#“leave every place better than we found it” like beau why you had to say it im kicking the walls every time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omniscientwreck · 3 years

Note

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #caduceus clay #critical role #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #tm9 #my writing #omni writes #my fic #a little worried this is ooc for Cad but also I think he's just treating them like he'd treat his siblings #eventually you just gotta push people in the direction they're heading

199 notes · View notes

shirophantomvox · 3 years

Text

How Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo would react to their S/O in the hospital

Hi, anon! You are welcome to join my Discord Server if you are a fan of Hxh, Voltron, or both! I promise this is a safe environment! This is an interesting topic for sure! To the other anon(s), I am working on your request! This will contain both fluff and angst. I forgot to include Leorio in this, so I’ll include him in the next HxH post. You’ll have to forgive me, I have 2 more requests in my inbox and I am not feeling the best. I just got my second Covid shot and it is hurting like hell. Nevertheless, I encourage you all to get your shot if you can. I will be on this site one and off and I should be on it for real next week. I have run out of ideas to write and I began to think I was annoying people with my HxH content (no one said this I just assumed). This post has 1974 words. After these requests are finished, I plan on doing a character analysis for Leorio.

Anyway, let’s get into the post!

We’ll start with Hisoka this time.

Hisoka

In all honesty, this man has heard of a hospital (since he sends a lot of people to it after fights) but has never been in one.

The signs, floors, staircase numbers, and elevators all confuse him. He has only been in one once when he was a kid and has never been again.

He isn’t a social butterfly in this setting because this is a professional establishment and not a college party. Asking for directions takes quite a toll on him because of his established pride. You know guys act when they want to find a destination on their own and will go miles out of the way instead of just asking for direction.

He doesn’t talk to anyone; all he wants to do is find you and make sure you are alright.

He is the tallest person in the freight elevator. So tall that everyone at turns to look at him at once for at least 10 seconds and turn back around surprised.

“How tall is he,” one of the nurses ask.

“Tall enough to be my house!”

This annoys him. He takes out the Joker card and lays it against his thigh but realizes he cannot make any hasty decisions. His bloodlust was activated merely out of irritation and not by threat. You were on his mind and destroying these worthless humans wasn’t an option for today.

He approached the guest desk and waited for about 2 minutes before he was acknowledged.

“May I help you,” a smug receptionist asked. Wow, these people do not know who they’re talking to.

“I’m here to see y/n.”

“Y/n is in room 345. Go down the hall and to the right all the way down.”

This man nearly ran with a quickness! His jester shoes somehow made the floor shake as he ran.

You were awake, eating the horrible food the hospital provided and watching TV. It seemed like you were doing ok, but you had just been in a car accident. Your arms and right leg were still sore. It was so bad that you’d be fine with Hisoka carrying you everywhere.

When you two are alone in serious public places, he doesn’t play games or tricks. He is often portrayed as a ruthless man, but in settings like this, he places the jokes and games aside for later. When he enters your room, he is silent for 30 seconds. Much too long. He was shocked; he walked around your hospital bed, pulled up a chair, and stared at your cast. It had many names written on it.

“Yes, I am ok.”

“I apologize for not being there for you,” he began to say.

“Shh… it’s ok. This is life. It hurts like hell, but I’m a trooper!”

Admiring your cast and its multiple fonts of handwriting and messages, he grabbed a sharpie marker, wrote his name, with a heart and spade next to it. Surprisingly, his cursive was very neat and legible.

“I didn’t know you knew how to write in cursive! Why don’t you write me letters?”

“I see you every day and it hurts my hand.”

The doctor wouldn’t be in for another 1 ½ hours, so Hisoka used your thigh as a pillow as he took a nap. He had been up for countless nights thinking about you. He was screwing up so bad, Chrollo let him leave early.

“As soon as your better, we will fight again. I won’t go easy on you. You won’t be in the hospital but you get the jest.”

Illumi

Illumi isn’t the type of man to overreact in these types of situations. When you both agreed to date each other, you knew you all were tough cookies. You were aware of the dangers of dating an assassin and he knew about the dangers of dating a bounty hunter. People hated you both and you targeted.

One night you both were caught in a vulnerable state. While you both enjoyed chocolate milkshakes at a laid-back 1950’s styled diner, two men were previously thrown out for fighting. While your back was turned one of those men shot your arm, causing you to carelessly throw your body to the ground due to impact.

While everyone else was screaming, Illumi jumped to the ground and tied his hair tie around your arm to temporarily stop the bleeding.

“Illu, why does it feel cold in here,” you managed to breathe out.

His heart dropped to his stomach for the first time in history.

“Don’t say things like that!”

Illumi is already horrible at displaying emotions, but all he could do is frown in fear. Once the EMS came barling in, he demanded that he ride with you.

Illumi hadn’t experienced anything like this since Killua had been injured when he fell from a tree.

You and he were separated when you were rushed into surgery leaving him alone in the waiting room.

When Illumi is stressed and cannot properly display how he feels, he tends to act in “odd” ways.

He begins to furiously turn pages in magazines or bother the receptions every 2 minutes about the status of your surgery. When the woman finally says that you’re still alive, he tones it down a little.

Illumi is open to conforming advice from strangers; he has been receiving it secretly from strangers. Since Silva was busy abusing him, he often found comfort from “the streets”.

He has a bad habit of pacing back and forth and fidgeting in his seat while horrific images fill his mind. All he has seen is pain and even though he was used to it, he didn’t want you to go through it as well.

While sitting in his seat (finally!) and head in his lap, doubled over indescribable sorrow, a little girl walks up to him with her hands folded and a doll under her arms. Illumi feels her presence and looks up. The girl’s curly hair covered her endearing eyes and her smile is wide.

“They’ll be alright. I just know they will,” turning around returning to her mother, the girl said with confidence.

On cue, Illumi placed his hand over his heart, smiling just a little.

He walked quickly to your room once you were out of surgery.

His speed walk mimics one of a soldier; his left arm in since with his right leg. His shoes echoed throughout the hall.

As soon as he enters the room, he shuts the door harder than usual and gives you a tight embrace. This surprises you! You’re lucky if he lays his head on your shoulder!

Illumi had been working out lately. He wanted to beat you in the “squish the melon” contest. He is very competitive and even if he lost, that doesn’t hurt his ego. Not in the slightest. Since it was just the both of you alone, he bends down to hug you tight, so tight that your face is squished against his.

This behavior is only surprising because he usually doesn’t coddle you even when you get hurt, but this time he realized that you could have died from the gunshot wound.

After that he kissed your forehead and almost simultaneously the doctor barreled in just missing the sweet moment between you and your beau.

Chrollo

When Chrollo is holding meetings with the Phantom Troupe, he always appears to be neutral. That is very important. A leader has to show strength even through the worst/hurtful times of their lives.

Chrollo had gotten a call from Nobunaga that you had gotten hurt on a mission and had actually gotten captured by the enemy. Phinks was able to get you back but you suffered horrible injuries.

This is protocol; they do this for any of the members. The troupe was oblivious to the fact that you and Chrollo were dating. They thought you were here to replace Uvo.

In situations like this, he is calm on the outside but screaming on the inside. Common sense will tell you if you are startled by the news you’ve just received and you begin to drive, you could cause more harm on the way to your destination.

Chrollo is very silent; he doesn’t call to check on your status or anything; he would rather see it for himself.

You were a trooper! After all, you are dating a dangerous robber.

Chrollo already knew what room you were in so he just went.

“I knew I should have kept y/n by my side. Y/n insisted on doing my dirty work that they almost died! How foolish could I have been?” He constantly cursed himself for letting his guard down with you.

He always gave you room to think and complete your own tasks but he can’t help his protective nature; one he has for the troupe but times 10.

His childhood friends had been shot by law enforcers, his home was horrific, and the last thing he needed was for you to be gone. You were keeping him afloat in society.

When he opened the door, Phinks was sitting in a chair, one leg over the other, laughing at a TikTok video.

Nobunaga on the other hand was watching the world news and seemed invested that he didn’t hear Chrollo enter the room. Once they both saw, they stood to their feet.

“Y/n is ok boss. They suffered a few cuts and burns, but they're breathing.”

Chrollo’s straight face remained as he stared at you.

Chrollo’s silence is something the troupe has internalized as a sign of anger, rage, or both. When he didn’t speak and just stared, everyone knew that their next mission was going to be a brutal one.

Chrollo is a man that isn’t afraid to express how he feels. He could cry right now if he wanted to and no one would dare laugh at him or insult him. After all, Nobunaga cried when he realized Uvo was dead.

Nobunaga and Phinks excused themselves as they saw him place his hand over his mouth.

Once the door closed, He pulled up the chair, grabbed your hand, and gently squeezed it. His warmth woke you up instantly and you turned your head. You winced in pain causing Chrollo to jump from his seat, moving to your right side so you wouldn’t turn your head too much.

“I’m glad you're alive, darling. What were you doing putting yourself in danger? Feitan could have handled the beast!”

He isn’t trying to doubt your ability to fight, he’s just concerned for your safety. Even so, why would he insist that you join the spiders?

A tear dropped from his face as he silently kissed your hand three times. You smiled warmly and placed your right left hand on top of his.

“I am fine, boss. You need not worry. I’m a trooper, remember?”

He placed your hand against his dry cheek and continued to kiss it. You were his lifeline and he wanted to spend every moment with you.

385 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hi! If you’re taking requests could you write a Mollymauk x Reader where they’re really close friends and he calls her a bunch of cute nicknames but then Molly notices that she starts getting really dejected or just leaves when he starts talking to new people and she ends up confessing that it’s because she’s fallen for him and doesn’t like to be around when he’s calling other random strangers “darling” and “love”? Thank you!!!

Hope you enjoy! 😘

When you were walking down the streets in search for a place to stay the night Molly had pulled you along by your arm wrapping it around his, proudly parading around like he usually does, the Nein following his lead, some of them definitely not keeping their opinions to themselves watching you two go. Of course these comments are simply met with a laugh and a kiss to your temple, words whispered in your ear to make you blush. The red creeping up your cheeks as you shoot a glance backwards are usually enough to make those comments from Beau at least to stop. Jester, the hopeless romantic she is will just squeal and take out here sketchbook to capture this moment in detail.

Inn found, the place is nice and cozy but also a bit more pricy than the group had hoped. That’s an easy task for Mollymauk Tealeaf to fix. He lets go of your arm when you reach the bar, the others behind and leans on the counter top on his elbows biting his tongue and giving an innocent half smile letting the pointed canines show in all their glory as he bats his eyelashes.

“Are you sure you can’t give us a special deal? We’re taking four rooms already. Some of us will already share but I don’t particularly enjoy sleeping on the floor. Do you think you’d have a better offer, handsome.” Molly winks at the barkeep who, admittedly isn’t bad on the eyes is also taken aback by the tiefling’s blatant advances. So much so he stutters on offering a decent discount as Molly reaches out brushing his hand over the exposed lower arm of the barkeep who’s more bothered by being seen by his other patrons than the tiefling’s gestures. Molly’s enjoying every second of this as is clear by the attitude he carries, the grin on his face and the mischievous look in his eyes and he’s so caught up in his act he doesn’t notice you excuse yourself taking one of the keys and rushing off to one of the rooms.

“You’re a darling. Thank you so much for your generosity.” That’s the last you hear as you watch Molly lean in over the bar a little closer and the barkeep blushes wildly. With a shake of your head and boiling blood you walk up the stairs, enter the room and slam the door closed behind you dropping yourself onto the bed face buried into the pillow and let out a scream of frustration to be muffled by the the pillow.

It takes a good fifteen minutes of Molly flirting with the barkeep to also get a discount on meals and drinks for the night. He’d gladly sacrifice his time, not only because they’re running short on money and need the coin but also because he generally likes to mess with people and it was so easy. He had the barkeep a stuttering mess in seconds. That’s something to be proud of isn’t it? Either way he prides himself for it. Nevermind, the others are settled at a table, drinks poured but one’s missing. You’re missing. Where did you go? Molly looks around the tavern but doesn’t see you. He doesn’t miss a beat sending a wink to the barkeep when they make eye contact but returns his attention to the Nein.

“The pretty one, where did she go?” Molly asks.

“I’m right here Molly. Or am I not pretty enough for you?” Beau snorts slamming back her drink. She knows fully well he means you and she won’t miss an opportunity to tease the tiefling now she’s got ammo. She’ll play this game any day.

“The annoying one, that’s what you are.” Molly replies as Beau sticks out her tongue and takes the drink Jester slipped to her for seconds. Two drinks right after arrival? That does not bode well for the night… for Beau. He, however will have plenty of entertainment provided by the monk once she starts a drunken bar fight. At least they won’t be the ones getting kicked out. He’s got that barkeep in his pocket.

“Fuck you too, Mollymauk.” Beau grumbles into her tankard.

“I think she went upstairs to settle in but she’s not come back yet. Should we save her a drink?” Jester speaks as she holds back a unclaimed tankard from Nott the Brave who’s already done with her own.

“That’s alright. Thank you, Jester, for providing a useful answer to my previous question.” Beau shakes her head at Molly’s words but holds her tongue as Jester allows Nott to take the remaining tankard and before Beau can claim his, he slides it across the table over to Nott who defends it like there’s no tomorrow. Beau flips him off as he goes upstairs with a laugh.

Opening the door to your room without knocking Mollymauk sees you face down on the bed, belongings discarded at the foot of the bed. For a moment he considers you might just have tossed yourself onto the bed and allowed the exhaustion of the journey to overtake you but your breathing doesn’t match that of your sleeping form. Molly sneaks up to the foot of the bed and wraps an arm around your ankle yanking it. He’s met with a yelp and before he knows it he’s struck in the face with a pillow. When it drops to the floor he sees you sitting up arms crossed. You’re not as amused as he is with his antics. Weird. Usually you’d have laughed or retaliated with a witty remark before you both would be laughing. Now you’re glaring at him.

“What’s got you in such a foul mood, darling?” He asks as clearly you’re not just going to reveal the answer of your own volition because you felt like it. You bite your tongue holding back a comment so instead he sits next to you on the edge of the bed, facing you arm leaning on your raised knees and for just a moment your expression softens. Okay, so you’re not angry at him for something. That’s good. At least he knows he won’t be at the receiving end of your wrath.

“Nothing.” You mutter. Why is hit when his stupid face walks into the room you just forget why you were upset in the first place. Well, you know why but the feelings still disappears, that little voice in the back of your head saying it’s a stupid reason anyway.

“Clearly it’s something, love. You know you can tell me anything, right?” Molly doesn’t feel the need to tease or even try to do something, anything to lift your spirits or make you laugh. This isn’t something that’s simply laughed off. This is something that needs words first.

“I know.” You nod but you don’t move to say anything and just let yourself fall backwards onto the bed wiping your face letting out a disgruntled sigh. You still keep your knees raised providing the support for Molly’s current position and look up at him. The jovial and smug attitude is gone and replaced by one of calm and a hint of worry. He pats your thigh waiting, giving you a moment to seek for the right words or response, anything really.

“It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get over myself.” You offer him a weak smile but Molly doesn’t buy it. You don’t have him convinced for a second and you know you don’t when he gives you a look pressing you to be truthful. Stupid stupid stupid. Why did he have to have such a hold over you? Stupid feelings.

“It’s not stupid to me and I do worry.” It’s very few times Molly drops the act and allows his words to sound like the most genuine thing in the world. There’s no attempt of persuasion, or sweet-talking. There’s no blunt honesty but a careful one, approaching this as if you’re slipping through his fingers like sand. So that’s here you can’t stop yourself from clinging onto whatever you had. Better rip the bandaid off quickly and maybe he’ll let you down gently.

“I like you. I like you a lot. And whenever you’re flirting with strangers you come across like you do with me I just feel like I’m nothing more than a stranger to you.” Molly takes in your words and his expression remains gentle to the point where you can’t gleam anything but that off it. There’s no response like you expected. No surprise or discontent. You’d hoped he wouldn’t have laughed at you and at least he didn’t but you don’t know if you’re happier with the gentle smile he offers you as it literally doesn’t steer you in any direction. It just leaves you waiting.

Mollymauk’s not surprised by your words. He had suspected for a while but it’s not his place to assume. Sure when the attraction is only physical and never intended to be something of the longer term, it’s easy and fun to mess around with but you weren’t just physically attracted nor was this the short term kind of thing when it came to your feelings as these develop over time, not in a brief moment. So he dared not assume. It’s risky territory for him as he’s had few lasting long term relationships, even less so the ones build on genuine mutual feelings. He’s in no way uncomfortable with your feelings, or his own for that matter but he’s more careful because he’s pretty sure he’d have more success navigating a journey across thin ice, or a death drop below.

“Just say something. Do anything. Please. I can’t bear the silence.” You beg as Molly realises he might have zoned out a little longer than he intended to but when it takes him even longer to shake himself out of it you let your knees drop and making him lose his balance and fall upon your legs. That’s enough to snap him out of it.

“Very funny, love.” He deadpans as he sits back up again, releasing your legs allowing you to do the same and hug your knees leaning your cheek on top of it. Anticipation is clear within your eyes as he hasn’t given you any reaction to your confession just yet.

“Do anything you said?” The unreadable expression returns but his fingers slip beneath your face and gently lift it up. You await his next move not daring to hope where this is going and not moving beyond where Molly guided you to. He looks you in the eyes searching for any hesitation or move to back away but when you don’t offer him one beyond the anticipation he leans in pressing his lips to yours.

“You could never be a stranger. And I don’t know what I’ve done to lead you to believe so but take my word when I tell you I promise you I’ll spend every day of my life reminding you you’ll never be a stranger to me.” Molly’s words hit home and you know he’s someone who lives in the moment but you also know this is real and his words are genuine.

“Now if that means, you want me to stop flirting with barkeeps, and merchants to get some hefty discounts I will, for your sake.” He grins pecking your lips once more

“I’m pretty sure the others will kill me if you do. So best not?” You smile. Molly chuckles. Strangely, that’s all you needed to hear. Maybe your jealousy wasn’t stemmed from the tiefling’s blatant flirting with everyone and everything because you’ve always known Molly to be a flirt, even long before your feelings for him developed. It was just your own insecurities and doubts getting in your way and those were severely discredited by Molly’s words; ‘you’ll never be a stranger to me.’

“Best not then. That barkeep is a handsome one. Could be fun, darling?” Molly taps his chin as if considering and you slap his shoulder. You know he’s just teasing you so when he grabs the hand that hit at him you grab the pillow near your legs and smack him with it. Before you can swing a second time, the two of you giggling like idiots, Molly grabs the pillow throwing it behind you at the head of the bed and uses your held hand to pull you into a deep kiss.

The door swings open and in comes Beauregard, her backpack slung over her shoulder, staff in hand and just groans loudly at the kissing pair on one of the beds. She rolls her eyes disgruntled.

“Fjord! We’re gonna be roommates! Don’t fight me on this!” Beau shouts as she slams the door closed and goes over to a different room to drop her things. Fuck, she needs another drink. Despite everything she can’t fight the smile from slipping onto her lips. She’d known it was a long time coming but you finally having gotten over yourselves and having found some happiness brought her that smile to her face. Not like she’d ever admit it. And now she’s just gotten another thing to tease Molly about. She can already feel the comebacks and witty remarks form in her mind. Prepare yourself Tealeaf.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #mollymauk x reader #critical role #mighty nein

123 notes · View notes

loquaciousquark · 3 years

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E125 (Feb. 16, 2021)

Goooood evening good evening good evening, all! I hope you’re all staying warm and safe and dry in this chilly weather. Tonight’s guests: Travis Willingham and Laura Bailey.

We open tonight with Travis ribbing Brian for his continuous remodel of his office space. Laura demands a second introduction of herself as she wasn’t paying attention during the first one.

Travis: “You’ve gotta love Julianne Moore. She’s the only actress who can cry and show you all her teeth at the same time.” I was listening pretty closely when he said this and I’m still not sure it had any context.

Jester thinks there’s a strong possibility at least half the party will die against the Tombtakers. Fjord doesn’t think the odds are quite that high, but it will be dangerous. Laura points out that most of the M9 are also willing to sacrifice themselves for the rest of the party, so that changes their odds as well. Travis: “The game is not a stress reliever. It is not a stress reliever. I mean, it’s fun as shit, but it is stressful!”

Laura thinks Essek will give them a better chance. Travis: “A plus-one? A powerful plus-one, but a plus-one?” Did you see his reaction when we gave him the lowdown? Let’s be real: we kinda trust Essek. I got $50 that when we come back, he’s gone.” Laura is convinced he is trustworthy & wants to lighten his soul.

Jester spent so much time trying to bring out the Molly side of Lucien that to have him then betray them sucked. She knew that trying to bring the good out of everyone they met would eventually fail, but it stung that it was the most powerful one they encountered to first betray them.

She tries to talk about finger gestures during the answer as a reference to the HBO show “Raised by Wolves,” and Brian and Travis tell her to keep digging this hole she gets herself into about fingering. Travis: “Just get off the interstate at the next exit and turn right.” Laura, of course, immediately mimes turning a hard left, and they spent the next few minutes laughing at her inability to tell right from left and that even now she still has to hold up her hands to tell left from right.

Fjord is furious that they nicked the Bag of Holding. The loss of Vess DeRogna is bad enough, but he is genuinely IRL anxious about the loss of the Cloven Crystal. Laura points out that Fjord has also explicitly talked to Lucien about the deep sea creature patron he used to follow as well. He’s terrified one of Lucien’s scimitars is suddenly going to have a big eye sticking out of it. Laura suggests they’ll just succeed, bring back the city, and wake up Uk’otoa for the heck of it.

It was really rough to go from the Gelidon fight to the Tombtaker fight, especially since the first fight sent so well. Travis felt great that he initiated the dragon fight - he knew they had a far advantage in the numbers and felt that it was an open and shut case.

Laura does boggle that if Caleb hadn’t asked for that item from the Bag of Holding, they might have slept all night before realizing it was gone. They’re both relieved that they now know so much more about how the Tombtakers fight, especially the anti-magic cone. The most anxiety-ridden part was when they were trying to run and the TTs weren’t letting them. “You know when you don’t even have squares, when Matt’s black-tableclothing it, you’re in deep shit.” Laura had no spells left - she was so worried if she dropped the polymorph she would have had nothing left.

Travis: “Thanks for healing me, babe.” Laura: “You’re welcome, baby. It was ultimately a waste, though, because we took a rest immediately and you could just spend your hit dice.” Everyone laughs at Travis’s pain. She does say it was worth it in the moment since they didn’t know if they would be able to get away.

They joke that Laura’s just wearing the Fire Resist ring on a chain around her neck/Sprinkle is wearing it now to keep it safe since she’s not attuned to it anymore. It’s pretty hilarious!

Travis hoped that the TTs were originally actively looking for more acolytes rather than just having Caleb & Beau read the book. Otis needs to die. He’s relieved they have an idea of what all their blood rites do. Laura thought the time with them was fun, but it makes her retroactively wish that she’d dropped Zoran in the lava when they had the chance. Travis wishes they’d put a chime on the door of the tower.

Laura loved the tarot card reading, since Taliesin sent her really detailed breakdowns of the cards & gave her a real deck for Christmas. Taliesin told her she did a great job afterwards which she really appreciated, since she’s not sure what she’s doing. She does wish that she knew why Lucien seemed so nervous when she was talking about rebirth.

Cosplay of the Week! @clever_comics on twitter with a lovely Veth in her snowy lavender-colored outfit and pigtails.

Travis on confessing to Jester: “It FUCKING made me crazy!” He’s never been an instigator of campaign romances in the past, but because he loves Laura and was able to connect to her on that level he felt like it was a good challenge instead. He doesn’t think he could have done it with someone he wasn’t comfortable with. It was also important to him for it to be founded on real-game moments and after real-game time had passed, and he felt it was a very natural progression. Seeing the statues rip five years from her in such a benign situation made him realize that to let the opportunity pass wouldn’t have been worth it. He wishes he’d told Vandran what he meant to Fjord as well.

Laura loves that Fjord is becoming more confident as well. The post-Gelidon smooch took Laura completely by surprise since she’s finding Jester is a little surprisingly awkward with IRL affection, and she was surprised Fjord was the confident one there. “It’s so wonderful. It’s a matter of finding a way to get comfortable with it with her away from the Tombtakers.” Travis thought it was important to continue the “go for it” mantra. He notes that he’s pretty private about his personal life IRL, so it’s been a bit of a shift. It’s slower in a way - not a “you’re my one true love” kind of thing, more of a “let’s see where this goes and act on what you can” thing.

They were all “poopin’ in their pants” to get to go to Emon. The worst part was not getting to explore outside the tower since they had to leave again immediately. Kima is so cool, and Travis was actively trying to get Kima to come with them. Everyone boggles that they got to borrow Allura’s staff.

Laura only was thinking about the item-tuned-to-the-target-plane because she’d been texting with Liam trying to iron out their spell choices. She’s so relieved that they were able to get something tuned to the Sea from Allura.

For the most part, Laura knows what spells are the most useful for Jester, but every now and then she does get caught by major component requirements that she hadn’t noted. She wants to get another chalice for Hero’s Feast before they go into the Sea.

Dani points out that a lot of their allies right now are mages (no Kashaws, no Kimas, no Grogs) and they’re heading to a bad place for mages.

Travis has a sudden brain wave about all the TTs being from the Claret Order and wonders if they should investigate that before they pursue. I don’t even remember what that order is and I feel terrible!

Fanart of the Week! It’s a beautiful card by @crovyne on twitter of the Cree counterspell.

Laura really wants Brian to shave the sides of his hair and do Viking braids in the rest. I didn’t want to say anything out loud, but Brian’s hair is really looking pretty...pandemicky.

This is Dani’s four-year-anniversary of her start for Critical Role! Awww, Dani! You’re so short in real life.

Fjord is stoked that the Star Razor is a Vestige, and more now that he knows in-character what that means. It was great to see Allura react the way she did.

Jester doesn’t think they can really go to Nicodranas - they don’t have anymore time. Even more, Jester’s avoiding going home because she doesn’t want the Ruby to see that she got aged up/hurt on her travels.

Travis honestly assumes that the TTs are spying on them 100% of the time now.

Does Jester feel better now that the crest is away from Lucien? Yes, even though it’s gone off course. She thought dropping the crest where they were was a HORRIBLE idea and was appalled so many people were suggesting it. She saw the city with her own eyes, knows the danger of what’s coming, and if they had dropped it in flight she would have dropped with it and defended it as long as she could if that’s what would have kept them from getting it.

Travis thinks that if they can negotiate with Lucien, they should try. Everyone is super worried about Caleb’s and Beau’s new eyes and are fully anticipating they’re on a clock at this point. They wonder if it’ll drive up their exhaustion, allow Lucien to force them to fight against them, maybe make them willing slaves to the mysterious voice...they need to solve it sooner rather than later.

And that’s all for tonight! New episode this Thursday - usual time, usual place. Stay warm, friends, and is it Thursday yet?

#talks machina #talks machina spoilers #critical role #critical role spoilers #long post for ts

322 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

On the Benefits of Trancing

This is a bit late, but was in fact written for Day 2 of sgtober, Can't Sleep. It's very fluffy, have fun reading!

Summary: There are several reasons why Essek prefers trancing over sleeping. Firstly, as difficult as it may be to leave yourself vulnerable for eight hours at a time, he finds it even more challenging to imagine his friends defenceless. Secondly, sleep, inevitably, will give birth to dreams. And no matter if they are foul or fair, they torture him all the same. And lastly, well—.Essek reminisces about the strange habit of sleeping and his even stranger habit of sharing his bed with Caleb whenever he can't sleep.

Warnings: None, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

Sleep is a curious thing, Essek muses, that he doesn't understand and hasn't particularly cared for up until this point. It is a childish thing, and wild and vulnerable and oh-so terribly time consuming. Truth be told, for most of his life he has pitied the other races who are forced to bow to the whims of nature in that way.

Like so many things, that changed when he met the Mighty Nein. Well, not when he met them necessarily—back then he may or may not have been quietly plotting their demise for returning his carefully stolen beacons—but certainly when he started travelling with them.

As many aspects of elven cultures are, trancing is a solitary activity, a silent contemplation of one's most private thoughts to better cope with them. Shock and surprise don't even begin to cover his feelings when Caleb first cast his dome and Essek found out that sleeping, as many things for the Mighty Nein, is a rather communal event.

He had eight whole hours to come to terms with those implications—did they not realise what it meant, the trust one had to place in another to sleep in front of them? Did they not care? Or did they, by some miracle, in fact trust him that much?

When he came out of his trance the next morning, he realised some of the members of the Nein had moved during the night, curling closer to and around each other. Cuddling, they called it, and Essek's pity melted away, turning into something more bitter, more poisonous. Envy.

There is something about sitting upright, floating a few inches off the ground while surrounded by people holding each other that can make you feel so incredibly lonely, and that has to say something. Nearly a century of solitude spent between too-large, too-empty towers, too-secretive and too-pious schools, and a too-scheming and too-paranoid court have never left him feeling as isolated and bereft as that morning with the Nein did.

Of course, back then he didn't have the words to describe the feelings swirling in his chest. Nor did he have the words to ask for them to include him in their affections, lest he be presumptuous. That, to quote Caleb Widogast, takes time. Surprisingly little of it, if he is perfectly honest.

A few months down the line, he stopped floating while trancing and when he resurfaced the next morning, he found himself leaning against Fjord, who had taken the last watch. When he jerked away in embarrassment, Fjord blinked awake, too, a disgruntled look on his face, growling that he should stop moving around so much.

Despite his shame, Essek complied and held completely still until the rest of the Nein woke up. After that, he began to dabble into the casual intimacy his friends share. He even tried to sleep, occasionally.

In the beginning, he felt very self-conscious about it. He would wake up with messy hair, or drool on his pillow, or, worst of all, tucked close to Caleb. Another effect of the Mighty Nein, though, is that they very quickly rid you of your sense of shame. So, he no longer cares if he looks a mess, if his clothes are rumpled, or if he's getting spit on Veth's backpack. Just the last thing he can't help but feel embarrassed about.

There are several reasons why he still prefers trancing, though. Firstly, as difficult as it may be to leave yourself vulnerable for eight hours at a time, he finds it even more challenging to imagine his friends defenceless. He much prefers being able to watch over them for at least half of that time.

Secondly, sleep, inevitably, will give birth to dreams. And if sleep is childish, wild, and vulnerable, dreams are tenfold so. He often contemplates his crimes during his trances, as well as the discarded timelines, the lost possibilities that could have led to even more death, destruction, and despair. He frequently considers members of the Assembly lording their victory over him, disposing of him, torturing his friends. However, in his trance, he can choose to abandon these timelines. Dreams offer no such luxury. Once in their cruel grasp, you have no choice but to see them through.

Nightmares are one thing, but dreams are another. Even the pleasant ones often come unbidden, worming themselves through his subconscious to pluck out— What exactly Essek should call them, he isn't sure. He wouldn't dare name them wishes or hopes, for that would imply a certain level of possibility for them to come true. These visions are desires, more like, though that term implies a certain passion that does not fit the circumstance.

These unsought fantasies often include the Mighty Nein, years or decades from now. How they would still seek him out, include him in their midst. He dreams of feasts and festivals, of hugs and humour, of truthfulness and trust. And then there are other, even more forbidden dreams featuring him and Caleb. He dreams of soft kisses and gentle caresses, lazy nights spent in the tower reading books, of research and adventures and normalcy, of waking up as close to each other every day as they do from time to time on accident. He would love his future to look like this, but he knows there is a very little chance for that.

So, no matter if the dreams are foul or fair, they torture him all the same.

And lastly, well—

There is a knock on his door and Essek's heart lurches. "Come in," he calls as calmly as he can manage, forcing himself to slowly close the book he hasn't been reading instead of slamming it shut and scrambling to his feet.

The door opens silently, as all doors within the tower do, and Caleb slips inside. He's wearing simple sleeping clothes and Essek silently curses himself for already closing the book, so he can't even pretend to read that instead. "I, ah— I'm sorry for intruding... again," Caleb says, self-consciously tugging at his sleeves. "I hope I didn't wake you?"

"Not at all," he answers, barely keeping himself from saying: 'I was waiting up.' Instead, he opts for: "I was still reading."

"Anything interesting?"

"Are you trying to tell me that you have stored uninteresting books in your mind, Caleb Widogast?"

"Plenty," he deadpans and Essek chuckles.

"It's called The Creation of Silver." He turns the plain cover over to Caleb, to jog his memory. Based on what he could gather by skimming the first pages, it promises to be a rather run of the mill romance novel following the story of a Dwendalian noble trying to escape their arranged marriage. "So far, I find it quite entertaining."

"Ah, yes." Caleb quickly glances away, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Have you reached the part where Stefan leaves for the city yet?"

"I have not."

"Then I will not spoil you." Another tug on his sleeve. "The plot really picks up at that point."

Essek tilts his head to the side, studying Caleb. According to the clock in his room, it is past midnight, which is quite late for the human to still be awake. Yet, he is just hovering in his doorway, caught between stepping inside and leaving again. "I presume you did not come here to discuss my evening reading matter."

"Ah..." He tugs at his sleeves again. "No, I did not." As always, Caleb is as incapable of voicing his needs as Essek is.

Thankfully, Essek is not nearly as apprehensive when it comes to his friends' well-being as he is when his own is concerned. "Should you have trouble sleeping, you know you are more than welcome to stay. Seeing as we are to make progress tomorrow, I am very invested in you having a restful night."

Not being able to sleep is another thing about that practice that Essek cannot understand. Trancing is a matter of will, discipline, and tranquillity and he's always assumed sleep to be the same. He supposes it is, to some degree.

But travelling with the Mighty Nein, and Caleb specifically, has taught him that you cannot force sleep. There are circumstances under which they will toss and turn for hours, unable to find rest. Not even Beau's meditation, which he considered relatively close to his trance, seemed capable to calm a disturbed mind enough for sleep.

He has, however, also discovered that for certain members of the Mighty Nein, certain methods will accomplish the necessary peace of mind. Caduceus' tea appears to be able to work miracles, time and time again. Beauregard likes to tire herself out by running drills, while Jester usually draws in her sketchbook. Yasha tends to make flower crowns or, lacking flowers, braid other people's hair. Essek has been subjected to that numerous times so far and despite his aversion to Dynasty braids, he doesn't hate it. Fjord usually ties sailor's knots, and Veth sorts through her various collections.

Caleb, though? Caleb, for some reason, only needs another person to fall asleep next to. And for some reason, despite the numerous options he has, he chooses Essek more often than not. Not that he's complaining, of course. In fact, he may enjoy it a little too much.

Caleb laughs quietly as he often does at their antics. They have long since learned the rules to this strange game they are playing. "Well, if you put it like this..." he says as he rids himself of his slippers—Hausschuhe, he has explained to Essek, a very important part of Zemnian culture—and puts them next to Essek's. "I would hate to disappoint you, Herr Thelyss."

'You couldn't,' he thinks as he pulls back the covers. Instead, he says: "Indeed." As always, he freezes in place when Caleb joins him on the bed, scooting closer until they are nearly touching. Being this close to each other is not getting any less mortifying, no matter how long it has been since Caleb first came knocking on his door.

He still remembers that night in vivid detail. As so often, Essek has been reading and just got up to get a cup of tea. When he stepped out of his rooms, he nearly collided with a wizard who had convinced himself that his suffering wasn’t important enough to trouble him with. “Do you want to come in?” he said to his own surprise. To his even bigger surprise, Caleb accepted.

They sat on Essek’s couch and talked about everything and nothing at once. Hours later, with his throat gone dry, Essek asked: “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” The moments the words left his mouth he knew he’d said something wrong.

Caleb shot to his feet as if burned and Essek followed suit. “I am so sorry, friend. I will not continue to disturb you any—”

“Where are you going?” he interrupted him, perhaps a little irritated. “Give me some credit, Caleb Widogast; I am capable of far subtler ways to rid myself of an unwelcome visitor. Which you are not.”

He laughed self-consciously and said: “Regardless, I should go and rest. Schlaf gut, Herr Thelyss.”

“You could stay,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “I mean—I noticed your sleep to be more restful when you are around others. I am aware that I am not your first choice, but since the others are not here—You’re welcome to stay, if it at all helps.”

Caleb hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly.”

“In Ordnung,” he answered finally. Essek is still glad he had thought to float for that conversation. That way, at least, his knees didn’t give out.

A short discussion about who should take the bed followed before they stubbornly agreed to share it. Essek came to regret that immediately after when he was confronted with the practical implications of ‘sharing a bed’.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. Caleb took some time to rearrange the pillows and blankets—just like he does now—while Essek hovered nearby. Literally.

It took several reminders from Caleb for Essek to not instinctively recast his floating cantrip, but eventually they managed to lie down next to each other with a minimal amount of awkwardness. They have moved past that initial apprehensiveness by now, Essek thinks while he pretends to read. Shortly after, Caleb flops down, close enough that Essek can feel his breath ghosting over his cheeks.

“Good night, Caleb Widogast,” Essek says, stubbornly staring at the pages and nowhere else. "Do you want me to dim the lights?" He doesn't need them anyways; he just likes to appreciate the room Caleb made for him in all of its colours.

"No, I think I would like to read a bit. I am quite fond of that book."

"You are?" Essek looks down to him in surprise. ‘If Caleb tilts his head,’ the thought hits him, ‘he could rest it on my shoulder.’ He just thought it to be one of the countless books Caleb has read in his life, nothing special. "Why?"

He blushes again. "Ah— I think you'll see. The title is more literal than one would assume."

He considers the book once more, trying to discern what Caleb means with his words. ‘Luxon help me,’ he sends a silent prayer. It wouldn’t be the first time for him to pick up a romance novel that turns out to be quite a bit more explicit than anticipated. To think that such a mistake may have happened to him with Caleb so close—He thinks he might just combust from embarrassment.

"Do you mind flipping the page?" Caleb asks with a yawn, startling Essek out of his thoughts.

"Oh, of course," he says belatedly and turns the page. He hasn't read the last one yet, but nor has he read the one before, so it hardly matters. The novel has a rather shallow plot, so he has no trouble picking it up three pages later, and he's done so by design.

“Thank you.” He yawns again, louder this time and burrows down further into his pillows. “Gute Nacht, mein Schatz,” he mumbles and freezes as if he only now realises what he said. He seems to wait for an answer, but when Essek fails to provide a wrong one, he just smiles up at him and says: “Schlaf wohl und g’sund, bis morgen früh’s Kaffeele kommt.”

“I don’t understand you,” Essek tells him just as quietly, “but you can translate tomorrow.” After a moment of hesitation, he adds in Undercommon: “Sweet dreams, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He quickly glances back at his book before he can do anything stupid. Such as regret his words. Or kiss him goodnight.

Still, with Caleb reading along he does his best to at least somewhat read the novel. It’s a very flowery language, occasionally dropping Zemnian words Essek doesn’t know. Judging by Caleb’s grumbling at least some of them appear to be wrong. The protagonist, Stefan, seems like quite the bore. He does have a strong motivation, he supposes, to escape from the dreary life that awaits him in his arranged marriage. Besides that, and his general cold-hearted demeanour, he can’t discern any defining characteristics.

He finally reaches the part Caleb asked him about—Stefan leaving for the big city—when another character is introduced, presumably his love interest. He appears to be about as compelling as the protagonist, until— Essek snorts quietly. “Caleb Widogast,” he chides softly, “is this a love story about wizards?”

At first, he doesn’t answer and Essek briefly considers the option of Caleb wilfully ignoring him. Then, there’s a barely audible snore. When he glances down in surprise, the human is leaning against his shoulder, soundly asleep. He noisily chews on a strand of his hair, a bit of drool dripping onto Essek’s shoulder.

For a moment he can’t help but stare, a dopey smile on his face. He quickly arrives at the conclusion that something as disgusting as that has absolutely no business being as endearing as it is. But for some reason he doesn’t mind at all.

Moving carefully and slowly, in order not to disturb Caleb’s sleep, he puts down The Creation of Silver. It is getting rather late and he probably should begin his trance, if he wants to wake before Caleb's inevitable departure.

He leans back, wiggling a bit to find a comfortable position. He thinks he's doing a good job of not rousing Caleb until the human grunts quietly. Essek freezes, fearing he may have woken him, but instead of opening his eyes, Caleb just shifts closer to him, throwing an arm and a leg across his lap to hold him tight.

Essek looks down at his... friend with a fond expression. After a moment of consideration, he reaches down to brush the strand of hair behind his ear.

Sometimes, he feels like he can barely contain all the love he feels for this man within himself. One day, perhaps, he might even find the courage to tell him so.

Zemnian Translations:

Hausschuhe - slippers. In fact a Very Important German thing. Can't wear your normal shoes indoors, so you need special house shoes. Schlaf gut, Herr Thelyss. - Sleep well, Mister Thelyss. Gute Nacht, mein Schatz. - Good night, my darling. (lit. treasure) Schlaf wohl und g'sund, bis morgen früh's Kaffeele kommt. - Sleep well and sound until tomorrow morning the little coffee arrives. (My Caleb is Suebian now and I don't take criticism. I was writing this when I suddenly remembered this sentence my parents used to say to me and I thought if my sleep deprived brain remembers things like that, it would only be appropriate if Caleb's did too.)

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #my writing #sgtober2021

46 notes · View notes

ohmightydevviepuu · 3 years

Text

the part of a swan

for @cshistfic (an extension of one of my august prompts)

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination. She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined. The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences. For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years. It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes. Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her. Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges. Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out. He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her. Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said. “We have not been introduced.” It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was. Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand. His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away. “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered. Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled. “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled. It was a small, tight smile. She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.” “How is the Duchess?” His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised. “Not dancing, I hope? In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened. She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said. “You’re here for a husband. You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath. Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her. She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons. The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde. She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it. Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale. She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost: The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood. “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly. His eyes did not move, and neither did hers. His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency. With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father. Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said. “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened. Perceptive, and too clever by half. Maybe that was she answered him honestly. “There are none so large as mine. And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?” For an instant only he looked confused. Then he spoke, softly. “Ah. You have no expectations. No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match. You’re awfully young to be so cynical.” He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure. “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew. As if he, too, had wounds. He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling. “And I wish for you to succeed. In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him. “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said. “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew. She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed. Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed. Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked. “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them. Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water. Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care. He should stay focused.

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn. “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.” Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted. “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed. “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain. You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it. “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer. Your only concern is that she interests me. It is so tiresome, having to threaten you. You would do better to just accept our arrangement. I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should. Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan. Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it. Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave. Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen. “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble. “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening. I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile. “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment. The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling. “I’m for home, Mr. Jones. I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else. Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear: Sadness. Loss. Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening. If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it. “This is my bed, Mr. Jones. I must lie in it. And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow. It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him. The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.” She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain. More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan. A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan. Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all. If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her. He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions. Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81

#cs fic #cshistfic #regency AU

45 notes · View notes

lynkhart · 3 years

Text

MAJOR spoilers for the C2 finale of Critical Role so read at your own risk of you haven’t caught up!

I have so many feelings regarding Caleb and Essek’s intertwining character arcs I needed to explore, so strap in folks, you’re in for a bit of a ride! (But seriously though, this is like 4000 words long, I basically wrote an essay 😂)

At the start of the campaign, Caleb Widogast was dripping in guilt and self loathing and refused to believe he could ever absolve himself of his sins. Essek Thelyss was a cold, aloof individual who betrayed his people for selfish goals, and their differing yet mirrored narratives have been an absolute delight to watch unfold.

In the beginning Caleb truly hated himself. He shot down any attempt at a compliment, described himself as a ‘disgusting person’, outright rejected the idea that he was worthy of love, and never let the blame shift from him for what he’d done. When Beauregard and Veth/Nott pointed out that he was coerced and manipulated into killing his parents, he reacts in an incredibly visceral way, and I’ve seen several comments likening it to a victim of child abuse who was groomed into believing they were as responsible as their abuser, and I think that’s exactly how it was meant to be read. He doesn’t see himself as a victim, only a murderer, and punishes himself for it every day. We see this in the way he presents himself, dirty and unkempt because in his mind he doesn’t deserve to feel good about himself in any way. Other than Nott/Veth and Beau to a certain degree, he purposefully isolates himself from the rest of the group and it’s a long time until he feels relaxed enough in their company to drop his defences a little.

(Speaking from a purely meta point of view, Liam did an absolutely phenomenal job of showing this through body language and I’d love to see someone do a compilation video of it. He starts off very hunched and guarded, leaning his body away from the closest person to him and avoiding eye contact and physical touch; but by the end stands tall and sure of himself.)

Early on there were a few moments where he had the option to do some pretty dark shit, and I’m sure there’s a possible timeline where he gave into his desire for revenge and really lost his way, but I’m glad he stuck it out and worked through his trauma in the way he did. His PTSD and disassociation when casting with fire was tragic, but over time he was able to work through it thanks to the constant love and support of his friends who kept him from going off at the deep end.

Molly’s death was the catalyst for change in a lot of the party, and Caleb is no exception. On the verge of leaving the group prior to his death, the grief they shared, combined with their frantic attempt to rescue the other half of their party put things in perspective and gradually he learned how to be a person again, to care.

Altering time to save his family had been Caleb’s only goal in life, and so when Essek and by extension, dunamancy was introduced, you could see his eyes light up at the possibilities.

A huge turning point for him is aligned so closely with Essek’s redemption arc which feels quite apt I think. When Essek confesses to his crimes, Caleb delivers a beautifully iconic piece of dialogue where he acknowledges their similarities and how much he himself has changed as a person since meeting the Mighty Nein. (Source - CR wiki)

‘You listen to me. I know what you are talking about. I know. And the difference between you and I is thinner than a razor. I know what it means to have other people complicate your desires and wishes. And I was like you. Was. I know what a fool I have been for years. You didn't account for us. Good. That is life. Shit hits you sideways in life and no one is prepared. No one is ready. These people changed me. These people can change you. You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it. You have a rare opportunity here, Thelyss. One chance to save yourself, and we are offering it.’

This is not the same Caleb we met back in the Nestled Nook inn way back in the first episode. While not yet fulfilled or entirely convinced of his own worth, he knows he’s on the right path. That alone is progress enough, but that he uses his own experiences to help another escape those same chains of guilt says such a lot for his development. When he tells Essek that his ‘venom’ was learned, he’s also talking about himself and his own history of being manipulated and gaslit, with the implication being that it can be un-learned just as efficiently.

Caleb Widogast is selfish no more, or at the very least, doesn’t let his goals undermine anyone else’s anymore. Contrary to what he himself might still think, he is in no way a bad person. He loves fiercely and cannot abide seeing those he cares about in pain.

Early game Essek is what Caleb could have been if he’d rejected his friends and focused solely on his own selfish goal to undo his mistakes. Both are impassive at first and see the Mighty Nein as means to an end...until they get to know them and then their fate is sealed. The Power of Friendship wins once again!

At the beginning Caleb said he wanted to ‘bend reality to my will’ (sic) and in the end he does just that, though not in the way he originally intended. Destroying the T-Dock, and by extension the one thing he’d been building towards from the start, the chance to go back and change time, for me personally was the absolute peak of his journey. I rewatched the scene where Caleb revealed the truth about his parents death today, and it was really jarring to see just how far he’d come since then. It made me oddly proud actually.

I always felt like his plan to save his parents was the one thing holding him back from truly accepting their deaths, which is why the final scene of him in the cemetery with the letters for them hit so hard. He never truly gave up hope that they’d be reunited, but ultimately he realised he was merely postponing the inevitable and never allowing himself to live his own life. While time travel shenanigans would have been incredibly interesting to explore in game, choosing to let the past lie and not go back for them finally allows him to grieve and move on, and perhaps most importantly of all, to forgive himself at last.

I know some people were annoyed by Caleb’s decision in the finale to spend the rest of his life teaching rather than continuing to adventure, but I see it as the natural conclusion to his whole arc and his own personal victory.

He looked Trent Ikithon in the eyes, a man who he’d spent years wanting to kill and run from in equal measure, stripped him of his power and his voice (and ultimately his ability to harm anyone else) and finally spared his life so he had to live with the indignity of his defeat for the rest of his miserable existence. You couldn’t have asked for a more damning rejection of everything he’d been brainwashed into believing as a child. His dismissal of Trent’s position in the Assembly played into that as well. He never really wanted power for the sake of it; he had no desire for politics, he just wanted his family back, and while he didn’t get the one he started with, he made a new one for himself in the end.

As Caduceus once very wisely said:

‘Pain doesn’t make people; it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential; it's love that saves them.’

Caleb gets to break the cycle of abuse and teach a new generation of mages the way he should have been, with kindness and respect, and I’m pretty sure he’d have introduced a handsome drow as a guest lecturer from time to time. 😉

Speaking of...

Essek described himself as selfish and as a coward, forever putting his own wants and desires first, yet over the course of his journey with the Nein we see his priorities change drastically.

Having friends gives him people to care about, something he’s never had before, and it changes his outlook on life completely. For me, the first time we really see this is when he joins them for dinner in the Xorhaus and stops levitating. It’s a subtle thing, but meaningful. He explains that it had become an expectation of him, a quirk he’s known for, and so to feel comfortable enough around the Nein to drop that pretence is quite bold I think.

Much later, when he chooses to destroy the mini beacon they discover in Aeor in order to give everyone a long rest before the final confrontation with Lucian, he’s essentially giving up everything he betrayed his people for, just to keep his friends safe. The existence and context of that single artefact could have had an earthshattering impact on the Dynasty’s entire culture, forcing them to reevaluate their entire belief system and attitude to the Luxon, something he’d wanted from the start, something he helped start a war for, but he offered it up as a sacrifice without a second thought.

I’d say that’s a pretty big morality shift, and I’m super interested to see if Matt reveals if his alignment changed in the post campaign Q&A. I have a feeling he set him up as a potential BBEG but the party was like ‘no, you can’t have him, he’s ours now’ and that was the end of that. 😂

I think it says so much about the other characters too, that they befriended this person they barely knew, and when he was revealed to have done such terrible things, their first reaction was to give him comfort and an opportunity to atone. Jester held his hand while he confessed, and afterwards, while they didn’t immediately forgive him, they saw the good in him and wanted him to be better, which ultimately feels like what the entire campaign was about, leaving places (and people) better than they found them. It’s obvious that he’s never really had many friends before and has therefore never had the opportunity to be emotionally open with anyone, so seeing him gradually warm up to the Nein and allow himself to soften around them was really lovely to watch.

(Obviously, from a realistic moral perspective, he still fucked up big time. He’s still a godsdamned war criminal and really should have been put on trial for what he did, but I think from a narrative and personal point of view, his redemption arc was far more satisfying, so I’m glad it happened the way it did. (And not to derail but the rest of the gang have done some pretty horrific stuff as well, though perhaps not quite on the same scale)

He has a few moments towards the end that I absolutely love because they show that beneath the guilt and anguish, there’s an incredibly sweet and sensitive soul in there, just wanting acceptance. His dry jokes which often don’t quite hit, (the ‘I will punish the bakery’ line is such an under-appreciated one 😂) his simple joy at learning to garden in the Blooming Grove, and realising that he’d never been asked what his favourite food was before was actually kind of heartbreaking, because it highlighted how lonely his life must have been until that time. There was a moment pretty early on I think when he cast disguise on the party and Jester asked if he could cast it again to change the look of her outfit a bit and while he seemed to find it amusing, he refused, not wanting to waste a spell on such a frivolous request. Cut to their time in Aeor where he burns a fly spell just so he and Caleb can flirtatiously swoop around each other for a couple of minutes, all the while trying to beat Lucian to the city.

His breakdown when Molly’s resurrection failed really cemented to me how much he’d grown as a character. He never met Molly, his only knowledge of him was secondhand, through the eyes of his friends, but seeing it fail just broke him because he knew how much it hurt them to go through it all over again.

His comment to Caleb about not admitting defeat and wishing he could do more did get me wondering at the time if he was going to try and do something crazy, perhaps sacrificing himself via the Temporal Dock to make amends or somehow forcing another reroll, but I’m glad he didn’t. The conversation following that with Fjord was one of my favourites- he shows him acceptance and belief in his potential for the future, something he’s lacked for a long time, and when Caleb bluntly affirms afterwards that he is indeed an official member of the Mighty Nein, it’s the start of the rest of his life, and something he’s exceptionally grateful for.

It all leads to that final moment in Aeor with Caleb, when, presented with the opportunity to alter time and undo everything, he chooses to accept his decisions and carry the weight of his sins for the rest of his long life. That’s...huge.

He’s essentially choosing to live the rest of his existence as a fugitive, forever on the run, with no guaranteed peace or safety. He chooses to spend his life making up for his deeds, rather than looking for an easy way out.

I think that may have had a big impact on why Caleb ultimately made the same decision, as if Essek had been up for altering his timeline I think he’d have struggled to resist it himself. The conversation they had earlier in Aeor about their priorities and resisting temptation really comes to mind as well.

Now, to the relationship.

It was subtle, and not as ‘in your face’ obvious as the other characters, but I’ve been watching and hoping for a long time and I must say, it feels good to be vindicated.

(And if you have any doubt, both Matt and Liam confirmed on Twitter that their post finale relationship was 100% romantic)

I’d been hoping that Shadowgast would be a canon endgame relationship for a while, so the finale, and the aforementioned T-Dock scene in particular had me quite literally shaking with emotion as I watched live. Here you have two men, both damaged and guilt-stricken in their own ways, who find in each other a kindred spirit and a path to redemption.

They’re both very guarded and closed off people, but Essek in particular has a definite shift in the last arc of the campaign especially when it came to his interactions with Caleb. At the start he was quite aloof and stoic, though charming, and they had an instant connection through their shared love of the arcane, (anyone who couldn’t see them making heart eyes at each other when Essek was describing the different types of magic he could teach Caleb was clearly blind) but by the end he was incredibly open to showing his vulnerabilities and that takes a lot, especially for someone whose primary focus was to stay in control of every aspect of his life. The ‘Caleb, I’m scared’ moment during the Trent fight in particular made my heart ache.

No, we didn’t get a dramatic declaration of love or a cinematic mid-battle kiss, but I’d argue that their relationship was just as, if not more intimate than any of the other main characters were. They understood each other in a way the others didn’t, their shared guilt, feelings of inadequacy and their obsession with magic forged a deep connection from the get-go. Neither of them are big fans of PDA I think, though Caleb is tactile as hell (forehead touches and kisses, oh man, I’m so weak for those 😩👌) and some of their most iconic moments have them putting themselves in harm’s way to protect the other. Essek shaking off his forced guilt trip immediately after the now infamous forehead touch in ep140 was beautifully poetic, as was using his fortune’s favour to pull Caleb out of the rubble moments before. Caleb trying to include him in his Sphere of Invulnerability in the finale and Essek staying close to him the whole fight despite being obviously terrified of Trent was the icing on the cake. It’s clear that they care for each other a great deal; whether by the finale they’d consider it love is up for debate, but we know that’s eventually where it ended up and honestly, I love that. I deeply appreciated the fact Matt and Liam both emphasised that they took their time with their relationship, letting each other heal in their own way before they took the next step. All too often in media, and real life too sadly, a romantic relationship is seen as some kind of quick fix, and that a lover will somehow complete you or make all your problems vanish. They knew this wasn’t the case here, and that made it all the better.

While I would have *loved* to have seen them together as a couple right to the very end, the change in their relationship felt right, if bittersweet. I doubt they ever stopped loving each other, and if anything, choosing to shift to a deep and lifelong friendship over a romance that would cause them both so much pain is one of the kindest things you could do for someone you love. After all, friendship isn’t a downgrade, just another way of experiencing that same love, and it wasn’t as though they broke up and never saw each other again, it was pretty strongly implied that they remained a major feature in each other’s lives, they just changed their label slightly. Caleb would hate to have forced Essek to watch him wither away, and although his eventual passing would hurt Essek regardless, incompatible lifespans being what they are, having a period of time to adjust to it, to give them a buffer between the inevitable heartbreak was actually really sweet.

Their romance was no accident, they knew going in that it had a time limit, that it wasn’t going to be forever for one of them, and the fact they did it anyway says so much. They began their adventure wholeheartedly believing that they were both, in their own way incapable of love, only to later find it with each other. Whether their relationship lasted for a couple of years or multiple decades is irrelevant, what matters is that while it did they had a happy and fulfilled life together.

I know some folk wanted Caleb to use the transmogrification spell on himself so he could live on with Essek as another elf, or make him human instead, but that would have been way out of character for both I think. If they could have backwards engineered one of the rejuvenation stations in Aeor and used it to extend Caleb’s life by a hundred years or so, so he’d have a similar lifespan to Veth, now, I could have seen him possibly doing that, so he could spend more time with his best friend too, but nothing further I think. He longed to be reunited with his parents too much to postpone death unnaturally like that.

That both Caleb and Essek ultimately chose to live with their mistakes and make peace with themselves was incredibly cathartic, and I couldn’t imagine it playing out any better.

The fact Matt has explicitly stated Essek is Demi too means so much to me personally because the latter is a label I’ve been identifying with a lot recently, and it’s so rare for aspec relationships to get any representation! It has honestly given me a lot to think about over the last few days, and I really appreciate it.

To conclude, here’s a bit of shameless self promotion. I wrote this after watching the finale and honestly feel like it sums up my feelings on the nature of their relationship pretty well.

‘A casual hand on a shoulder, a waist, a wrist; a gentle kiss placed on a forehead is common between them now, an intimacy born of trust and mutual affection. Over time it grows, like a fire born of seasoned timber; gradual and steady, no spluttering kindling that flares and sparks, but a slow burn, one which lasts.

Their love is embroidered into every aspect of their lives together. Acts of service, of comfort, of understanding.

Sometimes a kiss leads to more than a kiss, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way they are content.‘

So yeah, I love these two wizard boys so very much and I couldn’t be happier with the conclusion of their stories. ❤️

#Critical Role #Critical Role Spoilers #CR Spoilers #shadowgast #Essek thelyss #Caleb Widogast #C2ep141 #C2ep141 spoilers #critical role finale

64 notes · View notes

khadij-al-kubra · 3 years

Text

Storytelling, Fate & Happy Endings

I’m still processing last nights episode (CR C2 Ep140), and much like every critter I’m SUPER emotional about it. But something about last night’s events and how they played out really got to me, not just as a fan but also as a storyteller. And even the day after, i was actually crying (still am crying in fact) more than i did last night watching it happen. At first i thought it was because i’m a fairly new critter and this is my first time watching a campaign come to an end. But the more i think about it and process, the more i realize that’s not just it. This effected me as someone who deeply believes in the power of storytelling and how it can not only effect but reflect the world around us. And because I have to get them out of my head, here are my thoughts on why last nights episode was so important, not just for CR fans but also as a an important narrative for right now.

...Yeah that’s a bit vague, isn’t it? Okay, let me explain. If you’re willing to take the time to read fellow Critters, I greatly appreciate it in advance. ^__^

WARNING: Major spoilers for CR Campaign 2 Episode 140 ahead. Also it’s gonna get kind of meta. And long. Because i have a lot of thoughts & feels.

So I think it’s fair to say that, as much as we would’ve been devastated by any of the M9 perma-dying in the last battle, part of us wasn’t expecting them all to make it out of there alive. Not even the players, I think, despite how much they likely didn’t want that to happen. Just look at the half-resigned way Liam talks about Caleb in the last few Talks Machina episodes. Or how, in game, Jester was fully prepare to die trying to stop the city from coming back. And for a while there, it seemed like some of them might not survive.

But then they did. Despite so many crappy rolls throughout the night they stopped Lucien, set free all the souls trapped in Aeor, saved Exandria, and brought each other back from the dead. Not only that, but they also did the impossible: They saved Mollymauk. Their lost friend who had such a deep impact on all of them even after his death. The delightfully charming asshole who was so full of joy and life and who, despite how the world treated him, was happily determined to leave every place better than he found it. Moreover, they almost didn’t succeed! But then they did, all because of teamwork, love and one last minute ditch effort ‘what-the-hell-have-i-got-to-lose’ dice role that none of them saw coming. And now they get to go home together, truly as The Mighty NINE.

Just this once, everybody lived! We got a happy ending!

And that’s HUGE in game...but also think for a second how that reflects outside of game too. Do you realize what a story like that means to people, especially given the year from Hell we’ve all had?

Think about it. This past year the world has suffered. We’ve all been impacted by the pandemic in some way shape or form, either on small levels or large. Our world has been at war with a virus that effected everyone and everything: Our sense of safety. Our health. Our economy. Our families & friends. Our freedom. (in the sense of our ability to travel & just be in close proximity to people without fear, but i digress) Deeply imbedded social and systematic diseases have been brought further to light in the past year and a half largely because of this virus. Some of us have lost people we love. Hell, the pandemic even effected the way that the latter half of Campaign 2 played out because of social distancing protocols. If you further compare this to Campaign 2, the world of Exandria was caught in the middle of a war that started because of social & systematic corruptions that had been rooted in two opposing kingdoms for years. And so many suffered and died because of it.

Then the Mighty Nein comes in. This ragtag group of delightful assholes with nothing to lose; these flawed but inherently good at heart and deeply human adventurers, broken and lost in their own ways, trying to make a home and family for themselves in a world that took advantage of them or left them alone or said they weren’t good enough...and they changed things.

They grew. They fought back. They found moments of silliness and peace and joy and fun amidst all the strife and sometimes grief. Most of all, they tried. Sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of spite, sometimes even out of compassion, but mostly just out of love. And in the end, not only did they help people and stop a war for the sake of their loved ones, but they also saved their world from being destroyed by a rotted perversion of life from the past that threatened to consume everything they cared about. AND they STILL managed to bring everyone in their found family back to life. Does it erase the bad and sad things that happened to them? Hell no! But those things don’t negate the fact that in that moment, they made it out okay. That this was a victory and they won!

Think of what a story like that means to people right now.

I’m personally a pretty spiritual person, and much like our favorite clerics, I also believe in a higher power. But whether or not you also believe in a Divine being, the Universe or whatever, every D&D player believes in one thing: Fate. Luck. Call it what you will. But it was fate that made those dice rolls that saved everyone happen. It was fate that not only stopped Cognoza from returning, but also brought Jester and Caleb and Molly back to life, even when it seemed like it wouldn’t work. (and holy shit that gave me emotional whiplash!)

After everything they went through, both individually and together, the Mighty Nein defied the odd and demanded that Fate let them save their loved ones. They demanded that the world give them back their friend; That they deserved to have their happy ending & get to go home alive together. Just. This. Once.

As a writer, I know firsthand that there are some stories we find and create ourselves, but then there are stories that have a way of finding us. Sometimes a story or world or character from somewhere in the Aether will pop into our minds one day and say, ‘I need your voice to tell my story.’ Maybe this is just me getting carried away with the meta brain again. And like i said, i’m a spiritually inclined person, so I believe in things like Fate and a Divine Higher power writing out the stories of the Multiverse. If you’re reading this (and thank you for taking the time to do so) maybe you do too. Or maybe you don’t. Either way, if you’re a fellow critter, then you’re clearly a fan of good stories and/or playing Dungeons & Dragons. So you know how fate/dice roles have a big impact on the outcome of a story, regardless of how tightly written a setup the dungeon master makes. Given all that and how organically stories tend to play out in D&D, I genuinely believe that Matt Mercer and the whole CR Team were meant to be conduits for a story where the flawed heroes save the world AND all make it home alive.

And I think Fate knew that we needed last nights battle to end like this. After all the crap we’ve been through this past year, we needed this happy ending, deserved it even! Not just us critters, the CR team too. As much as we all like to joke that Campaign 2 was secretly scripted, we all know that’s not true. Yes, the setup storyline and world were brilliantly crafted by Matt, and the character roleplaying is beautifully acted out by the team. But the twists and turns, the direction it goes, and how the game plays out is all up to fated dice rolls just like any other game. And something, some kind of force of luck, some force of fate, some Universal Divine DM out there made the roles happen the way they did last night.

It gave us a happy ending.

I believe that this was meant to happen; now of all times with everything else going on in the world. Amidst all this darkness and rot, both in game and in the real world, in the end of it all there was light and life. A reminder that sometimes people do live. They do get second chances. They do find a new family or reunite with old ones. That sometimes the world can be saved for a time, and happy ending do still exist. Even if it’s not broadcasted on the daily news amidst tragedy reports, or even tragedies that don’t get reported (which sadly are a lot, but again i digress).

Because the thing is, like Beau said, no one else will probably know they were heroes. No one will know what the Mighty Nein sacrificed to save all of Exandria. But they don’t need to know that for it to still be true, for life to happen again, and for a found family of nine broken people who love each other to go home together safe. It doesn’t invalidate that the good things happened. That at least for today everyone was saved. That flawed people were still able to do good because they tried. That they left the world better than they found it and got their own small but satisfying happy ending. Even if only for now, because we don’t know what’s gonna happen next Thursday. We don’t know what the future will hold for the Nein or Exandria when the Campaign ends or even when (hopefully) some loose ends will be tied up in later oneshots. But neither that nor the bad and sad stuff that happened beforehand in the game and in the character’s lives invalidates the fact that tonight they won. They lived.

So why can’t that be true for us in the real world?

I said earlier that, as a writer, I believe in the power stories have to not only reflect but also shape our world. This story is an example of why, but especially this episode, and that’s why i was so euphoric about the outcome. It wasn’t just a game for me, and i’m sure for others too. It was a much needed reminder that happy endings can still happen in real life, just as much as they can in stories. Even when everything seems dark and corrupt and rotten and hopeless, we can still keep fighting. We can keep trying. We can make new families and start over and be heroes in our on little lives in small ways.

We can leave the world better than we found it.

And maybe, with hard work, imagination, luck and a little Divine intervention...we can also get the happy endings we deserve.

58 notes · View notes

mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Angelic Vision

Claude x Reader

Angelic Vision

“You look like an angel. Have you come to take me to heaven?“ Claude lies on the ground, the back of his hand across his brow.

“No, but when I pull that arrow out of you it’s going to hurt like hell.” You say as you put your knee on his chest and with both hands pull the arrow back out of Claude’s shoulder.

“Yeeowch!” Claude hollers.

You then pour healing magic into his shoulder, feeling the muscles weaving themselves back together. You stand up reaching out your hand for his other hand to help Claude up from the ground.

“Go easy on it. If you reinjure it, go find Marianne because I’m not going to fix it again.” You tell him before running off to the next injured party.

Hilda walks up to stand by the House Leader of the Golden Deer. “Why do the super smart ones always have to be so pissy?”

“Beats me, if they would loosen up or relax a little, they would have a lot more fun.” Claude shrugs.

Mail is delivered and there is a shipment of three boxes for you. Pretty darn heavy boxes. You carry them one at a time from the front gate to your room. Unlocking and opening your door you suddenly find you are not alone. Claude gives a look of shock at the number of books in your room. One entire wall is nothing but books.

“You do know they have a library here.” Claude quips

“It is useless for my research.” You grumble. “The books are old and out of date. They also do not have any ancient texts that may have useful yet forgotten applications.”

Claude is looking at the subjects and titles. “Hey mind if I borrow a few?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll think about it. “

You’ve been hanging out with Linhardt a lot lately. He’s supposed to be helping with a project you’re working on.

“When I saw them in the library, they were getting pretty cozy.” Hilda snarkily jests.

Claude decides there is a book that he must have right now from the library. He walks in to see you back to back with a very unconscious Linhardt. You’re trying to support him with your back so he doesn’t fall over completely while you are still reading your book. You look trapped?

“Having fun?” Claude grins.

“Yeah. When Lin’s on empty he just crashes. Since Caspar isn’t here, well, I don’t want him to fall and get hurt. I can’t move him.” You groan

Claude helps you get the sleeping cleric to a couch to catch his z’s.

“Thanks. Squishy magic users don’t quite have the strength for these things.”

“I’d be happy to help you out with anything.” Claude smiles. “Call me and I’ll be there!”

You spend the afternoon gathering plants and mushrooms in the nearby woods for your studies. You’ve been working on creating antitoxins and other cures for poisons. You have several bags tied to your waist with different plants in them. Just as you’re about to reach for a particularly ugly and poisonous mushroom you hear a voice calling out your name.

“Hey! Those are really poisonous. You better watch out!”

“Oh Claude, of course I know they are poisonous. How am I supposed to make a potion to neutralize them if I don’t collect them?” You roll your eyes at him.

“Since when have you been interested in poisons?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Since Leonie took that poison arrow last battle. We didn’t have anything to counteract it and she had to suffer for over a week until the poison made it through her system.”

“You’re right. He muses. “Maybe we can work together on them sometime?”

An envelope is sealed and addressed to you. It’s the regular update from your father. Sitting down in the dining hall you groan miserably as you read.

Hilda has to know what is troubling you. “Family feud?”

“Just kill me now.” You whine.

She pats you on the shoulder. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“My father. I love him dearly but he meddles so much. He agreed that I could come here to further my learning. But…” You hesitate.

She looks at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“He told me I have to find myself a husband, preferably a noble while here. I am extremely busy with class work, spell practice, spell development, antidote, and concoction creation. I hardly have time to sleep. Oh, and don’t forget Byleth’s special projects. The guys want someone fun and outgoing like you. You’re cute and entertaining and I’m a dowdy old bookworm.”

“Awww. I am pretty awesome, that’s true.” Hilda grins. “You just need a fake boyfriend while your father is here. I bet I can find someone to help you.”

“Not Sylvain. I will kill myself.” You frown.

“I gotcha fam. Give me the deets and I will set you up.”

“Thanks Hils I owe ya.” You curtsey to her.

“Sky watch for the next month to start, hmmmm…” She ponders.

Later that evening Hilda corners Claude. “One big fat amazing opportunity has just dropped into your lap, loverboy. You better not mess this up!”

“Do tell…” Claude winks.

Tomorrow is the day your father is to arrive. You find Hilda to see if she has anything set for you. Hilda says she’s got everything under control. You’re shaking in your boots, the only thing going through your mind is that your father is going to drag you out of here kicking and screaming because you don’t have a boyfriend.

The day arrives. Standing next to the gatekeeper you watch as the carriage rolls closer and closer to the front gate. Suddenly an arm slides around your back and a familiar voice speaks, “Shouldn’t we go down and greet your father, my deer?” You look up into the sparkling emerald green eyes of Claude. Blushing terribly, you can only nod as you walk down the steps to greet your father.

Your father rushes to you with both arms open to give you a hug and spin you half way around in a circle. “My baby. It’s been so long. In these few short months I daresay you’ve grown in to a fine woman. So beautiful.” Your fathers’ cheeks are rosy and eyes are filled with love for his only daughter. “And who is this young man?” He curiously asks.

“My apologies, father.” You are gasping for breath. “This is Claude von Riegan.

Grandson to-”

Your father finishes your statement. “The Duke of the Leister Alliance!”

“And her beau.” Claude announces proudly, first bowing to your father then taking your hand and intertwines your fingers before placing a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. Your face flushes redder than a summer tomato.

Claude continues to hold your hand as he escorts the both of you to your room. The future Duke and your father are already excitedly discussing Leister business, trade and the safety of trade routes.

“I will leave you to your visit. I’ll be back in time to take you both for a grand lunch in town just across the way.” Claude smiles as he bows to your father and kisses your hand again before he leaves, his cape swishing as he turns.

You open your door to find a small table with a pitcher of ice cold water and lemons as well as two glasses and a small stack of cakes. A beautiful bouquet of daisies and roses accompanies them. Two comfortable and decorative chairs are alongside of the table. You swear you recall those chairs were in Seteth’s office not too long ago.

“Please take a seat, father.” You pour him some of the deliciously refreshing chilled water. “Tell me about your trip.” Trying to keep him focused on what has been going on at home. Every time he tries to ask about your relationship with Claude, you ask about your brothers or your aunt, anything to steer the conversation away from you. An opportune knock on the door disrupts your fathers latest attempt to discuss your relationship with the grandson of Duke Riegan.

“My apologies, we do have a reservation for lunch in town.” Claude bows deeply to the both of you. As you leave your room, Claude swiftly takes your hand. You smile nervously at him. This man is a master of deception.

Claude manages the conversation with entertaining stories of Byleth and the Golden Deer. He makes certain to include some accounts of your healing accomplishments, swearing that none of the deer would be here without your amazing abilities. You spend the entire time blushing or begging Claude to stop praising you, but he keeps going, his smile wider and wider.

At the restaurant, the waitress brings you to the table and Claude attends your chair for you. The waitress comments that it is always lovely to see you two lovebirds in here again. Does Claude have the entire town in on this? Geeez. Claude orders lunch for the both of you, as if he has done this a hundred times.

Lunch is anxious yet enjoyable. You are on the edge of your seat at all times. Claude explains how you met through the Golden Deer. You’re both supportive and loyal to the class. You found common interests in seeking cures for poisons and are very supportive of each other in battle, that you fell for his charm and good looks and that he is incredibly impressed by your intelligence and knowledge. Nothing he says is a lie, except that you two aren’t really together.

The waitress asks about dessert. Your father declines, Claude tells her the usual and your eyes get big. He squeezes your hand that he has clasped in his on the table and gives you a wink.

A small cake with two forks is placed between you. Claude quickly takes a fork and holds a piece of cake in front of your lips. You glance at him and your father. Feeding you? That’s pretty intimate. Claude smiles wider as you open slowly while he feeds you a bit of cake. You look into his eyes and tell him it is wonderful.

He cuts off another bit and takes a bite. “Delicious.” Is that an indirect kiss?

Your father is grinning at you as the cake is finished. You slightly roll your eyes with embarrassment and that fact that you can’t believe Claude is doing this.

The men argue a minute over who will pay the tab, Claude graciously thanking your father for a delightful lunch as your father foots the bill. Your father commenting that this has been the best and most entertaining lunch he has had in a long time makes you blush harder.

The conversation is quieter as everyone his happily full walking back to the monastery. Claude happily swings your hands back and forth together as you walk. Your father asks what things you will be doing soon. Claude advises they have a mission at the end of the month, and also the two of you have a date this Saturday just before sunset.

As you head back to the grounds, your father’s carriage is ready to go. Saying your goodbyes, your father gives you a long hug and whispers “Don’t let this one go, he’s a great catch.” He steps back and gives you one long admiring look.

He shakes Claude’s hand warmly, asking him to watch out for his baby girl.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her, sir. You can count on that.” Claude gives him one of his classic winks.

Standing at the gate, holding hands, you both wave as your father’s carriage rolls out of sight.

Claude holds his hands out to you, “A kiss for your boyfriend?” he says as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You laugh as you lightly slap his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you pulled this off! I thought for sure I’d be riding back with him, but you actually had him eating out of your hand!”. You laugh as you walk away. “Maybe you should see about getting into acting or the opera. I don’t think Dorothea could have pulled off a performance like that.”

You get back to your room and thankfully Seteth’s chairs are missing. The pitcher of water is still there and the flowers. You didn’t notice before, but there was a card with them.

Every day is heaven with you, my angel ~Claude.

P.S. You keep the date on Saturday at sunset.

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe Claude #claude von riegan

82 notes · View notes

matbarzyy · 3 years

Note

How about #8 with beau ?

A/N: Don’t ask me how this turned into something so long, it just did, so I hope you’ll like it. The prompt was “I’m crying on the bathroom floor, how do you think I feel?”

Word count: 1897

Warnings: abuse (family, mentioned but not detailed, mostly just yelling)

You had always been convinced that Anthony Beauvillier’s niceness had to be fake. There was just something about him that you felt was… different. Something was off with him and you could never get used to having him around.

It was a bit of an issue considering he was always with Mat and Mat just happened to be dating your best friend, Sarah. No matter what you said, they always thought it was great that the two of you could hang out so that you wouldn’t be third wheeling, and at first they even hoped you’d end up together.

After months of bickering between the two of you, it was now obvious that you would never date, but you were still forced to deal with each other. Tito couldn’t be excluded from your best friend’s birthday celebrations, and neither could you.

“I’ll be right back,” you excused yourself from a conversation to go outside.

The noise of the party was too much for you tonight. As hard as you tried, you weren’t having a good time and you were truly glad that Sarah was busy with Mat and some other people for now. You had been with her all day long doing as much as possible for her to enjoy her birthday, but now you really needed a break from everyone.

You had bigger things to worry about, and you knew you were far from done with the worrying when you saw your little brother was calling you.

“Tommy, what’s wrong?” You picked up the phone instantly. You wished you could have answered like a normal person, just saying hello and asking him how he was, but with the way things were at home you knew him calling past ten pm couldn’t be good.

“Jack is yelling again,” the ten years old sniffled.

“Where’s mom?” You asked instinctively though you knew she’d do very little to help.

“He’s yelling at her,” he told you, which only relieved you a little.

“Okay, and where are you?” You continued to assess the situation as calmly as you could despite wanting to break down and cry.

“Under my bed,”

“It’s all going to be okay,” you felt tears sting your eyes despite your best efforts. “You just stay where you are, and stay really quiet, can you do that for me?”

“I’m scared,” he almost whimpered, making you wish you could instantly teleport to his side, or even better, to kick the ass of the person scaring him.

“I know baby,” you wiped your thumbs under your eyes to get rid of the tears. There was nothing you could do in this moment except help him get through it. “I’ll be there in three days, remember? I’ll come home and we can pack your things and you’ll go to this really nice school in New York and make tons of new friends,”

“I want to go now,” the little boy complained.

“I want that too. It’ll be really fast, you won’t even see time go by, okay? I bought you those spiderman bed sheets you told me about, remember those?” You held yourself together and did your best to distract him.

Tommy listened, chiming in every now and then, but you could still tell he was scared from his muffled crying and quiet sniffles. Every little sound made your heart shatter more. You remembered being in his place, scared of a man and hiding in your closet or under your bed when you were even younger than him. You remembered trying to call the police only for your mom to get angry at you after the officers had taken you back home to her. You remembered the helplessness knowing that no one would help you.

It wasn’t Jack, at the time, but the situation was the same. You believed it had stopped when Tommy was born and your mom took you away with him when he was just a baby to get you to a safer apartment. You believed he was safe when you applied to a college so far from him, you believed it would all be okay and you could come visit during holidays.

It took less than a semester for things to turn sour again, for Tom to call you crying in the middle of the night and for your mom to lie to you about her new boyfriend every time you managed to get her on the phone too. Now, the guilt of leaving was eating at you and you would do anything to fix it.

Ever since Tom’s first call, you had been saving up all you could to book a flight to take him to New York with you. Your apartment was small, but you didn’t have a roommate so you wouldn’t bother anyone by letting Tom live with you. You’d only have to sort your schedule out according to his own school times.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with the party anymore when you went back inside, but it was still going full force around you. Mat’s place was big, so there were more people than you could count and you found that far too many were gigantic hockey players as you struggled to push your way through the crowd to the bathroom.

You went straight into Mathew’s bedroom, knowing it was off limits during the party and that his attached bathroom would be quiet and unoccupied. It’s not like you hadn’t been there before, neither he or Sarah would be mad at you for hiding in there once you’d tell them why.

You hadn’t shared your family history with many people, but Sarah was the only person who knew everything about you and you had drunkenly told Mat most of the story one night when you were hanging out with the two of them.

You sobbed your heart out on the floor, splashing cold water on your face when you calmed down only to break down again minutes later and making your eyes go even redder if possible. Your makeup had been washed down the drain by now, and your top was damp from the water that had run down your neck whenever you tried to regain a bit of composure.

It was uncomfortable and you were debating just stealing some of Mat’s clothes and locking yourself in his guest bedroom for the rest of the night.

You were still sitting on the cold tiles when a sound disturbed you. It might have been Mat coming into his room, and maybe with Sarah, so you were about to push yourself up to make yourself known when the door to the bathroom was pushed open.

Anthony stood there with wide eyes when he found you, any snarky comment he could have made dying on his tongue when he saw the way you looked.

“Um, are you feeling okay?” He asked, awkwardly shuffling on his feet.

“I’m crying on the bathroom floor, how do you think I feel?” You glared at him, but you knew you probably just looked like a pathetic mess. “What are you even doing here?”

“There’s a line for the bathroom out there, I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he explained, looking back behind himself to check that no one had followed him into the room.

“Yeah well, guess I’ll remember to lock the door next time.” You scoffed, wiping your face clean of tears again while he remained there completely still. “Are you so amused by the fact that I’m having a horrible night that you’re just going to stand there and watch?”

“I’m not amused.” He shook his head, finally unfrozen. “Can I sit with you?”

“You’re joking, right?” Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, weak from your crying, and you tried to pass it off as a cough.

“I’m not heartless, I don’t think you deserve to be alone right now.” Anthony gave you a look that told you you weren’t fooling him with your fake coughing. “I’d get Sarah but she’s probably too drunk to be any help,”

“You can sit if it’ll make you shut up,” you eventually grumbled, too tired to spend more time arguing with him.

Tito nodded and closed the door behind himself before he sat down beside you.

He did as you asked and kept his mouth shut. He could have been out there with his friends having a good time, but somehow he chose to remain by your side. You despised him a little less for that. There were better people to bring you comfort, but he was all you could get right now and you were thankful that someone was there to keep you from getting in your head even more.

“You don’t suck as much as I thought you did,” you eventually broke the silence, earning a chuckle from him.

“Thanks… I guess,” he cleared his throat. “Can I ask why you got that impression?”

“Guys that look nice and act nice are always too good to be true,”

“So you hate me because you’re attracted to me?” He turned to look at you and you gave him a disgusted look.

“I’m not attracted to you!” You exclaimed while he scoffed.

“Yeah, right,” Tito rolled his eyes, not buying your lie.

“Did I mention that you’re annoyingly cocky?” You added to prove your point, and he nodded like he had been expecting that answer.

“I guess you have now,” he waited for whatever insult you were going to throw at him next, but you turned quiet instead.

“Sorry,” you whispered after a moment.

“For what?”

“We’re not friends, and you found me crying here and stuck around instead of running away and now I’m being a bitch to you,” you pretended to pick at things in the fabric of your jeans so that you wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Doesn’t change much from the way we usually interact,” he replied and saw the way your shoulders hunched a little further. “Hey, I’m only joking,” he immediately went back on his words. He had only meant to poke you to earn another of your sassy replies.

Instead, he had made you cry again and now he didn’t know what to do. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and placed it on your back to rub what he hoped would be soothing circles. You didn’t look at him, but you leaned into the touch and it was enough for him to pull you into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs, your voice half muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay,” Tito let you hide against his chest. “You’re the boldest person I’ve ever met, and you’re brilliant. There’s nothing in this world you can’t handle,” he ran his hand up and down your back, feeling you slowly settle against him. “Whatever is going on, I know you’re going to make it all okay eventually,”

“It’s scary,” you admitted through a whisper, and Tito hugged you tighter.

“You’re safe here.”

“I know,” you breathed out, relaxing into his arms and letting your eyes fall shut as you focused on the sound of his heartbeat.

There was a lot left for you to do before things could be okay, but in that moment in Anthony’s arms you were safe, and you knew you would get there.

Please reblog and let me know what you thought!!

taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed): @itrocksmysocks @kerwritesthings @pupsandpucks @barzysreputation @whythough1319 @smit41 @glassdanse @fiveholegoal @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @thefootballfaithfull @calgarycanuck @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls

#tw #tw:abuse #anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier angst #tito beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier angst #nhl fic #hockey fic #ny isles #new york islanders

66 notes · View notes

nafeary · 3 years

Text

Napoleon, Theo, Dazai, and Jean reacting to College Student!MC Stressed by Deadlines

Requested by @hqissodelicate:

hey toni boo, sara/delicateikemenmemes here ❤ i've been Going Through It with school 😔 so i was thinking of how my boos napoleon, theo, dazai & jean would react to MC who's a (stressed, exhausted) student who got yeeted to the mansion in the midst of a bunch of deadlines? thank you boo & i hope you're drinking your water 💙😤

✧✎ A/N: I’m sorry it took me this long to finish... but this was super fun to write and it helped me get back into writing after such a long break due to school bs. I’m not too satisfied with Dazai’a and the haphazard scenario/headcanons mush, but I still quite like this I think. Thank you for the request dear! Take care and drink water, everyone!

Warnings: Stress and mild mentions of anxiety, and like one mention of sexual intercourse

Napoleon Bonaparte

“You’re just a chore, after all.”

You whirled around. “Don’t act like your job is going to be that hard,” you could only scoff in annoyance, “I’m going to be inside my room all day, anyway.”

At first, Napoleon was slightly confused by your statement. Wouldn’t you want to explore this new world at all? But according to code, he’d just smirk and go (sleep) do smth

And true to your statement, you did stay inside your room for the most part

It’s not like your quadrillion essays would write themselves

It’s not like your college would just excuse your tardiness

It’s not like—

“Nunuche, you sure you don’t need a break from... whatever you’re doing?”

Napoleon was quite suddenly standing besides you, trying to read the mess that you’ve created.

“And who gave you permission to enter?”

“Me, obviously. I did have the impression that you were in danger, judging from the amount of curses I perceived.”

You could have died from embarrassment. Of course he had to hear your yells of frustration, stemming from the fact that your laptop was out of order, that you had no idea how to use ink properly, and—

“Have you realised that you regularly zone out?”

“I suppose? But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to finish...” you trailed off, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

However, at his inquisitive gaze, you decided to explain that these were essays that could very well decide how you’d pass university, and, upon further inquiry, elaborated how a modern student’s life looked like

He never interrupted you unnecessarily, only to ask questions when a concept was too modern for him to comprehend

Your cursed assignments certainly made your life in the past harder to enjoy, but it also brought you and the emperor closer than ever

Unable to access the internet—or visit the college library—you had no proper sources for you references (considering that Comte’s library had no modern content, naturally)

You also didn’t want to bother Sebastian, especially since him and Comte had shown so much understanding for your peril that they practically forbid you from helping him out around the mansion

Their reasoning didn’t make you feel less bad though

Hence, you only had one option left that could complete your last essay

Which oh-so conveniently encompasses the Napoleonic Wars, something you truly did not want to burden him with

“Napoleon? Remember those essays that I have to finish for my university courses?”

“Of course.”

You were twiddling your thumbs, contemplating whether your grades are worth revisiting unpleasant memories, aka the taboo of the mansion

Abruptly, he grabbed your cheeks with just enough force to turn you away from looking at your feet, but not enough to inflict pain. “If there is anything I can help you with, I’d never shy away from it.”

Begrudgingly, you inquired him about his reign with as little focus on the gruesome details as possible your professor be damned

And holy shit, he’s amazing at writing? And Not just cringey love letters? Panty Sniffer Napoleon brrrrr

As you grew closer, he’s spoil you with vitamin-rich snacks (going as far as asking Arthur and Sebastian for medical advice)

He enjoys carving cute shapes out of fruits and eggs because he knows that their and his adorable presence will prompt the perfect amount of distraction to allow a small moment of rest

Says that it’s his duty as your guard and boyfriend to take care of your overworking habits

Expect frequent complaints from your beau, ranging from “how could they assign so many essays? Aren’t students just humans, too?” to “‘Reasons Why Edison Is Better Than Newton’? Do they even know what they’re talking about? Tch!”

Theodorus Van Gogh

You gleefully indulged in his charades for the first few days. They were a welcome distraction from your college work, after all

But the procrastination was accompanied by guilt, your anxiety building up every second you spent helping Sebastian with the chores, and gallivanting around town with Theo

A week passed before your sense of responsibility finally kicked in. So when Sebas came to wake you up just as the sun peaked past the horizon, you were already scribbling away on some sheets you’d found in your drawers

“Ah, good morning, Sebastian-san.”

“Good morning... what are you writing, if I may ask?”

“Just some essays for my college courses...” you said, glancing dejectedly at your notes.

Now that you didn’t have access to the internet, and your laptop’s battery was all used up, it made your work all the more tedious, but you had to set your teeth and do this.

“Give me 10 minutes, and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

He had wanted to argue, but you didn’t let him. And when he saw you leaving the house with Theo later in the afternoon, he could only shake his head.

You felt like you owed the art dealer, especially since you blurted out his secret the literal next moment, so you committed to helping him while also keeping up with your work

Although, him calling you dog wasn’t nice either—even though, according to Sebas’ explanation, Hondje wasn’t exactly the equivalent to mutt

That cycle continued for days. Helping out around the mansion, getting pulled around by Theo, and writing your essays deep into the night

Not to mention all the worries that pressured your shoulders further and further into the ground

You were missing so many group project deadlines, disappointing people that relied on you... it was safe to say that sleep did not come easy, if barely

Just before you arrived at your room after a late night art exhibit did your body decide to fail you, tripping over nothing multiple times.

It prompted Theo to call you out before you could even think of rushing past the door, steadying you with a hand more gentle than you had ever experienced it to be.

“Sebas informed me that you’ve been working yourself to death.”

You silently cursed the butler. “I haven’t—“

“Give me your laptop.”

Perplexion ran across your mien, wondering how he could possibly have remembered such a modern detail from your countless rambles. “It’s batt— it doesn’t work right now, so it’s not like it would stop me from working.”

Arguing with the devil was a mistake.

He snaked his arms around you, holding the door handle in place with one hand while the other still kept you upright. “I don’t care whether you work or not, I’m not your mother. And regardless of its abilities, hand it over, knabbletje.”

What other choice did you have but to comply?

He ordered—yes, ordered—you to go to bed right that instant

If you hesistanly ask him to do the same (we all know what a hard worker he is), he’ll just press a guileless kiss to your forehand, telling you not to worry about him

The next morning, you were already worrying for your baby’s safety within the sadist’s hands when the devil invited himself into your room

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“Morning to you, too, Hondje.” He sent you an overly handsome smirk, handing you the laptop tucked underneath his arms. “You won’t be able to use that spider web Sebas told me about, but writing should work.”

You stared at Theo in disbelief, all the while internally laughing at him misinterpreting the World Wide Web. Deciding to trust in him, you clicked the power button. And sure enough, it sprang to life. “What... how in the world did you...”

Leo overheard you and Sebas talking about solar energy sometime… hush, just run with it

He fell into the seat next to you, propping his chin upon his fist. “I didn’t do anything. Just asked Sebas whether there was a way for you to use this. Leonardo took notice and tinkered around with it. Don’t ask—ah!”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for taking care of me, Theo.”

Would you have lifted your face, then you’d have caught a glimpse of the vermillion shading his cheeks. “I didn’t do it to help you. I simply can’t risk having you become a liability at work. That’s all.”

Anyway, tsundere tendencies aside, you know what another big factor of dating Theo is?

King if you’re not allergic, understandably, if so, he’ll change his clothes before even thinking of visiting you

On days that you decide to be especially stubborn, he pulls you outside, all the whilst whistling for the jolly golden retriever

And as soon as he comes running, your mind goes brrrrr cute dog

Although, he’ll try his best not to distract you from work. He knows from personal experience that it’s a much bigger annoyance than help

Thus, he’ll certainly use his connections and amiable rip Shakes relationships with the residents to help you out with the research process

Also, with his superior memory, he knows what generally makes you happy and relaxed, so he’ll be his usual observant self to decipher just what would help you perfectly relax/finish your work

Hardworking boi, please love him

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of person that doesn’t mind upsetting people and risking someone’s disdain if it supports that person in the long run

And he’s able to read people like books, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he knows you’re overwhelmed before you even realize it

You’ve been going to sleep too late and waking up too early? He’ll gently force you (if you’re 100% against it, he won’t do it ofc) to sleep beside him, making sure that you won’t rise with the sun for once

You’ve been exposing your wrist to heavy sprain? He’ll teach you some handy-dandy 5 Min Crafts techniques that are guaranteed to send your hands on a vacation

You've been suffering from writer’s block? Time to go on a lovely stroll through nature with your boo

Your shoulders and neck are hurting beyond sanity? He swears by hot springs, so the thermae is his go-to for when you need to relive some muscle kinks

He never fails to procure the perfect amount of bubbles and temperature. And depending on how comfortable you are with it, he’ll offer to wash your hair.

And since dude got Disney princess hands, you most probably fall asleep, but our man is there to hold you above the water

His bare thighs are an added bonus, sending your mind into spirals faaaar away from college work

After you’re done bathing, he’ll ask you whether you’d like him to braid your hair (if it’s long enough), and his Disney princess hands will not disappoint

In the beginning, it was incredibly vexing to have a security cam in the form of a handsome man always on the qui vive

But at some point, you started embracing Dazai’s overwhelmingly passive—you knew exactly what he was doing whenever he’d do something random—protectiveness

Especially since it didn’t only help you complete your work; on the contrary, you were always excited to spend time with the Japanese writer

But that didn’t curb your confusion at the whole debacle. Why was he this focused on your well-being?

So, you decided to confront him

“Dazai?” Once again, you were relaxing in his arms, his fingers threading through your hair lulling you into a dreamlike state.

He ticked his head to the side, pulling your entwined hands closer towards his heart. The sun streamed into the run at just the right angle, yet the golden light was not as bright as his vivid citrine orbs.

You sighed, unable to look at his stupid handsome face for too long. ”Why is it that you insist on taking care of me?”

“Someone has to, Toshiko-san.”

You’d have blurted out your feelings if it wasn’t for the sudden embrace you found yourself in. As guileless as it appeared, you knew he was trying to stop you from acting on your thoughts.

Deciding that you didn’t want to pressure him further (after all, you knew that he had a hellish first life), you accepted the unclarity of his feelings—even though his actions spoke loud enough for you to understand.

It was that day that you decided to repay him for all he’s done for you

And you wouldn’t let him yeet himself through a window in an attempt to evade the love sent his way this time

Even if it took decades, you wanted him to feel just as safe and loved as you did in his company

You were glad to have such a caring man by your side who helps you with managing you self care

You could only hope that he’d allow himself to be treated the same way

Please just take our love, boo. We love you

Jean d’Arc

Well fuck, how could he possibly help someone who’s stressed when he himself is a 24/7 McDonalds that only sells Chicken McStress?

Anywho, I feel like he’d be the complete opposite of Dazai when confronted with a stressed MC

He’d care just as much, of course, but he thinks that it would be better to give her space, since he himself understands the desire for solitude well

So yeah, I can see him not going out of his way to check up on you if you weren’t super duper close friends/lovers IF it wasn’t for his friend Napoleon

After all, it was him who gave your boyfriend a lil talk, convincing him that, perhaps even if someone needs space, they probably still need someone to look after them

Living with Jean is basically Ted Talks everyday

Anyway, he embarked on his journey to hopefully help you and and to relieve some stress that was wearing you down (according to the statement of several residents)

And, finding himself halting abruptly, our pessimistic little bean realised that he’s got zero idea what did help you attain bliss

So he opted for the next best option—things he knew that made his friends relax

Plan A

Hearing a few oddly reluctant raps on your door, you went to open it. As soon as you did, the beautiful man who’d captured your heart entered your vision, your eyes finding his amethyst ones immediately.

You two stayed like that for a moments, only breaking eye contact when he sighed and simultaneously thrusted a mug into your hand, already in the process striding back to his own room.

“Uhm… Jean? I’m a bit busy right now, but would you like to come in?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you find it inappropriate for a man to enter your room, mademoiselle?”

“Jean,” you giggled at his archaic mindset, gently rubbing your thumb between his brows to even out the crease. “We’ve had sex before, you know. Of course you ca—“

Wrong thing to say. He stormed past you, vermillion cheeks practically leaving a trail.

Chuckling to yourself, you turned to the mug’s contents. “Hm? Hot chocolate?”

Plan B:

“If this doesn’t harbor your discomfort…” Your boyfriend reluctantly stood in your room’s corner, standing straighter than a rod.

Frankly, your essays have kept you entirely too busy, and you longed for the warmth of the French man’s feather-like embrace.

“On the contrary, I enjoy your presence.” And you went right back to scribbling away.

Jean frowned. “Haven’t you been writing stories since this morning?”

“They’re not stories… and, yeah? I believe so.”

Stepping towards your seated form, he extended his hand; you grabbed it without thinking twice. “Is everything alrig—whoa!”

With the ease of a seasoned soldier, he picked you up before haphazardly tugging you into bed with bewilderment maring your features. “You should sleep.”

“—what?”

He stared at you blankly, as if expecting you to fall into the land of dreams right that instant.

“Did something prompt,” you slipped your arms out from underneath the duvets, gesturing wildly, “this?”

It was hard to be upset with Jean, his clueless but genuine persona the reason why you fell for him, yet you couldn’t disguise the irritation coursing through your veins—you had work to return to, after all.

“I think you need to rest, mademoiselle.”

Your blinking made him avert his eyes, explaining quietly, “I am uncertain what supports your release of tension, so I thought that perhaps sleeping could help since it certainly does show affect with Napoleon.”

“Ah, and you made me hot chocolate since that’s what calms Mozart.”

After internally simping for his soft and wholesome dumbass energy, you pulled him to bed beside you, claiming that it would help you relax (but only after telling him that it was okay for him to ask for your preferences)

And falling asleep to the heartbeat underneath his broad chest is definitely a 5-star-resort vacation

He’d eventually ask his relationship advisor Napoleon whether it is okay to have you help them out with his reading/writing lessons (you

You, alongside Napoleon, steadily agreed, despite knowing that it was a ploy to keep you away from overworking

Please also love this boy, thanks

Tag List of the most wonderful sweethearts (just message me if you’d like to be added <3): @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta @delicateikemenmemes

223 notes · View notes

c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

Text

Post-ep 123 Reaction

Wow, y’all. What a ride.

You know, I used to do these after every single CR episode. Every single one, 2 AM, exhausted and dazed, trying to pour out smart thinky thoughts onto tumblr because I’d be so overflowing with ideas and feelings.

I haven’t so much, lately, and I think part of that is just the fact that I have not been enjoying this Aeor arc. I’ve hated the traveling along with Lucien in a way that’s made it unpleasant to watch, instead of fun. (For me, personally! Many people have been enjoying the tension, and I know the players have been enjoying the tension, and that’s fine! Yay for them!) Some of the ancient ruins explorations, too, have gotten just a little too creepy-horror-game for sitting alone in my apartment at one in the morning. I’ve had less to say. I’ve wanted to say it less.

And that’s not true tonight. I can’t remember the last time I got excited about a CR episode like I was tonight. Oh, there’ve been bits and moments I loved all throughout, there always are, that’s why I’m still watching live even in an arc that hasn’t thrilled me, but I loved the whole episode today, all five and a half hours of it, and god that feels good.

So in celebration, some specific bullet points:

The start of the episode, the discovery of the eyes on Beau and Caleb. The attempts at science. The fear, and yet, also, the glimmers of...okay but what if we could use this? (The moment in the second half, after the Tombtakers ran off, when Beau suggests going into her dreams to ask for help to find them--yes. Yes. I still don’t have a lot of interest in evil wizard plotlines when you doom yourself/the world/etc out of curiosity, but the willingness to dive into this terrifying thing that might change you, might break you, because you need what it can give you in order to save a thing you love (your friends, the world) more than you need to be whole or sane or even, necessarily, alive--that is my GOOD SHIT.)

Guys, I just loved every single minute of that white dragon fight, okay? It was such a mess. It was such a mess! And look, there’s a very specific kind of frenetic energy that the table gets when they find themselves in the middle of a terrifying boss battle, and there’s a different very specific kind of wild ‘this may as well happen’ energy they get when things go terribly wrong entirely due to random chance, and getting the compound of both of those things at once is always glorious. Nobody is prepared for anything! Everybody is freaking out! There’s good reason to suspect that, even if someone dies a bit, everyone’s going to make it out alive, but shit’s wild in the middle there and it’s just such a joy to watch.

Likewise, I know that final fight was really stressful for both the cast and a lot of viewers, but honestly in so many ways I watched it feeling so much less stressed than the past few weeks have made me? Yes, it was a horrible, horrible fight, the team in so far over their heads, so low on sleep and spells and any resources at all. But, god, thank god, at least it was finally over. There’s no going back to fake amity with the Tombtakers after this, no more playing along and trying to plot treason while the person you’re plotting against is probably hearing every word. Enemies can be faced! They can be fought, or fled, or defeated, they can be destroyed or put off for another day, but at least nobody’s pretending any more while trapped in wary uncertain fear of their own houseguests. At least now it’s done.

The fucking Iron Shepherds parallels. Just. Yes. I have hated the trapped feelings of traveling alongside Lucien and his crew, but the Iron Shepherds parallels are, while stab-me-in-the-heart painful, so fucking good. The very best moments with Lucien have been the ones that mimic Mollymauk, not even because they bring hope that Molly could come back to us someday (although that’s there, that faint shimmering thread), but because it is always the best, worst, most glorious twist of irony. Molly died trying to save his friends, saving his friends, from the violence of a monster who was so very like him in all the ways he was terrified to know. Lorenzo and his ragtag group of multiclassed minions, full of loyalty, arrogance, unexpected powers, here to torture and enslave. The Nein have more power now, a little more negotiated control, they are different--but so much of it is just window-dressing as they’ve been dragged along on this pell-mell journey against their will, told when to walk and when to sleep, headed towards a place they would’ve gone anyway at the behest of someone they really do not give a shit about any more. It’s so much the same. And the thing that is beautiful, and the thing that I love, the one thing for which I do love Lucien, is just--god, the irony. The irony! Because it’s not just that Lucien is like Lorenzo, that Molly turns out to be like the man that killed him after all; it’s not just Lucien, all unknowing, rebuilding old grudges and replaying old scenes without even knowing them. It’s the fact that Molly’s death is the only reason this can happen in the first place. Mollymauk Tealeaf, murdered and buried, wanting only to protect his teammates from a megalomaniacal killer--sacrificing himself on a hope and a chance that maybe, maybe, he and his friends could all survive, and they’d all be fucked anyway if he didn’t--he died to do it. And it worked. They were safe, for a little while, for long enough to rescue Jester and Yasha and Fjord. Long enough to keep going, to leave part of the world better than they found it, to canonize him in his own way. Except now here they are again, worse and deeper into the same shit than ever before, and it never could have been like this if Molly had survived. He derailed Lorenzo long enough to save them then, and created the forward path for the Lucien they’re facing now. It’s terrible. It’s beautiful. And that’s some damn good storytelling.

The start of the next episode is going to be very very hard for the Nein! In so many ways, they’re back exactly where they were episodes ago when they first started traveling with Lucien’s crew to begin with: one threshhold crest in their possession, beat to hell and almost entirely out of spells, exhausted, in desperate need of a long rest, with a probably-pursuing enemy that doesn’t seem inclined to let them have one. It’s as untenable now as it was then.

They have so much more knowledge now (was it worth it?). They have their own connection to the city now (will it cost them more than they’ve gained?). Maybe they have a direction. Probably they’ve got options. They’ve got an angel, an owl, a wooly mammoth, and a destination. Maybe, if they’re very fast and very lucky, maybe, if Caleb uses a teleport spell or they somehow manage to navigate through the snow in their exhaustion with all their luck, they’ll make it to Essek in time to collapse almost safely. They’ve needed backup so badly. They’ve needed someone, anyone, to keep them safe for just a few hours so they can plan, and think, and sleep.

And they’ve been so busy trying to play nice, giving in to their fear, trying to avoid the fight they just dove into (with half the team exhausted and half their spell slots gone!), that they haven’t let themselves go and get those things. And now they’re out the other side of that fight. Now they know, just a bit more, what Lucien and his team are made of.

Now they can finally, maybe, maybe, start finding ways to take back their own control instead of keeling over with the fear. I hope. I hope, I hope, I hope.

#cr spoilers #episode 123 #critical role

136 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years

Text

Drowned Sorrows (Vagrant pt2.)

Caleb settles at the table in your shared room, ink and paper ready to go to work and you grab your stuff making way to leave when Caleb stops you, stepping in your path to the door, arms crossed and eyes burning into you. You try to step around him but he just moves with you until you give up. Apparently He’s adamant on talking.

“What the hell do you want?” You roll your eyes at his childish means from preventing you from leaving the room.

“This has gone on long enough.” Caleb states.

“What has?” You play dumb and Caleb gives you a disapproving look akin to a teacher scolding a student and you could just wring the life out of him for for it. Gods, can he just leave you be?

“You know exactly what.”

“Please, by all means, enlighten me, oh grand master Widogast.” You mock and now it’s Caleb’s turn to roll his eyes. Do you have to be so annoying? Why can’t you just act like an adult?

“If you insist. Why do you run out of the room whenever I study? Why do you feel the need to cringe and cower whenever I do anything even remotely magic related?” Caleb asks as you shake your head biting your tongue. This man… This man has some guts to call you out like he has but you suppose maybe this whole thing between the two of you wouldn’t have been as much of an issue if the two of you could just talk about your issues instead of bottling it up until you burst in moments like these, usually ending in some kind of shouting match followed by the silent treatment until Nott makes you ‘kiss and make up’ like she’s your mom.

“It’s none of your business, Caleb. Now let me out.” You once again try to push past him but he doesn’t let you. “Try me, Widogast or I’ll-“ You threaten but are cut off.

“Do what? You won’t use your magic beyond rudimentary practices. What could you possibly do?” Caleb pushes. You know he’s pushing your buttons, your anger only another means to get answers for himself and you hate yourself for falling for his calculated move but you still do.

“You don’t want to find out, Widogast. It didn’t end well for the last people.” There it is. That’s what he’d been waiting for. Those words alone, that threat is not an empty one. You wouldn’t harm him, not permanently at least but there’s a truth to your words and Caleb knows his calculated move to piss you off is paying off. He’ll have to tread carefully if he wants more answers and not actually provoke your wrath.

Shit. Shit shit shit. ‘It didn’t end well for the last people’. Shit. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips at all. Ever. Stupid Caleb fucking Widogast. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You can’t deal with this right now and try to push him out of the way but Caleb hardly budges. You half contemplate leaving through the window just to make a point but you’d rather not draw that kind of attention to yourself.

“Veiled threats and half truths. Those are a coward’s words who doesn’t intend to make true on their promises.” Oh you’re this far away from kicking his ass.

“Well it takes one to know one.” You hiss. “You might want to think twice. We still share a room and I will not hesitate to smother you with a pillow while you sleep. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” You feel a tingling in your fingertips, frustration running through your face with just a tiny hint of fear. You ball your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms. Last thing you need is to lose control right now but Caleb doesn’t have to know that.

Caleb steps out of the way, allowing you to pass. He stares you down until you close the door behind you, sharing one last glare before you’re off doing whatever you can to not be in any proximity of that room.

————

Hours later Nott has fallen asleep at the foot of Jester’s bed, the tiefling herself curled up comfortably. Beau’s sprawled out across her own bed limbs dangling off each side as she snores. You’d fallen asleep sitting against Beau’s bed until her hand slapped you in the face rudely pulling you from your not so comfortable sleeping position. You get up and stretch your limbs, cracking your back. Hopefully Caleb will have gone to sleep himself and you’ll be able to make it to your own bed without dealing with the wizard at this late, or rather early hour.

Exiting the girls’ room you see Fjord slumped against the wall near to his room, giggles and moans coming from the room he shares with Mollymauk. This time he had the sense to bring a pillow but Fjord still looked about as comfortable as anyone could be sleeping against the wall of one of the most expensive places in all of Zadash. You contemplated waking him and telling him to take your bed instead but you don’t doubt you’ll lose your comfy bed forever if you switched roommates. Don’t want to set any precedents because in all honesty, rather him than you having to deal with the lavender tiefling living his life to the fullest. Still, you take your cloak, throwing it over the half-orc gently as you move on to your room.

You don’t see any candle light bleeding through the narrow slit beneath the door so you count yourself lucky as you quietly open the door and slide in, tiptoeing over to your bed, putting your things down and beginning to get ready to sleep. You pull the silk covers back and lay down, making yourself comfortable and close your eyes. You can still smell the scent of that fine parchment and ink. You can almost hear the phantom scribbling of a pen over that paper, dipping into the ink vial every so often to replenish. It’s pure torture. The sound needs to stop. The smell needs to go and despite you trying to use some prestidigitation to get rid of the smell, changing it to those overly fragrant flowers at the shop you passed by a few days ago, the smell is still stuck in your nostrils, the sound still trapped in your ears, the damage already done.

You turn over onto your back, pulling the pillow from beneath you and pulling it over your head, releasing a frustrated but soft muffled scream more akin to a sigh into the plush feathers. The darkness behind your eyelids doesn’t help as you feel a vision of a room creep in, one etched into your memory just as that scent and sound are. Accompanied by feelings of pain and fear, desperation and helplessness, is the feeling of being completely and utterly trapped. No matter your tossing and turning, it all remains and the walls close in, sleep couldn’t be further out of your reach. That is until the lights turn on. A gentle orange glow fills the room and you’re pulled away from your memories and back into the room you share with Caleb.

“Would you stop your tossing and turning, please.” Caleb asks groggy, the sound of moving fabrics and endless sighs having awoken him from his own sleep. Caleb turns over to see you sitting, elbows on your bent knees and head in your hands as you try to stabilise your breathing, counting under your breath like its a life line. You may not exactly be friends and quarrel more often than not, that doesn’t mean he can’t be worried for you. Something’s clearly wrong and it doesn’t take an expert to see that.

“Are you alright?” He asks carefully turning to a half seated position to get a better view of you.

“Just go back to sleep, Caleb.” You grumble not moving from your position. No quip back, no witty remark, not even actual annoyance or a half threat to let Jester draw dicks in his precious books. The position you’re in, the traits you’re displaying are also familiar to him. He’s found himself in a similar situation many times and while you may have said it before as an offence, it’s true no less; takes one to know one. You’re reliving trauma, or at least coming back from reliving a traumatic memory of some kind. Triggered by what exactly?

“I’ll go back to sleep when I’m sure I won’t be awoken again every ten minutes.” In other words; talk.

“Piss off.” You spit raising from your bed, reaching for your bag. Instead you find an orange tabby raising it’s back and hissing at you, by the command of his master no doubt. You have half the mind to pick the cat up by the scruff and toss him at the wizard but right now you just want out.

“You can’t keep running away from your problems forever.” The words hit hard. Caleb’s right but why does it sound like a statement not solely directed at you? You know exactly why. You might not exactly have had any bonding moments with Caleb and he’s been shifty about his past but you know the words of someone who tries to deny that same truth themself.

“It seems to work just perfectly for you. Hypocrite.” It sounded like a curse. Hypocrite. Caleb had known for a long time but having it thrown so bluntly at his face, it hurt. He doesn’t lash out in anger or hit back with an equally venomous retort but instead just stares at you with pity. He really does pity you. He may not know the story but he knows that pain and no one should have to endure that. Still it’s your choice to keep it to yourself. It’s your choice to keep it all bottled up and locked away. No matter what he says, or does for that matter, he can’t change your mind, or even help you despite your differences, if you don’t allow anyone in, regardless of your like, or dislike in his case, for the person. He can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. And that’s exactly what makes him the biggest hypocrite here. His pain is his punishment.

“Where are you going?” Caleb asks as you push Frumpkin aside just enough to reach for your coin pouch, the cat hissing and clawing at your hands until he falls silent again. You open the door looking back one last time.

“To find a rooftop with a good view and drown my sorrows.” You close the door behind you and do exactly that. A bottle or two of good booze acquired and a nice rooftop found. The view would have been nice weren’t it cloudy. Halfway through your first bottle the gods decided to shit in your dish by the sound of rolling thunder and rain pouring down from the skies by the buckets, drenching you to the bone in a matter of seconds. You debated going back inside but you’re stubborn and stayed on that rooftop watching the water spill over the drains until you were shaking from the cold. Maybe suffering from hypothermia isn’t worth making a statement.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader

56 notes · View notes

iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: Panic attacks, Caleb's backstory

Chapter Summary: Yasha, Essek and Caduceus hit the garden. Caleb's meeting with Professor Alphira takes an unexpected turn, leaving him floundering. But the Nein come for him when he needs them, and they help him find his feet. Then they go shopping.

Notes: Chapter title is from "Venus" by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 3: I was a billion little pieces til you pulled me into focus

Yasha got her garden started the next morning, with Essek and Caduceus helping her. Caleb watched them for some time, enjoying the quiet start to the day, before he headed deeper into the centre of the city to meet Alphira.

Caleb had known this coffee shop when it was a smutty bookshop he used to frequent with Astrid and Wulf during their explorations of the city. Alphira was seated by the front window, and waved to him through the glass. Caleb checked his surroundings, not bothering to be subtle about it, and stepped inside. A lute player sat in the corner, playing soft music.

“I have a confession, Mr Widogast,” Alphira said as Caleb pulled out a chair to sit.

He froze, leaning on the back of it. “...ja?”

“Do you remember Professor Bettina Weber?”

“Professor of Transmutation. I remember her.” Caleb had gotten along with her perfectly fine when he was a student, but he had been set on Evocation at the time. And then Trent had gotten his hands on him and ruined any chance of having a good relationship with any teacher at the Academy. “Why do you ask?”

“I mentioned your old name to her,” said Alphira. “She asked to come along. Is that all right?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, watching Alphira hide her fidgeting hands beneath the table. “You are not a good liar, Professor.”

Alphira sighed. “I apologise. I should have been upfront. We intended to speak with you together, but we were not sure how you would…” She waved her hands around, evidently unable to conjure the remainder of the sentence. “Archmage Beck knows we are meeting, if that helps.”

“This is not the best start to our friendship, Professor.” Caleb forcibly relaxed his shoulders and slid very carefully onto his chair. “Do what you will.”

Alphira pulled a coil of copper wire from the component pouch on her belt and whispered into it. “Bettina, you can come in. He’s not happy, but he hasn’t walked out.”

A few moments passed, and then an older human woman, greyer than Caleb remembered, stepped through the doorway, setting off the bell. She sat in the third seat at the table.

“Guten morgen, Professor,” Caleb said, not bothering to hide the steel in his tone. He did not need to cower before anyone in this city anymore, save perhaps for King Dwendal. He was done tolerating the convoluted bullshit of the Assembly. Today, at least.

“Guten morgen, Bren.” Bettina at least had the grace to look sheepish. “I apologise we were not upfront with you. Ah, I did not check which name you prefer. Bren or Caleb?”

“I don’t mind.” Caleb did mind. More than he usually did. He couldn’t tell whether Bettina’s slip had been intentional or not, and that irritated him.

“Caleb, then.”

Caleb felt a strange wash of relief, not unlike how he had felt when Yudala Fon had come to the same conclusion.

Alphira flagged down a server and each of them ordered a cup of black coffee. “My treat,” she said.

“Danke,” Caleb replied. They sat quietly at a moment, looking at each other, and Caleb’s irritation swelled. “Forgive my impatience, Professors. Why did you ask me here?”

“Soltryce Academy needs a new Professor of Transmutation,” said Alphira. “Bettina intends to retire in a few years.”

“I am not a qualified teacher,” Caleb said. “I have no experience.” Well that was not entirely true; he did have experience teaching individuals. And he had helped Veth with the first iteration of her adventurers’ summer camp. “Well, no experience that a teaching institution would consider of benefit.”

“Archmage Beck put your name forward,” said Bettina. “The other Archmages were quick to agree with her. The Martinet himself wants you on the staff.”

“The Martinet wants a lot of things,” Caleb said flatly. This was too good to be true. It had to be. He could not afford to get his hopes up about this, even as one of his oldest dreams was presented to him on a silver platter.

The coffees arrived. Caleb wrapped his hands around his mug, letting the warmth chase the morning chill from his fingers. Bettina slowly stirred sugar into her coffee, chuckling softly.

“I know he offered you Astrid’s job,” she said. “Not many people say no to him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.” She looked up from her coffee, smiling at him fondly in a way that sent Caleb into a state of utter confusion and mild panic. “Of the three of you, I would not have expected you to be the one to confound him like that. Well done.”

“I’m not here to fuck around,” Caleb responded, not wholly by design.

“Good. We need more people like you in the Academy.” She was working hard to disarm him, and Caleb was doing all he could to hold on tight to his distrust.

“We don’t want something like Trent Ikithon happening again,” Alphira said. “Archmage Beck is of the mind that you are well-placed to prevent that. Bettina and I are inclined to agree.”

That was a major reason why Caleb had chosen to remain in Rexxentrum, but it did rankle him that it was expected of him, after everything he had already been through. He did not like the bitterness that rose in him. Alphira and Bettina were offering him the power to keep children like him safe like he desperately wanted. And it was unfair to assume they would throw him to the sharks and leave him there.

Caleb took a deep breath and asked, “And where do you two fit in?”

“I have decades of teaching experience,” said Bettina. “My knowledge is at your disposal. I seem to recall you once told me you wanted to teach… when you were fifteen, I think. You were still new to the Academy at the time.” Before Trent got involved went unspoken.

“Did you know what Trent was doing?” Caleb asked. He had to know. He needed more information before Bettina’s persistent kindness wore down his defences and either made him meek or cruel. And if he sensed even the slightest inkling that she had known anything and didn’t lift a finger to help, he would walk out in a heartbeat. There were enough people associated with the Assembly who clearly had some idea and did nothing. He did not need to drink coffee with one of them.

“No,” Bettina replied. “I understand why you needed to ask, and I admit Ikithon always made me uncomfortable, but I genuinely had no idea he was abusing his students.” Her gaze bore into Caleb’s, mouth downturned and eyes sad. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have helped you.”

Caleb had to break eye contact, before he broke instead. He sipped his coffee, with shaky hands, and composed himself.

“We were at his trial,” said Alphira matter-of-factly. Caleb could not express how grateful he was that she kept emotion out of this. “Most of the professors attended. We were shocked, but not exactly surprised. He was always a creepy bastard.”

“We believe Alphira came close to being recruited,” said Bettina, quiet but far less intense than she had been a moment ago. “She’s a talented Evocation wizard. Trent had a few meetings with her parents, but she has a large, close-knit family spread across the Empire.”

“He realised you had too many connections,” Caleb said, and found his voice was steady. “He couldn’t isolate you. Too much time and effort, and he had many other… projects..”

“I believe you are correct,” said Alphira. “I came to the academy just after you had, uh, left. There were rumours about what happened to you, but nobody really knew for sure.”

“I take it the trial cleared that up for you.”

“Ja.” Alphira sighed. “Look. I am sorry I did not handle this meeting better. This is my fault. I wasn’t sure you would come if you knew one of your old teachers would be here. It was wrong of me to take that choice from you.”

Caleb hadn’t survived this long without learning how to get a read on people, and he felt confident he was reading her correctly. She seemed genuinely remorseful. “I will consider the offer.”

“Good,” said Bettina. “Of all my possible replacements, I am most confident you will do the right thing by the students.”

She was laying it on pretty thick, but it emboldened Caleb to speak a few things he had been toying with, in the event he did have an opportunity like this.

“If I were to accept the position, I have a few demands,” said Caleb. “I want the Academy to set up a proper system to report abuse. We also need the staff to be trained how not to abuse their fucking students, as that seems rather difficult for some of them. We need mental health support, and a better system for older or returning students to get an education. Most of all, every student who walks through those doors must be taught the ethics of magic and research, and understand their responsibilities to use their magical and social power responsibly. Most of the staff also need that lesson.”

“We want those things, too,” said Alphira. “We’ll pass them on to Archmage Beck and see what we can do. Unfortunately, we may have to push for some of those for an extended period of time.”

“We will work the ethics lessons into our transmutation classes,” said Bettina. “At this stage, I would suggest ethics remain integrated into pre-existing magic classes so students cannot avoid it. At least until we have established a culture of understanding around these things.”

“Can I count on your help?” Caleb asked. “Both of you?”

“We will help you,” said Alphira. “I would not drag you into this without offering assistance.”

“Danke,” Caleb replied, softer than he had intended. The fact she had thought it a foregone conclusion that he would have their help in this…

Trust was not easy for Caleb. And the trust he had extended had been broken many, many times. This was a lot.

Caleb finished his coffee and bid Bettina and Alphira farewell. And then he ducked behind the coffee shop, leaned against the wall, braced his hands on his knees, and tried very hard not to hyperventilate.

It was not going well. His hands shook as he fumbled for his copper wire, muscle memory kicking in to settle his fingers as he cast Sending. He decided the recipient at the last second. It had to be someone with some knowledge of the city, but most of his friends didn’t know the city that well. But there was one person who walked past here on her way to work.

“Beauregard. It’s Caleb.” He was out of breath, on the verge of hysterics one way or another. “Behind coffee shop. Come get me? Can’t breathe. Brain bullshit. I need you. Please.”

Beauregard’s voice filtered into his mind immediately. “Caleb? Ah, fuck. We’re coming. Hang in there. Don’t move. I’m bringing… lots of us. I don’t know. You’re okay.” She was panting now. “We’re running. Be there soon.”

Twenty-five words exactly. Nice. It distracted Caleb for about half a second, before he couldn’t breathe again.

Maybe if Caleb knew exactly what had sent him into a spiral, he could have handled it on his own. But he genuinely wasn’t sure, and his brain wasn’t working in any helpful way. It could have been any number of things, or maybe all of them at once. All he could do was bend over and try very hard to breathe. It was going poorly.

So on top of everything, he was frustrated, which did not help in the slightest.

Time was liquid. He was aware of its passing, and he could still count the seconds, minutes. He always counted things. It was one of the few things he could do when his brain felt like a handful of broken glass. And even if he lost count of everything else, he could still count time.

He knew it had been five minutes. He wasn’t sure if it felt longer or shorter than that, despite his knowledge of objective reality. His breaths were a little steadier, but not by much. He was still on his feet, but barely.

He felt dizzy.

“Hey, dude.” Beauregard’s face slid between the ground and Caleb’s gaze. “We’re here.”

Caleb’s arm felt like the bones had fallen out, but somehow he managed to grab her shoulder and squeeze. Beauregard put her hand over his, squeezing back. She gently pushed him upright until he rested his head against the brick behind him. He lifted his face to the sky, breathing deeply. It was already easier, knowing she was here.

“Caleb,” came Veth’s voice, hesitant. A small hand laced their fingers together. “What is it? What happened?”

Caleb’s voice game out even huskier than usual. “Not sure.”

“It just happened?”

Caleb nodded.

Veth squeezed his hand. “Can you walk? We’ll get you home.”

“Caduceus is making tea,” came Jester’s voice. “And we’ll give you lots of hugs if you want them.”

“Let’s hold off on that, all right?” said Fjord. “Let him breathe for a bit.”

Caleb dragged his eyes from the sky to take in who exactly had come. Beauregard, Veth, Jester, Fjord, Yasha. Everyone except Caduceus, who had remained behind to make tea, and Essek, who had to make a calculated risk every time he left the house. Caleb was glad he hadn’t come. He would have felt much worse if Essek had put himself in danger over this.

Yasha stepped forward, offering her arm. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Caleb pushed off the wall, his legs far too wobbly, and leaned on Yasha. They walked home. Fjord took Caleb’s other side, with Jester bouncing ahead as an obvious distraction. Veth and Beauregard stayed closer, just in front of him. Caleb remembered the Nein surrounding him in Castle Ungebroch, trying to shield him from Trent. Remembering that did not help him calm down in the slightest.

He pressed his face against Yasha’s shoulder, trusting her to guide him, until he could compose himself. He loved them. A whole lot. And they showed him every day how much they loved him.

Fjord took his other hand. “You’re all right, Caleb. We got you.”

****

As soon as they were home, Jester made Caleb a blanket nest on the floor and shoved him in it. Then came Caduceus with chamomile tea. Essek emerged from the kitchen behind him, feet firmly on the floor, and sat on the couch behind Caleb, quietly brushing and braiding his hair.

The rest of the Nein sat on the floor around him. Veth wiggled into the blanket nest with him.

“That was one intense cup of coffee,” said Fjord. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb took a tentative sip of the tea; it wasn’t too hot. He took another sip. “Better.”

“What happened in there?’ asked Beau. “Do I have to murder Alphira?”

“Nein.” Caleb worked through half the tea quicker than Caduceus had probably intended for him. “She surprised me. I did not take it well.”

“Surprised you how?” asked Jester. “Was it a good surprise?”

Caleb shrugged. “Probably. She… misjudged. Invited my old Transmutation professor without telling me, until I was already there. Put me on the back foot. I should have handled it better. Thought I did, until after the meeting. Forgot how to breathe. My old professor was… she didn’t know what Trent was doing, and she seemed upset that she couldn’t help us. That was… a lot. I don’t know if that’s the reason I lost it… but I’m sure it didn’t help.” He closed his eyes and Essek gently tugged on the hair at his temples; he liked the feeling. “Beauregard, did you know Soltryce Academy wanted to hire me?”

“WHAT!?” shrieked Jester; Caleb flinched involuntarily. “Sorry, Caleb.”

“Astrid told me she Archmages were really fucking keen on you, yeah,” said Beauregard. “Did they send Alphira to do it?”

“And my old Transmutation professor, ja.”

“Do you like your old professor?”

“She never did anything horrible to me.”

“That’s really not an answer.”

Caleb shrugged. “I didn’t have time to establish a relationship. I wanted to be an Evocation wizard, and then Trent ruined my life.”

“We can still go kill him if you want,” Yasha said, with complete sincerity.

Beauregard swore under her breath. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I should’ve told you.”

“This is not your fault.”

“No, but maybe you would’ve… I don’t know. I feel bad.”

Caleb sighed. Opened his eyes. Stared hard at her until she looked at him. “Beauregard. Shit like this happens sometimes, even when everything is fine. We all know who is responsible. Please be angry at the right people. I trust you. You know how much that means.”

Essek’s fingernails grazed the back of his neck as he pulled Caleb’s hair into a ponytail, and Caleb had to stifle a moan. Even if it wasn’t a sexual moan (this time), the Nein would have too much fun with it. Or maybe he should have let it happen, just to make Beauregard laugh at him. Too late now.

“Oh, Caleb!” said Jester. “Is that your orgasm face?”

“No,” Essek said, with far more certainty than he had likely intended. If he had intended to speak at all.

Beauregard clapped both hands on her mouth to stifle a bark of laughter.

Jester grinned, and Caleb knew she was doing this very much on purpose to lighten the mood. “Oh, I bet you know what his orgasm face looks like, Essek!”

Caleb could almost hear Essek’s eye-roll. Essek calmly tucked Caleb’s two side braids into the ponytail, running his fingers through the ponytail itself to loosen any remaining tangles.

“I appreciate your keen interest in this area, Jester,” Essek said primly. “I am afraid I am not the type to--oh, what is the phrase in common?--kiss and tell.” He paused, but there was something the way he held his breath that indicated he was not nearly finished. “If you wish to find out for yourself, I would recommend you ask him nicely. If Fjord does not mind, of course. Or perhaps you could invite him along. I believe Caleb has experience in that area.”

Caleb knew his face was redder than his hair, because every part of his flashed burning hot. He had never actually told Essek he had a crush on Jester, or that he thought Fjord was hot, and Caleb was pretty fucking certain Essek would not have gone there if he had known. Caleb may have offhandedly mentioned his experience with threesomes, though.

Luckily, the Nein were distracted by Essek making possibly the crassest joke he had made in his life, instead of Caleb blushing so hard his skin was about to start sizzling.

“Holy fuck, dude,” Beauregard breathed.

“Who are you and what have you done with our Essek?” said Veth, waving a crossbow bolt in the air. “Tell us quick: what is your favourite food?”

“Well, I can assure you it is not soup.”

“I knew it! Essek’s an imposter!”

“Caleb, what did you do to him?” said Beauregard. “I know you’ve got some serious game, but what the shit.”

Jester, in the meantime, had collapsed on the floor, cackling uncontrollably at the whole thing. Fjord’s face was in his hands, and the tips of his ears were red. Yasha was snickering quietly. Caduceus calmly poured Caleb more tea.

“What can I say?” Caleb said, pretending he wasn’t burning up from embarrassment. “I’m a wizard magnet.”

Beauregard groaned loudly. “We know, Caleb. We know you’ve fucked more than anyone in this group except me. I hate this. I hate that I know this about you.”

“That is very sad, Beauregard. I was a teenager the last time I was in a serious relationship.”

“Yeah, awkward pubescent Caleb had more game than most of this fully-grown group put together. You’re not helping.”

Jester recovered enough from her laughter to sit up, still snickering. “I bet you were really handsome, Caleb.”

“Of course he was!” Veth screeched. “He’s always handsome.”

“I was a good talker,” said Caleb. “That helped.” He had never shared how he, Astrid and Wulf had come together romantically, and it would definitely kill the mood to tell them it was because they were locked in a freezing cold tower and had to huddle together for warmth. He kept that to himself.

“You’re still a good talker when you want to be,” said Beauregard. “It’s annoying.”

“It’s very impressive,” Yasha added.

“You’re very charming, Cay,” said Veth. “Fjord could learn a thing or two.”

“Fjord does just fine on his own,” Caleb said, because she was starting to exaggerate again. Her faith in him was eternally lovely, but he didn’t like it when it ran the risk of putting others in the Nein down.

Essek kept running his fingers through Caleb’s ponytail and adjusting the braids. There was no practical purpose to it. They both just liked it.

The room settled after the chaos of Essek displaying once again his unique sense of humour: fucking with the Nein. Beauregard crashed the hardest, already looking miserable again.

Caleb threw a cushion at her. “Stop it. I called you for a reason. I am not upset with you.”

Beauregard pressed her hands over the entirety of her face and screamed into them. Caleb threw another cushion. And then he telekinetically pulled them back and threw them at her repeatedly with magic. Childish? Yes. Effective? Also yes.

It was satisfying to watch Beauregard get annoyed and use her monk shit to snatch flying cushions from the air.

“Okay, fine! I don’t feel bad for you anymore!” And she launched herself at him, smacking him repeatedly with the cushions until he curled into a ball and begged for mercy.

****

Caleb was a little tired from his episode earlier, but not so tired that he would dare miss out on furniture shopping when Jester and Caduceus were so excited about it. He trusted them to balance each other out and come up with a good aesthetic after the outfits they had procured for the party in Nicodranas… where they ended up kidnapping a disguised Essek and forcing him to confess his sins. And Beauregard was high on True Sight. What a fucking night that had been.

Beauregard and Fjord headed out to the Cobalt Soul Archive to retrieve Kingsley from Nicodanas; he’d never been to the Rexxentrum markets before. It gave Caleb a few extra minutes to recover, though in truth he was as okay as he was going to be.

Now that he could think clearly again, he was able to dissect what had happened. The shock of seeing Professor Weber after so long, and with little warning, had rattled him from the beginning. And, of course, any talk of Trent ran the risk of triggering him, but then Bettina had expressed more remorse for not helping him than anyone else in the Assembly ever had the grace to do. Ludinus was notoriously full of shit, and Caleb had come to expect that from anyone even tangentially involved with the Assembly (except perhaps Pumat).

Caleb was not used to anyone in that place treating him with simple, unfiltered human compassion. Even Astrid and Wulf were a little detached from the pain they had suffered together, and what they had been through separately. He knew that detachment was a matter of survival for them, and he did not resent them for it.

Bettina’s raw grief for his suffering had affected him far more deeply than he could ever have anticipated.

Essek sat on the couch with Caleb’s head in his lap, playing with the baby hairs that had already escaped his ponytail, while the Nein prepared to head out. “You look tired,” he said softly.

“This morning was a lot. I’ll be all right.”

“Fine, but I am coming with you.”

“Essek.” Caleb had taken this tone with him many times in Aeor. It meant Essek, what the fuck? It had taken a lot for Caleb to say his name like that, given his own notorious lack of impulse control around magic items. Caleb had never gotten his hands on that fucking emerald. He was still bitter about it. But he was finding a new use for the tone, because Essek was normally a cautious person, except when he felt the people he loved needed him. Caleb especially.

“I am safer in a group than I would be here alone.” Essek smiled ruefully. “Besides, I have chosen a disguise already. You should not let my brilliance go to waste.”

“You make a solid argument.”

“I know.” Essek smirked. “You are, however, welcome to tell me how brilliant I am.”

Veth was on the floor nearby, slowly copying a few of Caleb’s first level spells into her own spellbook. “Is this how wizards flirt?”

“The part we do in front of other people, ja,” said Caleb.

Jester, lying on her stomach on the other side of the room, with her sketchbook, piped up. “What about the secret flirting that you don’t let us see?”

“We mostly discuss complex existential matters,” Essek replied.

“And dissect each other’s breakdowns,” Caleb muttered, not entirely meaning to voice it but not trying particularly hard to restrain himself. Well, it was out in the world now. May as well keep digging. “We have a lot of material.”

Yasha popped her head out of the kitchen. “That sounds very intense.”

“Yeah,” said Veth, “I just tell Yeza he has a nice ass and we get down to business.”

“Each to their own,” Essek said mildly, casting prestidigitation on Caleb’s hair to smooth it down after his fussing.

The door flew open, and Caleb sat bolt upright before Kingsley strutted inside in a way that was a little too close to Mollymauk for Caleb to handle in his current state. But he was used to it by now. It didn’t overtake him like it may have months ago.

“I can’t believe you almost went shopping without me,” Kingsley said, his tail swishing to slap Beauregard in the face. She batted it away from her.

“Ugh, we should’ve left you in the smutty book shop where we found you.”

“Find anything good?” asked Jester, taking the words right out of Caleb’s mouth.

Kingsley shrugged. “How the fuck would I know?”

“I would bring you to the one in Rexxentrum and show you,” said Caleb, “but they sadly turned it into a coffee shop.”

“Come on, Caleb,” said Jester. “This city is huge. There has to be another one. Ooh, you could ask Astrid next time you see her!”

Kingsley snickered at that.

“What’s so funny?”

“Astrid. Really.”

“Hey, Caleb’s really into smut,” said Jester. “He had to learn it from somewhere.”

“I am leaving this conversation,” said Caleb, heading for the door. “Are you coming?”

“Maybe if you find me some good smut, Magic Man.” Kingsley’s tail whipped around Caleb’s wrist, just for a second. Every inhabitant of that body had flirted with Caleb at some point. It was familiar, in a way Caleb found more comforting than most of Kingsley’s Molly-like mannerisms.

“Okay, who the fuck taught Kingsley about sex,” Beauregard grumbled as the rest of the Nein filed out of the house.

“He asked,” Fjord replied, his voice shooting up an octave as it did when he panicked.

Veth snorted. “Listen, King. When two people love each other very much…”

“Sometimes more than two,” Caleb added.

“Or sometimes when you love yourself very much,” said Veth.

Kingsley didn’t pay much heed to Veth’s final addition, dancing up to Caleb’s side and giving him an eyebrow. “Oh, that sounds like a story. Any advice?”

“Don’t trauma-bond and end up in a codependent relationship,” Caleb replied. “The sex is not worth it.”

“I mean, Astrid and Wulf are pret-ty hot,” said Jester.

“Ja, like putting your hand in an open flame.”

Beauregard slid up to Caleb’s other side. “Sometimes you worry me, man.”

“I am officially asking Caleb for relationship advice in the future,” said Kingsley. “I don’t know much, but I know I’d rather ask a man who knows what not to do.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that, so he circled back to the original topic. “I will ask Wulf about the smut shop next time I see him.” Wulf was just as awkward as Caleb most of the time. He only seemed smooth because he was built like a brick shithouse and had a deep voice. It would be less complicated than trying to ask Astrid. He wasn’t even sure Wulf read smut anymore. Or if Caleb wanted to know something like that about an ex he absolutely should not touch again.

Maybe they could just go to Zadash instead. Avoid the conversation entirely. Next time, maybe.

He kept walking towards the market.

#i'm both simultaneously sorry and not sorry for essek's joke in this chapter because i find it very funny and i don't know why #caleb widogast #critical role #shadowgast #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic #cr2

8 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

Curses

Part 2 of my entry of @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo. Have fun reading!

Summary: Jaskier, panicked and unsure what else to do upon finding an unconscious Geralt, brought him to Yennefer's current residence. There, the sorceress has some bad news for him.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

"How is he?" Jaskier leapt to his feet and rushed towards Yennefer, though the expression on her face was the only answer he needed.

She raised a finger to her lips as the door behind her shut with a quiet creak. As if Geralt was just sleeping in the next room and not- "He's alive," she answered with an air exhaustion he had never seen on her.

"That's- That's good." He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue as he nervously started fidgeting with the strap of his lute that was still uselessly slung over his shoulder. Hadn't he put it down? He could have sworn he'd put it down. "That's good, right?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

She closed her eyes and breathed heavily. "It is," she breathed. Was that a tremor to her voice? It couldn't be, surely.

He frowned. "Is that all you've got to say?" fear made his voice sound shrill. "Please tell me that's not the only good news you've got, there has to be more, there-"

"Jaskier." Her violet eyes blinked open again. "I won't lie to you to make you feel better. It's bad."

"What- but there's something you can do, right? There has to be something you can do."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But for that I need you to tell me exactly what happened before-" She waved her hand at the situation at hand. "-this. In as much detail and little words as possible."

Jaskier wanted to scoff in offence and tell her what exactly he thought of posing such a request to a master raconteur such as he was. In any other situation he would have. But even as the fool he was, he was well aware of the severity of the situation.

"Right," he whispered and finally set his lute down. With trembling hands, he tried to work the clasps of the front compartment open. "Give me a moment, I've documented this quite thoroughly; my notes must be here somewhe- oh, bollocks."

His notebook had slipped out, scattering loose pages everywhere. "Oh, Yennefer, I'm so sorry, I'm such a mess, let me-"

He crouched down to gather them up again, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Jaskier," the sorceress implored and pushed him to sit down on the bench again, "breathe." She bent down to gather them up herself, her hands trembling just as much as his. "You're not much of a use if you lose your head."

"Right," he gasped. "Right." He closed his eyes and focused on breathing like Geralt had shown him. Slowly he felt the panic receding.

When he looked up again, he saw Yennefer offering him his notebook. "Try again," she ordered.

His hands trembled still, but he didn't drop his journal again when he began leafing through it. "There was a contract, a two-day ride from here," he began. "Spectral apparitions in an old ruin it seems. Nothing strange, as far as I can tell. Not until we started gathering information, at least. It seemed there were wildly different accounts; the more we asked, the more they differed.

"Some talked about a beast of nightmares stalking the abandoned keep, griffins and wyverns and trolls. I believe there was talk of basilisks, as well.

"Others told tales of virgin maidens to tend to their every need, and beautiful orchards, their branches so heavy with the sweetest fruits they grazed the ground with so much as the barest breeze. There was talk of powerful mages and mighty warriors defeating a thousand foes up there. The blind could see, the cripples walk; it was paradise on earth for them.

"And others still saw nothing but a ruin."

He flipped his page over and frowned. "Then there were the apparitions, of course. A deceased beau, a beloved mother, a pair of twins that had died in the cradle. A husband who had beaten his wife, as well; bandits, soldiers, the former alderman who had a preference for the young men of the village. There was no pattern to it. It was- strange."

Yennefer scoffed. "Why on earth didn't you turn around and got as far away as you could?" He shot her an incredulous look, and she nodded in understanding. "Right. Geralt."

He huffed the semblance of a laugh. "He prepared well," he continued. "I never saw him so thoroughly armed for a scouting mission. I had offered to go ahead; so far as we could tell nobody had gotten hurt, but-"

"But he would have none of it," she concluded correctly. "So, he went into the ruin, you followed him, stupid as you are, and found him in there?"

"Not quite," he disagreed. "Geralt was gone for nearly a day when I decided that I had waited long enough. I walked to the ruin, but I didn't even have a chance to scale the hill, because there he was; lying at the foot of it, unmoving and unconscious. Roach was next to him, grazing peacefully, her reins untethered. I heaved him onto her back and came as fast as I could."

The sorceress frowned and closed her eyes. After a few moments she said: "What was the last thing he said to you?"

"I-" Jaskier faltered. "I don't remember," he breathed.

"What do you mean, you don't remember?" Her eyes snapped open, violet pools of sparking anger. "You have to remember, come on, Jaskier, he doesn't talk that much."

He shook his head helplessly. "I'm sorry, Yennefer, I don't." He gulped his tears down, passing his trembling hand through his hair. "It was- it was something mundane, something he told me so many times before. 'Don't eat any berries' or something. 'Don't pee on an ant hill.'"

She glared at him for a moment and he felt himself cower under her stare. She turned away with a quiet: "Fuck."

"What?" He leapt up again. "What is it?"

"I don't know, that's what it is!" she snapped. "The only thing I do know is that whatever Geralt encountered in that ruin was no mere spirit."

"But he wasn't in the ruin, Yennefer, I just told you! He was at the foot of the hill, with not so much as a scratch, no sign of a fight around him. Just... out cold."

"I know, which makes me think whoever put that... curse on him wanted us to find him. Else there would've been nothing left at all."

"A curse," Jaskier repeated. "There's a curse."

Her fingers drummed out a furious rhythm on the wall. "There's something that appears to be a curse. There is no chaos, though, so it was no magical being."

He looked at her in pure unadulterated confusion.

With a heavy sigh she sat down beside him. "Geralt's body is sleeping," she began explaining after a very long time, "but it's... completely empty. His soul appears to have been sent somewhere else. A netherworld, if you will; between life and death."

"A netherworld?" he gasped. He had heard tales of such places when he was a child, but so he had of devils and winged horses, and Geralt had disproven those quickly enough. So, he had never paid them any heed. "What on earth could send him there?"

"Nothing," Yennefer answered with a wry laugh. "Nothing I know of, at least. Not like this. Not against his will." She made another pause before continuing: "I think whatever he found there was... divine. It's a sliver of hope, at least; even the White Wolf shouldn't be able to kill a god. That means, he has only trespassed and after serving his penance, he'll likely be allowed to go again."

Jaskier took a while to process the words, but then his face lit up. "He will?" He leapt to his feet, barely containing the urge to weep of joy. "He'll return to us."

A pained expression crossed her face. "No, Jaskier," she murmured softly. "Gods don't think as we do. They cannot grasp the meaning of a year; it passes in less than a moment for them. They think in eternities, ages, millennia."

Jaskier slowly turned to her in horror. "A thousand years?" he whispered.

"Or five or ten or fifty," her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "No-one knows."

"But-" He frowned as the true meaning of the words slowly settled into his consciousness. "I'll be long dead by then..."

Yennefer averted her gaze.

"You- you coward!" he accused her. "How dare you think of giving up? How dare you suggest to leave him to his fate?"

"There's nothing to be done!" she retorted. "He's gone, and we don't even know where!"

He threw up his hands. "How many netherworlds can there be?"

"Just the one, but-"

"Just one?" he interrupted her. "So, you know where he is."

"I know enough to see that he is far beyond my reach." She scoffed and shook her head. "Go home, Jaskier. There's nothing here for you."

He couldn't help but gape at her. "No," he croaked weakly. "Geralt's here. I- I can't." He took a shuddering breath. "I refuse. I refuse to spend the rest of my life wasting away at his bedside-"

Her touch was too soft, her eyes too gentle when she said: "You don't have to stay. I'll keep him safe." As if he was a child. As if he was an idiot.

"Of course, I'd stay!" he howled. "He's my- my- my Geralt! Half my life I spent at his side. Without him there's... nothing left."

"Jaskier-" she tried again.

"Please," he begged. "Please, you love him, too, do you not? This can't be what you want. There must be something- Anything-!"

Her eyes hardened. "There might be," she whispered. "But I do not know enough of the netherworld to know for sure." Abruptly, she stood. "Give me a week." With that a portal opened behind her and swallowed her whole.

Jaskier didn't know how long he just sat there, staring at the place where she had vanished. "Fuck," he whispered after what felt like an eternity. And finally, he let the tears flow freely.

~*~

It was exactly as Yennefer said; a week went by with just the two of them. Jaskier barely left his witcher's side; only when he feared he might succumb to hunger or thirst he took his eyes off him to run down to the kitchen that was mercifully well-stocked. He supposed he had passed out from exhaustion a few times as well, though he wasn't quite so sure about that.

He was nibbling on a bit of stale bread when the medallion on Geralt's chest started humming and a portal opened on his other side. He barely recognised the woman who stepped through; with her hair in disarray and the dark rings under her eyes, Yennefer looked just as horrible as he felt.

"Jaskier," she croaked, her throat raw from days of not speaking, or speaking too much, who was he to say. The sorceress stumbled, but before he could even get to his feet, another woman stepped through and caught her by the arm.

She was a mage as well, he guessed; she was just as otherworldly beautiful as Yennefer with thick auburn curls and unsettling dark glinting eyes. “Bard,” she greeted him.

"Umm...," he said in lack of a better answer. “Do we… know each other?”

“I am Triss Merigold,” Triss Merigold answered as she guided Yennefer to sit down. “I know of you. I met Geralt quite some time ago.”

“Ah.” That name rang a bell, although he didn’t quite know what to make of that statement. What did that even mean, ‘I know of you’? Had Geralt talked about him? Yennefer maybe? Both options sounded equally absurd. “And, umm, forgive me for asking, but you are here because…? Not that I am ungrateful, mind you, but-”

“She’s my friend,” Yennefer interrupted him sharply.

“And a healer,” Triss added with a kinder voice. “I am fairly familiar with…” She waved her hand vaguely in Geralt’s direction. “...similar situations.”

Yennefer snorted. “Overstatement of the century,” she muttered.

“Yenna.”

“Triss.”

Triss sighed and shook her head. “I’ll go… make tea.” With that she strode over to the door and disappeared downstairs, leaving Jaskier to glance awkwardly between where she had just vanished and the crumpled pile of sorceress next to Geralt’s bed.

“Umm,” he spluttered clumsily, “are you alright?”

She barked a laugh, barely looking up from her fingernails. “Do I look alright to you?”

“No,” he blurted before his survival instinct had a chance to kick in, “you look a bloody mess.

"I guess that’s fairly accurate," she answered with a wavering voice. Was that a sob he hea- oh, yeah, that was definitely a sob, for now wet tears glistened on her cheeks.

‘Fuck.’ Yennefer of Vengerberg was crying. Jaskier was entirely unsure how to react to that impossibility. Yennefer of Vengerberg didn’t cry. On principle. She was the most terrifying and powerful person he knew, and that included several witchers, a Child of Elder Blood and Queen Calanthe herself! He was in no way equipped to deal with her crying of all things. Not on top of all that… Geralt stuff. Besides, that was his thing, not hers.

But shit, she didn’t stop. ‘I have to do something,’ he decided. There were few things as shitty as crying on your own. He spoke from—rather recent—experience. He took a first tentative step into her direction. She barely dignified that with raising her gaze. Only when he was less than an arm’s length away did she look up. “What are you—?”

“I’m going to hug you now,” he warned her and without further ado he pulled her against his chest. Yennefer stiffened and— ‘This is it,’ he thought, ‘this is how I die.’

To his surprise, nothing happened. Well, nothing bad at least. Instead of transforming him into a toad or reducing him to a heap of ash or something, she relaxed against him. She even raised her hands to cling to his doublet.

Violent sobs still shook her as he gently stroked her hair and babbled some nonsense. He was good at that. Babbling nonsense. After a while the sobs subsided and she loosened the death grip on his torso.

Only after a minute of controlled breathing he allowed her to pull away, but not before giving her one last tight squeeze and saying: “Don’t lose your head, Yennefer. Breathe.”

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she wiped at the string of snot connecting her nose and his shoulder.

“Don’t be,” he answered as reassuringly as he could. Which wasn’t a whole lot, to be fair. “We all have bad days.”

“Your doublet—” she protested weakly, but he just waved his hand.

“Believe me, it’s seen worse than a bit of snot and tears.”

“Do I even want to know?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Probably not.” To his relief, she chortled as well.

“Well, it’s certainly been a week.” They both whipped around to Triss Merigold who was standing in the door with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Triss,” Yennefer sighed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” She set the tray down and thrust tea cups into their hands. “Don’t be embarrassed, Yenna, I’ve seen you in worse states.”

She made an undignified noise and Triss laughed. “Oh, the bard’s the problem, then? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Feel free to keep up your play at enmity.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier gasped. “There’s no ‘play’ at anything going on here. I despise Yennefer just as much as she does me-”

“Do you really think now is the time for such nonsensical theatrics?” Triss asked with raised eyebrows and it was enough to shut him up. No, he supposed it wasn’t.

That, however, plunged the three of them into an awkward silence. Not because they had nothing to talk about, of course. It was just that there appeared to be no incentive of the two sorceresses to start the conversation, and while he certainly had a lot of questions, asking them seemed awfully rude, considering the state of exhaustion Yennefer was in.

In the end, the burn of the tea did nothing to alleviate the burn of the questions on his tongue. “You mentioned similar situations?” he blurted out as soon as he had drained his cup.

Triss winced. “Well. Yes. Similar. Not quite the same. I’m a healer, after all.”

“I fear I don’t understand.”

“Coram Agh Tera,” Yennefer answered darkly.

Jaskier frowned. “What has the god of fate to do with all of this?”

“God of fate, death, and destiny,” she began listing, “who is also known for his powerful curses.”

“And nightmares,” Triss added. “The only deity known to meddle with mortal affairs to this blasphemous degree.”

Jaskier snorted. “A blasphemous god?” he asked doubtfully. “Really?”

The two sorceresses regarded him with equally terrifying glares. “Shut up, bard,” Yennefer hissed and he immediately raised his hands innocently.

“I’m just saying, I’m sure there could be a better expre-- Yeah, shutting up. You were talking about Coram Agh Tera,” he prompted.

“I was,” Triss agreed. “Theirs is the netherworld of those neither dead nor alive."

“And Geralt got trapped there? How?”

They exchanged a wary glance. “We don’t know,” Yennefer said finally. “Our best guess is that Geralt disturbed Coram Agh Tera’s residence in those ruins. And now they have retreated and taken Geralt with them.”

"So Geralt is trapped in there until they take up residence somewhere else?" They really had to give him a bit more to work with if they wanted him to connect the dots.

"No, Jaskier,” Triss answered almost patiently. “Have you ever- When someone is badly injured, they tend to be unconscious for a long time, yes? Until their body finally withers and they die. Or they wake up with their mind torn to shreds. Those are the denizens of the netherworld. Though there are no known cases of a soul just vanishing completely. Our best guess is that he is staying with them there and likely, that’s where he’ll stay until they inevitably grow bored of him."

“I see.” He fiddled nervously with his teacup. “Well. That makes a lot of things easier, I suppose. I really would have hated dying to go look for him.”

Triss choked on her tea and stared at him in bewilderment as Yennefer made vague ‘I told you so’-gesture. “You can’t be serious,” the healer scoffed. “Jaskier, you could die; we’re not sending you there.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied, as calm as possible. “And I am rather relieved for the modality in this statement.” He looked back and forth between them. “Or do you have a better plan?”

“I will go,” Yennefer volunteered. “It’s why Triss came with me.”

“Yeah, that’s stupid,” Jaskier scoffed. He didn’t wait for the outrage that would surely follow and continued: “Look, I recognise that both of you are very… powerful and downright terrifying women, however, I do not see how that will help you over there. I might not be as learned in the supernatural as you are, but I do know how to open a book. Your nice little library here, Yennefer, is really adamant about the point that there is no magic in a netherworld.”

“There isn’t,” Triss agreed.

“Forgive my bluntness, but in that case both of you are rather useless. You are used to getting what you want. And if you don’t you’re used to taking it. I, on the other hand, am well-versed in the art of talking people into parting with all kinds of things they do not want to part with.”

“People, yes,” Yennefer hissed. “What on earth makes you think you could win over a god?”

“Nothing,” he answered nonchalantly. “What on earth makes you think you’d do a better job?”

“Listen, bard,” Triss chimed in, “this is madness. Did you miss the ‘mind torn to shreds’-part?”

“My hearing is impeccable, thank you very much.” He set down his teacup with a lot more force than strictly necessary. “You might have heard of me, Triss Merigold, but clearly not enough. Else you’d know that I’m as stupid as a turd and as stubborn as a mule with no sense of self-preservation. I have trailed after Geralt since I was eighteen years old. If there is any way for me to follow him into this nefarious netherworld, I will find it.”

“If we don’t agree, he’ll just find the next best brute to pummel him into the netherworld,” Yennefer said with a heavy sigh.

“That is completely correct. In our shared interest, I suppose it is much preferable for you to do your magick-y stuff and supervise my stay. You can do that, right? Protect my body while my soul’s away. For a while at least.”

“We can induce that dream,” Triss admitted reluctantly. “But we won’t be able to tell if anything goes wrong. We might not be quick enough to pull you back.”

Jaskier nodded. If he was quite honest, this was already so much more than he had expected. "One month. That's all I ask. Pull me back once the time is up."

Yennefer gave a curt nod; evidently, she had expected something of that sort. After a moment, Triss spoke up as well: "Alright," she whispered. "Alright, you crazy son of a whore, we'll do it."

#my writing #For You I'll Always Wait #FYIAW #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher secret santa #yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold

22 notes · View notes