the road to relieve themselves.

Molly was glad for the thick cover of trees – the second he was out of sight of the cart, he clutched his belly with both hands, bending over at the waist. The pressure helped, but his stomach was still churning. He felt awful, knew that he needed to throw up now if he was going to keep up appearances.

Molly traipsed a little further into the underbrush, determined to keep out of earshot of the others, and... waited. He was nauseous, yes, but not nearly to the degree that he had been when he was sitting in the back of the cart.

Come on, puke already, he thought. Absentmindedly, he reached underneath his shirt to rub his stomach, the taut skin hot with fever under his palm. Almost immediately, a gurgling burp shot up his throat, and he leaned forward expectantly.

Saliva flooded into his mouth, and Molly spit onto the dirt, throat tightening in a gag. A sick belch brought up a thin mouthful of foamy bile, and he retched again and again as the liquid pattered onto the dirt.

He didn't bring anything else up, though he remained bent over at the waist. Molly knew he couldn't stay here forever – he was already pushing the limits of what the others would believe, had his excuse of needing privacy to relieve himself been true. Anyways, his stomach felt... not good, not even better, but he wasn't on the verge of puking anymore. Maybe he could make it 'till nightfall.

As he traipsed back towards the cart, he suddenly realized why nobody had gone looking for him, why his absence had gone unnoticed. Standing in a circle around Fjord and Nott were a group of bandits, weapons drawn. Molly was too far away to tell, but by their gestures, he would have bet that they were demanding the cart, and everything on it.

Sighing, he drew his swords. It was going to be a long day.

--

They made quick work of the bandits, dispatching their leader and sending the others running into the woods, pursued by a few of Nott's arrows. It had been a good thing that Molly hadn't asked Jester for a healing spell earlier, though, because Fjord had taken a heavy blow to the chest, and Jester used almost all of her spell slots healing him.

And so they were back on their way, with Molly perched at the front of the cart, acting as lookout. The crisp air was helping a bit – he felt less foggy, like his head wasn't quite so stuffed with cotton. His stomach, however...

Right on cue, his stomach gurgled, and Molly winced, pressing a hand to his midsection. He could feel it bubbling under his skin, everything he'd eaten churning around in there.

Oh. Oh no. A cold sweat washed over his body, and Molly swallowed back the taste of bile.

"Beau?" he asked, swallowing back a belch.

"Yeah?" She wasn't even looking at him, so he allowed himself to press three fingers to his mouth, muffling another queasy burp.

"Would you mind stopping for a moment? I need to, ah – you know, relieve myself."

"Again? We just fucking stopped," Beau grumbled, but she dutifully pulled the horses over to the side of the road anyways, and Molly gratefully slid off of the cart, walking into the treeline as fast as his queasy belly would allow him.

He was gagging before he even came to a stop, a thin trickle of vomit splashing onto the leaves at his feet. He belched up a thick mouthful of undigested food, and then he couldn't stop burping, the sight of his pale vomit on the dark leaves making him more and more nauseous.

Calm down, Molly willed his stomach. He needed to stop puking, he needed to get his churning guts under control and –

Another sickly gag, and Molly managed a mouthful of watery puke. He hovered there for almost a full minute, mouth slightly open, too queasy to even wipe away the thick ropes of saliva trickling from his lips to the ground.

Was that it? He didn't feel done. If anything, his stomach was more bloated than ever, and he didn't feel any less nauseous, but, yet again, he couldn't stay here.

"Done?" Beau asked, hopping back up onto the cart as he approached. Molly took a more careful method, gingerly leveraging himself up so that he wouldn't have to bend over, keeping one hand under the small bloat of his gurgling stomach. It didn't do much, but the illusion of supporting his belly, keeping it from being jostled – it almost convinced him to feel less queasy.

"My apologies," he said simply, muffling a nauseous burp into his fist.

Beau looked at him strangely but only shook her head, taking the reins in hand. "Let's get this show on the fuckin' road!"

He had made a mistake. Molly knew this from the moment the cart jolted to life. Not only was he not done being sick, but the motion was too much to handle. A gag rose up in his throat, and he risked the motion of pressing the back of his hand to his lips as he rode it out. His mouth filled with vomit, and he swallowed it back with effort, and then kept swallowing, throat hitching in an attempt to heave.

Molly sat as still as possible, arms wrapped around his stomach, not even trusting himself to raise his head. The cart hit a particularly bad dip in the road, and his tongue arched in a gag, and he could taste bile on his tongue, and –

"Shit, Beau, pull over," he managed tightly, his throat closing in on a gag. She protested, probably about to make a terrible joke, and then he retched, and she looked over at him in alarm.

She'd yanked the horses over to the side of the road, but he was vomiting over the side of cart before it even came to a stop. He tried to climb down, but it was more of an undignified scramble as he gagged again, adding to the puddle in the grass.

By this point, the others had taken notice, and he was surrounded by a blurry semicircle of his friends as he fell to a crouching position, gagging again and again until he belched up a torrent of puke that splashed everywhere.

He was crying, Molly realized. His face was a mess of tears and snot, thick ropes of spit dangling from his mouth. It felt as if the nausea was never going to go away. He remained there on his hands and knees, panting and belching for what felt like an eternity, until he felt strong arms under his that pulled him to his feet.

Fjord had pulled him up, and was still supporting most of Molly's weight as Jester bounced into his hazy field of view.

"You're sick! Why didn't you tell us?" she demanded, pressing a hand to his forehead. He tried to answer, but couldn't open his mouth for fear of gagging. "Oh, Mol-ly," Jester said in her lilting accent, voice light and almost... teasing? "You have a fever."

"I know that," he managed. "You n – urrp!" He burped into his fist, trying to fight back the wave of nausea that was coming on strongly now. "You need your spells."

"Well, I have one left, so you should have told me," Jester said, voice still light as she fished the Traveler's symbol out from her cloak and pressed it to his belly. "I am going to cast Cure Illness and then you are going to feel better, all right?"

Molly nodded, and the symbol began to glow as Jester concentrated. All at once, a feeling of wrongness washed over him, the nausea surging back tenfold, and he pitched over and vomited on Jester's shoes.

--

"I really do apologize," Molly said miserably for what might have been the tenth time. "I wasn't aiming for you at all."

"My shoes can be cleaned!" Jester said brightly, crouching barefoot in the grass next to him. "You really do need to keep drinking, though."

After Jester's spell had failed and his stomach had calmed somewhat, they'd half-dragged, half-carried him a good bit away from the puddle he'd left on the ground. Fjord had handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with ("Please, keep it.") and Caleb had fished a handful of dry, bland crackers out of his pocket, instructing Molly that he needed to both drink to avoid dehydration, and fill his stomach with something inoffensive if he could.

More like something stale, Molly thought, nibbling on the edge of a cracker. Thinking about how long they'd been in Caleb's pockets made his gorge rise, but before he could ruminate on the thought for too long and make himself sick, Beau walked over from where she'd been huddled with Caleb, Fjord, and Nott.

"Alright, here's the plan," she announced, map in hand. "We obviously can't camp here, so we're gonna get'cha back in the cart and find somewhere where we can settle down for the night, take it nice and slow. There're some towns we could make it to before sundown, but we'd have to go at a pretty fast clip, and I really do not want you puking over all of my things."

"That is very agreeable to me," Molly said, placing a hand on his sour stomach. At Jester's urging, he ate a few more of the crackers and drank deeply from the waterskin as everyone else worked out the logistics of their new plan.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, followed by a chill traveling down his spine, and Molly put his head between his knees, breathing deeply. He could do this. Now that he'd vomited, he would feel better any minute now –

"Molly? Do you think you can stand on your own, or should I be helping you?" Jester asked.

"Thanks for the offer, but I can stand," he said, pulling himself to his feet. His belly felt awful, all the water he'd drank churning in a way that really didn't feel good. He could actually hear his guts sloshing as he heaved himself back up onto the cart.

Jester frowned as he put a hand on the bloat of his still-tender stomach. "Are you feeling bad again? Do you need to vomit?"

"Yes, and maybe," Molly said, swallowing thickly. "Not right now. Probably soon."

"Get him set up in the back of the cart," Beau suggested dryly. "If he's gotta puke, he can do it over the edge. If we stay here any longer, it’s gonna get dark."

"That's a good idea!" Jester exclaimed. As Molly shivered with fever, she collected his blankets and bedroll, setting them in the back of the cart, close enough that he would only need to turn his head to vomit over the side. He gratefully settled into the little nest she'd built for him, arms wrapped around his protesting stomach now that he didn't have to hide his illness. Jester sat next to him, humming as she pulled out her sketchbook.

The cart jolted back to life, and Molly swallowed back a sour belch. His stomach was cramping again, and he screwed his eyes shut, tongue rising in a silent gag. He slipped his hand under his shirt to rub his stomach, only to feel a small hand on his wrist.

"Oh! This looks very painful," Jester said, scooting closer to place her hand on the swell of his stomach. "Does it hurt to touch?"

Molly shook his head. "Just hurts in general. Cramps, I'm..." He trailed off as the cart hit a pothole on the road, causing him to burp lightly into his fist. "I'm feeling a bit queasy right now, to be honest."

"Would it help if I rubbed your stomach?" Jester asked, already untucking the loose fabric of his shirt from his pants and rucking it up to his chest.

"Normally, I'd ask you to buy me dinner first, but..." The suggestive joke was lost as Jester poked experimentally at his stomach. Even if he'd wanted to, Molly couldn't fake being healthy now with his flushed, swollen belly on display, gurgling and churning audibly. Her touch ushered up a soft burp, and he blushed a bit, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of sickness, of vulnerability he was showing.

"Did that feel good? I bet it did!" Jester said, continuing to gently skim her hand over his stomach.

He had to give it to her, Jester was good with her hands. She rubbed his stomach in widening circles, slowly increasing the pressure as she went, switching to kneading the sides of his bloated belly every so often, pressing in with her thumbs as she did so. It seemed as if she knew just when to push in deeply, releasing a pocket of air that had been trapped, finally letting him burp it up.

As they bounced around, Molly's burps became more frequent and more queasy. At some point, he had to ask Jester to stop so he could fish out Fjord's handkerchief, and he pressed that against his mouth now, muffling increasingly wet belches.

"I hate to ask, but –" He gagged, mouth closed. "Jes, do you have any healing spells left?"

Molly's stomach gave a particularly loud gurgle, and Jester pressed in hard, dragging her hand along where it was bubbling the most. "I'm sorry, that was my last one! I won't have any more until tomorrow".

"Okay," he choked out, fighting back another gag. "I'm going to vomit again."

He turned his head and did just that, retching harshly over the side of the cart. A series of burps brought up small mouthfuls of water and undigested crackers. He gagged and belched over and over, only aware of the sensation of Jester's cool hands on his stomach, soothing away cramps and then pressing in each time he heaved.

The next thing he knew, Beau was supporting his back, trying to get him to sit up, and Jester was wiping his face with a cool rag. "Not done –" he tried to croak, but retched dryly before he could even finish the sentence.

"It's okay, go ahead and puke!" Jester said brightly, folding the cloth and cupping it under his mouth.

Molly shook his head, lips pressed tightly shut. He was gonna make a mess, he needed to turn back over the side – but Jester held his chin steadily, keeping his head over her cupped hands, and he retched again and again, bringing up more than a mouthful of stringy bile that was easily absorbed by the cloth.

"Think you're empty, dude," Beau said after a few minutes of fruitless gagging. Molly shook his head, one hand pressed to his aching chest. "Look, okay, I'm gonna teach you some monk shit, right?"

"'Kay," Molly managed, immediately choking on a retch.

"This breathing shit, it's supposed to keep you centered, or something like that? I dunno. Anyways. You're gonna breathe in through your nose for eight counts –" She counted him up, and Molly shakily inhaled, fighting back gags all the while. "–And then out through your mouth for another eight."

On five, Molly gagged, slapping his hand across his mouth even though he knew he had nothing left to lose.

"You gotta keep doing it, okay? Don't stop fucking breathing. It helps me when I'm motion sick; you'll feel better soon."

He hoped so. Molly leaned back, listening to the quiet count of eight-seven-six-five-four... He breathed in. He breathed out.

--

By nightfall, they'd found a small clearing with enough room to pull over the cart and horses and lay out bedrolls. Molly mostly dozed through the process, lying in his nest of blankets in the back of the cart, watching proceedings through half-lidded eyes.

"Molly should be nearest to the fire!" Jester insisted. "Look at him, he's shaking!"

"Don't think that you're supposed to let someone with a fever get any hotter," Fjord drawled. "Maybe we oughta help him cool down first."

The cart rocked a bit as Beau clambered up, sitting cross-legged next to Molly. "Hey," she said. "I'm supposed to make sure that you're drinking water. Are you?"

Molly made a face. He'd been trying to, really, but it just didn't feel good.

"Shit," Beau said. "You gonna puke again?"

"No, it's more like..." He grimaced again, waving a hand in the general direction of his stomach. "Cramps. Hurts."

"Puking all day really took it out of you, huh?"

Molly nodded. His stomach muscles were just sore. Even sitting up hurt; he really didn't want to have to puke again. Just for Beau, he took a small sip of water.

"Excuse me," Caleb said, appearing on Molly's right like a ghost. "I could not help but overhear you say that you were experiencing, ah..." He tried a few words in Zemnian before landing on, "Pain, soreness, in the stomach?"

"Yeah," Beau said, and Molly flashed her a grateful smile. His throat was raw from stomach bile, and talking hurt. "Probably from puking too much. Y'know, if you keep that up, I bet you could get a fucking amazing set of abs," she said, elbowing Molly.

"What makes you think mine aren't already stunning?" he retorted.

"I do not think Molly wishes to repeat such... an intense performance," Caleb said, already flipping through one of his books. "Can I have... yes, that, give me that."

Beau tossed him one of the blankets that had been cast aside, and Caleb caught it in one hand, deftly folding it into a compact square and working some sort of magic on it, something that made both his hands and the blanket glow.

"Here," he said at last. "It is enchanted to stay warm for at least a few hours. Not as good as a heating pack, but, under these circumstances..."

"Thank you, Caleb," Molly rasped, nodding his head in gratitude. The folded blanket was warm to the touch, and he peeled off the other blankets to set it on his stomach, the tension instantly draining out of him as warmth spread through his body. The effect was like taking a hot bath after an intense fight – not completely relieving his aches and pains, but making them much more bearable.

Eventually, Molly was able to stand as Beau and Jester moved his bedroll over to the fire, but he gratefully sank back into the blankets as soon as possible. Even with his makeshift heating pad, he was left trembling with both cold and exhaustion, his energy sapped by just a few simple movements.

"You need to eat, Molly!" Jester exclaimed. "It will make you stronger, you know?"

"I'm good, thanks," Molly said, and then, at her intensifying glare, added, "Really, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Well, Fjord is making soup, so! You should eat it anyways."

"'S less of a soup and more of... I dunno. Leftover meat in water?"

"Hot water," Molly said. He was feeling well enough to joke with the others, at least.

He thought to close his eyes and get some rest, but an insistent poking at his shoulder startled Molly out of any chance at sleep, and he turned his head to see Nott crouched next to him, holding a vial in one green hand.

"Here!" she said, pushing the vial into his own hand and closing his fingers around it when he just stared. "You have to drink it!"

"What is this?" Molly asked, holding the vial up to the light. The glass was dirty, nearly opaque, but the liquid inside seemed to be thick and viscous, a texture that made his gorge rise. "Medicine?"

"Yes! Sort of! It will help settle your stomach, make it hurt less. Probably!"

"Nott," Molly said slowly, "did you make this yourself?" She had the chemistry kit, yes, but from the amount of times he had seen her make acid with it, he didn't want to drink anything that came from one of her vials.

"Yeees," she said slowly, stretching the word out. "But it works!" At Molly's doubtful look, she added, "I drank it before, several times! When I had too much to drink, or when I was hungover, or..."

"All right, I get it, thank you," Molly said. "I appreciate the thought."

He uncorked the vial and peered inside. The liquid was a muddy brown, and grit rose to the top as he swirled it. Well, what did he have to lose, besides his lunch? He tipped the contents into his mouth, gagging on the texture but forcing it down in one swallow. The aftertaste was absolutely vile, and he lurched forward, clapping a hand against his mouth as his stomach threatened to revolt.

"You gotta keep it down!" Nott exclaimed. "Otherwise, it doesn't work."

Molly hummed, rocking back and forth as he tried to swallow back the bile that was creeping up his throat. A muffled gag sent the potion flooding into his mouth, filling his cheeks out, and if was only by sheer willpower that he swallowed it down again.

"Ugh," Molly said when the nausea had passed. "You have a stronger stomach than I do, my friend."

Nott beamed at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth, and Molly found the strength to laugh.

After another few minutes of quiet chatter, it became evident that the potion had worked, at least in some capacity. Molly's stomach felt more sure, like that tight queasiness had abated somewhat, and he was able to entertain the thought of food without gagging. Maybe he really was on the mend.

"You know what?" he asked. "Maybe I'll try some of that soup after all."

--

Molly woke up shaking, drenched in sweat, and with a growing sense of queasiness in his belly. He tried to ignore the latter – he had been feeling a bit better, just weak, and he didn't want to get up – but the churning and bubbling under his hand wasn't going away, and he didn't enjoy the thought of soiling the campgrounds.

With a muffled groan, he rolled over, his stomach protesting every move as he stood. It was bloated again, he noticed, far more than last time. Clearly, the soup he'd eaten wasn't sitting well at all.

"You are awake," Caleb observed from his post as watchman. "What are you doing?"

"Need some privacy," Molly said quietly, giving him a small half-smile. He didn't want to wake anyone else, didn't want the attention –

"Are you going to vomit?"

"That too," he muttered.

"I will come with you," Caleb announced. "You are ill, and I would feel – badly, if anything happened to you."

"You don't have to," Molly said, pressing his hand against his sour stomach. His nausea was mounting quickly, a sure sign that he needed to leave before he redecorated the campsite. "You're on watch duty, besides."

"I have this." Caleb gestured to the silver thread wound 'round the perimeter. "I will know if anything happens while we are gone."

"As you wish." Molly pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, burping quietly. He traipsed into the woods yet again, Caleb at his heels. When the dying light of the campfire was no longer visible, he allowed himself to stop, stretching out one arm to lean on a nearby tree and breathing heavily.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Beau's exercises didn't make him any less nauseous, but his heart wasn't beating quite so fast, and it helped him breathe through some of the worst cramps.

"Are you still going to vomit?" Molly jumped, nearly forgetting that Caleb was with him. The other man stood a few feet away, head tilted curiously to the side. "I thought you said you were nauseous."

"I will, eventually." Another cramp seized his middle, and Molly winced, bending forward and clamping his hand down on his stomach. The movement jarred a long, deep belch up his throat, and he stayed there for a moment, the taste of acid on the back of his tongue. "It's coming up, just – I'm waiting."

"I see."

Saliva was beginning to collect in Molly's mouth, and he parted his lips, allowed it to fall to the forest floor. No point in holding it back now. "You should head back now, if you don't want to be disgusted. It's not – uuuurp–gh!" A deep, rumbling burp turned into a gag, and Molly clapped his hand against his mouth as he spoke, voice muffled by his fingers. "It's not pretty."

"I am not disgusted," Caleb said, his clipped accent making the words sharper, somehow. "It is merely a function of the body, no more or no less. You are ill, ja? Let your body do what it needs to."

"Mmm." Molly gagged audibly, spitting a glob of thick saliva onto the ground. He felt awful, sick and dizzy again, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"Beau said earlier that rubbing your stomach helped, yes? Would you like me to... shall we say, get things started for you?"

"Please," Molly practically begged, shaking with nausea. Caleb silently walked behind him, wrapping his arms around Molly, fingers resting on the base of his stomach. "I can't believe you're not absolutely grossed out by this."

"Like I said, I would like to be of help."

Unlike Jester, Caleb's hands were warm, almost hot to the touch, and Molly wondered if he was doing that with magic. He didn't waste any time, just waited until Molly's stomach cramped and then pushed in, hard.

Molly immediately belched up a hot torrent of vomit, the soup he'd consumed earlier splattering at his feet in a foamy mess. Caleb didn't let up, keeping up a steady pattern of squeezing and then letting go, ushering up wet burps alternating with splashes of thick vomit. Nott's potion, he recognized with disgust. It tasted even worse coming up.

When he was belching emptily, Caleb released his stomach, turning Molly to face him.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm – urp! – waiting on the next round," Molly said. Caleb held out a waterskin, and Molly shook his head queasily.

"You know, vomiting on an empty stomach is never much fun," Caleb insisted quietly.

Molly got a few swallows down before he gagged directly into the waterskin, spraying watery puke onto his hand and arm and down his chest, soaking his nightshirt. He choked on it, coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of water and bile, gulping down gags and trying his best to catch his breath.

When the coughing fit stopped, though, his stomach had stopped churning. The cooling vomit on his shirt and beads of sweat on his forehead let him know that his fever had broken, too.

"That was absolutely vile, but I feel – better," he said under Caleb's questioning gaze. "I didn't catch you in any of that, did I?"

"Oh!" Caleb said, as if he had never even considered the possibility. "No, I believe that my clothing is... unscathed, for now. Are you finished?"

Molly wiped his mouth on his sleeve, making a face. "For now. I'll probably have to puke again later, but I don't enjoy the idea of sitting out here and waiting for it."

"If it would help," Caleb offered, "you might sit with me while you wait for your stomach to settle."

Molly smiled, despite himself. "I just might take you up on that, my friend."

#emetophilia #emeto #do NOT @ me about characterization or anything please... i am new here! #ironically molly is one of the hardest characters for me to get a grasp on so i hope i did him justice! #(rip. i know.) #is caleb into it (tm)? Maybe A Little. but that's just headcanon it's not canon in the fic #supersecretsick #my fic

[strawberrytheduck]

Belle Quacks Chapter 8

Belle was jolted back to reality when Morgana tapped her on the shoulder, being greeted with a smile. The sorceress sat across from her, sipping the caramel latte she ordered. “I love your dress.” The tall woman commented. Belle blushed, smiling. “Thank you, I think I actually got it a thrift store. I love yours too, you look like that woman from the Addams Family.” She hoped it was a compliment, that Morgana would like that. “Really? Great! She’s been an inspiration for my wardrobe for years.” Okay, good, it was a compliment. Belle was worried she’d take it the wrong way. The two began talking, Belle about her brother, time with Camellia and her business. Morgana asked about her childhood but, upon noticing a sad and scared look on her face, began talking about her time as a villain and a hero. Belle did struggle to pay attention but didn’t want to seem rude and forced herself to listen. The sorceress noticed and stopped talking, checking on Belle’s comfort. The smaller female explained how she struggled to pay attention at times which Morgana assured her that she understood, telling her that her comfort was important. She nodded, pulling out more paper to design more jewellery. Morgana kept talking, Belle was half-listening. There was a question biting at the back of her mind. “How do you act so understanding towards me?” Upon realising she said that out loud, she looked up. Morgana went from surprise to calm. “I had a friend like you, still close with them actually, I learned to be patient and the behaviours they might exhibit. They’re not as energetic as you but still similar.” Ah, that explained it. Morgana had a close friend similar to her, meaning she knew how to talk to her. Belle smiled, apologising for the sudden question but thanking her for her patience.

Why Belle cared so much about what Morgana thought about her, she didn’t know but she wanted to make Morgana happy and showed she cared. Sadly, time flew by, meaning Belle had to leave and head to her store. “Well, I’ll see you soon Belle. It was nice hanging out with you.” The black haired duck said, smiling and waving goodbye. Belle waved back enthusiastically, excited to see her again. The small pink and blue haired duck began walking to her store, watching people as they walked passed. Multiple thoughts went through her head at once, most of them about her childhood. She remembered some of the horrible things her parents said to her such as how it was unladylike to eat so much or how her smile was ugly and unlovable. This happened and she didn’t know why, why she remembered these or why they would surface randomly after a good day. Belle bumped into someone while she was distracted. Upon looking up, Belle noticed it was just Camellia who was unlocking Belle’s store for her. “Oh, I forgot my keys again.” She muttered. Camellia helped her friend up, smiling. “Well, look who it is. Did you have fun, Jingles?” The duck smiled, babbling about how Morgana had a friend like her and that it made her understanding towards her. The fox’s ears perked up, latching on to the information. She looked like she just figured out something, nodding understandably. Sunlight hit the various pieces of jewellery, causing a kaleidoscope of colours to paint the store. The door opened and Belle felt like her heart just stopped upon seeing who it was. ‘No, no no no no no, they’re here for me.’ She instantly thought. How could she not think that? There, standing in front of the door, was the Fearsome Four. “So, this is the Quacks Jewellers? A lot of treasure here, boys.” The Liquidator said, smiling.

“Not r-r-really treasure, I-I-I-I don’t c-charge much.”She stuttered, tearing up. “I-I-I do m-make them b-by h-hand.” The supervillains looked floored, looking around. Bushroot walked to the counter with Quackerjack, reading over the prices. The jester seemed to lose it.”No way! You should be charging more, you’re super talented at making jewellery!” He exclaimed, scaring the small female into hiding behind her friend. “Quacky is right! The key to good business is pricing. One needs to trust their talents and price accordingly. However, you’ve got a high quality product for a cheap price, likely drawing in more business. A smart move.” The Liquidator praised. Bushroot waved at the smaller duck, who just sobbed into Camellia’s arm in fear. Quackerjack looked sad, leading to Megavolt hugging him, comforting him. “I scared her, I scared her Sparky.” He sobbed slightly. Megavolt ignored the nickname for once, stroking his boyfriend’s arm. Belle looked over, confused and still teary eyed. He was sad he scared her? Why? And why did he seem so familiar? She began to hum the lullaby Jack sang her as a child as a way to calm herself. The colourful villain was wide eyed, hearing a melody he nearly forgot existed. He should know it, he did create it after all. After so long, she still remembered it, did she remember him? He stepped closer to her, trying not to scare her more. He knew just what to say, or rather, sing. “When I am near, there is no need to fear. I will fight to protect you, no matter what anyone might do.” His voice was shaky, close to whining or crying. Belle looked more confused. “No need to cry, for on me you can rely.” The jester walked over to the smaller female, holding her and one end of his hat. With a gentle tug, he pulled it off.

“No one loves you like your brother, I promise I do.” Gasps echoed throughout the store, the other villains never having seen Quacky’s face and Belle recognising him. “J-Jackson...? I-It’s really y-you?” Jack nodded, holding his breath. “I-I know y-you likely d-don’t l-like me n-now because of my n-new career p-path and my lack o-of contact. I-I just was s-so busy at first, then c-couldn’t find you a-and then wanted you safe.” He cried as he held both of his sister’s hands, his mismatching eyes staring into her green ones. “I don’t e-expect f-f-forgiveness b-but I’m sorry.” Megavolt rubbed Quacky’s back, trying to calm him down. Camellia put a hand on Belle’s shoulder as she tried to process the information instantly dumped onto her. Jack seemed scared, waiting for Belle to say something but Belle was just trying to retain the information and turn it into a response. She looked stressed and worried, hiccupping as she looked at Camellia. Camellia took this as a cue to step in, something she wished she didn’t have to do. “Belle’s brain doesn’t work the same as ours. She has problems with listening due to zoning out, impulse control and memory. She doesn’t fully understand and she’s overwhelmed.” She looked down at her friend, who was patting her hand, indicating she wanted to take control again. “I-I-I need y-you to repeat t-the important i-information a-a-and to be patient with m-me.” She explained. Her older brother exhaled, calming himself the best he could. “I couldn’t find you, trust me, I tried.” A nod from Belle. “Then, due to being a villain, I wanted to protect you.” Another nod. “I don’t expect forgiveness, but I am so sorry.” The other villains walked over to their friend for support, patting his back or placing a hand on his shoulders. Belle hugged him, seeming to understand what he said. “I just missed you and was worried about you. I don’t condone what you did but you’re my brother. You’re not evil naturally, I know that. I forgive you for not getting in touch sooner.” Jack held onto his sister, hugging her tightly. Nothing would tear them apart, Quacky would make sure of it.

#darkwing duck ocs #darkwing duck oc #darkwing duck #morgana macawber #quackervolt #quackerjack #megavolt #liquidator #bushroot

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Thirteen

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre, The Mighty Nein

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Violence, In-Universe Slurs

— — —

Jester returned to her body with a faint hitch in her breath. When her vision cleared, it left just the faces of her family staring at her, apprehension and expectation and everything that was soon to become disappointment.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d failed them. And him.

“Slippery, that one,” the Traveler murmured. “Apologies.”

Then he faded, nothing more than the faint squeeze of a hand on her shoulder before it slipped away.

“I —” Jester’s voice died in her throat. She swallowed, then shook her head. “I couldn’t find him. I — but he has to — ”

The others shifted, Fjord covering his mouth with a hand, Beau immediately starting to pace. Automatically, Jester sought out Caduceus, disappointed to see him looking just as baffled as the rest of them.

“Maybe he’s not back,” Beau murmured. Her hand was raking through her hair, face turned away from the grave. “Maybe someone just — dug him up. Fuck.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling in a deep breath. They snapped open again as she burst out, “What about that — that Cree? Your dad said she jumped ship, right? And she was all over Molly, maybe she —”

Caleb held up a hand. He’d been pensive, kneeling in the mud and staring into the empty grave. “That is a good theory, Beauregard,” he said, voice slow and careful. “We should not jump to conclusions yet, but that is worth looking into. Additionally —” he lifted his head, looking to Jester now. “Just because the spell did not connect does not mean he isn’t back. Is that right?”

He toyed with the chain of his amulet all the while.

Caleb could not say he was particularly close to one Mollymauk Tealeaf. He’d been torn right down the middle by that person, and death had given him no reprieve from that conflict.

Mollymauk Tealeaf had pushed him against a wall, getting in his face with a snarl disguised as a grin.

Mollymauk Tealeaf had pressed lips to his forehead, promised there’s time for that later, and pulled him from the very fire Caleb had created.

He didn’t know if he even liked that strange little tiefling, but he wanted to know. He needed to know. Curiosity had always been among his downfalls, and he’d said and insisted and begged the Nein to come to his grave, and here it was empty, and Caleb felt the strangest coil of hope in his chest that maybe now he could get some answers.

“Even if he is alive, it might not be him,” Beau pointed out. The coil turned to a sharp twist. Caleb shut his eyes. “Last time it was that — that Nonagon, Lucien. Maybe he’s back. Or — or maybe it’s just a clean slate, every time.”

For once in his life, Caleb did not want to ask questions. There were so many to be asked, though, and Beauregard asked them all, while they stood in the rain and offered nothing in the way of answers. Sometimes it was best to just stay quiet. Sometimes you needed more, to know if you were asking the right questions.

“Should I scry on Cree?” Jester asked, in a moment of quiet. Her voice was small.

“Yes — yes!” Beau pointed at her. “Scry on Cree, if anyone has their hands all over this —”

Out came the focus, and they watched again as Jester’s eyes went white. This time it held, eyeballs shifting in their sockets, changes in expression that he did his best to read.

The minutes stretched out, but she snapped out of it before the duration. She frowned, and then shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t know. It didn’t look like she was doing anything? She was just sitting down somewhere, it sounded like a pretty shitty bar.”

“Shadycreek?” Beau suggested .

Jester gave a helpless shrug, quickly looking overwhelmed.

It was Caduceus who piped up next: “Jester,” he started, voice slow and considering. “Can you still talk to plants?”

Caleb watched her pull in one shaking breath, then another. Then she nodded, and knelt in the rain-slick grass, and all he could do was stand uselessly about and hope it would offer something more.

Mollymauk woke to a sharp heat in his cheek. He gasped, pain bristling under his skin as his hands immediately flew for his swords — only for both arms to snap something taught between them and go no further.

There were manacles on his wrists, binding them in front of his body. It wasn’t exactly a position he was unfamiliar with, though he only enjoyed it sometimes . The man poised above him, hand lifted for another strike, that was not-unfamiliar in the exact same way.

Molly gathered his wits, flashed a grin, and said, “Don’t suppose I can call red —”

The hand cracked across his face again. His teeth sliced into his lower lip. Molly gasped, then spat, getting a curl of satisfaction as red spattered his attacker’s face. “Fucker,” he snapped, any humor lost from his voice, and only slightly regretted it as that blood-stained face contorted with rage.

He reached for something else, Molly tensing at the sight of something heavy and blunt, only to freeze at the gruff “Enough.”

There was another person in the room. From his position on the ground, Molly couldn’t see them. His eyes strained for what he could — he was in a tent of some form, the light backing it suggesting the sun was well up. There was a man here, Dwendalian accent, and a second person of the same background, and they had clearly captured both him and —

Essek. It was a cold shot down his spine.

“Who the hell are you?” He asked, voice tense and head tipping back. He only caught a flash of blonde hair in the edges of his vision. A chair creaked, then the sound of heavy footsteps and clanking armor coming closer. Then they loomed over him: a human, blonde and androgynous, wrinkles in the face from frowning too much.

“Captain Albrechtsen,” they reported. “And you are?”

“Like hell I’m —”

A metal boot slammed into his stomach. He hacked out a cough, convulsing and then rolling onto his side.

“Name, please.”

“Fuck you,” Molly rasped.

“Name.” The boot lifted.

“Fine! Fine, it’s — it’s Bren.” His mind was racing too quickly to do anything but fall back on an old pseudonym.

“Bren what?” The captain’s voice was significantly more pleasant now.

“Fletching,” he blurted, hoping his breathlessness sold it as desperation. Gods, he was desperate.

“Bren Fletching,” they repeated, with a cordial nod. “And what is your relationship to Essek Thelyss?”

He swallowed. Essek was absolutely the target, then. Essek was likely alive, if they wanted information, because otherwise they would just kill him. “I’m his — his, uh…”

“Any day now.” While Albrechtsen made no move, their lackey tapped what looked like a rectangular bat on the toe of his boot. Molly shuddered, his fear entirely authentic.

“Bodyguard?” Too uncertain. “We’re — we’re kind of a thing so I don’t know the ethics of being his employee but, hell, the pay’s good, the sex is good —”

The lackey gagged in an exaggerated manner as Albrechtsen’s face pinched. “I do not need the details about how a crick beds a devil, thank you,” they huffed.

Something about their tone made rage lick up his throat. He’d been called devil enough times in his life, and the way they referred to Essek, like a thing instead of a person. He spat, infernal laced with magic twisting from his throat, “You’ll learn plenty about devils when they’re flaying you in the fucking hells —”

He had the glee of seeing Albrechtsen flinch, the enchantment piercing their ears, before he was gagging again with another boot in his stomach. This time he heaved, stomach too empty for anything to come up but spit pooling in his mouth.

“Gag him,” Albrechtsen ordered. “We’re leaving soon.”

And as much as he twisted and spat and bit at the hands that wrestled with him, he couldn’t stop the man from snapping a mask onto his face. It clamped uncomfortably tight, binding over his mouth and nose and locking his jaw in place. He couldn’t speak through it, couldn’t pry it off or shake it off or do anything to get free.

Panic was clawing at his chest as the thug attached a lead to his manacles, dragging him upright by his wrists to pull him outside. The sun was painfully bright compared to the dimness of the tents. He squinted, and then staggered as the chain yanked him forward. When his eyes adjusted, the scene was similar to a military camp: large tents set up, armored people marching around. He couldn’t be sure how to tell the difference between soldiers and mercenaries, and didn’t particularly care, either.

He did care about seeing Essek.

The man had been stripped of his mantle. He looked exceedingly fragile without its bulk, just the thin underclothes, partially torn. He didn’t just have manacles on his wrists — his hands were consumed by a set of cylindrical devices, their weight making him slouch as his arms hung down. A mask similar to Mollymauk’s had been strapped to his face.

Essek’s eyes were nearly shut, narrowed to slits in the full sun above. Even from a distance, Molly could see the bruising that welled up from the edge of his mask, making rage boil in his stomach.

He couldn’t call out. He couldn’t do anything but stare as they were forced into a marching order, Essek placed several bodies ahead of Mollymauk for the expedition ahead.

They walked for hours. Mollymauk had traveled across most of the wastes himself, after his stolen horse had been claimed by a far too-large bird, but a day’s travel at a steady pace, uphill, without food or water — his vision was swimming in the late afternoon.

He almost missed it when Essek slumped over and collapsed. The line staggered, grunts and complaints rippling through the ranks. Someone kicked Essek in the back, and Molly snarled as he lunged forward, only to be snapped short by his chain.

He couldn’t do a single thing as Essek laid in the dirt, breath too shallow. In time, another figure was led to him. They knelt down, a radiant glow flickering over their hands, and then Essek was stirring. He was hauled to his feet, placed back in the line, and onwards they marched.

It was proof at least that they didn’t want him dead. Not yet.

Night was falling when they stopped to make camp. Essek was chained to a post they staked deep into the ground, and Mollymauk was dragged to him. It was only then that Essek’s eyes fell upon him, and Molly didn’t even bother resisting as his lead was locked in place.

When they were left somewhat alone, Essek’s shoulders slumped, his head falling forward. He seemed to heave for every breath, and all Molly could do was lean into his side and rumble a nervous purr.

Essek was trembling. Constant tremors would wrack into violent shaking, though if it was fear or exhaustion or some combination of the two, Mollymauk had no means of telling.

They were fed at the very least, though only in the vaguest sense, and only one at a time. Molly was first, his mask removed and two beads forced into his mouth as he thrashed against it. Neither seemed to be poison — one stopped the cramping hunger, the other soothed his dried-out mouth. It wasn’t half the satisfaction that food and water would have been. Then they removed Essek’s mask next, intending to do the same.

Essek gnashed at them, making even Molly jump. He snapped his teeth and spat, so suddenly that it took Molly a moment to process he was hearing infernal: “Get out. You’re useless like this, so run!”

The guard slammed him across the face. “Wanna say that in common you filthy crick?” They rumbled, grabbing his face.

“I said,” Essek sneered, “you have the looks of a rot troll and wits to match.”

He got a fist in his teeth for that, but Mollymauk cackled behind his mask until they took it out on him, too.

Essek’s words stuck in his head, as they were dragged off to separate tents to be put to sleep. Essek couldn’t cast magic, that much was obvious. The gag and the cuffs promised that much.

But there wasn’t much that could keep Mollymauk down. No swords nor cuffs nor graves had ever been enough. So he laid awake, anxiety making his heart flutter fast but eyes hooded shut and muscles limp. He shifted and turned as people do in their sleep, did everything to convince his guard that he was out. And when their breaths had evened, asleep at their post, Molly found the physical presence of his soul and cloaked it over his flesh.

Except he didn't. Mollymauk's heart skipped. It was an instinctual thing, searching for the in-between that lay beside the material, and finding something cutting him away from that shift left him feeling isolated. Powerless. Empty.

A shudder wracked his frame. He sucked in a breath, slow and steady, letting his pulse slow. It was just another obstacle.

Mollymauk rolled himself over, picking out his guard in the darkness. He was slumped over, mouth open and jaw in one hand. The table he was seated at held a one-person card game. A dagger rested in his belt.

He couldn't come through the front flaps in the tent, not when he knew there were more guards outside. The campfire's light flickered through the canvas, giving away the shadows of those around it. So: he would just carve a new exit through the back.

Molly rolled himself up onto his hooves, slipping across the tent's floor to his guard's side. His hands were bound, but not so tight he couldn't grip something. All it took was an awkward bend of the body to grab the hilt of the dagger and ease it from its sheath, the loss of its weight not provoking so much as a snort from its owner. Then he moved to the back, not letting himself slow down as he shoved the dagger's blade through the canvas and forced it down. It wasn't smooth, or even quiet, each harsh ripping noise closing in on his ears. It was enough to wake his guard, Mollymauk escaping through the gash in the tent as the man bolted awake.

He was halfway to the horses when a shout broke the camp's silence, abandoning stealth for speed. The sudden uproar made the horses startle, hooves stamping as Mollymauk bolted to the end of their line. Their tack was still on, a lead tying them to the posts staked around the camp. He brought the knife down, severing the rope and tossing both aside to haul himself up into the saddle.

The first snap of a crossbow bolt was what got her to run, rearing about and taking off into the night in a full racing gallop as the camp roared awake behind him.

The horse couldn’t take him forever, not after it had already made more than a full day’s travel. Still, the poor beast didn’t refuse him when he urged it to run again and again and again.

The sensation of being hunted clung to him. It festered beneath his skin, anxiety that drove him past exhaustion to flee mindlessly ahead, body craving a small space to cram himself into and curl up and hide, shaking, until surely it had been so long his hunter had lost his trail. Through the night, Molly craned his head back until he wondered if he could accidentally snap his own neck, waiting for the hour when he’d see his pursuers streaming after him

He never did, though. Maybe they’d taken the time to get their armor and saddles ready. Maybe they hadn’t realized it was their prisoner who had taken the horse and ran. Maybe they’d checked to see if Essek had gone, too. Whatever the reason, dawn broke and in the full light of morning, Mollymauk found himself alone.

The sky was just brightening to blue as he slid off the horse’s back, taking it by the reins to guide it towards a stream running through the grass. He knelt down, cupping water in his hands and letting frigid snowmelt soothe his throat.

He choked, then, not on water but on a sob. Hot tears blurred his vision and spilled over as he gave a wretched sound, hugging his own stomach tight. He bent over on his knees to heave aching breaths into the grass.

What was he going to do? Essek was captured, and Mollymauk was the only one who knew, alone in the wilderness of the Empire without even a blade to wield. He was useless. He was helpless. The bite of the cuffs had given way to a constant burn, blood trickling from beneath them as hard metal cut into his flesh.

Molly knelt there and cried, digging his fingers into the mud and opening his mouth to scream against the blades of grass that cut fine lines into his skin. He screamed until his throat was raw and he’d run out of tears, and Mollymauk scooped water from the stream into his dried-out mouth only to cough most of it up again when he choked on a hiccuping breath.

He drank. He laid in the grass, until the sky was fully lit. Then he pulled himself back up onto the horse, and they kept walking.

Mollymauk wouldn’t stop until he found a treeline to shelter in, and the rest was more for the horse than himself. Still, he nodded off almost the moment his pulse had slowed enough to let him. When he opened his eyes again, the sun had shifted dramatically, shadows long and blue in the late afternoon.

He lead his mount through the forest and then beyond, evening threatening the sky. They crested a hill as it slid into nightfall, stars winking into view, the moon shining a pale glow across the fields.

Molly stared up at her, eyes hooded with exhaustion. He was never the praying type. Or, he didn’t think he was. These days, there’d been less and less blur in his memory, the days of the circus filtering back slowly. He remembered learning to sew, spooling thread in the back of the caravan under moonlight, patching holes that human eyes couldn’t see in the darkness.

He didn’t know why he followed her, but it felt natural, comfortable. And if it was rude to pray when you felt no real reverence for the god in question, well, Mollymauk hardly had a reputation for following social norms.

It was strange to know these things about himself without really knowing. He hunkered down, face buried in his knees. He’d only walked a few hours, and here he was already wanting to lay back and sleep.

It wasn’t safe here. He wanted the warmth of a campfire. He longed for the safety of a myriad of bodies, countless voices to distract him. Yasha, tall and sturdy, would put an arm around his shoulders and drape him in the comfort of safety and pressure, and he’d slump against her and drift off halfway through one of Gustav’s stories.

And after them, there were others. It was a loose, messy, distrustful thing, but he’d been sure — his old family had fallen to pieces but this one was only just starting to line up its fractured edges and gods , how could he miss people he barely remembered?

Over the edge of the hillside, a light flickered into being.

Mollymauk froze, staring at it, a distant campfire. Even from so far away, he could see multiple figures now silhouetted against it: people, horses, bedrolls. Before he could think better of it, Mollymauk hoisted himself up into his mount’s saddle to lead her down the slope.

“If they’re friendly, we can sleep some more,” he promised her. The distant smell of cooking meat made his stomach twist and his mouth water. He really hoped they’d be friendly.

They turned out to be a group of trappers, gathering meats and furs to be sold, their catches strung up for the night. When they noticed his approach, a few of them reached for bows and swords, tentatively enough that he put his hands up in a calming motion.

“Evening!” He greeted. “Sorry to bother you fine folk, but I have gotten a bit turned around and — why, is that Zenny?

A group of vaguely familiar, wide eyes cast upon him, and flash with recognition.

“Long time no see,” he laughed, and laughed hard, relief sweeping over him in a dizzying wave as he slid from his horse’s back and spread his arms as far as the cuffs would let him. “So, catch me up. How’s the new management beentreating you?”

#shadowmauk #widomauk #mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #essek #mollymauk #caleb widogast #cr #cr fic #my writing

[sockablock]

I love your writing!! Fic prompt- Uk'atoa chose Fjord bc he had undiscovered sorcerer magic, and now that his warlock magic is gone his sorcerer magic is manifesting in difficult to control ways

this prompt is absolutely INSPIRED

—

The yeti—or whatever this monstrosity was—let out a roaring howl in the churning storm around them. Its great fists lurched skywards, blocked out the sun, then swung down with murderous intent—

Fjord just barely had the time to turn, to see the shadow fall above, to fumble for his whip, feel it fall, raise his hands—

And then, something very peculiar happened.

Or more accurately, two things in quick succession:

First, his fingers trembled in the cold and as he squeezed his eyes shut and cried into the blizzard, suddenly, a burst of searing poison sprung from his palms and splashed onto the yeti, causing it to rear upwards in pain, grabbing at its face and clawing at its cheeks, and with that distraction, Beauregard leapt forward, fists crackling with thunderous force as she slugged the creature so hard in the gut that it doubled over, spasmed, and fell like a tower.

Its massive form collapsed into the snow.  

She stepped back, let the unused lightning fade.

She glanced over her shoulder at Fjord.

“I don’t know what you did, but tha—”

She stopped.

“Yo, what the fuck.”

“Fjord!” Jester gasped, running immediately to his side. Her jewelry jingled in the open air, the storm now settling with the yeti’s death. “Fjord, oh my gods, look at you, oh my gods—”

“Jeez, can you cool it?” Nott added as she approached, shielding her eyes from the blinding light. “You’re like a sun or something. What gives?”

“It’s a good look,” Caduceus rumbled. “But…it’s not the Wildmother, is it?”

Fjord examined his hands. He looked up.

“…er…no. I don’t believe it is.”

Caleb finally emerged from the treeline and joined the rest in a circle of amazement.

“Well,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “this is certainly…odd.”

Fjord blinked. He rubbed his eyes, blinked again. But no matter how hard he tried, the radiance emanating from his body did not fade.

He was glowing. And rather brightly, too.

They considered this another thirty seconds longer. And then, as suddenly as it’d come, the light vanished.

“Oh,” said Jester. “Oh. Well.”

“Yo, what the fuck?!” Beau repeated again—within seconds, she was shaking Fjord by the arm. “Dude, what the hell was that shit?! Was it magic? Was it the yeti? Are you fucking cursed?”

“As far as curses go,” Caduceus volunteered, “that one didn’t seem so bad.”

Fjord let himself be jostled. His whole sense of being had gone a bit askew.

“Was it magic?!” Jester echoed, running over to rattle him too. “And before that, the poison, what was that, Fjord?”

“I—I don’t…I’m not—”

“He definitely would’ve had to make it magically,” Nott said, “there’s no way he’s smart enough for alchemy.”

That was just what Fjord needed to find reality. His eyes narrowed.

“Gee, thanks, Nott.”

“She is right, though,” Caleb said. “Not,” he added quickly, “about your intelligence, I mean. Rather, the glowing, and that acid…well, it actually looked like a spell.”

“What, really?” Fjord blinked. “Like wizard stuff?”

Caleb scratched his chin. “Er…yes and no. That first attack certainly resembled Poison Spray, I have seen it cast before, plenty of times. But…there was no trigger you displayed. No arcane symbols or words of power, or coherent gestures.”

“Can’t…can’t I do magic without those?” Fjord waved his hands. “Or—no, that’s not possible, is it? Not without…outside help, I mean…”

Caleb studied his face intently. Fjord had to do his best to stay still. Everyone else watched the gears turning in Caleb’s head.

“Er…well,” the wizard said eventually, “that sort of talent is not…unheard of. It would just mean…ja, if I am correct, it would mean that you may be a sorcerer, Fjord. Like our old friend Calianna. Perhaps…maybe, perhaps, this whole time you have had latent magical abilities. Due to either your bloodline, or a chance at birth. Or, maybe, this is new, a result of your exposure to the arcane.”

Beau raised an eyebrow.

“You it’s a side effect of all the magic shit we gave him, or something?”

“Or maybe it’s leftovers from the stuff you ate!” Jester immediately slapped him in the stomach. “Fjord, Fjord, maybe it’s still in there!”

“Oh gods—”

Caleb also shrugged, which was not encouraging in these circumstances.

“Not only that,” he said, way too lightly, “that glowing effect…it is something I have read of. Whatever the source of your potentially new powers is, it is also…ja, it could be a bit wild. And, er…more aptly, chaotic. Something…similar to that glowing could occur any time you cast a spell. Or, ah, or something less…helpful.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Caleb’s voice went reedy, “well…ich habe keine Ahnung, I do not know, maybe you could teleport, or something.”

“Who would know?!”

Caduceus patted him on the shoulder.

“That doesn’t seem so bad though, does it?”

“Er…he could also hop dimensions, I think—”

“Hop what—”

“Think of it this way!” Nott grinned. “With magic, you aren’t a liability anymore! Or maybe you still are, but now it’s way more fun for us!”

Beau smacked him on the arm.

“Cast another spell,” she demanded. “Come on, come on, hit me with poison now.”

Fjord closed his eyes.

“I’d really rather not—”

Through the muddle fog of disbelief in his ears, he heard, distantly:

“—his dick get huge—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

“Gods above,” he muttered, “Wildmother, if you’re listening, just…please, go ahead and end me.”

—

✨Ko-fi link in my bio✨ | Finished fic requests right here! 💜

#critical role #critrole #critfic #fic #ficlet #THIS PROMPT #IS SO MUCH FUN #AND I WOULD SCREAM IF FJORD TURNED OUT TO BE A SORCERER IN CANON HFJKHDKJFHDK #jay writes #jay fills requests #5k fic request #long post #text #fanfiction #fanfic #fjord #fjorcerer au #is that a terrible tag #absolutely #will i change it #definitely no #and !!! THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN!!!!!! #<333333

[knightowl725]

Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 7

Fandom: Critical Role

The finale of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt. A soft end to their story.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57553867

The party the Nein threw that next evening signaled the end of the semester. Lights were strung up about the large tree and the house. Tables were thrown about in the dining room, on the porch, the path through the graveyard, and around the tree. Covered in cheap paper tablecloths, they boasted every color they could find at the party store.

Bowls of snacks littered every surface amidst clumps of bright confetti. There were small bins of party hats, plastic kazoos, bubbles, glow sticks, noisemakers, and similar little toys meant for a child’s birthday party.

Jester and Caduceus had spearheaded the planning, decorating, and supply runs. Jester had finished her finals early in the week, and Caduceus had none to worry about. The others helped here and there, when time allowed and nerves prevented studying.

With the two non-drinkers responsible for party planning, Nott had volunteered to get the alcohol. Which was promptly shot down, so Beau handled it. After serious debate among the group and objection from Nott, the Nein had opted for beer and wine. Keep it simple, keep it controlled. They weren't freshmen anymore, and Fjord had work tomorrow.

Fjord, as luck would have it, was the one with the latest final. An evening final for a class he couldn’t wait to be through with. After spending hours in the lecture hall, carefully pouring over every answer thrice, he turned in his exam with a sense of peace.

Then, excitement. It was time to party.

By the time he made it home, the sun had fallen and the party had begun. Punch and streamers, music and bubbles, glow lights around every neck, cheesy little plastic champagne flutes in every hand, everyone was decked out.

More than the Nein had been invited. Just about everyone they knew had. Reani was here, Fjord’s only outside invite. Molly had made it to town in time and was showing off his latest tattoo by completely unbuttoning his shirt. Kiri, the sweet, barely grown freshman the Nein had “adopted” at one point, was there with a few friends.

Keg and Calianna he hadn’t seen in ages, and there was Beau talking to her mentor. Yasha was near Molly, playing her harp along with the music coming from speakers. Jester was dancing on her own under the tree, laughing and spinning until she stumbled. Nott was on her phone, panning it around like she was showing the party to her family. Caleb and his quiet classmate Essek stood to one side, leaning in as they poured over some book held between them.

People he knew better than himself. People he hadn’t seen in months. Warmth and peace and brightness all around him. Fjord was home.

He’d thought he’d found home years ago on the open seas, the eternal shift of the boat beneath his feet making real how shaken he’d always felt. But that hadn’t been quite right. He would sail the oceans again, someday, but this… Firm ground, surrounded by Her, knowing he and his friends were safe. This was home.

“Fjord.”

Fjord blinked into awareness and smiled up at Caduceus. “Hey.”

Caduceus searched his face for a moment, then smiled. “It went well?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“You should join the party. I made those sandwiches you like.”

Gently, always gently, Caduceus took his hand and led him over to the tree, near where Jester had roped Nott into dancing with her. His hands were soft, warm. A little dry. Among the tables there was a platter of the mushroom and moss sandwiches only Caduceus would will into the world.

“No one else has touched them, but…” Caduceus chuckled, releasing his hand.

“They don’t have any taste,” Fjord told him, taking one of the pre-sliced halves. He took a bite and shifted to face Caduceus. “It looks amazing. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

Caduceus lit up, looking out over the party. “They do, don’t they? It feels good to have people here again.”

“Your family used to live here when you were young, right?”

“We all did, yes. All the Clays under one roof. One by one, everyone else left. Most didn’t go far, but still. It was too quiet for too long.”

“Is that why you started renting it out?” Fjord asked.

He nodded, his face gone a little somber amidst the party energy. “I was lonely. And having help with the bills was good. That’s why I couldn’t have been happier when everyone started moving in. And now I have a full house again.”

Fjord smiled, taking another bite. He remembered full houses. He remembered cramped spaces with people who didn’t want him there. He remembered no privacy, no breathing room, no owning or boundaries. He supposed it made sense, then, that he’d been drawn to The Champions when they repeated that cycle for him. But he was free now.

The Xhorhaus was a tight fit, yes. But he had his own space. The people there had fought for him to be with them. He loved and was loved in turn. And life was fun.

He finished his sandwich, distracted seeing how Caduceus laughed at the growing circle of dancers.

“Mama!” Jester’s excited cry burst from the dancers as she bolted from the tree to meet her mother on the path.

“Jester’s mom is here?” Fjord asked.

Caduceus nodded. “Yes, Jester convinced her to come celebrate and sing a song for us. She was very excited.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Family is important,” Caduceus said as they watched Jester and her mother embrace and talk. “Both the one we’re born into, and the one we build for ourselves.”

Fjord’s breath felt...strange. Short even though he knew he was breathing properly. His heartbeat felt heavier as he reached forward, slowly, to take Caduceus’s hand.

Almost as if in reflex, Caduceus gave his hand a squeeze. Fjord felt his heart sink. Caduceus was just like this. Nurturing in his own way, a guiding force for all of them. He was a helper and a caretaker in every sense. Fjord was not special.

But then he looked over to Fjord and smiled, and Fjord had to look away to keep his face from bursting into flames.

“Everyone!” Jester yelled out as the music came to a sudden stop. “Everyone, listen! My mama is going to grace us with her very beautiful voice, so please listen and enjoy the wonderful talent of the Ruby of the Sea: Marion Lavorre!”

Shouts and clapping resounded among those present. Fjord didn’t clap, he couldn’t without letting go, but he did yell out his encouragement.

The speakers came alive, slowly beginning a new track. From beneath the large, beautiful tree of the Blooming Grove, Marion began a slow, heart-wrenching love song.

“Fjord.”

He turned to look at Caduceus. The firbolg glanced between Fjord and Marion for a moment, almost like he was losing the nerve to speak.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” Fjord replied just as softly, but more lighthearted. “I’ve done nothing. You’ve done...everything to help me. I’m just here.”

Caduceus smiled, and a deep warmth filled his eyes. There was a little sadness there, too, matching the song as it filled the space between them. “Exactly.”

There was pain there, something briefly exposed in Caduceus that needed care. Fjord would ask about it later. He would prepare the earth between them to grow something more. From their shared vulnerabilities, their shared pain and laughter, maybe they could grow something as strong and beautiful and lasting as the tree overhead.

For now, Fjord only kissed him. It was soft, brief. This was hardly the time or place, but when had been better? When would be better?

When they parted, Caduceus chuckled in his soft, deep way. He tightened his grip on Fjord’s hand the slightest bit. As they turned back to hear the rest of Marion’s song, Caduceus leaned over and rested his towering head against Fjord’s.

Fjord sent his thanks to the Wildmother. For everything.

#my writing #fjorclay #teahaw #critical role #multi-chapter

[americankimchi]

Sorry to bother, but I was curious about your thoughts on a) everyone so far having a song for Caleb on their playlists and b) their song choices and what it means for their relationship with Caleb?

caleb, sadly: i’m a terrible stinky man who nobody should or could love. everything i touch i end up ruining. i don’t think anyone likes me in their heart of hearts :(

the m9, pointing at him with great Feeling™: this is our dirt wizard man!! he’s very strange about emotions and makes questionable decisions sometimes but we love him very much!!! he is a cherished friend!!!

fgjhgfj memes aside, sure! i’ll go in order of playlist release 

(long post under the read more!)

BEAUREGARD

i think she sees him as like... a dark reflection of herself? beauregard is very standoffish and brusque with the way she deals with her past (or so she wants people to think). she doesn’t give it time of day, and when she does she only stops to give it the middle finger before turning back and focusing on what’s more important: the present moment

contrast that to caleb, who relives the moment of his greatest failure over and over and over again permanently on repeat

i think beau’s approach to mistakes is to accept that she made them, figure out how not to make those same mistakes again, and then move on. caleb is not that.

also it’s a poke about how caleb’s constantly on the hunt for the bogo deals on books ghfkhgjf

NOTT THE BRAVE

is there anyone who loves and supports caleb more than his best friend nott? honestly i think the song speaks for itself

her devotion to him is second-to-none. she will take care of him, not because she wants something from him (although, she is self-aware enough to acknowledge that he can be powerful, and that given time and effort he could help her, that knowledge takes second place to the feeling of companionship and camaraderie she has for him) but because she loves him dearly. 

she will follow him, to hell and back if need be. he doesn’t even have to ask. (he still does, and maybe that’s why she loves him so much.)

FJORD

i think fjord recognizes, now, just how similar he and caleb are

i mean on some level he always recognized a sort of kinship with caleb, knew in his bones that here was a man who had touched power and come away from it irrevocably changed, but now instead of an instinctual knowledge he now knows. he can point to caleb and go “there. he’s just like me.”

but what fjord is just starting to learn is that consuming power also means risking being consumed in turn. caleb learned that lesson and he learned it deep, the scars of his old power still tug at the skin of his knuckles. 

fjord sees caleb as sort of... not a mentor, but like someone who has traveled the same path you find yourself on and reach out with questions. “what’s down there?” fjord seems to ask, and caleb just stares at him and sees the same person he was ten, twenty years ago and doesn’t know how to tell him. i don’t know if fjord realizes that caleb’s silences say more than his words.

this went from a fjord-pov to a more caleb-pov but i think it’s interesting... i think travis realizes that caleb is what fjord could end up becoming if he’s not careful.

JESTER LAVORRE

i think jester sees caleb first and foremost as a friend who someone has hurt very, very deeply. she doesn’t know who did it, she doesn’t know how long ago and how but what she does know is that she is a healer, and healers help others accept and move past their pain.

but she is also very young, and very inexperienced, and she cannot possibly help someone heal if she cannot understand the source of the pain. caleb is tight-lipped about his past, and jester will not push because she is a good person and a better friend, but she desperately wants to help. 

i think jester likes caleb because he’s so different from her. he’s soft-spoken and quiet and dangerous (so dangerous. she didn’t know just how powerful he was until he summoned forth a wall of flame to protect them from avantika and her crew. and yet, she thinks, he has only ever used that terrifying power to keep their fledgling family safe) but... he’s also a loyal friend. he could have left anytime he wanted to, it’s not like he had any real ties to the rest of them

but he stayed. and he’s her friend, now. and at her core, jester is simply someone who wants to make her loved ones smile. she just doesn’t know how to help caleb relearn how yet.

#whoo this got long #critical role #meta #caleb widogast #beauregard #nott the brave #fjord #jester lavorre #anon #ask

[kimabutch]

is yeza just Nott's friend or are they more than that? Because ive seen posts claiming both and now I'm a little confused :''')

Oh man oh man okay.

So, short answer: it’s not clear, but it’s definitely pretty likely that there was some romance/romantic feelings.

Long answer: Let’s take a look at what Nott’s said about both Yeza and past romantic partner(s). I don’t usually do read-mores but this is long as fuck.

Episode 16

Nott sends money, trinkets, and a note to Felderwin. It’s not clear if this is to Yeza, but given later developments, it seems very likely. (She also sends out a similar package in Episode 31, but we don’t know where to.)

Episode 19

Nott: I saw a lot of things, and there was a halfling village not far away. They captured someone from the village and they wanted me to kill him. But instead, I was kind to him, and he started talking. My fellow gobbies didn’t like that, but they allowed it because I was getting valuable information about where the halflings kept their food, and where they went to harvest, and where we could attack them. But I became friends with him. He was nice. […]

Jester: Did you love him?

Nott: I don’t know. He was a chemist, so he taught me about alchemy, and liquids, and potions and things. And he taught me his language. When he had taught me everything he could, they said to kill him. But I didn’t want to, so I got real drunk, and I created a distraction, and I hope he got away. […] We ran off in separate directions, and I’ve been running ever since.

Beau: Where would he go?

Nott: I assume back to his village.

Nott doesn’t deny that she might have loved him. It’s obvious that from this, she cares about him deeply, but it seems that Nott herself doesn’t know if it was romantic or not. Of course, this is assuming that Nott’s not lying about her emotions. Which she does later.

Episode 23

Nott: Yeza was his name. The halfling man. Before. That’s all. I just wanted to say his name out loud. It’s been a while.

Nott later gets very embarrassed when Kiri repeats this information to the group. Again, it’s not clear whether she’s embarrassed because it’s a very personal detail, or because it’s the name of a (former) lover, or a little bit of both. Going from what Nott said before (again, assuming truthfulness), she’s unsure. 

Episode 41

Nott: I’ve kissed a boy.

Jester: [Talks about her kiss with Fjord.]

Nott: If I had to do my first kiss over again, I would want all of those things.[…] That’s the best first kiss. It’s someone you care about. […] It means something. You’ll remember it forever. […]  Afterwards, I don’t know if you felt this way, you just can’t stop thinking about it and you just feel the soft pressing against you and almost taste him just for a little bit and it doesn’t go away for a while. […]

Jester: What was your first kiss like, though?

Nott: It wasn’t as romantic. It was just a dare. […]

Jester: With who?

Nott: I don’t know. Just someone. I don’t even remember too much.

Jester: That’s weird. You said you never forget it.

Nott: I sure did. It was just– you know? I was pretty young and kids just saying like, “Oh, you kiss each other and you kiss each other now.” Just one of those types of games.

Jester: I think kids do that sort of stuff a lot.

Nott: I think so too, but I don’t remember his name.

Jester: Oh. Do you remember the softness of his lips?

Nott: I do. Yes. It was a good day.

So the biggest take-aways from this conversation are 1) Nott is a huge fucking liar (I love her) and 2) Nott’s first kiss was memorable and with someone she cared about, despite what she said. It’s really hard to know what actually happened (and if Sam never tells us he’s a monster), but I think it’s obvious that she’s lying about not knowing his name. 

In favour of this guy being Yeza: Nott hasn’t spoken with any affection about any goblins, and doesn’t seem to like the way they look. And if not Yeza, then who?

Episode 47

Nott: [stuttering] I’d like to check in, just see how the place is doing and if everything’s still there, just make sure that everything’s okay.

Caleb: Sometimes it sounds like you don’t have much love for home. 

Nott: Yeah, it’s a little complicated. I mean, I really didn’t like most of it, certainly not my clan, as I’ve told you guys. But there’s a few folks that I didn’t mind so much. There was one gentleman I wouldn’t mind checking in on, making sure he’s okay. 

Caleb: One of your clan?

Nott: No, no, just a friend of mind, that I just wanted —

Caleb: Not one of your clan.

Nott. No. No, they’re not my friends at all. They’re bad. No, this was just this halfling man who lived in the town near where the goblins lived. And so, I maybe just want to see if he’s okay. He was very special to me and I’m worried about him. […]

Caleb: So you want to go home briefly, but not to see the clan, but just this one fellow.

Nott: Mhm. Yeah. I didn’t — I don’t really — I’m sorry, I’m just so nervous about it. But I don’t want to see the clan ever again, if I can help it. […] I just want to see if my friend is okay. 

It’s clear she’s talking about Yeza here, and once again, this shows the depths of her feelings for him, whether platonic or otherwise. 

But there’s something else that’s important here, too: Nott talks about “a few folks that [she] didn’t mind so much,” which suggests the existence of other people in Felderwin who she might have kissed. However, I’m inclined to think this might be a turn of phrase, and it was really only Yeza who she had meaningful interactions with, given that she explicitly only wants to see him. 

To go back to my previous question: if not Yeza, then who? It can’t have been any of her clan. It’s probably not another halfling from Felderwin, because according to Nott, they mostly stone goblins on sight. It’s probably not anyone on the road since she left her clan, because Nott was, by her own admission, not “really alive” then — she was “hiding in the shadows and ducking into alleys to get away from people” (26). 

So Yeza, given the information we have, seems like the most likely guess. But also, we don’t have a lot of info.

Meme answer:

#Anonymous #critical role #I HOPE THIS HELPS #and isn't too overwhelming #meta #my stuff

[cockbiteproductions]

you know i'm coming in with the request for Prime Numbers

i have to google if 1 is a prime number or not Every Single Time i think about prime numbers. it is not. maybe i will remember that one day.

this ended up being a bit long so i’ll put it under a readmore.

2: Favorite book?

sorry but i don’t know how to read....... again.... no favorite book. very sorry but all i read is fic. but the most recent book i read was never let me go by kazuo ishiguro which i enjoyed. english class got me reading books man. i’ve read like 5 of these fuckers this semester. one of my favorite fanfics ever is atlas by distractedkat i guess. and swinging pendulum by cywscross but that one is incomplete. i read ghettoside a true story of murder in 11th grade and liked that a lot. again, not a favorite. just a book i enjoyed.

3: Favorite fictional character?

just one? just one??? if it’s just One it’s ahsoka tano...... she man..... just She. close runner up is jared kleinman though tbh. he’s really shot up in the rankings. very different characters but i love them both very much. well the Similarities are the snark / sarcasm. ahsoka is like. role model material. and wife material. and like. unabashedly badass and strong through hardship and brave and just. cool as hell. child me growing up watching tcw was like oh my god i want to be her. jared is more like. oh god i relate to this disaster man. 

5: What’s your favorite fictional ship? (Canon or otherwise)

again..... just one? i know ship means like. romantic relationship. but fuck that. my favorite relationship is the weird brother/sister father/daughter relationship anakin skywalker and ahsoka tano have going on. man. just. Them. if i had to pick romantic relationship uh i guess currently it’s evan hansen and jared kleinman. (it’s the tragedy. i’m a fan of unhappy endings ok... the only thing i like more than an unhappy ending is a banger fix it fic. get the Ouch of the unhappy ending in comparison to the happy ending. + time travel so an in canon character Knows about the unhappy ending and gets to experience the good one? good shit.... im on a tangent.)

7: List 3 negative traits you have

- lazy. i do nothing every day all day......

- coward. I Be Scared.

- clingy. still thinking about that time an ex friend said i was too annoying bc i talked to them too much. rip. thanks for being my source of anxiety whenever i think i’m talking to people too much now.

11: How do you decide when it’s time to cut someone out of your life for good?

i just generally lose contact with people. i can only recall ever making a conscious decision to cut someone out of my life a few times ever. once was winter/spring of last year when a friend of mine was a real ass to me. but a lot of the time i intentionally distance myself because of [do my friends hate me or do i just need to go to sleep] and i didn’t go to sleep.

13: What are your favorite lyrics currently?

“cemeteries never do provide the answers of the questions to inside” from velociraptor by joe iconis

“we find the solution to escape our fate. it lies in the equal distribution of our weight.” from last on land by joe iconis.

“i tried to give her something real but all she wanted was a show. and i’m not much of a jester, seems i’m more like a clown. i try, everything and anything to paint my face and blow up a balloon but there was no air left to give. it left me long ago.” from don’t love her anymore by maria wirries.

“you lead with your heart and i’ll lead with my heart (let’s talk it out) and we’ll talk it out, let’s talk it out.” from talk it out by asia kate dillon.

“and it ain’t just about the blood. shout out to the families that’s families cause of love.” from family by roman banks.

17: If you could make a wish, what would you wish for if you knew it would come true?

what a question........ i’d like a donut right now. i have donuts and they’re in the kitchen but i am sitting on the couch and don’t feel like moving. so a donut in my hand right now. that’d be nice. or i’d wish for this couch to be more comfy. oh wait. i’d like to wish for pandemic over.

19: How do you handle heartbreak? Is it something that’s easy for you to get over, or something you struggle with?

don’t have to deal with heartbreak if you never heart broken in the first place [rollsafe.jpg]. uh but for real, really badly. i just don’t deal with it for months at a time and then end up crying for like a solid 2-3 hours straight when i finally think about it a bit too much. and then repeat. and then eventually i get over it. it works pretty well except for the times where i am crying for 2-3 hrs at a time.

27: What helps you realize that you have a crush on someone?

misread this question as “what helps you when you realize you have a crush on someone” and was quite confused for a moment. uh i would like to think i am pretty self aware, so i realize it pretty quickly. but it basically boils down to I Actively Look Forward to talking to them. which also applies to like friends though. idk man i crush on a lot of people for like 10 minutes and then get over it just as quickly. i guess the difference between the 10 minute crushes and the people who fuck me up is like. my time investment in this person. how often i spend thinking about them when i am not interacting with them + how much i interact with them. oH no i realized after typing all this that 3*9 is 27 oops. oh well you get an extra answer.

29: Do you think zodiac signs can influence someone’s personality to an extent?

only if they let it. if the person thinks its important and spends a fair amount of time learning about it then they’ll probably internalize some of it. i mean it’s like that thing about names influencing the kind of person people become except names are things everyone pays attention to and is actually relevant.

31: What does ‘self care’ look like for you?

sleeping in or taking a nap. which i do. a lot. and should do now. it’s 1:30 am. i just love being unconscious. no thoughts head empty time. temporary death. no dealing with anything. blanket soft.

37: Have you ever been surprised by someone staying in your life?

no not really. i have to have expectations that are differed from to be surprised. my lack of like. awareness about my place in people’s lives means i don’t really expect people to stick around or plan for that. which sounds sad but it’s just not something i really think about. really it’s that expectation bit. i don’t think about it so i don’t have any expectations so i’m not surprised.

41: How do you show you care?

caring about people is for losers. insert sunglasses face emoji. uh generally just telling someone about [something that reminded me of them] or sending someone something i think they’d appreciate like a song or meme or whatever.

43: Which of the seven deadly sins do you feel represents you the most?

sloth. im a lazy fucker. if i could not do anything forever i might. or maybe gluttony but not for food. for like. things that make me happy. overindulgence in media when i should be doing other things. i have no self control. see below.

47: What are you passionate about?

very generally, fiction. the amount of time i invest in thinking about or consuming [fiction, fan generated or otherwise] is honestly ridiculous. stories are just cool man. escapism babey!

#not rt #teresa answers stuff #thank u !!!! #nothingunrealistic1

[naturalnein]

Fire Under Water

Jester’s voice ricochets through his head, careening straight through the lingering traces of the charm spell’s haze. It’s an octave higher than normal, he notes absentmindedly. She’s scared; she’s angry.

Why shouldn’t she be? He’d almost killed her. He’d almost killed them all.

---

or: Caleb in the aftermath of the succubus's charm, and a confession he makes to Jester.

alternatively, read on ao3 and leave a comment

“What the fuck, Caleb?!”

Jester’s voice ricochets through his head, careening straight through the lingering traces of the charm spell’s haze. It’s an octave higher than normal, he notes absentmindedly. She’s scared; she’s angry.

Why shouldn’t she be? He’d almost killed her. He’d almost killed them all.

Time may have passed, their mission may have been honorable, but some facts did not change. Caleb was a murderer at heart, calculating and cruel. He had flung a fireball at his friends and felt nothing but satisfaction at his own accuracy. Watched as they charred, one after the other, remorselessly throwing up a wall of flame, flinging firebolts, holding steadfast against the crushing waves Fjord conjured. This was his element, and he held the power. It had been so long, and the sultry voice in his ear had not hesitated to pry at this pleasure.

Think of what you could do, it whispers, if only you let go of that weak mask you wear. These people aren’t your friends. Look, they fight you now, do they not? You are their strongest and they have betrayed you.

You can take the man from the training, but you cannot take the training from the man. 

It had been easy, really. Paltry. What would have been mere practice from Master Ikithon. When his friends cry out, he hears his old name over the roars of the fire. Foreign, now, but not lost. Bren, they yell, but their accents are Zemnian. Six voices intertwine, overlap, separate, until there are only two, thick with the intonation of Empire birth.

Beau grasps at him, a sharp stroke of blue against the dull cavern walls, and asks him is this is the day she must kill him. He doesn’t have his tongue or wits about him, but if he did, he would have called her Eodwulf, and teased that he never needed saving.

It had all happened again. The charm, the fire, the charred bodies of people he cared about lying at his feet. The astounding simplicity of such a trick brings hot shame to his cheeks. Had he not been able to break through the spell--

“He- she- they got in my head,” he stutters, though no one listens. His voice quiets further, still. “I am sorry.”

He didn’t get the luxury of saying such kind things to his parents before collapsing his childhood home down on top of them, so he will say them now. He is half broken man, half murderous machine, and does not expect anyone to forgive him.

Yet something about Jester’s tone makes him want to repent like this. Openly, honestly, on his knees if that’s what’s required. Of all people, she was the last one he ever wanted to see him as a monster. This wish is selfish, but if she loses her faith in him, if a woman as kind and compassionate as she cannot find heart to disregard his transgressions, then all of his nightmares are true. He is just as bad as he believes. Caleb Widogast is the same man as Bren Aldric Ermendrud, after all.

But there is not time to dwell. A fiend is clawing through the walls, and ethereal creatures lurk in the shadows. He will fight this moment, as he was trained to do. Later, he will grieve for the man he used to be.

…

The creatures do not go gently.

Caleb falls unconscious no less than four times; he is beaten and beaten, by fiends, by friends. Caduceus dies, a miracle brings him back.

Or, no, not a miracle. It’s Jester, in an explosion of diamond shards, a single prayer tumbling from her lips. Had the scene not been so slicked with demon blood, so achingly similar to that fateful mid afternoon on the outskirts of Shady Creek Run, he would have been awed by the beauty of it. The shards reflect precise squares of light back onto her blue skin, and he takes to studying them until he hears a laborious intake of breath from their fallen friend.

Caduceus Clay lives another day. They all do. It is the first time Caleb believes the fates may have greater plans for them.

Perhaps it is this emboldening thought that keeps him awake well after everyone drifts off into a deep sleep within the confines of his hut. Everyone, that is, except for Jester.

But he knew this. She rarely sleeps so easily after harrowing battles. Close calls do not fit her jovial narrative, sharp and jarring to the story she has playing out in her head; one she began concocting when she was painstakingly safe within the walls of The Lavish Chateau.

Caleb sits against the dome of the hut, listening to Jester’s stuttered breathing for a long time. He counts the minutes until they clock into hours, as though the numbers will supply him what he lacks in courage. Her head rests barely a breath from his hip bone, her body sprawled out to his right. He owes her so much. An explanation, first of all.

“Jester,” he whispers. It’s so quiet in the hut, he expects the stillness to split open at his exhale of her name, but no one stirs, not even she.

“Oh,” she breathes. “You’re awake, too?”

“Uh, yes. I am… sorry. For today. Well, yesterday, really, but all the same. I would never wish to hurt you, any of you. I do… well, I am... fond of this group we’ve formed, you could say.”

Jester giggles lightly and turns to lay on her stomach. Her chin now rests on his thigh, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. As if it were nothing, and they’d done this a thousand times before. Caleb cannot decide if this is a greater comfort or a source of more anxiety.

“Caleb, you do like us!” She grins, her forked tongue sliding between her teeth playfully. When he smiles back sadly, her tone shifts and she pulls herself closer to him. “It is really not your fault. Those things got Yasha, too. And don’t get me wrong, you guys were totally badass, but you weren’t you, you know? That’s not you and I know it.”

The silence returns for a moment. She makes it sound so simple, Caleb almost just lets himself be convinced. He can feel the steady beat of her pulse, the soft skin where her chin meets her neck, dutifully thumping against his leg. He wants it to be that easy. For her, if nothing else. But it is not.

“I should not have been so easily persuaded.”

“Well,” she drawls. “It’s not every day you’re seduced by a crazy succubus. And that was pretty crazy, right? You do not have to worry, Caleb. It won’t happen again. We’ll be ready, and I’ll protect you!”

“It’s happened before.” It tumbles out of him, more clipped than he means for it to be.

That stops her in her tracks. Her mouth puckers and her brows furrow. “What?”

“I’ve been… seduced. Charmed. Into hurting people I love. Cruelly.” He looks her directly in the eye, challenging her to hate him, to move from this intimate position she’s made her space in. He wants to see the moment she realizes he is not what he says he is. That he’s a monster, instead. “My family. Mutter und Vater.”

Some horrible realization dawns in her eyes, her lips part, but she doesn’t move. “That’s why- fire… it causes you to shut down sometimes. That’s why. Why you use it even when you hate it.”

He nods. She doesn’t move.

He is deserving of her apall, her disgust. She cherishes her mother as the woman deserves. All his mother had ever done was love, and his repayment had been to see her turned to ash.

“Well, tell me,” she says, instead of the horrible things he’d wished for. “Tell me about them. Their story, your story.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He watches her swallow her own tears as she dutifully takes his hand in her own. “I know. You don’t have to lie anymore, I swear it. The person you are now, he’s different. You’re Caleb, that’s not going to change. I like it more than Bren anyway, it sounds heroic, wouldn’t you agree?”

The corners of his mouth pull upward, the slightest bit, in astonishment. He cocks his head at her, brows pulled together. She doesn’t even know the extent of his crimes, and she forgives him. Why, he breathes, afraid that if he raises his voice this moment will shatter like the diamond over Caduceus’s body.

She smiles. “You’re Caleb,” she repeats, as though it is obvious. “There’s just a few blanks to fill in, you see?”

Something unspools in Caleb’s chest. Something tight, loosening its vicious hold on his heavy heart. There is still grief there, the knowledge of what he could have done today is not a light burden, but Jester is here, holding his hand, ready to listen. The days ahead are unclear, and they are both very far from home, but they find a certain security in each other, in this little infinite moment.

The fates know they won’t get many.

Caleb breathes, and starts from the beginning.

#cr: fanfiction #cr fanfiction #critical role #critfic #critical role episode 55 #ship: widojest #widojest #caleb & jester #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #caduceus clay #campaign 2 #cr spoilers #I wrote this for my sanity please be kind

[cartoonishvendor]

The Khatar Bloodline

...at least so far. Anyway, before I talk about them under the cut, this idea was stolen by SamRose’s & Carousel Unique’s display of the siren’s children on ariasarchives. Check it out, it’s pretty neat. And, a few triggerwarnings for the segments, if you plan to read: “The Frightening“: mutilation, death Selena: sexual harrassment, death Atticus: death Seth: death

“The Frightening”

A figure striking fear with it’s sheer presence, that is what most people knew “The Frightening” as, and hence named them after it. Made as the first Master of Bones, “The Frightening” had no childhood, but wandered as a vagabond through the villages, in which they were feared for their power, which they were not afraid to display if they needed or wanted to. Their eyes were slashed out by a bitter man, whose friend challenged “The Frightening” to a duel to death, ignoring their warning that he would die. Ultimately, “The Frightening” was last seen in a village near today’s area of Ninjago City, and was never sighted again. The cause was unknown, but it is assumed that they were banished to Exile or another realm. But it is known that their bloodline lives on.

Selena Khatar

As an infant, Selena was dropped off by her parents at the mansion of a rich landlord, where she was taken care of by the lord’s staff, and raised to be one of his jesters. She was unaware of her Elemental Power until the age of fourteen, when three men attempted to sexually harrass her, and she bursted all three of their skulls open. 

She continued to secretly practice her, relatively weak, powers until the age of 18, where she left the mansion, and continued to work as a dancer of similar fashion as the job before. She seduced men, and killed them when they attempted to do things with her against her will. She took their money and belongings, since as a dancer, she was barely paid enough. 

At the age of 20, she got pregnant from a customer with whom she wanted no child. The man found out after she gave birth to the child, and tried to force Selena into becoming his wife, she barely escaped from the man by breaking his arm, as she couldn’t kill him with his entire entourage of armed men accompanying him. By hiding her son in the carriage of farmers from a town far away, she secured him before the men found her a few months after and killed her. The jesters who raised Selena witnessed the murder and alarmed their landlord, who despite Selena’s disobedience toward himself, killed the men for quote “doing something as honorless as killing a defenseless dancer”. It was an occurance whose word didn’t spread outside the land he owned. Nobody dared to challenge him.

Atticus Khatar

Having only a necklace with his a drawing of his mother as a jester in it as the indicator of his heritage, Atticus grew up with the farmers who found him in their carriage and didn’t have the heart to send this weak child back. In his early life, he aspired to be part of the military force of Ninjago’s monarch, even though Madgalena, his surrogate mother, tried to tell him that growing up in a village like this, it would never happen. He met his childhood friend and future lover Saria during this time too, and Atticus lived a relatively tame life, helping his parents harvesting the farms having accepted that he wouldn’t join the military, until he turned 18.

A group of raiders were invading the village, and Atticus was ordered to hide as his father and the other men attempted to stop the raiders. Atticus stayed hidden until he noticed the raiders attacking his father. He ran out, and used his powers for the first time, as during his attack, he lifted up the raider in question and broke several of his bones until he died. The other raiders quickly fled. As the village began to notice what he did, a few of the oldest panicked, telling the others about a terrifying Bonemaster who once visited this village and killed people with their powers. They believed that Atticus was either that someone, or an incarnation of them, and he was hunted down by a village mob. Saria followed him to the next village.

From years to years, paranoid that the villagers will come find them, Atticus and Saria travelled as far away as they could, always stopping for a bit of time at one place before leaving again. It became their new way of life, until Atticus, at the age of 34, became a father and settled down, thinking he was finally safe. Being new in this village, people’s attention had been drawn to this family. Eventually, after Atticus was provoked to use his powers again, and a few people noticed, spreading the word like wildfire, the story repeated itself, and Saria was captured and presumably killed for having a child with the descendant of “The Frightening”. He fled once again with the nine-year-old Seth, staying in an abandoned, well-enough hidden treehouse, being to exhausted to move further. With documentations stored in the house, Atticus began to teach Seth his powers on animals, before the villagers eventually found the house. Using the advantage of always having Seth hidden fro mthe eyes of others, Atticus hid him away and faced the mob. While fighting his way through, the people eventually took over and won, stabbing Atticus to death.

Seth Khatar

Due to his faulty memory, everything before his lessons with his father only seems like vague thoughts, like the redhaired woman staring down at him with a smile, or the screams of faceless people, saying “murder” or something similar. Hours after his father told him to stay hidden until he’d get him, and after all the noise outside got quiet, he got out of his hiding spot, but couldn’t find his father anywhere. From then on, Seth began to hunt for himself, using his powers whenever he saw fit, like when killing animals to eat, or protecting the house from intruders. The years he spends alonein the treehouse chip away at his sanity, and his social behavor is long gone, but he remains a well-meaning soul to anyone he considers a friend. His future remains unknown, for now.

#seth khatar #atticus khatar #selena khatar #the frightening #ninjago oc #ninjago ocs

[pinkevilbobdoesthings]

So who wants fluff of Caleb Widogast taking care of his shapeshifting girlfriend? Just me? Posting it anyways. Here’s “Someone I Really Could Care For”.

________________________________________

The facts were these: Caleb Widogast had a girlfriend, Caleb Widogast loved his girlfriend very much, and once a month, Caleb Widogast’s girlfriend would turn into a monster. Most people would say that the least believable fact was that Caleb Widogast actually had a girlfriend, and to be fair to them, Caleb Widogast did not appear to be the dating type, but this does not change the facts. Caleb Widogast would argue that his girlfriend did not turn into a monster as that would imply that she was cruel, horrible, and frightening which she was not no matter what she looked like, but Caleb Widogast was incredibly biased. His girlfriend, Jester Lavorre, didn’t mind being called a monster because she thought it sounded cool.

Most days for them were those of a normal couple. They would have dates, fights, make-ups, and make-outs. Though, they would also have to plan around the full moon (Caleb Widogast liked to point out that Jester Lavorre was not a lycanthrope. The night she transformed just happened to overlap with the full moon).

Caleb Widogast would not change his girlfriend a single bit if he was given the opportunity to(there are many, many things Caleb Widogast would change about his life if given the chance, but that’s a completely different story and something he should really discuss with a licensed therapist).

****

Caleb knocked on the door of his girlfriend’s apartment while balancing two large paper bags full of supplies for the night. Jester kept saying he could just come in, but it felt wrong not to knock. After a long moment, Beau opened the door with Jester wrapped around her. “Finally,” Beau said rolling her eyes. “She won’t let go of me.”

Jester’s eyes brightened when she saw Caleb and instantly let go of Beau. “Caleb!” She hugged him tightly and nuzzled his neck. Her eyes were cloudy like she was miles away from him

“Halo, liebling,” Caleb said pressing a kiss on her forehead. He managed to pass the bags to Beau who put them on the coffee table. “How are you today?” he asked Jester.

She just smiled and snuggled more into him. “Caleb.” Barely verbal, he noted mentally. That meant there was most likely less than a half hour left before she changed.

“Better you than me,” Beau said while patting Jester’s head. “You got everything you need, right? Cause if I have to run out and get anything for you again, you’ll owe me.”

“I’ve got everything we need.” Caleb pointed at the bags.

Beau gave him a mock salute. “I’ll leave you to it then.” And she went to her room.

Caleb looked back down at Jester. “You’ll need to let go of me if I’m to move.”

She frowned up at him, but Jester loosened her grip of him while not quite letting go.

“I suppose that will do for now.” With Jester acting as his cute shadow, Caleb laid his silver wire in front of the door and activated his alarm spell. Once he finished, Jester hummed at him softly and dragged him to the cough. Even if he could’ve resist(Caleb Widogast was not a strong man), he wouldn’t have.

Once they were comfortably curled up on the couch, Caleb pulled a smaller paper bag out of one bag and a book from the other. Jester started pulling on his arm when she smelled the bag. “Soon enough, soon enough,” Caleb said as he carefully opened the bag and counted the contents. He pulled out a pastry and passed it to her. “One.” She gleefully gobbled it up and looked at Caleb with big puppy eyes. “Yes, these are all for you, but we are not having a repeat of the time you ate them too quickly and got sick. Two.” Caleb gave her another pastry. Transforming into anything took a lot of energy and calories and, in Jester’s case, baked goods. Fortunately, Caleb had a deal with the local bakery for their day-old pastries ever since the Mighty Nein cleared out bunch of diseased rats from the bakery’s basement. But Caleb would’ve been willing to pay more for them since they made Jester so happy on a rough night.

“Three. Are you ready for the continuation of ‘Tusk Love’?” he asked. Jester nodded and he had to fight back a sigh. While it wasn’t the worst book Caleb had ever read, this was the fourth time Jester had him read it to her. “Alright, ‘Guinevere clung to Oskar like a wet negligee. “Oh, Oskar,” she said breathily.’ Four.”

After a chapter and three more pastries finishing off the bag, Jester stiffened and got up slowly. It was time. Caleb quickly got up and helped her up. She went over to an empty spot and shrugged him off curling up on the floor. Grabbing a blanket off the couch, he threw it over her and covered her with it. Jester hated to transform alone, but she didn’t want anyone to watch her shifting either. He had missed part of her tiefling hand, but before Caleb could cover it, the transformation had started.

A high pitched whine came from under the blanket, and Jester’s hand scratched at the floor. This was always the hardest part of the night. Caleb knew he wasn’t supposed to watch any part of it, but he couldn’t look away as her hand twitched and strained. It slowly became thicker and larger as the fingers appeared to get shorter. Thick, blue fur sprouted on her hand and her fingernails turned into dark claws that scratched the floor. Another whine came from Jester, but this one was much lower and richer. Her hand was now a paw, but she was no longer clawing the floor.

Jester didn’t move under the blanket even though the transformation was clearly over now. Caleb turned on the music on his phone and selected a song by Jester’s mom. After the first song finished, the blanket shifted and Jester poked her head out. The first few times Caleb saw her like this, he could hardly recognize Jester, but now he couldn’t help but see all the similarities. Sure, her hair had become a thick mane, her curled horns were much larger, and all of her teeth were now razor sharp, but Jester’s eyes never changed and, despite the cruel teeth, it was still her mischievous smile. “Halo, liebling,” Caleb said kissing her fuzzy forehead. She nuzzled the side of his head and shook off the rest of her blanket her large lion like form. There was a stumble when she tried walk still a bit woozy from her transformation. “Careful. Here, let me get something for you.”

Caleb grabbed the other paper bag and pulled out two stuffed toys that were supposedly identical at one point, but one was torn to shreds and barely holding its shape, and the other was, while well loved, in much better condition and smelled of lavender. Both plushes looked like a man in a green robe with the hood obscuring his face. “Which one would you like today?”

Jester nosed the one that smelled of lavender. Caleb sighed with relief while she began to cuddle with it. The other one usually meant that her transformation was particularly painful that night. He kept the music on the playlist of Jester’s mom’s greatest hits(as according to Jester Lavorre) and pulled out a hairbrush and some ribbons. “Which color today?” he asked holding out the ribbons. She pawed at the pink one. “Good choice.”

Caleb counted each stroke as he brushed her hair careful not to hit her horns. Then came the biggest test of the night - braiding her hair. In theory it should’ve been simple; it was a pattern after all. He was good with patterns especially repetitive ones. But he’d always find himself turned around and tangled up and somehow losing half the hair from the braid. Each time he was determined that this would be the time he mastered braiding and each time he was proven wrong. Eventually he finished a crooked, little braid that he thought didn’t look completely terrible and tied the pink ribbon around it. Grabbing his cellphone, he took a picture of Jester and showed it to her. “How’s that?”

Jester gave him an unimpressed look, but nuzzled him anyways.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said hugging her back.

“Hey, need any help?” Beau asked leaning against the wall.

Caleb shook his head. “No, we’re good. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing that. Now, scoot over.” She sat down next to him and quickly undid the braid Caleb had worked so hard on. After brushing Jester’s hair out again, Beau expertly french braided Jester’s hair and added the ribbon as a fine pink bow. “This is my darkest secret. Dont-”

“I ever dare tell anyone about it,” Caleb finished for her as he took a picture of it and showed it to Jester. She was much happier with this braid showing her contentment with purring and rubbing against Beau nearly knocking her over.

“Ack! Jes.” Beau tried to be stern but a smile poked out of the corner of her mouth. Jester continued to lean into Beau. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this. You’re on your own Caleb.”

Jester whined as Beau started to leave. “Come on,” Caleb said trying to catch Jester’s attention. “Couch time.” Which were apparently the magic words as Jester immediately perked up and went to the couch and impatiently shifted from paw to paw doing an excited little dance. Caleb chuckled as he got up and grabbed a paper bag out of the first bag.

The next part took a little bit of psyching up for Caleb. He loved his girlfriend no matter what form or size she was(some would say that since Jester Lavorre was a little chubby she needed to lose weight, but these people are known as jerks and should not be listened to), but her more monstrous form was easily twice as large as she was as a tiefling and was over 300 pounds. Caleb braced himself as he sat down and Jester pounced into his lap. Only her front legs and a little bit of her head fitted on his lap, but it was still heavy and Caleb was a little sore at first. Jester purred loudly though and it made everything worth it.

Caleb opened the paper bag and pulled out two pastries from it. “One, two.” Despite her incredibly sharp teeth, Jester delicately took the pastries from him and carefully ate them. He sometimes wondered if she had better manners in this form. As Jester ate her pastries, Caleb grabbed Zemnian Nights to read to her. It seemed to be her favorite on full moons, and Caleb wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked it much more than Tusk Love. “Let’s see, when we last left off, Sigmund had just left the auction house having spent all his money on a flower bulb for Drica. Three. Let’s see if he can not get attacked by street thugs this read through. Four. ‘Sigmund could not believe his luck. What he could not believe was whether it was good or bad.’”

Reading to Jester when she was like this was Caleb’s favorite part of the full moon. There was no tension or dread as the roughest part for Jester had already passed and it was just them and a book. It wasn’t as good as a normal day, but there was still a soft contentment to it. If this was going to be what the rest of their lives were going to be like, Caleb could accept it.

Somewhere during their third chapter, Jester drifted asleep and Caleb followed her not long after(Caleb Widogast can and has scientifically proven that the best sleep comes from having a large, lion-like girlfriend sleep in your lap).

Caleb woke up to a gentle headbut. Jester was making soft whimpering sounds and looked very anxious. “Time for you to change back?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. She gently grabbed his hand in her mouth, dragged him to her blanket, and curled into a tight ball next to it. He shook out the blanket and covered her with it again.

Fortunately, the process of turning back into her normal self was an easier one for her, though Jester still didn’t like anyone to watch it. After a moment, the lump under the blanket shrank and Jester the tiefling came out from under it smiling. “Caleb!” Her eyes were bright and he could tell that she was there with him.

Caleb kissed her forehead softly. “Halo, liebling.”

_________________________

The title of the fic comes from the song Blue Moon and is a reference to the transformation scene from An American Werewolf in London(if horror is your thing I recommend this film).

I hope you liked this.

#widojest #critical role fan fiction #pinkevilbob writes