#aeor date gone wrong

[jaskwritesthings]

ghost stories

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Pairing/s: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Tag/s: post-canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Aeor, Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, Temporary Character Death, Resurrection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Affection, aeor date goes wrong

Author Note: title from the narcissist cookbook - ghost stories

AO3

Caleb grabbed Essek around the waist as he skidded across the ice, yanking him in beside him, flat against the floor behind the meagre cover of a short thick slab of dirty ice and crumbling stonework. Essek stifled a grunt of pain as he curled into Caleb’s chest, trying desperately to make himself as small as possible as they huddled together on the cold frostbitten stone slabs.

His breathing was too laboured to his own twitching ears. Loud and wet like the thump of a heartbeat high in his throat, echoing out into the cavern like a beacon. Essek tried to control the rough panting as his hand awkwardly attempted to stem the steady flow of blood at his side. The wound was shallow, thankfully, but stung sharply, nerve endings set alight by the jagged rough slash across his side. Between that and the bruises, Essek felt as though he’d gone a few rounds with their beloved monk.

Caleb hadn’t fared any better, a cut over his brow had streaked half his face crimson, the blood clotting in his beard turning the copper Essek so favoured almost black as coal in the fading light. His ankle listed at an odd angle resting against the slabs, broken perhaps? But Caleb had been running on it so maybe just twisted badly. Essek hoped it was just that, hoped it would hold long enough for them to escape.

They’d begun the trek back to the surface the day before, realising that their supplies were dangerously low and remembering the threats of violence the Nein and Veth, especially, had made if they broke their promise to be careful among the ruins.

It was just bad luck really. They’d turned a corner into a nest of Absorber’s, a mated pair, violently protective of one another. They had been difficult to put down, the noise of the fight had alerted other beasts nearby and Caleb and Essek’s careful jaunt back to the surface had become a desperate run for safety.

Essek had used the Sending stone he’d been gifted with by Dagen and the rangers to alert them to their predicament and had been assured that the crotchety explorer and his newly gained minions would meet them at their chosen exit point to assist them.

They simply had to reach it, which was turning out to be more difficult than anticipated.

He watched as Caleb peeked shakily over the edge of their small cover, immediately dropping back down with a quiet Zemnian curse.

Essek was about to ask about their situation when a low familiar growling echoed through the cavern. He covered his mouth to stifle the sound of his own breathing that suddenly felt as though it could wake the long frozen bones scattered around the edges of the fallen buildings. He lent into Caleb’s chest, seeking some form of safety and comfort even though there really wasn’t any to be had, regardless Caleb curled closer around him grimacing in pain as he did.

He didn’t know the extent of Caleb’s injuries but the scream of agony as they’d been inflicted would echo in Essek’s memory for lifetimes. He’d already checked his wrist pocket twice for potions or a healer’s kit, hell even one of Caduceus’ salves. Nothing. They were completely out. He fought the urge to search again as though something would have magically appear in the time between.

“How far?” Caleb whispered into the skin of Essek’s brow, his lips stayed like a phantom kiss against the sweaty skin.

Essek peeked out of Caleb’s tight hold, glancing over the field of ice and ruin before them, an expanse that seemed to stretch and elongate the longer he looked at it. In the distance, partially concealed by shadows and sharp jutting ice shelfs was the compact cave entrance that Essek knew would lead them to the surface and hopefully Dagen’s waiting guard. “Two hundred feet, perhaps more.”

Caleb cursed again, “Three of them, we will not make it.”

Two hundred feet, three hulking Reverser’s, limited spells and injuries too boot. Even if they somehow succeeded in reaching the cave entrance there was no guarantee that the monsters would halt their pursuit. There had been no sign of the Aeorian creatures beyond the fallen city but that could be due to a number of factors, not necessarily some ward to keep them contained. The beasts had already chased them this far, and a properly motivated a predator could go far beyond their territory when the prey was enticing enough.

“Teleport?” Essek suggested, a risk but one they had no other choice but to take.

Caleb nodded in agreement, “Ritual cast, I do not have power remaining.”

“Nor do I, you cast, you do not need to rely on your book,” Essek pointed out.

Caleb gently bumped his forehead to Essek’s, deliberately locking eyes with him. There was a well of determination visable in his gaze. He knew that look, it was a familiar determination to survive, one he’d seen enough in his own eyes reflected back in the mirror. But there was more too, a certain fiery glow that was newer but not unwelcome. It left a pleasent buzz under Essek's skin that made him shiver. Survival was not the only they both wanted anymore. There was the promise of more, more to live, more to do, just...more, “Watch my back?”

“Always,” Essek promised, the weight of the single word carrying the promise of forever within. Caleb’s forehead pushed against his own, almost painfully so, as though he was trying to meld them into one form. His chapped dry lips replaced the push of bone against bone, though the kiss was still hard against his brow. A desire to leave a mark that not even the Raven's of the Matron could erase. Essek pressed against Caleb just as hard, there so much potential held between them, waiting to burst forth, so much that weighed heavy in the air that always seemed to remain unsaid between them that Essek desperatly wanted to shout and yell now. Once again, it wasn't the time for it.

Caleb fished a crumbling piece of chalk from his pouch and scratched it against the floor beneath them. He threw his head back as he tried to contain the sudden burst of frustration as it left no mark against the thin sheen of ice.

“We must move,” he mumbled, practically head-butting Essek as he brought their foreheads together again.

Essek nodded and took a moment to peer over their cover. Prowling in the distance was one beast. The other two were worryingly absent. He turned back to face the exit, wide swathes of open flat ground were temptingly within reach, all without an ounce of cover.

“How long do you need?”

“One minute, ten feet of space.”

Essek bit hard on his bottom lip. A minute seemed so short a time but in the face of three enemies it might as well be the lifespan of an elf, “I can still cast Gravity Sinkhole, it will buy us time.”

“The outpost?”

“Best chance of avoiding any major complications and Uraya should still be there.”

They’d need them, no doubt the teleport would only exasperate their injuries. If they managed to make it that far that is.

“Ready?” Caleb asked and Essek fought the urge to shake his head. The odds were against them, they were probably about to die horribly and Essek didn’t want to run headfirst towards the Matron’s embrace just yet. But they had no choice and the longer they waited the worse their injuries got, the weaker they would become and the higher the chance of being found by the predators seeking them.

Still he hesitated and swallowed thickly, their relationship was still new, still tentative as they carefully felt out the borders of their love for one another in slow sweeps of affection. Though he wanted to kiss him, to taste Caleb for perhaps the last time, to pull him close until they were one form, he couldn’t. Even now his lingering anxiety kept him from acting. Instead Essek hesitantly tapped his brow against Caleb’s for once, the familiar gesture usually his partners move, a small comfort that fell short of what he truly wished but he hoped it conveyed enough of his true emotion to steel them both for what was to come. Caleb’s gloved hand cupped his cheek, holding him close as he took a deliberate breath in as though he was committing everything about Essek to his impeccable memory.

“Ready,” Essek whispered, not really remotely ready at all himself.

“Now,” Caleb muttered and they moved as one, the synchronisation hard won over the course of many excursions within the dead city.

Caleb skidded across the ice, using the slick surface to his advantage as slid to an open area of stone and began to scratch the sigils and circle in quick confident moves. Essek followed pulling himself upright and turning to face the already advancing monsters.

The black marble was warm as he rolled it between his fingers, it took just a moment before the spell threads caught, snapping into a familiar weave of magic like the string of a bow pulled back with intent and the marble glowed with a dark shadowy power. The fissure cracked across reality just behind the three beasts, there was no shadow, no void, it bent the light pulling and twisting the very air inwards, circling like a drain and the beasts claws dug into the stonework as they were pulled backwards and away from Essek, and more importantly Caleb.

Essek allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction as the spell captured all three of the beasts with ease. It didn’t last of course but the precious seconds were worth their weight in diamonds and at least two of the already injured beasts failed to move again.

With two incapacitated, Essek quickly turned his attention to the advancing third. With quick practiced moves he cast Magnify Gravity, throwing the obsidian dust at the ape like monstrosity. Like metal filings drawn to a magnet, the cloud of shimmering darkness latched onto the skin of the Reverser like a cloak slowing the creature and crushing it down into the stonework much to its frustration.

“Caleb!” Essek yelled, feeling the seconds tick by so slowly, too slowly.

“Einen Moment Liebe!” Caleb yelled in response.

Essek threw three quick firebolts in succession, cursing as only one of them found their mark. It did little but darken the thick hide of the Reverser and piss it off even more.

“Now!” Caleb shouted and Essek felt the tell-tale buzz in the air as the teleport circle activated.

Essek cast mage hand with the intention of using it to throw the creature back further and buying them just a few more precious seconds. He turned to see Caleb squatting beside the glowing circle…

And a fourth Reverser lumbering up just behind Caleb without his notice. Essek felt his heart seize in his chest, the cold that had been but a distant thought during their run was now stealing his breath and seeping into every limb like curling frost on a window, growing and stabbing through the muscles and bone.

Essek didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to think it through, the summoned ghostly hand was moved with lightening precision to push Caleb into the circle just before the two beasts descended on their singular remaining prey.

“Nein!” Caleb yelled sounding more anguished than Essek had ever heard him before as he was yanked away from the city.

It was quickly drowned out by his own screams though, as claws ripped through him with the ease of scissors through thin cloth, the force of the attack launching him far from the fading circle.

Essek’s vision darkened, it felt like the blink of an eye but he knew time enough had passed in the interim. He found himself on his side far from where he started as the two beasts snapped and swiped at one another fighting over their kill. Every muscle, every bone, screamed in agony and a worrying puddle of dark blood grew warm and deep beneath him, spreading out against the ice like a tide. He tried to breathe deeply, too steady himself, and the darkness swam around the edges of his vision once more. His stomach revolted violently as the world tilted and spun on a new axis. It reminded him, vaguely, of the first time he and Verin had got drunk on some of their mother’s prized collection of wines.

Essek was going to die. He knew that with absolute certainty. There was nothing else he could do, no spell to give his weakening power too, no strength to move or run. It was done.

He was done.

Oddly it didn’t seem as bad as he’d imagined his final moments would feel. Caleb was safe, far from danger and though he would no doubt mourn, he was safe.

In the end Essek realised that was all that mattered.

There was an unexpected peace in that, a gentle acceptance that he hadn’t anticipated as his world grew darker and darker...

“Thelyss!” someone screamed though it sounded so far away and Essek could do nothing but blink sluggishly as the world blurred in front of him, fading and fading into a mix of shadows and shapes.

He was somewhat aware of blasts of cold and heat and two figures sliding in between him and the monsters but it hardly seemed of concern to him now.

“Oh no you don’t, idiot!” Dagen’s gruff voice was comforting even as his action proved less comforting. Gloved firm and thick hands yanked him up into Dagen’s lap and his head flopped uncomfortably back over the arm of his chair. There was the echo of pain at the movement but it barely registered to Essek, a part of him knew that to be bad thing but it got quieter and quieter just like the voices around him, like the ebb and flow of a tide, it all faded away…

“Let’s move out, how far out is Uraya?”

“They’ll meet us half way, will he last-“

“Less questions more moving fools!”

Dagen’s hands was heavy against the gaping wound in his stomach, it felt like the only thing keeping him from floating away. Essek idly wondered if his levitation cantrip was acting up. He felt so… weightless, so empty, so…

Essek, Liebe, we’re coming, hold on, just hold on! Dagen is coming to you. bitte, bitte, Götter, nicht schon wieder, ich kann nicht, ich kann -

“Caleb…m’sorry,” Essek mumbled in reply, he felt more words tumble past his lips but he didn’t know what they were or if they made sense as darkness finally fell upon him like a warm blanket and everything ceased beyond the odd flap of wings.

He swore he could hear Caleb screaming for him as everything finally, blessedly slipped away.

“Bitte, bitte, bitte,” Caleb’s voice was the first thing he heard, it was so quiet that Essek almost feared he was slipping away again but the pain was gone leaving behind a dull ache that was familiar after an intense healing. The phantom reminder of wounds that had almost…almost killed him. Essek took a shaky, shallow breath in, taking a moment to enjoy the way his lungs felt without blood filling them, clear and strong once more.

At first he thought it was raining, but the warmth and inconsistent drip of small droplets against his skin soon solidified as tears in his mind and Essek forced his heavy eyelids open, to seek out their owner.

Caleb’s face was a blur, though not at the fault of his recovery but because he was face to face with Essek, his bare hands shook as they clumsily grasped Essek’s face between them. The push his face against Essek’s was too hard to be comfortable but was still comforting the way he clung and pressed so close to Essek they shared the warmth of his breath.

“Caleb Widogast,” Essek greeted weakly, he barely recognised his own voice, small and thready as it was. Caleb laughed sharp and slightly hysterical in response, the sound so close to a sob that it tore at Essek’s heart.

There was a sharp sudden sting as someone slapped his arm, “Fool.” Uraya muttered fondly as Essek winced.

“Apologies friends, I did not mean to worry you all so,” Essek offered, unable to even sit up as his body adjusted to life once more. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the faint glimmer of diamond shards scattering into the glitter of snow and felt more afraid than when he realised he was dying. He weakly pawed at Caleb’s coat until he managed to snag a lasting hold on it, gratified that Caleb hadn’t yet moved away from him. He needed the assurance that Caleb’s solid presence provided. The closeness of his own demise was suddenly hitting him in a way he would have expected in the moments before it, not in the aftermath of a successful revival.

“Bunch of fool magic folk,” Dagen grumbled before he turned his chair away from them to command the small force hovering around them to set up camp.

Caleb remained deep in his space, his desperate clutching turned into gentle petting as his thumb rubbed away his own tears from Essek’s cheek.

“I am here,” Essek assured him and himself at the same time. He was alive, he was breathing and he was here in Caleb’s arms, by far the safest place he could ever imagine.

“You were not for a moment,” Caleb reminded him, his voice thick with tears and grief that had only been given a moment to exist before it was undone but it still lingered. Essek suspected it would linger for them both for some time.

“Only a moment,” Essek pointed out, finding the strength to reach up and cup Caleb’s face softly. “Only a moment.”

“A moment too long, do not do that again,” Caleb demanded, something of the hidden darkness within him peeking through the words. Perhaps he should be scared of it but instead it settled something in Essek, gentling the fear in a way nothing else could. Caleb would come for him, Matron be damned and Essek found some comfort in that violence even though he knew how dangerous it was.

“I no longer make empty promises Caleb Widogast,” Essek said because neither of them could make that vow. Death was a constant and their lives were hardly without trouble.

Caleb sighed, the fight growing and ebbing away with the drop of his shoulders, “What fools we are,” he muttered fondly before sealing the distance and ever so softly capturing Essek’s lips with a delicately chaste kiss.

#critical role #shadowgast #critical role fanfiction #shadowgast fanfiction

[professor-rye]

Essek wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious. Surely with how much pain he was in, it couldn’t have been long. The weight of what must be all of Aeor pushed down on him from all sides. The dust had settled thickly around them when he opened his eyes, but he found he still couldn’t breathe.

His head and one shoulder were just barely free from the mountain of rubble that held him like a vice, with one arm pinned under him and the other at his side, deep beneath the pile of earth. He tried to move them, but found it nearly impossible. His entire body ached, from his chest to his feet, but the sensation was quickly lost to the sharp, stabbing agony that filled his torso. So this is what it felt like to be crushed.

“Caleb?” he called out weakly. His voice was raspy and quiet, despite his attempt to yell. He could barely breathe. It felt like dust had coated the inside of his throat, and he couldn’t help but cough. He immediately regretted it, as the movement sent sparks of pain down the length of his torso. The weight around him seemed to crowd in closer, as if his coughing had angered it.

“Caleb?!” he called out again, only marginally louder. He twisted his head, searching in the darkness for his friend. Then, his heart froze.

A single pale arm extended out of the rock about four feet to his side. The darkness that had fallen around them took away any semblance of color, but as Essek followed that arm to its source, he found he could see Caleb’s head as well.

He wasn’t moving.

Title: Hold You Tight Relationships: Shadowgast Rating: Explicit Set: Aeor Date Tags: Whumptober2021, no.14, Crush Injuries, Force, Claustrophobia, blood, Cave In, Animal attacks, Word Count: 2732 It happened so fast.

Essek often prided himself in his dexterity. He had to, since his strength was quite abysmal. Yet when he needed it the most, it failed him.

He wasn’t sure what caused the cave in. In fact, the speed at which rocks and metal rained down on them was suspicious enough that he couldn’t help but wonder later if it was actually a trap of some form. In the moment however, all he could think was that he needed to get to Caleb. Read more on AO3

#Whumptober2021 #no.14 #Crush Injuries #Force #Critical Role #Fan fiction #Claustrophobia #blood #cave in #Animal Attack #Cr fan fiction #critical role fan fiction #cr fan fic #shadowgast #Essek thelyss #caleb widogast #aeor date gone wrong #whump

[isuara-ez]

I’m sorry but if you don’t think the C2 endgame relationship were earned, or think they were regressions for the characters in any ways, I think you might have zero media literacy.

Fjord, and jester. Beau and Yasha, Caleb and Essek, are all relationships where the attraction was started for immature or unhealthy  reasons, that all matured over the course of the campaign into attraction for real tangible reasons.

Sure, Jester initially crushed on Fjord because he was tall handsome and fulfilled a fantasy of a chivalric knight, and tried to woo him like her mother would woo a client, but when it was clear that wasn’t working she stopped and just let herself be herself around Fjord, and that’s when he fell in love with her. If you don’t think there was real love there, go rewatch the pirate arc, and just everything after. It’s clearly built up.

And that’s the most straightforward of these arcs, yet the most commonly misrepresented by people who hate this really wholesome pair for very contrived reasons.

Beau and Yasha’s arc is a bit more complicated, but still pretty easy to follow. Because of how past relationships hurt her, Beau had been using sex as basically a pain killer. It was a tool for her, we see that very early on in the campaign. Her attraction to Yasha seems immature and purely physical, but then they fought along side each other day after day, and to quote Marisha, Beau formed a “crush forged in battle” and then, episode 69, Yasha fell under control of Obann, and suddenly Beau felt betrayed again, and realized she was having feelings she probably didn’t think she could anymore. It’s no coincidence that this is where she revealed she had feelings for Jester. She was finally able to Accept that she could have these feelings. When Yasha comes back Beau doesn’t trust her right away, but once she gets over it, she picks up right where they left off. And after everything Yasha had gone through, she probably hadn’t thought she’d ever love someone the way she loved Zuala. And here comes someone who spends months with you, fighting alongside you, flirting with and seemingly courting you, and then putting so much effort into a date to impress you, of course she fell in love with Beau.

Once Beau started to stop treating her attraction to Yasha as purely sexual and realized she had romantic feeling too, Yasha reciprocated.

And Caleb and Essek, I don’t see as much straight up misunderstandings about they’re arc so this’ll be shorter. Yes, the relationship starts out as toxic, they’re lying to each other to get what they want from each other, and Caleb is falling right back into his old habits, and Essek is much the same, attraction is a tool for these too. But just like the the mighty nein saved Caleb, they save Essek. And during the Aeor arc, they’re attraction to each other stops being a tool, and they build trust. Essek, see the people he loves in do much pain, and he weeps for them, because the mighty nein saved him, but not there, friend, who he thinks probably deserved it more. Then everything in the finale shows how Essek and Caleb have built a new relationship based on Trust.

There nothing wrong with preferring other ships over the canon ones, seriously you’re allowed to have head cannons, just stop trying to find a way to call the canon relationships problematic, rushed, unearned, out of character, or that it was “probably a business decision”

These are clear arcs, about maturity and healing. Sometimes love is messy, and I like seeing that reflected in fiction.

#these relationships are all amazing y’all are just cowards #cr spoilers #critical role #campaign 2 spoilers #cr discourse #critical role discourse #beauyasha #fjorester #shadowgast

[thetomorrowshow]

tenacious trajectory

me: gonna take a break from trust au to focus on my play!

me a week later: so i started an empires superhero au-

anyways i saw a tiktok about the trope where the villain turns up on the hero’s doorstep injured saying “i had nowhere else to go” and collapses and. uh. let’s just get into it shall we

cw: being experimented on, needles, blood, use and description of medical instruments, restraints, kidnapping, violence

~

Jimmy isn’t exactly a hero.

He’s never been properly been a hero, never been like Major, or Gem, or any of the more localized heroes in Empire City. He’s not a villain, though—he’s nothing like Xornoth, Major’s nemesis. Jimmy’s more of . . . he’s more of an antihero, something in between.

And for some reason, that makes heroes and villains alike despise him. He’s not even the only antihero—FailWhip is right there, and people love him. But somehow, Jimmy’s picked up the reputation of a bad omen, and where before he had been neutrally acknowledged in the city, now he’s outright hated.

He’s gone through a few different rebrands over the years. For a while he was Solidarity, the comic book superhero, but being a superhero is difficult for someone who accidentally causes chaos. As soon as it was clear he wasn’t welcome among the hero ranks, he tried out being a villain as the Codfather, but after a little while the villains told him (rather politely, for villains) that he wasn’t quite fit for being a villain, that he was too softhearted and should maybe try being a hero. So he went back to Solidarity, but there’s something wrong with his old superhero costume in the way that it just didn’t fit who he’s trying to be now (He’s still wearing it, though, because he doesn’t really have the funds for a rebrand). He can’t be a hero, he can’t be a villain, so he has to take up the grey space in between. 

Jimmy’s just not very good at it.

His power isn’t an envied one. Jimmy has the unfortunate ability to influence fate, but without any influence. Like, fate changes around him without his input. Usually for the worse. Sometimes he’s lucky—sometimes a building falls on Mythics so that Pearl has a chance to superstrength-punch him into the ground and knock him out. Most times, though, a tornado hits out of nowhere and disrupts a battle, a house catches on fire and Gem has to flee the fight to save the family within, or on one terrible occasion, a meteor rockets down from outer space and lands smack on top of Aeor.

And that’s probably why the heroes now despise him. One doesn’t just kill the oldest hero in the city, the one who has a parade in his honor, the one who somehow won a Tony last year, and get away with still being on good terms with heroes. Jimmy had tried to tell them it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t control it, it just happened, but it didn’t matter. Major especially hates him, threatens to arrest him every time Jimmy dares show his face around any intense fight.

He would love to just be a normal citizen. He’s always wanted to go to college, go on a date, just eat in a restaurant for once. None of those are options. He’s barely able to live in the apartment complex he lives in—it’s on the shadier side of town, and his landlord doesn’t ask where he gets the money from and why the building is considerably less structurally sound than it was before Jimmy moved in. It’s not like he can move into one of those superhero insured houses like Major and Gem and the new flower-type hero.

And he can’t get a proper job, either—it would blow his cover instantly. Which is why he’s still working on the antihero thing—he feels gross doing it, but robbing banks isn’t too hard and the few times a hero has tried to stop him the bank has just collapsed, so they don’t even try anymore. He doesn’t do much to try and help them anymore either—for the most part the villains leave him alone (unless he interferes with their scheme, in which case they make it clear to him that he needs to stay out of it), and the vitriol (and sometimes ice spikes or flying cars) that the heroes send his way aren’t always worth getting involved.

The other antiheroes don’t like him, either. FailWhip ignores him at every turn (when he asked why, the man had said something about Gem and leapt to the side as a car came barreling down the sidewalk), and the others don’t want to push their luck. Jimmy’s a dangerous partner in every situation.

Jimmy’s also a dangerous enemy, though, so he’s generally just. Left alone. He can’t stay in one place for too long, so he spends his days stealing around the city then returns to his trashy apartment, where he knocks on the door three times to make sure it won’t fall on him, then turns the doorknob (the key broke off in the lock forever ago) and lets himself in. He kicks off his shoes, leaves the lights off (which he’s done since the bulb exploded three years ago and he spent all night picking glass out of his arm), and fixes himself a bowl of cereal. Usually the milk doesn’t go bad, but on the off chance it does, he sniffs every bite before putting it in his mouth. He reads while he eats most nights, sometimes he scrolls through the news on his phone to make sure there isn’t anything dreadful going on that he feels the need to intervene in. Then he washes his dishes, makes sure everything is in order, and goes to bed on his mattress on the floor. He keeps his phone near his ear in case he receives an emergency alert late at night.

In the morning, he usually showers and throws on some jeans and a t-shirt and shoves his phone in his back pocket. He skips breakfast and does whatever chores need to be accomplished as quickly as possible, before heading home for lunch and eating whatever food he’s bought that day. He spends the rest of the day patrolling in his old superhero costume, mostly staying out of the way of anyone (and they generally stay out of the way of him). Then he heads home and the cycle begins anew.

He’s usually not interrupted. The evening it happens, he’s put out.

Then he sees who’s interrupting him. Then he’s scared.

He’s almost gotten to his apartment when glass shatters nearby. Jimmy glances around, already rolling his eyes. His apartment windows shattered about a week into living there and have been blocked with cheap blankets ever since. He keeps moving, sticking to the shadiest parts of the street. Hopefully nobody will notice that he’s been here and he can just move on without any trouble.

But then he hears footsteps. Jimmy turns around, about to apologize for whatever it is he’s broken, but before he can he’s being wrestled to the ground.

He’s still not panicking, not as the person pins him to the ground, not as his costume tears a bit on the sleeve. He’s still more put-out than anything; he’ll have to stitch that up in the morning, just another messy addition to his outfit.

He does start panicking, though, when a gruff voice hisses, “Here’s the chloroform, get him quick. We can’t have a building fall on us.”

That’s when Jimmy realizes he has to get out of there. He writhes, heart leaping into his throat, he has to get away—

A cloth presses against his face and he automatically breathes, breathes in something sweet and chemical-y and feels his brain go all fuzzy. He barely registers his body going limp before he’s out like a light.

-

When Jimmy wakes, he wakes slowly, groggily. His head is pounding, his mouth fuzzy. He doesn’t know where he is, what he’s doing, what’s happening. Within a couple of moments, though, he realizes that he isn’t anywhere familiar, and he’s tied to a chair.

Great.

He swallows a few times, trying to get rid of the numbness. He’s almost a little excited—he hasn’t been involved in a kidnapping in years, not since he tried to rescue the mayor’s daughter that one time. He wonders what the villain’s evil scheme is, who the hero they’re trying to bait is.

He blinks, clearing his vision. He’s in a classic basement set-up, a goon by the door. There’s no video recorder, but there are other ways to ask for a ransom. His stomach growls. How long has he been here? 

The door slams open, and in stalks—

Uh-oh. Oh no.

Xornoth, the most dangerous villain in the country, let alone the city, enters the room. Jimmy feels the blood drain from his face, and where before he had been lightly testing the ropes securing him to the chair, he’s now tugging at them a tad bit desperately. Whatever Xornoth has in store cannot be good.

Xornoth stands before him, stares for a long time. Jimmy looks everywhere but their eyes, examines their weird antler things that may or may not be part of their costume, stares into their wide grin of teeth just slightly too sharp.

That grin opens, and an echoing laugh comes out. Jimmy flinches, eyes falling to the floor then back up in time to see Xornoth raise a hand.

The doors on the side of the basement open again, this time ushering in a handful of scientist-types in white lab coats. Jimmy gulps when they approach him, eyeing the syringe in the hand of one of them. He jerks away as that man nears him, but not soon enough. The needle jabs into his neck, and with a feeling washing through his body similar to the chloroform, Jimmy is gone.

-

He’s not gone for long, though, because he wakes up as soon as he feels a burning on his chest. His eyes snap open but immediately close, a bright light above him. There’s a low mumbling of voices, the smell of rubbing alcohol in the air, and something tickling his nostrils.

Then his chest burns again, and he forces his eyes open and down to see—

There’s someone, someone unfamiliar, a surgical mask on their face leaning over him. In their hand is a tiny pair of scissors, which is inside of Jimmy’s chest. In a shallow dish set on Jimmy’s stomach, there are small bloody squares that seem to be his skin. Another scientist is using tweezers to pick up the squares and put them in biohazard containers.

Blood is steadily pooling from where the scientist has scissors in his chest, until suddenly a bit of it spurts up and the scientist curses, pressing a pad of gauze over the incision.

And Jimmy screams.

He jerks his arms only to find them restrained, he moves his legs only to find them restrained, he tries to sit up only to find his waist restrained. His superhero mask is stretching over some lump on his face, and that lump is pushing air into his nose, which must be an oxygen tube of some sort.

Both scientists over him step back, glancing around fearfully. A third from the background (which Jimmy just now registers, processes the others watching and washing hands and taking notes) steps forward, prepping another syringe.

No. No no no, he is not doing that again, he is not going to lose time again and turn up in some dark alley missing a kidney.

“No!” he gasps, trying to roll away. The container on his stomach shifts, threatens to tip over. “No, please, I’ll be quiet, I’ll stay still. Please don’t knock me out again.”

The woman freezes, and even behind her mask and glasses, Jimmy can see that she’s fixing him with a sympathetic look. “Mr. Solidarity, I don’t believe we can do that,” she says. “You’re a rather dangerous patient when not sedated.”

“Please?” he begs, going as still as possible. “Or at least—at least tell me what you’re going to do?”

The woman sighs, but shakes her head, approaching once again. Jimmy can’t help but whine, a keen escaping from between his teeth, as he feels a cold square of soaked gauze rub against his inner arm.

“We may need to put in an IV,” the woman says, all clinical now that she isn’t talking to him. “I’m not sure how he’s resisting this stuff, but it would be easier to just flush it through his system every time he starts to wake up.”

“Jordan, want to set that up once he’s out?”

“No problem, I’ll just go grab the—”

Everyone looks in the same direction. Jimmy cranes his neck, sees a door. Sees Xornoth.

Xornoth comes closer, closer and closer until they’re bending down beside Jimmy’s face, their noses almost touching. Jimmy barely dares breathe (only breathes because the oxygen tube is forcing him to), eyes wide as he stares into Xornoth’s black eyes.

“Nothing unusual?” the villain asks, their deep voice echoing around the room and Jimmy’s head. Various scientists mumble answers, which seems to satisfy Xornoth as they continue to gaze at Jimmy.

“Good. Keep him awake, then. I want him to feel it.”

Jimmy can’t help but shudder. A man with glasses raises a pencil questioningly.

“Sir, if he starts—”

“I’ll handle it,” Xornoth says, straightening. One of their gloved hands falls to Jimmy’s cheek, where it rests, heavy and terrifying. A scientist sighs (can Jimmy really call them scientists, or are they doctors?), then the woman who had just been prepping his arm places down the syringe and instead removes the oxygen tube from his nostrils. Xornoth’s fingers straighten out his mask, patting his cheek once it’s properly in place.

Then they’re back at it, and Jimmy’s biting back whimpers and cries as they cut into him with precision.

-

He’s been locked up in whatever facility Xornoth has for what feels like forever. Most of the time he’s not really conscious. Most of the time he’s lying on the concrete floor of his cell, the hard bed that he has out of reach for his non-existent energy. He drifts in and out of reality during those times, body burning where they last peeled back skin, head aching and eyelids drooping. There’s no ransom, he’s realized by now—he wonders why he ever thought there would be. There’s no one to pay it.

He doesn’t even protest these days when they lift him onto a gurney and wheel him out of his cell, back into the sterile white room where everything goes bad and blurry. He’s not sure what they’re doing to him—sometimes he looks down at himself and sees tubes sticking out of every part of his body, some days they shock him and take notes on his reactions, sometimes they just take blood and skin and tissue and then wheel him back to his cell, where he’s dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The days blend together, the worst ones marked by Xornoth’s presence.

When Xornoth is there, fear bleeds through the room. They never say anything, though: just stand silently, a hand carding through Jimmy’s greasy hair. Jimmy keeps his eyes squinted shut whenever Xornoth is there, despite every instinct screaming at him to watch them.

Whatever they do to him, on whatever day, it’s always painful. The pain more than anything drains him, leaving him limp and aching. They give him food, stuff that seems like military rations, but most of the time he’s too tired and his hands are shaking too badly to unwrap them. He thinks they’ve been giving him supplements through an IV every once in a while, because otherwise he shouldn’t logically still be alive, but his head is hazy enough that he can’t think logically. None of this makes sense.

One day, as Xornoth massages his head and a scientist is peeling away a strip of skin from his calf, Jimmy whimpers, “Why are you doing this to me?”

It’s the first thing he’s said since . . . in a while, and he’s not sure why he’s saying it, just that the pain is so so much and Xornoth is touching him and he just can’t. He blinks back a tear, gasps when the skin from his calf pulls all the way off. The gauze that the man presses down on it stings.

“Oh, little bird,” Xornoth murmurs, and Jimmy flinches at the almost—affection in their voice. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

That’s all they say, and Jimmy feels a drop of something cold sink into his stomach. He tried the villain life, it didn’t work out. He’s not sure what they’re doing, what they’re trying to achieve, but whatever it is won’t be good.

When he’s later thrown into his cell, he can’t fall asleep like he usually does. Every word that Xornoth said is repeating in his head, over and over until all he can hear is Xornoth’s voice.

The rations are on the floor next to him, and he can’t sleep anyhow, so Jimmy tears open the package with shaking hands and takes a bite of whatever the contents are. It’s tasteless, and dry, and takes far more chewing than he has the energy for.

He picks up the water bottle that always comes with the food, but he can’t manage to twist his wrist hard enough to break the seal.

He needs to get out.

He’s not sure why it’s this that gives him the realization—maybe being forced to accept the fact that he hasn’t got the strength to open a water bottle just breaks him. He has to get out of here before things get any worse. Not just for himself—Xornoth is the most powerful villain Jimmy’s ever heard of. If he achieves whatever it is he’s trying to do, it could spell the end for the city.

-

Jimmy’s lying on the operation table, slipping in and out of consciousness. He thinks it’s strange that bad luck hasn’t fallen upon him yet. Maybe he’s too tired for his powers to activate.

There’s a tube in his right side, under his arm, and he’s not quite sure what it’s doing. Every five minutes or so, a scientist adjusts it slightly and presses a button, watches as a bit of blood shoots up the tube, then presses the button again for it to stop. There’s an IV in his bruised left arm, which is pumping something beige into his body. 

It’s a quiet day in the lab, broken only by Jimmy’s occasional dry sobs as the tube is readjusted and the once-every-five-minutes beeping of the IV stand.

He just wants to go home. He just wants to go back to his trashy apartment where the lights are never on (this room is far too bright, always too bright) and he can eat cereal and peanut butter sandwiches and instant mashed potatoes. He just wants some time alone without any pain and his lumpy mattress and his stained couch and his blankets that smell like cigarettes and no one touching him.

There’s a loud crash from elsewhere in the building. The scientist doesn’t seem to register it, frowning as he squints at his laptop. He shifts the tube, pointing it more downward, and presses the button. Jimmy bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

Another crash. This one jostles the tube set-up, the IV stand rattling. At this, the scientist looks up. After several moments of nothing, he returns to his work.

When the third crash hits, the man sets aside his laptop and strides out of the door to the lab. Jimmy’s grateful; he gets a moment’s reprieve, it seems.

He lies there, eyes unfocused. The IV beeps. Something rumbles distantly.

This is the perfect time to escape.

He’s not sure how or when he realizes that, but it gives him enough of a burst of energy to sit up (they don’t restrain him anymore unless necessary) and peel the tape off his arm. Carefully, his vision blurring, he eases the tube out of his arm and stares dumbly at it as a rivulet of blood weaves down his arm.

This is the perfect time to escape.

The tube in his side proves a little more difficult to remove, blood spilling everywhere as he grits his teeth and yanks it from his body. He isn't sure what to do with the blood, so he ignores it in favor of pulling the scientist's stereotypical white lab coat around himself, too foggy to discern the sleeves and wearing it more similar to a cloak.

Standing is the most difficult task yet, but he ignores the shooting pains in his body and the wobbly quality of his legs and manages to remain upright. He can do this.

This is the perfect time to escape.

He leaves without another thought, shouldering out the door and stumbling across that first room that he'd found himself in so long ago. There's a door on the other side that he knows leads to the room he's been kept in; but there's a door to his right that he's never been through yet many people have come from. He chooses this door, blinking back the heaviness of his eyelids.

Beyond this door is a hallway, and he begins to make his way down to the door at the end when he hears a crash just behind him. He freezes, pressed against the door.

"Give me good news, Doctor, or you may not return home tonight."

"We're making progress, sir, but it's slow. What we have to do to suppress his powers limits any—"

"I don't want excuses, I want him to be mine."

One voice is Xornoth, one is vaguely familiar, but Jimmy can't stand here listening for any longer. He has to get out.

At the end of the hallway is a door, a solid door with no windows and a red sign that he can't focus on, but he knows somehow that this is a way out.

He's not sure how he makes it down the hallway, not with his small amount of energy flagging with every passing moment. He keeps trying to send adrenaline through his body, imagining what might happen if they find him escaping, but he's feeling worse than he ever has. The lab coat is stained red from his still-bleeding side, draining his resolve with it.

Still, he makes it to the door, shoves against the bar and pushing the door open, into darkness and a gust of wind and—

An alarm blares, loud and shocking and Jimmy jumps practically a foot in the air, and there's the adrenaline he was missing—

There's an empty lot illuminated by one streetlight, and it feels so insanely good to be outside again but Jimmy doesn't have time to focus on that, he has to run. Closing the door behind him doesn't make the alarm stop, so he limps his way across the lot as quickly as he can before—

The door slams open, and Jimmy looks over his shoulder to see Xornoth, the air crackling around them as red tentacles sprout through the asphalt, whipping around as they grow.

"Come back, darling," Xornoth calls, anger tinging their otherwise calm words. "You'll be happy soon, I guarantee."

Jimmy flinches at the way his voice echoes and hurries on, tripping over the curb as he steps out of the lot and onto the road.

Xornoth growls behind him, and before Jimmy can even think to move, a tentacle tears from the ground and wraps around his torso. It lifts him off the ground and Jimmy flails, dry heaving as the ground quickly falls below him. He pulls at the tentacle with scrabbling fingers, desperately trying to find some way to get free. The limb tightens around him, cutting into his wounds—he hears something crack—he screams, vision flashing red then black then back to blurred—

The tentacle releases him and he falls to the road, skidding a little bit, searing pain hitting his entire body full-force. He tries to breathe through the agony, but the breath is stolen from him as the tentacle tightens around his ankle and lifts him back up until his hair is brushing the ground. He can’t help it—a sob breaks from his mouth. He’d been so close, he was about to escape. . . . 

A driverless car speeds from nowhere and rams into Xornoth, driving him into the wall of the building. The tentacle drops Jimmy, who falls on his face and crumples to the ground as it withers and shrinks into the hole it created in the asphalt. The night goes still.

Jimmy struggles to his feet, head whirling with agony. His nose is stuffed up, something wet pouring from it, but he doesn’t bother with it. He has to get out, because surely Xornoth isn’t dead, surely he’ll be up in just a few seconds—

Jimmy’s not sure how he’s moving, but he is. More shockingly is that he knows where he is. He’s in a part of town he never goes to, afraid of being arrested or attacked or worse.

He’s in the high-end, public-funded superhero houses neighborhood. It’s across the city from his dingy apartment, he’ll never make it home . . . Xornoth will be coming for him at any moment. . . .

There’s one superhero Xornoth is afraid of, his mind blearily supplies.

He can’t go to Major. Major . . . Major despises him, has ever since the accident with Aeor. Aeor had been Major’s mentor, had taught him to hone and control his ice powers and helped him grow into his wings. Aeor had been everything to Major, and Jimmy had taken that away.

But there’s nowhere else for him to go, nowhere else where he’ll be safe, and what if Xornoth’s implanted some sort of tracker into him. . . .

Major is the primary protector of the city. His house is the grandest, in the center of the neighborhood, so it’s going to be a bit more walking, but Jimmy thinks he can manage it before he passes out.

He makes it, just barely. It’s a long walk, longer than he thinks it should’ve been, but he doesn’t have the focus to worry about it. He doesn’t have the focus to worry about anything but the pain.

It’s a beautiful house, one that Jimmy has been warned to stay away from countless times, but he stumbles through the garden of peonies and keeps his eyes down, as if under the impression that if he doesn’t look at the house, it won’t count as trespassing.

He leans heavily against Major’s intricately carved doorway, reaching up one hand to knock only to lose strength halfway through and just sort of pat his door. His arm falls to his side and he slumps, despair flooding him as he realizes it’s been too long, Xornoth will find him, there’s nothing to be done—

The door opens and Jimmy collapses, knees hitting the porch, head leaning against something soft. He looks up to see that he’s pressed against someone’s legs, then further up to see Major’s distinctive glittering white mask and angry blue eyes.

“Solidarity,” he says, tone bitter. “What are—” his voice changes as he properly takes in Jimmy— “Is that blood?”

Jimmy swallows, speaks, voice creaky from disuse. “I—I didn’t know where else to go. . . .”

He blinks, and suddenly he’s in a well-lit kitchen, white tiles bright against the dark wood of the cabinets. Major’s there, wetting cloths in the sink, and there’s a table beside him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Jimmy blinks at it, then down at himself. He’s shirtless, only wearing the shorts that they’d given him once they’d torn his trousers to shreds. His various cuts and bruises and missing patches of skin are on display, some scabbed over, others weeping blood. His arm and side are still bleeding as well, though considerably faster than anywhere else. More confusing than anything, there’s blood utterly coating his chest.

When he looks back up, Major is staring at him. “You’ve broken your nose,” the hero says after a moment. “That’s where all that blood is from.”

Jimmy doesn’t say anything. Any words might split his aching head in half.

Major dips his damp cloth into the rubbing alcohol, then pauses, hand hovering over Jimmy’s body. He seems to assess the damage, then kneels down and reaches for Jimmy’s side, gently patting the spot where he’d yanked out the tube.

“These injuries,” Major says once he’s bandaged that point with some gauze and medical tape, moving to Jimmy’s left arm to clean the exit point of the IV. “They’re strange. Clean, almost. Precise. And your arms. . . .” He holds up Jimmy’s arm, tracing along the bruises with a soft finger. “Burst vessels. IV points. These aren’t from a fight, Solidarity.”

Jimmy swallows. Major doesn’t miss it, steps away for a moment and comes back with a glass of water. He presses it to Jimmy’s lips, waits until he’s drunk a few sips to put it down. He moves to his nose, mutters a warning—Jimmy barely has time to tense before Major grips his nose over the mask and yanks, shoves it back into position as Jimmy lets out a hoarse cry at the burn. More blood spills out, and Major pulls his hands away in disgust before scrunching up a rag and shoving it under Jimmy’s nostrils. He holds it there until the flow slows, then adds a few pieces of tape over the mask to keep Jimmy’s nose in place before turning to other injuries.

He moves quickly and efficiently, cleaning and bandaging with the skill of one who’s done this before. Jimmy tries not to move too much, but he can’t help but jerk his leg away when Major lightly swipes a cloth over a particularly wide skin graft there. Major mutters something, then holds his leg firmly in place. He lets go before Jimmy can start to hyperventilate.

“Mind telling me what happened?” Major asks conversationally. When Jimmy doesn’t speak, he adds, “I mean, I’ve every right to arrest you. I shouldn’t have even let you in, but I happen to be a nice person. So you might as well share, if you don’t feel like waking up in a cell.”

Jimmy’s had too much of waking up in a cell lately. He swallows again, hums to make sure his voice works. “I . . . they hurt me,” he says lamely. His head is so foggy. He clears his throat and tries again. “They—they took me. And cut me. And took stuff. I—” a thought strikes him— “what day is it?”

“Uhhhhh, late Monday,” Major says absently, sticking some tape to Jimmy’s side.

“Date?”

“The 30th.”

“Of?”

“May.”

May. That can’t be. He was—the last day he can remember is the 25th of April, and he knows it’s been longer than five days, but surely it hasn’t been an entire month.

“I was . . . I was ki—taken. Late April,” Jimmy says slowly, the words falling like molasses from his mouth. Major freezes, looks up at him.

“You were kidnapped?” he asks incredulously. “That’s impossible. And nobody got struck by lightning or mauled by a passing bear? How?”

Jimmy shrugs. There are too many words involved in the answer for him to formulate it. “Xornoth?” he offers eventually. Major’s mouth curves down. He returns to patching Jimmy up.

“What would they want with you?” Major murmurs, almost to himself. “What would anyone want with you?” Jimmy tries to hold back a shudder and fails, the feeling of Xornoth petting his hair all too present. Major notices, and his mask shifts as he apparently raises an eyebrow.

“He . . . he wouldn’t stop touching me,” he says, and out of nowhere his eyes are burning. A tear slips down past his mask, dripping off his chin. “While the. The doctors hurt me. I don’t—I don’t wanna go back. . . .”

Major’s hands still. When Jimmy looks at him, his eyes are wide, wide and almost scared. Jimmy doesn’t think he can quite comprehend why. He just wants to sleep. His limbs are immobile, weighing him down. Everything hurts down to his bones, an ache that he doesn’t think will go away.

“I’mma sleep, ‘kay?” he slurs, then his chin hits his chest and he’s out.

-

When Jimmy wakes up, he’s hungry. Hungry and thirsty and exhausted and hurting, but he’s also alive and doesn’t feel like he’s dead.

He’s in a bed for once, and this certainly isn’t his cell or anywhere else he can remember ever being. The room is plain, undecorated apart from a dresser with a TV atop it. The only light is the sun filtering in through the window, bathing the room in an almost grey-orange hue.

He’s under a blue duvet in a very nice bed, and his left arm that lies on top of it is wrapped in bandages. It’s tough to take a breath in, something constricting his chest. He tries to sit up, gasps and falls back when pain lances through his chest.

“Good to see you’re finally awake,” a dry voice says from his right. Jimmy glances over, sees an open doorway and Major standing in it. Right, he’d escaped.

He’s free.

Major leaves, comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a peanut butter sandwich. These he sets on Jimmy’s lap, then reaches under the bed and retrieves a few pillows which he props under Jimmy’s shoulders and neck, helping him to sit up.

The water nearly spills, but Major flicks his wrist at it and it solidifies into ice just as Jimmy’s knee bumps it. Once he’s completely sat up, ribs twinging, Major waves his hand over the glass and it returns to water.

Unfortunately, Jimmy’s hands are still shaking too badly to grasp the glass on his own, so Major rolls his eyes and steadies his hold, allowing Jimmy to tip the water into his mouth. It’s easier to hold the sandwich, so Jimmy takes the food into both hands and bites into it, eyes almost rolling back into his head at how heavenly peanut butter tastes after so long without proper food.

Major leaves again, returns carrying a chair that he sets down beside the bed and plants himself in. He props a hand under his chin, watches Jimmy with those icy blue eyes. Jimmy’s almost halfway done with the sandwich already, tearing it apart so quickly the sandwich might as well be a blur.

Major’s hand latches around his wrist and Jimmy flinches away, drawing his arms close to himself. He—he doesn’t want to be touched, it feels bad, it burns, it’s scary. Major draws away as well, hands in the air.

“Apologies,” he says after several moments of silence. “I meant only to stop you before you got sick. You—well, you don’t look as though you’ve eaten in a while.”

Jimmy manages a raspy chuckle. “They gave me food,” he says. “I just wasn’t strong enough to open it.”

Major looks away. “You said,” he says slowly, voice unreadable, “that they—that Xornoth touched you. May I ask details?”

Jimmy feels the blood drain from his face. He really doesn’t want to talk about it, and now that his head is somewhat clearer than it’s been in apparently weeks, he remembers it clearer than ever. He self-consciously straightens his mask, probably getting peanut butter on it. “I—um—”

“I just need to know if they’re presenting a different danger than before,” Major continues. “I understand if it’s difficult to talk about, but if Xornoth is now sexually harming others, immediate action must be taken.”

Jimmy blinks a few times, processing that. Was Major implying—? “No, not—not like that,” corrects Jimmy, setting the remaining half of the sandwich down on the plate. His hands are trembling, and he clasps them together in an attempt to stop it. “I don’t think so. They would just—I would be on the table, and the scientists . . . cutting into me, or—or taking blood, or something, and they would just . . . pet. My hair. Or cheek. I didn’t—I don’t like—” he cuts off with a shudder, stomach turning. The sandwich before him no longer looks so appetizing.

When he looks back up, Major is staring at him. Major’s not wearing his usual blue-and-white skin-tight costume, he notices, the one with the intricate M on the chest and the white knee-high boots. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt and a blue jacket, like a normal person. And suddenly, despite the grand house and fame and power, Major just seems like anyone else Jimmy might meet on the street, and he wonders if the man has a layman identity like he does himself.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Major says, standing suddenly. “I don’t know when you’ll be well enough to walk—”

“Oh, right—” Jimmy fumbles with the plate, sets it on the mattress as he flips the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed, despite the pain that spikes through his body. “I really ought to—”

“What do you think you’re doing?” demands Major, gesturing for him to lie back down. “You’ve been tortured for a month, your stick legs barely look strong enough to not be blown over in the wind, you haven’t stopped shaking since I brought you in. Now lie back down and recover before I make you.”

Jimmy looks down at himself, at his bandages and hospital-style shorts. His entire torso is wrapped, but he can see how starkly his ribs stick out. He really has been slowly starving to death, hasn’t he?

Aside from that, he feels suddenly embarrassed. He’s practically naked in front of Major, who is the city’s foremost hero, two-time winner of the Nobel Prize, already has a documentary and four biographies written about him, and is ostensibly attractive to men and women alike with his tall, muscular frame and his windswept blue hair.

He really needs to leave. He’s getting antsy, anyway—now that he can be outside, he desperately wants to be. Not to mention, he’s regaining strength—slowly, but surely. At any moment, disaster could strike.

“No, I really—I’d like to be home, if it’s all the same to you,” he stammers, flexing his feet and holding back a wince. “Not that I’m not—I’m very grateful, thank you so much—I just don’t want to impose any longer, and I—my rent is due—yeah.”

Major seems to be about to protest, but he pauses, and then shrugs. “Fine, I don’t care. Let me get you something to wear.”

Major exits, and Jimmy bites back a whimper as he stretches his trembling arms. His various bandages pull, his nose burns every time his face twitches, every limb aches to the bone. He has to get out of here, though—he’s likely recovered enough strength for his bad luck to strike. He has to leave before he does anything to make Major hate him even more.

Major returns with a pair of jeans and a plain grey shirt. “We’re about the same height, but they might hang loose,” he says distractedly. “I burned the thing you were wearing, sorry. It was gross.”

Jimmy doesn’t even remember what he was wearing. Probably not his superhero-turned-antihero outfit, that had been pretty much torn to shreds over the course of his captivity. Major tosses the clothes on the bed and turns around respectfully.

Jimmy doesn’t bother taking off the shorts, bloodstained as they are. He’s not got anything on underneath, and he’d prefer to not be totally exposed in the house of someone who hates him. Pulling the jeans on is rough, and he has to take frequent breaks as his vision repeatedly goes fuzzy. The shirt isn’t as bad, but he can’t quite get his arms up without a grunt of pain as it pulls on his injuries. His vision fuzzes again, but when he blinks the world back into focus his arms are in the sleeves and he can just pull the shirt down.

“I might have some shoes,” Major says thoughtfully when Jimmy gives him the go-ahead to turn around. “And of course you can have a pair of socks. I once didn’t wear socks to a fight and my boots came off and everyone saw, so I had a group that gathered sock donations for me. I gave most of them away, but I’ve still got a few pairs.”

Major does end up finding him shoes, an old pair of gardening shoes that have a hole in the left toe. Jimmy’s more than grateful for them anyhow.

“What part of the city do you live in? I’ve got a car parked about a block away, I can get you near to your house.”

“Um, yeah, that’d be—that’d be way more than I expected, thank you so much,” Jimmy says with a yawn. “I—you really don’t have to.”

Major fixes him with an unimpressed look. “Right. Because you’re going to walk all the way home when you take eight minutes and forty-two seconds to even get dressed by yourself. And you’re going to manage to do it without getting kidnapped again.”

Jimmy looks away, his face turning red. He doesn’t want to admit it, but Major’s right. One step outside of Major’s protection and he would be whisked away.

It’s a long walk to Major’s car, one that has Jimmy gasping for breath and limping heavily. His head spins, his eyes squint in the evening light, his arms end up clenched around his body as he shivers. Major, walking casually, hair pulled up under a beanie, rolls his eyes and shucks off his blue button-up jacket, tossing it to Jimmy. Jimmy shrugs it on, a noise of pain slipping out as it rubs against a cut.

He stumbles over a curb and nearly falls, Major catching him around the waist before his face hits the pavement. The man rights him, helps him over the curb, then moves on without saying a word.

Jimmy’s about to pass out by the time they make it to the car. It’s older, nondescript, windows tinted so darkly that it’s practically impossible to see into. Major unlocks it with a click of a remote, and Jimmy seats himself gingerly in the passenger seat.

When Major turns the key in the ignition, the clock flickers on.

6:28PM.

It’s late in the day, then. Jimmy had slept all through the night and most of the day. Not that he’s surprised, but this is a huge change from his seemingly randomized hours in the cell. He can get up and go to bed whenever he likes now. He won’t be woken by a door slamming open and his body being lifted.

Once Major has driven to the main part of the city, Jimmy breaks the stifling silence by pointing out directions. He considers for a moment directing Major to the wrong place entirely, but his energy is far too low for that. He can let Major drop him off in the neighborhood, just won’t let him know which complex he lives in.

The quality and upkeep of the buildings deteriorate around them, farther and farther until Jimmy feels at home. They’re about five blocks from his place now, so he lets Major drive a bit more then directs him down the neighboring street, stopping outside a random apartment complex that looks to be in about the same condition of his building. Major looks up at it for a second, taking in the bags of trash in the side alley, the dead grass in the front yard, the multitude of potholes in the road, the kids in too-big shirts running up and down the roads with a football in hand.

“Don’t villains usually live more . . . underground? Metaphorically and literally?” Major asks slowly.

“Oh, I gave up the whole villain thing a while ago,” Jimmy answers, rubbing his eyes through the holes in his mask. “I don’t make a great hero either, so I’m trying out sort of an in-between right now.”

Major snorts. “Yeah, I think hero’s a bit out of your range,” he mutters. Jimmy once again realizes just how surreal this is: he’s in a car with the top hero of the city who also happens to be the man who hates him more than anyone, both of them wearing masks, him wearing the hero’s clothes. He starts to pull off the jacket, but Major waves him off.

“Don’t bother, I was about to retire that one anyway.”

Jimmy nods uncertainly, unbuckles his seatbelt. “Um. I’ll be off, then. Thank you, for . . . everything, I suppose.”

Major nods, his eyes following Jimmy as he swings open the car door and gathers enough strength to stand. “Oh, and, Solidarity?” he throws out. Jimmy leans forward to hear him over the engine. “Next time I see you, I’m putting you behind bars. This never happened, all right?”

“Right. Yeah. Never happened.” Jimmy nods to himself a few times, looks up at Major before turning away, easing the car door shut behind him.

When Jimmy enters his apartment thirty minutes later (the lock’s never worked so he doesn’t have to worry about lost keys), he kicks off Major’s shoes, stumbles to his bedroom, and collapses onto the bed. He needs to change his bandages, he needs to throw out his milk and eggs and bread, he needs to purchase a new phone, he needs to email his landlord and pay his rent. But he’s exhausted, he’s so bone-tired, and he hurts so much, and he just wants to sleep. So sleep he does, drifting away almost as soon as he’s pulled his covers that smell faintly of cigarette smoke over his chin.

Across the city, Xornoth steeples their fingers as they watch over the shoulder of a woman in a lab coat. The woman is excited, explaining something, a breakthrough, but Xornoth isn’t listening. Their eyes are fixed on the information on the woman’s laptop.

Their little bird will soon be caged once again.

#empires smp #empiresblr #flower husbands #mcyt #esmp #solidaritygaming #xornoth #scott smajor #yall i have been obsessed with writing this au lately #i am taking prompts for it btw!! #im so excited for where it's going #AAAAA #anyways it's tech week sooooo #don't expect anything new next week #superhero au #empires fanfic #i knocked this out in like. two days #AAAA i just love it sm #im so happy to share it #so this is sort of the part 1? #then ive got an intermission piece finished #and im in the process of writing part 2 #while also editing dwsb #and writing the next trust au piece #shoot i need to take a break lol #focus on the play for now #anyways let me know what you think! #love you guys

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

#vio.ask #empiressmp #empires smp #dreamsmp #scott smajor #smajor #smajor1995 #mythicalsausage #mythical sausage #technoblade #to be clear i am not an apologist for any character #i fully realize that they are doing wrong and I like to watch it happen #minecraft roleplay got be in full character analysis mode #long post

[bixbythemartian]

okay so I’ve been thinking about it, and the ending to CR2 feels a lot more... open ended, and I think that’s what is bothering a lot of people about it?

like, there’s a lot of wiggle room in there, and I absolutely and 100% think that was a deliberate choice. even in the last bits of the show Matt was throwing out plot threads to be followed later, and all the epilogue endings left a lot of room for new things to happen.

Even the characters who retired didn’t really- Veth is doing her thing but said, send me a message I’ll be there, as did Caduceus.

They’re all kind of living their lives and doing their own thing, having the freedom to do so and knowing that their family is within easy reach. A spell away.

RE: Kingsley- listen. I love Mollymauk with my whole heart. I have missed him for years. I was so pumped he was back.

That was Mollymauk. That’s the jackass.

It was absolutely Molly, it was the same soul.

He’s changed by what he’s gone through, and he’s different now than he was when he died- but they all are. So he’s going by a new name now?

So what? So is Veth.

Like, I get that we wanted to explore that more, and I would like to see it explored, and I think it will get explored, at some point. Even with 7 hours, there just wasn’t a lot of time to do that any justice, not without just taking over the whole narrative for the whole run time.

RE: Shadowgast- I feel like the ambiguity that a lot of people are seeing out of that is that Liam and Matt were understanding what the other was saying and didn’t realize it would not be so explicitly clear to the audience. I really, honestly, truly believe that.

I personally felt it was pretty clear (though I understand why people might not), and I think we’ll likely see it in upcoming one shots or possibly comics or something.

Or a book- I’d read the shit out of that slow burn. How many tender, intimate touches can we fit into an adventure through Aeor? So many.

(Also, Essek, once again, dragging Caleb away from danger. Caleb, once again, kissing his drow friend, this time on the cheek, hugging him warmly and Essek not displaying discomfort as he did in the group hug- this is the way their relationship has been building the whole time, and it’s so sweet and soft and gentle and quiet and that’s why I love it, it’s so them.)

I understand feeling upset that it wasn’t explored more, but I also think that there’s just some simple miscommunication/misunderstanding going on here due to everyone being strung out, tired, and dealing with the grief of the show ending. Players and viewers alike.

It happened, it was real, and there’s nothing that Matt or Liam have done to make me believe otherwise.

This is not to say you are wrong for being upset that it was not explored more, or more explicitly stated. I wish that had been explored more too, and they left enough room in the story that they absolutely could at a later date. I trust that they will, but I understand that a lot of people might feel burned and not want to extend that trust.

I guess my point, in the long run, is that this didn’t feel like the end of the story, and I think that’s what’s making a lot of people feel dissatisfied.

Totally understandable. I felt that way myself for about an hour after it ended. But I had a shower and thought my thoughts, I slept, I’ve snacked and caffeinated, and I’ve come to this conclusion:

That was the point.

There are more stories to tell with these people, they want to tell more stories with these people, and left the room to do so. I think they kind of boxed VM in with their endings, and for this one they wanted to leave more room for maneuver.

Not just for post-epilogue one shots, but for post-epilogue comics, books, and potentially more.

If you notice, a lot of the Vox Machina stuff was pre-airing stuff, or before they all got together kind of stuff, even the animated series is going to be stuff that aired, and while I’m certain there’s going to be some of that for the Mighty Nein, there’s a lot more room to grow here, post-epilogue.

I think that was by design.

If that makes you unhappy, fair enough, I can understand that.

It makes me optimistic, is all.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers

[potatoesandsunshine]

Campaign 2 Wrap Up: Anna Potatoesandsunshine Edition

Seemed like it would be fun to go through all the fan content I made for this campaign and try to find at least one thing I like about each thing! Kind of like looking back through a photo album. Under the cut because as it turns out, I wrote kind of a lot! (As in, 21 fics and 3 playlists kind of a lot!)

the sea, once it casts its spell (fjord speculation, what’s up with all this ocean stuff?? the fic)

The first thing I wrote for c2, wayyy in the beginning of things. We had no idea about Uk’otoa or Avantika or anyone at this point, it was pure ocean vibes for my favorite warlock. I really like how hard I leaned in on the “the ocean follows Fjord to land” idea.

so many things will fill my life (but only one will do) (post-campaign cali/jester fluff, written the night of the cali episode and so sweet it could rot your teeth)

This one is just good. I just did good with this one. I’m one of those people who hates their own work the night of posting and then when looking back at it goes, “Wow, this is great.” My favorite thing is the little gifts sent along with the letters! Cali was so fun and cute :)

when the dust does roam (Beau study up to Episode 42, 2k words of Beau poking at the idea of grief)

Best thing I did in this fic was have Caleb-through-Frumpkin bugging Beau about getting some sleep. They really... they’re siblings, your honor. 

“  “Fuck off, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Beau picks the bird up and sets him in the hood of her own cloak, out of reach of any weasels or startled monks in the morning. It’d suck to have to tell Caleb that his Frumpkin got eaten by Sprinkle.” C’mon guys, let’s do the sibling dance.

keep your swords out by your sides (the idea for this was, What If Fjord Has Nightmares From Uk’otoa Every Night and just doesn’t remember them)

Assigning everybody a word Uk’otoa had said for each nightmare in this was a challenge; I went into it knowing I wanted Caleb for Learn and Caduceus for Consume and had to guess the rest - for an angry eye snake Uk’otoa didn’t give us a ton of quotes. 

“ He reaches over and runs a hand along the wall of the ship. From his touch, mushrooms begin sprouting.” Caduceus starting to decompose the Mistake in the middle of cooking was maybe the best moment in this story for me. Like, yeah. Yeah. Ok you funky little grave cleric.

strange but not a stranger (Caleb & Jester, in the immediate aftermath of Caleb’s charm in Episode 55)

the first of my “the Mighty Nein won’t have these conversations with each other in canon so they have to be had in fic” ideas that turned into a full-fledged story. I still had not discovered the em dash at this point, so the formatting of this makes me cringe a little bit, but this fic was really about The Emotions Of Being Out Of Control which turned out to be a very big Thing for the Mighty Nein.

now this story was when swords were humble (fake academia mixed with a Yasha study)

Honestly I’m still obsessed with the AU I made here where Yasha was just awakening every sword she used without knowing it?? Why did I use that here only?? That might come back. But the best part about this fic is the citations; me at my most in-joke and ridiculous.

through the teeth of this tempest (Written in the immediate aftermath of Episode 69, Yasha internally trying to break Obann’s control over the course of a month.)

The most “I wrote this to cope with canon” fic out of all of them. I was crying writing this, I was so upset that Yasha was gone ugh just remembering it. Still waiting for past me to discover the em dash, I genuinely don’t know why I didn’t know how to do it and I’ve thought about going back and editing all of these but I’m just Not Gonna Do All That. Anyway, I really like how Yasha catches lightning with her sword in this. We all really manifested that happening.

nothing more than what the losers settle for (Time travel, a series of oneshots where each member of the m9 sans Caduceus went back to a different point in the timeline and murdered Trent Ikithon)

This was my longest fic for c2, so I’m mostly just glad it got finished. This happened somewhere around the time Matt released that set of notes that mentioned Trent in more detail and I hated him so much I just had to write him dying six times. That speaks for itself.

Revolutionary!Fjord was also a good turn. He could pull it off, I think.

we’re gonna show ‘em a thing, or two, or three (Jester growing up fluff!)

I really like how I did Jester & Artagan in this, even though he barely appears. Someone better at songwriting than me please write the Dragon Song. Em dash makes an appearance here but the formatting is still wrong. I Am Once Again Asking For Proper Use Of The Em Dash.

the best things (happen while you’re dancing) (Mid-Episode 97 Divergence, Jester taking the reins at the party + hints of jester/beau/yasha bc i still love my girls so much)

Jester’s a little out of character in this, but not wildly so, and it was for the purposes of a Trapped By Societal Convention plot that I wanted her to mastermind so I think it was fine in the end. I’m still fascinated by the way she unbalanced Ludinus Da’leth in basically every interaction they had, and while their scene feels pretty cliche in this... the cliches are there for a reason. They’re so fun to write.

Em dash my beloved, there you are.

plus thirty-one varieties of sacramental wine (The Galavant crossover that truly nobody asked for, Beau + the monks)

Yeah, this one’s just fun. Not much more to say about it. Critical Role and Galavant are both fantasy, but they’re honestly pretty different in tone, and it was fun to write Beau dropped into a comedy musical.

oh we were sea-bound and aimless at best (Purely angst, a What If The Fjord & Orly Resurrections Didn’t Work fic)

Made myself care about Marius with this one, y’all. What more can I say? Beau having to go from first mate to captain was just... deliciously painful, because she would.

lost my shape trying to act casual (Beau & Yasha during travelercon, another mid-episode fic, this time of 104)

Yasha comforting Beau, who feels guilty for not feeling guilty... That Mighty Nein wasn’t lying, Mind Control and Autonomy can be themes. Another in the  “the Mighty Nein won’t have these conversations with each other in canon so they have to be had in fic” tank. They really just... didn’t open up to each other for a long time, which made sense, but I wanted them to.

so long as you don’t mind a little dying (Beau & Caduceus, sometime in the peace talks arc)

Keeping with the Mighty Nein Please Talk To Each Other theme, I feel like I did a pretty good job with the late-night conversation energy of this fic. This was at a time when I was looking at Caduceus, can opener in hand, ready to make this firbolg open up about his feelings. Beau in this is prickly and confrontational but only in service of her friend’s well-being.

amber light, bending (Eiselcross speculation, Widofjord and all the messiness therein)

THE widofjord fic of my two widofjord fics. The blueprint. The better one. Finally I got the dynamic figured out. I maintain that the tower is an absolute expression of Caleb’s love for his friends. The way that neither of them have the braincell in this fic... yeah this one is just good.

and a blade between them (Widofjord happening... sometime.)

Okay so this is not as good as amber light and I will never be able to look at it and like it as much, but it was still fun to write. Anyway, the intimacy of shaving someone else. That is good. The tag “if they didn’t want me to think about the blood pact they shouldn’t have made the blood pact” is the most useful takeaway from this fic and is the driving force behind the Fjord/Jester/Caleb fic I’m working on now, so it wasn’t a waste of time or anything.

feel the ground beneath my feet turn into the sky (Post-Campaign Astrid-retires-to-Nicodranas, Astrid/Jester)

This is another one where I’m like “Yeah, this is just good.” Packed full of Wizard Fashion, Artagan making an appearance to rope Astrid into having a happier future, and the power of Going To The Seaside. Good for you, fic-Astrid.

spend your days biting your own neck (Role-reversal where Beau is the one mind-controlled this time and Yasha is the one chasing after her, set very early in the Tomb Takers arc)

So much of this fic is about not saying things aloud - Beau’s POV spends a good chunk on body language and Yasha writes multiple letters on paper and in her own head - but devotion bleeding through anyway because there’s nowhere else for it to go. The two of them go tumbling over a cliff together at the end but Yasha has wings, ugh. Yeah this was a good one.

and blow the dry leaves from the tree (Somewhere before the beauyasha date but otherwise timeline-nonspecific Nicodranas, Yasha & Yeza become friends)

Yasha & Yeza making pancakes together when neither of them know how to do so... is good. This fic is very much about grief sneaking in, but it’s even more about finding someone to share the moment with you. I think these two have more in common than we think.

oh, lend a mending hand (Caleb & Caduceus during Beau’s tombstone meditation in Episode 130)

I wrote this entire fic as an excuse for Caleb and Caduceus to hug and it does what it says on the tin. Got em.

it’s about the passing of measures (Beauyasha at the end of Episode 134, Aeor speculation)

This fic got extremely sidetracked because I rediscovered the marble machine during it and I do not apologize for that. I still really like the idea that Aeor as a whole, not just the Cognouza, is somewhat-alive. Too much magic and too much death for it to be anything else, in my mind. And I’m a sap for hurt/comfort.

the blumentrio playlist nobody asked for

If I think too much about how deep in each other these three people are I will cry. Made myself a soundtrack for those tears. 

the caleb playlist nobody asked for

what if this angsty wizard had a playlist of songs that mostly just... make me want to dance? that question was answered here.

the caduceus playlist nobody asked for

songs about home, leaving home, dying, changing, becoming someone new, coming home and finding it’s changed... this to me is caduceus.

yeah... this campaign has been fun!! I probably won’t stop making things about it; I still write about Vox Machina, for crying out loud, but... it feels good to lay it all out like this. It’s been a long few years, and it’s wild to be seeing the end of it now.

#yes tumblr hates links yes here is an overlong post with 24 links #now THIS is why you make a blog. to look at your own work and say yeah several times. #critical role #i have some stuff i've been working on but i don't see any of it getting finished before the epilogue #looking back at everything is like... yeah! i had a lot of fun here! #anna's fic notes