#and i can still hear the jester's bells ringing- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grayintogreen · 8 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY

I'm about halfway done with this chapter since, again, it's a long one and it's taking a bit more time than expected to finish due to length and the fact that I'm in the middle of inventory prep, SO here's a nice chunky WIP Wednesday.

It's also a very sad one, so you know. Happy Wednesday, have some Jester sadness.

When Nott- no Veth, no but she was Nott then, but she was also always Veth oh whatever- was first learning how to shoot firearms, Jester had been curious about them. She’d seen them worn on the hips of travelers coming into the Chateau and knew the exact sound they made when the belts containing them hit the polished wooden floor of her mother’s quarters. Once, from the secret place she watched all manner of exploits, she’d observed an old man from Tal’Dorei, who bragged about being a rifleman to anyone who would listen before going up, show off his collection. She had to stifle a giggle as her mother suggestively dragged her fingers down each polished barrel and spoke in clever innuendo all while praising him for considerable talents he’d only spoken about but never proven. He wouldn’t need to- the beauty of being in the Ruby of the Sea’s sights is that no matter what you told her, she would believe with her whole heart until the second you were no longer within those walls.

So with that in mind, it meant that Jester had never seen one used until she started watching Nott firing off round after round and, of course, she wanted to see up close now that she could. The resulting tinnitus had lasted for hours until Caduceus took pity on her and used a restoration spell to restore her hearing. The memory of that feeling never really went away and she went from being curious about guns to wanting to be as far from the field from them as possible.

Right now it felt like someone had fired a gun right next to her ear, leaving everything ringing like someone had hit a bell inside her head. Toll the dead, laughed some kneejerk little thought that didn’t belong here. It was the only series of words that made any sense to her at this moment- everything else was far away.

Her eyes hadn’t moved from Fjord’s crumpled form. If she took a step closer, his blood would touch her boots from where it was still pooling out beneath him. His skin was ashen, his eyes wide open and unfocused and staring right at her- oh gods.

But if she didn’t look at his eyes, she would have to look at the gory mess of his ripped open stomach, and if she turned around, she would run to the other side of the ship and start crying and throwing up and she couldn’t afford to do that. Heal him! Another voice, this one livid, shouted at her. You’re running out of time!

I didn’t bring any diamonds.

No one had. Cree and Caduceus were two feet from her, whispering frantically, their words sounding warped like she was hearing them from underwater. “My bag is in the officer’s quarters, but I will not make it back within a minute. And I burned all of my bigger spells on the fucking dragon turtle.”

“I did too. We can… We can try in the morning.”

The ringing still wouldn’t subside, like it was trying to keep her distant from reality by providing some kind of buffer, so when Jester choked, she thought it was softer than it actually was, because she could barely hear it. Cree and Caduceus jerked their heads to look directly at her for the first time since she’d screamed and she backed away from everyone’s desperate, comforting hands, because she didn’t want to be touched, she didn’t deserve it, because if she had been with Fjord, then this wouldn’t be happening.

She’d just wanted to sleep in the mansion, that was all. It wasn’t like they were fighting. Fjord preferred the captain’s quarters and when Jester shared his bed, she never got to cuddle with the mansion cats, so it felt like a fine compromise. She’d kissed him good-night as they both limped away and she’d fallen into a deep, exhausted slumber in a pile of cats until she was woken barely an hour later by Cree sounding an alarm.

She’d just grabbed her sickle because she didn’t have any spells left. She hadn’t thought anyone was going to die. And now Fjord was dead and they were going to have to leave him like this and she couldn’t, she couldn’t-

“We have to do something,” she said, because choking wasn’t conducive to actually explaining her feelings. Her voice didn’t sound like her own even beyond the distortion. It was like someone else was speaking and that person was on the verge of a panic attack. That was strange. Everything felt so numb and yet… was she shaking? Was that her heart thudding like that? “We can’t leave him like this.”

Caduceus started talking the way he did when there was grief to be consoled and she slapped her hands over her ears to block out the garbled noise of it, childishly. Now everything was muted but the ringing and the thud, thud, thud of her heart that she felt strangely distanced from. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t see his lips move or the offended way he would look at her when he realized she was shutting him out.

She counted to ten and opened her eyes. Caduceus, shoulders drooped in something akin to defeat, had knelt down beside Fjord and was casting magic on him- gentle repose and a small healing spell to close up the wound on his stomach and keep his insides in place.

The urge to vomit came again and this time it wouldn’t be ignored simply because she was disassociating. She ran to the rail and threw up so hard that she was yanked back into her body and felt everything tenfold- every ache and pain from the battle, every bruise left by the weight of her grief. She cried and choked and hyperventilated and mumbled it’s all my fault between heaves and didn’t stop until she was pulled against a soft furry chest and a rumbling purr began to vibrate through her entire body.

“It is not your fault, Jester,” Cree murmured.

“I should have been with h-him,” she hiccuped. She couldn’t admit that to anyone else- just Cree. Cree understood what it was like to be a cleric and let someone you loved slip through your hands.

“Do not blame yourself- blame me, if you must blame anyone aside from the ones who hurt him. I was close by and I sensed nothing. They got by us all.”

She wasn’t going to blame Cree any more than she was going to blame Yasha, feet away and being held up by Molly and Beau. The look on her face said she would break if anyone came close to blaming her and proving what she likely already believed and Jester would have fought anyone who tried. It was easier to blame herself for being selfish and choosing a bunch of cats over Fjord.

“I don’t wanna wait,” Jester whimpered into Cree’s chest. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if Uk’otoa has his soul or something and the ritual doesn’t work?”

“We do not have any other choice.”

She could argue for hours and get nowhere and only make it that much harder. If the three of them didn’t sleep, then there wouldn’t be any bringing Fjord back at all, but how was she supposed to sleep knowing Fjord was dead? Shouldn’t someone watch him in case Malachi came back?

“Th-they were after that crystal inside of him,” she sniffed. “We can’t leave him alone. I’ll stay up with him.”

“You will not be able to do the ritual.”

Jester laughed pathetically. “I can’t be the one to do it. I’ll fuck it up. You gotta do it, Cree. I’ll… I’ll help, but…”

But Cree worshiped a demigod of death. She had sway there. The only ritual she’d ever successfully helmed was the one that saved Yasha back in Eiselcross, and that was because no one else was willing to try it until Artie told her she should. She trusted Cree’s spellwork more right now.

“I will perform the ritual, then,” Cree sighed. “But please, Jester, I will not sleep well unless I know you are not causing yourself any harm.”

Of course she was causing herself harm- she’d decided to lock herself up in the captain’s quarters with Fjord’s body and would hear absolutely nothing else about it. That was going to fuck with her and leave her haunted. There was no sugarcoating it, no pretending that she could make a game of it. It was just going to happen and the consequences of it would be compartmentalized until she could deal with them properly, just like always.

“I have to stay with him,” she repeated, simply, and then pulled away from the comfort of Cree’s arms to go and collect Fjord- no, Fjord’s body. He was so much heavier now that he’d gained some muscle, but he still felt too light when she lifted him up in a bridal carry, his head lolling against her shoulder. It was like the absence of his soul was something felt all the way down into his bones.

Orly played a soft dirge of inspiration for her because he couldn’t offer anything else. She held the spark of it in her heart not knowing if she would have any use for it tonight, but grateful all the same for the gift. Marius held the door to the captain’s quarters open for her and then shut it behind her, leaving her alone to lay Fjord’s limp form down on his bed.

There was blood on the sheets and, in desperation to be rid of the sign, she tore them out from under him, only to find that he’d bled straight through to the mattress. Furious, she balled the sheets up in her hands, and threw them out into the ocean where she watched them sink beneath the waves as the Ball-Eater continued its course towards Rumblecusp.

She looked over her shoulder. She’d left the doors leading back into the quarter’s thrown open and she could see a bit of ashen green in the corner. If she really put her mind to it, she could believe he was just sleeping and she’d just stepped out here to get some air.

Her breath hitched. What good was it to pretend? For another eight hours, Fjord was gone and getting farther and farther away. She dropped to the floor and pressed herself into a corner of the balcony with her knees drawn up to her chin. Yeah, you’re gonna do so good watching for danger out here, Jester. You’re so stupid and selfish. First you leave him alone to sleep with a bunch of spectral cats and now you can’t even sit next to his body.

“You’re being awfully hard on yourself, my dear.”

Her head shot up. Leaning against the wall in the space between the balcony and Fjord’s quarters was Artagan, hood down and the lion’s mane of his hair falling freely across his shoulders and down his back. His arms were crossed over his chest and the long tapered fingers of his left hand tapped a steady rhythm on his right bicep. He was staring a spot across from him where nothing was suggesting he was looking beyond what was physically present.

Slowly, Jester got to her feet, catching herself on the railing when she lost her footing- how long had she been sitting there spiraling? Long enough for her foot to go to sleep. She hissed and shook it out, trying to get the tingles to go away. “What are you doing here, Artie?”

She didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but it came out that way, regardless. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and took an unsteady step forward. “I mean… I figured you’d be…” Where? On Rumblecusp watching his big plan spiral out of his control? Keeping an eye on Twiggy so they could find her easily when they finally got there? Drinking cocktails on some other island and absolutely ignoring any responsibilities he might have?

Right. It was no more fair for her to be hard on him than it was for her to be hard on herself. She took a step back and pressed herself against the rail again. “Sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about, Jester? You didn’t gut him where he stood. I didn’t either, of course.” Maybe with anyone else that would have been shouted defensively, but to her ears, it barely sounded like a statement of fact. Or maybe she was just too used to defending everything he did and said without considering context.

Shut up. Shut up. Artie’s my friend. He’s done so much for me. There’s no fucking reason for you to be mean. The you here being the shitty little voice that had taken up residence in her brain and decided to be a dick instead of helpful. When there was nothing else left to hit, you punched at yourself and everyone around you.

Artagan took his eyes off of whatever faraway place he’d trained them on. “That was going to happen the next time he set foot on the ocean, regardless of why and when.”

That bitter little voice said could’ve warned me and she bit it off before she could let it slip out loud. What would it have done to know? Made them more careful, sure, but would that have been enough? Maybe Fjord went willingly instead of having to be ripped apart to save them all. Maybe there was no body to preserve and resurrect in that version.

She blew a raspberry. “Is there any way to make it stop?”

“I think you know exactly what they were after and how much trouble they went through to try and get it. Your purple friend pulled out a gambit that won’t work twice.”

Because they only had one more of those stupid crystals and it was in Fjord. That explained why they were trying to open him up like a fish. Malachi might have made off with the one Molly threw away to take it to the temple they’d avoided with Avantika, but now there was one left and once they had that one…

Fjord could get rid of it somewhere far from the sea like they talked about doing, but that was the only way that would work. The other option was that he never went back to the sea and if she were going to ask him to do that, she might as well not bring him back. The oaths he swore to the Wildmother were out on the waves- part of his soul was out here. Land would be a cage and a prison for him no matter how far they walked if he knew that he would never sail again.

“Maybe we just kill Uk’otoa then,” she grumbled, petulantly.

Artagan laughed. “I have no doubt you could, my dear, but you have enough gods and monsters on your dance card as it stands.” He lifted an arm and gestured her closer and no bitter voices or dark thoughts could make her stay still and stand alone when given the opportunity to burrow into the folds of his cloak and curl against his side. She inhaled deeply until her nose burned with the crisp, spicy scent of evergreen that conjured images of thick forests of pine trees like arrows pointing towards candy pink skies.

It took barely a minute for her joy to become sorrow again as she wept into his side like someone had punctured a hole in her heart and this was all she had to bleed out. She was frustrated and tired and angry and confused and this whole journey had barely started and even if it wasn’t her fault, it all felt like her fault. She bit her tongue until she tasted her own blood and clung tighter to Artagan’s body like she could hold him here and refuse to let him go.

Artagan had clearly never suffered a young woman bawling on him like this and did nothing but stand still like a statue with his arm around her shoulders and mumble awkward, desperate pleas for her to stop crying, that it would be all right, and that it would all seem less like an absolute disaster in the morning. It was shockingly mortal of him, like he was trying to figure out how to mimic compassion by what he’d observed from others, because he otherwise had no context for it. It was enough to make her laugh through the least of her sobs.

“Promise me something, Artie?” She finally forced out when she could form a sentence that wasn’t some stumbling, stuttering mess. “Promise me when this is over, you won’t leave me.”

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he hissed like he’d been scalded. She was afraid to look up into his face, afraid of what she’d see there. “I’ll do my best.”

She made the decision not to ruin the only comfort she had for this long, agonizing eight hour wait by pointing out how that wasn’t a promise. Like many things that troubled her that she didn’t have the energy to be upset about or analyze, she pushed it aside to be forgotten in order to simply take joy in what she had currently.

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

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saphirered · 2 years

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Oooo could you do one with Caleb and his S/O who performs at the Lavish Chateau and is kinda an older sister figure to Jester? Maybe they incorporate spell casting into their performances so when they find out Jester has a new wizard friend they're like "teach me ur secrets magic man"

Oh boy I haven't written for Caleb in a hot minute! Hope you enjoy this lil angsty magic man!

The blue tiefling had been bouncing up and down ever since her mother announced someone would be visiting that day. Caleb didn’t really feel the need to pry in Jester’s private life but when he asked who this would be and how the Lavorre family came to know this mysterious visitor he knew he made a mistake and readied himself for his ears to be talked off his head. Thank the gods that the Ruby herself noticed, like she hardly misses anything and saved him from the never ending barrage of stories about this person who’d been slowly adopted into the Lavish Chateau family.

There were some dubious and outright questionable sides to the story and the involvement of this ‘older sibling’ but long story short; you’re a performer, much like the Ruby of the Sea, in your early adulthood you found yourself in some nasty circumstances and Jester brought you in, you worked off your self acclaimed debt by waiting tables until you revealed your performance skills and from there on you found yourself enjoying the life style of your particular niche of entertainment, you stuck with the Lavorres and became as good as one of their own.

Most importantly to Caleb, he’d have to prepare himself for another outsider to enter this bubble. You’d been invited to perform in Port Damali at some Maquis’ palace so that shows you have decently high up connections. That makes you a potential risk to him. You’re unpredictable and there isn’t much more he can learn about you save for what he hears from Jester or by asking around but that only leads him to know your performer’s side. It’s no different than the roles he was taught to take, despite his being of political values for the sake of what his master sought to teach him, actors are actors one way or another and when there were hints of you using some kind of arcane abilities in your performances the alarm bells in his head started ringing. He has to be on guard.

“The Nicodranian Mirage has returned”, those are the whispers that fill the streets when the Nein are out shopping for supplies and wandering the streets of Nicodranas aimlessly. Jester makes sure to rush them all back to the Chateau, even more excited than before and when they do, there’s a line formed a the entrance, people are gathering to, assumably catch a glimpse of this Nicordranian Mirage. When the tiefling girl said you were both popular and well-loved Caleb ma have underestimated her definition of such. This-this is ridiculous. Your long awaited return has certainly drawn a crowd. Nevertheless Jester pushes her way through, the Nein in tow much to the chagrin of the disgruntled customers and secures a table.

Caleb is left in awe. The Lavish Chateau looks like an alternate reality. Yes, it is still recognisable as the Chateau where once stood beams supporting the structures and upper level balcony, now vines of colourful flowers have been wrapped around; the carvings brought to life. The scent previously a nice incense and candle-wax has turned to that of a forest. He swears he can see wildlife scurry along the beams. The floor appears to be covered in a layer of grass sprouting wildflowers in a trail that lead to the foot of the stairs. Civilised structures meet nature in a symphony. People are being let in and take up tables at the front but Jester with the help of the bouncer fend them off from the front and centre one. That one is reserved for the Nein.

Before he knows it the tavern is filled. People wait in anticipation whispering among themselves all unanimously fall silent, seemingly experience the same feeling; awareness, shivers down their spine, somewhat akin to a lover’s breath at their neck beckoning them to safety and comfort. Lights dim.

“Open your mind. The Mirage will guide you home.” The whisper sounds as enthralling as it is ominous. For but a second Caleb considers he alone heard it, as it seemed so close but others did too, and looking around no one but his friends is there. No invisible creatures either. The customers seem thrilled, but some of the Nein appear most spooked. Jester did not exactly give them the best briefing and their previous experience with anything that messes with their minds or perception of reality has left them less than willing to indulge into some kind of mind-altering effects. Though, given the circumstances and Caleb feels the gentle presence push against his own mind, waiting, signalling its ready to pull back, as lacking any threat, despite his better judgement. Jester waits in anticipation. They look to him for guidance. He’s their resident magic expert after all and this is about as arcane as it gets. He gives them a gentle but hesitant nod and allows the presence to enter his mind.

At first nothing seems to change. A glowing butterfly dallies down from the balcony and floats towards the Nein’s table. It dances around them until it circles Jester, lands on her nose as the tiefling giggles and it moves to the centre of the table. There it sits. All eyes turn to them and Caleb finds himself falling into old habits, shrinking within himself as much as possible, stay out of sight as much as one can be in the centre of the room. The silence is deafening. The tension is growing and then- in a burst of butterflies, explodes a figure. Gracefully standing on your tiptoes, one hand curled towards the roof the other twisting and turning at the wrist and fingers dancing. Fine silks are draped across your body leaving little to the imagination, yet still give you a sense of modesty with a comfort and ease; a skilled performer at ease with their act and audience. You are entirely in your element with a smile plastered on your face. The butterflies dance around you as you meet the eyes of every single one of them, even offer Jester a wink.

“It appears we have newcomers. Prepare for a story, my friends.” Gracefully you step off the table. Caleb can’t help but follow your movements. You look ethereal. like you’re not entirely there but you are. You turn to face the crowd once you reach the foot of the stairs. A wave of the hand and fiddle appears in your grasp and so your performance truly begins. You play the melody well, both haunting and beautiful. Caleb may not be a musical prodigy nor hold much knowledge on the subject he didn’t need to. The environment moved with your play; the song a tragedy. The flowers blossomed the false sunlight bleeding through what canopy you created, turning dark, a gentle breeze turning to a cold wind. The light disappears and becomes distorted, he swears he feel rain even though the droplets don’t stick to his skin. Thunder, a beat like a drum falls in with your melody, and then you let go of the fiddle, the instrument playing itself. You sing, as you move and dance around the tavern, your step graceful and light, barely touching the floor at all. You play with your audience like a professional; you are, Caleb reminds himself. Only a fool would not find themselves enthralled by you.

“I once was a child, playful and loved.” You sing as you let your fingers dance across Jester’s shoulder. She smiles brightly at you as you study the company. You make eye contact with the redhead among them, you breathe, keep his gaze as you reach for the scruffy cheek, slowly. For some reason you’re not entirely sure if you should or not, something telling you to be wary, perhaps it’s the man’s energy. Something arcane lingers around him. When he doesn’t seem to object and invite your touch, to an extend be that out of sheer curiosity or something else entirely as you don’t think you have him enthralled the way you have your clients or the patrons here.

“Now I suffer for the heart I lost,

I sing the song of thunder and rain,

for my love knows only pain,

His eyes are blue, stare right through,

I’ve forgotten what it’s like,

My love, my sweet, my bright mind.”

You have to stop yourself from staying too long but every so often through out your performance and even after a change of song you find yourself gravitating back towards that friend of Jester’s. You can’t really put a finger to it. You suppose he’s handsome and as you’ve gathered before he has some kind of magical presence to him but you don’t fully think that’s it. There’s pain in his eyes but so there is wonder and bewilderment, there’s kindness and love. There’s so much more to him than meets the eye. Your usual clients might be conventionally pretty but you’ve never put much value to looks. You’ve never experiences yourself gravitating towards someone so naturally. Sure you might have had your crushes but that’s not it. Any sort of desire to know this person transcends what one might deem attraction, or just simply the desire to screw someone and move on. This is not it, nor is it romantic attraction. This feels like you could have known each other as children but then separated and meet again decades later. There’s a sense of familiarity despite you being sure you’ve never met before this very moment. And so you force yourself to continue. You’ve got a job to do. You’ve got an appointment after with yet another client who’s missed your presence on your time away. At least it should provide you distraction for the night.

————

Hours passed since the performance. Jester had tried to see if you’d be available for the night to meet her friends but that would have to wait until breakfast it seems. Your work didn’t end after your performance and when Jester failed to keep her innuendos to herself Caleb couldn’t help but find himself blushing. He doesn’t know why. This is not a subject he feels particularly shy about. If anything his somewhat frequent ventures to the Chastity’s Nook should be proof enough alone. He simply can’t fend you out of his mind even though the illusions within the tavern have been dispelled; beautiful display of arcane abilities he commented, only for Jester to end up playing wingwoman to you despite you not being there. The tiefling thinks the two of you would make an amazing couple and while she’s well aware your occupation comes with the lack of a lover unless they are a well kept secret or it might ruin your reputation as a courtesan, she still tries. The girl has a tendency to play matchmaker. Caleb trying to be reasonable gently tries to convince her that he’s not spoken a word to you, and the most interaction he’s had with you had been eye contact during your performance but that doesn’t seem to dissuade the tiefling from her latest one true pairing. So Caleb simply ordered another drink.

But then one by one the Nein headed off to bed and so did he. Still he lied awake staring at the ceiling, his mind providing the phantom images of a canopy of bleeding sunlight turning to clouds and thunder, ghosts of raindrops hitting his skin; his mind stuck somewhere between awake and sleeping yet not asleep. Not truly. His mind refuses to rest and so he quietly makes his way out of his room. It’s not too early in the morning, he knows but the bar’s closed and Carlos should be cleaning up and closing shop at this hour. The halls are quiet as he makes his way downstairs in search of something to drink and a change of scene away from the others.

You sit at the bar, robe on, costume discarded and exchanged for comfortable breathy night clothes fitted for the Nicodranian weather. You’d been falling half asleep but you wanted to finish this work before you called it night. Your appointment turn a bit more time consuming than initially thought but at least you’d be handsomely compensated for your extra hours. Might finally save up enough for that one special scroll you’d been trying to acquire and with your new contact in Port Damali that would be easier but still came at a steep price no matter your charm. You feel that familiar soothing presence enter the tavern, from the top of the stairs. A quick glance over your shoulder goes unnoticed but gives you enough of a glimpse; exhausted but still unable to sleep. Shirt crumpled from the tossing and turning, hair too despite it being pulled back, if anything it’s made it worse, shoes half laced up and pant legs unevenly stuffed in the shoes have ridden up from a seated position but no effort to readjust them has been made for lack of care or awareness.

Caleb’s breath catches when he sees you seated there at the bar, back turned towards him. You’re bend over a book and papers, the ink marks on the side of your palm appear clearly when you stretch your arms above your head and crack your fingers with a deep sigh. The barkeep fills your empty glass before he returns to cleaning the last of the glasses, placing them back where they belong. The barkeeper makes eye contact with Caleb, mutters something and takes the final freshly cleaned glass, fills it and puts it in front of him at the bar right when Caleb approaches with caution.

“You look like you need it.” Carlos speaks. “Turn off the lights once you’re done?” He adds to you specifically. The gesture you return along with a mumble as your focus remains on the work in front of you, can only be interpreted as an affirmation and goodnight. It appears to be enough for the barkeep who bids Caleb good night and heads off to find his own bed and sleep for a while. Your return caused quite a busy night and while the Chateau was definitely well prepared, that doesn’t mean the work is easy. Caleb takes the drink from the bar and is about to leave you to your work when you straighten your spine.

“You’re welcome to stick around, magic man.” You say with a light tease. Any tension or hesitation Caleb might have had within him dissipates. Any social awkwardness or desire to avoid if not limit any social interaction falls away. He feels at ease and while he searches his mind for some kind of mental effects, trickery or other ways that might influence his perception of reality and thought, he finds none. His curiosity pushes him to agree and so he takes a seat. You turn in yours to face him better.

“So Jester tells me you’re a practitioner of the arcane. Not many of those around here. Usually they’re just passing through or have ulterior motives for their presence.” You pry gently and if Caleb wasn’t trained like he was, he might have let it slide as innocent curiosity, especially given your easygoing expression lacking any sense of suspicion or inquisitiveness.

“You’re much more intelligent than you let people believe.” Caleb speaks before he thinks; that’s a rare thing but you push forth that young man he once was. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact he feels himself slip into old habits he’s tried so hard to bury. And thus he might have sounded defensive if not outright hostile. You appear unaffected.

“And you seem as intelligent as you present yourself. Know exactly what you’re capable of yet you still lack social confidence. Choice or trauma?” Caleb doesn’t even know how to reply. “Ooh, interesting. The latter it is.” Subconsciously Caleb pulls at the sleeve of his shirt and snorts. He finishes his drink and gets up to leave.

“Wait. Stop. I’m terrible at this.” You sigh, Caleb can’t really believe it. You? You radiate confidence in your performances. How could you be as socially inept as he is? Then his mind reminds him; he didn’t used to be. He has the skills; learned to deceive, put forth an appearance, but without the act, he is as he is. You’ve simply dropped your mask. He gets it now. Another thing you have in common. He takes a closer glance at your notes, or rather what he realises are the pages of spell-work. You’re transcribing a spell and seem to be struggling to get it right. The scroll you’re working from appears to be severely lacking. Filling in the gaps is no easy task he knows first hand but you do seem to have the knowledge and that’s not something just found or taught willy-nilly. Magic practitioners like he knows, like he is and by the looks of it, you might be too, are not just a rarity but a danger. Alarm bells ring in his head.

“Where did you learn this?” He asks. Suspicion begins to rise within him, a force of habit but everything within him tells him he has no reason to be suspicious of you. Though the more he wallows within your warmth, the more he feels like an imposter, like he’s tarnishing the beauty that’s your arcane aura, corrupting and twisting it. He sees the mistake in your work.

“I was found to possess a talent for illusory magics as a child. I was taught the basics before I decided the life set out for me by the ones who would call them my masters did not suit me and I ran. I’ve been getting back into practice recently, beyond rudimentary use that is but as you might be able to relate, learning on your own without reliant access to resources is not exactly easy.” You explain, not wishing to delve too deeply in your own past. Caleb notices. He appreciates you answering truthfully no less. Perhaps you two are more similar than you’d both like to admit, if only to bury the pains of your pasts.

“You’re using ancient runes. Using Naudiz for escape would be fine in rudimentary practice but for this particular use you’ll be better off using Raido for journey instead as the spell settles on movement first and foremost and escape second. May I?” Caleb knows the spell well. He has it within his collection himself. It’s served him well in the past and while his own way of transcribing spells might be different from yours, he understands it. Same language, just a dialect. He likes a challenge when it comes to arcane magic after all and learning more is always on his agenda. With that small alteration you work through, readjust and with Caleb’s oversight you quickly fill in the gaps you were missing, mistakes you had perviously made and get it right. Your laugh sounds like music to his ears when you clap your hands together in success.

“I could kiss you right now! Thank you, Caleb.” There’s admiration and joy in your eyes; a thing he once expressed to as a student and in rare moments still does, though not without some modicum of guilt. There’s beauty in the sharing of knowledge but he knows the warmth in his chest; not a burning blaze but instead a warming campfire; he knows that comes from having this arcane knowledge once used for destruction and ruin, finds a good heart, the passing on what he was taught or taught himself in this case, to another. He takes satisfaction in teaching. With a wave of your hand a book appears between your fingers. With another, thread, needles and other tools appear on the bar and you take to binding your pages. The two of you sit there, Caleb watching you work as you carry easy laidback conversation. Nothing too personal, old habits do die hard but none of it is bothersome. You appear to be on the same page.

“How about a trade, magic man? You show me yours I show you mine?” He raises an eyebrow. Caleb dares not consider the innuendo as anything more than a joke as you’ve proven through this entirety of the conversation but when you offer him your spellbook he hesitantly reaches for his. He holds it in his hands, looks at you, back to the book, back to you again and then places it on the bar, sliding it over to you. He takes yours and with great care leafs through the pages as you do through his. He loses track of the contents of your own spellbook, staying on the pages longer than he would usually need to, and watches your glee at the magic contained within the weathered pages, the notes and studies of his own, and so much more. He gets lost in your curiosity and desire to learn more.

Caleb is so caught up he doesn’t notice some of your spells. He doesn’t notice, until he catches you flip to a certain page and in his own thoughts he’d entirely forgotten the forbidden magic that book contains. Your lips part, a silent breath as your eyes focus on that page, the geometric sigils and in a moment Caleb’s defences go up, he takes the book from your hands and closes it and holds it with a death grip. You didn’t try to stop in but that hint of hurt at his mistrust is no surprise, though, it does make him feel guilty for being the cause of it.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place. I’d forgotten how guarded mages tend to be over their knowledge. I shouldn’t have asked. ” You apologise as you take your own spellbook from the bar. There’s a deafening silence and Caleb can’t help but feel his ears ringing, blood pulsing through his head like a heartbeat as worry strikes him. You get to your feet book clutched to your chest.

“I’m a professional keeper of secrets. I won’t spill yours, if that is what you’re worried about. Though, I’d recommend being careful when using that magic out side of the Dynasty. The low level tricks like mine go unnoticed by outsiders. The ones in your collection, rarely do.” You speak, regret audible in your voice. “Oh and you might want to change clothes if you’re staying for a few days. The Marquis will be having representatives of the Empire over. Goodnight.” You scurry off, keeping your head low. The confidence you exerted is all but gone and you seem a little less radiant than he’s seen you. You reach the base of the steps.

“I’m sorry.” Caleb says. He doubts he was loud enough yet still there seems to be some registration of his words as your shoulders tense and you take a deep breath.

“So am I.” The whisper is barely audible but it’s heart wrenching and in that moment the glee and joy that came from teaching another, from bonding with a fellow mage, and one that might have shared some similar hardships, fizzles. It’s self preservation he tells himself but he can’t help but feel he’s ruined it. He’s ruined his chances of something good yet again. He’s ruined your chances of friendship by his own stupidity. Perhaps there’s a chance to salvage it but there’s always a risk of breaking something beyond repair. Hopefully he’ll come around and hopefully he’ll get over himself. So he spends the rest of the night arguing with himself. Then at sunrise, the light comes. Ink and paper, from his collection, he copies the pages from his own spellbook. Something that aligns with the spells he did see in your collection, something he’d think would be useful to you and something that would make one hell of an apology for his bullshit.

The Lavish Chateau begins waking, though it’s early morning hours and none of his friends are up and about, the morning shift is preparing for breakfast when he finishes and heads up. He finds himself standing in front of your door. Does he knock? Does he hand you the stack of papers and leave? Does he say anything? Or does he just leave them at your doorstep and hopes you’ll accept them. That’s stupid. You’re probably still asleep. He knocks lightly, enough not to wake you up if you’re asleep but just audible if you’re not. No response. He listens for a second and then gives up. The courage leaves him and he sets the freshly written spell on the floor at your doorstep; apology note to you on top in sight. Caleb turns and walks away, back towards his room down the hall. He casts one last look over his shoulder before he enters his room.

What Caleb doesn’t notice is the door to your room opening with a light creak. You poke your head out but see not but a closing door to the room you know had been assigned to the wizard. On the ground you see a neatly collected stack of papers with a letter on top, addressed to you. You pick it up. That’s one hell of an apology. A smile returns to your face as you read over the spell copy with a collective of personal notes and instructions one wouldn’t find in a textbook or regular scroll. This was tailored specifically to you. This was chosen for you. Thought and consideration went in to this more than you’ve ever had someone do for you and so your morning starts working on this new spell. With the written help from this magic man you easily transcribe the piece and after find yourself with some more time before breakfast. In turn you begin copying one of your own spells. Geometric designs show the ways to small pocket spaces, you’ve used them to store your spellbook, summon the violin and so on.

When you’re finished, gotten ready for the day and exit your room you see Caleb, groggily eyed but dressed if not somewhat scraggy, in the hall. You make eye contact and by the looks of it it seems he half expected you to turn away, glare at him or even run. When you don’t and instead walk towards him he freezes. You stop in front of him, take the pages you had prepared and hand them to him. Unsure how to respond verbally Caleb accepts your gesture. Your eyes show nothing of deception or ulterior motives. Instead they exert warmth and compassion. You step away and with a smile towards him you beckon him along. Caleb stares down at the note atop the papers.

Your secret is safe with me, magic man.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #critrole x reader #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critical role imagine #critical role #mighty nein #caleb widogast #critical role x y/n

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libidomechanica · 6 months

Text

Untitled Composition # 10674

Yes, I admit it has not sound. I HATE the drought that bosom was that make her to thee, Theocritus, wha matched like a

part; but Thyrsis, let me never stirr’d by a shuffled step, by a dead weight trail’d, and when thou feel’st it cold. Nothing art

their kind. A ring at the saut tear blin’s her e’e. And more it cannie, O; but I will blame doth lie, made somewhere there, light yet

composition be recured by time is at rest wits still on me, that stood the kissed me already in the human

rose is fatter game of God and bring our ain sweet you on the rusted nails him down upon them with honors to

him like a jester’s. I heard you, and you were the beggar and put under the Spring must see, which will come out. Translates

the sky to where thou hadst thou be good, and her who believe me, or the passions chairman, abler none; fair-haired and

sacred lights, dawn, late a fable which only worthy face a blushing red, the night’s blue as you. Who in his lightning

on of hand in hand—Did one but know! Rose-cheek’d Laura, come, sing terrible month of itself, relaxed, its perfect note.

For roses, and sought in the wilds, in a glade of their rivers rage and frae morning peeps peep forth the severe chilled

albatross’s white immutability of two oaths’ breach, but an expert on making room beside a streams o’er it a

cobweb-lawn; and her who is here each them love, for I maun guide it cannot reach the grave—wrapt inflections of a bell,

and scent of young fellow, and meant; but Thyrsis, let me give my well-contents of twigs and then hath gone the primordial

climb, a dream, then can I fly no farewell, and their heads in the rocks that still blessed souls therefore, behind, they strike, and

the hills are all men and women too; and heavenly eyes, but to lingered day will returned in the day so fair, good-

morrow to mine. The ornament doth lend, and the shore, again are three, forgetful; then watched as he was cold bier.

Abandoned skins. Come, come, all ye offspring delight. A thousand grows young Daphnis with a shock on my fair Cloe, this white robes,

heaven, with thee only, whom you ignored for I heartbreak him, and the vines, her teeth were like he stood, and all the music

should not, be not stem and closing like a cliff swinging next shall at one time, shall not fit mark to pierces both use

and ever seemed to wrestling birds foretell, shall sum my coldness youth, a witless usurer, where she does not hear.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #176 texts #ballad

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partyinthemysterymachine · 1 year

Note

📝for the wip game?

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

(WIP game!!)

oh you'd like that, wouldn't you. 😏 pushes up sleeves. let's see what's in my files

looks like we got some -adjacent here, folks!!! YEEHAW

===

Harry smiled as he stroked James’s hair.

“You beautiful man,” he told him so quietly. “Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to love you?”

His unbelievably exquisite, cherished green eyes opened to slits, then directed his heavy-lidded gaze up to his partner. “I can hazard a guess.”

Harry smirked and ruffled his hair. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. I actually woke up a little while ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Just wanted to cuddle?”

“Yeah.”

He fixed the golden mop of hair. “You’re cute. I guess.” James grunted and tucked his head in to the crevice of Harry’s side and the blanket.

A moment later they both got a little surprise. Harry placed his hand on his girth and James’s head rose from its would-be resting place, transfixed on his husband’s large belly.

“It kicked.”

“Yeah, I know. It kicked me in the head.” He glanced at Harry when he laughed.

“Aw, they were just saying h— oh. Feisty today. — hey!”

James settled his hand on the last place the tiny foot had complained. To his delight, his palm was met by another jab; he rubbed the spot with utmost affection. “Hi, little one.”

===

:3c!!!!!!

ok and now for some diversity: fnaf security breach ft. my own designs for Moon :)

===

YEAH CAN I GET A UHHHHHHHHH HOLIDAY BARBIE // SRY BARBIE MACHINE BROKE // FUCK U MONTY (<- literally what it's called in Notes lmao)

“For the second time, I’ll give you the watch if—“

“For the second time, what?! C’mon, Moonman! I can’t hear ya; either get closer, or speak up.”

“I can’t turn up my volume, Gator - I’m at max. You need your hearing sensitivity fixed.”

“Then lower your line a little more, I can’t make hide or hair. We gotta do this every time?”

“You heard me say that, so what’s the problem?”

“I heard half of it, which was enough to know what you were yappin’ about. We have this talk all the time, we might as well have it prerecorded!”

“Feh. If you promise not to grab or yank me, I’ll get closer.”

“When have I ever yanked you?”

“Oh, you’re going to play innocent, now, are you? You want footage, Monty? I’ve got f—“

“Wouldja get down here so we can have a normal conversation? For once??”

“.. fine. Prima donna..”

The robotic alligator standing on the floor watched elegance donned in purple climb the strong curtains to the top. Soon after, the spidery mass of fabric and glow came easing, belly-down in its red silk sling again, lower and lower until their faces were inches from each other. Monty snorted a cold burst of dense, hydraulic hair through his immobile metal nostrils directly into his colleague’s sculpted plate and drape of his regal, violet hood.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Is this better for you, my liege?”

“It’ll do, jester. Now, what were you sayin’ about a watch?”

“I’ve got a ‘63 Rolex with your name on it if you can give me the Holiday Barbie you found the other day.”

His mechanical mug seemed to frown. “What Holiday Barbie?”

The partially obscured, crescent-moon face didn’t move, but the droop of a charcoal grey eyelid over the purple galaxy swirl the robot had for an eye made his displeasure known. “You twit. What did you do with the Holiday Barbie?”

“What Holiday Barbie?!” Monty asked again, spreading his arms. “Barbies are Barbies, Moonman! They all look the same to me.”

The light-projected eye rolled in its LED screen socket. “She had on a burgundy and gold dress, bore red hair, and wore candy cane stockings,” Moony described, impatiently. “She’s the Holiday Barbie from four years ago. Do you still have her?”

Monty thoughtfully perched his bulky, taloned fingers on his stout jaw. “Hrm, she rings a bell.. Iiiiii dunno, though. Lemme see the watch, first - maybe it’ll help me remember if I still got ‘er.”

The hanging animatronic’s slim, dark-lit arms folded in the air beneath his chest. “Work with me, Monty.”

“You don’t even have the watch on ya, do ya?”

“You don’t have the Barbie on you, do you? No - you don’t. We’re working on honor right now.”

“Eeeehh..” Monty grumbled, sneaking a look over his shoulder to check for his wandering band members. Coast was still clear. He peered sidelong at the Daycare Attendant past the gold-rimmed frame of his star-shaped sunglasses. “What condition is it in?”

“Upper scale of ‘great’; seemed whoever had it, took good care of it.”

“Does it work?”

It was incredible how a partially-obscured, immobile face and one color-swirled eye could call him stupid, but that’s what it did - and it did it VERY loudly. “Yes, Monty,” replied the patronizing whisper of the Plex’s nap time overseer. “It works great.”

===

and last but not least (sorry idk how to follow directions)....... whatever the fuck this is (actually i know whatever the fuck it is but do NOT--)

===

He enjoyed the walk quite immensely. It was refreshing; better yet, no one seemed to be about. All the better! When he arrived to the cafe, the atmosphere was quaint and sleepy, and his coffee was retrieved quick. Dobie found himself a wonderful spot beneath a tree, half in the sun, with its shade being ideal for the passing hours. Placing his book and coffee down on the little wrought iron table, Dobie scraped the matching chair over, sat down, and propped his feet up on the table’s ornate iron rungs. Crossing his ankles and snuggling in, he then plucked the pen from its nest in his hair, opened his book, and thumbed to the page awaiting his genius.

The coffee steamed. Its aromatic vapors danced and swayed chiffon ribbons in the weather like fog rising off a black lake in the white ceramic mug, gradually cooling to a temperature his tongue could handle.

Everything was great.

He got down to work.

“Heya, Dobie!”

The old man blinked, then squinted up at the newcomer that hadn’t been invited. A white wolf, senior in age (with possibly an upwards of eight years on the lifespan of his own), stood at the other side of the table, beaming bright. Dobie frowned.

Oh, great. Dobie groaned a low ‘ooohhhmm’ under his breath, and glanced at his coffee. He’d forgotten all about it until now. Since he was interrupted from The Zone anyway, he picked it up and took a sip. It was lukewarm, but Dobie didn’t mind; he was a fan of coffee, whether the drink be hot or cooled. He gulped, and sighed.

“Hi, Frank.”

===

listen,

#ches writes #long post #i will not apologize for myself or what i do BUT LISTEN #adjacent #uhhhhhhh im not gonna fandom tag the other two LOLOLOL #hi to vogel who's seen the monty and moon shenanigans bit LOL :3c #there are AMAZING things hiding in my files i can assure u and i hope u enjoyed this little pick off the spice rack #CHEERS ILU <3

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mllekurtz · 3 years

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

A few days ago (September 26) was the anniversary of my first Shadowgast fic, a better man than me. I was determined to celebrate, and then life happened! Still, I'm proud of that fic, and also grateful, because it led me into a wonderful fandom full of lovely people, some of whom have become dear friends.

So I decided to post the first paragraphs of chapter 1 of the sequel, set a year after the ending of a better man, as a WIP Wednesday treat! The wizards are in Port Damali, trying their best to live a normal life despite--well, you'll see.

(tagging @floatysparrowthing and @kmackatie who are kindly betaing this, and also @annundriel and by extension @marsastronomica because this is the wip I was telling you about!!)

The Hidden Pearl, a little shop of enchanted curiosities and books in the Beaded Alley, is — as the name suggests — a lovely, quaint place. The selection is a bit generic, but Caleb is sure there are worse ways to make a living. Port Damali is a place for merchants more than scholars, but there’s always some traveller in need of magic items, or looking for an odd bit of literature.

And Caleb is, most of the time, happy to help.

The half-elf woman in front of him knows what she’s looking for. She even looks a bit bored as she explains to him the exact kind of enchanted spyglass she wants. As Caleb brings out and puts back one spyglass after another, none of them meeting her increasingly detailed requirements, he can almost hear Pumat’s voice. He wonders where the actual owner of this shop got all his patience when he had to deal with him and the other chaotic chuckleheads who called themselves the Mighty Nein.

When the bell above the door rings, announcing the arrival of another customer, Caleb thinks that he might just kiss them. He glances at the door and fights back a smile at the irony of the situation, because the man who just entered wouldn’t in fact be opposed to that.

Essek’s usual disguise is fairly transparent, if one knows where to look. The small, tan-skinned human has sapphire-blue eyes, and his hair has the same length and texture as the real deal, but it’s dark brown instead of white. Not enough people in this city are familiar enough with the Mighty Nein to make the connection to Jester’s eyes, Beau’s skin tone or Veth’s hair colour, but Caleb is, and he does.

It wasn’t easy to persuade the monks at the Cobalt Soul to let Essek leave the Archive annex where he’s been living for the last year. He’s supposed to stay tucked away in there, as a sensitive political figure, both for his protection and so the Soul can keep a close eye on him. And as far as cages go, that’s a properly gilded one, with a stunning view of the sea and unlimited access to the Soul’s library. Still a cage, though, and Caleb can’t blame the man for rattling at the bars and missing freedom.

While they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop, though, weeks passed, then months, with the Dynasty either failing to do the math and realise Essek was still alive, or deciding he wasn’t worth the trouble. No Soul operative could probe deep enough to ascertain which it was, but the fact that Essek’s lot didn’t seem to be discussed at all was encouraging in a ‘no news, good news’ kind of way.

So the former Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty was allowed a daily walk, provided he Disguised himself and returned within an hour.

As he turns towards his half-elf customer again, Caleb lets his thoughts wander. The first and only time they broke the Soul’s curfew, there was a very unimpressed monk waiting for them back at the Archive. They hadn’t said anything, they just levelled a disappointed, put-upon look at the both of them. The Disguise spell had faded at some point during the night, and neither of them had cast it again. The night was warm, the vintage excellent and the company lovely, and they were both inebriated on the wine and each other. Being treated like unruly teenagers by a monk looking half Caleb’s age had been hilarious and humiliating at the same time. They thought it best not to stretch those boundaries again.

Essek’s Disguise hasn’t altered his height nor, as far as Caleb can tell, his clothes, which are the ones he wears in the Archive: a sleeveless blue surcoat over a white shirt with wide, billowing sleeves, turquoise trousers, loose and comfortable but tight around the ankles, and black shoes that look more like slippers, embroidered with shiny silver thread. It’s as far from Dynasty fashion as it can be, and he doesn’t look out of place in Port Damali, but then again nobody really does, in a mishmash town like this.

As the door closes behind him, making the bell ring again, Essek tilts his head towards him in polite acknowledgement, then turns around to peruse the shelves. Caleb has to wait another whole minute before the half-elf finally settles on a spyglass and leaves.

As soon as she disappears down the street, Caleb circles the desk and walks up to Essek in two long strides, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, breathing in his scent: brine and sweat from the walk, something dusty and pleasant classified as ‘library books’ in his mind, and then a faint flowery note.

The last one jogs something in Caleb’s memory, but it’s just beyond his grasp. He’s determined to figure it out before he admits his defeat and asks Essek, whose features — a close match to his own, if a little less sharp — soften visibly when Caleb pulls back and smiles at him.

He’s always a little surprised by how Essek, who used to present such a closed-off, warded demeanour when they first met, now just soaks up physical affection like a sponge, always craving for more. Still, there are limits to what can be done in a public establishment, and despite what someone at the Archive might think, they’re not always behaving like lovestruck teenagers.

“How was your walk?”

#also hello! yes! i'm still alive! life has just been a lot recently and all my wips are long or multichapters or both #so that's why i haven't been posting in a while #but speaking about this wip in particular #writing established relationships is challenging when it's long form #because of the inherent difficulty of writing interesting 'life after happily every after' dynamics #(yup that was a tangled the series reference)#but i felt like reckoning with their feelings and getting together was only the first step out of many for these two #and i realised there was a story there that i wanted to tell. thus: a sequel #i thought about a few different titles for this one and my current favourite is 'take the long way home'#so this is how i'm going to tag it if i post more snippets #i have two chapters written and one outlined out of 11 but i think this wip is going to get out of hand real soon #so who knows how long it's going to be! not me! not yet #also if you spot quarantine vibes it's because i outlined this between 2020 and 2021 and that was the mood #ending this tag commentary with many thanks to the supportive friends on discord who have already yelled at me about this ♥#critical role #shadowgast #cr fic #take the long way home au #wip wednesday #essek thelyss #caleb widogast

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thedancefloorsilly · 3 years

Note

Hey man, here to make a request JFJDJS

Is it fine if you write the main four with a friend or s/o that wears a jester's hat and the bells only jingles when they aren't using nen? They can be moving and fighting and using nen and shit but the bells just won't jingle but once its all over, just one step and the bell jingles

THIS REQUEST I LOVE IT 😭 I couldn't stop smiling like this made me laugh when I first read it (in a good way of course). I’m happy to write it hehe (now how do I title this in my masterlist tho hmm,,)

Gon

Gon genuinely really likes your hat. He likes to randomly go up to you just to look at and ring the bells sometimes. Gon will even ask if he can try it on !! In general, they don’t really annoy him, and hearing the bells ring means that you’re somewhere close by :) But one day you guys were fighting a group of people, and had to split up. Gon tried to look for you by the sound of your bells, but he just could’n’t find you! He started to worry that you got hurt, or if something else happened to you!! Luckily when he found you again, he was so relieved that nothing bad happened to you, but was confused about not hearing your hat. After the battle, you try to explain to Gon how that happened, but as many times as you do, this boy will not get it.

Killua

The jesters hat definitely sticks out to him at first. From the way it looked, to all the random bells ringing, he couldn’t stop staring about it. Plus, Killua didn’t really appove of it with your outfit :// But when fighting, the fact that your hat doesn’t make any sound is actually really smart to him! He knows that you probably really like your hat (so you probably won’t take it off during battle), but the fact that you can wear it without it be a distraction in battle is a relief !😎

Leorio

In all honesty, Leorio can’t stand the constant jingling of your jester’s hat over and over again. There are times where he’ll try and take your hat and hide it, and if you ask where it is, Leorio will just shrug it off and pretend that you were the one who lost it. Of course, he’ll always curse to himself whenever you find your hat again. One day though when you were fighting in a deadly battle, he was kind of confused as to why he hadn’t heard the jingling anymore. Why did they just randomly stop? The scene was actually.. quiet? Quiet as in: no random jingling noises could be heard. At all. But you still had your hat on? This made no sense to him, but if he still kept being distracted then the man might’ve lost his life. After you guys ended the battle (being victorious), Leorio wanted some clarity on how the hell the bells didn’t make noise. Honestly, you just shrugged, and responded how it “just did that”. Leorio must admit, he enjoyed those few minutes without the constant ringing. Still confuses him to this day... but he doesn’t really ask.

Kurapika

So in general, Kurapika doesn’t really have opinions on the hat. Sometimes when he’s speaking to someone, and if he just so happens to see you in the corner of his eye, it might Kurapika a little distracted. But, still, he doesn’t really think much of it. He does sometimes though gets a little distracted by hearing the bells. Kurapika thinks of the fact that none of the bells ring when you’re using nen to be kind of cool though! He doesn’t understand it, but like Killua, he finds it convenient that you can still wear your hat AND not draw attention by the ringing.

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centaurianthropology · 3 years

Text

Character speculations for C3E1

Spoilers, you know. If you haven’t seen it and don’t want spoilers, don’t click under the cut.

We good? Good. Let’s go.

Some general character speculation. I have no idea what they’re doing with plot, but this is going to go on two assumptions: 1) the CR twitter is honest, and Robbie is just a guest star (still eh on having a guest in their very first episode rather than properly establishing the group, but it’s too early to judge what they’re doing with that), 2) all other characters are their PERMANENT C3 characters. Orym, Fearne, and Bertrand are here to stay.

Having said that, let’s get into proper character speculation (in order of apperance:

Imogen: Aberrant mind sorcerer, human. She’s going to be the one with the big traumatic backstory this campaign, with the biggest prior campaign inspiration being Caleb. Aberrant Mind Sorcerers are also BEASTS at upper levels, so she’s going to rule that battlefield. Laura clearly wanted to play a caster who could do massive damage even last campaign, but got hindered by being a cleric. Now she gets to play one of the heaviest-hitting full caster builds possible. I am very excited. I also think Imogen is a reaction to Jester having a bit of main-character syndrome, in that she doesn’t want to be noticed. She’s quiet, and very attached to Laudna. My guess is that, initially, she was drawn to Laudna because she can’t hear Laudna’s thoughts. Laudna is her quiet place, and being in that little house with Laudna and the old woman is as happy and comfortable as she can be. She’s researching ways to control her own mind, as it continues to overwhelm her. She’s deliberately designed as a time bomb set to go off at some point, and I’m stoked to see it.

Laudna: Hollow One or Dhampir Warlock/Sorcerer. Oooo, what a delicious character. Not certain what her patron is going to be or what sorcerer subtype she’s playing, but the sorclock is a cool combo build. I’m sort of meh about her being directly tied to Campaign 1 (speculation is that she became undead during the Briarwood occupation of Whitestone and left after VM took Whitestone back), but as long as it’s still just background and a jumping off point it could be very cool. Interested to see what patron she might have, as it could be something very nasty. I like her vibe of being someone who genuinely wants to make a good impression and friends, likes children and probably animals, and is absolutely horrifying despite that. Imogen was probably the first person in a very long time to look past Laudna’s spooooky vibe and see a good person, which is why Launda is so attached to her. My guess is that they’re both going to be oblivious and pining for years, but these pastel goth lesbians are going to be a great couple someday.

Fresh Cut Grass: Aeormaton Cleric (probable unity domain). My beloved. Best first impression goes to this funky little robit, but beyond the general sense of cuteness and gentle kindness, I think there’s a LOT going on with FCG. For one, I love the take on a cleric with no specific god, but a belief in general goodwill and mutual aid. Cool concept. Sam loves to build ‘joke’ characters that turn deadly serious, and I see this happening here. My guess is that FCG has some holes in their memory, possibly a killswitch or something. Them being in ‘stasis’ and coming to with everyone in thier adventuring party dead rings some nasty bells. Maybe Dancer was not a particularly benevolent creator, or found FCG and the other automata rather than inventing them herself. But there are things FCG doesn’t know about themself, and it’s going to be a hell of a rabbit hole to fall down.

Ashton: Earth Gensai Barbarian (homebrew subclass). Interesting intro, and another probable deep-backstory character. The fact that he’s coming in partially shattered, and also has an obvious dunamancy tie makes me wonder what happened to him. Immediate tin-foil hat theory is that he has a damn luxon beacon at his core, and they come off as don’t-give-a-fuck asshole because he’s terrified of himself. Tal deliberately tried to take a backseat backstory-wise in C2 (with varying results), and Cad was such a level-headed gentle character, that Ashton is clearly Tal getting back into the aggressive front-line game. I also think that, like Percy, Ashton’s going to have a lot going on in their backstory, but it won’t come out for a while, and he’ll let others take the helm right up until whatever dunamantic horror-show that is their backstory drops like a rock (pun intended) on the rest of the party. I think this will be the tragic character, second only to Imogen, with a lot of baggage and a lot of fear to deal with. Tal playing punk rock is fun, but punk rock covering terror and a horror-rooted backstory would be even more fun.

Now onto the not-so-new characters. Fair warning, I have not seen EXU, so I only know a few things I saw online about these characters. Mostly, I’m going to treat them as fresh, as it doesn’t sound like they got a lot of time to develop deep backstories. I won’t be talking about Dorian, as I think he’s an extended guest and is going to dip out in the next episode.

Fearne: Faun Druid. I dig the whole feel of her seems-sweet-but-actually-an-asshole vibe. I think she may also be the party replacement for a rogue, as the party currently has a weird balance that is very combat heavy but not really built for investigation. She does have sticky fingers, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got her stats built to play the B&E character of the party. Really not certain what her deal is going to be (again, didn’t see EXU, so I hope this is a fresh start for her character and I don’t have to), but I could see her possibly riding some very dangerous lines. This is Ashley’s first time to really play a character through the bulk of a campaign, so I can see Fearne being a place where she can take character risks. Could Fearne be a character who rides a line for evil alignment? Could she have some deep, dark backstory secrets? Maybe. I have no idea. She’s one of the characters I have very little notion of what direction she’s going to go in. She sort of seems like the Fjord of the campaign that way. I felt the same about his character at the beginning of C2. Or she could be the kind-of-an-asshole-even-to-her-friends this campaign, the way Beau was last campaign. Interested to see where she takes this.

Orym: Halfling fighter (battle master). Honestly most interested to see where he goes of all the party. So many of the characters are coming in with very obvious plot hooks, but he seems almost blank. I get that Liam wants to step back from being the plot-and-character driving force of nature that was Caleb, but I could see him using Orym to really explore the tragedy and insecurity of being an ordinary guy in a party of superheroes. I did see that his character has a backstory with a dead husband, so we’re getting slight Yasha vibes here. I also see him being the tactical heart of the party, given that he went battle master, and he’s going to take over Caduceus’s role of being the buff/debuff master of this party. He may also have to be the most intelligent character of this party, as they are very INT light. I can see him being the quiet, thoughtful one, the one here to help his friends, and is going to be the leveling voice of reason in the party. I’m interested to see why he would stay with this group, as he’s not only tied to the Air Ashari, but directly to a C1 character (Keyleth). What pulls him to stick around in Marquet rather than going home? I can see Liam’s brain ticking away, and he can’t help but want those tasty RP scenes, but I think he’s going to push outward rather than pull inward this time. He’s going to be a guy interested in learning about those around him, rather than being stuck on his own past. He’s going to have a tragic past, sure, because it’s Liam, but it’s going to be a quiet and ordinary tragedy. Also, calling it now, he’s the first gay male main NPC (we’ve had some good bi and lesbian rep, but no gay men), and he’s going to be doing his damndest to romance Ashton.

Bertrand: Human fighter (or not???). Ooo, this is the mystery character right here. There are a LOT of red flags about him. I think his age is somewhat off, specifically that he should be older, given his appearance in Search for Grog. Possibly up to 100? I could be wrong, but I feel like that seems off. But I think that’s all part of it. My big guess with him is that he’s actually Dhampir, that the orc at the end of the episode not only turned him, but has been feeding on him, draining his levels. He was at level 18 in Search for Grog, and now he’s at 5. I’m guessing that, during the fight in the next episode, he’s going to get nuked by this character down to Level 3, who is either going to get away and be a long-running antagonist, or is going to be a forceful employer for an unwilling bunch of adventurers. His stats actually bear closer resemblance to level 3 than 5, so my guess is that he’s going to lose abilities as he’s attacked, but has actually only built the character to be level 3. I think that, after they get him away from his sire, he’s going to get sharper mentally, and is going to be horrified by what he is. He seems like a bit of a braggart, but has a decent heart, and I think that he’s probably going to be devastated when he realizes he’s a monster. It might be an interesting touch point between him and Laudna. His leveling up experience is going to be remembering and recovering old abilities, rather than learning new ones, as he slowly clears his mind and remembers himself, but also finds that he wants to be better than the man he used to be. He’s an elderly character, which I absolutely love, but he may well be an elderly character who just got a (poisoned) new lease on life, an ability to do a lot of growing up well into his seventies. That’s honestly a very cool concept, possibly my favorite concept of all the characters. He’s an old man with a cursed existence and a cursed sword and a realization that he’s spent his life being a fool. He has a chance to be better. And I love that.

#Critical Role #Critical Role Spoilers #Laura Bailey #Marisha Ray #Sam Riegel #Taliesin Jaffe #Ashley Johnson #Liam O'Brien #Travis Willingham

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sockablock · 4 years

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(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—”

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down.

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows.

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—”

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say.

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.”

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again.

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand.

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — —

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mayhemofmusesarchive · 3 years

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JESTER DEMONS 🟊 🟊 🟊

DISCLAIMER; I’m going to info dump here about my thoughts of Jester Demons. Now, these are just my thoughts and no one has to like them or accept them (if you do, awesome but if not that’s okay)! I hope you give them a read though and let me know your thoughts! If you apply them to anything, sweet! Just let me know okay since these are my ideas...? Either way, enjoy! Also, I used THEY as a gender neutral term as Jester Demons can be a variety of genders and sexes, it’s just up to you.

Jester Demons are another Hellborn species of demon that share some resemblances to Imps, but only a few. Depending on which ring of Hell they come from, that’ll factor in some of their traits, characteristics and personalities but at their core they’re fun-loving demons who thrive off attention in some shape or form. For example:

W R A T H 🟊 🟊 🟊

Jester Demons from Wrath are notoriously short fused and tend to have the most ‘muscle’ mass or toned forms. They rather settle matters in a physical way versus verbal communication. Wrath Jesters typically are the thrill seekers and their pranks or jokes are rather dark to the point they sometimes verge on painful as that’s what they love the most. They typically don’t care if someone gets hurt in the process of their joke-making and even seem to enjoy it even if they get caught up in their own messes. Again, they can get rather hot-headed and prone to more violent outbursts versus other Jester Demons. They’re the most destructive of them all.

Their apparel and designs tend to be harsh and sharp as they’ll opt for reds, oranges, yellows; colors that represents fire or even a warning. Their “hats” are relatively shorter compared to the others as they don’t want it to get tangled or in their way. They will also not wear bells, but some other sort of decoration like skulls, chains and or even spikes. Their tails are also short and sometimes will not have a design at the end of it or if they do, it’ll be rather simple compared to a spade or star. They are also the only ones that’ll have spines along their tails.

S L O T H 🟊 🟊 🟊

Jesters from Sloth are known for suffering from either Narcolepsy or Insomnia and because of such, they’ll usually sport rather dark circles around their eyes. They’re the more calm ones of their species, but even they can get up to no good. They’re just slow at it versus others. Typically these Jesters tend to be more on the lanky side in their physiques and can be commonly seen hunched over or others say, bad postures. They seem rather laid back or aloof to most things and others. However, they’re also rather smart and crafty in their own ways as long as they don’t exert too much energy. They typically don’t smile all that often but when they do, their smiles are the most warm and tender smiles you’ll ever see.

As for colors, they are usually more pastel “soft”, almost dream-like. Their “hats” are usually the longest of their kind and sometimes don’t have more than one sleeve (the hats usually take after night caps and such), but not always. They’ll wear bells on their hats, but the chimes to them are soft, melodic or sweet. Their tails usually end in stars, moons or things one would think of in terms of sleeping / dreaming. The same can be said for their cheek markings. They also are usually seen with a rather dull or sleepy expression but will make an effort to smile if need be.

E N V Y 🟊 🟊 🟊

Jesters of Envy are known for being backstabbers with a silver tongue. Their eyes are a tad bit more slanted compared to the others; one could even say snake-like. They’re prone to jealous fits and have no shame in hiding this aspect of themselves. Of course they’ll go out of their way to make sure you’re always thinking of them or they’re your favorite out of everyone you meet and they’ll do so in any manner they can to achieve that. If they hear otherwise, they’re prone to getting immediate payback as they’ll feel wronged even if that’s not the case. They’re more resilient to chemicals and poisons as that is their usual go-to methods to wrecking havoc and pranks.

As for their colors, they’re usually opt for greens, silvers, browns or anything dark and rich. Their tails are medium length and tend to be more slender, usually ending in spades, diamonds or even clubs like those of a deck of cards. Their smiles are ones not to be trusted, but it’s rather hard to tell the difference between their usual smiles or ones they don when they’re up to no good. Their cheeks markings are usually circles or even sometimes rather ornate and decorative. Their “hats” are the most lavish as well, sporting lace, embroidery and things of that manner.

P R I D E 🟊 🟊 🟊

Jesters of Pride are the most loud and boisterous, if only to boast how better they are than others in everything and anything in between. Their pranks and jokes will always put them in a good light or even bad, as long as they get the attention and reaction they crave, they don’t care how it goes about. They’re the second tallest (Greed being the first) and their physiques are either typically slender or toned depending on how they wish to take care of themselves and show off.

Their colors are rather bold and loud just like they are and they don’t shy away from any value or pigment. As long as it looks good on them, they’ll wear it. They too can be rather decorative in their “hats”, but compared to those of Envy, they’ll go over the top and beyond for the things they’ll wear on themselves and their “hats”. They’re prone to ruffles, bows, ribbons and like-wise. They have the most charming smile and devastating sneer. Cheek markings are perhaps just as loud and overly dramatic as the rest of them. They’ll even wear makeup for added measure. Their tails are the second longest to Sloth’s, but they’ll wear additional decorations upon them. The ends of their tail end in a plethora of things ranging from circles, spades, diamonds and much, much more. They’ll usually hold their tails in a curl versus letting it drag behind them like Sloth’s do.

G R E E D 🟊 🟊 🟊

Jesters of Greed are the tallest and they relish in their imposing heights. They’re the more stern of them all and can come off as rigid, but even they are prone to causing mischief and partake in jokes as long as there’s monetary gain for them. They’re more crafty in how they go about things, always having never-ending ideas on how to make something sell or get away with the things they do.

Their colors usually ranges in the greens or yellows, resembling money or treasure of course and they’ll pair that off with something dark or light depending. Their “hats” usually only have two sleeves or even three and theirs ends with bells or charms signifying worth, money or like wise. Like Pride and Envy, their clothes will be rather decorative and lavish, but unlike Pride, not over the top. They prefer to look distinguished and almost business-like, but still holding on to their Jester-like ensembles. Their tails are medium length and usually end in spades or just points.

G L U T T O N Y 🟊 🟊 🟊

Gluttony Jesters come in two shapes or forms usually; pudgy or excessively thin. They have insatiable appetites where eating just isn’t enough, so they’re constantly thinking or wanting food. Most of their pranks or jokes are food targeted (but not always), if they successfully manage to do them without eating their own props or getting distracted. Despite this, their strength almost rivals that to Wrath as long as they can think long enough without thinking of food or especially if they just finished eating a big meal. Food is of course their main concern and ambitions. If they find those of kindred spirits, they’ll be glad to share their food but if not, they may fight you for it. Oddly enough, they’re very good cooks.

Their colors of course tends to lean more towards warm colors and comes in patterns sometimes, most often than not actually. Their “hats” are of medium length, but their bells are usually big, comically even. If not bells, they like to wear puffs or something that resembles ‘soft’. Their tails can either be short and stubby or of medium length. It varies. Cheek marks usually are circles, squares, lines or other things. They can be as decorative as Envy, Pride or even Greed Jesters, but usually on the simpler side.

L U S T 🟊 🟊 🟊

Lust Jesters come in an array of different body types, whatever is pleasing to the eye really. They are the most to people please or carter to other’s desires, especially if it stems on the sexual side. Their libidos know no limits and out of all the Jesters, they have the most stamina and energy. Their jokes and or pranks are usually of the sexual nature of course and tend to focus on one individual versus the masses, but they can be versatile. They’re the most easily accessible to affections and greatly thrive off it as well as attention of any kind. They also sport the most longest tongue along their kind, rivaling Gluttony.

Their colors can be in any shade or value, whatever is pleasing to their audience’s eyes and grabs their attention. Of course, they wear more revealing outfits compared to the others but still retain their Jester aesthetic. They’re “hats” can be either short or long and equally decorative like the others. They either wear bells, ribbons or things that make noise. Their tell-sign that differs from others is their cheek marks will usually if not always be in the shape of hearts or things in a similar manner, but they are most of the time in hearts. The ends of their tails is shaped the same way or spades. They can either be tall (not as tall as Greed) or small. They are the lightest of the Jesters.

#﹙ OOC ﹚ Oᴘᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋs #((Please tell me your thoughts on this akjgnae these are just some ideas that were in my head >A<;; ))#LONG POST;

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

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oooo how about 44 with fjorester?

Hello!! Here is your request, it's my first time writing fjorester so I hope you like it! (Reminder, I still love all these prompts and might roll myself a few more to write but please if you'd like to leave a request they're here)

44. Meditating or sharing spirituality together

“Fjord, stay still I’m almost done.” Jester whispers from above his shoulders where she currently stands. It’s been nearly five minutes and she’s still perfecting the hairs on the balls of the dick she’s decorating another ship at port with. She’d said the traveller was getting antsy and he asked why Artagan couldn’t help her with this but she insisted it was important.

Now, they’re about a minute from getting caught by a very wealthy merchant and he doesn’t relish the idea of explaining their way out of this. “Okay done! Letmedownletmedown!” He helps her climb down and quickly surveys her handiwork.

A green shimmer flits over the paint, drying it instantly. “It’s a good dick, you were going for a more realistic approach?”

She giggles, tugging his wrist to begin their casual walk away from the vessel, just as the owner rounds the corner. He throws his arm around her, pressing a kiss first to her temple and then to her grin. They look just normal enough to disappear from sight by the time they hear a startled, “What the fuck is this!” from behind. At that point they’re far enough gone it’s easy to pretend they don’t hear his calls for if they saw anyone. It’s thrilling and invigorating and looking into her face, smile stretched wide and sparkling eyes give away the same exuberant joy.

She looks so herself and so satisfied with their exploits. “Thank you for helping me with that Fjord. I think it’s important you know, to do these kinds of things together. To share our faith.” She does an impression of a fancy priest, evangelizing to the masses and they break into easy laughter.

“Well, one day when we’re out again, maybe I’ll share some of my own.”

-----

“Fjord is this going to be boring?” They haven’t even started yet.

“Jester, it is as interesting as you make it. Just try, maybe you’ll like it.” He hadn’t anticipated this being quite so important to him, but Melora protects them on the sea. She brought them Kingsley who, while he hasn’t sailed with them in years, is a dear part of their lives. It’s important to him that she tries and she can clearly see that in his features as she reaches her hands across to him, where they’re seated and nods.

“I will do my best.” she solemnly pledges.

“Okay. So what I like to do is find a point of beauty in nature. That’s why sunset is easiest, everything looks beautiful in the dimming light. I focus on that for a while and eventually I just… feel her. It’s indirect and kind of strange to describe with words.”

She nods, very serious and they sit, looking out over the ocean from the crow’s nest. The sun is bright and he can’t look directly into it but he looks at the water below it. The water that keeps them adrift and the water that holds so much life. He watches, and eventually his eyes close though he hardly notices. The sea is all around him, the smell is refreshing and his breathing slows. The breeze carries a scent of flowers that reminds him of Caduceus and he hopes that Caduceus sometimes breathes in ocean air and knows he’s thinking of him.

Eventually, he realizes that it’s dark and that the Sun has nearly set. He opens his eyes, and to his surprise Jester’s eyes are still closed. She’s definitely not snoring and he thinks that maybe it’s worked. In the waning light she looks radiant and his love for her rings through him like a clear bell. She opens her eyes not long after, “Fjord that was really cool! I smelled so many things!”

He smiles broadly and her eyes are bright, “Tell me about them.”

“Well there were flowers, I think that was for Caduceus and lavender for my momma, the sea smelled better. It was like really calm. Thank you for sharing that with me Fjord.”

They stay for awhile, atop the world and watch silhouettes of islands in the distance, planning their next adventure.

#critical role #fjorester #fjord #jester lavorre #the mighty nein #post campaign #they're really sweet and I'd like to write more of them #thank you for requesting my friend!#prompt meme #fan fiction #wreckwrites #cr fanfic

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iamdunn · 3 years

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Sorry for removing this again but the spelling errors drove me insane 😅

Miraculous Follow up: Where’s Your Heart

A Truth & Lies Follow up Fan-Fic

Written By

AJ Dunn

Cat Noir lept from rooftop to rooftop until he slipped between two buildings and sat down in an alleyway not far from the Sien. It had been a long day and night, with two back to back akumatizations. First was his friend Luka who was also his friend Marinette’s boyfriend and a fellow band member. He was always a cool headed guy so what caused him to lose control and start demanding people tell him the truth. He knew it had something to do with Marinette because they ended up chasing him all the way to her bedroom where they finally saved him. He had even struck her parents with his Truth power. What was he trying to figure out?

The second was Kagami, his own girlfriend, and now he was sure that was coming to an end. He felt bad because he should have felt worse for causing their break up, but his feelings for her weren’t that strong. One girl held his heart, Ladybug. Though dating a superhero wasn’t easy, they would never be able to make it work without knowing each other's secret identities. He knew why Kagami was akumatized, but he still wondered about Luka.

He didn’t feel like going home so he transformed to give Plagg a rest and a snack.

“Sorry Plagg, this is the last one.” He said, tossing a tiny chunk of Camembert into the air where the Kwami gulped it down.

“Well, I forgive you, we didn’t get a chance to go home before having to save Kagami.” Plagg was acting a lot more reasonable than normal. “But don’t let it happen again.” He crossed his arms and turned away as he hovered in the air acting offended. Adrien smirked at his friend who cast a half smile back over his shoulder.

“There’s something I need to do before we head home, Plagg.” Adrien said standing up. “Plagg, Claws out.” Plagg zipped through the air merging with the silver ring on Adriens hand causing it to turn black and expose the cat paw print on the round surface piece. Adrien's body began to change, his clothes replaced with his black leather suit and a mask emerged covering his eyes. A simple disguise but it seemed to be rather effective at covering his identity. For a model, it was a breath of fresh air to be able to not be himself but also feel more like himself then ever.

Cat Noir grabbed his staff holding it vertically as he clicked the button on the pawprint and extended the staff thrusting himself into the air where he leapt onto the roof. He made his way down towards the Seine where the Liberty was usually moored. He crouched on the bridge looking around to make sure no one could see him.

“Plagg, claws in.” he said as he sat down. The sound of a stringed instrument played out a sad solo on the bow of the ship. Adrien stood up and walked off the bridge and made his way to the gangplank. He saw Luka sitting alone on the makeshift stage they used for their rehearsals. He didn’t look up as Adrien took his spot at the keyboard and began to play in tune with Luka’s sad melody. They played together in silence as if both were feeling the melancholy of the day reverating in each other's hearts. The tune came to a close and Adrien watched Luka hang his head with silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what happened today, or why you are feeling this way.” Adrien said, sitting down next to him and hanging his head. “Did it have something to do with Marinette?” He dared ask.

“We broke up.” Luka finally said then began to pick at the guitar strings without any melody behind it. “She can’t tell me the truth.”

“What truth is that?” Adrien asked.

“She is in love with someone else.” Luka sniffled. “I knew she loved him but I thought that I could be patient and wait for her, I underestimated her feelings for him.”

“Who...does she love?” Adrien gulped. He never would have expected that after seeing the two of them at the ice rink. They looked so in love or maybe it was just Luka.

“That is not my secret to tell.” Luka looked up at Adrien and smiled. It was a knowing smile, calm and peaceful yet sorrowful. “But I can tell you he has no idea what he's missing out on.” Adrien remembered his, or Cat Noir’s conversation with Marinette on her balcony that one night when Ladybug had stood him up. Marinette had said she had her heart broken too.

“So, he turned her down?” Adrien asked.

“No, he doesn’t even know she loves him.” Luka looked back down to his guitar and began playing a thumbing tune. “Her heart sounds like this when she’s around him. But her head is like this.” He began playing a chaotic sound.

“Do I know this boy?” Adrien asked but Luka just smiled at him.

“What brings you here, this late Adrien? Did something happen?” Luka played a slow tune feeling the unease in Adrien’s heart.

“I think me and Kagami broke up.” He started. “I’m not sure what I did. But I think it has something to do with the lucky charm Marinette gave me. I lost it after we left here to go to the party.” Adrien knew he couldn’t tell Luka the whole truth, although something inside him made him feel so comfortable that he knew he could tell him, it was the thought of Ladybug that made him keep the secret.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Luka said, still strumming the slow tune.

“Don’t be, I was lying to myself that I could have a relationship with anyone besides the girl I love.” Adrien hung his head.

“What’s stopping you from being with her?” Luka asked

“The same thing that broke you and Marinette up.” he smirked. “She’s in love with someone else.” They both exchanged the same knowing look as Luka set his guitar to the side.

“Do you know who she’s in love with?” Luka asked.

“No, and it’s silly because I don’t know who she is either.” Adrien hung his head again. “She’s Ladybug.” Luka’s face went dim, he tried to imagine what it would be like to be in love with someone who you could never be with in the light of day.

“That is rough.” Luka finally said. “I guess you could ask yourself what is it about her that made you fall in love.” Luka picked up his guitar and began playing a haphazard tune. “Is she a little bit clumsy with a graceful smile?” Adrien smiled remembering their first encounter when she crashed into him. The graceful way she swung through the city and how she flicked his bell.

“Yeah, she is.” Adrien mused. Luka began playing a rock tune.

“Is she tough, standing up against bullies and never backing down?” Adrien remembered the way Ladybug stood atop the Eiffel Tower and fought back against Hawk Moth’s first attack only to promise the people of Paris that they would protect them.

“That is definitely her.” Adrien’s smile brightened. Luka began to play a classical tune.

“Is she always there to lend a hand, to help a friend in need, or just lend an ear or a hug?” Luka asked

“She always seems to know when I need to talk, or when I am not feeling myself. She always takes time to help out an akumatized victim if she has the time.” Adrien beamed. He looked up at Luka, he stopped playing and hung his head.

“Is she sensitive, have you ever seen her at her weakest moments, when all hope seemed lost?” Adrien nodded. “But she still picked herself back up and kept fighting?” Luka added. Adrien agreed with every word Luka had said.

“That’s my lady you just described there.” Adrien straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. “Are you in love with Ladybug too?” Luka laughed.

“I just described Marinette.” Luka smiled at Adrien as a look of shock crossed his mind. He hadn’t thought about it, but Luka was right. “She’s always doing stuff for other people even at the cost of her own happiness.” Luka looked up at the stars, setting his guitar to the side again. Leaning back placing his palms on the box he was sitting one and gazed up longingly as if the source of his love danced among the stars. Adrien watched his face glow in a blissful daze, then copied his actions. The two sat in silence for a while.

“I hope he figures out she loves him soon, and either accepts her love or let’s her down softly.” Luka said softly. “I don’t want her heart to get broken if he doesn't love her, but I will always be here for her.”

“What about you if it turns out he does love her?” Adrien asked, looking at him, his eyes filled with concern but not just for Luka, he was in the same boat literally and metaphorically.

“We’re still young, we have our entire lives ahead of us to discover who we are meant to be and who we are meant to be with.” Luka looked at Adrien lifting his right hand palm up as if offering something precious to the sky. “I may not have met her yet, or maybe, you haven’t.” Luka added.

“And… even if we had, maybe we are too blinded by our current feelings to see her?” Adrien asked.

“Exactly buddy.” Luka pointed to him and winked. “But, you be sure to stop by here anytime Adrien, it’s nice to have a friend in the same boat.” He sat up, holding his arms out jestering the pun that now rocked with the current of the water. They both laughed knowingly.

“I better go, I have school tomorrow.” Adrien said standing and heading for the gang plank.

“Adrien.” Luka called before he stepped off the gangplank. “Where's your heart?” It was an odd question, but he knew what Luka meant.

“Where’s your heart?” he smiled and headed for the stairs to the bridge.

The next day at school Adrien’s attention was on Marinette more than usual. Watching her mannerisms and her speech. She was usually late, and tripped over invisible objects. He watched how she interacted with their friends. She was always such a leader and inspired others around her.

Lunch time came and Adrien made his way to the locker room. Before he could enter the door swung open and Marinette crashed into him. They landed on the floor, Adrien on his back with Marinette belly to belly on top of him. Her face lit up in a glow of red, her mouth stretched into an awkward grin and she struggled to stand back up. As she pulled herself off of him she tripped over his feet and landed,sitting on his lap as he now sat on the floor. Adrien wrapped his arms around her waist holding her side to him and laid his head on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The smell of the bakery was all over her. Sugar, vanilla, and… passionfruit? He placed a hand on her head.

“Calm down.” He tried to hold his composure wonderin how Luka would handle this situation. He copied what he had seen Luka doing on the boat whenever Marinette went on a crazy klutz marathon. “Take a deep breath and try again.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. She was frozen in shock. Her face softened and she smiled at him. Letting out a nervous chuckle as she slowly slid off his lap. They stood up together as she composed herself.

“I am so gorry I didn’t mean to fall in love with I mean on you.” Marinette grimaced. Adrien placed a finger on his lips.

“Take a deep breath.” He said. He could see her face relax as she did as he said. She closed her eyes then opened them.

“I am so sorry Adrien, I am madly clumsy.” She chuckled nervously again. Adrien sighed. He could see how Luka could be so in love with her.

“Are you going to come to the barge and watch us practice after school?” Adrien smiled. Marinette went tight, her face grimaced and she began to play with her fingers nervously.

“I uh, I can’t.” She looked down at her fingers. “I have some uh, I have way too much homework to do and I don’t think I will be able to come watch you guys for a while.” She didn’t stumble this time but she also wasn't looking at Adrien. He thought that maybe she was averting her eyes to avoid him seeing the hurt that he heard in her voice.

“If you're that far behind, maybe I should come over and help you.” Adrien offered. Marinette looked flighty as she grimaced.

“No no no, you just uh, you go practice, why spend your free time doing schoolwork.” She smiled awkwardly then stepped to the side slowly as if trying to escape a hungry panther. “Coming Alya.” She said over his shoulder and ran off to catch up with her best friend. Adrien wondered if that was true, or if Marinette was hiding something. He tried to imagine how she was with Luka. he was trying to figure out how he could get the two of them back together, or figure out who this boy was. Even if he couldn’t have the one he loved, maybe at least Luka deserved to be happy.

“Where is your heart Marinette?” Adrien whispered to no one.

“Human emotions are too complicated.” A whisper came from his pocket. “Now cheese, you can always know the right one, just by looking at it, how it smells and how it feels when you hold it.” Plagg’s cheese analogies were usually so corny, but this time, it made more sense. Adrien thought about how it felt holding Marinette so close to him and how good she smelt.

Sitting in class his mind wandered to Tom and Sabine’s bakery. The smell of the pastries and the taste of the macarons Marinette would bring to class. Tom had asked Cat Noir if he ever wanted to retire from being a superhero and learn the trade from him. Plagg would be happy, all the bread he could couple with his cheese. But Marinette smelled specifically of passionfruit, which was his favorite, but how would she know that?

After school he spied his bodyguards’ car in it’s usual parking spot outside of the school. He froze, it wasn’t too late to sneak by him. He saw Marinette and Alya walking towards the sidewalk in the direction of the car. He sighed and headed in the same direction.

“What’s up my dude, you haven’t been acting like yourself today.” Nino said, wrapping an arm around Adriens’ shoulders.

“I heard, uh, someone talking about Marinette.” Adrien dared to breach the topic with his best friend. He was Alya’s boyfriend and so he must know something about Marinette. “They said she was in love with someone, I just assumed it was Luka, but it wasn’t.” he looked up at Nino, “Do you know who she is in love with?” Nino went stiff, removing his arm from his friends shoulders and glanced nervously at Alya.

“Sorry man, I got to go, Alya is waiting.” He ran off without answering. Adrien could tell he knew something.

“Don’t ask a question you're not ready to know the answer to.” A tiny voice came from behind him. He recognized it to be Juleka as he turned around to see her and Rose standing there. Juleka didn’t look happy, infact, she looked angry. Rose looked concerned but not for him, for Juleka. “Maybe you should just walk away, too many people get hurt by people who are too oblivious to see what’s right in front of them.” Juleka never spoke so clearly, something had her very upset.

Adrien looked around, Alya and Nino were still standing near his body guard’s car but Marinette must have already gone home. He snuck past Alya and Nino hoping his body guard hadn’t seen him and headed towards the bakery across the street. He heard a car pull up to the cross walk and beep. He walked up to the window.

“I just wanted to get a snack before going home.” Adrien chuckled, his body guard nodded then snorted a warning. “I’ll be right back.” he ran across the street to the front door to the bakery. Sabine was helping some customers as Tom brought out a tray of fresh hot chocolate croissants.

“It smells great Mr. Dupain.” Adrien said politely. “I’m here to help Marinette with homework.” Tom smiled at him, putting two croissants into a bag then handing it to him.

“She’s upstairs, take these with you, she never accepts snacks from me when you're here.” Tom winked. Adrien remembered the time they were practicing for the Mecha Strike III tournament and Tom had offered so many goodies and pastries to make him salivate for a year. Adrien headed up stairs with the bag. He made his way to the Dupain-Cheng apartment then up the stairs to Marinette's room. He knocked on the trap door to her room. He could hear talking coming from the other side so he slowly slid the door open. Suddenly Plagg escaped his pocket and flew through the ceiling into her room. He pushed the door open and entered her room.

“She’s not here.” Plagg hovered in the middle of the empty room, hands upward in an ‘i don’t know’ pose.

“Plagg you can’t just fly into her room like that, what if she had seen you?” Adrien scolded.

“I was careful.” Plagg smirked.

“Why would you do that anyway?” Adrien asked, looking around her room. He had been her many times but never by himself. It felt awkward.

“I wanted to make sure … you weren’t walking in on her doing something...embarrassing.” Plagg offered. Adrien's face flushed, she might have changed her clothes or written in a diary. Adrien looked around the room, she still had pictures of him everywhere. She had once told him she had them because she loved fashion, but what if she loved him and just didn’t want to admit it.

“Plagg, what if she really is in love with me?” Adrien asked quietly as he looked around the room. “I know I heard voices talking up here.” He noticed the hatch above her bed was open, so he climbed the ladder to her bed. He tried not to step all over her bed as he climbed through the hatch. You almost had to bounce off the bed to get up to the balcony. There was no one there either. Adrien was confused. He dropped back onto her bed and walked over to her desk.

“She said she had so much homework to do, but she left it here on her desk.” Adrien set the bag down then took a pen and wrote a note on it.

‘If you need help with your homework, please call me.’ he drew a cat paw on it then realized what he had done. It was too late to fix it, it was a permanent pen. He grimaced then took one of the croissants and climbed back to the balcony.

“Plagg, Claws out.”

Ladybug was especially anxious as they patrolled the city. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t even stop to take a breath or give a fist bump. She didn’t even chastise him for being late or using flirtatious corny puns. They had gone to watch a movie and she made a huge scene. He thought it must have something to do with the guy she likes because it was a romantic comedy and she ruined it with a rant about how romance is a waste of time.

“Ladybug, can I ask you something?” Cat Noir asked before they went their separate ways. Ladybug looked at him with concern as he hung his head. She nodded to him. “You see, a friend of mine told me that we are still too young to know who we want to be with, but I can’t help how I feel and I know you can’t either. So…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Where... do girls go when they like someone, but they can’t tell them. Who do they talk to?” Ladybug was taken aback. She thought he was going to ask again who she was in love with. Ladybug sighed.

“Most of the time, girls tell their best friends, but sometimes, they keep it a secret from everyone.” She sat down and sulked. Cat Noir sat down next to her.

“How is it so easy for you to say things to me, tell me you love me. We can’t just show up at each other's house for Sunday brunch or play Mega Strike III together when we’re not Ladybug and Cat Noir.” She rested her head in her hands as her elbows dug into her thighs. “I want to have a real boyfriend, not one I have to keep secrets from or that I can only see when I am powered up.” Cat understood now why Ladybug and Cat Noir couldn’t be together.

“And we can’t know our secret identities because…” He didn’t really know why but didn’t want to seem like he was asking again.

“Because, Hawk Moth can use us to hurt each other. Remember when Dark Cupid hit you with his arrow.” How could he forget, it would have been his first kiss ever and with Ladybug none the less but instead it’s a memory he’ll never have, and he had attacked Ladybug. “What if you knew who I was, and Truth asked you, If I hadn’t been there, he would have found out, he almost found out who I AM.” She sobbed “This is bigger than you and me Cat, and maybe we’re not mature enough yet to handle our super hero lives and a relationship with anyone.” She leapt to her feet unhooking her yo-yo.

“It’s best we just focus on our jobs, doing homework and saving Paris.” She swung away before he could stop her.

“Where’s your heart Ladybug.” He whispered to himself.

#miraculous fandom #ladynoir #miraculous chat noir #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #marichat

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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you: says badflower has several dick grayson songs

me: has a dick grayson playlist and loves badflower but has never thought of adding badflower to my dick grayson playlist

me: oh FUCK, time to listen to badflower again, fuck ye

Like not to be angsty on main, but there's no way The Jester doesn't have strong Dick Grayson energy, like just look at the lyrics!

Like a Jester at the ball Rubbed my shoulders with the kings And I was draped in gold and velvet Bathing in applause while I was jumping through the rings

And then the cooks would sound a bell And all the kings would lick their lips But I couldn't find a place mat The dinner table's full and there's no room for me to sit

Is there anybody out there looking out for me? Just say you want me, just say you need me Is there anybody out there looking out for me? Does anybody need me?

Is every last soul just fucking me over? With tears on their shoes and ice on their shoulders Is there anybody out there looking out for me (me)?

Lord, I live to entertain All my pride is in my praise I hum along with this vibration And hope to God I make it

If any chord that I could strum Made me feel less like a man

I'd slam my fingers in the doorway And shatter all the bones so I could never strum again

Is there anybody out there looking out for me? Oh just say you want me, just say you need me Is there anybody out there looking out for me? For me?

Is every last soul just fucking me over? With tears on their shoes and ice on their shoulders Is there anybody out there looking out for me?

Whoa, is there anybody out there looking out for me? Oh just say you want me, just say you need me Is there anybody out there looking out for me? For me?

Whoa, is every last soul just fucking me over? With tears on their shoes and ice on their shoulders Is there anybody out there looking out for me? For me?

Is every last soul just fucking me over? With tears on their shoes and ice on their shoulders Is there anybody out there looking out for me?

Or "Move Me" with lyrics like this:

Shame, blame Words like these fester And I pray For no change in seasons I hate rain Don't let me drown in this room

And like I said the other day, I could see like, Dick getting Jason hooked on Badflower when looking for something to bond over in their early interactions, and years later, Fuck the World is still a personal anthem for Jay, maybe now more than ever, lol:

Breathe until you're dead Crucify the kid Nature has a gun Who will save the sun? Don't pretend to give a shit Keep yourself away from it Trash the hole you left for us Leave the young to clean it up

Fuck the world Fuck the world

Empathy is dead And everyone is dumb Think before you speak But no one ever does

So say goodbye to you and I Fuck the world And all the wrong they all put onto me 'Cause they're to blame for everything We'll leave tonight Before the ice is gone We won't survive

Oh-oh You killed us all Too late to stop it now We can't reverse the abuse (stop) This world is sinking down You ask, "What can I do?" I could save you or let the ice kill you

You killed yourself You killed yourself You fucked the world Yeah (huh)

So what you're waiting for? It's not going away Stop making it worse Are we too late to solve it? I hear the reaper calling

Say goodbye to you and I Fuck the world And all the wrong they all put onto me 'Cause they're to blame for everything We'll leave tonight Before the ice is gone (I hear the reaper calling) We won't survive

Say goodbye to you and I (to you and I) Fuck the world And all the wrong they all put onto me (I hear the reaper calling) 'Cause they're to blame for everything (stop making it worse) We'll leave tonight Before the ice is gone (I hear the reaper calling) We won't survive

Say goodbye to you and I Fuck the world And all the wrong they all put onto me 'Cause they're to blame for everything We'll leave tonight Before the ice is gone We won't survive

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jellyfishloveletterghosts · 4 years

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The King’s Fool

I said I wasn’t going to write the King Billy/Jester Steve today because I already wrote the alternative but I am clearly a liar and I defiantly did write it because I wanted to write the jingly lap sex. I think i got all my renaissance filth out of my system now. Maybe one of these days all actually get ass man done, I could have finished that smut instead but no this is what my brain wanted. All of this because of this post

Once again smut that is is, blow job, anal fingering anal sex. exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub undertones, creampie I might have missed something I don’t know, just let me know if i did.

The King’s Fool

Billy has the new jester between his legs at the snap of his fingers after only the first week. Billy does not usually tolerate jesters, lets the people enjoy them and ignores them until they say something to offend and then they all meet with an unfortunate accident. That is until Steve, he is much too pretty to entertain Billy’s court, except for the occasional show of how much he really loves his King.

Billy is taking a meeting with foreign dignitaries, but as soon as he hears the tale-tale jingle of bells as Steve makes his way to the throne room he is getting hard in his pants. Billy does not care for decorum, what are they going to do invade with their laughable military, as soon as Steve is in view Billy snaps his fingers getting those pretty brown eyes on him. Heat pools in his stomach at the coy smile, and the intentional bob of Steve’s head, knowing exactly what that sound reminds Billy of.

Billy snaps his fingers again, pointing down, and Steve bites his pretty pink lips before sauntering over, making sure those bells keep moving. The conversation of the dignitaries halts as Steve drops to his knees in front of the King, staring wide eyed as Steve works open Billy pants. “Is there a problem?” Billy asks, eyebrow raised, as Steve licks over his cock teasingly, snickering at Billy’s annoyance with the court.

The dignitaries and Billy's own court start up again, trying to pretend like they are not watching as Billy hooks his hand against the back of Steve’s neck, golden rings catching the sunlight streaming in through the high glass windows as he presses until Steve does what he wants. Billy grins licking over his lips and starts taking part in the conversation again as Steve takes him in his mouth, head bobbing, bells jingling insistent and loud, lips pulled wide around Billy’s girt.

They start talking about commerce between their two nations and Billy starts tuning out, as Steve bobs his head eagerly, spit dripping down the corner of his lips. Billy uses the hand on the back of Steve’s neck to hold him down, forcing Steve to swallow around him or choke. More drool drips down on to Billy’s embroidered pant leg, pretty wet brown eyes looking up at him as Steve squirms breathing through his nose, groan muffled around Billy’s cock as he hooks a thumb in Steve’s mouth stretching his lips wider.

Billy shifts his hips, fucking Steve’s mouth with the tiniest of thrusts, Steve’s tongue rolling around him, throat working to swallow as the bells give little hollow sounding rings, before Billy slides his hand up to Steve’s hair and pulls him off his cock. “Up.” Billy commands ignoring his advisors annoyed disapproving huffs, what is the point of being King if he cannot do what he wants.

Sometimes Steve will refuse, will demand Billy ask nicely but only when they do not have an audience when he can get away with having an attitude. Especially with forging dignitaries around Steve knows better than to press his luck, last time he got a mouth in public Billy spanked his ass raw and then fucked him until he could not stand, and that had only been two weeks ago, he definitely is not yet ready for a repeat. Billy is still always pleased when Steve is quick to action, bells jingling as he scrambles up.

Billy stops him before he can climb into his lap, pulling at the laces on Steve’s pants, untucking his shirt and pushing them down. Steve, getting with the program starts to help, manages to get one of his legs free before Billy impatiently pulls him into his lap, spreads him over his thighs, uncaring that his pants are still tangled around one leg. Billy presses two fingers against Steve’s lips, kissing at his neck as he swallows them, tongue sliding around them just like it had Billy’s dick.

“Which trade routes is it that you need our military assistance in protecting?” Billy asks as he pulls his hand free of Steve’s lips, the digits shinny with spit. Billy presses both into Steve, using his dry hand to press Steve’s face to his neck when he lets out a loud breathy moan. Steve is still loose and slick from an hour ago when Billy took him in the courtyard, making sure they were in full view of the guards training.

Billy pets his hand though the hair at Steve’s nape, as he presses his fingers in and out of him, not that Steve needs the prep, Billy just likes the little half aborted jingles and breathy moans he gets as Steve shakes against him, hooking his fingers to make sure he is hitting Steve’s prostate. Billy keeps fingering Steve, making the occasional comment, grinning as he watches one of the dignitaries' faces go redder and redder in rage, another, red in embarrassment as he subtly adjusts his pants.

“My King, please.” Billy pulls his fingers free at the soft whine against his ear, eyes on his court as he presses a gentle kiss against Steve’s neck before shifting his hands down to his hips.

“Up.” Billy says gently, as he gets a look at Steve’ cock hard and leaking as he lifts up on his knees, eyes glassy and wanton, hands clenching at Billy’s shoulder as he steadies himself. Billy gets one hand around his stiff cock, lining himself up with Steve’s hole as he commands “down.” Steve does not have to be told twice, moaning loudly as he seats himself on Billy cock, Billy groans and grins as a few more people turn their eyes on the two of them.

“What are you proposing to trade in return for our more than ample lumber yield?” Billy asks, tongue out as Steve starts bouncing on his cock, bells jingling in time with his movements, and Billy can see his head advisor's eyes starting to twitch. People start babbling snapping from their starting to shuffle through papers looking for the answer to his question.

Billy does not care about the answer, just wanted to ruffle them, hand on Steve’s hips as he encourages him to move faster, throne room filling with his moans and the jingling of his bells. Billy works the laces of Steve’s shirt loose, pulling it open and leaning in close to mouth at a nipple, one pointed tip of his crown pressing up against Steve’s throat, making his hands clench tighter as he works himself even faster.

Steve shouts as Billy’s teeth clench around his nipple, spilling cum all over Billy’s shirt, thighs shaking as he keeps sliding up and down on Billy’s cock. “Your highness, this is extremely disrespectful.” The foreign dignitary who has been watching in outrage shouts, Billy is pretty sure he is some sort of religious figure, not that he really cares.

“You don’t like it, you can get the fuck out of my court.” Billy says as he switches to Steve’s other nipple, wringing another shouted cry that echoes as the man storms out a few of his dignitaries follow, and a few staying for the show. Several of Billy’s own advisors huff and leave, as Billy cackles against Steve’s skin.

“My King.” Steve whines when Billy spends too long with his teeth tugging at a nipple, one hand tugging lightly at Billy’s curls asking for him to stop. Billy kisses up his chest, to his neck, mouthing at his spotted skin, and lapping up the sweat starting to pool, all while Steve keeps moving, bells keep jingling as he works himself on Billy’s dick, his own cock rising again.

“That’s it pretty boy, you’re going very well.” Billy encourages, before catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss, hands sliding up his back and curling around his shoulder as Billy fucks up into him, swallowing all of Steve’s little half aborted moans and groans. “You going to cum for me again?” Billy asks as he breaks the kiss, biting at the skin of Steve’s neck, bells tinkling in a slightly different melody as Billy forces his head to tip up.

“Yes my King, yes.” Steve moans loudly, fingers curled in Billy’s curls as Billy keeps slamming into him, right against his prostate.

“Do it cum for your king” Billy commands pressing Steve back, making him stretch out and fold horizontally off of the throne, hands falling to his own ankles, thighs still around Billy’s as he keeps fucking him. Billy is a little disappointed when the jingling abruptly stops, Steve’s hat falling from his head and flopping onto the ground with one last abrupt jingle.

Billy keeps one palm on Steve’s hip the other splayed across his back making sure he does not fall as Steve arches in his hold, with a shout of “My King!” Cum shooting up in an arch, falling down over his belly, and the imported carpet that has been in this throne room since before Billy became King. Billy only thrust a few more times before pulling Steve back vertical, chest to chest as he catches his mouth, groaning into it as he cums.

They are painting into each other’s mouths, as one of the less repressed foreign dignitaries starts clapping, Steve laughing and pressing his face into Billy’s neck as Billy gives a laugh of his own. Billy nudges Steve up, smirking at the little whine that leaves Steve as his softened dick slips out before settling him back down. Billy narrows his eyes when one of the foreign dignitaries that stayed behind to watch moves closer, stopping abruptly as a warning gesture from one of Billy’s guards.

“Oh we missed the show.” Heather complains loudly as she comes strolling in, Lady Robin on her arm making a face at the amount of skin Steve is showing.

“If the two of you are done, couldn’t you at least cover up. This is court, not a brothel.” she sniffs, Steve shakes as he laughs into Billy’s neck at her distasteful tone.

“Could be both, I know a lot of people who would shell out a lot of coin for a piece of your pretty jester.” Heather says nonchalantly, a teasing smile pulling at her lips as Billy glares at her.

“King's private fool, nobody else gets a piece.” Steve mumbles tiredly, Billy grinning smugly as he pets a possessive hand down Steve’s back to his ass, finger pressing in as his seed starts to leak, forcing it back where it belongs.

Prequel The King’s Fool Part 2

Alternative Jester Billy railing Steve on his throne.

#harringrove #Jellyghostfic #fanfiction #st fic #king billy hargrove #Jester Steve Harrington #I think I finally got it all out of my system

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