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saturdaysky · 3 years

Note

Time-traveling Caleb meets Essek as a child please.

(from the ask me about my WIP meme)

This WIP was one of the first things I wrote when I decided I wanted to learn to write late last year!

It began as a snippet I was writing for a prompt in the big Essek discord, something along the lines of “kid Essek proposes marriage to Caleb” -- pretty fluffy, lighthearted, and cute. Naturally this meant I plotted something bittersweet about love and the grief for selves who never were and whom we no longer have a chance to be.

The premise: Sometime in the future, Essek and Caleb are together and have developed a spell that allows temporary travel to a decayed or decaying timeline. Caleb uses it and accidentally winds up much further back in time than intended, where he meets Essek as a child. Young Essek is lonely and hides Caleb on the Thelyss estates for a week or so while Caleb rides out the spell. From there, it’s a character study as Caleb gets to know Essek in his early life.

I don’t know if I’ll finish this one. Reading through it, if I returned to it I’d want to rewrite most of it since I understand writing and these characters a little better now. So who knows! Have part of 2 scenes. :)

Scene: One hour before the spell ends and the timeline decays for good

At the sound of Caleb’s footsteps in the courtyard, Essek turns slowly to face him, posture exactingly correct in a way that speaks of both practice and nerves. He inclines his head and folds his hands in formal greeting, the grace of the gesture falling a little awkwardly on his small frame.

“Master Widogast,” he begins, and then stops. Takes a shallow breath. “I know you are to depart today. I- I wished to speak with you before you are gone.”

His tone reaches for the chilly gravitas of his mother, but a muddled panic lurks around the edges of his words. Caleb returns the formal greeting, but lets his lips curve into a friendly smile. “I am here to listen. What would you ask of me?”

The lines of Essek’s shoulders ease a fraction. He drifts over, ignoring the whorls of the tiled labyrinth below in favor of making a line straight to Caleb. He stops a foot and a half away, as close as etiquette allows, and fidgets, one hand twisting the edge of a sleeve.

“I...there is a parting gift I wished to give you.” Essek’s small fingers shake a little as he draws the line to open his wristpocket. The spell takes and he lets out a satisfied hum as a small black codex tumbles into his hands.

“I made this,” he says, pride suffusing his voice. His courteous smile brightens into unguarded excitement, before fading into something small and hesitant. “It is for you. I know you are going far away somewhere, so...so in case you need to study the floating spell I taught you, I thought you might wish for reference.”

He thrusts the book up at Caleb. “Do not show anyone. Ah, Verin said I should not have told you things at all and I could get in trouble, so maybe keep it secret.”

Caleb turns the object over in his hands. It’s a small booklet of notes on dunamancy, written in a child’s scrawl. Essek has written out the directions for the cantrip that lets him float, each step of the spell thoroughly but ineptly diagrammed. Here and there in the margins are poorly-drawn creatures it takes Caleb a moment to realize are cats.

No, Caleb realizes, not cats: cat. All of them are Frumpkin, and all of them have been drawn with the earnest appreciation of a young boy who has seen exactly one cat in his entire life and is making up for lost time.

Caleb traces a finger over the drawings, despair catching at his throat. He wants nothing more than to gather this desperately lonely child into his arms and shield him from the future that will turn him jaded and cruel, that will rip out this tender heart and replace it with callous intent.

But he can’t. He can’t save this Essek. This young echo will be gone forever in an hour. Caleb swallows the lump in his throat.

“You are very kind, Master Thelyss,” he says a little hoarsely. “It was an honor to be your student.”

Scene: Caleb returns from the spell

“Welcome back.” Essek’s silhouette is bent over the desk in front of him as he scratches out notes on a large piece of vellum, but he straightens and glances in Caleb’s direction. His sleeves are rolled up and there is a bit of ink smudged on his nose Caleb is sure he doesn’t know is there.

“Hallo,” Caleb says, meeting Essek’s eyes. They are worried and lovely, and a little tired.

Essek scans Caleb’s body, as if checking to make sure he has all the same appendages he left with. Satisfied, he lets a lopsided smile curl over his face.

“Hallo,” he replies. “That was longer than expected. Did you find the information you were looking for?”

“I did, eventually.”

Essek's eyes narrow, gaze assessing. He sets the pen down on the desk, and turns to fully face Caleb. “But…?”

There is no point in hiding it. “The spell took me back further than intended. I also met you there. As a child.” Shock briefly paints itself on Essek’s face.

“Ah. Unexpected, I- Well,” he says, slim, dark fingers twisting over themselves once before falling still, “I’m sure that was an enlightening experience.” Essek’s voice is light and carefully neutral. By degrees, his smile evens out, grows soft and pleasant. Opaque. Untouchable.

It is the last thing Caleb wants to see right now.

He crosses the floor and Essek looks up at him, eyes shuttered. Caleb cups his face and guides him into a kiss, soft at first, merely comforting himself with Essek’s presence. Essek leans into it. Comfort for the two of them, maybe.

Caleb is good at kissing, and over the last decade, he’s made a dedicated effort to be good at kissing Essek, specifically. He nips at a lower lip and deepens the kiss, drawing a decidedly unchaste noise from Essek. It soothes something in Caleb to hear it, this spark of passion beneath the mask. After a moment, fingers curl into Caleb’s shirt.

Caleb pulls back and whispers into Essek’s ear, pleased to feel him shiver in response. “You were quite the, ah, charmer. You offered your hand in marriage. Scandalous.”

Essek lets out an undignified little snort that charms Caleb to his bones. “I should think I have made my desire for you quite clear in the present. Do not try to play me against my child self, Widogast.” As if to emphasize the point, his fingers slide from Caleb’s chest, over his sides, and onto his back with deliberate slowness. Caleb doesn’t even try to repress his own shiver, and he can feel the resulting smugness radiating from Essek.

“You also taught me to float. You were a very enthusiastic teacher.”

“Did I?” Amusement drips from Essek’s voice. “It is handy for you that you figured that one out yourself years ago.” Over Essek’s shoulder, Caleb can see the notes and diagrams he’s working on. All letters and lines are crisp and precise; not a single wasted mark. There is no hint of embellishment here, Caleb sees. There are no more earnest drawings.

He buries his face in the crook where Essek’s neck meets his shoulder, taking in the comforting, familiar scent of him. Essek shifts to allow him better access, and Caleb breathes him in, letting grief settle in his chest.

After a moment, Essek’s fingers begin to trace lightly across his back, drawing comforting and repetitive patterns. Spell runes, Caleb realizes, and closes his eyes.

You were an earnest child, he does not say, and so achingly desperate for connection that you hid a strange mage in your house and taught him your favorite spell. He does not say, you were kind and you still had hope when you were young. You still talked to your brother. You loved magic like a friend, and no blood stained your hands for it.

Essek knows. Essek does not welcome pity, and Caleb cannot blame him for it. Caleb does not welcome it either.

#asks #my writing #sky learns to write 2k21 #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #catalists #the cool thing about being pretty new at this whole writing business is that you can look back at stuff you wrote and see how much better #you understand what you're doing now than you did then! even if there's certainly still a far distance to go i'm new enough that each step #feels like a big one :)

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Note

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

#asks #tickling #critical role #essek thelyss #verin thelyss #caleb widogast #chocfic

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intergalacticwanderer · 3 years

Text

It happened faster than any of them could react.

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

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

But something else started to happen.

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

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

The fingers began to disintegrate right in front of him.

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

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

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

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

Sensation and clarity of thought slammed into him.

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

“Jester...?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you all a question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Veth bristled. “Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

(Sometimes.)

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

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

Kingsley gave a start. “Wait, really?”

Fjord nodded. “Really.”

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

“Kingsley.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, how would you describe it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caduceus gestured towards her. “You go ahead.”

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

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

***

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

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

The woman was wearing a red coat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One final set of cards was placed. Revealed.

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

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

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

“Kingsley.”

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

Her concern didn’t fade.

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

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

She tilted her head, gaze growing sharp.

“There are if you want there to be.”

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

Three names, he realized.

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

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

“... maybe not.”

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

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

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

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

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

The shuffling of the cards stopped.

“Do you want to know that answer?”

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

“Yes.”

He wasn’t going to take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why me?”

He’d just said that out loud. Fuck.

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

“Why not you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mollymauk was... him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She glowed a little brighter, surroundings starting to fade.

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

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

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

He closed his eyes, for a single blink-

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

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

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

“See! I told you, he’s fine.”

Jester gasped. “Kingsley!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See! He did do something!”

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

“T-the Moonweaver.”

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

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

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

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

“It went badly,” Fjord said bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you learn?” Yasha asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kingsley hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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itcameuponamidnightqueer · 3 years

Text

beau wakes up calm.

it’s a feeling so pervasive that she’s almost unsettled by it. their lives aren’t calm right now, between eiselcross and vess de rogna and now these eyes that keep popping up all over her and caleb. any calm she feels is usually immediately overshadowed by guilt for feeling it.

but beau can’t find it in her to feel guilty right now, not when the tower is quiet and there is a large, warm arm thrown protectively over her stomach. not when beau can feel the tickle of hot air at the back of her neck as yasha breathes, steady and restful in a way she doesn’t get to be when she’s awake. beau considers learning magic just so she can stop time and give yasha all the rest she deserves.

for now, she slowly rolls onto her back, taking care not to jostle yasha or slip out from under her secure embrace. she rolls over and doesn’t open her eyes until she’s on her back, the mirror directly above her, waiting.

it’s a sex mirror. of course it’s that, because caleb said as much when he told her about it, and god, does she owe him a week’s worth of uninterrupted research or whatever nerdy thing he wants in return. it’s a sex mirror and she and yasha have checked that off their list already, at least for the first time. second, fourth, something--they have definitely checked that off their list for a quantifiable number of times, it’s just that beau doesn’t quite know the number.

it’s a sex mirror but it’s also not because it’s more, because beau opens her eyes and can see the two of them as they are now--wrapped together, heavy and sticky in the illusory sunlight, sheets draped carelessly across their legs. they look good together. it isn’t the first time beau’s thought that, and with any luck (and a lot of hard work), it won’t be the last. but this is the first time that beau’s had the chance to really sink into that feeling, to see the reality of it and commit it to memory.

beau takes her time looking, glances over her own familiar body and the way it melts against one she can’t wait to know better. she should be a little cold perhaps, given that the sheets don’t go any higher than her hips and she hasn’t been wearing clothes for a good couple of hours. but yasha is so very there, so wide and curled around her in a way that seeks comfort as much as gives it. she’s on her side, the parts of her that aren’t touching beau sprawled greedily across the expanse of the bed. beau could spend hours looking at this reflection of them, of yasha and the curve of her muscles; the way her skin actually seems to create a glare in the early morning light. it’s so bright normally, even brighter now for the nearness of beau. time is fleeting and the tower will disappear soon and so beau is greedy--she looks at the angle of yasha’s legs, the way she twitches her toes on the one foot that hangs over the edge of the bed. beau looks at yasha’s back, the slope and strength of it; she remembers how solid and warm it felt under her fingers just a few hours ago. beau has known how sturdy yasha is since they met--has lusted over it since then, to be honest--but to feel it within her grasp, to be pressed against it and to have it soften and yield at her touch…

beau would learn magic to give yasha the peace she needs. she would learn art to memorialize this moment and the way they look together.

she watches yasha sleep, clocks the way her nose is pressed into the crook of beau’s neck. she almost cries at the drape of yasha’s arm across her chest--a few inches down and she’d have a handful of boob. as it is, beau’s heart is beating a rhythm right into yasha’s palm.

beau turns her head away from yasha and clears her throat. “hey.” she clears it again when it becomes clear just how ragged it’s gotten. “dachsies, can you hear me? or do i have to yell.” she waits, straining to listen for the soft clink of a tiny bell or two. “frumpkin?” she tries again.

there is a faint ‘mrrp’ and the door to her bedroom opens slightly, just wide enough for a lithe fey cat to slip through. she can’t see frumpkin as he enters the room, but he’s there all of a sudden, jumping noiselessly and weightlessly on top of the bed.

he stares at her expectantly and beau wishes very much that caleb isn’t snooping, too.

frumpkin walks forward and sits next to her, the not-quite-fur of his tail swishing against her side. beau can’t help reaching out with the hand that isn’t trapped by yasha’s body and giving him a few scratches under his chin. he preens, closes his eyes tilts up to give her a better angle, and settles right back into his serious face when she pulls away.

“can you get the hot tub going again,” beau murmurs, “with some nice shampoos and shit? and maybe start working on a few dozen pancakes; i’m sure the others are gonna barge in here soon. make sure there’s a stack of spider ones for me and yash.”

frumpkin chirps again, butts his head against her chest as he jumps off the bed. beau reaches out to affectionately grab his tail, chuckling as it slips through her hands.

yasha is awake when beau turns back to look at her.

“hello,” yasha whispers. “good morning.” beau cuts her off with a kiss. “i love you.”

beau smiles at that, rolls over and presses herself firmly into yasha. she repositions yasha’s arm to wrap around her back, laughs when yasha drifts downward and squeezes her ass. beau kisses her again and again, slow and firm, catching any inch of lips or neck that she might have missed before. her hands roam without any destination, traipsing over the plane of yasha’s stomach, tickling at the dimples in her shoulders underneath which her wings sprout. beau knows how sensitive those spots are now, and she presses her fingers against them, syncs that up with another determined kiss. she doesn’t miss the way yasha’s tongue stutters against her own, the brief loss of contact she sacrifices to gasp, just a little.

yasha’s nails turn inwards and dig into beau’s hips, and beau returns the favor.

beau reaches upward and grips yasha’s chin, marveling at the fact that her thumb seems to fit perfectly over the line of black beneath yasha’s lip. she pulls away and tickles the skin there, can’t resist one more kiss, especially when it elicits that special, breathy kind of laugh from yasha.

she makes sure yasha’s eyes are open and looking at her before she speaks.

“i love you, too,” beau says, her voice deeper and hoarser than usual, even for the morning. “last night was...i won’t ever forget it, yash.”

“me either.”

“might have been the best night of my life.”

“not if i have anything to say about it,” yasha winks. “i wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“yeah,” beau sighs--breathes, really, and she falls a little more in love with the way yasha doesn’t turn her face away from what is definitely a bad case of morning breath. “we’ve still got some time before we have to, though. the dogs are setting up the hot tub right now.”

yasha laughs, deep and rumbly and beau feels it in her chest. “before all of you i never would have understood that sentence.”

“right?”

“mhm. it is--a very fun thing to think about.”

yasha gently lifts a strand of hair from beau’s face and tucks it behind her ear. beau watches the entire time, so entranced by the size and safety of yasha’s hands, so determined to follow their path with a kiss, that she misses yasha’s other hand coming up to rest behind her legs, and beau lets out a very uncool yelp as yasha lifts her from the bed.

yasha drags them across the mattress, stands and gets herself situated, and it isn’t until they’re halfway to the floating pad that beau clocks exactly how she’s being carried.

yasha’s arms are confident beneath her shoulders and legs, and beau has looped her arms around yasha’s neck instinctually, and tears start to well up in this moment of realization.

“yasha…”

yasha stops walking, leans down and kisses her, and it isn’t because they’re naked that beau is glad no one can see them right now.

beau flutters through her feelings and rests her head against yasha’s chest, silently, as they float gently down to the hot tub.

everything seems more muted in the daytime--the lionesses aren’t as imposing, the slides aren’t as tempting. but the steam and smells are just as inviting, and beau lets herself be carried into the water, settling into the warmth as yasha reaches for the soaps.

they both slip under the water; beau shakes her head and scratches at her scalp while she lingers, getting out the last of her restless energy. she pops back above the surface and drifts over to yasha, who has settled into the corner, her arms resting elegantly atop the stone edges. beau drops into yasha’s lap without a word, humming, content, as yasha’s arms slip back into the water and wrap around her body. yasha snakes her legs over the parts of beau that her arms can’t reach until beau is completely covered, completely enveloped in her love.

beau has always been attracted to women who could break her--big, strong women whose bigness and strength almost always equated to a good, long time in the bedroom. and yasha has that in spades--probably invented it--but it sure is fuckin’ something else to know that breaking is only half of it, that the flip side is that beau can be fully contained and sheltered in yasha’s arms. bigness is a comfort as much as it is a challenge. yasha uses her size to hold and cherish just as much as she uses it to fight.

beau sinks down so that her nose is just above the surface of the water, and tries her very best to pretend she isn’t crying. the effort is abandoned when she gets out of her head and realizes yasha is very carefully and very thoughtfully soaping up her hair with thick, gentle fingers.

beau sits up a bit and spits some water from her lips. “how come you’re so good at that?”

yasha takes a moment to think, tilts beau’s head back so she can rinse the shampoo out. “zuala and i didn’t have as much time together as i wanted,” she answers, “but we made sure to treasure every moment we were allowed.” she rubs her hands together, presumably spreading conditioner over them; beau can hear the slickness of it echo through the air. “i am able to follow a god because i had a wife once,” she says, quiet and matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

god.

“well, fuck.” beau closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders as yasha’s hands knead through her hair again. “did you--i mean, i don’t want to overstep but--it was like this? all the time?”

yasha is quiet again, patient with her feelings and beau and the combination of the two. she slows her ministrations and rests her hands on the sides of beau’s face, her thumbs tickling at beau’s ears.

“the only similarity between the love i feel for zuala and the love i feel for you is that it is coming from me,” yasha finally says. “it was like this, yes--and it wasn’t like this at all. it was different because it was her. the whole world was different because it was her, you know?”

beau nods. “hope so,” she replies. “trying to, at least.”

yasha squeezes her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of her soapy head. she gently pushes beau underwater and scrubs her hair clean with a little more force this time. beau lays back and watches, smiles as yasha scoops a hand underwater and brushes it over her lips.

beau sits back up feeling more refreshed and loved than she ever has in her whole life.

she swirls around to face yasha, lets the water guide her back to yasha’s lap. beau hooks her legs around yasha’s torso, lets the water hold her up as she drapes yasha’s hair over her shoulders.

“your braids could use a little touch-up,” she murmurs.

yasha, so sensitive and careful about her hair, simply nods and watches as beau lets it out, making tidy piles with the ties and ribbons on the ledge. yasha’s hair billows out once the last bunch is free; in the water, she looks beautiful and serene.

beau rests her hands on either side of yasha’s face, swipes her thumbs under yasha’s eyes as they kiss. “thank you,” she says, softly, “for loving me.”

yasha sighs and kisses her again. “you make it easy, beau. you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do,” beau insists. “for now, i do.”

she directs yasha away from the wall, takes her place in the shampoo corner. it’s a little different this time--beau can’t surround yasha quite as fully, and she has to wrap her legs around yasha and float to get a good angle to wash her hair. but yasha doesn’t complain, and she rests her arms on beau’s thighs and slides her hands over her legs, soothing and present. the water never cools off and the dogs are somewhere else, and for a few quiet moments, nothing in the world exists except this tub in this tower, hidden in a smelly, dirty tavern.

they’re clean and laughing in the kitchen by the time the rest of the party trickles in. beau can hear jester and veth speaking at cartoonishly loud volumes, announcing themselves just in case beau and yasha are doing anything worth being interrupted.

beau smiles, grabs a spider-less bite of pancake, and squeezes yasha’s hand.

“oh, here they are,” caduceus says as they file in. he takes a deep breath and smiles at the spread of food. “what a feast.”

he disappears, probably to make some tea, and beau looks at yasha for just a moment longer before the energy is too much to ignore.

she turns and almost bursts out laughing at the sight of everyone, lined up in front of the table, watching the two of them intently. veth’s eyes are as big as saucers and jester’s are shimmering, her hands clamped over her mouth. next to her, fjord is blushing and even caleb is sporting a smile, reluctant though it may look.

“hey,” beau says. she smiles casually and she means it.

“you’re so cute!!” jester shouts, flinging her hands away from her face. “oh my god, you guys, you have to tell me everything; i’m so happy for you even though we had to sleep in that super stinky room. please tell me it was worth it.”

beau laughs, winks as she tickles yasha’s hand. “totally worth it, jes,” she promises. she gets up from the table, kisses yasha’s knuckles as she does, and gestures for jester to take her seat. “talk to yasha for a sec, okay? i left you some spider-cakes.”

beau is too focused on grabbing caleb to notice the way jester scrunches her nose.

she doesn’t catch fjord’s eye as she leads caleb out of the room and she definitely doesn’t look anywhere near veth. she just drags her cranky wizard to a corner out of eyesight of any window in the kitchen and crosses her arms.

“if you’re about to tell me everything,” caleb says, “please don’t be offended when i say that i would be happier not to hear it.”

“what? no, gross. i mean, not gross-gross, but because--you, gross, right?” beau clears her throat, gently punches caleb’s shoulder to center herself. “i don’t...wanna tell you stuff. i just wanted to do this away from everyone else.”

caleb narrows his eyes. “do what?”

beau steps forward and hugs him. there’s no hesitation or coaching this time, just a strong press of her arms, and she stays there as long as it takes for him to hug back and mean it.

“thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “this was….very special to me.”

“of course,” caleb mutters. “you need only ask, beauregard.”

“yeah, you say that, but it’s like--i know it, now.” to her horror, beau sniffles.

“i am glad you had a good time.”

“the best.”

“you smell very nice. thank you for bathing before hugging me.”

“i got you, dude.”

“can you let go of me now?”

“yeah, sure.” beau steps back and gives him one last shoulder squeeze.

caleb nods and squeezes back. he snaps his fingers and frumpkin is there, leaping onto his shoulder as they walk back toward the kitchen,

#critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #this is??? soft and gay and so much???#idk you guys i had a lot of feelings and this is what happened #i'll post it on ao3 later but for now i must eat something #long post #tumblr fic #cr: regular nein

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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A Lovely birthday present for @sapphicquill! A fic full of all her favorite things for my favorite person on the planet!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, The Poly Nein - Relationship Characters: Caleb Widogast, Fjord (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Tickling, Teasing, Verbal teasing, Fjord’s a charismatic fuck, and will wreck a wizard, Kink Negotiation, Praise Kink, tickle kink, critickle role, Cuddling & Snuggling, Pinned, All Tieflings Are Knismos, Begging, Communication, Dom Fjord (Critical Role), Sub Caleb Widogast, Light Dom/sub Summary:

With their tiefling lovers away visiting their people, Caleb and Fjord are left alone in the tower. Caleb has an itch. A want. No, a need. If only he could bring himself to ask for it.

Read on Ao3 or here:

He should have just asked.

As agonizing as that would have been, Jester wouldn’t have even teased him about it. She would have smiled and opened her arms, inviting him in, and turned him into a puddle before she left. Clearly a better option than the one he was stuck in.

Molly would have teased him, sure, but his eagerness to get on with the thing would have made it short-lived, and the results would have been the same.

He might have even been able to rope both of them, if he really wanted it. Gods, did he really want it. Now they were both in Nicodranas for the week, and an unexpected call from the Cobalt Soul had emptied their home further, until it contained one unique set of marbles that rattled around in the emptiness. Caleb himself… and Fjord.

It was so rare that they were alone together, their social lives whittled away from the web of their found family to their own unique love and camaraderie. Caleb would never tell Beau about Fjord’s skipped workouts. Fjord would keep quiet about the many long nights Caleb would spend buried in books and surviving on whatever food his insistent little cats could entice him with.

They were intimate, though with the others gone they fell into the pattern of a slow, quiet midday fuck in the library rather than mind-melting tickle attacks.

As warm as their days together were, Caleb was feeling the absence of the others. Had he really become this dependent? Had he lived so long with the luxury of insightful tiefling lovers (with a crew of accomplices) that he couldn’t go more than a few days without? Evidence said yes.

Specifically, the way his nerves had ignited when Fjord poked his head into the library late that night.

“Caleb?” He waited for the wizard’s gaze, “Come to bed tonight, hm? It’s getting lonely.”

“Oh…” Caleb felt his face alight, “It’s been so late, I didn’t want to wake you…”

Fjord waved a hand with an affectionate grin. “I know. I’m not offended. I don’t care if you wake me, though. Come to bed.”

Caleb returned the smile, hoping the shiver that chased itself around his skin wasn’t visible from the doorway. “ Ja , ok. I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

~~~

Caleb would swear to himself, even later, that he hadn’t meant to wake Fjord. He’d stepped into his lovers’ bedroom with every intention of creeping over to the empty side of the bed and slipping between the covers, quiet as a mouse. Unfortunately he’d left his sea legs on a ship many months before.

The gentle rocking that he’d enchanted into the bedroom combined with pitch blackness and an exhausted mind sent him tumbling into a piece of furniture— a chair?— then over it and onto the floor with a clatter. He was upright again by the time Fjord roused.

“Caleb? Are you alright?”

“Ja, just clumsy.” Caleb assured him, hurriedly putting himself into the bed and holding perfectly still. “I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

His attempt to be inconspicuous was thwarted when one arm slung itself around his middle and pulled him in to spoon with a long, even sigh. “‘Kay.”

Caleb tried to relax into Fjord’s warm embrace, until the other man’s hand started to move. One broad, smooth palm stroked his chest, stomach, side, ribcage… all in firm, gentle strokes that didn’t tickle. At all . Caleb wanted to whimper and squirm, try to catch Fjord’s fingertips against a sensitive spot and earn some little zing of sensation, but he’d already woken him once. Instead he sat very still with his skin aglow with desperation until Fjord drifted off and his hand stilled. Caleb fell asleep not long after, still wholly sensitized and half-hard.

Between basic biology and want-filled dreams, neither situation had resolved itself by morning. In fact, as it did most mornings, his skin felt more sensitive as it awakened. Caleb hadn’t opened his eyes yet when he felt the press of cool lips against the heated skin at the back of his neck, sending shivers rattling through his thin frame.

“Good morning.” Fjord’s voice was a low, sleepy rumble that made Caleb shiver for entirely different reasons.

“Morning” Caleb returned through a yawn, stretching as best he could without wriggling out of Fjord’s embrace.

He found himself suddenly sharply aware of the placement of Fjord’s hands where they were wrapped around his torso, and the restraining weight of one muscular leg thrown over his hip. Still half asleep, he bumped against the embrace with a satisfied little hum before settling his own gangly form within Fjord’s larger one.

“What are you getting up to, today?” Caleb mumbled against the pillows, still wiping sleep from his eyes.

That’s when Fjord’s embrace suddenly tightened, his arms pulling Caleb in close while his leg stopped him from curling up to press him, stretched, against the length of his companion’s form.

“Well, you know…” Fjord yawned, “I’d thought with the tiefs gone you might like a little break from certain things, seeing as how they do get you pretty often. But I’m starting to think that was a mistake on my part.”

Caleb’s skin ignited and he squirmed, suddenly breathless. “I— wait —” For what, even Caleb wasn’t sure.

Fjord chuckled into his shoulders. “Aw, you don’t need to pretend, Caleb. I felt a little bad letting you fall asleep in such a state last night, but it was late, and I know how much more sensitive you are in the mornings.” With that he clenched his fingers, settling their tips on Caleb’s rib cage like needlepoints only to hold perfectly still.

“ Fjord! ” Caleb whined, but it was barely more than a wheeze. He fought the urge to squirm.

“Yes? Did you need something?”

“ Bitte .”

Another chuckle, then hot breath in Caleb’s ear. “Bitty what? Maybe we should make this a lesson in asking for what you want from people who love you. I can stand in for Jester and Caduceus.”

Caleb gritted his teeth, unable to even consider saying the word. He didn’t need to. It was so close . He let out a wordless, pleading whine. Fjord was one of the more susceptible of the nein to pleading.

One of Fjord’s hands tossed the blankets to the side and exposed a long flank of pale skin, currently bound by strong green limbs. The same hand started to float above Caleb’s side, fingers flicking to set off interspersed giggles from the trapped wizard.

“It’s not a burden, you know. Look how easy it is to rile you. Hardly a chore. I don’t even need to touch you…”

Caleb could only whine and giggle, eyes locked on Fjord’s floating hand. The half-orc’s other arm was still wrapped around Caleb’s torso, gripping the wizard’s arms tightly to keep them out of his way.

“…just imagine how bad it’s gonna be when I do.”

Caleb thrashed a little against his restraint with his eyes shut tight, half to hide from the teasing and half out of embarrassment over the squeaking strings of giggles he was producing without so much as a touch.

A smooth palm strokeed at this stomach in a move that would have been comforting had he been calmer, but instead his eyes shot open with a hiccoughing yelp that turned into a whine as the hand withdrew and started floating once more.

“You’re gonna have to say it, if you want it. I could do it just how you love it. Start out nice and slow…”

Fjord’s fingers started to drift again, his fingers skating a scant inch above the soft skin of Caleb’s stomach. Caleb’s eyes were open and locked in a wide, giddy panic. He was already getting breathless.

“…or I could get a little more serious…”

Fingers crooked and made a clawing motion over Caleb’s ribcage, making him squeal and kick his feet against the mattress.

“…or maybe a little beard action…”

“No!” Caleb squeaked, his neck collapsing backward. Fjord hadn’t done anything, but the knowledge that said beard was just out of sight and free to wreak havoc was enough.

“No? Why not?” Fjord asked, hooking one finger to menace above Caleb’s armpit. “Keep telling me ‘no’ instead of 'please tickle me Fjord’ and I might really stop. Just let you marinade for the rest of the week and tell the tieflings how bad you need it when they get home, hmm?”

“No-hohoho! Evil!”

“What’s evil?” Fjord asked patiently, chuckling at the frustrated sound it pulled from the trapped wizard. “Not my beard! You were singing its praises not too long ago. Remember that night? The one where Jester and I kissed you from head to toe?”

The sense memory lit Caleb up. He hid in the bicep of his trapped arm and groaned, feet mussing the sheets further.

“ Der teufel … you’re a fucking devil… they should have brought you with, to their tiefling retreat!”

“Careful, if those two had decided to make exceptions to the tieflings-only rule they would have packed you in a suitcase and served you on a plate.” Fjord’s fingers flexed in the air once more, and Caleb made a sound like he was dying.

“Hang in there, now, what if I were to grab that rope that’s tied under the headboard… and the paintbrushes in the bedside drawer… and I get real patient with your armpits to see how long you can take it.”

One cautious finger was set down carefully on the thin skin at the back of his armpit, too firm and still to really tickle, but Caleb sobbed into his bicep all the same. He felt Fjord shift.

“Are you crying ? Oh, I cannot wait to show Jester this new trick. How to make you wail and cry without doling out one single tickle?”

Caleb didn’t want to prove him right, but he couldn’t help the little wail that escaped. Jester didn’t need to learn to tease like this . Nobody needed to learn to tease like this. In fact, if Fjord didn’t stop teasing, Caleb was pretty due he was going to melt and be absorbed into the mattress like spilled tea.

“Fjord no , stop —”

Suddenly the pinprick sensation near his armpit was gone. The weight of Fjord’s leg was gone, as was Fjord himself. Caleb kicked himself upright, head on a swivel. The half-orc was already pulling on a shirt.

“What…?”

“I told you, if you kept telling me no, I’d stop.”

Cold shock slid down Caleb’s spine, his stomach dropping.

“ Please , Fjord!”

“Please what?”

Caleb made a frustrated sound, balling his hands into fists in the sheets. “Please do everything you just threatened to, you arschloch !” Then he felt a thrill of panic as he was pinned under the paladin’s gaze.

A wicked grin split Fjord’s features as he turned and stalked back towards the bed. “ Everything? Well, I was going to make you say the word, but that’s an offer I can’t refuse. C’mere.”

Whatever fight Caleb had found at the prospect of being abandoned drained out of him as Fjord pushed him backward and sprawled across him.

“So…” Fjord questioned, one eyebrow raised as his hand started to float again. “I’m afraid I can’t quite remember my list… gonna need some help from that keen mind of yours.”

Caleb groaned.

“What was that first thing again?”

It was a ruse. It was a trick. Caleb didn’t care. He was going to combust. His arms were already thrown up to hide his face, so from that hiding place he croaked “Start off slow…”

“Right, right… slow.” Fjord purred.

It turned out that there would be no going slow that morning, because the second his fingers started to skate around Caleb’s navel the wizard’s arms snapped down to protect his torso while he dissolved into breathless, pitchy laughter.

“Oh dear, you’re in big trouble, aren’t you? So riled up already.”

“St— nahaha— don’t tease! ”

“Oh… that was not part of the deal. What’s next?”

“ Nahaha— you know! ”

“Nope.” Fjord was nonchalant as he took the other man apart with one fingertip. “Sorry, don’t remember…”

Caleb hugged his ribcage tighter with one arm and pressed his other fist against his mouth. “Get ahahaha— little mohohore serious!”

His attempts to hide were universally futile. Fjord’s hands started to hop and skip around his torso, delivering a ticklish pinch and prod at every open space he could find without ever trying to get Caleb’s hands out of the way, a sharp reminder of how helpless Caleb was to stop him.

Caleb’s laughter kicked up in a way that left him without breathe to plead or squeal, so he settled for wrapping both arms around his ribs and rolling onto his side to put his face in the pillow.

“Nope.” Two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and flattened him out on his back. “No hiding. Watching you fall apart is the best bit.”

Caleb wailed at his exposure, his laughter leaving him weak enough for Fjord to slide his hands around his ribcage and dig in more thoroughly. Caleb arched his back and tossed his head in an attempt to drive the sensation away, but he could only cackle and accept his fate for the time being.

Fjord finally let him catch his breath a short while later, hands still in their attack position but with stilled fingers. “So…” he purred over the sounds of Caleb’s hiccuping gasps “What was the next one?”

Caleb had only a few breaths to collect himself, a little thrill of rebellion rising in his chest. “You were going to… hic… get the r-rope…”

“That’s right! Now I remember.” Fjord purred again, kissing a few stray tears of laughter away from Caleb’s face as he reached one arm between the mattress and the headboard to pull out a length of silken red rope (an absolutely mortifying gift from Marion Lavorre that had sparked quite the conversation about privacy) and wrap it around both of Caleb’s wrists.

The wizard sighed in relief as his deception went unnoticed, then quivered at the helpless stretch of his body. He hid his face in the bends of his arms while Fjord settled next to him.

“See, the only problem with this paintbrush idea…” Fjord mused, watching Caleb’s breath even out. “Is that you’re a fuckin liar and that’s not what I said next.”

Caleb managed one quick, panicked gasp as the accusation landed, but the unbearable scrape of a beard across the side of his ribcage drew it all out of him in a squeal.

“Aaaah! Nein! No! Stahp! ”

“Say ‘please tickle me Fjord’.”

“ Nahaha —” Caleb wheezed “ Can’t— can’t! Bitte!”

“Oh, that’s right, it was supposed to be your armpits, wasn’t it?” One strong hand gripped an elbow, pinning it next to one flushed cheek to stretch the thin skin beneath.

“ Nahahaha! ” Caleb shrieked as Fjord hovered his lips just above his underarm, warm breath already making the wizard’s entire body rigid with ticklish panic.

“Say iiiiiit” Fjord sing-songed, his words drawing out a fresh wave of hysterics. “Say it or I’ll stay like this forever…”

Caleb swallowed, gasped and hiccuped for a moment before finally choking out “ P-please tickle me, Fjord. ”

“Good boy…” Fjord’s voice was soothing, but he had to raise it to be heard over the screams of laughter that the gentle bump of his nose and soft brush of his lips ripped out of the wizard beneath him. “I am so proud of you. I’m going to tell Jester all about it, and she’ll be proud of you too.”

He kept it up for a few moments, even after he stopped showering Caleb with praise, applying a good nuzzle to the ticklish armpit before releasing the wizard to melt into a giggly puddle in the middle of his bed.

“Would have been so much easier if you’d just asked,” he murmured into ginger hair, “but you know that, didn’t you?”

#the poly nein #caleb widogast #fjord #tk fic #critickle role #tickling #tickle fic #poes prose

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

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I know I already sent u a prompt idea but it just hit me that once Essek goes into hiding, him and Caleb could end up easily having a conversation about their experiences, what they missed until they didn’t have it, or techniques, how similar/different their circumstances were, etc. There’s lots of potential (heh) for angst or comedy or both :)

Anyways, do what you will with this info ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

This is a really lovely prompt and I think I took it in a bit of a different direction than you were thinking, but I hope you still like it!

My partner got back last year from studying in another province for 3 years so for nearly half the time we've been together we've been apart so this is a little about that. Please enjoy!

----------

As Essek teleports in, he nearly crumples where he stands from sheer relief. The only thing keeping him from doing so is a fluffy black cat who’s immediately begun curling around his ankles. He lifts the offending creature and stares directly into mischievous green eyes, “Now sir, I understand you are excited to see me. I am glad to see you in good health Ernst but I must insist you allow me to walk unimpeded. Otherwise we’ll have an incident on our hands and you know how long that paperwork takes.” Ernst, who knows nothing of bureaucracy, blinks lazily back.

“It has to be done in triplicate Ernst! I think we’d both rather avoid that headache.” There’s a soft laugh from the doorway as he sets the cat on the ground and he scampers off to bother a sibling.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at dearest, that’s at least two hours of writing for something that isn’t difficult to avoid in the first place.”

“I know Schatz, I just missed you.” Caleb’s eyes crinkle and they quickly close the distance between them to fade into an embrace.

Pulling back, Essek can’t keep the smile from his face, “I missed you too. I missed this.” The house smells of bread and a light soup, Caleb smells of incense and firewood and he buries his face in his husband’s neck.

“You’ve been gone a long time, why don’t we eat? Tell me about your travels.”

Some time later, after he’s gone through the series of failed leads that had led to his eventual success in locating another beacon, untouched and unknown by the Dynasty, he lands on what’s really bothering him. “It’s much different than I expected, being in hiding that is.”

“Ja, I know that feeling well. The first few years, before I met Veth, it was very solitary.”

Essek nods, “It’s so strange, to be reading and to have a thought I can’t voice to you immediately. I had gotten so used to this, something I never thought I’d have, and now I find myself talking to empty rooms more often than not.”

Caleb nods, “Ja, sometimes when there was a knock at the door something in me would try to find a rational way for you to be on the other side of it. I remember that loneliness too, I would go weeks without using my voice in the warmer months, sleeping on the outskirts of cities and towns scrounging by on stolen food.”

An old bruise on Essek’s heart squeezes. They’ve told each other everything over the years, he doesn’t think there’s an aspect of his own long life that he hasn’t gone over with Caleb. In turn Caleb has gifted his story to Essek in chunks, as it had been bearable to talk about it. Every wound and scar, every silver lining and bright spot amidst so much darkness.

Caleb never deserved any of that. “I would almost prefer I didn’t have to use my voice. I cannot for the life of me keep names consistent with disguises. I had given out three variations on the same name in one city and had to leave when I saw two people I’d spoken with conversing.”

He earns a laugh with that, hearty and low in the chest. It’s his favourite sound, he’s missed that too. “Yes Mr. Lord Lord from around, we all know how you are with your personas. At least you have the benefit of disguise magic.”

He joins in the laughter then. Thinks back to a memory that is still accompanied by a dull ache, but that he can now look back on with a twinge of fondness. That version of him had been so lost, so sorely in need of guidance. He’d gotten what he needed, he is working towards better now, he’s taken care of his younger self and that feels good in a way.

“There are so many things I didn’t know to be thankful for. Even something as simple as walls and a roof to contain heat, or the padding of the cats’ feet.” He hears a cup rattle to the ground, “Hanz, if that’s broken it will come out of your paycheque.” he calls into the next room as a tortoiseshell cat bolts away from the scene of the crime.

Caleb just laughs again and Essek savours the melody. He’s missed the glow of the amber lights that float around the dinner table, the stacks of notes or stray books that litter every available counter surface, Caleb.

His wizard reaches across to take his hand, “I am glad you’re back Schatz. Now don’t think I haven’t noticed the limp you’re walking with. Let me take a look before we retire.”

He rolls his eyes, but the truth is he’s quite injured. “Fine.” he huffs and Caleb laughs at his put on annoyance. “It was dire wolves. They caught me off guard.” His eyebrows knot and he leaves to get warm water, soaps, and cloths.

“Schatz this is a deep bite, perhaps I should notify Jester?”

He shakes his head, “We went through all of Aeor without them, I will be fine.”

Hissing at the warm water poured over puncture wounds, Caleb starts talking again to distract him. “One of the things I used to miss was my name. I think this one suits me now, but that’s because people know Caleb. For a long time nobody knew me by a name and those who knew Bren were a danger to me. It’s strange to lose something as arbitrary and as important as a name.”

Essek nods, “My name was power in my corner for a very long time. Now it is just a bitter reminder in some ways. But I like how it sounds when you say it so I will keep it.”

Caleb smiles down at him, pressing a blessed kiss to his forehead and continues to wash and wrap his wound. “I missed you Caleb.”

“I missed you too Essek.”

“I will have to leave again one day.”

“I know Schatz, I will be here when you get back.”

“I will always come back.”

His wound is wrapped, their bed is warm. Before falling into his trance he curls back into Caleb’s chest and thinks that it will be a while before he can bear to leave again now that he has someone to miss.

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ariadne-mouse · 3 years

Text

Passenger

(Shadowgast, 528 words, small canon divergence in Ep 132)

The group stared over the edge of the icy cliff.

“Essek, can you take someone with you?”

“Yes, I can support the weight of one additional person, provided they are not excessively larger than myself.”

As one, the Mighty Nein looked at Caleb.

Caleb coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do we want, ah, both wizards in one basket? If we both fall, there will be no one to catch the rest of you.”

“I would not let us fall,” Essek spoke up, a little too quickly. He paused at the way everyone’s eyes swiveled back to him, then cleared his throat and continued with an academic tone, “My graviturgy cantrip has remained unaffected by Aeor’s wildmagic, as of yet. Seeing as we are not yet even inside the ruins, it should be quite safe... whomever I am taking along.” He smiled a cool, confident smile, and did not look at Caleb.

“You are the most fragile, Caleb,” Veth pointed out, then spoke in a stage whisper to Essek. “You’d think because he’s tall, he might be stronger, but he’s actually very delicate.”

Caleb tilted his face up to the sky and sighed, his breath a puff of vapor in the cold.

“You heard the woman,” Beau grinned and clapped Caleb on the back, hard enough to knock him forward a step. “Snuggle up, Caleb.”

The Mighty Nein all stood there, waiting.

Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets and approached Essek, the snow crunching under his boots with each step. There was a splotch of red high in his cheeks. “Shall we, then? Do you need to actually carry me?”

Essek ducked his head, hiding a crooked smile. “Ah… no,” he replied, then held out his hand, palm up. “Simple contact should suffice.”

Caleb frowned. “Should we not keep our hands free to cast? At least one of us? If the others fall...”

Essek looked warily at their audience. “I could… touch your shoulder, instead?”

“Fair enough,” Caleb agreed.

Jester made a loud, disappointed noise.

“Let’s go, I think?” Essek said. “We should not linger here.”

“Ja,” Caleb replied.

Essek rested his hand on Caleb’s shoulder, just under the edge of his heavy lapel and scarf, and the pair of them drifted a few inches off the ground and over the edge of the cliff.

For the smallest moment, they were alone as they floated down the sheer ice. The view ahead of them was resplendent - the sunlight on the ice and snow turned everything to glittering diamond dust, made eerie by the behemoth shape of Aeor’s tilted disk underneath it. Even the cold wind nipping at their faces wasn’t enough to lessen the magnificence.

Caleb glanced over at Essek, and found him just looking away. At the same time, Caleb’s foot scuffed and caught against the cliff behind him, and he hurriedly grabbed Essek’s wrist for fear that he’d be knocked loose.

“I have you,” Essek murmured, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.

Caleb held on a second longer, anyway.

“You guys are lame!” Beau called as she shot past them, descending with her monk abilities as easily as a raindrop sliding down a glass pane.

“Monks,” Essek said, shaking his head.

“Monks,” Caleb agreed.

#ariadne writes CR #tumblr snippets #critical role #c2e132 #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast

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adhd-disaster-willie · 3 years

Text

home is wherever you are tonight

summary: Alex and Willie are suffocating beneath their respective parental figures, so, barely 20 and scrambling to just breathe, they leave LA. And they also slow dance.

notes: this was gonna just be a like 800 word fic of them dancing but I have no self control so I ended up with this monstrosity. (also, maybe listen to apple pie by lizzy mcalpine while reading)

word count: 2,600

---

“I been runnin' 'round

Try'na find a place where I can breathe

But me oh my

I found you

Under an april sky

And you feel like

City life, apple pie baked just right

Home is wherever you are tonight”

---

The early morning tastes like coffee and Willie’s breath mints, gentle laughter lingering on his lips. And Alex has never been a morning person, but with the first rays of sun in his eyes and boxes crammed into every empty space in his car, he thinks that maybe he should wake up early more often.

The road seems to stretch endlessly ahead of them, but Alex can’t tell if the tension in his chest is anxiety or anticipation. Willie squeezes his hand in reassurance as he starts the car and they take a deep breath in unison, realizing it’s maybe the first time they’ve ever been able to truly breathe.

They’re several miles down the highway, shoved in between cardboard boxes and the dry August heat; and Alex’s car is cramped and smells of fast food and summer and Willie Willie Willie. Alex adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, mumbling the words to whatever song is playing on the clunky, staticky radio. The whole world seems softer, with the sun dipping just below the horizon, the last dregs of light sticking to the clouds and painting them pink. Alex sighs contentedly, a grin tugging at the ends of his lips. Willie has their hand stuck out the open window, giggling into the rushing air like it’s telling him the whole world’s secrets. And with their other hand gripped in his own, no reason to let go ever, Alex thinks that the secrets of the universe are laid right out on the dashboard for him to hold.

“What’s so funny?” Alex asks, although it’s less of a question and more a reason to hear Willie’s voice.

“We’re running away together,” Willie replies breathlessly. He laughs again, throwing his head back and stretching his arm farther out the window like he’s trying to touch the clouds.

“Well I wouldn’t quite say we’re running- oh okay.” The last part is in response to Willie putting their index finger over Alex’s lips and looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Yes we totally are. Buzzkill.”

Alex huffs, but it doesn’t hold any weight and is laced with a smile. “I’m driving, idiot. Stop- okay move your hand please.”

“Make me.”

“Willie.” Alex’s fixes a stern gaze on him, just long enough to send them into a fit of giggles before he turns back to face the road. It’s several minutes of comfortable, soft silence before Alex sighs in resignation. “I guess you can say we’re running away.”

“Ha!” Willie pumps his fist, narrowly avoiding smashing the ceiling. And really, considering the age of Alex’s rickety car, smashing would probably be the right word.

Alex raises their intertwined hands briefly. “Here’s to running away.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Willie cheers. They crinkle their nose and kiss Alex’s knuckles, hugging their hands to his chest.

“That’s…” Alex shakes off the crimson tint to his cheeks. “You’re not drinking anything.”

“Not yet,” Willie replies, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Willie falls asleep with the sun, something that’s baffled Alex for years. The sky is twinkling with stars and the horizon with city lights, and Willie’s curled up around a pillow, their cheek pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. Alex shifts slightly to turn down the music, maneuvering around cautiously to reach the knob without letting go of Willie’s hand. He can’t help from humming under his breath, it’s an older Queen song, one Alex remembers listening to with tangled headphones, huddled in the corner of the gym to avoid the atrocity of dodgeball.

“Love of my life…” Alex trails off, mouthing the lyrics. Beside him, Willie stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hmm?” Alex likes having conversations with a mostly asleep Willie, it’s incredibly entertaining.

“Love you more.” Eyes still closed, Willie pats Alex’s cheek and nods decidedly. “Mostest.”

“Is that so?”

“Love of my life!” Willie sings along loud and off-key, voice slurred with sleep. “M gonna love you forever.” They fall back, last bits of consciousness gone, and Alex blinks back surprised tears.

“And ever,” he finishes softly, squeezing Willie’s hand. Forever sounds nice.

The rest of the drive floats by like a spring breeze snaking through a field of long grass. Willie wakes up at some point, eats an ungodly amount of popcorn and screams the lyrics of American Idiot out the window at the bustling city, like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to hear the song. Alex can’t help but laugh loudly when a conservative looking old lady glares at them, utterly scandalized.

“I think you just ruined her night,” Alex quips with mock seriousness.

“As I should!” Willie flops back into the seat, adjusting their tangled seatbelt and looking at Alex with a lopsided grin.

Alex laughs for what’s maybe the millionth time today, and it hits him that this is the most he’s ever involuntarily smiled in a day. It’s half past 8 and he’s settled at the base of a tree with Willie perched on a branch just above his head, rambling on about color theory or something equally as confusing. The drive would’ve taken 4 hours without Willie pulling on Alex’s elbow and squealing for him to stop at everything mildly interesting, but Alex isn’t entirely complaining, even if his back is sore.

It’s odd, to be leaving LA, but Alex thinks that everyone knew he couldn’t stay there his whole life, not with the church on his drive to work and the streets full of too many people that know him too well. And maybe he didn’t like change, but it can’t be that much of a change if Willie is still there with him. Willie grounds him. So do Luke and Reggie and Julie and Flynn, but in a different way. His parents tied him to the floor, his friends root him, let him grow and have a place to come home to at the same time. And Willie? Willie is the ground. He is the soil and the curling grass to Alex’s timid tree. Willie is home, wherever they may be.

“2 miles,” Alex states, pulling gently on Willie’s ankle, letting them know that he wants to look at them. Willie hops down and Alex winces even when they land safe and sound on their feet.

“Why do you do that?” Alex questions huffily, crossing his arms over his chest.

Willie gives a half shrug. “ ‘S fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hmm.” Willie drapes their arms around Alex’s neck, pulling him into into a gentle kiss. Kissing Willie feels like rain after months of drought, sun breaking through a canopy of trees, and Alex is sure that it always will, until they’re old and grey. Alex smiles against his lips, pulls apart and rests his forehead against Willie’s, biting his lip in a soft smile. “C’mon.” He clasps Willie’s hand and sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie, bumping their shoulders together. “Lets go home.”

“Home.” Willie breaks out in a grin that glows like the full moon on a clear night. “Yea.”

---

The apartment complex is wedged in between a suspicious looking butchery and a quaint little antique shop with butterflies painted on the dusty windows that Alex reminds himself to take Julie to at some point, when his friends all inevitably visit in the whirlwind that they are. The pale yellow wall paint is peeling and the stairs are much more wobbly than Alex is comfortable with, but he lets out a breathless, bubbly laugh at the sight of it. His parents aren’t there, nor is Caleb, or any of the things back in LA that were suffocating them both to the point that they booked it, half-broke and with only 2 months of warning.

Alex swings their hands, looking at a very bouncy Willie with his eyes blown wide from excitement. “Hey, we’re home.”

“We’re home!” Willie grabs Alex’s face roughly, fumbling to kiss him with their hands shaking and lips curled up in a giddy beam. They settle for holding him in a crushing hug, swaying them back and forth gleefully.

“You’re excited,” Alex chuckles, brushing at his crumpled hoodie when Willie breaks away.

Willie sticks his tongue out childishly. “So are you, admit it.”

Softening, Alex cups Willie’s cheek and exhales softly. “Of course I am.” He crinkles his nose affectionately as Willie leans up to peck his cheek. “Now-” Alex stacks as many boxes as he can fit in his arms. “Lets do this.”

---

It’s 2am and Alex is completely and utterly exhausted. Half the boxes are open, they unpacked most of it just looking for the air mattress. His record player is resting on the counter, there’s a pile of books in one corner and several trashbags of clothes in another. Willie is sitting crosslegged on the floor trying to work the portable air pump and scowling at the still deflated mattress like it stole his wallet.

“Y’know, you’d think they would provide some sort of instruction book,” Willie says poutingly. They fall back onto the wooden floor with an annoyed sigh.

Alex looks up from where his head is buried in his arms, sitting on the single bar stool they’d managed to fit in the car. “There was an instruction book, speed bump. You threw it out because you claimed that ‘everyone knows how to work an air pump!’”

“But I’m not everyone!” Willie whines. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I… okay.” Alex bows his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lets blow up the mattress and call it a night, okay?” He lowers himself to the floor, hovering over Willie and tucking a strand of hair behind their ear. “Give me the pump, I’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Willie hauls themself up, yawning loudly. They settle themselves in Alex’s lap, head tucked into his shoulder while Alex wraps his arms around them and fiddles with the mattress.

“M gonna fall sleep here,” Willie mumbles into Alex’s shoulder.

“Yea?”

“Mhm, g’night.” Willie burrows further into Alex, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Alex exhales, a fond smile tracing his face. He lifts one hand to card his fingers through Willie’s long hair, using the other to blow up the mattress. Willie groans in frustration at the loud noise and Alex has to fight a laugh.

“Alright get up, we have to- Willie.” Willie’s latched himself onto Alex like some sort of leech, pretending to be asleep despite the soft giggling escaping his lips.

“William,” Alex says, snickering. Willie doesn’t budge. “Pretty boy,” Alex tries. That always works.

Willie melts, lifting their head and flushing bright red. “Stop taking advantage of me,” He grumbles as he stands, pulling Alex up with him.

“Stop letting me,” Alex retorts with a teasing chuckle.

But instead of flopping unceremoniously onto the mattress like Alex expects, Willie pads tentatively to the wide window facing the flickering city and lets out a breath of awe. He hugs himself firmly, brushing his thumb over his bicep. Alex approaches them and snakes his arms around their torso, perching his chin on their shoulder and humming in question.

“I’m okay,” Willie answers the unspoken question, nudging Alex’s head lightly. “It’s just overwhelming but like…” he pauses, eyebrow furrowed in thought. “In a good way. It’s a lot, but it’s all good.”

Alex nods in understanding. “Yea, I agree.” He intertwines their fingers, rocking back and forth. “Lots of good.” He presses a kiss to the top of Willie’s head, lingering for a moment to relish in his presence.

“It’s beautiful,” Willie remarks, eyes raking over the bright city lights. It looks so distant and yet so familiar at the same time.

“You’ve seen the city a million times.”

“Ok, but this is a different city,” Willie responds. It’s true. It’s like the same puzzle with all the pieces arranged differently, except for one in the middle that the whole rest of the world revolves around.

Willie wriggles in Alex’s grip and spins around, tossing their arms over his shoulders and fidgeting with the hood of his sweatshirt. “Dance with me,” he says, voice soft and silvery, a whisper of cloud waltzing across the moon. Alex raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“You wanna dance… Willie, we’re exhausted.”

“No, no, no,” Willie shakes his head slowly, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Just-” They settle one hand one Alex’s shoulder and the other on his hip. Humming a gentle, lilting tune, they begin swaying side to side, drumming his fingers to a beat only in his head. “Dance with me.” He presses an idle kiss to Alex’s lips, chapped from the wind and laced with fresh apples . “Please.”

Alex hums in consideration, moving Willie’s hands to hold them in his own. “One second.” He ducks out of Willie’s arms, earning a squeak of protest.

Alex has had his record player for years now, Ray gave it to him as a Christmas present when he was 15 and he definitely cried. He’d gone through 3 boxes packing his records and Willie had looked… mildly concerned. But ha, who’s laughing now? The vinyl starts, popping occasionally in the way that makes Alex giggle with joy. Alex steps back proudly, floating back over to Willie and mimicking their previous position, one hand on their hip and the other on their shoulder. Willie smiles fondly at the song choice, Apple Pie by Lizzy Mcalpine, though he knows that nothing else would’ve fit.

“Remember the first time we listened to this song together?” Alex asks as Willie stumbles over his feet.

Willie nods. “Course I do, hotdog. You got sooo blushy.”

Alex shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, you kissed me so it worked out.”

“It did,” Willie whispers.

Alex spins them messily, laughing aloud when they slam into his chest without warning. "Very graceful," he remarks sarcastically.

Willie scrunches his face affectionately, pecking the tip of Alex's nose, singing gently as he draws back. "Home is wherever you are tonight."

It’s a tender moment, until Willie steps on Alex’s foot and snickers an apology. “Oops-”

“Ow, Willie. You don’t know how to slow dance do you?” Alex teases.

“Ok-”

Alex sighs warmly, god sometimes all the feelings were just so big and overwhelming. “Just, c'mere-” He draws Willie closer to him, embracing them like he’s the only thing in the world. And maybe, for the moment, he is. Willie tucks his head into Alex’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, lavender and dust; and Alex follows suit. His eyes flutter shut and he hums contentedly, heart giving a leap at the sheer domesticity of dancing in the empty living room in their pajamas, Willie tracing slow, sleepy circles on his back.

They’re hardly dancing anymore, really, wrapped up in each other like the sea and the shore at high tide, swaying to their synced heartbeats. The unfamiliar walls and creaky floorboards, cold beneath their socked feet, suddenly begin to look like home beneath all the strangeness and Alex can’t help but grin.

Alex’s home is in the crook of Willie’s neck and the light curve of his spine; the scent of rainstorms and cotton holding him close like he’s prone to break. And perhaps one day he will break, fall apart in Willie’s arms. But with the scratchy record humming in the background, and Willie’s body melting into his own, he thinks that their arms would be the best place to fall apart in.

---

art i made :)))

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #willex #willex fic #willie jatp #willie wilbur williamson #willie nolastname #alex mercer #netflixwewantjatp2 #julie molina #willow writes

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beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

no choir (1/7)

AO3 Link

Looking back on it, Beau realized she had no clue who started the fight. Everything had been tense, the space between the Nein and the Tombtakers thick with distrust, and then the darkness of Aeor was alight with magic. She had lost all sense of time after the battle started, but she knew it had been dragging on for longer than they were used to by now. Her knuckles stung, smarting with bruises and bleeding in places. Her body ached as her muscles screamed, and she felt her Ki draining every time she tried to pull some fancy attack.

Somehow, though, they were all standing.

As per her luck, the moment Beau had that thought, Lucien threw blood magic her way. His blades moved too quickly for Beau to track them, slicing through the air in front of her, just catching her shoulder as she tried to spin away. The force of the blow wasn’t what knocked her backward, but the resulting spasm of agony that flared to life in her veins. Beau cried out - the sound ripped from her throat as she jerked away, stumbled, and fell, slamming into the stone behind her before slumping with a wheeze. Gaze spinning, lungs seizing, Beau scrambled for purchase.

Her ears rang with all the determination of a bell tower doling out the time. Her head spun with no sense of direction, leaving Beau thinking that she very well might be upside down.

She looked up, blinking blood and sweat and the spinning from her eyes as Lucien approached, a wicked grin curling at his mouth. It still ached, seeing his expressions on Mollymauk’s face. Beau struggled to get her feet under her as Lucien raised one of his swords over his head. She was still scrambling when he vanished.

“Ha!” Jester crowed, drawing Beau’s attention. “It worked!”

Jester stood not far off, her arms raised triumphantly over her head as she grinned through the grime and blood smeared over her cheeks. Her sparkling blue eyes met Beau’s, Jester’s tiny fangs gleaming at the forefront of her grin. She looked like she was about to say something else, maybe cast another spell, or ask Beau if she was okay.

Veth screamed from across the cavern.

Beau got her feet under her as the echoes of Veth’s cry faded, as Jester whirled around, gleeful grin falling away. Cree howled from where she had just sent Veth to the ground, where she stood over the tiny body, eyes bright with malice. Beau pushed to unsteady feet as Cree started sprinting toward Jester, livid.

“Fuck,” Beau gasped, heaving for breath as she wrapped an arm around her torso. Blood stained her fingers from the gash in her side. The pain was a distant throb, pulsing in time with her heartbeat in her ears. Cree moved faster than Beau’s weary thoughts could keep up with. How was Cree already in front of Jester? Why couldn’t Beau move?

“Beau?” Yasha asked, suddenly at her side. One hand hefted her sword as the other extended toward Beau - gentle and concerned. Blood smeared her war paint, streaked over her cheeks, and Beau did not know how much of it was Yasha’s and how much of it belonged to their enemies. Yasha’s brow furrowed as her fingers pressed warm and grounding between Beau’s shoulder blades.

“I’m okay,” Beau said, forcing herself to stand upright, to move through the paralyzing numbness of exhaustion as she grimaced. “This isn’t over.”

They both looked to where Cree was snarling and attacking their friends about sixty feet away. Fjord stood between Cree and Jester, trying to keep her from getting to Jester as she concentrated on keeping Lucien banished. Caleb was casting spells from behind, doing everything possible to aid Fjord in his quest, face grim. Even further off, Beau could just see Caduceus helping Veth to her feet, healing magic still swirling around her. For the moment, they had their footing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Yasha asked, pulling Beau’s attention back to her. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah,” Beau sighed, pulling her hand away to look at the gash. She winced at the tacky pull of her fingers coming away from the wound, but figured she could probably last a little longer. The wound from Lucien on her shoulder still stung, but she couldn’t recall when this gash on her side got there. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but Beau resolved to figure it out later.

“Beau.” Yasha’s voice was firmer now, more insistent. Beau looked up to her mismatched gaze on instinct, softening under the weight of Yasha’s hand as it cupped her cheek. Light spilled from the center of Yasha’s palm, warm and bright and comforting. Moonlight raced through Beau’s blood to knit and heal part of the wound on her side. Yasha had precious little healing ability in her, and every time she used it for Beau, she fell a little more in love.

Her fingers tangled with the sweaty, loose strands of hair at Beau’s temple, Yasha’s gaze never once straying. Beau felt pinned in the best possible way. Maybe it was Aeor, or perhaps it was blood loss. But time felt like thinned out liquid and too thick syrup all at once, difficult for Beau to hold on to and keep track of. She wondered briefly how hard she had been hit.

She wondered how much of this battle was left to fight.

“Yasha,” Beau answered, voice honey soft and hushed like the rustle of their bed sheets in the early morning. She wasn’t sure she had ever said another person’s name with as much reverence. Beau thought she might be all right with that.

“Kiss me, please?”

Yasha paused for only a moment, seeming to drink in the lines of Beau’s expression before she ducked down to press their lips together. They had kissed before, messy and desperate, reverent and open-mouthed while tangled together. They shared quick kisses, chaste little things of quick public affection; a practice within the safe sphere among their found family because neither of them ever had the chance to before. Each kiss was an adventure, a new exploration they took to with glee.

This time, however, seemed markedly beyond that territory.

Yasha’s lips were chapped from the cold, and Beau bet her lips fared no better. Maybe they felt warm because everything around them was still rather cold, but regardless, Yasha’s mouth pressed with searing heat against Beau’s. It felt like turning her face to the moon and relaxing under her gentle glow. It was stars tumbling into Beau’s upturned palms. This was every night she wished she had the courage to speak up sooner, and every day she passed listening for thunder in Yasha’s absence.

Beau never knew a kiss could hold so much.

They broke apart at the sound of Jester crying out in pain.

Beau still felt dazed, floating in the heady rush of blood-loss euphoria, but honed in on the battle quickly. Fjord appeared to have been knocked aside, but he shoved to his feet again and advanced toward Cree. Caduceus and Veth still picked their way over through the scattered rocks, expressions grim. Caleb had Jester by the arm, helping her stand.

There was a strange ripple in midair before Lucien stood on the battlefield again. Yasha’s hand squeezed Beau’s bicep briefly before she shifted into a deeper stance, both hands wrapping around her sword.

Lucien rolled his neck and grinned, malicious and angry.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

#cr #critical role #beauregard lionett #yasha #beauyasha #beauyashaweek2021 #writing #my writing

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theoriginalladya · 2 years

Note

Hey, don't know if you by now talked about it, but for the writing WIP game, anything you wanna share about either "Smoke 'Em If You've Got 'Em" and/or "Trust" and/or "to the fallen"?

Eh, for you, darlin', I'll share them even if I shared them before! :)

Under cut for length because you get all three you requeted! :)

So, Smoke 'Em If You've Got 'Em is from something that, I hope, I will get to VERY soon - it's from Caleb's first N7 mission after achieving N7. He heads to Elysium where he teams up with another N7 - Rosa Morales-Minton - while they try to track down information that ties into the Blitz a couple years earlier. While on this mission, an unexpected familiar face shows up...

Roger’s voice breaks through his thoughts unexpectedly as he returns his attention to the clientele. “What’ll you have?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

The rich, gravely baritone that Caleb has become familiar with over the past few years hits him like ice water. Shit! Anxiety kicks up into high gear faster than a rush of adrenaline going into battle, and leaves him just as breathless. I’ve got to get out of here… get away! If anyone sees us, recognizes us…

Caleb slams his glass down on the bar counter with a thud, spinning on his heel. He snatches Roger’s cigarette pack and lighter as a secondary thought and stalks through the back of the club, out into the alleyway. The switch from the smokey, dimly lit atmosphere of The Starry Rose to nighttime Elysium isn’t too drastic, though the reflection of colorful neon signs makes its way back here. It’s warm out, stifling almost, and Caleb tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it just enough to get a long, deep breath. With that achieved, he fishes out a cigarette and the lighter. Cupping his hand around the flame, he’s just lowering it, the clack of metal sealing over metal echoing around him, when a familiar voice returns.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got one to spare?”

The faintest tremor shimmers across Caleb’s shoulders beneath his shirt and jacket. Taking a long drag on the cigarette – by nature, he isn’t a smoker, but right now, it’s all he has to keep him grounded and in control – and turns around. He lifts the pack between them, shaking one loose. “Aye.”

Standing there just as casual as the day is long, Kaidan Alenko plucks the cigarette from the pack and accepts the lighter when Caleb hands it over. He takes a moment to light it before inhaling. The ease with which he does it suggests familiarity, though Caleb hasn’t ever seen him partake in the few times they’ve been around one another. “Thanks. I needed that.”...

Trust. Oh man, that ones' gonna hurt. It's part of his ME2 story - right now it's just a couple of small sections, not even sure they'll stay together in one chapter, but it starts with Caleb over Alchera and works into him on board the SR2 after he wakes up.

There isn’t time.

One moment to the next to the next… there is always something to do, never enough time to stop, to process, to accept. Until there is no time left at all…

The HUD indicator is his only warning something is very wrong. As if floating in space without his ship around him isn’t enough. But he’s trained for almost everything… even this, to varying degrees. But the Normandy is disintegrating around him, the life pods are gone, and he is alone with nothing left but time… and regrets.

“Go hifreann leat!”**

Twisting, struggling, he can almost reach the tubing…

His lungs ache; desperate for oxygen. His chest tight with regret. No! No! No! There is supposed to be timenow! Saren is gone, Sovereign too, and I now have time to really think about this…

“Kaidan!”

Through sheer force of willpower, he stills his movement, unwilling to waste what little time he has left. In the distance, the glint of the sun flickers off of something metallic descending through the atmosphere and his eyes are drawn to it.

“Mo ghrá…”

Stillness surrounds him, peace seeping through his body, a languor startles considering his current circumstances. Out of the corner of his eye, the O2 levels drop into the red. He fights with all he as for breath, for just enough and reaches towards the sparkling glint.

“Kaidan, is tú mo rogha…”

All that echoes in return are his own labored breaths. Kaidan…!

There is no time…

To the Fallen is ME3 - post Coup, Kaidan's back on the ship, after the mission where you lose the Primarch's son (I always hold those two missions until after I get Kaidan back). Losing Tarquin brings back memories of Virmire for Caleb, so he and Kaidan meet in the lounge for a drink to an old friend...

The room is quiet when he enters, save for some soft music coming from the system near the bar. Walking over, Caleb switches it to something slower, more somber with a bluesy sort of feel, then he turns to the bar. Tucked away on the lower shelf, behind Vega’s favorite brand of tequila and Donnelly’s scotch, is an unassuming bottle with no label, no brand. He snags this between his fingers, carefully removing it without knocking it against the others then hunts for a pair of glasses. He pours two-fingers full in each before closing it and setting it on the top of the bar. Just as the glass hits the counter, the door whooshes open and he glances over as Kaidan walks in. Taking one glass in hand, he lifts it in his direction. “You’re just in time.”

Kaidan doesn’t even blink. His steps slow as he nears, as if he’s afraid he’s interrupting something, but Caleb nudges the other glass in his direction. “It’s for you,” he reassures him.

Kaidan frowns, but accepts the glass. “Not exactly a mission I’d call worth celebrating.”

“Not celebrating,” Caleb replies. He lifts his glass, tilting it slightly at the empty seat next to Kaidan. “May you be in heaven a half hour before the Devil knows you’re dead,” he murmurs. He downs the drink all at once. Kaidan, he notices, follows suit. When both glasses are back on the bar, he fills them again.

“That was a hell of a mission,” Kaidan says when the glass is nudged back at him a moment later. One eyebrow arches slightly as he asks, “You… uh, aren’t trying to get me drunk, are you?”

Caleb snorts, caps the bottle and puts it back on the shelf behind him before he replies. “Not today,” he promises with a soft chuckle. “Sláinte mhaith.”

“Cheers. So?”

“So.” Caleb pulls up his omni-tool and opens the message he downloaded earlier. “Got one more toast left in you?” he asks absently as he skims over it. The minute he sees the sender’s tag, he suspects its origin. He hates it when he’s right sometimes. Timing. Why today, of all days? Turning his attention back to Kaidan, he asks, “Do you remember that day back in Vancouver?”

A soft, inelegant snort of amusement escapes Kaidan’s lips. “Shepard, I spent half my life in Vancouver. I remember a lot of days back there. You’ll need to be more specific.”

A wry smile twists at Caleb’s lips. “After the Battle of the Citadel,” he clarifies. “At the memorial.”

The memorial. Kaidan’s eyes drop to stare at the liquid in his glass. “Yeah,” he replies softly. “I remember.” When he glances back up, he adds, “I was thinking about Ash today, too.”

“I figured as much.” Caleb takes another sip. “Do you remember the woman I was speaking with as you and your parents arrived that day?”

Kaidan frowns, head tilting slightly as his eyes close. “I remember… someone, but not the face.”

“Five foot eight, short dark hair, brown eyes.”

“You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit more than that.”

Caleb swirls the liquid in his glass, stares at the motion. “A freshly minted second lieutenant by the name of Williams.”

Out of the corner of Caleb's eyes, Kaidan's pop open as he freezes. “Lieutenant? Williams?”

“Younger sister. She headed off to Basic shortly after Ashley joined the Normandy. Right before Virmire, I’d sent a message off to Anderson and Hackett trying to stir up something to get Ash the promotion she deserved.” The rest of the drink goes down in one fell swoop after that and he sets the glass aside. “When she… didn’t make it, they made sure Abby did...”

#painterofhorizons #WIP Game #ladya's OCs #Caleb Shepard #OTP: Brothers In Arms #mshenko #Kaidan Alenko #snippets

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minister-for-femslash · 4 years

Text

Here

Summary: After Jester tells the Nein what she saw while scrying, Yasha and Beau try to deal with how they feel about this latest revelation and find themselves leaning on each other in order to do so.

Pairing: Beau/Yasha

Word Count: 2,646

Warnings: Spoilers up to and including Campaign 2 Episode 111

There's silence as Jester finishes telling them what she saw. Molly. Several looks pass between them, full of worry and concern, and maybe a hint of fear, but none of them speak, none of them know what to say.

Beau feels Yasha's grip tighten, her fingers squeezing so much that it hurts. There are obvious tears in Yasha's eyes and Beau makes a decision.

“We need a minute.” Beau turns and the two of them walk away from the rest of the Nein. Nobody tries to stop them and when they're far enough away, with the rain falling heavily down upon them, they reach for each other, holding each other tight.

They stay there for a while, slowly sinking further into the other's embrace, until eventually the rest of the Nein begin to talk, to make plans, their voices rising just enough to make Beau and Yasha pull back, and when Jester makes her way over to them a few moments later they've parted completely, a clear gap between them.

“Caleb thinks we should head back to Zadash, at least until we can figure out where Molly is or what he's doing. Are you okay with that?”

Beau waits, giving Yasha the chance to speak but when she says nothing, Beau nods her head. She takes Yasha's hand once again and the two of them follow Jester back to the rest of the group.

Caleb is already drawing the teleportation circle on the ground. He looks up at her, his eyes asking a thousand questions; questions that Beau doesn't have the answers for, at least not yet, so instead she glances Yasha and subtly shakes her head and Caleb quickly turns away, finishing the rest of the circle, and they all step through.

Caleb makes the mansion for them again. Yasha quickly heads to her room, her hand sliding away from Beau's, leaving her feeling empty and a little alone, but if Yasha needs some time then Beau can understand that and so she stands back, watching as Caleb and Veth show Yeza and Luc around, Luc's obvious excitement over everything, but especially the cats managing, somehow to bring a slight smile to Beau's lips.

“Honey, would you like to see our bedroom?” Veth asks Yeza, with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Beau decides that maybe it's time for her to go to bed as well and with a mutter of a word she floats upwards.

Caleb intercepts her before she can reach her door.

“Beauregard.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for pushing for us to -” he sighs and averts his gaze - “go and talk to Molly. I understand how upsetting his death was for you, for all of us, and in the moment I didn't see that what I was suggesting hurt you.”

“It's okay. It looks like it was a good thing we went.”

“I was hoping to apologize to Yasha as well, but she's already gone to bed. Maybe I'll wait and talk to her tomorrow.”

“That's probably a good idea. 'Night Caleb.”

“Goodnight Beau.”

He begins to walk away, only to stop. He keeps his back to her as he stares down through the towers, focusing on Jester, Fjord and Caduceus who are still sitting in the dining room. “Do you think it's him?”

Beau takes a moment, she already knows the answer, but she takes the moment anyway, because she needs it, because she knows the words will taste like ash on her tongue. “No. I don't think it's Molly.”

“Me neither.” Caleb walks away.

Beau steps into her room and closes the door behind her. She heads straight for the writing desk and pulls out her mountain of notebooks, determined to write about what just happened, what it means and how it connects to the other threads she's trying to pull together, but all she can manage is a few sentences. Her mind should be swimming, buzzing with the new information but instead it's empty, like all the thoughts have been drained out of her, by confusion, by grief, by the uncertainty of what happens next, and after an hour of sitting and staring at an almost blank piece of paper she gives up, snapping her pencil until three pieces and tossing them onto the desk.

She decides to train instead, pummeling the punching bag, trying to expel whatever it is that she's feeling in a frenzy of sweat, pain and eventually exhaustion.

When her limbs are sore and her brain more fuzzy than when she started, she crashes down onto her bed. Her eyes close and her body sinks into the mattress. Sleep will come in a matter of moments, or it would if there wasn't a knock at that exact moment. It's so gentle that Beau almost doesn't hear it, but she's glad she does because when she drags her tired body to the door she finds Yasha on the other side.

“Hi,” Beau says.

“Hey. I erm... Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. I was still awake. Are you... Do you need something?”

“I can't sleep.”

“Oh. Do you... Do you want to come in?” Beau asks.

“Please, if that's okay.”

“Sure.”

Yasha steps inside and after giving her a few moments to change her mind, Beau slowly closes the door, her mouth going a little dry at the thought that the two of them are alone. She stands back and watches as Yasha moves around the room, finally coming to a stop at the fireplace, that roars into life, and staring into the flames.

“Do you want something to eat?” Beau asks. “You haven't eaten much today.”

“Neither have you.”

“Okay, so lets tell the cats to bring us up some pancakes, and that is not the weirdest thing that I've ever said, if you can believe that.”

“I can believe it, and pancakes would be nice.”

“Or I have pocket bacon? Do you want some pocket bacon?” Beau quickly rummages through her pockets, grabs a couple of strips of bacon, and holds them out for Yasha.

“Thank you.”

Beau asks the cats to bring them up some pancakes and it's as weird as she thought it would be, then her and Yasha settle down in front of the fire.

“Beau, why do you keep bacon in your pockets? Is there a reason?”

“I just really like bacon,” Beau says with a smile, but it's a smile that Yasha doesn't return. “I started doing it back in Kamordah. I had a pretty major fight with my dad and so I left, I just walked right out of the door. I stayed away for about a day, but I was cold and lonely, and honestly starving, so I went back which my dad loved because it proved his whole everything I do is to protect you and therefore it's okay stuff he has going on.”

“He wasn't worried?”

Beau shrug her shoulders. “My mom was worried.” She goes quiet for a moment, actually contemplating the question; if her father was worried then he didn't show it, but she likes to think, no, she wants to hope he was.

“Beau.”

The gentle touch of Yasha's hand on her arm is enough to pull her from her contemplation and she looks up.

“Sorry,” Beau says.

“So, what about the bacon?”

“Oh yeah, I erm, I realised that there were going to be times when I just needed to get out of that house, to just run away and I wasn't always going to know when that was, so I started keeping things I might need to stay away longer, like food, on me. Bacon tastes the best, so pocket bacon.” Beau smiles again and this time Yasha returns it, slowly, but she does return it.

“You know -” Yasha's hand is still on Beau's shoulder, she moves it down, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Beau's robe, until she reaches her hand and grasps it - “you don't have to run from us.”

“I know.”

“Ever.” Yasha's grip on her hand tightens.

“I know.”

“So why did you put that bacon in your pocket last night? You're not planning to...”

“No. No, of course not. Yasha -” Beau shifts forward in her chair - “I'm here with you. For you. With you.” The words come so easily, easier than any words ever have before. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good. That's good.”

Yasha moves forward and for a moment, this small microsecond, Beau is certain that both of them are leaning in at the same time. She holds her breath, a slight quiver on the back of her neck as her eyes close and she waits for what seems at this point inevitable. She can feel Yasha's breath on her lips and her stomach tightens.

The moment is ripped from them by the sound of a soft meow and a gentle tap on metal. The warmth of Yasha's breath disappears and after a moment Beau opens her eyes. Their pancakes have arrived.

Beau takes the pancakes from the ginger cat and thanks them, once again struck by the weirdness of it all. She places the plate on the table between them and Yasha quick digs in. Beau takes a few bites herself but she mostly allows Yasha to eat. Instead she stares up at the stain glass window just above the fire; the image of the Mighty Nein staring out over the fields of the Empire. Beau is in the middle, with Jester and Yasha on either side of her, then Caleb and Veth on the left, Fjord and Caduceus on the right. There's no Molly.

Beau doesn't think that Caleb meant anything by it, he probably didn't want to bring back painful memories, but now, after what they know, his absence from the scene is far too obvious. She wonders if Caleb would mind if she asked for Molly to be added, and then decides against it, choosing to wait until they know what's happened to him.

“It's beautiful,” Yasha says. Most of the pancakes are gone, there are just a few left and she pushes the plate towards Beau to finish.

“What?”

“The window, it's beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Does it move?”

“No, I don't think it does.”

“Oh.”

“That's okay. I kind of prefer it this way.” Beau thinks it's a deliberate choice by Caleb, to create this static moment of happiness, of togetherness that will never change and never disappear. He knows her so well.

Yasha yawns. She tries to hide it but Beau sees.

“Maybe we should try to get some sleep.”

Yasha averts her gaze. “I don't think I want to be alone right now.”

“That's okay, you can, erm, you can -” Beau stutters slightly when Yasha looks up at her and there's a moment of anticipation as they stare each other - “stay here. I mean, only if you want, but you could stay here, maybe. The bed is big enough for, erm, or you could take the bed and I could take the floor or something.”

“I'd like that.” Yasha stands.

Beau hesitates, her hands gripping onto the arms of the chair.

“Is the mirror still above your bed?”

Beau laughs. “I actually haven't had a chance to look yet.”

“Then we should look.”

Yasha disappears into the bedroom and Beau smiles to herself before she stands up and follows her. Yasha's already on the bed by the time Beau gets there, her eyes closed, her boots kicked onto the floor. Beau joins her. She gently sits on the side of the bed and after a quick glance at Yasha and a bite of her own lip she lies down.

The blue rope hangs down and Beau pulls, the curtain sliding away and she's staring at the reflection of the two of them, lying side by side. There's a gap between them, less than an inch, most wouldn't notice, but to Beau it's obvious.

Beau stares at the reflection of Yasha's face; at her hair splayed out across the pillow, at the sharpness of her jaw line, the softness of her lips. Yasha's eyes slowly open and Beau is struck by how beautiful and how bright, despite the sadness, they are. She closes the gap between them, the back of their hands brushing together.

“Do you intend to use it?” Yasha asks.

“I don't know, probably. I mean Caleb went to all this trouble, it would be rude not to and if you can find the right person then this sort of thing can be, well, fun.”

“Any thoughts on who?”

“What?”

I know you've had...” Yasha trails off.

Beau thinks about Keg, and about Reani, and Tori, and while she can imagine all of them being invited into the tower (even Tori), and she can also imagine them being invited into her room, but what she can't imagine is any of them making it here, lying beside her on this bed. Not now.

“Right now, the only person I feel comfortable having in here is you.”

They stare at each other in the mirror.

“That's good, because I like it here. Caleb did a really good job.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“We should do something nice for him, to say thank you. Maybe we could get him some books or some nice parchment and a quill, just a little something to show he's appreciated, you know. He might need it after seeing Trent again.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“We could go tomorrow,” Yasha says. “We have a couple of days before we have to go and see Vess DeRogna.”

Beau feels her stomach tighten. She pulls her gaze away from the mirror, no longer satisfied with just Yasha's reflection and rolls onto her side. “Yasha, are we talking about Caleb because you don't want to talk about Molly?”

“Is that okay?”

Beau wants to say yes. It very much feels like the right answer because it's the answer Yasha wants, but there's this tiny part of her, this small voice in the back of her head begging her not to say it. “I don't know. But if you did want to talk about him then I'm happy to listen.”

Beau stares at Yasha, watching as she takes a breath, and another, and another, and just as Beau thinks she isn't going to get an answer, Yasha also rolls onto her side and they're staring at each other.

“Do you think Cree is forcing him to go somewhere?”

“Jester said that he seemed willing. That he was smiling.”

“You don't think it's him, do you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't imagine Molly coming back and him not doing everything he could to find you, to let you know. He cared about you too much not to.”

“Even at end?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he remembers and he hates me?”

“Yasha, why would...”

“Because I'm the reason he's dead. I could've stopped them from taking us. I should've stopped them, because if I had, you wouldn't have gone after them and Molly wouldn't be dead. It's my fault, why wouldn't he hate me?”

“Yasha, nobody ever blamed you for what happened. The Iron Fucks could've got the drop on any of us, Molly certainly never blamed you. There are a lot of things I didn't know about Molly, clearly, but one thing that I'm certain of is that Molly would never hate you. He loved you.” Beau places her hand on Yasha's shoulders.

“Thank you, Beau,”Yasha says, but there are clearly tears in her eyes.

“And whatever happens next I'm here, okay.” Beau's hand slides from Yasha's shoulder up to the back of her neck and pulls her into a hug. Yasha's hands grab at her waist and the two of them hold each other until sleep eventually takes them.

#critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #critical role spoilers #beau/yasha #fic

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thatonesadending · 3 years

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Caleb gets to show Molly his Tower, but Essek doesn't approve (Chapter 3)

Caleb knew he was being childish, overly excited. But he had put a lot of work into his tower, spent a lot of time thinking about his friends and their own stories, and how they impacted him. He was eager to share it with Molly. The man was that was ostentation to a fault, and so Caleb thought he might appreciate how much thought and whimsy he had put into their little band of hero’s home away from home.

He lead Molly through the entrance of the Tower, he hadn't explained anything, and the tieflings reaction didn't disappoint.

“What the fucking hell. I am still dead aren't I?” He had almost ghosted past Caleb to the middle of the Entryway. Looking up, he gasped and put his hands on his hips. “Caleb Widogast, you tricked me. You made me think I was going back to the material plane, but this, - this is Heaven, isn't it.”

Caleb couldn't help but chuckle at the mocking tone. He was surprised when Molly looked back away from the ceiling, and stode back to Caleb to clasp his shoulders. “I knew you were a sneaky little bastard, smarter then you let on. Good Boy.” Caleb should have felt embarrassed at the teasing praise, but he wasn’t, at least not yet. Mollymauk continued to wander around the Entryway. He spent a good long while asking questions and Caleb gladly answering.

“How do you get up there?” Molly pointed up thru the center of the tower, after taking in all the windows and art surrounding him.

“Come, I will show you.” Caleb offered his hand to the other man, normally he would not be so bold, but he was riding a high from having all of his worries and suspicions so easily dowsed. He could overthink things later, currently, he just wanted to think about the now, something that Molly valued.

Molly took it easy, and Caleb told him all he had to do was think “up”. Of course, in an effort not to be outdone, he said what Caleb could guess was the infernal translation and pulled the wizard with him.

They made it to the center of the salon floor before Mollymauk stopped and stared. Truth be told, isn't not that Caleb had forgotten, but he had never thought Molly would see the salon, never prepared an explanation for the large stained glass window. He had made it of course as a tribute that the other Nien would appreciate as much as he. It hadn't occurred to Caleb until that moment that he had surrounded his books, his knowledge around the lighted artwork that represented Mollymauk Tealeaf.

“Caleb, I -” he wasn't sure he had ever experienced Molly speechless before. Embarrassment was spreading up his neck, and Caleb wanted to find a way to explain, minimize - lie - about the significance of the fact that the third floor of the Mighty Niens home has a vast library containing all the books and knowledge Caleb ever held dear, and a larger than life depiction of Molly’s tattoos, that case color and light on all of Caleb’s texts. He wanted to say that he had just made it as a comfort for his still grieving friends, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t lie.

Surprisingly Cad started answering some of Molly’s questions when he eventually stopped staring. It wasn't until Caleb scanned the room and remembered that Essek was also with them, that he realized Caduceus was being more polite than him.

Caleb tentatively walked over to the other wizard, unsure of what to say. There had been a lot of floating and conflicting feelings around the two of them as of late, but Caleb had just started to feel like they had been unraveling them, getting to a place where they could be more than friends with a tentative trust. But then Caleb had asked Essek on this trip, and then literally kissed the enemy. He had no idea what the man must be thinking.

“Thank you for guarding me, you know - while I cast th-”, but he was caught off by Essek.”

“This is foolish.” Caleb hadn't been expecting the reprimand. Essek didn't let him respond.

“You have now twice let a man that may or not contain a friend that you knew for only a couple of weeks into your home. Shared your secrets. For what Caleb? I understand that your friends and you -”

Caleb cut him off abruptly, but did not slow Essek down. “Our friends.”

“Yes, our friends - have an affinity for this ‘Mollymauk’, but it is my understanding that you only knew the man for 4-5 weeks. How do you know this isn’t Lucien? Playing off your limited memories of a man who barely knew you. Whereas I -”

The door two floors below them slammed open, and Caleb found himself prepping to use his arcane fire, but all he saw was the rest of the Nien trudging in, and closing the door behind the,

“Cad, do you think you could come heal Beau? She is ok, we got Cree, but Jester is a bit tapped.” Fjord’s deep voice rung through the tower. Cad excused himself from Molly, and drifted down to Beau. the rest of them followed soon after, back to the Entryway. Caddie quickly took care of all of them, but took care not to include Cree, who was flung over Yasha’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes and unconscious.

“Molly what do you think?! Isnt great?!” Jester asked to her fellow tiefling.

“Love, I am fairly sure that I am stuck in a coma or a demiplane somewhere, but this all couldn't possibly be real.” He said with a grateful smile on his face. Caleb barely heard Essek mutter, uncharastically, ‘I am sure you would fuck with demiplanes.’ Before Caleb could confront that, Molly was calling to him.

“Caleb, this is truly fantastic, and I really would love to see it all, but I wasn't lying when I said I was tired. I don't know what that other guy did with this body, but it doesn't feel like sleep.”

“Oh Molly! You can stay with me! I am sure you don't want to be alone, and Essek has the guest room, and my room is like - really really awesome. We can totally snuggle and I can-” Fjord was growling again, it wasn't loud, but just displeased enough that Jester heard. Caleb wasn't sure what to make about this recent possessive streak, but he knew his own jealousy isn't helpful since Fjord had obviously scared Molly.

“Or maybe Yasha would be better, she really really missed you.” Jester supplied, with a bashful smile.

“That would be divine dear, if that’s ok with Yash, don't want to intrude, love.” Molly said, but he seemed to be struggling with something. It Caleb only a moment to realize that the man was overwhelmed with their change in dynamic, unsure of how he fit in, and might need some space.

“Actually, that might not be necessary.” Caleb hadn't planned on telling them all, but he also hadn't planned on being able to bring back Molly as such. He kicked himself mentally for not arranging things in the tower before he cast it, but hopefully the others left him alone about it. He wasn’t going to hold his pride up before making sure Molly knew that he belonged here with his family.. “Both Mollymauk and Essek have their own rooms if they choose to stay in them.”

Caleb noticed Essek’s normally imperceptible demeanor change, soften just a bit, he was thankful for it after their brief but tense exchange.

“Ah, Essek, I had wanted to show you your first night here, but unfortunately circumstances as they were prevented that. I would show you tonight, but I would like to take Mollymauk to his, seeing as this is all a bit new to him.” Caleb waved his hands to indicate the tower, but what he didn't say was why it could only be him that could show Molly.

“That is alright. I would be glad to wait, I didn't get to explore your library as much as I would have liked anyway.” Essek’s offer of patience was welcomed. It meant that he wasn’t too angry with Caleb. “Thank you, Essek.” Caleb knew the others didn't understand Caleb’s gratitude, but he didn't care at this moment.

“Caleb, when did you find the time to make Molly a room? And I count the same amount of doors, where is?” Of course, Beau would be the one to pick up and challenge Caleb on this first. He couldn't think of a convincing lie, so he tried to go for nonchalant.

“On the floor above Veth’s and my own.” He tried to say it casually, but not a single pair of eyes around him didn't stare.

“Caleb, when did you put a room for Molly on the eighth floor?” The question came telepathically, though Caleb could hear Beau’s pointed tone perfectly. His eyes immediately jumped to his hands, the other red eye still there. Before panic could flood him about what that meant, Beau was in his mind again.

“We can worry about it tomorrow, Molly doesn't have any eyes on him other than his tattoos, we probably just have to kill this city. Now, tell me, when?”

So he wasn’t going to be able to avoid this.

“It’s always been there.” A simple answer to a very complicated issue.

“Fuck man, why didn't you - I, I didn't know.” Caleb didn’t like hearing her pity. Part of him was grateful that she understood why he had included it in his floor of memories, however, he didn't want to talk about it just now. Everyone was still staring at him, they knew Beau was in his head, and likely knew what she was asking, but mercifully not saying anything.

“Ja, well, Yasha can put Cree in one of the rooms of requirement, no? For us to deal with tomorrow?” He supplied quickly to change the focus of the room. “And I can take Mollymauk, to at least change into different clothes for now, and he can choose where he stays.”

“That sounds like a fine plan, I can help Yasha. Then we all can get settled for some needed rest.” Fjord supplied, taking control of the situation from Caleb, which he was very grateful for.

“Lovely. Caleb, dear, take me wherever you want, to be honest, I would be happy to sleep on the floor right here, but I’d love a change of clothes just as much.” Molly didn’t look tired, as much as a man who really wanted to catch his breath. Caleb knew this feeling well, and only hoped he could maybe provide a calm space for Molly to get a little more acclimated in. Without really thinking about it, he put out his hand to the purple man, and of course, he took it in return.

“You only need to think the word ‘up’.” He reminded.

“But where is the fun in that? Up.” Molly tugged Caleb up through the floors of the towers, and he couldn't help but laugh at the other man’s enthusiasm as he fell upwards.

#critical role #cr2 #widomauk #shadowgast #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #lucien

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Note

I'm feeling 14 or 15 for the tickle sentence starters with lee!Essek.

Love that I can always count on you to participate, thank you for the ask 💛 This got a little out of hand, but I wanted to experiment with a bit of a different dynamic!

14. "I don't giggle."

---

"Aw, man," Beauregard sighs, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Even Essek's got the giggles, I think that's the best prank the Chaos Crew has ever pulled."

He's never going to get used to how easily the Nein break through barriers that decades of court absurdity failed to overwhelm - or, more surprisingly, that he actually finds them funny.

Still, he has a few Shadowhand tricks up his sleeve. Very carefully not looking at the figure just behind him, he clears his throat and straightens to his full floating height to stare his accuser down. "I don't giggle."

And, right on cue -

"Well, I would not say that is particularly true."

He doesn't even try to pull away as Caleb wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him in, the anticipation already starting to wring warm shivers down his spine. It would be a waste, after such well-placed bait.

He cranes his neck back to catch Caleb's eye, intent on conveying some sense of smugness, and - oh. Oh dear.

Looking up into a tersely set jaw and two blue eyes sparkling with mischief, he suddenly recalls the new spell he has been dangling over his beloved's head for the past day and a half. "Ah - Caleb?"

"Ooh, Essek's in trou-ble!" Jester catcalls from behind - no from in front of him - Light, he has more present things to worry about, there's an audience-

"I think he's right, actually," Beauregard cuts in. "I mean, if you tickle him he just gets all fuckin' - shrieky? Not that that should stop you from doing it, it's hilarious, but just saying, it's not gonna prove your point."

"I think," Caleb says, slow and even and chillingly close to the sensitive tip of Essek's ear, "we will just have to try and see, ja?"

Beauregard shrugs. The motion registers in an unimportant, background sort of way, because the other thing happening is the restraining arm around his waist shifting to hold his forearm away from his body as Caleb's other hand scurries up under his arm.

Essek tries not to shriek, if only to spite Beauregard, and instead emits a breathless, drawn-out snort that he can hear his friends laugh at even above his own high-pitched wail. "HA! - ahahaaaa - noho, no! - hahahaaa, eee! Caleheheb!"

A slight weight presses at the top of his head as Caleb plops his chin contemplatively atop it, a mockery of previous late nights spent studying together. "No, this is the wrong spot for giggling?" he teases. "Are you sure?"

Essek's throat is bared, his head flung back in deference to the torrent of laughter streaming out of him. Still, he manages the pathetic little nod the question requires.

He feels more than hears Caleb's amused huff, warm and soothing against his forehead even as fingernails skitter cruelly against the straining muscle at the back of his armpit. "Maybe you'll be a little quieter when you run out of breath in a few minutes, liebling? I seem to remember you telling me that patience is a virtue."

He's clearly given up any pretense at sternness, openly affectionate even in his threatening. It's unbearable, and Essek would beg him to keep going if he was currently capable of anything other than sobbing out a single, desperate, "Mercy!"

Caleb huffs again. "Ja, ja, alright." The tickling fades to a soothing rub under his arm as he's released, still shaking with half-spent laughter and leaning against Caleb's sweater for support.

This, too, feels like something he'll never get used to, having people to lean on. Having Caleb to lean on, even when he plants a smug little kiss on the tip of Essek's ear and makes a noise that is almost certainly a laugh when Essek whines at him. It's perfect, and more than Essek deserves, and-

"See?" Beau says. "Shrieky."

There are tears caught in his eyelashes. He opens his eyes to blink them away and finds half the Nein staring back at him - where did Kingsley even come from? - and looking more entertained than they have any right to be.

He promptly swivels in Caleb's arms and buries his nose in his sweater. It's particularly soft today.

One of Caleb's arms wraps back around his waist, soothing. The other cups the back of his head. "Well, he is very ticklish, you have to be careful."

He's using his professor voice, it sounds like he's about to pull out a diagram of Essek and start circling things. Essek sincerely hopes Caleb can't feel how much blood that particular thought sends racing to his cheeks.

"Schatz?" Caleb's mouth lowers back to his ear - Essek feels him startle away as it flicks instinctively and can't suppress a tiny little smile as he feels him cautiously press back in. "May I show them?"

Essek manages another tiny nod, his smile stretches another inch.

There's a warm little nudge as Caleb presses his nose to Essek's temple before looking back up at the rest of their friends. "Shh, look."

He strokes gently at the back of Essek's neck, fluttering his fingers all the way to the backs of his ears, and Essek doesn't even bother to stop the giggles that spill out.

It would, he thinks, be a terrible waste.

#tickling #critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #chocfic

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sockablock · 4 years

Text

in light of the truly heartwarming response I got to part one of this story, please enjoy: How To Build a Magic School, Chapter 2

—

It took a special kind of mind to follow the Mighty Nein’s conversations once they really got heated. It helped, at least, that they were seated in close proximity, sprawled across a ring of crates in the main tent, but the fact of the matter was that trying to pay attention to seven people all chiming in at once was already giving Essek a mild headache. And minor neck pain.

“—kind of disguise,” Veth was saying. “I know it’s been a couple years, but folks here…they might not be happy to see a…a...”

“A foreigner,” Fjord said, diplomatically.

“A Xhorhastian,” Yasha tried.

“A drow,” Essek came to their rescue. “No, she is right.”

There was a sharp and semi-affronted exhale from Jester. “Did you get any funny looks when you arrived? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“And do you remember which ones they were?” Caleb added quietly.

Essek hesitated, trying to remember, but through the bright haze of sunlight and hot summer, the furious clamor of construction outside—

“I…do not think anyone saw my arrival.”

“You’re wearing full black and carrying a pink umbrella,” Beau grunted. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated again. “Ah…no.”

“All sorts of interesting people have visited us since the school project started,” Caduceus said. In line with the conventions of his personal narrative, he was attempting to make tea over a tiny, portable burner. “You probably won’t be the strangest thing they’ve seen or will see, working here.”

“They’ve already seen Fjord—”

“Hey! That—why—”

“The people of Felderwin can be touchy though,” Veth continued, smugly ignoring Fjord. “I don’t really think you can blame them, either. If it wasn’t the goblin attacks for years before that, it was the, well, the huge invasion where a purple worm ate the ground and half the town caught on fire.”

She maintained eye contact with Essek as she said this. Her gaze intensified when he shrugged.

“That is…fair enough,” Caleb cut in. “But I would feel…ill at ease to force you, Essek, to hide if you did, ah, did not wish to…”

Essek gestured vaguely at his appearance. “Actually, I had assumed I would be needing to disguise myself. I have masqueraded as a high elf before, and it would not be difficult to do so again.”

“Isn’t that a lot of spells wasted?” Fjord asked. “Won’t it be annoying to have to keep that up?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Veth, under her breath.

“Oh, oh, I could Polymorph you!” Jester clapped her hands together, enthused. “I can make you anything! You could be an elf, or a tiefling, or a firbolg or a—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Essek said smoothly, “but I do have a few resources at hand. A simple ring of illusion would do the trick.”

“What are we gonna say about you, though?” Beauregard asked. All heads turned toward her. “If the court wants to know about you, a random mage and one of the first hires of the magic school, what are we supposed to tell them?”

They considered this.

“He’s a…family friend?”

“Whose family?”

“Well, I’d like to think of us as a family—”

“Why don’t we say he’s from Nicodranas?” Jester suggested. “We could say he’s, um…oh! That he was recommended by Yussa!”

“Yussa?” Essek echoed.

“Actually…that doesn’t sound half-bad,” Fjord mused. “Master Yussa is a mage that the king recognizes, yes?”

“Ah, he is a mage?”

“He’s a friend of ours!” Jester beamed. “A super powerful wizard that lives in the Open Quay. He’s pretty powerful, Essek. Maybe even more powerful than you!”

This was delivered with a winning smile. Caleb sighed. “From what I gather, Master Yussa is much older, and has had quite a few lifetimes’ worth of practice. He is also…quite reclusive, and therefore not exactly what we had in mind for this school.

“And he said no,” Beauregard muttered.

“Yes, danke, and he also turned us down. The point is, we can pretend you are acquainted with him. That should be enough to assuage the court.”

“Will this…Master Yussa agree to such a thing?” Essek asked.

Caleb answer with a faint grin. “He is a wizard who feels he is…not so beholden to court pressures. Also, he owes us a favor, as is.”

Essek couldn’t help but match Caleb’s expression. “Is that so? Then I find I quite admire this man.”

“We saved him from the Happy Fun Ball,” Yasha supplied, a collection of syllables that no betting man would have ever predicted to come from her. “He likes us.”

“He loves us,” Jester corrected. “He has our Little Willi and his assistant Wensforth practically worships us and everything!”

After the pertinent information had been properly located, Essek nodded. “That is, er, lovely. I owe him my thanks.”

“Now we just gave to give you a new name,” said Veth. “I don’t think we can keep calling you ‘Thelyss,’ unless we want the idiots on the Committee getting suspicious.”

“The…excuse me?”

“The Arcane Restoration Supervisory Committee,” Caleb sighed, “is a group of concerned officials—”

“—nosy dillweeds—"

“—that was formed to manage—”

“—micromanage—”

“—to oversee our current rebuilding efforts. It is very likely,” he continued, giving Beau a look, “that this is the court’s way of reconciling with the fact that an unknown quantity has been handed the reigns of the Dwendalian Empire’s arcane future.”

“I know that,” Beau countered, “I just don’t like them.”

“Caleb is the unknown quantity,” Caduceus added.

“…I see,” said Essek, eventually. “Should I, ah, be concerned about them?”

“Probably not,” Beau said. “They’re just a bunch of nobles who think they understand the first thing about magic.”

“You being an expert on the subject, of course,” was what Essek did not say, because self-preservation interrupted just in time. Instead, what left his mouth was:

“I had also anticipated concern about my involvement—that is, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’s involvement—in this matter. If necessary, I can masquerade as someone else. I, ah, will still need an umbrella during the daylight hours, though. Or perhaps a large hat?”

The elongated squeal from Jester atop the milk crate filled him with regret.

“What was the name you used last time?” Fjord asked. “Desden…Desbin…”

“‘Dezran Thain,’” Essek supplied. “Actually, I could employ that title again.”

“Uh…is that a good idea?” Veth asked. “Wasn’t Dezran a friend of the Assembly’s?”

Essek shook his head. “Strictly speaking, Thain was just a very minor lord that lived in Nicodranas. When the peace talks began, he was called upon by Da’leth to play tour guide and host due to his interest in magic and local familiarity. Only he, de Rogna, and Tversky knew who I really was.”

“It is…not bad, as far as our plans go,” Caleb said after a while. “It aligns with the story that you are Nicodranian, and it might actually sit well with the court members that had favored the Assembly. As for those who supported us against them…”

Beau rolled her eyes when Caleb’s gaze fell on her. “Yeah, yeah, an Expositor will vouch for him.”

“An Expositor?”

“Gods, fine, this Expositor.”

“Thank you.” Then he gave Essek a nod. “That about covers it then, ja? This story, we can tell the court, and then—"

“Wait, hang on—” And this was Beauregard again, leaning forward, staring directly at Essek.

“Yes?” he said.

“What did you tell your court?” she asked.

—

Mother had spoken to the Bright Queen alone. This was not technically out of the ordinary, as the Umavis of Rosohna frequently met to discuss state matters too selective for anyone else. But Essek was unused to being considered “anyone else,” which was why the situation still rankled, in his mind.

“Tell me again,” he turned to face his mother, floating clothes and books drifting past his head. “Is that all you said?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

At his still-annoyed expression, his mother sighed. “Yes, dear. I just told Leylas that this was a unique opportunity for you to integrate yourself within the Empire and gain ample information that would otherwise be inaccessible. We all saw how abruptly the war ended, and how quickly the Assembly seemed to fall afterwards. No one can blame her for being curious.”

A small inkwell drifted across the room as Essek resumed packing. “And then?” he prompted.

His mother sighed again.

“And then I reassured her Majesty that there were plenty of souls that could temporarily come together to fill the void you would leave behind—”

No doubt all from Den Thelyss, Essek thought.

“—and that even in absentia, you would still be serving as a valuable font of information for the Dynasty. Which, after all, is what the Shadowhand is meant to do. And of course, should it ever be required, you could always be called home.”

“…indeed.”

“Indeed,” his mother smiled. “Though, of course, this is all under the assumption that aside from your prospective employer, nobody else will know who you truly are.”

Essek gave this due consideration.

“I have a feeling that the rest of the Mighty Nein will be told, Mother.”

The Umavi of Den Thelyss was not an easy woman to read. Her expression gave nothing away as she said, “I see.”

“But,” Essek added, because he felt he needed to, “I don’t think anyone else has to know.”

She reached out slowly and plucked a mirror from the air.

“I have more faith in you than that, my dear. I am confident you will ensure it is so.”

—

“—temporary leave of absence,” said Essek, now, to the Mighty Nein. “I have been the Shadowhand for most of my life, and a diligent scholar of the nation before that. I was owed some vacation days.”

“Vacation days—” began Fjord.

“But how temporary?” asked Beau, cutting him off. “I thought it’d be hard for you—you know, as you said, the Shadowhand—to just up and leave, after all. How long can you stay here?”

Essek gave her a wry smile. “Fortunately, I expect my definition of ‘temporary’ is somewhat different than yours.”

“Longer,” said Caduceus.

“Longer,” he agreed. “It is very safe to assume that I can stay for at least a decade, if I wish.”

“And I certainly hope you do wish,” said Caleb quickly. “There are many things we will need to accomplish, after all, not just today during construction, but in the future. And, ah,” he added, a little more pointedly, “I do feel as if I should thank you again. For everything you have done for us, and now today in volunteering your expertise.”

“Man, we’re really going to need it,” Jester groaned, throwing herself back across the milk crate. “The Committee keeps telling us to go faster, hire this person, that person, build the school different—everything.”

“Really?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, but that all can be explained tomorrow,” he said. “For now, though,” and he stood, crouching to avoid the ceiling of the tent, “let me show you to where we are staying. I expect you must be tired, ja? If not by the travel, then at least the time difference.”

For just a moment, Essek thought about saying otherwise. But there was something in Caleb’s hopeful expression that made him pause.

He yawned very minutely, and smiled. “It would be nice to put my things away,” he admitted. “And, ah, perhaps have a short rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Caleb gestured to the door, but did stop to address the group at large. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he added, “but if anyone needs me…Jester?”

She saluted cheerfully, for the spirit of it. “Got it!”

“And of course, Veth, you are the Professor in charge.”

This was answered with an expansive wave, and a grin.

“Of course, Headmaster! Leave everything to us!”

—

“So…Headmaster, eh?” One pair of footsteps—and then sheepishly, another—began to crunch through the freshly-dewed grass. All around them, spanning the entirety of the field, a legion of masons and stonecutters and workmen cut, sawed, hammered, and hefted the thick wooden frame of an enormous building in its first stages. A group of surveyors stood at the center, arguing as more lumber was lugged into view, directing the flow of Construction and Progress.

“Apparently so,” Caleb said, “though I have to admit, I am not quite used to that title yet.”

Something enormous soared overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun.

“Would you prefer Professor Widogast?”

Caleb sighed as the shadow vanished.

“I prefer ‘Caleb,’ to be truly honest.”

Essek chuckled. “Then for now at least, I will oblige.”

He glanced up as the next shadow approached, squinting to see in the bright morning light. After rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, he could make out the shape of a massive carpet, carrying sacks of sand and brick.

“Spoils from the remnants of Soltryce,” Caleb explained, before Essek could ask. “We found quite a number of things in the basement of that school, some…well.” His expression went dark, and not just because of the shadow overhead. “Many of those things we managed to release. Some, ultimately, had to be destroyed.” But then he gestured to the enormous architectural undertaking around them and added in a lighter tone, “Some things, though, ended up being rather useful. Like the, ah, look, over there—”

Essek blinked again, and this time spotted what appeared to be twelve hulking stone statues, moving slowly between a line of workers. Each had gait like rock grinding on steel, and were lifting whole logs like they weighed nothing.

“Guardian constructs,” Caleb said. “They were a nuisance to battle, but once de Rogna was gone, they went dormant and stopped fighting. We figured out how to pilot them later.”

Essek looked suitably impressed by this. He shifted his umbrella into his other hand.

“Really?” he said. “And are you now their master?”

“Oh no, nein,” Caleb quickly shook his head. “Honestly, it was suggested, but I…there was something that bothered me about the idea of having control of them. And not just I, but…it felt wrong to let any single person control a fleet of sleepless warriors. So Beauregard got creative.”

“Indeed?”

Caleb pointed to a wooden sign that was nailed into the ground a few feet from their path. A handful of workers was crouching next to it, carefully reciting what was scrawled across its surface. After a moment, to Essek’s genuine surprise, he realized they were practicing an arcane incantation.

“How do—”

“A pronunciation guide,” Caleb said. He was—yes, he was smiling about this. “We managed to translate enough verbal commands to make them usable for anyone who can read Common.”

“But…but…that’s everyone,” Essek said, hurrying a bit to catch back up. It took him some effort to tear his gaze from the sign. “Are you not…are you not concerned about this information falling into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, but if anyone can use them, then there is no problem. The playing field, as they say, has evened out. That was Beauregard’s idea, anyhow.” At the silence that followed, Caleb tilted his head and said, “Think of it this way, ja? A magic sword controlled by an evil person is not so dangerous if even a peasant can tell it to stop. What is the use of a weapon of war that listens to everyone’s commands?”

“Yes, but…” Essek struggled to find the right words. “Now…now…right, but now the sword is a, a, a butter knife! What would be the point of that?”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he managed a trying smile. “That…depends on what you need though, no? Right now, what we are looking for is not war. It is toast. Er…that is, a metaphorical toast.”

“But…still, if that is the case, anyone could steal your constructs,” Essek said, somewhat subdued. “Should they not be guarded? As you would protect a prized tool?”

Caleb actually snorted at this. “If anybody attempted to do so,” he said, “they would receive quite an earful from the Chief Surveyor. They would not dare.”

And then Caleb turned, met Essek’s gaze, and it looked like he was waiting for cheerful agreement.

Neither response felt appropriate. Something about this still bothered Essek, almost like trying an ill-fitting sock.

“I think, ah, that I prefer jam,” he managed eventually. “On my toast, that is. And perhaps, a cup of tea?”

Blessedly, this elicited a chuckle from Caleb. “Of course, of course. That I can provide. We are quite close to the tavern, as is.”

And indeed, after only a few more minutes, they passed through a thin line of trees and arrived at the edge of a small, but bustling town.

“Welcome—well, welcome back to Feldwerin,” Caleb corrected. “Though this time, I expect, you will be staying longer.”

—

When the war ended, Felderwin Tillage had been left in a state of utter chaos. Purple worms had torn apart acres of land, fields had been razed by advancing soldiers, and scores of houses, stables, and shops had been burned to the ground when the invasion began.

And then, the Cerberus Assembly had fallen, and more information flooded the populous. They’d been told, virtually overnight, that the Archmages had been secretly using this town as a testing ground. They’d unleashed uncontrolled magic here for generations, tricking and abusing the townsfolk for their experiments, forcing a local lad—the widower—to work for them, and when people fell ill, they’d blamed it all on molded fruit.

Suddenly, the villagers felt quite foolish. And then, they’d started to get angry.

So it came as a genuine shock to Caleb that when the time came to build their campus, Veth had stepped forward and said it should be in Felderwin.

“But…they’d never agree,” he’d said. “Why should they?”

But she’d shaken her head. “They will.”

And so, the next morning, Veth marched through the village center with Luc and Yeza following behind, the Mighty Nein scrambling to keep up. She’d stormed up the stairs of the Town Hall, looked the Starosta dead in his eye, and informed him that everything was about to change.

All they’d need, she said, was a swath of land outside town, far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with the calm that this village had been so denied, but close enough that it was still in the tillage. She’d told him, when he’d protested, that yes, there would be mages, but there would also be student mages, young, burgeoning minds that would spend quite a long time at the school. They’d be trained there, fed and housed and cared for, and eventually, once they grew up and graduated, when they looked back fondly on their younger years, it’d be in Felderwin.

Besides, she’d added, tapping the side of her nose, now the King would have to protect this place. After all, it’d be right next to the Empire’s arcane center, and wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some proper defenses? Not to mention, if you needed to borrow any of the bright young masons and stonecutters we’d hired, well. That could be arranged, easy.

Sometimes, she’d said, it doesn’t hurt to be on the map. Because then the world pays attention to what happens to you.

And then the mayor had said, Aren’t you dead?

And then Veth had informed him, I got better.

And so it was now, a few months later, that Caleb led Essek past the newly-rebuilt Brenatto Apothecary, toward the Glassy Grass Inn. It had become the go-to tavern for the Mighty Nein, not because they were unwelcome in Veth’s house, per say, but more due to a gentle conversation that Yeza had had with his wife about work-life balance after Caduceus had walked into the center of the shop during its busiest hours in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush.

After that, they agreed to at least sleep next door.

The bell overhead rang as they entered, though the sound was lost in the din of voices. Essek had barely shut his parasol before a burly man in an apron rushed past, carrying tray upon tray of drink and food.

“It’s gotten rather busy since we moved in,” Caleb explained. “Word got around, and apparently people quite like staying in the same pub as us. That, and old Littlebottle agreed to let our workers take meals and rooms at a discount. The barkeep.”

“Really?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “How generous of him.”

“Well, apparently he is grateful for the business. And, I expect, grateful that our project has kept his neighbor preoccupied. Apparently Veth and Yeza were responsible for quite a number of the scorch marks at the edge of his lawn.”

“Is that so?” Essek chuckled. “I find it easy to believe.” Then he added, as he watched Caleb wave to a face in the crowd, “It seems you have taken well to your new assignment. And life in this town.”

He was caught off-guard when he noticed the faintest coloring of Caleb’s ear.

“Oh, er…is that so? Have I?”

“Well, I…just meant it seems you have made friends with the locals. And you, ah, move through the village with purpose, and had quite a lot to say about your endeavor.”

“Is that—scheisse, was I annoy—”

“Oh! No, no, not at all. I just, er…”

They stopped in the doorway leading up to the second floor, laughter and conversation winding slowly all around them.

“I just meant, ah…it is nice to see you so relaxed,” Essek finished lamely. “Retirement from adventuring seems to suit you.”

Caleb seemed to relax. “Well,” he murmured, “I am glad you think so. Though I must say, my retirement has certainly been eventful.”

“Better still than the typical hero’s retirement, no?”

“Ha! Lucky for me, eh?”

They stood there for a moment longer, as if neither were sure who should go first. But after a short pause, Caleb stepped back and began rummaging through his pockets. “Here, ah, here, take this,” he said, and pressed a small silver key into Essek’s hand. “It leads to my bedroom, but you can rest there while I see about getting you a room. And some tea.”

Eseek turned it over, looped a finger through the cord. “Oh, but I can’t just leave you to—”

“No, nein, I insist,” said Caleb. “I do not mind—”

“Are you sure—”

“Of course.” And with the air of someone playing a trump card in a social encounter, he added, “After all, you have travelled quite a distance, my friend. Please. I will join you in a moment.”

—

The Mighty Nein ate their sandwiches peacefully in the meadow outside their tent.

Then:

“I thought he’d be wearing different clothes.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I just thought he’d look…less shadowy.”

“Like he wouldn’t be wearing that creepy mantle, or something?”

“Yeah! Like I thought he’d be in, like, summery clothes! Like a flowy shirt and regular pants and short sleeves and straw sandals. He is taking a break from being a spymaster, after all.”

There a pause as they pondered the likelihood of this.

“He…could be wearing that under the mantle,” Caduceus said.

“Sandals? Really?” said Fjord.

“But his skin, he probably could not wear those if he wanted to,” Yasha said.

“Hmm…that is a good point,” Jester conceded. “But still, all black? In the summer? That’s

“Not if he’s got, I dunno, ice under there,” said Veth. “What if he has a bunch of ice strapped to his chest?”

“Ice? Now, really…” said Fjord, but everyone else had started to ruminate on this.

“No stains,” said Beau eventually.

“What?”

“No stains,” she repeated “If there was ice, there’d be stains. From it melting, right?”

“Or he’d be—ugh, gross—he’d be leaking,” said Veth. “Like there’d be puddles underneath him and stuff.”

Three of them snickered delightedly at this. Then Caduceus passed around more juice, and more sandwiches.

—

There was a cat on the bed when Essek walked in, sprawled out as if it owned the place.

Disguised drow and disguised fey regarded each other for a moment. Then Frumpkin stretched lazily, and yawned.

It occurred to Essek, as he continued to stand in the doorway, that this might be some kind of test. Minutes passed as he struggled to find the right thing to say—this was a familiar, was it not? And then he realized that anything he did end up saying would probably come across as rather silly. He decided to err on caution and simply nodded to the cat before sitting down on a worn wooden chair.

It ignored him completely. Essek twisted at his sleeve.

And finally, by the Grace of the Luxon, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Come in, come i—Caleb, that is much too much food.”

“Nonsense,” said Caleb, who had closed the door behind him rather inelegantly with a foot. Carefully balanced across his arms were two wooden trays absolutely laden with breads, cheeses, sliced meats and fruits that Essek at a first glance couldn’t name. A third tray floated behind Caleb, supported by a faintly-shimmering Unseen Servant, carrying drinks and utensils.

Not to be outdone, Essek gave a faint smile and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The trays rose out of Caleb’s grasp and drifted toward the table.

“I had it,” but his former student was now smiling as well. “Though I have missed seeing an esteemed Gravaturgist at work.”

The food came to a gentle rest between them. “I have also missed showing off,” Essek said wryly. “It is hard to find someone in the Dynasty unfamiliar enough with Dunamancy to appreciate my skills quite as much as you d—you alldid.”

“We did make you teleport us around quite a bit,” Caleb chuckled. He picked up a small piece of bread and split it in two, offering half to Essek. “I do not think we ever repaid you properly, either.”

Essek examined the bread in his hands. “Well, if I remember the contents of your letter correctly, it is the world that should be trying to repay you. The Chained Oblivion? Really, Caleb?”

“Oh, ah…” The man actually had the nerve to sound bashful. “That was mostly an accident, as it were.”

“You…sorry, you accidentally defeated the Chained God? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Well, er, no, not exactly.” He picked up one of the small round fruits and held it between his fingers. “It was sort of an accident that we found it…or rather, we did not know what we were looking for.”

This sounded like the Mighty Nein that Essek knew. He motioned for Caleb to go on.

“We had been…following a dream of Yasha’s,” Caleb said. “She had received it from the Storm Lord ages ago, but with one thing and another, we had never had time to pursue this. There was…a place, an island in the sea, she had felt it was a place of great importance. We weren’t sure why, until we arrived and found…”

A place of starlight and iron chains, buried in the heart of a dead volcano. A chamber, a ritual-site, fading incense and chalk, ensnaring an obelisk and a shattered crystal and at its center, a pulsating, churning darkness—

A hole in reality, Essek would remember, lying awake that night. The bastards had found a hole in reality and then they’d jumped in—

And found themselves standing in a pocket dimension…or at least, that’s what they’d thought. The air swirled with dark mist, the sky alive and churning. The walls of the world seemed to lurch and expand and it was Caduceus who realized that the whole plane was breathing. Jester shifted them out, returning them to the chamber, and they began to pour through the notes left behind. They realized that someone had found a Divine Shackle, then turned it in on itself, re-directed the ritual, created a bridge that would grant them access to the very being of Tharizdun, the most ancient and chaotic of forces—

“But who?” Essek breathed. He held a gooseberry, though he didn’t know it yet. “Who was responsible?”

Caleb scowled. “They left their notes behind. Who else would it be?”

As far as the Cobalt Soul could tell, the archmages themselves had not originally been involved in any actual cult. But after Vence’s capture, and Tasithar’s transfer, a spark of interest had been ignited in the minds of some of the nation’s brightest.

“It is like your metaphor,” Caleb said. “Before, they were simply sailing on a boat—"

Essek hesitated. The horrible sourness of the fruit might’ve been muddying his concentration. “It is what?”

“Like they were sailing,” Caleb repeated. “And every so often, they could lean over the edge and skim the sea for knowledge from relative safety. But capturing the cultists had…inspired the Academy to instead, go for a dive. And so they dove, down into the deeps, plumbing the darkest tides for secrets. And of course, they ultimately encountered the monster of all monsters…”

From there, it had been a matter of getting the proof—about this, about everything else they’d done—into the hands of Cobalt Soul. But word got out, and whispers travelled, and more people than the Nein could ever have imagined rose up, demanded justice and retribution—

Essek remembered the reports he’d received on the morning of the fall of the Cerberus Assembly. The casualties had been extreme, but what happened afterwards, even more so.

“You arrested them,” he murmured. “The ones that survived, anyway.”

“And still, quite a few of them escaped,” Caleb sighed. “That is of course not even including the fact that not all of them were guilty enough to fully imprison to start with. As I understand, Hass has left to see the world, and Lord Uludan is still a diplomat for the king.”

Essek glanced at a slice of cured ham. He wondered if it would be enough to counter the taste in his mouth.

“With the…Assembly gone,” he said carefully, “there will not be a council of mages to balance the rule of the king, anymore. The nation has lost a powerful governing body and a source of great strength. What do you suppose this means for Dwendal?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essek. “I certainly do not think the Assembly was doing much balancing to begin with,” he said, almost as slowly. “As for the King, well…the man is quite old, and very paranoid. He will be tricky to manage, and yet there are a number of good people surrounding him. In fact, the elimination of the Assembly could allow them to finally step up. That, and this nation has now witnessed a historic uprising of the people. For the first time in a long time, citizens are trying to make their voices heard. And unless the royal court wants more chaos, or to fall in the way that the Assembly did, for once, I think they will have to listen.”

Essek lowered his hand. He stared at Caleb. “But…they are just people,” he said, astonished. “How could they know what is best for the nation?”

Caleb’s expression changed, slightly. He was silent for quite a long stretch of time.

“My dear friend…they are the nation.”

—

“No,” said Fjord.

“But—”

“No, Jester. I will not let you tape ice cubes to my armpit.”

There was a pause. Then a huff.

“Fine, I’ll ask Beau.”

—

After lunch, Essek was shown to a room slightly farther down the hall.

“It will likely be some time before we will be able to move into the school grounds,” Caleb said, “so I recommend you make yourself comfortable here.”

Essek was given another small key, tied to a leather cord.

He felt like something needed to be said. Gods, if he could just figure out what.

“I, ah…thank you,” he tried. “For…lunch, for everything, the room, and, ah, if you need gold—"

Caleb shook his hand. “Nein, please, no. It is, as they say, on the house. More accurately, on the dime of the royal treasury.”

There was another hesitation. Essek sought desperately for a solution, but when nothing came, he sighed. And gave up.

“I, um…am sorry,” he said. “If I…made a statement that was…incorrect.”

Caleb studied his expression. Then, he seemed to sigh as well.

“A school is for learning, is it not? Maybe we will be surprised by who teaches.”

“Er…”

“I just mean,” Caleb murmured, “that we do truly come from different worlds. That are, in many odd ways, rather the same. I just hope it will not be too much.”

Essek was not a stupid man. He opened his mouth again, to protest, but stopped when a hand brushed against his arm.

“You should get some rest,” Caleb said. “Unpack, adjust to our time zone, relax. Then tomorrow,” and here there was the faintest hint of smile, “I will give you a real tour of the school. You should have a voice in some of our plans, too, for the curriculum and into the future. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it will be better to have everyone around when we finish the story. Yasha does very good sound effects for the Chained Oblivion.”

There was another pause. Not nearly as tense, but still quite bewildered.

“She does…what?”

“You did not think that was the end of the story, did you?” Caleb grinned. “That we toppled the Assembly and the Maw that Devours just vanished?”

Essek recalled the other reports.

“Ah,” he said. “More the fool I.”

Caleb gave him a friendly pat. “Once a bridge is built, it goes both ways,” he said. “It is funny how often we wizards forget that.”

Then, in the warmth of the hallway, he nodded.

“Have a rest, Essek Thelyss. I will be down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he nodded, and turned around, and left.

—

“Jester, I—oh gods, that’s cold.”

“Hold still, silly! You have to hold still.”

“But I—ah—oh, oh gods.”

—

And later that evening, alone in his room, Essek summoned an exquisite onyx chest. He popped it open, and slowly all his worldly possessions began to drift out. Clothes, papers, books and components slowly floated across the room, settling into the proper drawers or hanging themselves in the closet.

And then, Essek collapsed into bed. With a wave of his hand, a small mirror appeared.

It was black, made from polished volcanic glass and set into a twisted metal frame. It had been a gift, and as far as mirrors went, it was rather lacking, but—

He sighed.

It would get the job done.

—

[Part 1] - [Writing Tag] - [The Bail Project] - [National Bail Fund Network]

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