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slytherinsnekxvii · 3 years

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okay, so, nobody asked, but i spend a lot of time thinking about severus' "gang" that sirius mentioned, the one with rosier and mulciber and avery, and here's how i think it probably could have happened:

first of all, rosier, mulciber and avery are likely rich, and these mfs are probably such purebred purebloods that they've got their fricking pedigrees stuck to their bedposts. they aren't gonna fuck with some scrawny, broke half-blood whose name they don't even recognise, especially when his one (1) singular friend is some muggleborn in gryffindor. so, yeah, they're definitely not touching that hot mess with a ten foot pole.

at least, not until lucius malfoy takes a shine to this practically feral kid, this skinny little chaos entity, who's apparently a wicked smart potions prodigy, and is getting into regular fights with james potter and sirius black. suddenly, the scrawny, broke half-blood whose mother was a prince, apparently, becomes very, very interesting. suddenly, these rich purebred purebloods are willing to make an exception.

they share a dorm, a common room and all of their classes, so they try to ensure there's overlap, and there is. not much, since snape is 110% focused on his little friend and spends as much time with her as possible, but just enough that they can trade homework answers and talk shit about the dada professor and not feel too uncomfortable in each other's space.

the girl drifts in and out of the picture in the coming years, and sometime during fourth year, rosier marks her down as a casualty of war while he secretly celebrates getting rid of her. she's been keeping her distance, especially since that one night where snape's bed was empty most of the night and he came back even more jumpy, twitchy and hypervigilant than ever, but wouldn't tell where he'd been. they keep an eye on him, after that, since there's only room for one exception, rosier says, mulciber backing him up, and that's him. snape looks up from his book, and wilkes is dismissing him before he's spoken. she's no different from any of the other little mudbloods, wilkes barks at him, with that look she has that accepts no arguments. snape goes to make his case, counts four glaring faces, hears lucius and narcissa in the back of his mind and cuts his losses. he goes back to his book.

the next year, when snape finds himself hanging upside down courtesy of his own spell at the end of james potter's wand, he calls her a mudblood and evans leaves for good. rosier leaves the classroom cursing mary macdonald's name for accusing him of cheating, and is in the corridor just in time to catch snape running up to gryffindor tower. mulciber and avery inform him that snape's gone to grovel at the feet of saint evans, wilkes lamenting that they'd taught him better than that, and that's when severus walks through the common and into the dorms, mechanical, and they know that that that's the end of that. none of them really understand why, but losing the girl seems to break something in severus. he seems to shut down right in front of them, not even bothering to elbow rosier out of his bed as he usually would when the other boy makes himself comfortable atop all of severus' research.

new spells remain unfinished, he refuses to brew, hardly eats, can barely sleep and the idleness all this causes makes him vacant and hyperaware all at once, not that he has the energy to do anything about it. rosier was glad to see the back of the evans girl, but something ugly in him twists seeing his friend like this. he asks wilkes what it means, and she tells him that severus is still a scrawny little no-name mudblood, but he's a scrawny little no-name mudblood who belongs to them, and that makes him theirs, and slytherins take care of their own. so, avery brings him food from the great hall, calls an elf when none of them can be bothered to go. mulciber drags him into the dusty old potions lab on the fourth floor every day, keeps him there until the gears in his brain start turning again and then drags him back to the dorms when curfew catches up to them. wilkes writes home and delivers dark arts tome after dark arts tome into severus's little research hub. evan volunteers as test subject and research partner for every spell, every potion severus could think of just then. they perfect liberacorpus first thing, and then sectumsempra and then vulnera sanentur when the bleeding won't stop. they do what they can before it's time to go home for the summer, and when they meet up again for lucius and narcissa's wedding, severus seems more person than ghost, looking only as haunted as he usually would after going home.

the next year and a half is spent making bad decisions and serving detentions. much research goes into what potion ingredients could be considered hallucinogenic, and time goes into turning them into forms that could result in a non-painful escape from the real world. somewhere along the line, severus starts smoking, rolling his own cigarettes. avery thinks about selling them. classes are optional, the whole lot of them only bothering to show up enough to make up the 75% attendance necessary to sit your NEWTs. potter and black jump him when they've got safe opportunities, and even when he's in the hospital wing with aches, pains and a detention waiting for him, it's still better than fifth year.

the newts are a breeze. potions, defence, arithmancy, ancient runes, charms, herbology, transfiguration. they graduate with flying colours, and to celebrate such an achievement, each of then receives a special invitation to malfoy manor, where a very important man, who promises protection and power and glory and a new world order will be in attendance.

and then, of course, so that it all fits neatly into canon, they all get their dark marks and move on with their lives. severus starts his mastery, likely funded by lucius and acquired by narcissa's connections. mulciber and avery shadow their fathers at the ministry while evan does as he pleases, enjoying the frivolities of life while giving his art the time and attention it deserves. wilkes probably gets into legal work of some kind. they do their thing and then shit goes down and evan and wilkes die, everyone else is arrested and severus goes to beg dumbledore to save lily's life and ends up turning into a spy and destroying himself all over again in the process.

but, yeah! that's my somewhat feasible explanation of how the little death eater gang ended up happening, and what serves as the foundation for a good few of my headcanons. honestly, i really just want an excuse to think about them being teenagers doing chaotic dumb teenager things without it being too out of left field/out of character (i say, as though we actually have a reliable amount of information about these characters).

#headcanon #slytherin #marauders' era #death eaters #severus snape #evan rosier #mulciber #avery (harry potter)#wilkes (harry potter)#lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy

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welshdragonrawr · 3 years

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Well, Here I Lie Like a Lover Who Isn’t In Love

I don't know what this is. I started writing it after Ratched came out as a random little 'what if' headcanon/drabble. This is what came of it about 9 months longer and later than I ever planned. 3k words of Gwen thinking about stuff during an angsty canon-divergence from the Dance

Read on Ao3 here; Well, Here I Lie or https://archiveofourown.org/works/30784745 or full text under the cut

Gwendolyn Briggs only closes her eyes for a second. Just one second. It couldn’t have been more than that. But she would forever remember that second as the longest, darkest hour of her life.

She flinches when the gun goes off. Everyone does. Someone even shrieks when the sharp bang ricochets in the room – though Gwendolyn doesn’t know to whom the startled screech belongs. In truth, she can’t help thinking, she didn’t really know anyone at the party save the bare minimum and most only by name. She only came because she had been invited by…

She turns on her heel so fast she could swear she’s close to giving herself what the doctors call whiplash. The bright blue of her skirts swirl around her calves; a cerulean cylindrical wave stuck in place. Because she is stuck in place. Just as Mildred Ratched seems to be. Like a marionette with all her strings pulled taut by her brother, keeping her limbs locked and looking so still. Everyone else in the room flailing and fussing and freaking out except for her. Gwendolyn cannot recall when, or if, she had ever seen the redhead so still. She had already learned the nurse was almost always moving, in thought or deed, big gestures or small. Even now, she sees Mildred’s lips move but Gwendolyn can’t hear what it is those ruby red lips are trying to say. Not when her focus is drawn to the maroon colour blooming through that teal green silk.

And just like a marionette - her brother has snipped the strings - Mildred drops.

Is it possible for time to simultaneously move so fast and so slow? Gwendolyn can’t comprehend it. One moment Mildred was standing a few feet away and nearly offering her a small smile – the next she’s lying in the middle of that dancefloor Gwen had so keenly looked forward to asking her to dance on. There will be no more dancing now.

She doesn’t even feel it when her knees hit the hard floor. All she can see is Mildred. Mildred lying with her hair cushioning her rare hatless head like a gothic halo, and a bright flower blossoming at Mildred’s side as just as rich and red. The colour seeps through that soft silk bodice in a way that Gwen thinks can’t possibly be real. Until that night, until that moment, Gwen had always loved how Mildred’s eyes could widen with surprise, and how it could make her look so much smaller than the imposing nurse that the woman was. It was always incredible how she could make such darkness look so childlike, when her eyes became big and round, like ink in one of Gwen’s morning papers how they’d glisten still fresh off the press. Mildred’s eyes are glistening now. But there is no joy to be found.

Eyes black as night, lips red as blood, her complexion snow white, oh look what prince charming has done... and in the current company Gwen can’t even give her true love’s kiss. No kiss could remedy this. But damn them all for preventing her from trying.

Someone calls Mildred’s name, but it doesn’t sound like herself – too hoarse and fragile and not the assertive governor’s assistant she’s supposed to be.

“Somebody help! For god’s sake-!” it’s a desperate screeching for someone, at everyone, to anyone who might listen on earth or up in heaven. Where’s the firmness in her tone now? Where’s the steel in her spine now? The only metal left inside is the lead in her limbs rendering her listless while the bullet in Mildred’s chest takes her breath away.

Mildred, for her part, looks eerily calm for someone bleeding to death on the dancefloor. For one bizarre bright moment Gwendolyn can’t help but wonder if the woman has ever been shot before. There’s something she can’t explain in how quickly Mildred’s expression melts from shock to a strange serenity; Gwendolyn cannot possibly understand it. At best, she can only hope that if there is life after this night, perhaps she’ll find the courage to ask her. She’s never even seen the woman without being top to toe in neat-pressed clothes outside of dreams Gwen dare not divulge to anyone. Dreams that may be dashed now, may never come true.

Mildred’s hand is moving then, thin fingers twitch while Gwendolyn’s itch to take them and squeeze tight. Regardless of witness, she gives in to the urge, and tries to ignore how sticky her palm becomes. It distantly occurs to her that this is the first time that she can remember Mildred ever reaching for her and not the other way around.

She watches those ruby red lips part, a name or a word on such soft breath Gwen nearly misses it but she can’t distinguish what Mildred might be trying to say beyond the deafening sound in her ears her own desperation. She gives the nurse’s hand another squeeze – and realises only then that Mildred moves her palm to the wound at her side – how some subconscious part of her implores for pressure not just for comfort but to keep her there. Gwen knows this. That this is the closest she has ever come to being able to wrap her hands around the other woman’s petite waist – and the closest she has ever come to losing her.

“You’ll be alright…It’ll be alright…Stay with me…” the murmurs and mumbles slip out of her own mouth unbidden and almost incomprehensible. She can’t believe they’re in a hospital full of nurses and there’s no-one there able to do anything. No-one willing. Or so it will seem to Gwen when she looks back on this moment. When she will question why they had all let the minutes linger and drag on long enough.

Someone’s hands press over hers, over theirs, large and firm and all thick fumbling fingers. And then someone is talking in her ear – low voice, soft yet shaky, and in her peripheral the sight of mottled skin; Huck. He’s telling her to breathe – no, telling Mildred? He’s holding Gwen’s hand to Mildred’s side; "Keep the pressure Mrs Briggs-" the dim thought rises like smoke from the fire that she wants to say ‘its miss now-‘ but she hadn’t even had a chance to tell Mildred. Telling anyone else first seems wrong in a way she can’t describe, and she can’t divulge.

Mildred’s eyelids flicker and start to fall as though the weight of the world she carries on those slim shoulders is too heavy to keep holding up. But Gwen wants her to keep holding it up. Gwen wants her to keep holding on. Gwen wants to pull away from the warm wet sensation spilling and seeping through her cotton gloves and run away, she wants Mildred to get up and run away from this terrible place with her. She wants…

“It should have been me… It should have… I was standing-“ the words stutter and start as though she’s trying to defend herself but she’s not sure what for or who to. She thinks she sees Huck shake his head a little, but she can’t tell if he agrees or if it’s pity or if it’s something else entirely. He has something white in his hands – a cloth maybe or a towel half-folded – and he’s slipping his hands underneath Gwen’s this time. If there’s any protest worth making sitting on the tip of her tongue, she swallows it the moment she hears Mildred’s soft gasp of pain.

“Stay with me, Mildred,” Huck’s voice beckons, and Gwen can’t help the dark thought within her that says he has no right to call her that. That says her name, her beautiful name sounds wrong in his timbre. That selfishly thinks stay with me. Until another says who gives a jolly damn who or what Mildred decides to stay for as long as her heart keeps beating. So Gwen’s can too.

Huck’s hands are suddenly replaced by a softer feminine touch and for one deluded moment Gwendolyn thinks maybe, just maybe, she has awoken from a terrible dream. If she could just turn to the left, Mildred would be there, a soft smile and shining gaze, able to tell her everything would be okay.

But the eyes that stare back at Gwendolyn when she looks are blue, not brown, and the hands tugging the blanket around her shoulders are a little too fussy and firm. Betsy. The voice that asks if she is alright to stand is higher than Mildred’s ever was and there is no subtle lisp she has come to love to listen out for. Betsy Bucket is the only one she has left to lean on when it feels like the axis her world spun around has been ripped away from her and she’s too dizzy to trust her own two feet right now.

“She’s going to be just fine…”

Gwen hears the words finally in her ears, something registering beyond the high-pitched ringing as Betsy pulls her away with more care than she thought her capable of. But it’s wrong. Betsy’s wrong. How can any of this be just fine? It’s not fine now. There’s so much blood and it sticks the smooth cotton of Gwen’s gloves to her palms like a damp second skin. She wants to peel and scratch and claw it all away but – but it’s Mildred. She’s holding what she has left of Mildred in her hands. And if they don’t help her, if they can’t help her, will this be all that remains of the radiance that was Mildred Ratched?

Her hands are shaking so hard, even Betsy’s trained fingers tremble as she tries to hold them together in Gwendolyn’s lap. The nurse is calling her name, telling her to breathe, and again there’s that terribly intolerable lie ‘she’ll be fine’. But Betsy can’t tell her the one thing she really wants to know; when she had been staring straight into the shadows of death, why did Mildred look so calm?

***

She’s finally aware, when someone helps to lift her from the chair to give her statement, that Edmund is long gone. The carnage left in his wake rapidly cooling, as quickly as that red stain soaks and seeps into the carpet. Gwendolyn can already see it now; how Betsy or one of the other nurses will be there in the next hour, maybe two, on their knees with a bucket of bleach, washing the blood of the love of her life clean away from those carpet fibres like just another incident.

Gwen doesn’t remember what she says to the police. How they got anything enough to note down on their little pads, she’ll never know. She should have propped her governor’s hat on. She should have pulled herself together and pulled her shoulders back and pulled at any goddamned thing to keep her composure intact. But what had there been left to pull when the one thing she wanted to hold onto had already been pulled away from her? Mercifully Betsy says they left her to her morbid thoughts fast; with a murmur that should have been reassuring but wasn’t, and a landline number on a flimsy card should she happen to recall anything else. As if her remembering the look of shock so briefly on Mildred’s face yet burned behind her eyelids like an imprint would do the force any favours for finding Edmund.

Huck is not the first to suggest Gwendolyn should go home. His jacket - tucked around her shoulders at some point – is big and bulky, too wide in the waist and the material is an ill-ironed cotton blend with a collar that itches at the back of her neck. Or perhaps it’s the faint amalgam of cologne and manly sweat that prickles her skin. It’s too masculine to be anything like Mildred. Mildred and her expensive tastes, her silk nightrobes and chiffon scarves and coats of cashmere in colours so richly dyed she always looks like she stepped fresh from the pictures in glorious technicolour, grander than any silver screen dame. Where Huck lightly suggests, Betsy firmly insists; a chance to wash her hands, to change her clothes and a night’s rest would all do her some good she says. But Gwen still struggles to find her feet, even with the solid arm support at her waist. Mildred always hated people touching her waist, she can’t help thinking, it had been one of the first things Gwen had noticed about her, strange as it was.

Later she would wonder how Betsy got the keys to her car when she doesn’t recall handing them over, and she would hand Huck’s jacket back to the kindly young man once she paid top-dollar for it to be dry-cleaned for him at her own behest. But for now, she simply goes through the motions the others bid her to, her body moving while her mind remains fixed in the moment she could not have predicted such a wonderful night would end in.

***

They let her in, the morning after. It takes more cajoling and coercing than she wishes for, though she can almost understand why. It is probably only because Mildred has no-one else – and Betsy’s subtle string pulling among the night staff of her own she has no doubt – that they allowed her into the small room at all to keep the young nurse company. The small room they have set her up in, one that looks too good to be unused patient quarters but not done up enough to belong to a doctor, is a quaint yet impersonal space. A bed with basic sheets fetched from the storeroom, curtains drawn to keep the harsh light outside from breaching the blank walls. It’s all so cold, and empty, devoid of personality, of life. So unprepared for this sudden occurrence, there aren’t even any typical paper-thin flowers wilting in a vase on the windowsill.

There is nothing here that says this room belongs to a slumbering Mildred Ratched – because yes she is only sleeping, resting, recuperating, Gwen has to remind herself every half hour. Mildred’s belonging had been taken away in a small bag to be examined, and they had been returned some time in the night. But the bag remains on the other chair in the room, untouched. Gwen can’t bring herself to even open it, let alone look inside or take anything out. That’s for Mildred to do, once she wakes, once she’s ready. And hard to understand as the younger woman can be sometimes, Gwen is sure she would be appalled by the thought of someone else going through her things before herself. And Gwen’s reluctance to open the bag has nothing at all to do with the glimpse of rusty stain she had seen for just a second through the lip in the bag when the night nurse had brought it in, of course. She doesn’t have the same reluctance when it comes to looking to the pale form lying so still in the bed. Once her gaze falls to her, she can barely bring herself to look away.

Mildred always looked pale; Gwen might have even dared say anaemic more than once. So often like something from an old portrait - how porcelain the fragile shade of the redhead’s skin often was. Given her diet of bologna, peaches, and endless days of exhaustive work with the ill, invalid and insane, it was hardly surprising.

But this was surprising. It was terrifying even, to see someone’s skin so grey. To see someone who was always moving, lying so still. As far as Gwen knew, Mildred Ratched never stopped for anyone; a cog in constant rotation of her own schemes. Every time Gwen thought she figured out how the pieces fit together or how the parts worked, Mildred would turn anew and prove her wrong all over again. Now all of that had been brought to a standstill because of one Edmund Tolleson. Only the steady rise and fall of the redhead’s chest beneath the blankets, and the quiet beep of the machine keeping it going in such a measured manner, assures her of any movement, of any life.

At first, Gwen had wondered whether she should even be allowed in the redhead’s room, let alone by her bedside. She isn’t family, she isn’t a loved one. She’s not even sure if Mildred ever truly considered her a friend until now; one of the few the nurse would allow herself to have.

One look through the door into that sterile silent room however had been all it took to convince Gwen to step inside, set herself down in the flimsy plastic chair by the bed and wait.

She waits all afternoon.

She waits all night.

She waits long into the early hours of morning until even the next night nurse bids her a fond farewell, along with a blanket and another cup of lukewarm tea that must make a half-dozen Gwen has swallowed down along with all the words she cannot say.

She’s not sure when she reached for Mildred’s hand during the long vigil. But once she does, she doesn’t let go. She knows the moment Mildred wakes, the nurse will probably pull away from the contact, or perhaps Gwen will make sure she’s pulled herself back before then so Mildred wouldn’t feel so imposed on so soon. But for now, just for now, while the whole world is quiet save for Mildred’s breathing and Gwen’s own heartbeat thumping, she held on to Mildred’s hand, and hoped somewhere in her subconscious, Mildred might find something to hold on to.

#ratched series #ratched netflix #Mildred Ratched #Gwendolyn Briggs #Mildolyn #Rigged #ratched fanfic #I'm still not 100% happy with this #But I just can't keep fiddling with it #Also tumblr erased my italics emphasis in certain bits but I can't be bothered to chase and sort them #hopefully it all still comes across #or maybe I'll edit this post at some point in the future

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obannthepunished · 6 years

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well that backstory drop was everything that I had hoped for pretty much I took some pretty long notes imo?? (extra note: i take these for personal use theres just so much shite im sorry) Anyway I tried to transcribe most of the molly scene so its probably spelled like SHIT cause i was typing on one laptop and looking at the other

that outta the way, heres my notes from this week

Mollymauk knows Exactly whats fucking happening ((Additional later note: No he does not. Fuck.) "its lucien from two years ago" "this is my nightmare just go with it" (high pitched) "I'LlL eXpLaIn LatEr" So very very very stressed and panicky

Tabaxi: I'm sorry for using your old name. "Nonagon." Jesus CHRIST FUCKING MOLLY "we watched you die" Cree? Kree? Pronounced that way. Organisation name "Tomb Takers"

The gentleman: a (pale?) teal-skinned, dark haired character leather gloves + black hair (shoulderish length) "Perpetually sweating" ew lmao. dampness. (Uhhhh water genasi???? >This isnt canon just based on what I know?) Long table

Kree (sp) takes blood from them as collateral, can track with it? Beau to Fjord: ... Can I borrow a tusk

"Lets gamble" - The gentleman, gambling with Fjord 50 gold buy in, "If I win, you're mine. If you win, we do business." Bets up to 300gp each (600 total) Fjord wins. Oh jesus CHRIST. That was so stressful RIP the chance of me sleeping again.

Kara is there. shes been informing about the knights of requital

Molly + Beau associated with the murder of the high ricter. "I can make this investigation... go away (fwoosh)" " favour in kind" a wall with a purple light and an abandoned research facility. The Gentleman wants them to check it out. "Find a way in. Enquire. Seek and clear the space of any dangers. Hostile creatures. Return with any of your findings."

Nott "would you pass a test for us" two vials of alcohol, one of acid, reasonably the same colour. "this is alcohol. This is alcohol. THIS ONE is Acid." (drinks the fucking acid) (ooc excitement OOOOOH, THAT IS SO BALLER)

Beau (gives Kara a wink) (to Fjord) "Deal with that later" "Boutta say the same"

"Undead ghost things" and Taliesin and Ashley share just like a Look (Molly's thing is undead iirc??? and fiend? idk i need to do research)

Beau deliberately fucking up nonagon is very very funny. Nonotech. Nantucket.

A constant lucien stream of "we'll talk about this later" and "It's Lucien in this bar"

Yasha "i think im just looking for answers for something and i dont know if i recieved any more" Caleb insisting theres no pressure to tell them things when Nott is pressing for information. I love Caleb. Hes wonderful. Someone smooch him.

Caleb: we have been getting our hands dirty are you sure you want to get your hands dirty with us? yasha: thats all I like to do, my friend Lucien: It's a sight to behold! (followed by That Taliesin Grin. you KNOW the one.)

Yasha is from Xhorhas. I can't spell. You know what im aiming for lulu spell check it later. Southern parts of Xhorhas, not where the assassin(s) were from. Has been in the empire for "about a year and a half" ("when did i meet you?" to Molly.)

Hes so stressed. Its so wonderful. I love this.

They go to talk to Kara shes sharpening blades. She fuckin hates xhorhasians. So does the gentleman apparently. Worked for him for 8 years. relationship of convenience. "You got a nice face" - Beau to Kara. "Looks like we're in bed one way or the other" Kara jokes about working together Beau: I mean... Fjord: Leave that one alone. Leave that one alone. Beau: ...Okay.

Drop of the greatsword is "moontouched"?????

(re the xhorhasian longsword) It's taller than Nott Yasha: (in the voice when things are adorable) It's taller than Nott? Lucien: Many things are taller than Nott.

The ogre is 10 or 11 feet tall. Thats taller than my room. My room is only like 8 feet tall.

Caleb introduces himself with his full name. I dont think this has ever happened. EDIT: @madnessiseverything

caleb has actually introduced himself with his full name a few times if i recall. for example with the knights of requital (i think??) and back in trostenwald comes to mind immediately

I’m still learning to be an encyclopaedia again thanks friend Jester uses the wand of smiles. "Kutha" is the Ogre's name (Late afternoon they leave)

"dohecadoohickey"

theyre in Molly + Fjords room iirc cause Horus?(Sp) is in there (He leaves to Beau and Jester’s room wholst they talk)

Beau "i have dated way too many Luciens before" (Also applioes to marisha)

"why do you have so many names" "I woke up without any names or any past buried in the ground two years ago" "my firs memory my oldest memory is dirt in my face underground" Zone of truth is cast!!! Pass: Beau, Fjord Fail: Nott, Molly, Yasha, Caleb Molly has No Fucking Idea who he is. Gods the fandom called this. "some asshole got buried in the dirt. FUCK HIM." disassociates Lucien with Molly. Got more tattoos. days between waking up and the carnival. barely speaking. woke up alone. Cakeb: are you a good guy? Molly:..... I'd like to think so. "a few months after I came to, I started noticing I could do (blood hunter) things." (Ices a dagger) He really doesnt wanna know who he used to be. GOD I CALLED THE FLASHBACKS. A fuckup: Mollymauk finds someone in the group super attractive Yasha: "yes there are people here that i think are very attractive and charming but that doesnt mean I'll act on that." mollys just holdiong a glowing bedpost. radiant glow. "i am told, though i dont really remember this part, that I only said the word empty over and over for the first week" can you imagine how it would feel to not feel anything about anything that has happened to you so far? everyone but beau: no beau: yes. Molly:... why am i not surprised. "The Moonweaver"??? ooh son. "never trust the truth. Truth is vicious. The truth thinks that you owe it something. I like my bullshit. It's good, it's happy, It makes other people happy." "do you know who the moonweaver is?" "No." "Good. The swords are cheap carnival glass."

Moonweaver is elven deity, god over the night and shadow, music, not one of the approved religions. not a betrayer god, is inspiration for classic art, caretaker of evening trysts.

fjord: its you thats special, not your swords "i feel tinges of things on occasion. Nothing I like." "i may be a liar but I'm never a betrayer." Oooh molly actually somewhat believes in fortune telling. "I left EVERY TOWN better than I found it." Snake with red eye on palm and opposite side. Eye in floral arrangement. Crimson. Same place he bleeds on his neck in the peacock feathers. "i need to protect you snd myself from whatever that is. Its a wildcard." "I feel like youre fretfully ignorant and full of platitudes but I sstill like you" - Molly to Nott

oh on the undead again- it is Molly's thing, I was right. Wispy orb things haunt areas where they seek life force. Will-o-wisps. Thats hot. Lmao cause theyre often fire??? LMAO SON.

molly get suncomfortably close to fjord as he bonds with the new blade and puts hand on his chest "The power was in you... all along. SEE YOU AT BREAKFAST! :D"

Beau: (asks Caleb to buy her something sharp she can throw) DO NOT *FUCK ME* HERE CALEB, DO NOT FUCK ME. Caleb: ... Not interested, but-

"Zemnians dont tell jokes. They experience only pain." (OOC Sam its just funny)

Pumat Prime a little surlier than the others.

Yasha rocking that fucked charisma <3

Fjord BUYS THE FUCKING 800GP CLOAK? JESUS. Yasha pays 80GP (10gp discount) for 2 healing potions Caleb buys ink + parchment.

Yasha assumes Fjord's making fun of her awwwww!!! Hes being genuone complimenting her haggling skill bless.

Caleb is so 100% aware how FUCKING gay Beau is for yasha honestly. theres no way. (Additional later note confirmed in a gag mostly OOC, in character but not? in canon)

Beau playing the parental figure to horus, did you get everything? go pee one more time before you leave!

Molly sees guards and splits from the group to hide at The LEaky Tap.

they put a bag over Horus' head. its funny. Creepy card dealer gnome "dweeze"??

Beau and Caleb holdin hands. so fuckign adorable. "beau doesnt like me much." (beau holds him so he doesnt fall) ((NOTE @ ME this is a Good One. Think about it.)

Order in tunnel Fjord, Yasha, Molly, Jester, Beau, Nott, Caleb

"do you know how to drive a boat" Nott lmao

This weeks Nott stance from lulu: like 5/10 (About the same as last week)

#Notes #Critical Role #Critical Role Spoilers

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