#drawing Beau with her hair down feels so foreign | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mithrilwren · 4 years

Text

Here we go, the cadwulf that wouldn’t let me sleep in this morning. How did this ship happen to me so quickly, and why did my brain decide it needed to be poetic... these are questions that may never be answered.

[Also on Ao3!]

“You don’t like meat, and you don’t like drink.” Eodwulf grins, arms uncrossing. “Is there anything you do like?”

“Well,” says Caduceus.

Eodwulf’s fingers brush the edge of his hair.

“Well?”

And Caduceus never finishes the thought.

---

It turns out they can be persuaded - Astrid, and Eodwulf. Though it’s really Astrid who accepts their second invitation. Eodwulf’s eyes flicker to her before agreeing, and Caduceus notices, as he did the night of the dinner. A hierarchy, it seems, wherein Trent is lord, and Astrid advisor - which leaves Eodwulf a vassal of some sort. Not unacknowledged, but lower down.

Still, when Astrid has drifted to the bar and Caleb and Jester follow, and Fjord and Veth ply Eodwulf for one more round, he has no one to look to for guidance. Caduceus might have expected him to seem lost, except he flourishes under the inattention, growing bolder, more boastful - challenging Yasha to a test of strength, and losing, but only just - and Caduceus’s own attention grows, as bulky muscle strains beneath fine black velvet.

(Tonight, it was Eodwulf who pulled back his chair. “A favour for a favour,” he’d said with a wink, and Caduceus would not have blushed, only it’s strange - nobody’s paid him the courtesy before.

But Eodwulf’s dark eyes were shining with mirth, and he’d blinked his own brighter ones, and taken a seat without a single word of protest.)

The evening is spent in distraction. Eodwulf and Astrid, from their lives of solitude and scrambling; the Mighty Nein, from the next long road ahead; and Caduceus, from his good senses. It’s an indulgence, to pretend that Eodwulf’s attentions to him are anything beyond a man who appreciates a like sense of humour. But Caduceus pretends nonetheless, and grows freer by measures, enjoying the warmth of good natured teasing as much as any liquor flush.

Flirting, he’s tried before, but it never seemed to hit the mark, and his own eyes flicker to Fjord, and Caduceus brings them forcefully back to Eodwulf’s hands on the table - now rough there, now soft another place - one slapping for another drink, the other calling Caduceus over - and Melora help him, he goes.

For the wine of attention is sweet, and sticky red on Eodwulf’s lips, and he thinks he should be allowed to taste it, while he has the chance.

Surely, by now, he’s earned that much.

---

Caduceus is not a man quick to anger. If pressed, he would say he hates nothing at all.

But he hates-

He hates Trent Ikithon.

He hates what he’s done to Caleb, and what he continues to do to the people in his care, and he hates that his lies are not lies in a way Caduceus can discern with a keen eye and a careful glance. They are written in the bone, in the flesh. The body is so corrupted it can no longer tell rot from flower, nor truth from falsehood.

There is no saving this man.

But there may be hope for the others.

Righteous rebellion is the name he gives to the fluttering in his stomach, as they draw Eodwulf - Astrid as well - closer into their circle. A big ol’ middle finger to Trent, as Beau would say. To save someone who sees no way out, from under the nose of a being of impossible strength-

He’s done it before.

So, too, he names the fluttering excitement, and anticipation. Even remembrance, of the way Fjord looked at him, the day he’d given him the Wildmother’s symbol, and Caduceus had almost thought-

But no, he’d thought wrong.

And here he is, ready to make the same mistakes again.

Eodwulf looks at him from across the table. Astrid is down the way, but he never once glances her direction as he asks, “Something not agreeing with you?”

It’s care, in a gruff sort of sense. His deep voice rumbles through Caduceus’s chest, in the way he knows his own does for other people. Yasha sometimes says that it helps her sleep, so he’ll talk the night away, telling nonsense stories until they both drift off.

What would it be like, to curl up in those arms, be held close to that impossibly broad chest? To be small, and large as well - as much as he needs, in whatever direction?

He pushes the thought away.

(Sometimes, he tires of being the one who has to know where the lines are.)

Eodwulf taps his fingers on the table, still looking at him thoughtfully. “I could use some air,” he says, and raises an eyebrow. Caduceus nods, unable to break Eodwulf’s steady gaze, because try as he might, the thought keeps returning, again and again.

They leave together, slipping out into the Rexxentrum night, and the rational part of Caduceus’s mind cries danger, to be separated from his party and alone in the company of their enemy’s servant, and the lonely part cries he wants you, he wants you, in a reckless, unquenchable clamour.

“I know a place,” Eodwulf says, “where it’s a little quiet,” and Caduceus knows the words, and the words beneath. He is not so young, so naive, to miss the subtleties of Eodwulf’s speech.

‘A little quiet’ means to be alone. And to be alone is…

He half expects to be led off to some back alley out of Jester’s tales - for murder or something else, who can say - but the streets Eodwulf takes him by are wide and well-lit. Caduceus’s foreign clothes are noticeable even in the dead of night, and people stop to stare as they pass by, eyes drifting over Eodwulf like a shadow to land on him. His hair, his height, his dress - all abnormalities perused and catalogued, before people resume their nighttime strolls.

It’s not unusual, nor particularly bothersome, to be watched. But one older gentleman stares a little too long, and doesn’t stop staring even after Caduceus dips his head in friendly greeting, and something in the air changes. A hand reaches out and grips Caduceus’s arm, drawing him back into the centre of the street. Eodwulf appears suddenly - though he was always there, Caduceus remembers. It’s just that his presence wasn’t felt, until now.

It must take practice, for a man the size of Eodwulf to disappear. Through magic, Caduceus can manage the same, but it’s more of a reflex - the trigger is fear, and the duration beyond his control. But Eodwulf becomes a shadow, then a looming gargoyle of a man, then a shadow once more, and all of it is done with intention. He doesn’t doubt that the watcher would be dead before Caduceus could blink, if that’s what Eodwulf decided to do.

He grins at Caduceus as the man scurries away, and Caduceus returns the smile faintly, and wonders, who have I let myself follow into the dark?

He finds he knows the answer, and it doesn’t frighten him like it should.

The fluttering returns, moth wings between his ribs beating in time with Eodwulf’s heavy steps - loud and obvious, like they weren’t before. Like a war drum, their march is a warning for anyone else who might darken their path.

See, this is my street to walk. See, this person is under my protection. Hear me, and stay back.

They come at last to their destination: a little park with scattered trees, at the centre of which sits a stone building. Its sides are carved with olive branches and vines, and its doors are shut, and the coldness of death seeps from every crevice, and mingles with the dewy scent of grass and yesterday’s rain.

Eodwulf leads him to a bench, and they sit side by side, listening to the breeze in the leaves, not speaking, though Caduceus still has many things to say. He wants to ask where they are. He wants to know if Eodwulf talked to one of his friends about him, and if that’s the reason he brought him to a mausoleum, instead of some sweeter daytime sight.

He silently wonders if they both feel at home in a graveyard, and if there has ever been anyone else, who looked at one with the same reverence as him.

“It’s quiet here,” Eodwulf answers, as though he had asked, and Caduceus nods.

“It is,” he agrees. There’s nothing more that needs to be said on the matter, and somehow they both know it, without needing words. Eodwulf crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, tipping his head to stare at the stars above, and Caduceus tries to mimic him, but the bench isn’t meant for a person of his stature, and he ends up sitting straight again.

“So,” Eodwulf says, casual enough to tell Caduceus the conversation is about to become anything but. “So, you came.”

“I did,” Caduceus answers, and his voice is steady, but a smile doesn’t find his lips. Eodwulf turns his head, shifting, until the meat of his shoulders is facing Caduceus.

“I’m glad.” The twinkle in his eye is still there, and his lips hold the smile that Caduceus lost, as he shifts again, bringing their knees together. Caduceus swallows. “I thought you looked bored in there.”

“I don’t mind a tavern… but I also don’t drink,” Caduceus answers noncommittally. “So it does get a little dull at times.”

Eodwulf huffs a laugh, and sits back up. “You don’t like meat, and you don’t like drink.” His smile becomes a grin, his arms uncrossing, and Caduceus follows their movement with his eyes, mouth dry as kindling. “Is there anything you do like?”

“Well,” he says, with nothing to come after it. The moth in his chest beats its protest against the silence.

There’s a line here - a line, that he’s meant to keep track of. That he’s not meant to-

“Well?”

And then again, there are fingers in his hair, and then again, there’s a mouth close to his, and warm breath, rich with ale and bread and earthy things, and then again, Eodwulf is confident, and his grin is sure, and maybe-

He doesn’t need to be the only one who knows where the lines are.

Caduceus meets him halfway, and then lets himself be pulled closer, and closer, as fingers tangle in his hair, and broad arms encircle his back. He opens his mouth, and Eodwulf follows, and the wine is sharp on his tongue, for being the first he’s tasted. But the flavour changes, the longer he drinks.

No longer startling in its newness, the feeling melts down to something softer.

A new taste: heavy, and warm, and sweet.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cadwulf #my writing #this is barely edited but i had so much fun

502 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

and love you blindly

AO3 Link

When Beau groggily blinked her eyes open, she knew without looking that it was some ungodly hour of the morning. If it was too early by her standards, Beau was more than ready to roll over and go back to bed. But something seemed off, something she couldn’t place in her addled state.

Hand sliding over the bed sheets toward Yasha, everything clicked into place when she felt the cold, vacant sheets.

Abruptly sitting up, Beau blinked against the spinning in her head and the sleep in her eyes, forcing her gaze around the dimly lit room. Their bedroom was still a little foreign to Beau, considering they had only moved into their new apartment last week. The furniture sat in a familiar arrangement, placed almost exactly the way it had been at Yasha’s old place, but Beau’s things now found a home nestled among Yasha’s. The paint on the walls was a different color, and the windows sat on a different side. This was home now, and Yasha lived with her all the time.

It was different, and Beau seldom took well to different. But this change she had been more than ready for.

So Yasha missing from their bed at such an early hour set Beau’s nerves thrumming in an unpleasant rhythm.

Shoving the sheets aside and untangling her legs from their warm embrace, Beau shivered as her bare feet touched the hardwood. Yasha’s favorite black fuzzy socks lay discarded near the foot of the bed, so Beau slipped them on before shuffling from their bedroom.

The hallway and the bathroom were dark, but the light in the kitchen was on. Beau trudged her way toward it, stifling a yawn behind her hand as she did. Her hair was loose from sleep, so she pulled it over one shoulder and out of her face as she rounded the corner.

Yasha sat on the floor, legs crossed and a half-eaten brownie in her hand. Her matted, braided hair sat in even more disarray than usual, mussed from sleep and finger-worried stress. She looked up at Beau when the other rounded the corner and met Beau’s raised eyebrow with a silent blink. The container of brownies that Jester had gifted them as a housewarming present perched precariously near the edge of the counter above Yasha’s head.

“Morning,” Beau deadpanned.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Yasha whispered in reply.

Beau sighed and shuffled over to Yasha, shooing her arms to the side so she could nestle into the other woman’s lap. Tucking her head against Yasha’s shoulder, Beau yawned again and pressed her cold nose to Yasha’s bare shoulder in retaliation for being awake at such an ungodly hour. Yasha - to her credit - didn’t flinch.

“Why are you eating a brownie on the floor at half-past three?”

“I had a craving?” Yasha said, arms winding around Beau as her eyes flit to the side.

“Mhm,” Beau hummed, plucking the brownie from Yasha’s fingers and stealing a bite before giving it back. “Any other reason?”

The taller woman closed her eyes as she sighed, heavy and weary. Beau looked up in time to catch the flicker of guilt in Yasha’s dual colored irises as she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“I haven’t been able to settle or sleep like I used to.” Yasha shoved the rest of the brownie into her mouth and took it as an excuse to draw out her thought process. Beau could practically see the gears turning in her girlfriend’s head, so she kept quiet.

“I don’t regret moving,” Yasha murmured after she finished her mouthful. “I don’t want you to think I do.”

“I didn’t,” Beau reassured her quickly, easily. “I don’t.”

Yasha flashed Beau a small smile, arms tightening their hold around the woman in her lap.

“I’ve just never been good about sleeping in unfamiliar places, and even though this place is ours now it just...doesn’t feel like it yet?”

Beau nodded, tucking her head back down against Yasha’s shoulder, and traced mindless patterns against Yasha’s forearm. She understood a bit of that sentiment, because her first place had felt the same. Being kicked out of her parents’ house was abrupt and with brief ceremony. Her shit hole, shoe box apartment had breathed like freedom and suffocation simultaneously. Beau had spent more time couch-hopping than she had living in that place.

It hadn’t felt any safer, any more like her own space, than her bedroom in her parents’ place had.

“We can fix that,” Beau said to Yasha’s collarbone. “But maybe we can fix it when the sun is up and we’ve had breakfast?”

Yasha’s eyes flicked to the clock on the stove and she winced, reminded of the hour. Beau didn’t want her to feel guilty, so she kept talking, ignoring the urge to yawn.

“There’s a flower shop a couple blocks over that I saw on my run the other day. Let’s go buy a bunch to put in vases, okay? And Jester said that she got promoted at the bakery, so I bet we can convince her to slip us some cookies. Oh, and I think Cad wants to use us as guinea pigs for a new tea blend. We can invite him over?”

She looked up at Yasha and found her girlfriend smiling down at Beau with watery eyes, fond as anything. Beau’s instinct was to shy away from such raw emotion, because she didn’t know how to handle gratitude. But Yasha just pressed a quiet kiss to her forehead and murmured a heartfelt, “I would like that.”

“Great,” Beau managed, overwhelmed with emotion from such a simple moment. One would never guess they had been dating for almost three years now. “But...morning. Later morning. I need to sleep.”

In an unfair and absolutely unnecessary show of strength, Yasha scooped Beau into her arms and stood with ease. Beau squeaked in surprise and clung to Yasha’s shoulders as her girlfriend laughed quietly and carried Beau back toward their bedroom.

“Show off,” Beau grumbled.

Waking up hours later - somehow twice in the same morning - was massively disorientating. It felt like a separate day entirely with the morning sunlight filtering through their curtains. Beau squinted, groaned and rolled over, burying herself against Yasha beside her. Her girlfriend was sleeping on her side, facing Beau, and stirred at the contact. One arm slipped around Beau in a sleepy hug as Yasha stretched her legs beneath the sheets.

“Mornin’,” Beau grumbled against Yasha’s neck. “Again.”

Yasha, yet to open her eyes, pressed a lazy kiss to Beau’s hairline. Beau had squeezed her eyes shut again, content to sleep a little while longer. But then Yasha’s lips brushed against Beau’s temple, her cheek, stumbled over Beau’s nose, and she realized. Yasha was blindly trying to find her lips. Pulling slightly back, Beau took a guess of direction and was rewarded with the warm, sleepy press of Yasha’s lips against her own.

Beau sighed with content into the contact, and Yasha’s arm around her waist kept her bracketed in.

Eventually, they pulled back, noses brushing, as Beau murmured, “your morning breath kiss tastes like brownies.” Yasha laughed and bundled Beau into her chest, rolling onto her back and taking Beau with her. The shorter of the two squeaked with surprise, eyes finally opening, as she found herself sprawled across Yasha’s chest.

“Hi,” Beau managed, drinking in the sight of Yasha’s hair splayed against the pillows, the sunlight slanting over her cheekbones. Yasha beamed up at Beau and pressed her hand to Beau’s cheek.

“Thank you, for earlier,” Yasha whispered, twisting her fingers through Beau’s loose hair. “You didn’t have to come up with all of that to help me, but I think it will.”

“This is our home, Yash,” Beau said. “Whatever it takes to make you feel safe here, I’ll do it without question.”

Yasha raised an eyebrow at that, the corner of her lips quirking up. “Even if I want to paint the living room yellow?”

“Anything,” Beau reiterated, voice serious. “Even if we aren’t allowed to paint because of the landlord or whatever, I’ll do it if it makes you happy.”

“Thank you,” Yasha said, throat working as her eyes grew watery. “I don’t need you to get into any more trouble with our landlord, but I appreciate the thought.”

“Okay,” Beau scoffed. “The fire alarm thing was not my fault, and the fact that he chose to believe it was is not my problem.”

“I think it kind of is your problem.”

“I mean it is, but my point stands.”

Yasha’s laughter was like music to Beau’s ears, the stretch of her smile brighter than the sun. And maybe Yasha was already feeling more at home than before, with the warm weight of Beau on her chest and laughter in her lungs.

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

62 notes · View notes

agerefandom · 4 years

Text

Books and Pigments

(art by @sparrowinged, story written for @sparrowinged)

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: Regressor!Caleb, regressor!Jester, featuring Mama!Nott, caregiver!Ford, and the rest of the Mighty Nein in the background (Beau, Yasha, and Molly)

Words: 3,000

Summary: Upstairs, Jester gives Caleb a bath and they both find the process nostalgic. Downstairs, the others discuss ‘somechildren,’ people who never fully grow up. They’re well-known in Wildemount, but much more accepted on the Menagerie Coast.

Content warnings: ‘Little’ is used as an adjective, but not a noun. Caleb’s backstory is briefly alluded to, as is memory loss from trauma. There is drinking (done by adults). Nott is considered a mother and is referred to as such.

Note: I’m only on episode 47, please excuse any backstory gaps!

Nott was the last to join the table, crawling onto a chair and grabbing a drink that was already on the table, downing most of it in one go.

“Nott!” Molly greeted her from the other side of the table, raising his own tankard to her. “Are the others not coming?”

“Jester has insisted on giving Caleb a bath,” Nott said once she was finished with her beer. “I left him in her capable hands.”

“Capable at many things,” Fjord pointed out. “I hope she’s feeling kind this evening, or Caleb may be in trouble.”

“He’ll be fine.” Nott crawled partly onto the table to drag a plate of meat towards herself, tucking some of it into her pockets. “He does have magic, after all.”

“So does Jester,” Beau said from across the table. Nott flapped a hand at her dismissively.

“Caleb is better.”

“Okay, but if the two of them were in a fight,” Beau started, leaning forwards.

“Jester would win,” Yasha finished.

Nott glared at them both, crossing her arms. “You don’t have enough faith in him,” she said reproachfully. “He’s a very powerful wizard!”

“Yeah, but have you seen Jester’s biceps?” Beau asked.

Nott gave up on the battle in the interest of fitting as much ham as possible into her mouth, and the conversation moved onto arm wrestling shortly after that, shifting with the usual chaos of the Mighty Nein’s evenings off.

Meanwhile, upstairs:

Jester was gentler than Caleb had expected, double-checking the temperature of the water and adding another half-bucket before gesturing for Caleb to undress. She hovered around him, snatching his clothes as he removed them and folding them to lie on the bench by the door. Once he was naked, she ushered him towards the washtub.

Sure enough, the water was perfect as Caleb sank into it, not hot enough to scald but warm enough to turn his pale skin rosy as it met the surface.

“Look at your freckles!” Jester cooed, poking Caleb’s shoulders as she bustled around him, preparing the soaps. Caleb hunched forward, self-conscious despite himself. They had all been in the public baths together, and had helped each other with their armour many times. Nevertheless, he was aware of his scars and spots, and didn’t appreciate Jester’s wandering hands.

“Relax,” Jester ordered, as if sensing Caleb’s wandering thoughts. “I am a good girl, I can keep my hands on task.” This was apparently all the warning she deemed necessary before dumping a bucket of lukewarm water over Caleb’s head, plastering his hair over his face until he spat it out of his mouth and tried to push it back.

“Leave it!” Jester’s hands batted Caleb’s away, and she guided him to lean against the edge of the washtub, combing his hair back with sudsy hands. “You’ll just get it more dirty with your stinky fingers.” Caleb was about to protest her wording when she started to dig her fingers into his scalp, and he abruptly found himself melting into the touch. He had not had someone else wash his hair for a very long time, not since far into his childhood. He closed his eyes, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to chase the memories or push them away. Parts of his childhood had been missing when he’d returned to himself, gaps in his memory that led to disorienting echoes like Jester’s fingers in his hair. Jester’s voice brought him back from the confusion, humming a quiet tune that Caleb did not recognize.

Caleb found himself drifting through the rest of the bath, with Jester’s hands shielding his eyes from the suds she rinsed out of his hair, guiding him from position to position so that she could rub sweet-smelling lotions into his hair, his cheeks, his back. She even washed the bottoms of his feet before smearing a handful of soap into his palm and gesturing for him to finish the rest of his body. Through every motion, her humming got louder, until she was singing little pieces of foreign songs to herself as she brought over the final bucket of water.

The washing water had become quite dirty, and Jester rinsed Caleb’s body with the last fresh water as he stood up from the tub. She wrapped a soft blanket around him and tugged him out of the bath with a giggle. Caleb followed where she led, feeling pleasantly distant and oddly content.

Jester sat him on a stool and started to comb out his hair, making tiny braids as she sang those little snatches of simple but unfamiliar songs.

Jester had been singing for long enough that her speaking voice almost startled Caleb when she put down the comb. “Do you want to take a nap?” She ran her hands through his hair. “Or I could give you a haircut.”

“Nap,” Caleb said quickly. It was the preferable of the two options: Jester had been gentle enough with the comb, but he didn’t want to test their luck with a sharp blade near his ears. “Nap is good.”

“Naps are the best,” Jester corrected, pulling Caleb off the stool and towards the door without sparing a glance at his clothes. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Clothes,” Caleb managed to protest.

“Who needs clothes?”

“Me!” Caleb managed to pull his wrist free of Jester’s grasp and scoop up his abandoned clothes with one arm. His outer layers and everything important were back in his room, but he didn’t want to leave things in the bath room to get taken.

“We’ll get fresh clothes in your room, but I want to nap in my bed,” Jester said, in a tone that invited no challenges. Caleb nodded and followed her down the hallway, watching Jester’s skirts swish as she skipped past each door, her tail bobbing behind her. She stopped outside of Caleb and Nott’s room, gesturing for Caleb to go in and get changed. Caleb wandered into the room, sat down on the bed, and decided that he didn’t want to get up. The warm water of the bath and the gentle washing had made him too sleepy, and there was no way he was budging.

“Caaaaleb,” Jester whined from the doorway. “I want to go to my room!” Caleb ignored her, leaning back on the mattress and wrapping his blanket tighter around him. It was soft and perfect and he wasn’t leaving, no matter how loudly Jester protested. “Caaaaleb!!” Although her voice was rather disturbing the tranquility of the room. “Nap in my room! Get your clothes!”

With a huff, Caleb rolled sideways off the bed and managed to collect a few items of clothing, stumbling towards Jester in the doorway and accepting the hand she had stretched out towards him. She pulled him down the hallway and into the room that the girls shared, shutting the door behind them before jumping at the double bed with an impressive leap and rolling across it in a blur of petticoats and skirts.

“Sleepover, Caleb!” Jester popped back up to sitting, and patted the bed beside her enthusiastically. Caleb wandered over and she pulled him down on the mattress with a little more force than necessary. It was very comfortable, Caleb acknowledged. Maybe even more comfortable than the bed in his room. He wiggled back and forth to get himself properly wrapped up in his blanket, and then let his head rest against the covers of the bed. Jester was arranging herself beside him, wrapping one arm over his swaddled side and pulling him back against her. She was inhumanly warm, impossibly cozy, and as she started to hum a quiet song, Caleb felt his eyes drifting closed.

“Oh, that was nothing, remember the time that she decided to drop a box of manure on that priest of the Allhammer?”

“Classic!”

“Y’all think Jester is a troublemaker now, you should see her when she’s feeling little,” Fjord offered to the discussion. “No one is safe.”

“Jester’s a somechild?” Molly asked, leaning forwards. “I’m surprised I didn’t realize sooner.”

“Oh yeah. She isn’t little often.” Fjord finished his drink and wiggled it in the air for a refill. “Sweetest thing but a handful for anyone. I met her when she was little, actually.”

“Are somechildren more common where you come from?” Nott asked.

“Yeah, the Menagerie Coast is a lot better about them,” Fjord said. “Nicodranas has a whole district dedicated to them, and it’s the loudest part of the city. Empire kids come there all the time for a break, I hear.”

“Most of the Empire’s not big on them,” Beau confirmed. “Never understood why, I think they’re sweet. And it doesn’t stop Jester from being the most badass tiefling I’ve ever met—no offence, Molly.”

“Jester can have the baddest ass as long as I have the sweetest,” Mollymauk laughed. “Also, I bet I could take Jester in a fight.” Beau made a doubtful sound. “What, don’t believe me? I’ll go and get her now, settle it here.”

“Fuck yeah!” Beau sprang to her feet. “I’ll come with you and get her.”

“Two gold on Molly,” Nott muttered to Fjord.

“I’ll take that bet. He’s gonna go easy on her.”

“You clearly don’t know him well enough,” Yasha interjected. “He doesn’t go easy on anyone over the age of fifteen.”

“Either way, I think we’ll be spending our bet money repairing the bar if we don’t convince them to take it outside,” Fjord pointed out, and made to follow the two who’d already left. The others brought their drinks, but trailed obediently up the stairs to watch the outcome.

“They only need to drink every few days, and retrieve much of their hydration from the plant matter they consume.” Jester giggled at Caleb’s fancy words, focused on the drawing that she was working on. “They can eat up to seventy-five stones worth of vegetation in a single day, but do not kill the trees they feed on.”

“They eat stones?” Jester asked, reaching for a different colour.

“Nein!” Caleb laughed. “Die bäume! Leaves!”

“Ohhhh.” Jester added a rock anyways in the grass. “Keep reading!”

“Um… The trees of the area are best known for their wide leaves, and their layered appearance.” Caleb’s voice was different when he was reading, his accent lighter with the care he used in pronouncing each word. Jester looked critically at the tree she had already drawn and was about to start on another one when the door opened.

“Here they are!” Molly’s voice came from behind her.

Jester turned with a smile, putting down the stick of pigment that she had been using to draw. “Hi Molly! Caleb is teaching me about South Marquet! Have you ever seen a giraffe?”

“Can’t say that I have, sweetheart.” Molly leaned himself against the doorframe, all sparkly and pretty. Jester wanted to draw a star on his cheek, but she would have to wait until he was asleep, probably. “Have you?”

“I saw one in a cage once! It looked like this!” Jester showed Molly her drawing.

“Hmm, that’s pretty neat.” Molly came closer to look at it. “You’re a very good artist, Jester.”

“I know I am!” Jester had to lean around Molly’s legs to look at Caleb. He was curled up on the bed with a pile of blankets around him, a big book open on his lap. He’d stopped reading when Molly came in and now he looked like he was trying to hide himself in the blankets. “Caleb, what are you doing?”

Jester received no answer, only a muffled squeak from the pile of blankets. She pushed herself to her feet, ready to go extract her friend from his hiding place, but Fjord walked in the door and she froze, tucking her hands behind her back and puffing out her chest.

Fjord’s gaze travelled over the room before landing on her, and he sighed. “Jester, you know you’re supposed to come and find me when you’re little.”

“I’m not!” Jester protested. “I’m big!”

“Uh-huh. Because I know for a fact that big Jester wouldn’t be very happy to get pigment all over her nice blue dress, and tends to use paper like a big girl, and not draw on the walls of an inn that she’ll have to pay for.” Jester glanced back at her drawing, which was indeed on the wall of the room.

“That was Caleb,” she tried. “I didn’t do it.”

“Oh.” Fjord nodded understandingly. “And did he get pigments on your dress as well?”

“Yep!” Jester bobbed her head. Thank goodness, he was going for it! Maybe Caleb would get in trouble and she would get to watch.

“Alright.” Fjord got really close to her, all unfairly tall and wide and green. “Let me see your hands.” Jester hesitated, but when Fjord put his hands out, palms-up, she obediently put her hands into his. He traced the lines of colour on her palms, showing where she had held the sticks of pigment. “That’s what I thought.” He dropped Jester’s hands and she hunched her shoulders, embarrassed at being caught in the lie. It wasn’t her fault! Fjord was just really smart. That was why he was going to the Academy when they got there!

“You ready to be honest with me?” Jester nodded her head wordlessly. “That’s good. Are you little, Jester?” Jester couldn’t help pouting at the question, but she nodded anyways. “Thank you. And why are you supposed to come and get me when you’re little?”

“Cause it’s dangerous,” Jester sighed. “And I could get hurt.”

“That’s right.” Fjord put a hand on the top of her head, right between her curved horns. “We’re visiting the Empire right now, and they aren’t as friendly as in Nicodranas, so it’s important to stick close.”

“Okay.” She didn’t know why they were visiting the stupid Empire anyways when people in Nicodranas were so much more fun. Stupid Empire. Stupid Fjord.

“Where’s Caleb gone, anyways?”

Jester lifted her head to see that Molly had left the room at some point, and Caleb had effectively hidden himself in the blankets, with only the still-open book poking out from the pile.

“He’s playing hide and seek!” She shook off Fjord’s hand and bounced towards the bed. “Caaaleb, I’m coming to find you!” Caleb stayed quiet, but Jester knew where he was. She pounced on the pile and sure enough it squirmed underneath her, trying to push her off.

“Lass den Quatsch!!” she heard Caleb protesting, and she rolled off with a giggle, helping him remove the blankets. Once Caleb was revealed, he was pouting, his hair a staticky mess from the struggle.

“Found you!” Jester pulled him in for a hug and he allowed it, wrapping his arms back around her. When she finally released him, he wriggled backwards into the blanket pile again, pulling one around his shoulders. Caleb sure liked blankets a lot!

Jester glanced over her shoulder at Fjord, who was watching them curiously without saying anything.

“Do you want to play with us? You can hide next if you want!”

Caleb made a sound like a deflating balloon and flopped forwards, his blanket covering his head.

“Stop that!” Jester pulled him back up to sitting. “You’re not supposed to hide anymore, I found you.” Caleb whined, tugging against Jester’s grasp on his blanket.

“Caleb?” Nott appeared in the doorway as if summoned by the noise, and was pushing Jester away before she could even blink.

“Hey!” Jester protested, trying to get back to Caleb.

“You were hurting him!” Nott accused, standing between them. She was eye-level with Jester like this, with Jester kneeling on the bed, and she looked super mad and scary.

“I wasn’t! He was hiding!”

“Mama?” Caleb’s voice was quiet, but Nott immediately turned to him. “She’s nice.”

“Okay. I believe you.” Nott gave Jester a second look, still not looking very friendly, and then swept Caleb up in a hug, her arms and legs wrapping around his shoulders and torso. Caleb buried his nose in her shoulder, and Jester subsided onto her butt, letting them have their moment.

“Do you want me to send them away?” Nott asked, her voice quiet. Jester was still close enough to hear the question.

Caleb shook his head, and Nott detached from him, lowering her feet to the mattress and keeping one hand on Caleb’s cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand why you were asking about the Menagerie Coast now,” Fjord said from behind them. “Didn’t realize you were a caregiver.”

“Mother,” Nott corrected him, stroking clawed fingers through Caleb’s newly clean and shiny hair. “I did tell you that he was my boy.”

“Right, right.” Fjord nodded. “I’m sorry for intruding, I didn’t know he and Jester were playing together.”

“He was telling me about giraffes!” Jester said, pointing to her art again.

“He’s a very clever boy, isn’t he?” Nott sounded proud. Jester thought she was probably a really good mom. She could tell those kinds of things about people.

“He can read all kinds of books and he doesn’t even sound really funny most of the time when he’s reading!” Jester said. Caleb made a ‘hmph’ sound. “I mean, he doesn’t sound funny at all ever!” she added. “He’s really smart.”

Caleb’s hands reached for the book, pulling it onto his lap and hugging it to his chest.

“Would you read to me again?” Jester asked, scooting forwards on the bed. “I was really enjoying it.”

“Do you want some paper for your illustrations this time?” Fjord asked, already holding it out in her direction.

“Yeah!” Jester stretched her arms out and waited for Fjord to bring it over. “I can make you more pictures!”

“Mm-hm.” Caleb opened the book and spent a few seconds flicking through the pages before settling on one, looking up and waiting for everyone to settle down. Fjord closed the door and took a seat on the floor by the bed once Jester’s paper had been delivered, joining the audience for Caleb’s story. Caleb glanced nervously at him, and then up at Nott standing beside him.

“You are very good at reading,” Nott told him. “But you don’t have to.”

Caleb cleared his throat, put one finger under the line he was reading, and started again. “The trees in the region are best known for their wide leaves and layered appearance.” Jester started on her drawing, all four of them settling in for an unplanned quiet evening.

#critical role agere #agere fanfiction #fandom agere #sfw age regression #sfw agere #agere art #critical role #my writing #cr #cr agere

40 notes · View notes

klea221 · 3 years

Text

Blood and Gold Part 1

*This is a fic of my own. I have not finished campaign 2 yet but I am being self indulgent and writing because I cannot get enough of Mollymauk. (I refuse to let him be dead!)*

The wind off the river was warm and calming, just like any other day in Marquet.

Merchants bartered and unloaded cargo. Children stopped to gawk at the foreign goods only to be quickly shooed away.

Life here was simple to the untrained eye but for those who knew better, “freedom” came at a cost.

Beginning to climb off the rocks and through the reeds, I realize that my hiding spot is in jeopardy. Stilling, I hope to remain unseen by the guards.

Casting “disguise self”, I make my way to the passenger ship. The price is a steep 300 gold but once I get to the menagerie coast, I can start my new life. Surely, its worth the cost. Hopefully, my sister Yara will keep up the illusion until I’m far enough away…

I limit my time outside the cabin to twice a day to keep up the disguise. The rest of the time I use to plan my next steps. Of course I had never really “worked” before but, I had extensive tutoring and training at the palace which could come in useful. Armed with my bow, a dagger, and my sword, I could become some sort of adventurer! It could be like the stories father used to tell us growing up about the great heroes of the past!

Shrugging it off, I remind myself not to get too carried away. Surely, it would be more reasonable to work in a tavern of some sort…

Suddenly, I am pushed out of my thoughts by my sister’s message,

“(Y/N)! Its me, Yara! I was unable to keep up the act! Father has sent a search party! Be safe”

Even with closed eyes, I can still smell the blood. As quick as the rebellion came and left, the damage was already done. The streets of Ank’Harel were stained red. Noble houses were torn a part and everyone was on edge.

After a week of negotiation, things began to change. Hopefully things would go back to “normal”.

“We will form an alliance! There will be no more bloodshed in this city. We have a duty to the people, Ozai!” commanded the king.

“Yes, of course. There is however, a price for my… compliance” says General Ozai.

“Name it” answered the king, trying to remain prideful.

“Your daughter will marry Omar, He will become the Prince”.

“It will be done”.

I couldn’t breathe.

Omar was just as cruel as his father-if not worse. He was even rumoured to keep many slaves. Surely this man could not ever love let alone be a good husband. I felt sick. As I looked around the room, it spun and no body seemed to care.

“I will not hear anymore of this (y/n). My word is final! You will marry Omar! The wedding will be next month and that is that!” yelled the king.

My father almost never yelled, especially not to me. After the rebellion he seemed to be unhinged and there would be no use in arguing. My fate is settled; marry Omar or go far away-and never return…

“I understand” was all I could muster before storming off to my chambers. I grabbed all that I could and made my way to the docks.

My eyes shot open as I rose from the hard cot. The ship’s horn bellowed, vibrating the floor and walls of the cabin. Looking over to my window, I could see a huge lighthouse in the shape of the Wild Mother. This is it! This must be Nicodranas! Excited for what this new place has in store, I toss all of my things into my bag and leave the ship for the last time.

I cannot help but feel captivated by the delicate blue hues around me. The air is a beautiful combination of warmth, sea salt, and the smell of cinnamon. Looking over to a bakery, I see freshly made pastries and decide I should indulge myself! Why not?

Before I am able to take my first bite, the heavy presence of guards makes me uneasy. Trying to be stealthy, I make my way into an alley and case “disguise self” for the first time today.

“Hey! I can do that too!” says a cheerful accented voice.

Looking over my shoulder, I see a blue tiefling magically transform into a blond human girl in peasant’s clothing.

“My name is Jester! I’ll keep your secret if you give me your donut!” she says happily eyeing my purchase.

Though she is quite forward, I feel comforted by the tiefling and decide that maybe I shouldn’t be alone anymore.

“Why don’t I just buy us some more then! Oh- and my name is y/n!” I tell her as we walk back to the bakery.

Jester can talk nonstop! Normally this would be a little much for me but, having travelled alone for so long, I welcome it. Jester quickly tells me all about the city, her mother, and all the tricks the so called “Traveler” has taught her. Sticking with my plan, I tell her that I am looking for work while in Nicodranas. She happily takes me to her Inn where her mother helps me secure a job. I work hard cleaning up after guests and fetching them any food or drink that they require in exchange for room and board. It is very hard work but, Jester keeps me company most days.

One night as I’m folding tablecloths, I hear a commotion on the stairs. Its Lord Sharpe and he’s livid!

“IF I EVER SEE YOUR DAUGHTER AGAIN I WILL HAVE HER KILLED!”

Oh no! Jester what has she done now!

Trying to stay out of the argument, I look up to see Marion on the staircase with tears streaming down her normally poised face. This was really bad indeed…

Making my way up to Jester’s room, I can already hear Marion and Jester.

“But Mama! It was just a joke! Surely he can’t be serious!” whines Jester. She’s completely unaware of the gravity of her actions.

“Lord Sharpe is an extremely powerful man Jester, I don’t think we should take the risk! I think it would be best if you left the city for awhile. Maybe with time things will blow over” says Marion, pushing the hair out of Jester’s face.

Opening the door, I try to aid Marion in convincing Jester to play it safe.

“Jester, your mother is right-I-I’ve seen what men with power can do…” I say cryptically.

Not sensing that Jester is understanding, I take my chances and tell them both my REAL story. I tell them all bout my engagement and how awful the ramifications would have been had I stayed. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been killed one day to give Omar the throne…

“Jester, we can go together, we can keep each other safe from bad guys. I’m sure the Traveler will help us!” I say, trying to persuade her.

“Thank you for telling us this (y/n). You are a true friend. I know you will keep my little sapphire safe!” she says pulling me into a hug.

“It is settled then, we will leave at once!” Jester says.

“Here, this should help you two along” says Marion, placing a rather large coin purse into Jester’s hands. “Be very careful Jester, and try not to play too many tricks!” warns Marion.

Jester had decided that we would search for her long-lost father (whom she had never even met). Not wanting to crush her hopes, I tag along on the mission.

In Port Damali, our “investigation” runs dead. Despite this, we manage to gain a member into our little group. Having noticed our cleric abilities, a half-orc sailor named Fjord offered to travel with us. He tells us that he wishes to enroll at the magic academy in the Dwendalian Empire.

As we lead the coast and travel towards this new Empire, the air become noticeably cooler. The ocean views become obscured by rocky mountain terrain, and I begin to feel anxious for the road ahead.

As we arrived at Trostenwald, there was a commotion by the lake. Curiously walking closer, we see a giant water snake and a tiny screaming girl curled in its grasp.

In a matter of seconds, a female monk leaps onto the scene in a flash of blue robes. She begins to pummel the beast with her staff. Seeing as she may need help with killing the snake, the three of us run to help.

Aiming by bow toward the beast, I surprisingly manage to hit it right behind the head. However, before I can get too excited, I realize the beast is far too large for one arrow alone to take it down. The snake angrily strikes at the monk who narrowly dodges the attack.

Fjord runs up to the beast and draws his sword while I prepare another arrow. This time, I aim for the eyes.

Now blinded and confused, the creature is unaware of Fjord’s presence. He quickly begins to cut through the beast’s tough skin, killing it.

As the snake falls to the ground, the crowd erupts with cheers.

Jester runs over to the little girl and quickly casts “cure wounds”. My heart finally slows down knowing that the girl is safe.

“YOU GUYS THAT WAS AWESOME!” yells Jester, waving her hands around.

“Ugh, yeah! That was pretty rad” says the monk. “My name’s Beau by the way”

“Oh! I’m Jester! And this is y/n and Fjord!” says Jester, happily.

“Nice to meet you” I say shyly.

“Are you guys travelling too?” asks Beau.

“Yes, we are making our way north to the Soltryce Academy” says Fjord.

“Ah- the Soltryce Academy you say… No offense but you guys are gonna need some serious coin for that” says the monk, knowingly.

“You don’t say… You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who is hiring, would you?” says the half-orc.

“Well I mean, I was going to do some work for the Baumbach Brewery before this snake thing happened… You’re welcome to tag along if you’d like” offers the monk.

“Hey! That sounds like it could be fun!” says Jester.

After living in a palace most of my life, I try not to complain too much about manual labour but this job was BRUTAL. The four of us have done nothing but haul boxes and crates for hours on end. My body was sore and sweaty despite the cool air of Trostenwald.

By the time we got to the Nestled Nook Inn, my body was on autopilot. Not bothering to eat, I head upstairs and crash onto the bed.

With an aching body, I finally pull myself out of bed and open the door. I am greeted with the comforting smell of fresh bread and breakfast meats. Sitting down with the rest of the group, I forget my table manners and devour the food placed in front of me.

Not long into breakfast, the little girl’s father from yesterday enters the Inn. Nervously, he makes his way to our table and thanks us graciously. Before leaving, he dumps a hatful of coin onto our table. The coin pile draws much attention so, I rush to divide the pile evenly.

As Jester begins to converse with the table next to us, quick introductions are made. Before I can dwell on the halfling’s odd appearance, two more strange figures make their way noisily through the Inn.

Quickly turning my head in annoyance to the commotion, my heart stops for a moment. Having lived in Marquet all my life, I was used to Tieflings as they were common to see around the city. This lavender one however, was a sight to behold. And Gods was I in trouble…

#critical role x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #reader #fan fic #mollymauk x reader

4 notes · View notes

marmeladednd · 4 years

Text

Barren Night (a CR holiday fanfic)

Hey guys :) happy holidays to all of you. I wish you all peace, happiness and lots of time with the ones you love (even if they are fictional).

Enjoy this little festive fanfic- I am german, and visiting my local christmas market, this idea popped into my head.

read it here on ao3

Enjoy! ❤🌲⭐

“Caleb, this is beautiful!”

Jester spun on her heels, utterly taken by all the sparkling lights around her that reflected in her eyes.

Caleb couldn’t put his feelings into words right now- this mixture of childhood memories, the absolute comfort of a tradition he’d known his entire life, mixed with his merry group of friends carrying his new memories with them-

Whatever it was… it was good.

He smiled as Jester spun again, sniffing the air. “It smells delicious here!”, she exclaimed with joy, “Can we try all the food?”

“I’m very in favor of that.”, Caduceus added to that in his slow, mellow voice.

“Can we get drinks first, though?”, Beau asked. She was wrapped in a Cobalt Soul colored leather coat with white fur lining that made her stand out between all the Zemnians- making her look almost as foreign as Jester, Fjord… well, anyone but Caleb, really. They were drawing strange looks, but Caleb could honestly say that he didn’t care for once.

“Drinks actually sound perfect right now.”, Fjord agreed- he had his arms wrapped around himself, hands stuck under his armpits for warmth. Caleb made a mental note to drag him off to a booth that sold gloves later. “Nott, come on! We’re getting drinks! Where is she?”

“Over there.” Caduceus pointed his staff in the direction of a nearby booth that sold what looked like little wooden toys- dolls, horses, figurines and more. Nott- disguised as her halfling form- was in the process of examining the wares and actually making conversation with the vendor. The man was talking to her in broken common as she picked up a little wooden model of a ship, examining it with her head cocked.

“...I’ll get her.”, Caleb told the others.

His hand on Nott’s shoulder didn’t startle her, she merely looked up with a small smile on her lips.

“...I was thinking, for Luc.” She held up the wooden ship. It was painted blue and white and looked surprisingly functional up close.

Caleb smiled down at her. “I think he’d like that.”

“...I feel like Yeza will end up getting mad at me if I only bring Luc crossbow bolts as gifts.”

Caleb laughed. “...or blink dogs.”

The vendor, having watched their exchange with a friendly smile that probably meant he hadn’t understood half of it, piped up in a very heavy zemnian accent. “It actually… it… ähm…” He was clearly looking for the right word.

“Was kann es?”, Caleb intercepted in zemnian with a polite smile- the relief on the man’s face was that of a person who had probably not enjoyed learning Common in school.

“Es schwimmt sogar, wenn man es ins Wasser setzt, wie ein echtes Schiff.”, the vendor explained proudly, and Caleb translated for Nott: “It floats on water, like a real ship.”

“Sold.”, Nott said.

After they’d made their transaction and Nott left the booth with a wooden ship wrapped in cloth and a little smile on her face, they joined the others again- Jester had meanwhile started bouncing up and down with excitement, barely able to wait for them.

“Now. Drinks?”, Caleb asked.

“Drinks!”, the others echoed.

A little while later, they were squeezed in a small alcove, sheltered from the worst of the cold by improvised wooden walls between the different booths, all of them with steaming mugs cradled in their hands.

“Tell me again what it’s called?”, Beau asked, inhaling the steam coming from her mug with a content expression on her face.

“Glühwein.”, Caleb explained, “Basically, mulled wine. Jester and Caduceus, yours is called Kinderpunsch.”

“It smells so goooooood!”, Jester hummed, her eyes closed, a happy smile on her face that warmed Caleb’s heart more than any warm beverage every could.

“I think my fingers are thawing.”, Fjord commented, hands snugly wrapped around his mug.

“Port Damali boy, should’ve brought some warmer clothes.”, Beau teased, snuggling her fur coat a little higher. Fjord flipped her off, making her snort with laughter.

“She’s right, Fjord, we should really get some warm clothes for you.”, Jester agreed, and Caduceus added, “Something knitted, maybe.”

Caleb couldn’t help but laugh- the mental image of Fjord, their regal, charismatic Paladin, in a scratchy knitted jumper was too hilarious.

“In my clan, we used to wear dire wolf skins for warmth when it was cold.”, Yasha supplied in her quiet voice, “I think that would suit you very well, Fjord.”

Fjord blinked at her slowly, and then said, “...I think I’m good with some wool.”

The market started to fill more and more as time went on, but they were comfortably nestled into their little nook, able to watch people go by and enjoy the general festive bustle of it all while they sipped their drinks.

The enchanted fairy lights in the trees and the torches along the way dipped everything in soft, orange light, and there was music coming from somewhere behind them.

The Glühwein was nice and strong, and, being hot, went into Caleb’s head quicker than ale usually did. He didn’t like being drunk much, but this felt different. The familiar surrounding, his friends close by, talking and joking and recounting the happier tales of their adventures… it filled Caleb with a nostalgic, deep-set happiness. It was a feeling that had sat on the shelf of his mind for too long, and now he was slowly dusting it off, getting familiar with it again.

“Caleb?” Nott’s voice was quiet against their friends’ laughter when she took his hand. “Are you alright?”

Caleb nodded, a small smile on his face. “...I’m alright. Very alright.”

“That’s good.” She leaned against his leg for just a moment, mirroring his smile, before letting go again.

They got enormous amounts of food (fried bread with ramson and butter, fried mushrooms with spicy sauce, pork sandwiches, fried dough topped with cheese and spices and potato noodles with Sauerkraut- which elicited wildly different reactions from Caleb’s friends) and more drinks, and eventually -after Jester and Nott had inspected every booth and Fjord had finally acquired some gloves and, to everyone’s delight, a scarf- some dessert. They found a spot around one of the many campfires, and settled down with another round of wine.

“I want to live here forever and never leave!” Jester looked like she was going to ascend into different realms any minute now, sugary crumbs stuck to the corners of her mouth, cinnamon waffle in one hand and chocolate pancake in the other.

“I don’t think your mother would be very happy with that.”, Caleb commented, but the smile that had found its way onto his face a few hours before was still there. Jester cocked her head like she was considering that, and then sighed.

“Maybe we can get a Zemnian cookbook.”, Caduceus suggested, and Jester’s expression immediately lit up again.

As they talked the possible benefits of integrating more Zemnian food into Caduceus’ cooking, Beau sidled over to Caleb, bumping her shoulder against his.

“...hey, ...uh… thank you for sharing this with us. It’s been a really nice evening. I never thought Barren Night could be this...” She looked over her shoulder for a moment, taking in all the people eating, drinking, laughing and talking together, “...cheerful and festive. My parents always really emphasized the, y’know, ‘remember the fallen’ part of it.”

“I’m really glad you are all enjoying it so much.”, Caleb admitted. “I guess Zemnians honor the fallen by drinking and being with friends, thinking of the dead in happiness rather than to fall into mourning every year.” He looked down to where his hands were wrapped around his mug. A few scars peaked out from under his sleeve.

Beau gave him a lopsided, small smile and held out her little bag of candied almonds towards him. Caleb took one. She bumped her shoulder against his as gently as she could and then said: “I think that’s a great way to honor the dead. Cheers.”

She raised her mug to his, and he bumped his against it.

“Prost.”, Caleb replied, and they drank together.

When it was fully dark and the night had engulfed the market, Caleb felt himself become excited, the same way he had as a little boy. It was a strange, heady sensation, enhanced by the Glühwein in his system.

His friends, stuffed as they were with food, didn’t argue when he told them that they’d have to find a good spot - “A good spot for what?!” “You’ll see!” - and followed him freely. They had a bit of a hard time squeezing through the crowd, especially Caduceus, Yaha and Fjord, tall as they were, but eventually found huddled together in a sea of humans, all of them looking toward a small wooden stage set up right in the middle of the market (well, some were looking at them. A lot, actually. Caduceus and Jester waved at anyone who did, which was very entertaining, though).

“What are we waiting for?”, Beau asked, but right that second, the music started- horns, then flutes, followed by a high-pitched fiddle. The melody was familiar, and Caleb closed his eyes for a second.

A little “Oh!” from Jester made him open them again a moment later, though- the choir had stepped onto the stage. Red-cheeked zemnian women, their pale hair in braids, tall, sturdy men, hair shorn short, many with impressive beards. Caleb remembered wondering if he’d ever grow a beard this thick as a child.

The music cut out, and then, after a brief pause, the choir’s voices rose, slow, building, interweaving until they built a beautiful landscape of music.

It was an old zemnian folk song about the Barren Night, describing first the loss of many lives, followed by praise for the people who died protecting others. Caleb resisted the urge to hum along because it was so familiar.

The high notes actually gave him goosebumps that ran down his spine and made him shudder.

He remembered his mother singing this song with him, neither of them hitting the notes this well, just spending time together as she taught him the customs of their people. His heart felt heavy as he thought of her, how she had sung to him, stroking his hair, the way she fixed his clothes before they’d gone out together to meet his father at the market. Caleb remembered running into his arms as a small child, his father, still in his uniform from work, picking him up, spinning him around, his beard against Caleb’s cheek as he kissed him.

“...nun lasset uns feiern dieses Leben,

das die Götter uns gegeben.

Mit Liebe, Mut und Herzlichkeit

steh’n wir zusammen in dieser Zeit.”

Caleb had always liked the last verse of the song best, because it was an appeal to the survivors to stick together, to support each other and love each other. For a long time, he hadn’t thought it possible that his pain would subside eventually, that there would be people who were enough to pick him up, and that those people would love him.

Now, he knew better.

When they were walking back to the Inn they were staying at later, Jester and Nott were still singing the songs from the choir, cheerfully butchering the zemnian words and messing up the melody as they swayed and danced their way down the street.

Caleb felt deeply content inside, and also a little drunk.

Slowly, it started to snow. Big, picturesque snowflakes fell from the black sky, sticking to everyone’s hair before melting. Caleb tipped back his head, and let them land on his cheekbones. In front of them, Jester and Nott’s singing merged into “The Ruby of the Sea is the best lay ever”, and he smiled.

57 notes · View notes

chaos-burst · 5 years

Note

If I had money I would PAY you for more Widomauk content, because I am so fucking sad lately

[ ao3 ]

Caleb wonders if it’s possible to fall in love in retrospect.

Since Molly’s death Caleb has been thinking about him a lot. Even more so than when he was alive. Death does that to people, he ponders while he sits awake during night watches and draws patterns into the dirt. Death somehow shifts the presence of someone from outside of you into your head and makes them live there on and on and on.

Much like a violinist who only plays one song over and over.

Because Mollymauk can’t change in his mind, he’s destined to stay the same, just as Caleb knew him, without room to develop, to evolve.

And still.

Still, Caleb finds himself replaying their conversations almost obsessively in his mind. He’s able to remember most things, really, but sometimes, when it’s been too long, memories fade from him. And he doesn’t want Mollymauk’s memory to fade.

Mollymauk, who said he didn’t care about what they did before, only what kind of people they are now. Mollymauk, who needed to live by this code because his past never belonged to him. Mollymauk, who gave Caleb the tiniest smile when he said “That is enough for me, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”.

Stupid, ridiculous, endlessly brave Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Caleb feels an almost forgotten fluttering in his chest. Being in love is something he almost can’t remember.

Almost.

In hindsight, Caleb can’t say if he’s been in love before Mollymauk died. Maybe he just didn’t realize it. Maybe he got better at sorting out his feelings during the last months.

Today, the thoughts of Mollymauk are especially persistent. And it’s Jester’s fault. Her voice keeps repeating in his head, small and timid and unsure.

“I’ve been asking the Traveler to teach me this new spell. To bring Molly back to us.”

Caleb could see the surprise on Nott’s and Fjord’s faces. Beau on the other hand simply sat up straighter, leaned forward towards Jester and nodded encouragingly. That’s when Caleb knew that Beau is the same as him.

Replaying memories, still searching for solutions, still hoping, not letting go.

Not ever letting go. They’re both very good and not letting things go, Caleb thinks.

“I think I can do it now”, Jester said. “But I need his body and a pretty big diamond, guys. Like. Really big.”

So now they’re traveling towards the Glory Run Road again. And as if Yasha was able to feel what is going on, she joins them when they’re halfway there. Caleb can see her talk to Jester, tears glimmering in her eyes before she hugs Jester.

Caleb is sure that Yasha hasn’t hugged any of them first so far. But there they stand, holding each other tightly and Caleb can see Yasha’s lips move. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know what Yasha is saying over and over again.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Later, when they’re only a little more than a day’s ride away from Mollymauk’s grave, Beau sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet”, she says.

Caleb shrugs. His mind hasn’t been quiet at all at the prospect of seeing Mollymauk again. It would have been so fitting, being in love with a dead man. The thought of being in love is still foreign in his mind. The last time he was in love, he was merely a teenager.

Now his heart stumbles at the thought of Mollymauk pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know I am not much of a talker”, he says, wondering if he should just tell Beau.

“Except when it comes to books and cats”, Beau says and gives him a lopsided grin. Caleb manages a smile.

“Looks like we’ll be complete again tomorrow.”

Her voice is so quiet, Caleb almost can’t hear her.

Complete again.

Yes.

“I’m happy”, he finally rasps, the words foreign on his tongue. Happiness feels strange, like something very old and lost to him, and still very new. Maybe he’s learning how it works to be happy again.

Beau actually puts her head on his shoulder.

“Me too”, she says.

The words stumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Do you think it is possible to be in love with a dead person?”

Beau’s head stays where it is but Caleb can feel Beau go still at his words. His heart is hammering in his chest as if it wants to escape. Breathing is suddenly very hard. Hearing the words out loud is still very different from just testing them in his mind.

“Yeah. Sure”, Beau answers. No hesitance. No judging.

When did Beauregard Lionett become one of the very best friends to him? Caleb can’t say. Just like he has no idea when he fell in love with a certain purple tiefling.

“I feel stupid”, Caleb rasps, wringing his hands and trying to control his breathing.

“It’s not stupid, Caleb. Isn’t it like… super normal that people only realize what they had when it’s gone? Or whatever? That’s what it was like for me anyway. That dumb fuck was the worst and then he pissed off and–you know? When he gets back I’ll hit him. Like. At least twice. And then I’mma hug the fuck out of him because I fucking... didn’t do that while he was still around.”

Caleb doesn’t want to hit Mollymauk. He wants to hug him. He wants him to smile. And in a very ashamed part of his brain is a wish for a kiss. Caleb probably doesn’t even know how to kiss anymore. Molly on the other hand–

He can feel heat rising to his cheeks and he clears his throat, hoping that Beau won’t notice.

“I don’t think I want to hit him”, he confesses and Beau snorts.

“Nah. Didn’t think so. Though I have to say, Caleb. If you start smooshing faces I’ll get the fuck out of there. No offense.”

Caleb coughs a little and Beau raises her head again.

Beau looks at him and Caleb actually manages to look back. Beau seems to consider something, then she opens her mouth and Caleb can see the embarrassment on her face.

“Pretty sure that asshole is like. The brother I was supposed to have, y’know? And I didn’t realize that before–before he died. For me. So. Yeah. Not stupid. And now I have to stop talking about my fucking feelings or I’ll vomit”, she says, her voice hoarse and her eyes definitely wet.

Then she gets up and ruffles his hair aggressively before stomping away.

Caleb doesn’t sleep much that night and he knows that Yasha and Beau are also awake. Yasha staring at the sky, Beau pretending to be asleep.

Still, they’re the first at Mollymauk’s grave where, surprisingly, a rather dirty and worn-out coat still floats in the wind. Caleb feels his breath catch in his throat because the whole grave is full of vibrant, colorful flowers. Caduceus doesn’t seem to be surprised by this and he smiles, apparently satisfied with his handiwork.

Yasha sinks to her knees and carefully touches the flowers while Beau grabs the coat and folds it up before ripping the stick out of the earth.

“Let’s do this”, she says, throws the stick aside and swallows heavily, while Jester slowly approaches the grave and pulls out the diamond.

Caleb can’t breathe.

He’ll be back. He will be alive and breathing and–

Even though he’s exhausted and tired and weak Caleb helps to dig up the corpse. No one speaks when they find the remains. After months, there is not much left that resembles Mollymauk and Caleb has a hard time looking at what’s left of the colorful person he knew.

Jester is crying the whole time while she carefully puts the diamond on what was once Mollymauk’s chest. There is no question if the person coming back will be Mollymauk or someone else.

Jester calls only for Molly’s soul. The soul that belongs in this body above any other soul. Yasha and Beau hold Jester’s hands and Caleb carefully places a hand on Jester’s shoulder while Fjord, Nott and Caduceus stand on either side of the corpse.

The diamond vanishes in a flash of light and Caleb feels nauseous as he watches the body reassemble itself like a morbid puzzle.

“That is quite fascinating to watch”, Caduceus mumbles somewhere to his left.

When the body is whole again, it’s completely naked.

There lies Mollymauk Tealeaf, naked, scarred and in a bed of wildflowers.

In a moment of silence and panic nothing happens before red eyes spring open and a deep breath gets sucked into intact lungs.

Caleb realizes that he’s been holding his breath as they all rush forward, except himself and Caduceus.

He needs to sit down. He needs to calm his breathing. He needs to touch Mollymauk to make sure that he’s really alive and unharmed and–

“Alright there, Mr Caleb? Breathe with me, you’re doing great. Breathe in, breathe out”, Caduceus’ soothing voice says in his ear and warm hands grab him as he stumbles.

The next few hours are a blur for Caleb.

He has no idea how to approach Mollymauk while all the others have no problem acting as if he never died in the first place. Beau doesn’t actually punch Mollymauk, but she does hug him and Caleb hears her suppress a sob when she stammers “You fucking asshole, don’t you dare–don’t–just don’t!”. Yasha doesn’t leave his side for even a second. Nott and Jester keep telling Molly all about what happened to them after he was gone (”We were pirates!” – “You were pirates without me!?”) and even Caduceus asks curious questions about being dead.

Fjord shows Molly his sword. Jester and Molly hold hands. Yasha shows him all the new flowers she collected.

All Caleb can do is sit there and stare at Mollymauk. Wonderfully alive Mollymauk.

His heart aches so much, it actually feels like a physical hurt and Caleb just wants it to stop. Being in love never felt like that, he’s sure of that. At one point, he finds Mollymauk staring back at him.

Caleb’s throat feels very dry while those red eyes rest on his face and a small, lopsided smile spreads on his face.

He might just faint then and there.

“Do you want to get out for a bit?”, a familiar voice says and Caleb flinches before he looks up into Mollymauk’s red eyes. He swallows and looks around in a panic before he finds Beau’s face and she nods her head to encourage him. Caleb gets up and feels dizzy as he follows Mollymauk out of the small Inn they settled in for the night.

“You looked like you wanted to be elsewhere”, Mollymauk says when the cold night-air brushes their hair out of their faces and Caleb sits down on one of the boxes standing outside the Inn. Mollymauk sits down next to him.

“So. I can add ‘eaten by worms’ to my resumé. Pretty impressive, huh?”

Caleb shuddered and snorts.

“I don’t remember it though. Pretty glad about that.”

Caleb doesn’t know what to say. There are many things he wants to say, but they would be uncalled for, inappropriate and terribly embarrassing.

“The new guy is great, he knows an awful lot about mushrooms”, Mollymauk continues and lets his legs swing back and forth as if testing them. See if they still work the same as before.

“Ja. He uh–he really likes mushrooms.”

Molly laughs.

“Don’t we all”, he says with a chuckle and then he’s quiet for a while, looking up at the sky. Caleb thinks about how Beau doesn’t consider his feelings stupid. They’re still there, buzzing under his skin, now that Mollymauk actually sits beside him. But what do you do about feelings like this? They seem to big for Caleb’s body, trying to spill out in any way they can.

When a warm hand reaches for his he almost chokes on his own spit.

“Hey Mr Caleb”, Mollymauk says and doesn’t look at him when he speaks. His eyes are still turned skyward. “I died. And it sucked. Like, a lot. I might just die again tomorrow.”

Caleb’s chest feels very tight at the thought. Molly’s fingers don’t let go of his hand and he thinks his heart might fly away into the night.

“Don’t. Don’t–Just. Be careful, ja?”

Mollymauk tilts his head back and finally turns to look at Caleb.

“I’ll try. Dying sucks, to be honest with you. What I meant though, is–you know. If I die again tomorrow I might as well make the most of my time, yeah?”

Caleb barely manages to look Mollymauk in the eyes.

If I die again tomorrow I might as well make the most of my time, yeah?

Caleb takes a deep breath and turns his hand upside down, so his fingers are able to intertwine themselves with Mollymauk’s.

“We all missed you”, he rasps. It’s all he can manage.

Mollymauk smiles, a small, earnest smile. Not his flashy grin, the one he puts on when he lies and jokes and postures. It reminds Caleb of the smile he saw after they discovered the truth about Mollymauk’s past. Or the lack of it.

“I’m pretty sure I missed you, too. Can’t remember, but. You know. It was good with you all. I’d like to experience more of that.”

Another silence follows, this one stretching out longer. Caleb wants to know what’s going on in Mollymauk’s head. He also wants to say everything that goes on in his mind.

I’m too broken to love anyone. I’m too broken to be loved. I hate myself so much, being in love is so hard. Touching is hard. Talking about caring and feelings is impossible. How can it feel so good to just hold someone’s hand?

“Beau told me she missed me. Said I’m like a brother to her”, Mollymauk says after a long while. “She’s still entirely unpleasant, but I would die again for her any day, you know. Having siblings like that is great, to be perfectly honest.”

So Beau did what Caleb cannot. Just said it. Even though she must be ashamed and even though she has a hard time talking about feelings, just like Caleb.

“Mr Caleb?”

“Ja?” Caleb clears his throat. “Mr Mollymauk?”

His own words make him smile.

He missed saying this.

“If I die again tomorrow I’d be really angry if I didn’t try to kiss you right now.”

Caleb doesn’t want Mollymauk to talk about dying anymore. But his whole body freezes when he hears the second part of Molly’s statement and when Molly gets up and suddenly stands in front of him, all he can do is look up at him helplessly, his cheeks burning and his heart hammering.

“So, Mr Caleb. Will you let a dead man steal a kiss?”

The grin Mollymauk shows him is the one he uses when he tries to hide his uncertainty. Caleb knows how to spot it. He replayed every single one of Molly’s expression in his mind so, so many times.

“No”, he whispers and his heart might just explode at the flash of hurt that flickers over Molly’s features, “but a living one would be–that would be–”

Molly blinks and the next thing Caleb knows he has a lap full of purple tiefling, hands in his hair and very warm lips pressed on his mouth. He gasps and almost falls off the box he sits on before his arms wrap around Mollymauk and he finally finds the sense to kiss him back.

No more dying, he thinks as he desperately buries his fingers in Mollymauk’s hair. No more dying.

Molly kisses him like a drowning man in need for air. He tries touching every part of Caleb he can get his hands on and Caleb finds himself panting into the kiss. It’s all so much. Which is only fitting, he thinks, since this is Mollymauk Tealeaf he’s kissing.

“Why, Mr Caleb”, Molly pants against his lips. “For kisses like that, I might just stay alive as long as I possibly can.”

Caleb pulls him down again.

“Deal”, he murmurs into the next kiss.

He supposes that he’ll just have to kiss Mollymauk Tealeaf every day for as long as possible.

#widomauk #critfic #critical role #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #fanfiction #caleb #mollymauk #screeching into the void #text #if you're sad and want to talk to someone always feel free to shoot me a mssg #i hope this helped a little bit #no need to pay me honey <3 #Anonymous

318 notes · View notes

critical-derolo · 5 years

Text

not like the stories

"You'd think there would be one bookstore in this town," Caleb grumbles beside her. He folds his arm on the table, around his mug of swill, and taps his fingertips against the surface. "Even in a city of beasts, someone is bound to partake in some light reading. Knowledge is the foundation of any society..."

It's not totally her fault that she tunes Caleb out - not when he dives into a lecture of academia, he knows she can't force herself to focus on something she finds so boring. But Caleb is her friend and so she hums and nods every now and then, leaning against her elbow with her chin in her palm as she stares at the tiefling across the crowded tavern they're in. The fake tiefling. The human polymorphed into a tiefling. The incredibly attractive fake tiefling that's really a human, specifically her friend Beau.

Jester's eyes linger on the defined muscles of her bare arms, how vibrant the red of her skin is. The way it makes her blue eyes and black hair pop. People throw around the slurs 'devil' and 'demon' at Jester often enough, but gods, Beau is sinfully delicious as a tiefling.

The little Trickster sighs deeply, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. She drags her gaze along the expanse of abdomen that shows in the monk's vestments and robes, imagines running her fingers along the grooves of those stone abs. Her eyes flutter and she can almost see Beau beneath her, chest expanding with a choked expletive caught in her throat, Jester's cool palm against red hot skin as Beau drives her head back into the mattress. Those lovely defined arms flexing when she holds onto the bedposts above her head as Jester rides her for all she has.

"Even a little stand in the market with information pamphlets," Caleb groans and holds his face in his hands. "I'll take anything, at this point."

"Bahamut's balls, Caleb!" Jester hisses reflexively. She jerks up in her seat, swallowing heavily, and lets out a shaky breath. Her friend stares at her curiously. "It's almost as if this city doesn't appreciate fine literature!"

Caleb blinks and slowly nods like he's piecing together a complex puzzle. "Ja... ja, it is, isn't it. It's an affront to the pursuit of education!"

"Do you have any new books?" she wonders abruptly. Tilts her head and bats her eyelashes in a deceptively innocent manner. "Any sequels to Tusk Love or something like that, maybe?"

Suspicion glows in those blue eyes of his but the fondness in them outshines it. He leans back in his chair, brushing his hand over a scruffy chin. "You are meaning smut when you say something like Tusk Love?"

"Technically..." Jester grins.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I haven't - eh, replenished the library, so to speak. Travelling underground for so long and then popping up in this... city, I haven't had the chance."

Rather impressively, Beau juggles an armful of mugs as she approaches the table. Her grin is sharp, all predator, and Jester hops in her seat. Pointedly ignores the heat in her stomach, and leans forward over the table. "Beau, were you flirting with that Orc lady at the bar?"

Beau rolls her eyes at the eyebrow wiggling and sets the mugs down. Jester preens a little when she catches the flash of blue dart towards her cleavage, and maybe, maaaaybe squishes her arms together a little more than necessary. "Flirting is just like any other skill, Jes," Beau says around her smirk and kicks out a chair for Fjord. Yasha helps Caduceus bring over a couple platters of food, and Nott just appears when they're set down on the table. "Gotta flex it now and then or it gets rusty."

As if to emphasize her point, Beau lifts her arms to display those biceps carved by the Muses themselves. Jester hums or purrs, maybe, tail swaying back and forth behind her head. Fjord slowly, discreetly leans back to look between the two of them, brows pinching together with confusion.

And then Jester blinks, dropping back in her seat. "Well, I don't think you're rusty even a little. She's still staring at you." She decides to ignore the acid that churns in her stomach. "You must be really, really good at it."

A darker red creeps up Beau's neck and Jester wants to chase it with her tongue, but also... her heart clenches at how sweet it is that Beau is blushing? How someone can be so suave, so brash, so cocky... and then turn around, getting bashful by the attention - it makes something in Jester ache with longing.

No. Nope, bad thoughts. Beau is pretty. Just super pretty. And tiefling Beau is handsome like Fjord, and Jester is just getting herself a little confused. Maybe she's been reading too many books lately.

Beau is her friend and she doesn't ache for her friends - well, mostly not. Mostly just Fjord. Only Fjord. Maybe Yasha now and then, when the pain in her eyes is so profound it takes Jester's breath away. And Beau just, like, at night when she's reading and Beau groans in her sleep, or when Beau twirls around a bad guy to drop him like a sack of bricks, or when Beau finds her on the ship just as she's about to fall apart, saying such kind and lovely things that make the world hurt just a little bit less. But! Mostly Fjord.

Fjord, who gives her the guiltiest puppy dog eyes she's ever seen. Who hovers over her like a parent over a newborn, like she's made of fucking glass, like she isn't a grown woman who fights monsters and dragons, like she's a frightened little girl whose feelings were hurt because he chose Captain Avantika, sex goddess of the sea.

"Uh, Jester? Did I do something to upset you?" he asks hesitantly.

She blinks and smiles, head tilting, and watches the colour drain from his face. "Of course not, why would you even ask that?"

"Oh, it's just..." he waves his hand dismissively, lips puckering in a frown that tries to force itself to be casual. "You're glaring at me something fierce and you impaled that apple with your fork, uh, straight through into the table."

Jester instinctively releases the death-grip on her fork, staring down at the poor little fruit. "Oh, no, I was just drifting. Whoops."

"If that's you drifting, I'd hate to see you angry," Nott chirps around a mouth full of... meat?

Beau scoffs into her mug. "Gods, I'm still aching to see it."

Intrigue draws Jester up on the table again, leaning closer. "I could-"

"Jester, would you pass me the... thing that looks like salt?" Caleb asks loudly and Jester drags her heated gaze away from Beau's wide eyes, to a knowing Caleb. And then around the table to all of her friends. Her friends.

Oh, she really, really needs some midnight reading. "Sure, no problem, Caleb!"

Fjord plucks it right out of Caleb's hand when he catches it, a crooked grin on his face made all the more charming by his tusks still growing in. "What's the magic word?" he teases.

"Holscheif."

Fjord blinks. "Bless you?"

"It's a magic word, hand me the salt." Caleb holds out his hand, tracing a circle in his palm. "Or I will make you."

An eyebrow crooks up. "Mighty big words coming from a man who still has his own blood dried in his beard."

"That door came out of nowhere and that is beside the point."

Fjord claps his hand on Caleb's shoulder and presses the salt shaker into his palm. Caduceus leans over to pull the fork from the table, biting into the apple. Nott looks between them all as she shovels more food into her mouth, the gears slowly turning, and Yasha's lips curve up in a warm smile.

The day has been long and gruelling. After trudging all the way out to the river, only to spend the morning walking the banks, they finally found the tumormoss... and a Roc. And then Gnolls. Roc and Gnoll do not mix, trying to fight off the pack with a monstrosity swooping at them was a literal nightmare that depleted every last spell slot between them.

But it's over. They won. They walked away, lived to keep on fighting, to keep on running. Those who fell got back up, and now they drag themselves back towards the city. Anxious looks shot between them as they eye their friends' wounds warily.

Everyone is alive.

Ahead of her, Jester watches Fjord and Beau cradle Caleb between them. An arm hooked around both of their shoulders, while Nott trails behind quickly. Fjord grunts, his hand slipping from Caleb's coat, and Beau twists to catch and hold all of the wizard's weight.

It only takes a moment for Fjord to adjust his bag and hook Caleb's arm around him again. Jester watches on fondly, sighing softly. "I miss Molly."

Beside her, Caduceus rases a pink eyebrow and angles his face down towards her. He literally always has a sort of dazed, serene look on his face, but in the glow of the afternoon light, he looks like peace incarnate. “Hm? Oh, sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

He watches her for a silent moment where her entire frame droops with the weight of life and death. The guilt of a survivor is a unique thing, almost untouchable, a burden that only a tormented few bear. Torn between the gift of a second chance, and the knowledge that you weren’t there, you couldn’t help. “I know. But it will always hurt, in its own way, for the rest of your life. I'm just sorry. Is there a specific reason you miss him right now?”

“I need to talk to him about something,” Jester says thoughtfully. She stares up at her fellow cleric, at the concern and comfort that brim up in his gentle eyes.

He smiles softly. “You should then. I don't know for sure about the afterlife,” he waves his large hand around, “I don’t know for sure about this life. But. Things have a way of gettìng around, and I'm sure it would feel better than it does right now if you did.”

It’s not exactly foreign, she knows she’s heard it somewhere before. It might be something she'd overheard her mother tell her grieving clients, that people aren’t ever truly gone. That sometimes it’s best to just get the grief out than keep it in, eating away at your soul. And if her momma said it, then it’s gotta be true. “That's true. You're super wise, Caduceus.”

“Thank you. Maybe I could help?”

She considers her actual question and can’t help but giggle. Tries to smother it with her hand, and shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t know. You're super wise but this might be beyond you.”

“Okay.” Caduceus doesn’t even blink. Just a simple shrug of his shoulders and he inclines his head amicably. They walk in silence a few more steps and he tilts his head curiously. “I could try.”

It’s worth a shot, Jester supposes. “Well... do you think Beau is sexy?”

Those big pink eyes stare down at her blankly and she waits... and waits. His brows slowly furrow with thought, nodding ever so slightly, as if he’s truly considering this question as deep as one might ponder their reason for existence. "Oh. Oh, uh. Sure, yeah. Why not. Sexy like the sky.”

“What does that even mean??” Jester laughs with a shake of her head, hooking her arm with his.

His lips twitch, a long grey finger tapping his fuzzy chin. “Just. You know. As comforting as she is unyielding. It's a little uneasy, a little uncomfortable when you can't see it, a panic when you don't know where it is. But reversely, if you look at it too long, if you stare more than you should...” he instinctively reaches for his staff, bracing himself as he gazes up above them.

“You don’t know what sexy is, do you?”

Caduceus grins. “No. Sorry.”

“I still appreciate the effort.” Jester sighs, shaking her head with a delighted smile. “It does feel a little better, talking about it.”

“So you think Beau is sexy then?”

Jester gasps, pulling her arm from his to lightly slap his elbow. “Caduceus! I think Fjord is sexy, and handsome, and dashing, and all of the things I'm supposed to think he is.”

He looks confused again. “Supposed to? Thoughts are free, Miss Jester. You're allowed to think whatever you like.”

“No, I know that, I just meant. Okay, technically, like, I am all about Fjord, you know. But also, maybe, I'm sometimes about Beau? But like lately... these days... for a while now... maybe since the Ball Eater... I have been very much not all about Fjord. And perhaps, if we dissected it, I have been all about Beau.”

“Okay.”

Jester wrings her hands, smiling anxiously. Purple eyes flit away, shadows of hurt lingering in them. "But Beau is about Yasha. And I am about Fjord. So it's silly! It doesn't even matter, I don't know where I was going with that. It's really, really ridiculous.” She glances back. “Right?”

“Maybe,” Caduceus agrees softly. Tilts his head to one side... and then the other. Looks back down at her. “Maybe not. Is Beau about Yasha the same way that you are about Fjord?”

Eyebrows jump and Jester opens her mouth. The words linger on her tongue and she looks ahead of them in time to see Beau flash Fjord a grin and adjust Caleb’s weight again. “I... oh. I hadn't thought of that. Like, she's not really about Yasha, she's only supposed to be?”

“Who decides what we're supposed to be about?” Caduceus wonders aloud. “I would like to ask that person some questions. How do they decide?”

“It's not a person, it's just... the way it is!”

“Why?”

Well. Well... because. It just is? Maybe? “I'm not really sure.”

“That doesn't seem fair then,” he decides and nods firmly. “I think I'll ignore it, and feel how I feel, and think what I think.”

“That's a good idea,” Jester agrees while her mind races.

Another quiet moment passes between them. Yasha’s hand stops glowing and she doesn’t limp anymore when she pulls it away from her hip. In another few strides, she hoists Caleb up over her shoulder and falls in step with the others. “What do you think your friend would have told you?” Caduceus asks.

“Oh, I don't know. Anticipating Molly was always difficult, almost impossible, really.” She thinks about it and hums, smiling slightly. “He would probably tease me about my taste, he really liked giving Beau a hard time. But maybe he would have told me that the heart wants what it wants, and who are we to disagree with the whimsy of love? Something like that, he was very poetic. I feel like he could have written half the books I read.”

“He sounds lovely.”

Some of the sadness creeps back in, but Jester forces her smile to stay strong. Brilliant and blinding, just like his. “He was. I'm sorry you never got to know him, Caduceus. And that he never got to know you, I think you would have liked each other.”

“I think he would very much appreciate the way you all still carry him with you. I also think maybe we should catch up to the others before they get worried.”

She snorts. “Yeah, no, yeah. I see Nott's Mom Face aimed back at us, let's go before she assigns first watch on us.”

Soft gasps and muffled moans echo in the quiet room, the darkness of the night like a protective shroud that blocks out the rest of the world. It's just the two of them and the bed beneath them, moonlight spilling in from the window and catching the blues of Beau's eyes. Pools of crystal clear water and Jester has never wanted to drown before, never wanted to fall in, and in, and in... her tail tightens around Beau's thigh. Her fingers splay across the brown skin of Beau's abs, flushed with the heat between them, and she runs her hands up Beau's sides.

It's adorable how the monk tries to bite back her grin and electrifying how she wiggles and squirms between Jester's thighs. But a tickle fight is not why she crawled into Beau's bed tonight, and so she rolls her hips in a seductive circle and gasps at the lightning that shoots up her spine. Beau clenches the sheets in her fists, swallowing her favourite vulgar word, and shudders.

"Beauregard..." Jester purrs and rocks her hips forward again, a delighted smile full of her fangs when it draws a guttural groan from the woman beneath her. "I know you've been watching me lately."

Swooping forward, Jester catches herself with her hands on either side of Beau's face. Their noses brush together and her eyes crinkle when she catches sight of the blush creeping up Beau's neck. So she dips down and follows it with her tongue, a scorching path up, and up, and-

A strong hand cups the back of her neck, yanking her forward into aggressive but oh so gentle lips. Desperation tamed by adoration, and the molten pit in Jester's stomach tightens, the grip on her inhibitions loosens. Beau's arm circles her waist, and rough fingertips trace Jester's jaw featherlight.

Another strike of lightning, Jester rolls her hips down into Beau. She swallows the monk's gasp, and playfully flicks her tongue with her own. Beau tastes like blood - a faded copper bite, and Jester has seen that bloody grin often enough. Has swooned over it, has tasted it now, and the heat in her stomach grows. Intensifies. The coil tightens. Beau's hands slide down her sides, fingers dig into her hips as she sucks on a far more experienced tongue. Magic crackles against her skin everywhere she makes contact with Beau, Beau, Beau...

She sits back with a gasp and drags in as much air as she can. Beau pants beneath her and Jester stares up at the ceiling, her chest heaving, continuously rocking down against her friend. "Beau," she chokes out and swallows. Forces her heavy eyes to focus on the blown pupils that stare up at her hungrily. Jester lays her hands over Beau's on her hips, guiding them up her sides again. "I really, really like you," she whispers in the moonlight. Brings Beau's hands to her lips and presses a kiss against the scarred fingers, placing them on the lace ribbon of her corset. "Do you like me?"

"So much it hurts," Beau growls in a voice so rough it sounds like gravel. Jester rocks harder against her and Beau leans up, kisses Jester again. And again. And again. Until they're against each other, in each other, and Jester didn't even notice she's pinned Beau back to the bed.

Until Jester feels the ribbon laced across the front of her chest pulled free. And then not even the desperate, heated mash of lips and tongue can distract her from Beau pulling the corset loose. From her breasts spilling up and Beau slipping her hands in. A deep, primal noise is torn from Jester's throat, along with Beau's name.

She gasps harshly in the cool night, eyes shooting open wide. Her chest still heaves and she swallows, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of their inn room. She lifts a trembling hand to wipe her sweaty forehead.

"Jes...? You calling me?" Beau's groggy voice carries across the room from her own bed.

Jester turns her head and leans up, feels the sheets and her nightgown cling to her sweaty skin. "No!" she says in a voice much too squeaky. "I said... oh...?"

In the soft moonlight, Jester watches Beau sluggishly turn onto her side. Her eyes are closed, on the precipice of sleep, but hums. "Did'ja have a bad dream?"

"No..." She hates the way her heart drops. Her chest sinks. The way reality crashes in and steals a moment, even a fake one, from her. "Maybe."

Beau's breathing heavily and Jester wonders if maybe she wasn't really awake to begin with. A few seconds pass and she slowly lays back down in her bed, knowing she's going to have a long, lonely night of sorting out her head.

But Beau grunts (Jester ignores the reminiscent pulse of want that echoes through her) and pats her bed. "You can sleep with me if you're scared."

It's probably not a good idea.

Probably a bad idea.

Almost definitely a bad idea, especially with how preoccupied her thoughts are these days. How loose the control she has over what she wants, and what she's doing about it.

But that doesn't stop Jester from climbing into Beau's bed and snuggling up against her back. From looping her arm around a warm waist, and her tail around Beau's leg.

So what if her mind plays tricks on her and tells her that Beau hums again, sinking back into her embrace?

Xorhas has an unfathomably beautiful sky. It's so big and open, a stretch of purple that fades to blue that fades to black, with pink just barely peeking over the horizon, and an explosion of stars scattered across it all. There are patches, true, where the night is so dark that you can't see your hand in front of your face, but out in these open fields, the stars shine so bright that she can sketch in the soft glow of light.

Especially in the little pocket of wildlife they've found. With grass so green that in the dark, the roots give off a faint blue luminescent glow. Splashes of purple pop up with the mushrooms, and Caduceus snores amongst the orange flowers that almost seem to cradle him while he sleeps.

Jester couldn't sleep if she tried, not when there's so much beauty to capture, to memorize and desperately sketch. None of her inks do the colours justice and her hand cramps painfully, but she can't stop.

"It's not as pretty down south," Yasha murmurs from her side of Caleb's bubble. Jester twitches and looks up in surprise, watching the little smile that graces the barbarian's face. "Sorry."

"You apologize a lot," Jester tells her thoughtfully.

And nothing more, just an observation, surface deep. Or it would be if those purple eyes didn't hold the same kind of scrutiny that Caleb's do when he's studying. "I do," Yasha agrees. "Do you want me to take next watch?"

"If you'd like. I might stay up a little longer, I'm not sleepy." She doesn't mention the hassle that is sleeping lately, how she can't get her dreams under control and she's worried about letting something slip while she's asleep. She doesn't mention the sour twist in her stomach, looking over to see Beau between Caduceus and Nott, no room for Jester.

She doesn't mention that she wants Beau so badly that her unconscious is screaming at her.

It's not Yasha's problem, it's barely a problem. Not worthy of anyone's time, not when they're out here to rescue Yeza. Not with the risk of death looming over them. Not with war on the ever approaching horizon.

Jester has a crush, who cares.

"Are you alright?" Yasha asks softly. And her gaze. Her gaze is so gentle, so compassionate, and Jester knows that Yasha would care. That if she told her, explained that her heart hurts, Yasha would care enough to help without hesitation.

But Yasha is maybe part of the problem. Yasha maybe holds Beau's heart in her hands. Beau maybe holds Yasha's broken one. And the last thing Jester wants, the last thing she would ever do, is hurt her friends.

Still. What is it that Caleb is always saying? Knowledge is power, neither good nor bad. A resource to use and share.

"Yasha, how..." Jester adjusts her sketchbook in her lap and casts a glance around their group, careful to be quiet. Prying ears are not what she needs.

Seemingly following that line of thought, Yasha stands silently. She holds out her hand and jerks her chin to the side, very easily pulling Jester up to her feet.

They don't go as far as they did last time. The fear lingers down both of their spines, remembering the last time the two of them, and Fjord, had wandered too far from the group. They stay close enough that Yasha could kick stones at the bubble if she needed to.

"What's on your mind, Jester?" she asks and fiddles with the little bracelet that Nott had given her.

Jester stares out at the sky, where the blue and the black collide and make something daunting and hopeful. "How did you know you loved Zuala?"

"Oh." Jester glances up to see Yasha's eyebrows bounce and the smile stretch across her face. Her large shoulders slump, entire stance relaxing. "You had such a serious look on your face, I thought something was wrong." Her smile... doesn't fade, but it softens into something more tender. Her mismatched eyes skirt the area, always alert for danger, but she looks... happy. And sad. It's weird. "I suppose I always loved her, but I guess I knew, for sure, on our first hunt together."

Simple delight flares at her edges and Jester pours herself into it like she always does, so desperate to make those feelings last as long as she can. Knowing that they will fade - they always fade. So she twirls in place and clasps her hands under her chin. "Was it super romantic?"

"Well..." Pink slowly creeps across Yasha's cheeks, she scratches at the back of her neck and ducks her head. "Not really, no. But it was nice. Sweet. I fell out of a tree."

"Oh my gods, Yasha, that is so cute!" Jester gushes brightly. She can totally picture it - big badass Yasha with her warpaint and rippling muscles... falling out of a tree in front of her crush. "What happened?"

"Oh," she sighs and scoffs, a chuckle mixed in. "If that wasn't bad enough, I landed on her. She twisted her ankle and I spent an hour trying to heal it but, well, I couldn't do what I can now. So I carried the boar and her back to camp."

"You're so strong!"

Yasha bobs her head in a nod because, yeah, she's really fucking strong. "I was so nervous with her in my arms and so embarrassed about falling on her, I got lost. We spent the night in a hollow tree."

Jester hums thoughtfully and taps her chin. "And that's when you knew?"

"Yes."

"How??"

"Later in the night she told me that I didn't really land on her, so much as she tried to catch me," Yasha murmurs with a twist to her lips and a sparkle in her eye. "And that she didn't point out we were heading in the wrong direction because she didn't want our hunting trip to end."

"And that's when you knew?" Jester asks and Yasha nods. Which is frustratingly unhelpful, if not super sweet. "But how did you know?"

Yasha sighs and brings her hands up onto her hips. Stares up at the sky and thinks about it. "I don't know. I just... felt it. My chest was so full of this giddy warmth that I could hardly breathe, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I guess, I don't know, I realized my life would always be better with her in it and that I wanted to spend the rest of it by her side."

It's not something to cry over, like, okay, yeah, it's such a lovely story and maybe it is super sad when she thinks about it. Knowing that Yasha had that and lost it, lost Zuala. But it's sharp, it tears through Jester's chest like the talons of a roc, and she chokes back a sob. Buries her face in her palms and holds her tears at bay.

For a while, at least, for a moment where she's not sure if she'll ever stop feeling like this. But then strong, warm fingers pull Jester's hands from her face - Yasha ducking to catch her watery eyes, concern shining back at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Jester insists in a broken voice, even as she pushes a beaming smile on her face and it is perfect. Jester's smile is always perfect - the perfect tinge of mischief, the perfect flash of joy, perfectly warm, and perfectly charming... not even her tears can take away from it. "Everything is fine, of course!"

Yasha swipes a thumb along Jester's cheek, wiping away a tear, and smiles softly. "That is an impressive trick."

"I'm okay!"

"It's alright if you're not," she insists gently.

Jester's chest tightens and she sucks in a sharp breath. "I'm totally fine, Yasha!"

"Even a mountain bows to the sky."

She shakes her head and clenches her fists. "What's with everyone and the sky lately? Why don't you just marry it?"

"I-... well, I actually don't have a reply to that. It's a pretty weird thing to say," Yasha tells her fondly.

So sweet. So patient. Jester nods and falls forward, sinking into the barbarian's hug and buries her face in a strong shoulder. "I'm maybe not totally fine, Yasha."

"And that's okay." Yasha hums softly, rubbing comforting circles on the tiefling's back as she cries. They stay like that for a little while as the night rolls by, as Jester lets her heartache pour from her in waves. Yasha never wavers, never pulls away. She simply holds Jester while something is mumbled into her neck. "What?"

Finally, Jester pulls back. She flashes an embarrassed but grateful smile and wipes at her eyes. "I like Beau."

"I know."

Wait. "Wait. What?"

They both look back towards the bubble where the monk stretches her foot out where Jester had been sitting. Where their friends, their family, slumber peacefully. Yasha inclines her head again. "I don't say much, and I won't mention it, but I see almost as much as Caduceus."

"Are you upset?"

Apparently, it's a weird thing to ask, if Yasha twisting to look at Jester like she grew another head is any indication. "No."

"It's just." Jester shakes her head and sniffles again, waving her hand towards the bubble. "She's always flirting with you, like, so super obviously."

Again, Yasha blinks and considers this. "Yeah, but... why would that make me upset if you like her?"

"She's yours...?"

"People don't belong to people," is Yasha's automatic reply. But her lips tug down in a frown and she shifts, rolling a shoulder. "But I get what you're saying and I think Beau and I understand each other. I will always be Zuala's, even if Beau likes to... poke. It's our thing."

"You don't want her?" Jester wonders with something like hope in her chest.

And Yasha chuckles, a frustrated noise. "You really need to word these things differently." She sighs and hangs a hand on the back of her neck. "I... I'm okay with how things are. It's how I want them to be, I couldn't... I can't be what Beau wants or needs."

Another comfortable silence lingers between them for a beat. They watch the monk stretch her foot down farther, towards the edge of the bubble.

"Jester, you are everything she wants and needs," Yasha tells her so softly she almost doesn't hear. "I'm not sure if either of you know it but I hope you realize it soon."

The cleric scoffs. "Right, because-"

"Jester!" Beau gasps and wrenches up in the middle of the bubble. Her frantic eyes fall over each other member around her and she twists up onto her knees. "Jester!"

"AHH!" Nott darts up to her feet, spinning around wildly with the crossbow in her hands. "Where are they? Who am I shooting?"

Caleb pops up beside her with a flaming fist, his eyes still closed. "Put down your weapons or forfeit your own face!"

Jester drags Yasha back towards the bubble. "Shhh! Beau, I'm here! Guys, quiet! You're going to wake up every creature in a hundred miles."

"Jes," Beau sighs in relief and springs from the bubble, not even at Jester before she starts reaching. Jester lets herself be dragged into a rough hug, while Beau places her hand on Yasha's shoulder. "What are you guys doing out of the bubble?"

"Stretching our legs," Yasha mumbles sheepishly. "Sorry. Sorry, Nott."

"I'll fuck you up," the goblin gargles - half asleep still. "Nobody takes my babies."

"Put it down before someone loses an eye," Fjord warns without lifting his head from Caduceus' arm.

She drops back on her butt, rubbing at her eyes, and yawns. "Alright. Just say the word and I'll blast 'em between the eyes."

Caleb wordlessly drops back into the grass and curls around Frumpkin.

"You should join them," Yasha says and nods towards the group. She presses her hand against Jester's back, guiding both of them towards the bubble. "I've got second watch."

Beau muffles her yawn in Jester's shoulder and scratches her cheek. "You sure? I can take it."

"No, I'm fine. Go to sleep."

She nods and steps between Fjord and Caduceus' legs, stopping only when their hands threaten to separate. She blinks sleepy eyes at the tiefling, a drowsy smile. "Comin'?"

"Yes," Jester breathes and crawls down between her fellow cleric and the literal girl of her dreams. Caduceus mutters something about flora and scratches his chest, sighing so deeply it disturbs the fireflies gathered in his hair. Jester stares up at them as they flutter and buzz, biting her lip when Beau curls into her side. "Goodnight, Beau."

"Don't stab me with a horn."

She can't smother the snort and freezes when Beau groans, readjusting to nestle her face in Jester's neck to shield her eyes from errant points. "Goodnight, Beau."

"Gonna make me say it?" She can feel the smile against her skin. "Goodnight, Jester."

"If you hurt him..."

"I know, Nott."

"If you so much as make him cry..."

"I know, Nott."

"I'll drown you again."

"I know, Nott."

"Okay. You better. He's a prince and he deserves to be treated like a prince. Now come give me a hug, floppy wrist. I'm very happy and proud of both of you."

"Aww. Someone's a big old softie under that tiny, prickly, drunken exterior."

"I will literally smother you in your sleep, is that what you want? Is this happening right now, is it go time? Put up your fragile little fists, I'm ready to go toe-to-toe with the wet tissue paper man."

She watches Fjord raise his fists, hopping side to side on his feet and feigning a couple jabs down at the goblin. Nott bares her teeth, fishing around in her coat, and Fjord is up the tree when she yanks out a vial of acid. Jester smothers her giggle in her palm, giving up on her sketch to quickly recreate the image in her book.

A shadow falls over her and she twists, holding her hand up to block the sun and squint at Beau. Her heart thuds painfully in her chest and she offers a brilliant smile. "Hi!"

"Hey," is tossed at her casually and the monk drops to the ground next to her, elbow hooked over her propped up knee. "How's it going?"

"You know, pretty good!" Jester sings and closes her book. It's been a few days since she's really spoken to Beau, more than a couple words in passing, or meaningless things amongst the group. She's glad they're heading back into town today, that they'll get to room together again. "How are you?"

The scars on her shoulder are still fresh, the swipe from the Bugbear particularly deep. Jester hates that Beau so willingly throws herself between her friends and danger, so eager to be a damage sponge. But she knows it only really became an issue after Molly, that Beau only started excessively doing it after he fell.

Jester knows she's not the only one who carries the guilt of walking away from the Iron Shepards.

"I'm pretty good," Beau echoes. Her hard eyes study the scene playing out before them, amusement making them sparkle like sapphires. "So." She clears her throat and tilts her head, glancing at Jester. "Fjord and Caleb."

"I know!" Jester gasps and presses a hand to her heart before leaning against Beau. "It's super cute, I can hardly handle it!"

Beau nods, let's Jester jostle her roughly, and grins. "No, yeah. That's... cute, I guess."

"Beau, you're still tough even if you think things are cute."

"Hey, I know. I'm very secure in my toughness. I think you're cute and I'm still tough," she replies gruffly and dramatically tugs at her vestments. But Jester hardly notices, her brain hooked on Beau's words and looping them over and over again. Beau brushes her knuckles against her jaw and stares out at their friends. "I just wanted to check in, make sure things were... pretty good. I know you like Fjord and stuff."

It's heartwarming, how much effort she's going to. Jester knows this isn't exactly Beau's forte, she's not into talking about feelings, or having feelings, or talking... but she's trying. For Jester. And it's the sweetest thing ever.

Even if she's a little wrong.

Jester hums and straightens up, smoothing her hands over the cover of her sketchbook. "I don't like Fjord like that, actually," she says as matter-of-factly as she can. She can see Beau whip her head around out the corner of her eye, and smirks. "I mean, don't get me wrong. He was super fun to flirt with and poke - he's very pretty, and charming, and funny, and handsome! So handsome."

"Yup, pretty, gotcha," Beau grumbles roughly.

Jester's smirk deepens and she tilts her head, leaning sideways to look up at Beau. "Not as pretty as you, of course." She waits for the blush to slowly unfurl up Beau's neck and straightens up again. "He checked a lot of the boxes that all of my stories told me had to be checked and I think maybe I got confused? He was my first boy friend and all the girls' boy friends eventually become their boyfriends, that's how it goes."

"Ugh, compulsive heteronormative ideals."

Jester nods, a little confused again, but utterly serious. "Yes, yes, quite. Hetertive ideas."

With a chuckle, Beau drops her face into her palm to hide her grin. "So you don't like Fjord?"

"I love Fjord!" she gasps earnestly.

"But not in the way that would have you crushed over him and Caleb getting together."

"No, I'm so happy for them!"

Beau stares at her for a few lingering moments where Jester digs her fingers into her knees to keep from leaning in. When Beau looks off again, she sighs in relief and relaxes. "Good. That, uh, you're not heartbroken or whatever. That's good. For you."

"Very good for me," Jester agrees.

Beau blinks. "Yup."

"... yeah."

"Great."

"Good."

She sniffs and nods, squinting up at the bright sky. "So I'm gonna go."

And gone she is, quick like a bunny, hopping up to her feet so she can dart away. Jester watches her dash towards the trees where Caleb reads, and sighs roughly. "Traveler, what the heck was that?" she groans and flops back in the dirt. "It was so awkward!"

With Essik gone and important conversations out of the way, everyone feels their exhaustion catch up to them. The emotional and mental fatigue of almost losing everything, only for Caleb to play the most powerful hand in their deck, to becoming heroes of the dynasty, all the way to having actually rescued Yeza? It's more than anyone can handle in a single afternoon and they all trudge down the hallway to their rooms.

Nott tugs Yeza by the hand, a nervous smile on her face as they enter their room, and something in Jester's chest flutters. Beau rubs at her sore shoulder, making for the next door, her serious and sharp cloud still lingering around her.

Jester knows this isn't the nicest situation for her to be in. While dangerous for them all, especially the humans, Jester wonders if it's not more precarious for a monk of the Cobalt Soul, for someone with connections to higher powers within the Empire, for someone who still belongs to something. She doesn't know how to lessen that burden, that worry. Doesn't know how to smooth the jagged edges that the group keeps getting caught on ever since they got here.

Maybe Beau is just tired.

Maybe it will be easier in the morning.

Maybe she needs a reminder that they're still friends? Still family? That while their lives change, their cores do not, and she might be with the Cobalt Soul but she's also one of them, and they won't let anything happen to her.

There's no time to second guess the decision - Jester sprints down the hallway to catch up and flings herself on Beau's back for a piggyback ride, her cackle echoing down the hall.

But Beau is tired and not Yasha or Jester herself, she drops to her knees and claws at the door as they fall. "Fucking what?!" she gasps as they go.

Jester winces as Beau's knees make impact with the floorboards. "Shit! Sorry!" she gasps and tries to skitter off.

Except Beau hooks her hands under Jester's knees and, with a grunt, pushes up to her feet again. They careen backwards, Jester's back slamming against Fjord and Caleb's door. "I got this," Beau grinds out between her teeth and Jester giggles, hugs her tightly from behind.

They angle forward and swoop quickly - Jester catches them with her hands on their door. "Careful!"

"Shh! Don't worry."

"Beau, just let me down!"

"Fuck that, I got you."

"Okay, bend down a little, I can't reach the handle."

"Sweet... Wildmother... my fucking knees..."

Jester fumbles with the handle and shoves the door in but without it, they lose their balance and go toppling into the room. Beau gasps and Jester shrieks, palms slamming against the wooden floor. Beau sags against it and Jester can feel the laughter against her chest. "Beau, are you okay?" she giggles.

"Always," comes the muffled reply. She twists beneath Jester, agile and lithe, and always, always so squirmy.

Her brown cheeks are flushed, dark hair clinging to her forehead, and Jester's heart jumps up into her throat. Blue melts into purple, they stare at each other for a beat... and then two.

Jester's tail sways side to side behind her head, she only notices when Beau's eyes flick to track the movement. When the grin on the monk's face smooths into something more tender. Jester leans her weight on one hand and her knee between Beau's, lifting a hand to brush back the hair on Beau's forehead, to tuck it back up with the rest. She trails her fingertips back down the side of her face and Beau's eyelashes flutter.

This is what she wants. It clicks in her chest, like the softest lock. This is where she wants to be, to spend the rest of her life by Beau's side. With her or with her, in any capacity the monk will have her. Not like her stories, not happily ever after, but something real.

Real like this.

Beau tilts her chin up to press her lips against Jester's.

#cr spoilers #a little #at the end #also maybe almost smut?#idk man #jestergard #beaujester #critical role #the mighty nein

122 notes · View notes

marvelsbrowngrl · 5 years

Text

America’s Sweetheart

Requested: No

Summary:The reader is America’s sweetheart and she has recently broken out of a (physically and verbally) abusive relationship with her ex-beau Chris (not Evans). On press tour promoting Avengers: Endgame the reader is asked an inappropriate question about her ex,. It’s not so funny Chris does not find the humor in the joke.

Paring: Chris Evans x black!fem reader

Warnings: Mention of domestic violence; Fluff and Angst

A/n part 1: With this imagine I came up with it while I was at work and there are two things I wanna address before you move along and read the story. The first thing being this is in no way supposed to down play the severity of domestic violence relationships I have never personally experienced it but I have been around it and it is terrifying to see the one you loved and you believe loves you tear you down both physically and mentally. With that being said this is my imagine and it isn’t perfect so please don't drag me for mistakes concerning domestic disputes. Secondly if you or anyone you know is in a abusive relationship feel free to call the hotline 1−800−799−7233, it is important you seek the help and safety you are entitled to as human being you are worth and seek help immediately!

A/n part 2: enjoy :) and lemme know in the notes how you liked it + send me requests!

P.s. I’m sorry this is a short one but I feel as if it’s short and sweet.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y/n they need you ten, gotta get you mic’d up babe.” Your manager spoke.

“Alright Ash is on the finishing touches I'll be out in five.” I responded aimlessly filing through my emails.

Today you had an interview with E news promoting Avengers Endgame. You were excited to learn you’d be interviewed along side Chris, he’d became on of your closet friends since the day you stepped foot on the set of Avengers Age Of Ultron.

“So I'm all set?” I question Ashley removing a piece of foreign hair from my lipgloss.

“Yep, all done looking like a doll.’ She said fluffing my hair once more.”You always have me looking so amazing Ash.” I said examine my full glam in the mirror.

I take one more small glance at myself before heading to get mic’d up.

---

“Alright if I can have you sit straight so our mic guy can get you all hooked up that’d be great.” A producer exclaimed.

You comply, rising out you seat a bit you straighten your posture, observing the man wrapping the mic around your torso.

“You must know how this works.” Chris spoke.

The sudden voice made my muscles tense.

“No not really I just wanna be able to breath when I sit back.” You chuckle leaning back into your seat.

“I understand, America’s sweetheart gotta breath, we can’t loose precious cargo like you now can we.” Chris winks with a cunning smirk.

You wanted to fall for his smooth talk, wicked good looks, and alluring personality but you couldn’t. Your ex had beat you so bad that you vowed never to love another man, you were scared of men. Although Chris was nothing like your ex Chris, even being around the opposite sex sent chills down your spine.

Chris senses the tension radiating off your body and gently backs off, he knew how badly your ex had hurt you. He saw the countless reports, pictures, and news stories. Hell everyone did, and everyone came to your aid too. Defending their unproblematic queen from her wicked perpetrator.

You observe Chris’s facial expression noticing he’d gone from flirty and confident to quiet and docile in a matter of seconds.

The corner of your mouth lifted as you went to speak to him but you were cut off by the interviewer entering the room.

In sync, you and Chris greet the interviewer learning his name before taking your seats again preparing for an abundant amount of questions.

“So firstly I would like to mention how lovely this room smells right now. I can only imagine the price for the perfume and cologne being used in this room here.” He joked chuckling a little.

Your mouth curved into a smile at his joke.

Chris let out a small chuckle.

“Alright so let's really get into business.’ Chris what is the environment like with wrapping up such a big picture? I mean this movie is set to make billions.” The interviewer asked intrigued in Chris’s response.

“Well the environment never changes, same cast, same type of dynamic we’ve had and managed to maintain over the course of these amazing eleven years. Filming was amazing and fun and sad, but it was a treat to kind of,graduate and pass the torch to these guys.” Chris said nudging your elbow.

You feel your body temperature rise from his touch. You couldn’t contain the school girl like giggle that escaped your lips.

“Well y/n this is your fourth run with this cast, how’s it been finding your place? Feeling like you belong?.”

“Luckily for me I can in with amazing people such as Aaron and Lizzie so I wasn't completely alone in I guess the ‘finding out do I fit phase”. You air quote releasing a stiff giggle.

You sat eager waiting for the arrival of a new question not knowing if it was for Chris or you.

“So you say you got along with the cast well?.” The interviewer prodding for information.

“Yes of course I love them all.” You reply enthusiastically.

“Well considering you don't have the best luck with men named Chris what’s the relationship like with Evans and Hemsworth?” The interviewer insulted motioning toward Chris.

Your body shook violently, the memories of that night rushing over you.

The memories of being dragged by your hair out of your own home, the pain of both your eyes being blackened. The blood pouring from your lips onto your clothing- the shame of the media finding out.

One by one hot tears began drizzling out of your lids.

“Really man, you thought that was fucking appropriate to ask her, especially knowing all she’s been through? You’re a fucking joke and have no right to speak to her in that manner” Chris roared storming out.

Out of all the time you’ve known Chris you’ve never heard him raise his voice. Hearing him defend you scared you but also made you feel protected.

You rise out of your seat practically ripping the microphone off your person.

You stomp out of the room the tears still burning your cheek.

Chris calls after you, following you to your dressing room.

Slamming your door your legs finally give in sending you crumbling to the floor, the scorching pain of your heart was too much. The memories of your abuser boiled your brain.

“Y/n I know you’re in there let me in, I just want to talk please- I want you to talk to me.” Chris Begged.

You tilt your arm backward unlocking the door cracking it open giving him room to slip inside.

And he does, slipping inside silently gliding down on the floor beside you. His knees tucked into him he watches the pain spill out from your eyes.

Chris knew about your abuse, he’d seen the photos, read every news blog he could, he even invited you to stay at his place in Atlanta. Considering your scandal occurred mid reshoots for Age Of Ultron.

He shielded you from dirty looks of the cast and crew and sat with you through a total of thirteen hours and twenty six minutes of concealer application to hide your scarring.

Chris wanted nothing more but to kill the fucker who laid hands on you, the photos of that night made his heart sink and seeing your broken form in person made his heart fucking explode, vengeance coursing through his veins. He could kill your ex.

“Chris- you know it’s my fault he hit me right?’ You tremble. “If I wasn't so fucking insecure with myself and our relationship, and I hadn't checked his phone like a little bitch, he’d be my husband right now.”

Chris’s mouth stood agape he couldn't believe you really blamed yourself for the faults of a man.

Chris slowly pulls you into him engulfing you with a warm embrace, not too tight but tight enough, secure enough, to let you know he wasn’t going to hurt you.

He’s not that kind of man.

You inhale his intoxicating sent listening to his heartbeat, his breathing begins to pick up as he speaks once more.

“Y/n look at me.’ Chis says cupping your freckled chin.’Nothing, and I mean nothing that happened to you that night was the result of your own doing. You have right to know where your relationship truly stands without it being a reflection of your insecurities.” Chris whispers, your chin still in his grasp.

He was so close you could feel his breath on the tip of your nose. His scent excited and scared you. You were tempted to lean in but reluctant.

You draw into his lips absorbing their warmth, your lips tap dancing with his in perfect symphony.

Your eyes were still closed after his clad lips parted from your own.

Chris releases a stifled chuckle, you smirk, giggling at how elementary you looked.

“You deserve the world and if you let me I'd love to give it to you.” Chris announced.

Your hearts pace quickened at his offer, you couldn’t deny the burning sensation that took over your body every time you laid eye’s on Chris he was every girls dream.

Brooding, handsome, and strong, yet soft, sensual, and sensitive.

“Yes.” You utter simply.

“ I'll always keep you safe, and you can trust me.” He added holding your hand.

“You better.” you retort.

“Believe that.” He mutters onto your skin, kissing your palms.

#scarlett witch #chris evans #steve rodgers x reader #steve x reader #thor odison imagine #Thor Odinson #tony stark #bruce banner #scarlett witch x reader #carol danvers #captain marvel #hulk #Avengers #Black Widow #hawkeye #clint barton #peter parker #spiderman

11 notes · View notes

moonshoes-uwu · 5 years

Text

Days In The Sun (a Beauty & the Beast inspired AU) // Chapter 0

warnings: ENDGAME SPOILERS!!!(the character death(s)), fluff, pining, idiot friends to lovers, she/her/hers!reader

summary: *ENDGAME SPOILERS* the castle has been pretty down ever since mr. stark died. his apprentice, peter parker, hasn’t been his youthful and lively self since it happened, and his friends are worried. they think that finding support for peter would help him the most, and just their luck–there’s a new visitor. as peter’s best friend (besides Ned probably), y/n thinks this girl is the one they’ve been waiting for, but their friends know just how much y/n and peter care for each other…and how much more than friends they both want to be….

The cold is only more pronounced from the lack of sunlight, the darkness of night making everything more intense than Rose was used to. The feeling the warm body of her horse Beau beneath her as he galloped through the woods grounded her. Rose tried to drown out the sounds of hooves thumping on dirt paths and branches whistling through the wind of the night and the two of them for the sounds of the wolves that she heard earlier. When she left, she didn’t know where she wanted to go, only that she wanted to get away. While she was riding during the day at a much calmer and more leisurely pace, she thought about where she might want to end up. She supposed farther south would be nice, maybe somewhere in Andorra, or who knows, she could end up in Northern Spain.

All she knows now, riding south from Paris, is that she wants to make it through the night without being hunted or killed, and right now, her wishes seem further and further away.

Suddenly, she heard a loud howl not nearly as distant as she assumed before, and dug her heels into Beau’s sides trying to urge him to go faster. He sped up only slightly, already running at too fast of a pace to last, when she saw a giant looming shadowy figure ahead. Far too big and dark to be a house, maybe it was some old abandoned building? Rose didn’t care, she rode in its direction and sent silent prayers of her survival to whoever might be listening–another few minutes…

As she rode, she could hear the wolves behind growing louder and coming closer–just a minute or so–they were panting and howling, spooking Beau further–I just have to get through–but soon enough, she crossed the threshold of the building’s property. She rushed to close the gate behind her, but Rose noticed the wolves staring ahead at the building, terror in their glistening eyes, before turning and running away just as fast as they had chased her. She let out a breath of relief, patting Beau to try to calm him down. After catching her breath, Rose turned to face the looming building–castle, more like–and lead Beau by the reins to what she could only guess was the front door.

Double doors nearly three times her height separated her from the shelter and warmth of the castle. The exterior of the rest of the castle looked run down, ivy and vines growing all over the sides, it really did look abandoned. Nevertheless, she lifted the knocker on the door and slammed it down three times, just in case someone was home.

Ned was dusting in the drawing room for what seemed like the umpteenth time that week alone. No one ever came to visit, really, so the entire castle was always so dreary and quiet. He finished with the side table next to the sofa and moved toward the bookshelves making up the western wall of the room. He started at a middle shelf–the same shelf he always started at–when he was interrupted by three loud thumps coming from the next room over.

Except the next room over was the expansive foyer…no…could it be…?

Three more came in quick succession, and he rushed over to the front double doors. He thought he could hear a voice over the strong winds and rain that had recently begun, so he reached out his left hand, the one not holding the duster, and pulled it open.

On the other side was a girl and a horse, one sight at their windswept hair and her flushed cheeks and Ned knew they had been in a rush to escape the terrors in the night. He stood there with his mouth agape until he realized that someone is here! At the castle! and sprung into action.

“Welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome! I’m sorry, it’s just been so long since anyone has visited–”

“I’m truly sorry to intrude,” the girl began. “But I was wondering if I might be able to stay? It would only be for the night, and I can try–”

“Of course! Come inside, let me take your horse to the stables, and then we can find you a room to stay in!” Ned interjected all too happily. The girl smiled back at him gratefully and stepped inside, handing him the horse’s reins.

Rose watched the man–a butler?–take Beau outside in the cold again off to the side of the castle where the stables presumably were. As she was left alone, she had a chance to look around. This entrance hall was larger than any home from that tiny village just outside Paris she used to call home. Looking inward, to the right seemed to be a library maybe? There were so many books lining the walls, a cozy fireplace and countless seats, she didn’t know what else it could be. To the left there was a longer hallway. Not wanting to intrude, she left it alone. Directly ahead of her was a grand staircase, splitting in opposite directions again to the right and left.

Sooner than she expected, the man was back without Beau by his side. Rose turned to face him, though he quickly dismissed her, panting out “One second, I’ll be back soon!” and ran off down the hallway on her left. She heard indistinct shouting and a horde of thundering footsteps before seeing the man again with other workers.

“Oh…my…–”

“Ned wasn’t kidding–”

“There really is a gi–”

“How do you think she got here?–”

“Wow, I just…I still can’t belie–”

Rose was beginning to feel overwhelmed, but it didn’t last long as Ned, or so she thought she heard in all the murmurings, cut them off by loudly clearing his throat.

Everyone quieted down and Ned began, “so, I’m Ned,” gesturing to himself, “and this is Michelle,” the girl with curly brown hair tied loosely back in a bun gave her a cautious half-smile, “this is Betty,” the blonde girl with striking blue eyes, a look of shock still painted on her face, “Eugene–”

“Flash,” the dark-haired boy cuts him off with a scowl on his face that soon turns into a smirk as he makes eye contact with Rose. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ned rolls his eyes and moves to the very end of the accidentally-almost-a-row the group had created, “and this is Y/N.” He looks over to the girl at his left side and she gives a shy smile and wave.

“It’s nice to meet you all, thank you for letting me stay the night, I promise I won’t be a burden,” she tries to assure them, then suddenly realizes, “oh! And I’m Rose, by the way.”

There was an awkward pause of silence. No one wanted to say anything for fear of being out of turn, until Y/N spoke up and offered, “I can make some tea, if you’d like.” Rose gave her a grateful smile and a silent thank you, to which Y/N bowed her head and walked off down the hall, disappearing back into the shadows.

Y/N’s absence seemed to spring people into action. “I can get the fire going again in the drawing room,” Eugene (Flash? Where did he even get that name?) offered, Ned quickly agreeing and saying that he could go check in with Peter about letting Rose stay. So he must own this place…

“Great! Betty and I can go make up a room for her,” Michelle told Ned as she started to walk off with Betty.

“Wait!” Rose called out to her retreating form. “What if he doesn’t want me to stay? I wouldn’t want you to go through the trouble of setting up a room for me–”

“You saw how bad it can be out there,” Michelle cut her off. “There’s no way Peter would turn you away, especially not on a night like this. And if he does.” A smirk slowly grew on her face. “You can still stay, I know none of us would say a thing.” She finished with a quick grin and walked up the grand staircase with Betty.

Rose looked after them and stood in the middle of the foyer, pausing for a moment before joining Eugene (honestly, should I be calling him Flash?) in the drawing room. He was focused on stoking the fire to a nice medium flame and Rose was struggling to think of something to say when she heard footsteps getting closer.

She turned to look through the doorway and surely enough, Y/N returned carrying a tray in both hands sporting a teapot and matching cup and saucer balancing on the polished silver. “I figured you’d had a stressful trip tonight and could use something to help relax, so I made chamomile.” She smiled at Rose who gratefully took the filled cup and saucer and took a sip right away. “Where did the others go?” she asked the boy.

Rose kept drinking, nearly finishing her cup in a few gulps, while he turned to quickly look at Y/N before focusing on the fire again. “Ned’s going to talk to his royal pain in my ass about her staying the night here and Michelle and Betty left to go make up a room for her.

“Oh, I’ll go help them…” she began to set the tray down on the table in front of the sofa, then quickly turned to face Rose. “Unless…do you need anything else?” Rose thought about it when Y/N interrupted her thoughts. “You know what? You can stay here and relax a bit, and I’ll go help make up your room and I can come get you when it’s ready?” Y/N gestured at Rose to stay while she left the room and said a quick goodbye to the boy now sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the table.

Y/N walked up the stairs faster than she normally would, her nerves buzzing. She reached the top and turned toward the east wing, trying to listen for signs of life in one of the many empty guest rooms. Back when Mr. Stark would host all-night-long parties, or foreign dignitaries, these halls would usually be filled with people. But now the castle was just…empty. Peter didn’t throw crazy parties or host important international conferences, he just worked to make sure everyone working there stayed employed, a task that becomes more difficult as the days grow colder–not from the weather, but the absence of visitors.

But now Rose–a girl!–was here, a visitor for the first time in months! Y/N found herself with a little more hope than she had this morning. She hoped the girl stayed, if not for their sakes then for Peter’s. He’s gone through so much since Mr. Stark’s passing, he really hasn’t been himself since. There were moments where he seemed like he was happy, the glint in his eyes that screamed he’d be okay and sooner than anyone would expect. But then he’d have days where that same glint was really just masking unshed tears.

Y/N knew how difficult losing someone close to you could be. Hell, she’d lost Ms. Romanoff (though she figured Dr. Banner felt that loss more strongly than she did), a mentor and distant older sister figure. But because of this, Y/N knew how helpful it was to have someone there as you learned how to move forward. That was Peter.

For as long as Y/N can remember, her and Peter had always been as thick as thieves. When they were young and first came to work for Mr. Stark, Y/N remembers latching onto the boy, seeing him as the only reprieve from the adults, since he had to be her age, or at least within a year or two. It clearly didn’t take long for her to develop stronger feelings for one of her best friends, even though he didn’t feel the same way for her.

Soon enough though, Peter became a more direct apprentice to Mr. Stark, helping him design new technology and work longer hours with him in his lab. Before anyone knew it, Peter was like a right-hand man to Mr. Stark.

Everyone in the castle knew that Peter was destined for great things, but the day had to come sooner than anyone expected because Mr. Stark’s untimely passing. Ever since then Peter had taken up his mentor’s work, but it was slowly consuming him. Y/N tried to help, but every time she did she got the feeling that maybe Peter didn’t want her to be there as much as she did, so she tried backing off a bit. She didn’t want to suffocate him, and it was hard for her to tell when she was overstepping his boundaries. Of course they were friends, best friends, but Y/N feared that her judgement became foggier every day she was around him, her best friend, the man she was in love with. So she tried to add some distance between them, giving him the space he wanted but was too shy to ask for.

With each passing day, she swore she found more gray around than the day before. The castle was dull and lifeless, such a contrast to the effervescent Tony Stark. But everyone there felt his loss.

Except…now there was a new person here.

A girl…

Maybe…maybe she could be the one to help Peter…?

Peter heard three sharp knock knock knocks on his door and looks up from the blueprints he was examining.

“Come in!” he says in a raised voice facing his papers again, too engrossed in his work.

He looks up once he hears that the door is fully opened and furrows his brow at how nervous Ned looks standing just barely inside the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he asks his friend.

Ned hesitates, and Peter notices how he won’t look him in the eyes. “Well, uhh…” he starts rubbing the back of his neck, making Peter nervous too. “There’s, uh…there’s a girl here, and, uh, she needs a place to stay for the night? And we were thinking that maybe she could stay here?”

As Peter was about to respond, Ned started up again doubletime. “Just because the weather is so terrible tonight! And it’s not like it would be much trouble to host her just for one night or longer if I’m being honest because it’s been so long since we’ve had anyone here and it’s nice to just have someone else here and I can go tell her no if you don’t–”

“Ned, breathe for a second,” Peter paused long enough to hear his friend’s deep inhale and exhale, continuing with “of course she can stay; we have more than enough rooms available and from the sounds of it, you guys don’t mind, so it’s more than fine with me. Just…” Now it was Peter’s turn to hesitate. “Just keep her away from the West Wing, okay? I don’t think she’d need to be there anyway.

He saw how his friend’s face softened at the topic of his old mentor’s workplace, and nodded solemnly before turning to leave, Peter’s head dropping to look at his prints again.

Peter was almost completely engrossed again when Ned spoke up again, much calmer than before, “This girl…she might be good for us, for you,” Peter held his breath, wondering where Ned was going with this. “At least…it seems like Y/N thinks she could be…” Ned trailed off and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Peter stayed lost in thought, though this time not on some new piece of technology he was meant to build with Mr. Stark, but on this new girl, and Y/N. Y/N….

Y/N, one of his best friends. Y/N, his support during the good times and his rock during the bad. Y/N, who he had known since first coming to this castle with his Aunt and Uncle when he was still a child. Y/N, the girl he quickly found himself growing attached to.

Y/N, the girl he first fell in love with years ago and continued to fall for every day.

Y/N, the girl who apparently thought this new stranger could be ‘the one’ for him when clearly it’s supposed to be her.

But if she thinks this girl could be the one…then clearly she doesn’t see herself being that….

Peter heaved out a sigh, rolling up the scattered papers and setting them aside for the night. Maybe this girl could help them all out, but Peter wasn’t sure anyone could hold his heart like Y/N does.

let me know what you think?

5 notes · View notes

bardicknowledgeblogger · 5 years

Text

My RPG Characters

Alright - so here are the characters I have in any ongoing games (note - none of the games I am in or run are by the book D&D. They have a lot of homebrew stories, settings and gameplay)

I tried to keep things short and sweet, and then started to fail a little bit, so I’ll have the characters below the cut. It’s not SUPER long, but definitely longer than I had intended :/

I probably won’t ever remove characters, even if their games end, just so that if they are brought up there is a standing reference of who they are. I’ll keep it alphabetical though, and add new characters as they are made.

Alexis

Background: A human character from a Dark Fantasy Homebrew campaign. Alexis woke up on the table of some being calling himself The Sculptor, and was told he had died at some point, and that his soul had been pulled from the beyond and put into a carved stone body. He was being asked to fight back strange horrors invading this foreign land - the more he remembered and did, the more like his old self he would become. Before that he had simply been a man who loved life, travelling to meet all he could and write their stories, sing their songs, and experience all that life could offer. A true renaissance man.

Appearance: Currently he’s of course completely made of stone, barring a few cracks and random patches where his “true bodY’ peeks through. Before that, however, he was tall and lean, with light brown skin, bright blue eyes, and sunkissed brown hair that feel in loose waves and curls to about his shoulders. He generally had a bit of stubble on his face but never had a full beard. He always wore the finest things he could find - embroidered silks, handcrafted lace, and finely tooled leathers were all common parts of his wardrobe. He had a few slight scars with grand tales behind them (in reality they were generally caused by his own negligence in highly embarrassing ways, but he’d be damned if he was going to admit it) and the most charming smile you’d ever seen.

Personality: Outgoing and friendly, Alexis made friends easier than enemies. He took up work as a bounty hunter, but regularly would talk with his targets and convince them to turn themselves in without a fight. He made friends in places high and low, and could find something to talk about with nearly anyone. He has a high appreciation for the arts, and thinks it is the duty of all who live to preserve and share the stories, experiences, and creations of those around them. He truly loves life, loves people, and loves discovery.

Ariyna

Background: A Pantoran Character from a Star Wars Homebrew game. Ariyna was a young heiress and only child, growing up in the lap of luxury as her parents served in fairly high political positions (not the she paid that much attention to it). She always dreamed of seeing the galaxy around her but for various reasons was always kept at home by her parents. When she found out they were arranging a marriage for her with an available noble, she took her chance and ran away with the help of a bounty hunter, dragging her poor guard along in the process. Unfortunately, she was almost immediately captured by Sith who sensed great potential within her...

Appearance: Ariyna has soft blue skin with intricate gold markings on her face (one of which looks similar to an upside down lotus flower between her brows, the symbol of her family). Her hair is bright white and falls in very slight waves to her lower back. Her eyes are a soft pink that is so pale it almost appears white. She is incredibly petite, barely coming to 5 feet in height and is small enough that most larger aliens she meets are able to lift her one handed. She strives to wear the most current fashions, leaning into pinks, berry tones, and golds that compliment her best. The best way to think of her is as being “doll-like”

Personality: Ariyna grew up learning to wear different masks depending on her setting. However, at her core she’s selfish and rash, but still cares about others. She will act without thinking, then immediately regret her choices when she sees the consequences of her actions. She doesn’t like others getting hurt, but will let them get hurt before she allows harm to come to herself. She does good things, helps people, and pursues grand goals, but deep inside it’s because she wants the attention and validation from others for doing so. She’s not a good person.... But she knows how to make people think she is. And all in all - she’s scared. She makes choices based on self preservation, and a desire to find somewhere she belongs and feels safe.

Edwina

Background: Human Character from a Bloodborne homebrew game. Edwina joined the church of healing right before Old Yharnam had to be burned due to the scourge of beasts. Was too low down the chain to know much, but had seen enough to suspect the church was responsible, and tried to run away before being conscripted into being a hunter. Has worked her way into the choir where she has been able to learn about great ones, and is actually fairly sympathetic towards them (based on her understanding of them) and has shared dreams with them. Trying to experiment and find ways to use the dreams and the presence of the great ones to counteract beasthood.

Appearance: Pale skin (does not get much sun AT ALL), black curly hair that she haphazardly iles on her head, brown eyes. Likes long sleeves, lots of layers (long tunic, with a vest, and then her robes, and then a coat), fairly average height, slender build with little to know muscle - kinda bony. Currently has some pretty nasty twisted scars along her shoulder, chest and right forearm, and again in her lower legs due to some cultists attacking them with bear traps and nailed planks.

Personality: Very introverted - would love to curl up with a book and tea at home. Very curious and likes to learn things. Will definitely lie and attempt to go where she maybe isn’t supposed, but will also crack under even the slightest amount of pressure. Has a very low threshold for bullshit of any kind. Very inexperienced with ost worldly things (got hit on by her current beau, did not realize what was happening and never would have if he hadn’t specifically explained himself). Very low self esteem that she hides by just not talking. Currently really struggling with the thoughts of being physically intimate now that she has a bunch of nasty scars that she wants to keep hidden.

Fitz (Full name is Fitzgerald, but he hates that)

Background: Fitz is an automaton (magic robot, basically) in a heavily magic based setting where said automatons cannot use magic. Instead he is a skilled tinkerer and craftsman, and makes many fine tools, baubles and decorative pieces, along with an impressive array of mechanical things. One day he did such a good job for one mage, that they decided to enchant him with the ability to do artificy, but only on metal he has gathered and forged himself. Now he has to occasionally travel about for fancy materials that people want him to artifice so he can continue to amass more wealth. Even though it’s super inconvenient. On one such excursion he wound up getting caught in a sort of… compound for discovering the next “architect” - a being who gets to live a life of luxury and get access to untold power, in exchange for keeping the people of the world safe from outside threats. He has to go through a gauntlet of tests, challenges and more to earn this spot, and he is greedily doing everything he can to play the other contestants and get the prize for himself.

Appearance: Made of dull gray metal with bits of clockwork and other mechanical parts occasionally peaking out at the joints of his body. A fairly unassuming automaton, and he’s okay with that. His eyes glow a nice blue color, and he wears a loose tunic with a vest and tight trousers that have many loops for tools and pouches for bits. He has a lovely pair of cuffed boots that he wears as well. He is always accompanied by his companion - an artificed bug that holds a number of his most commonly used tools and is able to come when called and produce the proper item. It can’t speak or understand anything else, but that doesn’t stop Fitz from talking to it like it can.

Personality: Fitz is kinda an ass. He prefers to be able to just live a calm and relatively boring life, because he has no desire to incur the dangers that adventuring brings. However not using his artificey skills, now that people know he has them, is becoming more of a difficulty as people harass him about it. So he begrudgingly goes out and collects what he needs and will absolutely complain the whole time. He really doesn’t care about other people and will not hesitate to leave them behind if it’s easier to do so. However he will help them if they provide more benefit to him alive, or if it isn’t too difficult to do so. The biggest thing that can entice him is the promise of the easy life that power and money can bring. It’s not a big enough draw for him to hunt it out, but if the path is laid before him… well he’d be a fool not to follow.

Kati

Background: Her father was a highly respected doctor who worked tirelessly to help people by treating sickness and disease. he was very strict and good, and held high regard for the accepted morals of society. Her mother was a bit more eccentric - she was mortician, and treated death as just another stage of the lifecycle. This allowed Kati to develop an… unusual, and at times unhealthy, interest in death. She was very intelligent, and extremely curious, and she moved into medical research. She studied diseases, how they spread, their symptoms, etc… But began to push the limits of what all “research” entailed. She began allowing patients to die for the sake of documenting the entire cycle of the disease. She stole samples of diseases and took them home, where she would effectively poison others and document what happened to them. Eventually she began soliciting her services as an assassin, using diseases commonplace enough to not be suspicious, but difficult enough to treat that death was all but guaranteed.

Appearance: She is a young woman in her thirties, with olive toned skin and deep brown eyes. She has thick, black curly hair that is almost always worn up. She wears glasses all the time, even though she really only needs them to read or work on delicate, small scale things. She is fairly plain, and is okay with it as she has little interest in relationships (or people in general, for that matter). Her style is mainly about what is comfortable, and is usually loose pants and simple blouses that can have the sleeves rolled up. She does have a few outfits that are tight and dark that she wears when working as an assassin, along with a black cat mask that she uses to cover her face. She is thin, more from poor health choices than anything else, and does not do well with too much physical exertion.

Personality: Very blunt and frequently thought of as cold and uncaring. Mainly just socially awkward and not sure how to engage with people - which is fine, as she doesn’t really care to do much with others anyway. Has little regard for human life and is extremely curious about the concept of what the afterlife may hold. Collects any paraphernalia she can that relates to death and the macabre, including skulls, mummified body parts, etc… Concerned with herself and her own wellbeing first and foremost, but learned enough from her father that she will help others if she has nothing to gain from leaving them (for example, she will not leave a child to die from pnuemonia, if for no other reason than it isn’t interesting and provides her nothing to learn). She will not hesitate to justify death with the pursuit of knowledge, however. Has little care for what others think of her, and has been called things like weird, quirky, ugly, unapproachable, rude, etc… her whole life. Attempts to be minimally polite when required, but rarely succeeds.

Kyllä

Background: Dwarven character from a homebrew-y psuedo gothic fantasy world. Woke up one day in the middle of a city with no memories. A human woman who ran an herbalist shop took her in. She didn’t really fit in, because most of the dwarves rejected her due to her lack of knowledge and reverence for their ways, and everyone else is just a little bit racist. Developed skills for thievery out of boredom and a desire to save for the things she wanted, and now relies on it as a general lifestyle. Primed to take over the potion shop her adopter runs, and was travelling to expand it when she was forcibly made a “reaper” - someone who uses elemtnal magic to defeat dark, demonic beasts infiltrating the world. Now that kind of serves as her primary focus.

Appearance: Short, a bit squat but not as much as many other dwarves (strives to make sure she is light on her feet and can squeeze through small places), fair skinned with slight tanning on cheeks, shoulders, etc... Auburn hair that is wild and unruly. Wears leather and dark clothing with hoods, gloves, face wraps, etc... has a blade that straps along the length of her forearm and can be popped out into a scythe. Uses shadow based magics.

Personality: Loud. Will say what she wants, when she wants - ifshe doesn’t like you, she will absolutely tell you. Enjoys fucking with people, and will use trickery to overcome obstacles when given a choice. Does not like to be looked down on and will go to great lengths to prove you wrong. Does not like the idea of commitment due to intense trust issues, but will not hesitate to indulge herself in whatever way she wants at the time. Prides herself on her ability to seduce just about any woman she comes across.

Petra

Background: Naive faun girl who lives in a tiny town in the middle of a wild forest and has literally never left. Her husband goes out adventuring and stops writing one day. She decides to go after him and experience the wonderful world! Surprise - the world is actually awfully. Cinnamon roll faun girl has a few exestential crisis before finding her husband who had become a revolutionary to try and make the world better before she could ever come see it. (It didn’t work). The world she is from is one where most people can use magic, however faun’s are born with “half” magic. They can bond with someone to give them their half of magic, meaning that between two bonded fauns, one can use magic. She gave her magic to her husband, and so in order to survive on her adventure has taken to collecting a meangerie of magic knicks knacks and items to compensate. Not all of them are good.

Appearance: Very small (smol) - just over 4 ft. Broad, branching antlers. Long wavy pale blonde hair that turns to a rose color at the ends. Very dusky brown skin with white freckles. Deer ears and a tail, as well as soft fluffy fur on her chest, forearms and lower legs. Big blue doe eyes. Wears impractical pretty clothes and an eclectic mix of jewelry (namely a gaudy collar of different gemstones that her husband had sent from a treasure trove - it does NOT match her clothing and is VERY expensive, but it was a gift so it doesn’t come off)

Personality: Cinnamon Roll that has had to witness too much cruelty of the world for her taste. Wants to make things better, but has doubts on her ability to do so. Has struggled with questions like what makes someone good, what is right and wrong, etc... and is still not settled on an answer. However, this challenged naivity has led to the development of the idea that most people are bad, and to assume people are bad until proven otherwise. Takes betrayal like a knife to the heart and can hold a grudge - especially if she thought you were better than that.

Vivian

Background: My longest running character who has ascended into some ridiculous territory. Vivian was basically an Aasimar Cleric. She was descended from a race of near immortal beings with the ability to access different dimensions (an ability that was awoken within her in her mid twenties). She has an angelic companion named Ezekiel who gives her some of her magic abilities and travels with her as both a fighting companion and a romantic partner. She is currently considered a God on 2 different worlds/other dimensions (one of which is basically dead so...)

Appearance: Tall (like... 7ft. tall), lean muscle (she is trained with a sword and shield, hand to hand combat and a crossbow, and wears heavy plate and chain), Sun-Tanned skin, long bright red hair, quite a number of scars (legs are covered in acid-like burn scars, chesst has a magic internal scar that runs along the veins, assortment of smaller scars from other attacks). Was missing right arm which was replaced with a magic prosthetic, but had it... replaced? When she ascended to Godhood (like you do). White angel wings with gold accents. WHEN ON A WORLD SHE IS A GOD OF her scars are replaced with ethereal gold filigree patterns, her hair dissolves at the tips into a sort of galaxy thing and her eyes glow a bit. Gold and White aesthetic.

Personality: Neutral Good - Values what is right and just abov eall else, even if she must kill or lie for it. The good of the many outweighs the desire of the few. Doesn’t believe that anyone is beyond saving, but will not risk others to try and save someone who doesn;t want it. A mediator - will try to find a middle ground of peace if she can before escelating things. Loves to find flowers to braid into hair, will adopt literally any kind of animal (which has included a giant spider in the past) and likes feeling pretty even when covered in heavy armor that can obscure almost her entire being.

#my characters #original character #rpg character #rpg #rolepalying games #oc #vivian #petra #edwina #kyllä

50 notes · View notes

bloomsoftly · 7 years

Note

"whatever she is, isn't human. It's old, it's powerful, and it hates."

guns & rosaries, Darcy/Loki

Now on AO3.

okay, you didn’t ask for a specific pairing so i just went with whatever worked, which turned out to be Darcy/Loki. So this is tasertricks, and a lot longer than I expected it to be. Hope you like it! :)

Darcy didn’t begin to suspect that anything was wrong until the third day on the job. Hunting monsters had never exactly been easy money, but she and Jane had been doing it for so long that Darcy forgot what it was like when a job went truly sideways.

From the start, it seemed like an average contract—strange and scary things started happening in a small town, townspeople freaked out, townspeople found a (mostly) innocent person to scapegoat—and the guy who hired them was too genuinely nice to be pulling some kind of con. And while Jane may have been too entranced by the guy’s abs to make an unbiased evaluation of the situation, Darcy’s bullshit detector had no equal. To be fair to Jane, though, even Darcy had to admit that Thor’s abs were extremely impressive.

All that aside, his concern that his little brother might be wrongly accused and driven out of their community was so palpable that Jane and Darcy accepted the contract on the spot and booked a flight to Norway the next day.

The first night was fine. Jane and Darcy were jet lagged as hell but still able to drag themselves to the only inn in town, where they rented two rooms for the duration of the contract (Jane was attempting to hide her desire to get in Thor’s pants as a sudden and unprecedented need for space, but Darcy wasn’t buying it). Darcy barely took the time to unpack her meager toiletries—she left the silver bullets, holy water, and emergency potions securely tucked away in the false bottom of her luggage—before heading out to join Jane and Thor in the pub for dinner.

When she finally collapsed into bed, exhausted, she had horrible, restless dreams all night. She woke up the next morning, drained, with the ghost of a crushing weight on her chest. Rubbing at the spot, feeling as if a bruise was forming, Darcy attributed the strangeness to lingering jet lag and a desperate need for caffeine. She paused only for a moment at the mirror, looking at the deep, dark bruises under her eyes in mild consternation. Should’ve brought more concealer, Darce.

On her way out the door, Darcy’s eyes caught on the items scattered across the vanity. Hmm, that’s strange—she would’ve sworn that they were in a different order when she laid them out the day before. Shaking her head, Darcy wrote it off as a flight of fancy and went on her way.

The second day and night went much like the first; Jane and Darcy split up to subtly investigate suspicious activity in the town, and Darcy became more and more perturbed by what she heard. Apparently, several people had had heart attacks in the middle of the night over the past few months, a few too many to just be coincidence. At least several more had literally disappeared in the middle of the night, with no clue as to where they had gone. The townsfolk were adamant that they hadn’t left voluntarily—cars, clothes, and belongings were all still at home, and entire families had been left behind without warning.

Suspicion and paranoia were percolating, as they often did in situations like these, swelling into a wave of fear and hate that would find some unlucky sod to target. Apparently, in this case that scapegoat was likely to be Thor’s little brother.

Darcy and Jane would have to move quickly, before irreparable damage was done.

As she headed back to the pub to meet Jane and Thor for dinner, Darcy mused that it did indeed sound like some kind of supernatural creature was wreaking havoc on the town. Unfortunately, she was still at a loss for what kind—the vague descriptions she had gathered from the townspeople could fit any number of monsters she and Jane dealt with on a regular basis, not to mention the ones specific to this area of the world. Hopefully Jane had fared better.

Jane had not, in fact, fared any better. That was patently clear from the fact that Darcy’s best friend was currently engaged in a rousing sing-off with her fair-haired beau, which seemed well on its way to…yep, definitely ending in a drunken makeout.

Rolling her eyes fondly at the pair, Darcy moved to claim a table at the edge of the crowd. As she sat, Darcy felt the press of someone’s gaze and sat up to her full (modest) height. Taking her time, she nonchalantly cast her eyes about this room, searching for her unknown spectator.

As soon as her eyes landed on the man lounging in a chair by the fire, Darcy wondered how she ever could have missed him. He certainly wasn’t going out of his way to hide the direction of his gaze, and he smirked at her when their eyes met. With dark hair and a disdainful tilt of his chin, he looked nothing like the rest of the townspeople she had met so far.

Because of the distance and the reflection of the flames dancing in his eyes, she couldn’t tell if they were green or blue. There was no disguising the smug tilt of his mouth, though, especially as it was directed straight at her in a blatant challenge. Darcy allowed herself a smug look in return, and he sat up a bit straighter in his chair in response. She had a moment to wonder if he would abandon the distance between them and approach her, but then Jane was at the table, slightly drunk and glowing.

Swaying as she sat down, Jane leaned too close and shouted, “Thor’s getting us drinks!”

Darcy chuckled and leaned back in her seat, eardrums already aching from Jane’s lack of volume control. “That’s great, Janie, thanks. Did you find out anything good today?”

Jane shakes her head, then nods vigorously, then see-saws her hand in a so-so motion. “Umm—”

Snorting at her best friend, Darcy takes a different approach. Best to keep it simple. “Any word on how Thor’s brother is holding up under all the suspicion?”

Jane looked at her, wide-eyed and puzzled. “You were the one just having intense eye sex with him, Darcy, so you tell me. I thought you’d already ‘met,’ the way you were looking at each other.” She waggled her eyebrows outrageously, drawing a laugh out of Darcy.

“You’re the only one getting any action on this trip, Janie,” Darcy teased. Humming thoughtfully, she added, “I could see why he’d be the one everyone blames around here, though. He doesn’t exactly…fit in.”

Jane nodded sagely in agreement. “It’s always the outsiders who get blamed, isn’t it?” She and Darcy exchanged a glance, empathetic to Loki’s plight; they’d been on the receiving end of townspeople’s misplaced blame more than once in the past, and it was always unpleasant. Darcy turned back to where he was sitting, but Loki was gone.

Thor came back with their mead at that moment and conversation turned to lighter topics. Darcy let go of thoughts about his brother, but every now and then she swore she could feel eyes on her, watching and assessing.

That night passed much like the one before, and Darcy began to suspect that her nightmares possibly had something to do with whatever was haunting the town. She suffered no other effects than lingering exhaustion and a lingering heaviness in her chest, though, so she continued on with her day, planning to look into it later.

In hindsight, perhaps Jane and Darcy should have questioned the details of the supernatural goings-on a bit more extensively before making the trip. That way, Darcy might have been slightly more prepared to wake up to a ghoulish creature perched on her chest in the middle of the night.

As it was, Darcy was not prepared in the least. She woke abruptly, limbs paralyzed and pressed to the bed. Her mouth still worked, though, and she let out an earsplitting shriek, loud enough to bring the inn down around her ears. The vaguely woman-like creature bore down on her, glowing red eyes moving so close they drowned everything else out.

Whatever she was, she wasn’t human. She was old, powerful, and clearly hated Darcy with a fiery passion.

Darcy had just enough time to reflect on the embarrassment of dying in bed in a foreign country, alone, before her ears were filled with a thunderous clanging. The ghoul screamed in pain and frustration and clambered off of her, scrambling to the far corner of the room.

Limbs mobile again, Darcy propped herself up on her elbows just in time to see the creature turn itself to mist. A silver knife flew past, embedding itself directly into the wood where the creature had stood half a second earlier.

Loki stood in the doorway, one hand gripping some kind of bell while the other was still outstretched from throwing the knife.

Darcy blinked, and then he was rushing toward her. He grabbed her hand, dragging her the rest of the way out of bed, and they fled the bedroom at a run.

Well, Darcy thought to herself, this job just got a whole lot more interesting.

send me a prompt!

#tasertricks #darcy x loki #darcyland #writing prompt #resurrectionofdawn

163 notes · View notes