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thepetulantpen · 5 years

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Pirates/Dancing

(Struggling against some writing block this week, but here’s some fjolly shenanigans for day 3 of @mollymauklivesfest !)

Molly has done a lot of inexplicably stupid things with the Mighty Nein, but this is probably the stupidest.

I mean, seriously, how does one accidentally steal a boat?

Nonetheless, he’s thankful that their stupidity has at least brought him closer to the ocean. It’s fascinating to look out across the horizon and just see water for miles and miles and miles. He’s seen oceans on maps and he obviously knows what they are, in theory, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the scale.

There’s just no end.

Hoping to get an even better view of the infinite water, he scrambles up the ropes on the mast, swinging and grabbing handholds with no regard for the risk of falling. Even when he stumbles, slipping out of footholds and forcing his arms to bear his weight, he easily recovers and it only makes the process more fun, more challenging.

He’s grateful that everyone is too busy dealing with the repercussions of their impulsivity to nag him about being more careful. Without other people fussing, he can just enjoy the thrill and the satisfaction of being able to confidently rely on his own strength and dexterity. It makes him feel alive, acutely aware of every movement he makes.

From this high up, he can see the whole deck full of the panicking Mighty Nein. Nott is drinking, Jester is casting Mending on scorch marks, and Caduceus is recovering from his brush with death while Beau and Yasha are trying and failing to help Fjord control the ship.

Oh, Fjord. He looks so stressed as he dashes from disaster to disaster that Molly feels bad for not trying to help, but he thinks he’d only make it worse with his lack of experience. He’s been in a boat... twice? And neither of them even had sails.

No, it’s best for Molly to just stay up on his perch and watch the sea. The waves are his favorite part, rising and falling in an irregular pattern like a song with a consistent beat but a chorus that wavers in volume and passion. They move as the ocean breathes, a slow heartbeat that never stutters, up and down and up and down. Some rise higher above others but they all fall just the same, crashing back to become one with a larger body.

It’s a beautiful thing to be a part of. Despite being such a small drop in a large ocean, Molly feels bigger here, like one important wave in the movement of something impossibly large.

Everything about the ocean seems impossible, the waves, the animals, the plants, the salt (he had to taste it for himself, even when Yasha told him not to, and discovered it really is as salty as people say it is. He’d always thought Gustav had been messing with him when he told him about the ocean- why is it salty anyway?) and the sea floor.

Walking in the shallows of the beach had been an experience, feeling it change from carpets of seashells to patches of slimy seaweed and being startled by sudden shifts in depth. It really is a whole other world down there, with its own mountains and valleys. They just can’t see it through the darkness and sand and salt.

The underwater world only shows them hints of its landscape, mere shadows of things just below the surface, like the jagged silhouette of a rocky reef just ahead of them—

Oh, shit.

“Captain!”

Molly swings to another rope, positioning himself over Fjord on the deck. At the shout, Fjord looks up, tired and resigned to hear about yet another disaster. He watches, dumbfounded, as Molly secures his right hand and foot in the rope and lets it hold his weight so he can lean over the deck and gesture to the reef they’re rapidly approaching.

“Rough waters ahead of us!”

Fjord turns around in a hurry and does something with the wheel and something with the masts- boat stuff, Molly can’t really keep track- then they’re doing a bit of a dramatic turn, as dramatic as these slow, giant boats get, and they’ve safely made it around their obstacle.

“Thanks!” Fjord turns to give Molly a thumbs up and then, inevitably, frowns, “What’re you doing up there?”

“Amusing myself!”

As if to demonstrate, Molly does a complicated thing that involves shifting his weight and wrapping his foot in the rope- acrobat stuff, Fjord can’t really keep track- then he’s hanging upside down by the one foot and waving his arms as if to say “look- no hands!”

In spite of all efforts to suppress it, Fjord smiles, shaking his head at Molly’s shenanigans. He hopes they live long enough for him to see Molly do even more ridiculous things.

“That’s mighty impressive, but it’ll be even more impressive if you could keep a lookout as you do it.”

Still upside down, Molly straightens and does a stiff salute.

“Aye, Captain!”

Fjord rubs a hand over his face. It’s going to be a long night.

...

Late night turns into early morning and Fjord just about collapses when he hears Molly shout “Land!”

Thank the gods.

It’s the smallest, shittiest island he’s ever seen but it’s a place to anchor the damn boat and a place to sleep, so it’s good enough. He honestly can’t believe he managed to sail the thing by himself all the way here, but he suspects it has something to do with pure luck and merciful waters.

They’ll have to sail back and get a cheap crew (anything is better than the Mighty Nein alone on a boat) but just the thought of sailing back makes him shudder so he opts instead to add it to the long, ever-growing list of bridges he’ll cross when he gets to them.

He stumbles off the boat in a daze, finds a spot next to the island’s single tree, and sleeps through the whole day, not caring if he’ll fuck up his sleep cycle.

When he wakes, it’s to the sensation of Molly poking him in the face and the sound of a fire crackling, which makes him sit up immediately, nearly knocking heads with Molly.

It’s just Caduceus, cooking over a campfire.

“Wake up, Cad is making crab for everybody.”

Given what he knows about Caduceus, particularly that he lived in a landlocked forest and that he doesn’t eat meat, Fjord is prepared to encounter some extremely questionable crab. Molly doesn’t seem to have the same reservations, immediately diving into the meat placed in front of him, ecstatic to taste something so new.

Fjord admires his wonder for the world, a welcome reminder to enjoy the little things he never realized he takes for granted. The crab isn’t that bad, all things considered, and Caduceus promises to heal them if it accidentally ends up poisoning them.

As the campfire dies, and everyone begins settling down in the sand to sleep, Molly and Fjord are the only ones left awake. There’s no watches, since they’re on the only land for miles, and everyone is trying to prepare themselves for the journey ahead.

Molly pokes at the fire absently, pondering something. Fjord shifts a little closer, sitting next to him on the sand.

“What sorts of things do people do at the beach?”

“Uh,” Fjord blinks once, unsure how to answer that, “Lots of things. Swimming, tanning, making sandcastles, collecting shells.”

“And at night?”

“Bonfires, parties, I guess. I was never much for the nightlife.”

Molly hums, then smiles, the mischievous one Fjord knows means trouble.

“Do they dance?”

“Dance?”

“On the beach. Do they dance?”

Molly stands and offers Fjord a hand. He takes it, having learned it’s best to go with the flow, especially when it comes to Molly.

“I suppose they might.”

They step a few paces away from the campfire and Molly takes position as the lead in a traditional dance, leaving Fjord to follow him.

Molly, for the record, does not know how to dance and is making it up as he goes along, which means Fjord has to become very skilled in improvisation or trip over his feet. He does the latter. Many, many times.

It’s fun anyway.

Their feet slide against the sand, cool in the night air. It’s a slightly shifting, dynamic dance floor and Molly is loving it, breaking off from Fjord to do his own thing and dance to the music in his head. He spins, shuffles, shakes- whatever he feels like, unaware of or indifferent to how it looks.

“C’mon Fjord, you’ve got to have some signature moves you can show me.”

Fjord shakes his head. “No, I... I’m not the dancing type, I’m afraid.”

“No need to be afraid, no one’s watching. And besides,” Molly slides over, leans in close, and whispers, “we’re pirates now. We can do whatever we want.”

“We’re not pirates.”

“Aye, Captain. Best to keep our cover. Arrr.”

Molly winks, grin bright and impossible to argue with. Fjord rolls his eyes and shakes his head, knowing he won’t sway Molly.

“What else would you like to do, on the beach?”

“Well,” Molly has gone back to dancing like nobody’s watching, twirling and experimenting with movement in the sand, “since we’re pirates, and totally above the law, we can do anything, hm?”

Fjord nods cautiously, unsure what Molly means to do, and Molly grins wildly back at him, teeth reflecting the moonlight. It’s then that Fjord realizes how late it is, looking up at the pitch black sky, full moon hanging over head, and stars twinkling out of the abyss. The rest of the group is asleep and so is the world.

Fjord should be sleeping too but he’s wide awake, either from his midday nap or sight of Molly stripping off his clothes and running off towards the ocean for a midnight dip.

Maybe it’s the dubious crab that makes Fjord follow him, taking off his armor and shoes.

Molly dips his toes in the water then yanks them back, looking up at Fjord.

“It’s cold!” He laughs, delighted, somehow, just from that, and steps into the water, watching the ripples around his feet.

“Yeah, it... it does that.”

Molly smiles at Fjord and then looks back out at the water with a sigh, wild smile softening into something more... wistful.

“It’s beautiful.”

Molly stares out at the water, wishing he could capture the sight of the moon’s wavering reflection on the dark water and carry it with him in his pocket. Fjord stares at Molly, the moonlight washing over his face and giving him an ethereal shine.

“Sure is.”

Molly snickers, wise to Fjord’s gaze without even looking. Fjord would say he’s glad for the darkness hiding his blush, but he’s sure Molly can sense that too. Not much gets past him, not when it comes to Fjord.

Molly looks back at Fjord, eyes traveling once over his body then landing on his face, eyes serious but mouth twisted in a smirk.

“I wish I could see what it’s like underneath. I’m sure it’s stunning.”

Fjord’s mind stalls for a second, eyes darting downward to Molly’s bare body and Fjord’s clothes, then Molly tilts his head toward the ocean and he realizes he’s been had.

“Ah, well,” Fjord bites his lip, feeling the sting of his growing tusks, and considers whether this is wise, “I think I could help with that.”

“Oh?” Molly bats his eyelashes, exaggeratedly flirtatious in normal circumstances that do not already include his naked body.

Anytime Fjord considers casting a spell, it’s a shot in the dark, based on impulse and hope that it’ll do what he intends it to. He has no idea what he’s doing most of the time, especially when he’s standing in the ocean with Molly in the middle of the night, after they’ve stolen a boat.

So, he’s started following the lead of other people who seem more put together than him and, believe it or not, even amnesiac, ex-cultist Molly has a better grip on this arcane thing than Fjord. He has reason to believe that Molly would absolutely take the risk and waste this spell. So he does.

“This’ll let us breathe underwater. Come on, I’ll swim us out.”

It’s not long until they’re deep enough to submerge themselves, the island has a rather sudden drop off, and it’s a fairly pleasant swim because, although he learned how to swim yesterday, Molly is a fast learner and does everything with confidence, not an ounce of rational fear in his body.

Fjord realizes he should’ve brought something to weigh them down but Molly doesn’t bother commiserating over lack of preparation, just dives under and finds a handhold on the rock holding up the island, a sort of underwater clifface. He anchors himself like he would in an acrobatic act, as if the force of the water is the same as gravity and wind resistance.

Molly is nothing like Fjord, who always feels like a fish out of water in this group. He makes every new environment his home, adapts as if he’s had all the experience in the world instead of a few short years worth.

“I don’t know how all this is so easy for you. We’re on an island in the middle of the ocean, on the run from the crownsguard, and you’re as relaxed as you always are, ready to take a swim as if nothin is wrong.”

Molly laughs and waves a hand through the water, observing and experimenting with movement underwater. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re nearly as impulsive as me, the perfect partner in crime.”

“But that’s just impulse. You’re,” Fjord shifts, readjusting his awkward hold on the rock, “adaptable. Anything you start, you can finish.”

“And you’re the same. The only thing you’re missing is confidence.”

“Confidence or competence?”

“It’s the same isn’t it? If you act like you know what you’re doing then, for all intents and purposes, you know what you’re doing. Besides,” he smirks at Fjord and moves closer, face inches away and hand cupping Fjord’s cheek, “all this is coming from the man who sailed a boat all by himself yesterday. You were more competent than all the rest of us put together.”

“It was luck, really—“

Molly closes the gap and kisses him. Fjord shuts his eyes and feels the currents of the water gently shift around them, their hair flying in a slow motion halo around their heads. Underwater, it feels like being the center of the universe and completely hidden away all at once. The stars of their own show, with no audience in the stands.

Molly smiles against Fjord’s mouth. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“What, kiss underwater?” He pulls back enough to look Molly in the eyes, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “How long have you wanted that?”

“Well, when I saw the ocean I wanted to get in it, then when I was in it I wanted to go under it, then once I was under it I wanted to kiss you. So ever since the idea popped into my head, which was a few minutes ago.”

“Right. So, ten minutes is your idea of ‘always’?”

“Ten minutes is a long time, dear. That’s a whole Identification spell and you know how agonizing it is to wait for that.”

Fjord laughs and smiles, always happy to just be near Molly and talk, whether it’s ridiculous or serious (though, it’s usually both). In a quiet moment, they both turn to stare up at the surface of the water, seeing the moonlight meet them in weakened, interrupted shafts. Molly was right about it being beautiful, even from down here in what seems like a whole new world.

“Should we head back? The others will be wondering where we are.”

Molly nods slowly, still staring, as Fjord was, up at the moonlight.

“I suppose I can check ‘midnight skinny dip’ off my bucket list,” he holds onto Fjord as they swim back to the surface, and mutters, under his breath, “That one goes out to you, Moonweaver.”

#mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #Fjord #fjolly #molly lives fest #mollymauklivesfest #the prompts really got away from me in this one #but it still technically fits #i know ive never written this ship before #but its secretly my favorite #hey im super behind in this event as usual #oh well #will my procrastination ever cease?#probably not

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golden-geese · 5 years

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mac and dennis are sleepy bitches ch. 3 repost; read on ao3

2007 4:15 p.m. A Sunday

As he folds his laundry, Mac goes through the list. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead. Their real dad is crazy or something (Mac never got a straight answer on that one) and the next best thing is Frank. Charlie’s mom is overbearing. He grew up without a dad, and then recently found out that his dad is probably Frank. Collectively, the gang could count all their living parents or parent proxies on one hand: Mac’s mom, Mac’s dad, Charlie’s mom, Bruce Mathis, and Frank. Mac is the only one with two confirmed living parents. He goes through the list again and again and again, much like he spent all last night doing-- except this time, he’s dealing with a pile of laundry on his unmade bed, not tossing and turning and flipping his pillow over.

He’s been letting his laundry pile up. He only even started doing it today because he realized he was literally on his last pair of socks. He let it pile up for so long it turned out to be like four loads-- and then he washed the towels too, because if you’re already doing laundry, you might as well wash the towels too. It’s an unkempt mountain on his bed; tee shirts and pants and underwear and socks and towels. He’s just been adding to the pile all day, never stopping to fold between loads.

Anyway. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead, and their fake dad is Frank, and their real dad is apparently some weirdo. Charlie’s mom is bonkers and his dad is probably Frank too. Mac has two living breathing parents.

So, he wonders bitterly as he shakes out a pair of jeans, why does he feel like he has the shittiest deal of them all? Dennis and Dee might as well be orphans, and Charlie’s mom is even crazier than Charlie. It doesn’t make sense, he tells himself. It doesn’t make sense that he’s so damn ungrateful and mushy about all of this.

Anyway, Mac is the one responsible for his dad getting locked up again. He’s probably the worst son in the whole world, he figures as he folds a pair of black pants.

(remembers, when his dad got out of prison last week, how he went in for a hug and his dad said “don’t touch me”)

(yeah, mac figures; he’s definitely the worst son in the whole world)

Because what kind of son gets their dad arrested? All he’d wanted was to take Mac and Charlie to the baseball hall of fame in New York. He’d even bought them all tickets. And now this. Brows furrowed, jaw set, Mac folds a tee shirt. Adds it to the uneven stack.

His dad doesn’t love him, though. Couldn’t possibly, what with the whole “I’m going to kill you” fiasco.

(i have mom though, he reasons)

(and charlie and dennis)

(and poppins)

Now that Mac thinks about it… Charlie might not actually love him. He did sabotage the whole dinner party thing. And Dennis is always so wrapped up in his own shit, who’s to say if he loves anyone. Poppins is the only one Mac is sure loves him, and Poppins is a street mutt who’s missing half the time.

Sighing, he folds the next shirt. He loves Charlie and Dennis and his parents and even probably Dee. He loves all of them, even though they probably don’t love him back. Has so much goddamn love for them it’s bursting out of his chest-- and he shows it, too. By bringing Charlie a Red Bull when they were in high school, or complimenting Dennis when he’s being grumpy, or even just by paying attention and understanding. He’s told them he loves them, too, every so often. Wonders if he’s ever heard it back once. Probably not.

(whatever.)

Sulking a little, he reaches for the pile and picks up the next shirt. Starts to fold it; frowns, realizing it isn’t his. Turns it around in his hands. It’s a soft button-down, striped with white and light blue. Nicer quality than any of Mac’s clothes. A size bigger to accommodate broad shoulders. Dennis.

He straightens the sleeve out. You don’t fold button-down shirts, right? You have to hang them up so they don’t get wrinkled. He straightens his shoulders. Makes the executive decision. Heads to Dennis’ room.

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac asks, knocking.

“What,” a muffled voice comes.

He nudges the door open. Catches sight of Dennis, shirtless-- Dennis, standing in front of his dresser mirror, a weird frown at his lips.

“Your shirt got into my laundry somehow,” Mac explains, tossing it to him.

Dennis doesn’t catch it. Watches it billow its way to the floor. Mac watches too, before turning his eyes back to Dennis. Droopy eyes. Pale skin. Messy hair.

“You okay, dude?” Mac asks cautiously.

“Fine,” Dennis responds, barely audible.

“You… sure?”

“Fine,” Dennis insists.

Mac watches him a moment longer. Nods once. “I’ll… leave you to it, then, I guess.”

He takes a step back; re-installs himself in the doorway-- but doesn’t leave the room.

Footsteps in the hall. Yelling outside. Always yelling outside.

He stands there for probably an hour. “Have you eaten?”

“Dinner? Have I eaten dinner? No, I’m not hungry,” Dennis says emptily.

“No,” Mac says-- “I mean, like, have you eaten… today?”

Dennis swallows. Meets Mac’s eyes for a tenth of an instant. “Why do you care?”

“I mean-- you gotta eat, dude. Or you’ll, like, die,” Mac says dumbly.

“Oh, is that how science works? Is it? Are you a doctor? Is your name doctor… science?” Dennis sneers, his voice cracking.

Mac blinks. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“This morning.”

“For real?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Mac says, deciding it’s probably just easier to believe Dennis and keep an eye on the situation. “‘Cause I know you were being weird about… y’know, the whole thing where you looked like that pedo…”

“I don’t look like that pedo,” Dennis insists. “He’s fat. I’m not. I’m chiseled.”

“Yeah,” Mac says quickly. “You’re super chiseled, man. You’re so chiseled it’s ridiculous. You’re hot.”

Heat immediately smoke-bombs in his chest. The last two words fell out of his mouth without his brain’s consent.

Dennis is staring at him now, eyes somewhat narrowed. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “You know. In, like, a totally platonic bro kinda way. Like, objectively, do I think you’re attractive? Yes. Objectively, yeah, I do.” He gestures vaguely.

“Thanks,” Dennis says, nodding a tiny amount. “You know, your opinion means a lot to me.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

(maybe dennis does love mac)

“Cool.”

(maybe dennis just shows it weird. he totally loves mac. yeah. mac was stupid to ever think otherwise)

Dennis yawns.

Mac catches it.

“Sorry,” Mac says, even though Dennis yawned first and apologizing for yawns isn’t really a thing people do. “I didn’t sleep, like, at all last night.”

“Me neither,” Dennis admits.

“Think I’m gonna take a nap, actually,” Mac adds. Yawns again, now that he’s thinking about how tired he is.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe I will too.”

“Oh, shit-- my bed is covered in laundry,” he sighs. “Nevermind, I guess.”

Dennis’ jaw tilts a little. He half-shrugs. “You can use my bed, if you want.”

“Really?”

“I don’t see why not.”

His voice is still all weird and quiet. But at least he’s talking.

“Okay, dude,” Mac says, nodding. “Thanks.”

It’s an awkwardly choreographed shuffle, to casually get in the same bed as your best friend, but they do it. It’s a big bed, at least-- they can both settle in comfortably without even feeling that the other is there. A soft bed too, Mac thinks as he nestles into it-- soft and warm and inviting. Probably because it was expensive. Mac bought his mattress at Kmart. It was on sale.

He hears Dennis’ breathing change. Tunes into it as he drifts off himself.

Dennis wakes up ten percent. Feels arms around him, warmth against his skin-- becomes another ten percent more alert. A hookup. Some girl he met at Paddy’s or some other bar-- no doubt a big-breasted woman with glossy lips, wearing one of those silky pink and black spaghetti-strap tops girls are always wearing with their low-rise jeans. But why is she all wrapped around him instead of vice versa?

He wakes up another thirty percent. Now he’s fifty percent awake, for anyone keeping track. It’s Mac who’s snuggled around him. Right.

Whatever, he thinks, resigning himself. He opens his eyes for a second just to make sure it is in fact Mac. Relaxes his muscles again. If he lets on that he’s awake, if he disturbs Mac’s sleep-- Mac will leave. The warmth is nice. Whatever.

It’s not like Mac meant to wrap his entire body around Dennis’. It’s not like you can help what you do while you’re sleeping.

But, considering he’s already in this position, it would be rude to move now. Dennis is still asleep, after all, even though Mac woke up. It would just be inconsiderate.

Anyway, Mac’s mind is finally quiet. He finally feels relaxed. It would just be stupid to ruin that.

#napfic #macdennis fic #iasip fic #iasip fanfic #macdennis fanfic #reposting bc i was reading for napfic inspo and i was like???????? wtf this is good?????

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