Homecoming

Jai belongs to @catinabag, and is used with their permission. This was a little drabble gift that kept growing until I finally decided to just finish and post it. It’s a little lengthy, hence the Read More. Enjoy!

Fog was rolling in thick that night, but it wasn't doing much to dissuade the man lumbering along the edge of the road. Occasionally, he'd glance up at a damp street sign, grunt in acknowledgement of it, and keep going. He really wasn't relying on them, anyway. It was an... instinct, a feeling that pulled him to where he needed to be. And the closer he was getting, the stronger the pull became.

"Come to the Square," a voice whispered, simultaneously at his ear and in his brain. "Come to the Square, and you'll be home..."

Home... He hadn't seen home-- hadn't had a home-- in... God, how many decades now? Time had lost all meaning to him.

He tugged his pinstripe jacket closer around him. Fuck it was cold. Wasn't Louisiana supposed to be all muggy and swampy and hot? How many more miles of this did he have to deal with? Was it even worth it? What the hell was he even doing, really--

The honk of a car horn made him turn away from his thoughts. He glared at the car, a dull yellow taxi, as it slowed to a crawl next him. The window rolled down, and a scruffy faced driver leaned over the passenger seat and called out, "Y'all need a ride?"

Standing there, arms stiffly around him, the man hesitated to say anything. "Uh..."

The driver grinned. "Tell you what, brah, if you goin' the same way I am, and it's under five miles, no charge. Lagniappe. Deal?"

The man nodded, and quickly got into the car. "Thanks," he grunted. "'Preciate it."

"No problem, no problem." Pulling away from the road's edge, the driver continued forward. "Y'all  ain't from around these parts, are you? What's your name, ami?"

"No," he said, gruffly, shaking his head. "It's Jai. Ghast." He hadn't said his real last name in years. It was almost like saying a foreign word, like his tongue didn't know how to curl around it properly.

The driver let out a short, relieved laugh. "For a moment there, I thought you was gonna say 'Gracey.' Ah, there's a family no one wants any part of. 'Cause of them, most drivers won't make rounds 'round here."

Jai furrowed his brow in confusion. "They a crime syndicate, or something?"

"Non, ami. They're all dead." His grin glinted in the rearview mirror. "Now where you heading to, Monsieur Ghast?"

Go to the Square...

"Um, the Square?" Jai cringed inwardly.

Now it was the driver's turn to look confused. "New Orleans Square?"

Jai pursed his lips and his gray eyes darted from side to side. He wagered, "Yes?"

The driver's grin widened. "You in luck, ami! That's where I be headed to." The cab took off with such force, Jai was pressed back into the seat. "Ol' Gabe, he get you there tout suite!"

Jai's knuckles faded to a pale beige as he gripped the door handle. The vehicle-- and his stomach-- lurched. And then there was a strange sensation under him, or rather, a lack of sensation. It was subtle at first, hard to pin point, and then he realized what it was: there wasn't any road under them. There should have been the familiar pings of grit and gravel under the tires. A steady whoosh from below his feet. There was an eerie whistling, however, and he forced his head to turn to look out the window.

They weren't connected to the road. They weren't connected to anything. Tiny points of lights--streetlights-- barely shown through the mist dozens of feet beneath them.

"The hell! What're you doing, you crazy Cajun?!"

"Why, I'm gettin' you to your destination, of course!" Gabe cackled. Moonlight flashed through him, betraying he was transparent.

Jai let out a heavy sigh and slumped back against the seat. How had he not figured it out? "This some kind of show you put on for tourists?"

"Gotta get my kicks somehow, ami." He gave a good-natured shrug. "Besides, one of us had to let on we was dead."

Jai was quiet for a few seconds. "Fair."

The next few minutes were thankfully uneventful, and the cab touched down on centuries old cobblestone.

Jai didn't open the door right away, instead rolling down the fogged window.

Up ahead loomed a massive, white house, a plantation-style mansion.  It shone like a bleached tooth, a beacon in the misty night.  The imposing black, wrought iron gate ahead of it was almost easy to miss in comparison.  Even easier to miss were the strange, misshapen large stones scattered across the front yard of the property.

"This is the Square?"

"New Orleans Square is the town, but this is the place you need to be. Gracey Manor." Gabe's grin shifted into a gentler smile.  "Safe travels, ami. And when you see old Beauregard, you tell him Gabe Guidry says hi."

"Beauregard?"

But Gabe was gone. The cab was gone.  Jai was suddenly standing outside that menacing gate. With a long, high creak, it slowly opened, gesturing he should enter.

Jai licked his lips and ran a hand back through his shaggy black hair. Graceys. The dead people.

He straightened his jacket and stepped forward, a dirt path becoming more and more visible under his black leather shoes.

Moving forward, he got a better look at the property. A cement bird bath was to his left. A small pool was in it, but was too dark to see through. Jai had a feeling he'd regret sticking his hand in.

Near the bird bath was a statue of a smug, fluffy Persian cat.  This in turn was flanked by multiple tiny bird statues. Nearby were other stone animals--a duck, a snake, a few different dogs, a monkey...

Wait...

The spacing between the animals led him to look at tiny placards under each, which all listed names and dates.  This was a pet cemetery!

Cute, he thought. But then it dawned on him what those larger stones were.  Who has a house flanked by a graveyard?

Beauregard…

With a new sense of urgency, he bounded up the front steps and barely stopped before gripping the enormous bronze door knocker and slamming it down three times. "Open up." His throat was suddenly tight. Angry tears welled in his eyes. "Open up, you creepy bastard!"

As if responding to his impatience, the door was pulled open with such force, Jai was flung inside. Skidding, he caught himself before he could fall.

A low voice greeted him in the darkness of the foyer. “Welcome, wayward soul.” An unseen hand helped him straighten up.

That voice… Jai knew it. It’d just been so long since he’d heard it. That tightness returned to his throat.

“Beauregard?”

A man appeared in front of him, one who was simultaneously familiar and a stranger. Thin, lanky, like him, with long, shaggy hair, only shock white instead of black. Taller than Jai by a few inches, but he always had been. They stared at one another, jaws agape, eyes wide.

Jai took a couple of unsure steps forward, but the other ran to him, and then flung his arms around him and hugged him so tightly Jai thought he’d never break free.

“My baby brother!” He pulled away, only to hold Jai’s shoulders and look him over. “It’s been so long.” His voice cracked. “You… You look… so grown up.” A tiny sob-chuckle escaped him, but he was grinning.

Jai took a moment to take in some of the new details of his sibling—the pale, blind right eye, and the scarring over it that ran from brow to cheek; the bruising left behind on his thin throat, and its answer, a thick noose that hung loosely under it like some kind of macabre tie. His green coat was threadbare at the shoulders and elbows, and his purple waistcoat was slightly too long. The pinstripe slacks were all right, but his spats were misaligned.

“You look like shit.”

Beauregard laughed and wiped his eyes. “That’s fair.”

“Sorry,” Jai said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess those last few years weren’t so kind to you, huh?”

Beauregard shrugged a shoulder, not denying it, but not providing details, either. “It’s been a long time since then.”

“And you’ve just been here, in this big ol’ house, for…?”

Another shrug. “I’m honestly not sure how long now. I don’t keep track of time anymore. I know I died January twenty-ninth of 1901, at exactly 10:35 p.m. Beyond that…” He pulled out a pocket watch and flashed the face of it at Jai. It had been stopped since his time of death. “Time has lost all meaning for me.”

“So, you’ve been here…”

“Yes.”

“All this time?”

“Yes.”

“You died here?”

“Yes…” Beau was trying not to show the mild annoyance growing at the questions. “What are you getting at?”

Jai suddenly pointed at him accusingly. “You’ve been here, living here, for ages, and you ain’t never tried to contact me even once? Even once!”

Taken aback, Beau sputtered, “Well, you—Who do you think sent out the message for you, hmm? Who do you think led you here?”

“But that was just now! You’ve had literal decades! Decades! Decades that I’ve spent away from the very last little bit of family I had left!” There were tears in his eyes. “If Eulie were here…”

“Eulie is here. This was her house.” Beau looked over his shoulder at the grand staircase leading to the bedrooms above. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come down to investigate the ruckus yet. Her or Dorian…”

Jai took a tiny pause for confusion. “Is that her husband?”

“No, her son.”

“I have a nephew?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “And you all were livin’ in a mansion! And not one of you saw fit to find me?!” Turning on his heel, he headed back to the door.

“Now stop!” Beau bellowed. A chair cut Jai off, knocking him down into it, and it scooted back to Beau. “You disappeared!” Pointing at Jai, Beau floated above the floor. “You were the one who forsake the family! You went off to who-knows-where, while Eulalie and I were dealing with our parents’ funeral expenses, and bank possessing the house, and—” He let out a frustrated groan. Slipping back down to the floor, he slowly exhaled, and started again, in a much calmer tone. “It was like you had fallen off the face of the planet. And… And I knew you were grieving in your own way. By the time we wound up here… H-How was I supposed to find you, Jai?” Beau put a hand on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes, imploring. “When you clearly didn’t want to be found?”

Turning his head aside, Jai looked away. It was true. He hadn’t wanted to be found, not at first. But when he’d found himself deep in trouble, that’s when he’d started thinking about his family and what he’d left behind. Then… Then it was too late. Far too late. You couldn’t scream for your big brother with a mouth full of dirty handkerchief, and lungs full of river water.

Jai blinked, sending tears cascading down his cheeks. “I—I missed you, Beau. I needed you. And—And I couldn’t find you. And I couldn’t face you. Not after what I’d done. I’ve… I’ve done horrible things, Beau. I…”

“Shh,” Beau shushed him. “Do you think I’m proud of this?” He gestured to the noose. “We’ve all done regrettable things, Jai.” Gripping the arms of the chair, he leaned down. “The important thing is we’re back together, eh?” He grinned his cock-eyed grin that always seemed just a little too wide. “The Ghast boys wreaking havoc from beyond the grave!”

Jai allowed himself a small smile. “You mean it? Back together like old times?”

Beau yanked him up, and put an arm around him as he led him further into the mansion. “Not exactly. Far fewer things to worry about now. I’ll give you the tour, and you can tell me everything you’ve been up to.”

“Eh…” Jai rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a tall order.”

“Hm, we have all eternity little brother.” Beau squeezed him to his side.

The Lionett Estate Scene Ep92 Transcribed

So that final scene of the episode absolutely destroyed me, but so much was going on and I didn’t want to misremember any of it.

So I transcribed the whole thing while watching the rerun because I’m not a subscriber lol. Anyway it’s under the read more, including everything up to the gang arriving at the Lionett Estate to the end of the episode! I might’ve missed my body language, but I think I got everything else right.

Jester: Beau… whatever happens… he was an asshole for being mean to you. You’re a wonderful person… [Looks at Nott, and the others.] Nott: You’re a wonderful person! Jester: You’re a wonderful person he was lucky to have you for a daughter, hopefully he will realise that now. If he doesn’t, remember what you told me. Fuck him. You have us, and we love you so much, okay? Beau: Thanks Jes. [They hug, and then Beau exhales.] They added an arch. It’s even more pretentious now. Okay lets go. Nott: Do we knock? Or call? [Description from Matt. Yasha looks for flowers, of which there are none. Fjord looks for guards. There’s about two. They walk to the gate, which Beau unlocks with a hair pin. They hitch their horses.] Nott: After you, Beauregard.
 Jester: If you want us to attack anyone at all, just say armadillo. Beau: Armadillo, got it. [Deep breath.] Okay. Lets go. Fjord: Do you want us with you? Beau: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I roll deep, that looks fucking awesome. Jester: You’re in charge of us, you’re the leader of the group, cool cool, cool? Beau: It’s fine it’s fine- Okay, let’s go. [They walk to the front door. Beau uses the door knocker. Door knocker jokes ensue.] Servant: Hello, can I help you? Beau: Is the lady or man of the house here tonight? Servant: May I ask who’s inquiring? Jester: Tch. Beau: Beauregard Lionett. Servant: [visibly shocked] Oh, um, I’m afraid the master is attending to the vineyards at the moment, he’ll probably be back shortly for dinner. Ms Lionett is inside, please enter. Jester: Oh shit. Beau, what if your dad recognises my voice? Beau: He probably will. Jester: shit- [chatter between Jester, Beau and Nott about Jester changing her voice.] Servant: Wait just a moment. Madame? Madame? [Beau walks over to the fireplace and stares at it.] Nott: Yeah, I mean, looks pretty awful here. Right? No? Caleb: The family has done alright for themselves. Jester: How you are- how- how- Nott: How you are. Jester: How are you? Are? [Nott and Fjord both mess around with the order of ‘How are you’] Clara: B e au re gard- Beau: Hey Mom. Clara: I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. Uh- Beau: Yeah its kinda a trend I have going on. Clara: Well- uh- hehe- [Walks down stairs, approaches, halts, uncertain.] [Awkward, kinda warm, kinda stilted hug between Clara and Beau ensues.] Beau: I’m sorry to barge in, I know you were wanting to kinda keep me distant from the family but, um, I need to talk to Dad its important. And then we’ll be gone and you don’t have to [unintelligible] anymore- Clara: Oh you can stay as long as you like and who are your friends? TJ: Mommy? [runs downstairs and hangs onto Clara.] [Clara takes Beau’s hands.] Clara: It’s good to see you. Beau: Yeah? Clara: Would you like to stay for dinner? Someone, probably Jester: mmm- Fjord: That’s most gracious of you. We are the Mighty Nein, we are esteemed friends of your daughter. Clara: Well any friends of Beauregard are friends of ours. So, uh- Nott: How you are? Clara: Uh- I’m Clara Lionett. Beauregard’s mother but I assume you know that by now. Um- I’ll ensure some places are set. Beau: Hey Mom, remember that year we had that, like- mudslide that ended up happening and took out half our stock and we only have a few bottles left can we grab one of those. I’ve been talking about that a lot and uh- Clara: Yes, of course [sends a servant for a bottle] Anyway, uh, Oh my goodness oh my goodness I didn’t even, Beauregard- Clara: Thoreau Jr, I’d like you to meet your older sister Beauregard, Beauregard this is Thoreau Jr. TJ: That sister? Clara: Yes, that’s your sister. [TJ walks up, Beau crouches down. They hug. I die.] Beau: He’s has that uh smell to him. Like all the fuckin kids in Kamordah. Clara: Uh, we were hoping you’d come by sometime to meet him. Beau: Did you know- It was the timeline was always interesting to me. Did you know you were pregnant with him when you sent me away? [Long, very awkward silence] Fjord, very randomly: The Mantle is LOVELY uH-Jester would you help me out for a moment, Nott- perhaps uh [clears throat] if everyone- [Beau leans down to TJ] Beau: Hey little man. TJ: Hey. Beau: What’s your favourite colour? [TJ looks totally stumped before he points at Clara’s dress] Beau: Green? [TJ nods] Beau: Well here, you might like this then. [Passes over her jade necklace. He begins to eat it.] Yeah. It’s been in some dank places little man so uh, it’ll really build up your immune system. [TJ continues to eat it.] Clara: Look. Beauregard… Things are challenging all around, I didn’t- You’re father didn’t mean things to- become so tense. When you went away. Beau: Well it was a hell of a goodbye, you know. Not entirely sure why anyone would think that was a good fuckin idea to handle a situation. With a daughter that was clearly just wanting your fucking attention. Clara: I’m sorry. And it doesn’t mean much. Your father was under a lot of stress and- Beau: [scoff] Clara: Things should’ve been handled differently, you’re right you’re absolutely right. Beau: Fuck Mom. So you’re just as passive as you were back in the day. Did you get that bottle of wine? [Jeanine appears with wine] Beau: JEANINE. MY HERO. Clara: Here’s the thing- Beau: Jeanine! Jeanine! Jeanine! Give- [Passes out wine.] It’s like, one of our most expensive bottles of wine, so, enjoy. [Door opens. Thoreau Arrives. He is Surprised.] Thoreau: Beauregard. Beau: Hiiiii. [Waves loosely.] I’m home. Thoreau: I can see that. I… was not expecting to see you today- Beau: or ever. Thoreau: Welcome, welcome. Friends of yours, I assume? Beau: Yeah, mum, dad, this is the Mighty Nein. Nott: Hi. [Thoreau looks at Nott and instantly gets weird.] Beau: Dad, don’t. Don’t do that, Dad. Nott: Oh. It’s fine. [Clara picks up TJ] Beau: Fucking embarrassing. Nott: Cute kid. Yasha: Looks very tasty. [Clara looks very concerned.] Clara: I’m gonna put TJ to- put him down. [Clara and TJ leave the room.] Thoreau: Well it’s a pleasure to have you all. I’m glad you’ve all been… been… travelling, I assume. [Nott rifles for cups] Thoreau: I’ve been receiving updates about your work with the Cobalt Soul. Apparently been doing quite some fine work. I-I guess I should say Expositor Beauregard? That’s incredible, I mean- Beau: Still sending you tuition updates, huh? Thoreau: Well, it’s important for us to know how our Beauregard’s doing. Caleb: Unparalleled, she is. Thoreau: Mhmm, as she would be. [Jester makes a 23 Insight Check to see if Thoreau is being genuine and gets a whisper] Nott: Found a couple cups. Caduceus: This I will try. Nott: Ooh. Thoreau: Well, I- uh- A toast to Expositor Beauregard Lionett, heh. Fjord: Cheers. [Everyone raises their glasses.] Thoreau: I know you well enough, Beauregard, to assume you haven’t come for the sake of pleasantries. [Jester moves next to Beau and puts a hand on her back] Jester, whispering: Do you want us to stay? Beau, very quiet: please. Beau, louder: Uh- yeah, you know me Dad, wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want something. Um- listen, that story you love to tell at every family gathering and for bedtime and any chance you had, uh- that old hag that you talked about. We need to find her. Is that story even real? Or is it just meant to terrify me. [T finishes drink and sets it down.] Thoreau: Of course it’s real, Beauregard. Look, I know you- I know we’ve had our differences. And I’ve not- I’ve not been the pinnacle of a father in the same way that you’ve been the pinnacle of a daughter. I accept my responsibilities in the things I may have been a bit harsh on. But look what you’ve become. Beau: This feels like a- a weird justification of your behaviours, but I’d like to hope that I became had fucking nothing to do with you but maybe I’d be lying to myself. Yeah, I was difficult. I had my onus(?) in everything that happened. But I thought a dad was supposed to stay by their kid when they’re having a fucking hard time. [pause] Mom already fucking mentioned that life gets difficult and its hard. So you’re right maybe it’s easy to justify the easy way out, just get rid of the problem. Thoreau: That’s not what this was about. You were on a self-destructive path. We didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been a- no one teaches you how to be a good father. [pause] I regret choices I have made, and you think I don’t hold myself responsible for- I thought I was doing what was best for you, truly. Beau: You did. It was probably the best thing you could’ve done for me, so thank you. [pause] Beau: Tell me the story again, and then I’ll go. [pause] Thoreau: It’s true. I haven’t lied to you or made anything up. Why are you asking about this? [Beau looks at Nott] Beau: She has information we need. Thorau: You’re trying to actually.. go to her? Beau: We need her. Thoreau: What for? [pause, Beau looks at Nott again.] Beau: Why are you afraid? Thoreau: I’m not afraid, I’m just curious. Beau: We think she has something to do with why… Jester, in some kind of southern accent: We need it to break a curse, that’s all. [The cast break into giggles.] Nott: Your daughters trying to do what she always does. Help a friend. Thoreau: Well… I mean I just heard the stories. Growing up about the witch in the mountains. Beau: What was her name? Thoreau: I don’t remember she was just the witch in the mountains- Beau you know how I grew up, I had nothing. I was in the street I had nothing to lose. I mean if I was lucky, it would work. If I wasn’t quite as lucky she’d chop me up and eat me, I didn’t have anything else waiting for me. So I-uh just went and wandered north, through the mountains through the forest and my shoes began to split and chased by wolves and worse til eventually one day I just stumbled upon this little shack. And there was the witch, right when I began to think it was all a lie and I’d thrown myself to the wolves for nothing, there she was. With her crooked smile and hungry eyes. Jester: did she have long arms? Thoreau: Longer than natural, yeah. She asked me how I come here and threw myself so withered before her and I said I had nothing to lose and had heard that she can help people. She said she could. She said she was a fortuneteller. She said fortune was her specialty. And so she threw her runes and played her cards and said that there was a way to get what I always wanted. For just a fragment of… my fortune. And I said well I don’t have a fortune. She said, not that fortune. Your {pointing at beau] fortune. And I agreed because I had nothing to lose. So this woman I wanted to marry doesn’t deserve an impoverished man. Whatever it takes. And so, she said, I’ll be a great craftsman, working in fine spirits, to pick a place in the mountain land and wherever I picked, the ground would grow. She said that a young Beau/Bow(?) would take on the great name, to continue the success. Til everything, eventually, will humble me by that which I desire most. [pause] And then she sent me on my way. [Pause] Thoreau: We came back, we built our land, the last bit we could borrow from our family, and she was right. And we had another blessing [gesture to Beau]. And the fact that it all worked means I don’t know what else she took, and I don’t know what’s coming to humble me, and I just wanna protect my family, so if you intend to actually go and see this witch, just be careful. Beau: For me? Or for you and yours? Thoreau: For Us, Beauregard. [Pause] Beau: Maybe I’m the one that’s sent to humble you. Thoreau: [inhale] Beau, don’t think for any moment that your mother and I haven’t loved you from the depths of our hearts this entire time- I’m sorry if we didn’t show it properly. [Pause. Beau shakes her head, before chuckling.] Beau, tearful: I don’t know if I feel validated or vindicated or what! Jester, quiet: It’s so confusing. Thoreau: My apologies. I didn’t realise this would be- the evening I think any of us was coming home to. I’m a bit caught off guard, and unprepared. Beau: Yeah. Well, some things never change, do they, Dad? Jester: Beau? [pulls her aside] Beau: I’m like seconds away from losing my shit- Jester: I know, I know you are. Um, I just want you to know that, um, he looks like he’s telling the truth. Beau, obviously he was terrible to you, obviously he didn’t terrible things and he sent you away and that’s horrible, but I do believe they love you. I do. And- I don’t expect you to forgive them right away by any means.  But I would just encourage you to maybe, maybe, listen to them the way you listen to us, with open ears. Beau: How did you do it? Jester: Do what?
 Beau: Forgive your dad so quickly. Jester: Well… I mean, he seemed pretty earnest… and, there’s not a lot to be gained from holding grudges. You know, it feels like poison inside of you. How much better would it feel if you could just… be clean. Beau: But I’m so good at holding grudges. Jester: I know, you’re really good at it. [pause] Beau: You make… an interesting point though. [unintelligible] Caleb: This is an excellent bottle. Thoreau: Well, looking at the bottle its an extremely rare one that I would have preferred to keep in the cellar, but it’s a special occasion, so, enjoy it. Caleb: A most special occasion. A reunion. With Beauregard. [pause] Beau: Im gonna go find this woman that you based so much of our entire lives around, and hope that I can better understand, why and where you’re coming from. Because- what you and mum didn’t do, a lot of the footwork into understanding me, it doesn’t mean that I can’t do my research to better understand where I came from. You’ve done a lot. To reflect on- what choices I’ve made to put me in the position that I”m in. And I guess I’m just mildly disappointed to see that the same amount of work hasn’t been done, or at least even remotely attempted- Thoreau: That’s not entirely true, Beauregard. [pause] Not entirely wrong, either. Beau: I gave Thoreau Jr the jade necklace. Make sure he doesn’t choke on it. Thoreau: D-don’t leave and go to his woman without any sort of protection, hold on just a second [He leaves.] Nott: You’re doing great, you’re doing amazing- Jester: You’re doing a really good job, Beau- Nott: Protection? You think that protects you? Beau: I told you, he’s incredibly superstitious. Jester: We never actually checked if it did anything it could be really valuable- [Caduceus casts Detect Good and Evil, then Detect Magic. Liam casts Fireball. Sadly, Caleb does not. Thoreau comes back with a new jade necklace. Lights are magic, necklace is not.] Thoreau: This is your mothers, but, just please, please, for me. If you’re going to do this. Beau: [unintelligible] -kind of an upgrade. Thoreau: I only hope… hope that I can make up to you, the missteps that I can plainly see behind me. It’s rare that a child’s damage at that age and- behaviour doesn’t reflect how I - misstepped in my parenting. [pause] Beau: … thank you, for that. Um- Thoreau: Your grandfather was no peach either, and there’s- there’s difficulty in realising how much you intended to be different. And then to realise that you’ve become so similar. So I hope that with the company you keep, maybe you won’t repeat the same mistakes I have. By treating the people around you. Beau: I’m trying to do better. [pause] I’ll let you know how it goes. Thoreau: Good, good. Jester: Are we staying- are we going- Nott: Are we leaving? Beau: We should go. Yasha; Yeah? Beau: Tell mom, thank you. [pause] MOM! [Clara appears] Clara: Yes? Beau: I’m going, mom. Clara: Oh, oh alright. [Brings TJ out as well] [Hands TJ to Thoreau, takes Beau’s hands] Clara: I’m sorry things- things are strained tonight, but it’s good to see you. Beau: [leans in, whispering] You’re allowed to have an opinion too, mom. I’ll let you know how it goes. Clara: Of course. [squeezes hand and lets go.] [TJ comes up, starts sucking on necklace again.] Clara: No-no- [Tries to stop him.] [Beau fist bumps TJ or something] Thoreau: Be safe. Beau: I will. I promise. Thoreau: [At M9] Keep her safe. Jester: Always! Caduceus: Of course. Jester: You won’t wanna give her an awkward hug or anything she’s gonna face a pretty powerful being. Beau: I think we’re good. Thoreau: Right. Jester: Okay, just checkin. Nott: Good luck to you too. Beau: Any landmarks to look out for?   Thoreau: If you hear noise, run. There was a thick, bramble, tangle. Partially grey and petrified, like many of the woods there. That means you’re close. If the ground begins to tar, it looks like, you’re almost there. And if I recall, it’s pretty straight north from here. Beau: Alright. Jester: Should we take horses there, or should we go on foot?
 Thoreau: You can take horses as far as you want but there’ll be a point where you won’t be able to bring them with you. Jester: So leave the horses here? Or- Nott: Take em for a bit Jester: alright. Nott, quiet: if we care about horses- Thoreau: Well, uh- the Mighty Nein. It’s been a pleasure having you. Welcome to the Lionett Estate and travel safe. We look forward to seeing you again. Nott: You too. Many years ago I was granted a wish by that same witch and I turned into this as a result so I hope the same doesn’t happen to you. Bye. Beau: Bye dad. [swipes a bottle of wine] [Nott takes the cup she was drinking and also steals some jade rabbit sculptures.] Nott: When our friend [Fjord/Travis, who was absent from the table at the time] gets out of the shitter tell him to meet us outside. [Yasha hangs back] Yasha: You should be very proud of your daughter, you are very lucky to have her. Thoreau: I agree. Yasha: You should show her that more then. If for some reason, we end up killing this hag, will all of this go away? [pause] Thoreau: I don’t know. Yasha: Well. Maybe that would help you remember what’s important. Have a good night. [They leave. Thoreau stands with the door open for a moment watching them before closing the door. Beau, crying a little, pulls the Nein into a group hug.] Beau, quiet: Yeah, that’s good.

[Episode Ends]

Could you write a Beaujes monster/supernatural Au?

(this is. a Loose interpretation at best, i’m so sorry)

“how come i never knew this was here?” she cranes her neck to see where the canopy seems to almost knit itself together overhead. “i’m the one who met deuces first.”

jester’s still knelt down, rifling for something in her bag— beau thinks she shrugs, but the motion is mostly lost— “you weren’t here very long, though.”

(“no, hey, we don’t have time for—“ but caduceus clay is already bowing his head to go back inside, humming. “—tea.”

caleb takes a seat on a leaning gravestone, thinks better of it, and stands. “it will be okay, beauregard. we are not in a rush. it could have been much worse.”

she blinks.

it could have been much worse.

in her mind’s eye, she sees the big family van crumpled inward in big pockets, tossed down the hill alongside the road like a sack of flour with one of the seats crushed completely against the unyielding trunk of a tree. it’s the seat no ever really seems to sit in, but somehow she thinks it wasn’t empty.

dunno how i was able to keep us on the road after that, fjord says. impact shoulda sent us flying. just glad everyone’s okay.

“everyone’s okay,” she breathes.

“hm?”

“nothing.” she folds her arms and leans decisively on a gravestone.

caleb doesn’t press. after a silent minute, watching the patterns of shadow slide a little ways further along the ground, caduceus returns with four cups, ranging in size.

she drinks fast, lets it burn. everyone’s okay, but somehow it feels like if they stay, they won’t be.)

“yeah. when’d you have the time to come back here, though?”

“oh, caduceus just told me about it one night. i’ve never been behind the house, either.”

“then how do you know there’s anything here?”

“caduceus said so,” jester says, blithe, and stands. “come on, it’s gonna get dark fast.”

(“beau’s boring,” jester says, and knocks into beau’s side. “she doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

most days, you know, it doesn’t feel like that weird of a thing, but caduceus leans towards her over the table and suddenly she’s the odd one out.

well, with just jester and caduceus, it seems like she always is.

“that so?” caduceus says— he comes off shrewd, beau thinks, when he looks at people like this, but the thing about shrewd people is, they want you to know they think you’re wrong. want you to know they know something you don’t. want to make you feel like they’ve got something on you.

caduceus is just curious. she can’t hold it against him.

“i dunno, i just haven’t seen anything convincing yet, i guess.” her gaze slides back over to jester, the ends of her mouth turned downward, and she feels guilty, somehow. “sorry to disappoint.”

“not disappointing, beau,” caduceus smiles. “if anything, it’s to be respected. you believe in what you see, that’s not bad. it would be bad,” and here he turns to jester, “if she was not willing to go and see for herself if there is something to see. take it as a compliment, that she wants to see what you want to show her. it’s not something everyone gets.”

beau’s face feels hot— god, she’s forgotten how good deuces can be at figuring out the entirety of her. with jester, she imagines, it’s especially easy. they all know she’s sunk and gathering silt.

but jester just grins, leans forward towards caduceus and takes beau’s hand in both of hers, squeezing fierce and eyes even moreso.

“oh, i know. that’s why i’m gonna take her to the garden.”

caduceus laughs.

“ah. now there is a place to find new belief.”)

—

the clay property is.... weird.

any house would be if it were built on graveyard land, but, like, it didn’t have to be what it is.

(“well, it wasn’t built on the graveyard,” caduceus says. “the graveyard was built onto it.”)

it’s private land, for one thing— a century or two back, the clays started getting visitors to their strange little stone house on the outskirts of the forest, people who wanted to buy their tea.

it’s off-putting to everyone, beau thinks, the first time, to hear they grow the tea from graves. but the taste, well, it can’t really be argued with. and in that funny way that people do, especially if there’s someone who’s done it first, some of the visitors decided they wanted to be part of it. wanted to give to something even past when they knew they were doing it.

it’s a nice sentiment. maybe she’d do it, too, like she knows fjord wants to, but, well. every time she thinks about rest, she just thinks about nicodranas. and that’s not really the sort of thing she’s ready to ask— carries a whole mess of feelings she’s afraid to say, afraid to feel. and jester doesn’t like talking about death— doesn’t like talking about beau dying, at least. there’s a special frown she gets, this particular angry scrunch to her mouth.

beau slides a look along the path towards her— they’re at where the trees start to crop up, now, and before them she can see less orderly rows of gravestones, covered much more thoroughly and much less neatly in fauna. all kinds, not just tea-flowers.

it’s a graveyard, still, but beau understands now why this is the garden. all the work of a real garden is in the soil, the tending, the care. not deciding what can and can’t grow.

jester turns, eyes wide. she’d timed it pretty perfectly, beau thinks, it’s properly dusk now, purple spreading across the sky from the east.

“beau!” she whispers. “do you feel it?”

“nope.”

and she doesn’t, really. it’s getting dark, for sure, and they’re on the edge of a forest that, technically, is not classified as an empirical park because of “problems with surveying”— it’s a fancy way, caduceus told them, of saying that the people who went into the forest to see if it was safe for visitors never came back. and that the empire gave up on trying to buy it from the clays.

(“besides, they would never get it anyway,” caduceus says, tilting his cup to get a better look at the leaves. “the grove is sacred ground. we’re not interested in money.”

“but,” and fjord gestures at caduceus’s torso, the long sleeve starting to tear into two gauzy halves from repeated wear. “cash might not be the worst thing in the world to have?”

“well, yes,” caduceus blinks, like it’s obvious. “that’s why i came with you all. mister fjord, did you get anything out of yours?”

“what? oh—“ and fjord looks into his cup, face darkening. it’s funny, to see him earnest, he never used to be, “i dunno, can you show me again?”

caduceus sidles closer along the carved booth seat to peer into fjord’s mug, fits his hands over fjord’s, and beau tips her chair back with a loud sigh and thinks that cash is the last thing on caduceus’s mind.)

jester pouts again— she really puts her whole body into it, sort of deflates, and beau, she just. doesn’t know what to do? doesn’t know how to feel something when she doesn’t, doesn’t want jester to be sad, but all she feels is guilty and a little cold.

“maybe give it some time?” she says. jester looks at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, and then she sits, doesn’t even look behind her and drops like a stone between two graves.

“okay. if you need time, we’ll take time.” jester starts digging through her bag again, and produces the tarot cards she’s been fiddling with for weeks now, wrapped in silk and rubber bands.

(“why silk, again?”

“the book said,” jester puffs out her chest a little proudly— she likes to tell beau things, beau thinks, likes to be the one who knows something first. and, so, beau likes asking jester things. “it strengthens the connection. helps them feel loved.”

anything jester has doesn’t need silk to feel loved, she thinks, and says “don’t the rubber bands sort of cancel it out?” instead.

“i don’t know how else to keep it on! silk is slippery, beau,” and jester comes and bats at beau’s hands so she can take the deck away. “besides, i don’t think they can tell.”

a little crease sits between her eyebrows, though, and beau wants to kick herself for it, wishes she could just ask things honest and not rough, the way she’s used to asking. wishes connecting felt easier.

maybe, something buried deeps says, you should wrap her in silk, and she shoves it deeper.)

“can i give you a reading? i think i’m finally—“ and she drops her voice at this, so low beau wouldn’t recognize her next words if she hadn’t flipped through the little booklet— “psychically connected, now.”

she looks at the faded cards, where one is loose, half showing through the silk. a hand, holding something— a staff? a sword?— away from her. she doesn’t remember the cards specifically, their meaning, but upside down, she remembers, that’s almost never good. and upside down it is.

something cold runs along her spine. maybe jester will get her to feel something, after all. “go for it.”

jester fiddles with the cards for a while— finding the major arcana, she thinks— and then presents them to beau.

“here,” she says. “shuffle these for a while, and start to think about what you want to ask.”

somewhere in the deck is the card she’d seen, the hand, holding its prize away from her. for a moment, she has the urge to flip through and find it, but that would definitely be disrupting the connection.

she separates them into two piles and shuffles, normally crisp and now muffled by soft edges, by years of use. where had jester gotten these again? she’d had to buy the booklet separately, at a crystal shop while caduceus had ducked in with fjord in tow.

where did these come from?

a headache is brewing in her temples, fuzzy and threatening to coalesce. she resorts to just shifting the cards apart and together, and tries to think of her question.

jester doesn’t need to know it— for a brief second, she entertains the idea of knowing just how fucked she is, having jester tell her, indirect as it is— but entertaining is all it is.

“you think of it yet?” jester’s tugged the fleece blanket out of her bag and lays it out to sit on.

“yeah, uh,” and she shifts onto a corner of the blanket, puts the deck down gingerly. “you might need to help me rephrase it, though.”

“of course!” jester cups her hands on either side of the deck, like it’s a candle, like parentheses.

“okay. i want to know if there are ghosts here.”

“beau,” jester says, pulls her name out, “there are, caduceus said. can’t you feel it?”

“no,” she ducks her head a little. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault,” jester says, and it’s stupid, how serious their voices are when it’s just about ghosts and graveyards. it feels like it’s something else, like she’s not getting something. “maybe if we pick a good question, you’ll feel it.”

beau looks at her for a moment. the moon’s thin tonight, and rising just over the trees. everything feels strangely still. she feels a funny certainty bloom in her chest.

“why can’t i feel the ghosts here?”

jester’s eyes go wide. “perfect.”

—

jester does a standard spread. she doesn’t tell beau, but she remembers the diagram. she presents the deck to beau each time, and then places the chosen card, all in silence.

it’s a fall night— should be cold out, is cold out— but something about this, maybe how jester’s stopped talking other than here and next and okay, maybe how the trees offer some cover from the wind, or, fuck, maybe it is ghosts— feels like there’s a bubble, drawn around the two of them.

“first card,” jester says, “the present.”

(“it’s funny,” jester says. she’s hanging a little ways off the couch, upside down and holding the cards fanned out above her. “some of them are blank. i didn’t think that was a thing in tarot.”

beau frowns. “it’s not, i don’t think.”

why didn’t she ask where jester got them?

“guess i’ll have to draw them in, huh?” she pulls the cards closer. “do you remember where i put my watercolors?”

“yeah, they’re in my room. is that— are you allowed to do that?”

jester turns to look at her, as best she can. her hair floats below her in a short blue cloud, strands falling across her face. “they’re already blank, beau. i think we’re in uncharted waters.”)

it’s one of the ones jester has drawn in, she can tell immediately. an enormous moon, full and heavy, hangs just above center, and just below center it’s reflected in water as a face, dark eyes and mouth.

it’s like nothing jester’s drawn before. it’s reserved, eerie.

it’s upside down.

jester sucks in a breath between her teeth.

“next card. the origin.”

a building, bisected. the top half hangs just right of where it should be, about to fall.

“you.”

another of jester’s. a man, lying on the ground, curled around the low light of a lantern. upside-down.

“your surroundings.”

a hearth, the fire low but not gone. the kind of fire good for proper cooking, the kind of fire that needs tending.

“your fears or hopes.”

jester’s, again.

two angels— real angels, she thinks, the kind that make you understand why divinity in holy texts is translated as terrible— long feathered necks twining like snakes until their faces meet in the middle, too many eyes open.

“the outcome.”

a circle pierced through with four arrows, like the spikes of a wheel. upside down.

beau speaks first.

“they’re all major arcana.”

jester bites her lip.

god, beau doesn’t— she doesn’t believe in this stuff. the air feels uncomfortably still, like it’s solidifying. “what does that mean?”

“i don’t know.”

that funny feeling opens in her chest again, certainty less like a flower and more like a mouth.

“can you run back to the house? caduceus said he’d have tea ready, and i’m getting cold. besides, you can grab the booklet.”

“can i— what? beau, i don’t—“

“it’s okay,” she says, and doesn’t look at jester, just watches the still figure of the man around the lantern, shadows creeping in from the corners to steal the light. “i just need a minute.”

jester stands and dusts off her skirt, alright, but stays looking down at beau for a long moment before she hears the soft sounds of her stepping back amongst the plants, avoiding blooms and fungal caps, back to the distant loom of the property.

no one speaks to her, she just. knows it’s being said, the same way she knew that the van seat wasn’t empty. the same way she knows it happened, somewhere far away. somewhere that feels a little closer, now.

would you like a reading, beauregard?

“you don’t need the book?”

they were my cards.

“even jester’s? you can’t tell me she followed the actual rules, there’s no way.”

she was my friend, too, you know.

“yeah, sure.”

what?

first card. the full moon, inverted. things are not as they should be.

“no shit.”

second. the tower. a chaotic beginning. something changed.

in her mind, the car bends around the tree. she and caleb are walking the same road, veth on caleb’s shoulders, but it’s snowing. she’s crying.

“i don’t understand.”

third. the hermit, inverted. you feel alone.

it’s cold, again. she’d say she didn’t notice when it had crept back in, but she knows down to the moment.

“yeah, whatever. next.”

fourth. the hearth. there is warmth to be had, if you are willing to stoke it. if you let yourself get close enough.

a square of light opens in the distance— a door, opened outward. a figure, returning.

“think so?”

fifth. the beloved. a fear, or a hope, beauregard?

“depends on who’s being beloved, i guess.”

sixth. the wheel, inverted. the cycle will break.

“hasn’t it already?”

—

jester hands her a mug— it’s the one with little bees, yellow-paint thumbprints drawn over with little black stripes and wings, different sizes because, well, everyone’s hands are different sizes.

a birthday present. she thinks of the hearth, imagines opening up a brick of charcoal to reveal the red glow within. hidden under wintry ash, but alive.

“what were you saying, earlier?”

“huh? oh, uh, just thinking about the cards.”

jester pauses to puff out a breath, sending steam rolling from the lip of her mug— handmade, with clarabelle clay scrawled messily on the underside. “i couldn’t find the book, i’m sorry. do you remember where i put it?”

somehow, she knows it’s gone. “nah. no big deal,” and she gestures for jester to crawl over to her side. “i think i figured it out.”

“beau,” jester draws out the syllable again, like a worn spring, “that was supposed to be my job.”

but she crawls over anyway, sets down her mug and shuffles around the spread until she’s pressed against beau’s side. “oh, well. how come you can’t feel it?”

jester runs cold, and she hasn’t had any of her tea yet, but she just keeps thinking of the hearth. of the man, opening the door of the lantern to let the light pour out and over him. the angels, their moonlike faces pressed together.

“it’s just hard for me not to feel alone.”

jester’s quiet, for a long moment. her arms are wound so her hands meet over beau’s other hip, and beau feels her hold an inhale.

“but?”

the keeper of a cycle is the only one who can break it.

she presses her mouth against the crown of jester’s head and tries not to shake. “but i think i’m figuring it out.”

Can you do "Take off your shirt" for Beaujester?

it’s early in the morning now; the sun hasn’t quite risen from its cradle behind the mountains but the sky is slowly bleaching to a pale gauzy grey, a rippled fabric roof that feels heavy and strange. maybe it’s just because jester is accustomed to the seaside, that burned blue sky that changes seemingly on a quick wind to storm tossed grey and back again. the sky in rexxentrum never seems to change. never goes entirely black with storm like it feels like it should. never clears. just...hangs there.

jester is staring out at it when a hand presses somewhat clumsily onto the glass pane, shoves it open. the latch strains and then pops open—not very strong, someone should tell the nice vaguely overbearing dwarven lady about that. hinges shriek faintly. a voice, probably belonging to the person whose hands those are, swears quietly.

‘you know,’ jester says, and watches those fingers grow white with pressure beneath the splattering of grime and blood, ‘you could have come through the door. it might’ve been quieter, beau.’

beau hangs a moment longer. then, with a long grunt of effort, lifts herself up onto the sill. she straddles it, inches carefully into the room and despite herself, jester is kinda impressed. if she hadn’t been awake already, she never would’ve woken up—and, and this can’t be forgotten, they are on the second floor.

‘very impressive!’ jester shuffles in the bed, sits up, applauses brightly. beau’s form is all in shadow, silhouetted by the rising sun, but jester sees her shoulders rise with a little shrug.

‘thanks.’

jester frowns. ‘are you okay? you sound weird.’

‘fine.’ beau pulls herself fully through the window. if jester hadn’t been watching closely, she would miss the way the other girl sways. puts her hand out on the end of the bed to steady herself. she wonders idly what she might have missed in the past, if she hadn’t been watching. ‘i’m gonna take a bath. wake myself up.’

‘oh, but, did you sleep?’

‘yeah. yeah, i slept,’ beau tells her. she doesn’t sound like she’s lying, but. jester also knows she’s good at it. ‘just went on a little, y’know, wake up run. some exercises. don’t wanna get flabby during down time, gotta keep in peak physical condish.’ her voice is typical beau: brash, harsh, over-confident, warm. pointed. like she’s talking right to jester. it isn’t so profound an effect when it’s just the two of them—and a sleeping yasha on the floor but she’s sleeping—but jester still feels it.

it’s distracting. jester pulls her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them. with a cheek pillowed on her knees, eyes tracking the way beau picks her way across the floor, jester wonders if maybe that means something. if maybe beau meant something, something real, when she talked about how good icky-thong and da’leth were at talking around something. how she had agreed when jester mentioned the details.

‘why do you have blood on your hands?’ jester asks, before beau can reach the door. ‘is that part of your morning exercises?’

beau stops. turns toward jester. not fully, but enough that she can eye the bed, and jester in it. enough that jester can see one corner of beau’s mouth as it twitches into a stretched smile.

‘yeah. sometimes, i dunno if you’ve noticed,’ she comments with a grin, ‘but i punch things.’

‘i’m not stupid beau.’

‘what? no, i know you’re not!’

‘i know you punch things.’ jester swings her legs out, touches her feet down onto the pleasantly chilly wooden floor. she wiggles her toes. ‘i know you don’t punch, trees and stuff,’ she insists. ‘not until you bleed.’

‘advanced monk techniques. always learning new shit.’

‘that lie,’ jester says, trying to keep her voice steady, ‘wasn’t as good as your others. turn around.’

beau stays where she is facing the door.

‘i’m gonna take a bath. i stink.’

‘turn around, beau.’

‘no.’

jester stares, confused, at beau’s back. ‘no?’ she doesn’t think beau has ever told her no before. not like that, not without suggesting something else, or, or saying hey i like the idea but it’s also the worst one i have ever heard, just sayin’.

‘i’m taking a bath. and i’m going to the archives afterwards. don’t wait for me. tell the others.’

‘oh. okay.’

jester hates the way her voice sounds—small and confused. hates the way beau’s shoulder twitches before she reaches out for the door to the hallway and slips out, out of sight.

she waits there a moment, tail curling and uncurling around her ankle. she listens to the sounds: yasha’s deep, even breathing, so nice to hear after she had been gone for so long; foot traffic and the wooden tap of wheels over cobbled stone from the one or two wagons moving around so early in the day; the silence like a held breath and then the distant rattle and hum of pipes from the bathroom.

jester’s eyes drop from the doorway to the floor. there’s a pool of blood where beau had been standing. small, maybe a good dozen or so heavy drops. jester’s stomach squirms at the sight of it. too much to have come from scraped knuckles.

‘oh this is a bad idea,’ she tells herself, but pushes open the door and follows after beau.

//

the washroom is lovely. small, only intended for one or maybe two occupants. the bath itself is only big enough for one adult, though feasibly if one wasn’t particularly concerned with comfort, two or three could cram into the space. the bottom one might drown, of course, but it’s only a hypothetical.

the room is filled with steam but beau is still dressed, leaned over the hand basin in a pose jester has never seen her in. slumped. tired. one hand is braced on the wooden tub and she stands a pace or two back, most of her weight on the one arm. her head hangs down, hair loose and falling like a curtain down around her face.

her other hand, jester sees—in the instant between breaking the handle to burst in and beau whirling around to face her—her other hand is curled arojnd her waist. no, a little higher. around her ribs.

‘what’s wrong with your ribs?’ jester demands.

‘what the fuck?’ beau hisses back. the steam isn’t enough to hide the damage to her face—the rapidly swelling cheekbone, obviously broken, the split in the same eyebrow. ‘jester, i’m in the fucking bathroom—i could have been taking a shit—‘

‘but you aren’t taking a shit!’ jester accuses, and kicks the door shut behind her. ‘you’re in here being weird and bleeding and not telling me what’s wrong! i know there’s something wrong beau, i’m not stupid!’

‘why do you—has someone called you stupid?’ beau half asks, half demands. ‘why do you keep saying that? who was it?’

‘no, no one, it’s just—ah!’ jester almost screams, jabs a finger toward beau. they’re close, not quite face to face but the room isn’t terribly large. ‘don’t try to distract me, it won’t work!’

the steam has wafted away from their faces, largely escaped out the door and now curls around their feet, building again, pouring from the bathtub as the water level rises slowly. with no filter, nothing hiding beau’s face, jester sees the flicker of something in dark eyes—fear? annoyance? upset? as soon as she sees it, it’s gone again; jester pours over beau’s face, her stance, but she’s gone still and silent and there’s nothing to pluck, nothing to catch.

‘bad training session,’ beau lies. out and out lies.

jester huffs, scowls across at her. ‘you don’t have to lie to me, beau. i don’t care what you were doing—well, no, i care but you know if it was a bar fight i would think that’s really fun, and if it was dairon i would kick her in the teeth because wow-a, you’re fucked up,’

‘thanks. i held my own pretty good, though.’ beau smirks. chucks her chin up in that infuriating smug way she does. there’s still nothing behind the unblinking eyes.

‘i just mean, whatever it is, beau, i just want to make sure you’re okay. you know that, right?’

‘of course.’

‘of course,’ jester repeats, brow crinkling. she can’t figure out why it sounds so weird, so off. shrugs it away uncomfortably. ‘so?’

‘so what?’

‘are you gonna let me heal you or what?’

there is a long, long moment where jester has no idea what beau is going to say. it’s strange, because they’ve been through storms and fights and people nearly dying and getting kidnapped and being pirates and shopping and rescuing people and jester was pretty sure that, if not an open book, beau was fairly easy to read. that she got the gist of what beau was saying, or what she wanted to say. but here, in a cramped steaming room with very little space between them and a pressing weight of a lot of very important very scary things bearing down on all sides, jester looks for the face of her friend in the woman across from her and finds nothing but a smooth mask. and who is standing behind it, she can’t quite say.

‘beau?’

‘i don’t mind a scar or two,’ beau says. smile ticks up at the corner, crooked, charming in a very roguish kind of way.

‘i think you’ll mind when your broken cheek stops you from eating. or gets infected and your brain swells and you die.’

‘sexy. the way i’ve always wanted to go.’

‘beau.’

finally. beau’s eyes cut away from her. it isn’t much, but it’s enough. almost a flinch.

‘have i—done something wrong?’

‘no,’ beau insists, instantly, the word spat between them. her eyes are back on jester, burning hot. ‘no.’

‘then what is it? because first you’re not wanting to sleep with me and then you’re not talking to me and you’re sneaking out in the middle of the night to go i don’t even know.’

‘fight.’

‘well obviously,’ jester mutters, accent thick with upset.

‘in a fighting pit.’ beau breaks her harsh stance a bit. steps over to the bath and twists the tap off so it stops filling. it’s at about the halfway mark now and she busies herself with sniffing at a few of the bottles on the counter, nose wrinkling at the heavily perfumed ones. she tips in a few drops of something that smells of wood notes, lets the oil diffuse into the water.

‘i get to fight,’ she tells jester, and lowers herself down onto the small stool beside the bath, one arm resting on the lip of it, the other curled around her middle. ‘until i win, or until i’m fucked up.’ she grins. tired. more of a baring of teeth.‘same thing, kinda.’

‘oh.’ jester looks around for another stool. there isn’t one, so she perches on the edge of the bath. ‘so. you’re, like, not okay then.’

beau’s grin widens. she laughs a little, disbelieving. shakes her head. ‘i guess not.’

‘is it because of caleb?’

‘what?’

‘you were super pissed the whole time we were at—at that place. and every time caleb mentioned icky—‘

‘don’t. say his name,’ beau breathes. squeezes her eyes shut tight. winces at the pressure on her cheek. ‘yeah. i hated that.’

jester narrows her eyes. ‘but is that really why? or are you letting me think it?’

‘i’m not that good of a liar, jester.’

‘but are you really not, or are you just saying tha—‘

‘jes.’

jester huffs. arranges her skirts.

they sit for a few long moments in silence. then beau bends with a groan to start to remove her boots. jester slides to the floor to help, batting beau’s hands away.

‘jes, no, you don’t have to—‘

‘you’re hurt, beau. just...let me.’

the laces hiss out of their hoops, loosen from around beau’s ankles. jester tosses one and then the other into the corner of the room, peels beau’s socks off next and throws them soon after. it might be the heat of the room but beau is flushed, embarrassed, and the hand on the bath comes up to cover her face.

‘thanks,’ she grunts.

‘you’re welcome.’ jester glances up from beneath lowered lashes, catches the exhaustion written over beau’s face when she thinks jester isn’t looking. ‘beau?’

‘mn.’

‘are you okay? for real?’

‘i mean, i’m beat to shit but that was kinda the point.’

‘no, i know,’ jester says, though she doesn’t think she does know entirely. not in the way beau seems to be implying. ‘but. everything with caleb and the beacon and, and yasha, and,’

‘right. yasha,’ beau sighs, sounding ten times more exhausted. ‘i need to talk to the soul.’

‘about yasha?’

‘nah. i mean. sort of.’ she tilts her head from side to side in a half nod. ‘about the way da’leth fuckin’ lied to them about who yasha was.’ beau shakes her head, seeing jester’s worry. ‘i’m not gonna let them do anything to her. i’m not mad—i’m relieved as hell we got her back, trust me.’

‘i do,’ jester says instantly.

the tightness in the corners of beau’s eyes loosens a fraction. enough that jester notices.

‘yeah. i just can’t—i can’t side with the assembly on lying to the soul just because my friend is caught in the mix.’ beau sighs. stands. ‘anyway. fuck. i need a bath. gotta soak and—not think. for a second, anyway.’ jester stands when she does and for a moment beau looks at her expectantly and then sighs. ‘i don’t mean to be rude but like, alone?’

jester rolls her eyes. ‘i’m not leaving until i’ve healed you.’ discomfort slashes across beau’s face like the cut of a knife. ‘you didn’t think i would seriously follow you and let you get away with not getting healed, did you?’

‘i mean...’

‘no. take off your shirt.’

‘not the way i’m used to hearing that said,’ beau jokes. she turns around. grips her shirt at the waist and pulls it up and over her head.

jester stares. she can’t help it. she’s seen beau get changed in their shared room before, shared excursions to bath houses before, but not like this. maybe because it has been a while, maybe because beau has gotten stronger and harsher on their travels, maybe because beau is holding herself tight and tense with pain or worry or vanity, but beau’s back is sculpted—layer upon layer corded muscle and scar, make up the planes of beau’s back, holding tight to the column of her spine, taut muscles of her shoulders leading to the notch of her neck where it meets the spine. her scapula shift, probably out of discomfort, but it looks mesmerising to watch the muscle and bone move beneath her skin.

and the bruises. the imprint of knuckles, of dull bootprints, the too-perfect ring of knuckledusters, paint purples and reds over beau’s skin, breaking the surface now and again in red scratches and contusions.

jester reaches out.

‘i’m—going to heal you now.’

‘yup. cool.’

she lays her hand flat on beau’s back. it falls of its own accord, seemingly, to curl around beau’s hip and the magic doesn’t burst out of her or sparkle like it sometimes does but instead jester, maybe because she’s so entranced so focused on beau and healing her, that jester feels beau. feels her like her magic is touching her, like she’s seeping into beau, the edges of herself and beau merging for a second. it’s weird and scary and jester whips her hand away quickly.

stares as beau rolls her shoulders out, the movement exaggerated by being so in her face.

‘thanks, jes. that—that feels better.’

‘good.’

‘can i have my bath now?’ beau asks.

jester hesitates. tries one more time. ‘are you okay, beau?’

‘i mean, you healed me so never better.’ she waits a moment. ‘i’m kinda half naked, jes.’

it’s not the answer she wanted. or, it is—she wants beau to be okay—but it was casual, easy. another lie. she leaves, feeling like she has seen more of beau than she was prepared for. and not the naked skin part.

jester focuses a minute on mending the handle and lock of the door she had broken. that, at least, is straightforward. that, at least, she can fix.

Candy Corn Blues

Hey everyone here’s another one shot for Spooktober! It’s short and sweet (pun intended) hope you all enjoy it!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Female Reader

Ratings: PG 13 (Language, booze). All Fluff, already established relationship with Steve.

Words: 2,447

Summary: Why does everyone have to pick on Steve about his candy choices?

(Don’t own anything, except the reader. This was not endorsed by any candy companies. No beta either, so have fun finding mistakes. I’m sure there’s some.)

Candy Corn Blues

It was the second week in October when you arrived home from a mission with Steve. It had gone easy enough. Some minor cuts and bruises, but you returned to the Compound with the information you needed to stop a known terrorist from blowing up another building full of important people at another important gala in Washington. You’d care more if they hadn’t gotten so predictable lately. You were happy to do the job, but this mission was cutting into your favorite time of year. That bugged you.

You were entering the loud living area after a much needed shower, smile on your lips as you overheard your teammates continuing the discussion from earlier in the Quinjet.

“I’m telling you guys, Snickers is OBVIOUSLY the best Halloween candy.” Bucky rolled his eyes, sipping from his mug of coffee. How that man could drink that sludge this late was beyond you. But then again, it had been a pretty long night for all of you. And it’s not like alcohol would do anything to him. Sam remained firm in his opinion, shoulders tense as he stood his ground.

Tony scoffed, “Again you’re wrong Wilson, Reese’s pumpkins are by far the better candy for this time of year.” You high fived the man as you took the seat next to Steve on the overstuffed couch, giving him a quick peck before settling into his side, his arm going over your shoulders as if it had a mind of its own. “See? Y/N’s got the good sense to agree with me! Always knew you had good taste.”

“I see the debate is still in session.” You giggled as Steve fake groaned, leaning into you and resting his head on yours as you cuddled on the couch. You hadn’t really gotten a lot of time to each other the last couple weeks, the Avengers splitting up to help cover more ground on this terrorist situation. “I’ve missed you.”

The blonde man sighed into your hair, trying to ignore the scene behind him. “And I you Sweetheart.”

“Seriously Stark? Reese’s? Those taste like sawdust coated in those cheap chocolate candy melts and then left to rot for a year before they’re put on shelves.”

“Oddly descriptive Sam, “Nat pulled a face, reaching for a beer Thor was holding out for her. “Do I want to know just how you know what sawdust tastes like?”

“Har har, very funny. Just admit it, I’m right.”

“I have to disagree Samuel, I quite enjoy the taste of a Three Musketeers bar.” Thor shrugged, Bruce clicking his tongue between his teeth as he shook his head.

“Nah man, you guys are forgetting about Milky Ways!” Wanda nodded enthusiastically, not having said much most of the day, but you figured out pretty quickly she hadn’t actually eaten a lot of the candy that had been in the conversation.

It was Tony’s turn to make a face. “Banner those are almost as bad as Snickers. They might as well be sister-wives in the family of gross.”

“What about Sour Patch Kids! Ya’ll are sleeping on a classic!” You piped up from your position with your beau, the group collectively groaning and muttering “no”. “Well screw you too.”

“Hey we haven’t heard from Mr. Perfect teeth yet.” Tony jolted the man next to you out of his dozing mindset, a sheepish grin covering his face as he refused to speak. “What’s up Cap? Y/N got your tongue?”

“Crude Tony, but no. My favorite candy is none of your business.” You turned your head to look at him, swallowing his comment in your brain. You had no idea what his favorite candy was, not that he was a huge fan of sweets to begin with. You hadn’t even been dating that long, but you were certain you hadn’t asked him. “Don’t look at me like that Y/N, I’m not telling you.”

“Oh come on darling,” You cooed, trying to bait an answer out of him. “It can’t be that horrible. I’ll keep the big bad Stark away from you if it’s Snickers.” You rubbed his large forearm soothingly, the man’s face turning a slight shade of pink as he took a deep breath.

“Alright,” he sighed out the breath as if it was his death warrant, shutting his eyes to avoid everyone else’s as they waited. “It’s chicken feed.”

Your face was priceless. “Uh, what?”

“Sorry, it hasn’t been called that for awhile now I guess,” He chuckled, “Candy corn. I really love candy corn.”

The chorus of “WHAT?” and “THE FUCK ROGERS?” was deafening, Steve’s jaw tensing as he kept his eyes shut.

“Jesus Steve I know they didn’t have much back in the forties but my man, some things you can leave in the past. I wish they had left those travesties back in the eighteen-eighties.” Sam groaned out, Bucky laughing at his friend’s miserable features as Tony fake gagged.

“For once we agree Sam. Candy corn is the absolute worst thing to happen to this world since the black plague.”

“It’s just so…basic! Bland! There’s nothing to it! It’s like they made all of it back in nineteen twelve and have just been selling that one batch this whole time!”

“Pretty sure dirt has more flavor to it.”

Your face tensed as the men continued to berate your boyfriend’s choice, your hand coming over his to squeeze it gently. You knew he would shrug it off, but it still managed to get under your skin, even if they were right. “I’m sorry I asked, I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”

“It reminds me of a simpler time. I mean there wasn’t tons of great tasting candy that was cheap back then. My ma always managed to get her hands on some and it’s just another way to remember her.” Your heart swelled as he smiled at you, blinking his eyes open. “I know it isn’t incredible, but I don’t need a bunch of ingredients or gimmicks. It’s just candy.”

“You’re sweet enough as is Rogers, I promise you that.” You muttered, watching his smile widen as he gave you another cavity inducing kiss.

Another two weeks went by in a flash, before you knew it Steve was leaving with Bucky, Sam, and Nat to go take out the terrorist. You had elected to stay behind with Tony, not feeling up to the adventure and it was going to be over too quick anyway. You had been nice enough to send him pictures of candy corn on the thirtieth, as it was the national day for it. He was quick to rub it in Sam’s face. Snickers didn’t have a holiday after all. You didn’t want to be parted from Steve, but you also didn’t want to risk missing movie night. Especially when Nat, Pepper, and you had all decorated the Tower in scary lights and creatures. Hell, Steve didn’t even want you to miss that, knowing this was your thing.

So they went to catch the bad guys while you, Pepper, Tony, and Peter Parker all sat crunched together on the sofa, watching everything from Hocus Pocus to Saw. You laughed when Pepper and Peter clung to each other, you and Tony egging on the classic slashers and cheering when teenagers met their end in terrifyingly awful and supremely dated ways.

“Holy shit!” You jumped, quickly dissipating into laughter as FRIDAY announced the team had stopped the terrorist, your heart rate calming at hearing everyone was fine and would be back tomorrow night after a meeting with the president. You opened the text window on your phone, smiling as Steve had sent you a picture of him with the team, all carving pumpkins in their hotel room a few hours later.

“Wish you were here Pumpkin.” The caption read, you snorting into your handful of popcorn, quick to take a picture of a woman mid scream on the T.V and sending it back with the attached text.

“You’re a real scream Sweetheart. See you soon.”

“Have a dreadfully good evening Doll.” Was in your window less than two seconds later. He was getting faster with his texting. Tony huffed a louder than needed “ahem”, drawing your eyes back to the T.V to watch Jamie Lee Curtis limp towards the safety of a closet.

“Man fashion sure has changed for the better hasn’t it Mister Stark?” Peter asked, the older man looking at him as if he was crazy. “What? You were alive in the seventies right?”

You and Pepper were in tears as the outraged Tony threw popcorn at the young man.

The next day you were helping Pepper take down the decorations in the tower, humming some Halloween tune to yourself as you placed the giant fake spiders and bats back in their correct boxes. The team would be back early morning tomorrow and you couldn’t wait to get some cuddle time with Steve. Tony had promised you two some R and R and you were going to have it. Even if the holidays were approaching like a bullet train. Picking up your phone you pressed the green icon next to your favorite Captain’s name, his voice coming in within a ring and a half.

“Hey Doll, you have a good night last night?”

“Yea, you? Looks like you were up to your hips in pumpkin guts.” You laughed, imagining him covered in the sticky substance.

“It was a lot of fun, you would have made it better though.”

You could feel the smile in his voice. “Well duh, this is me we’re talking about. I make everything better.”

“That you do. Going to go ransack all the stores of their Halloween clearance?” The blonde asked, frowning from his own position on the globe as yet another store didn’t carry his preferred candy. That was the fourth store. Had they stopped making it? “Hmm. This isn’t right.”

“You know me too well.” You smiled as Tony jingled the keys to his car at you, throwing you a pair of flats as you balanced the phone on your shoulder. “What’s not right?”

“I can’t find any candy corn. I was going to pick some up to hold me over til the Christmas kind comes out.”

“Awww poor baby.” You could hear Sam’s sarcasm from the other side of the line, stifling your own laughter as you got in the car. “I see they actually have sense here in Washington. Which is a big deal when you think about it.”

“Shaddup Sam,” Steve’s tone had a frustrated edge to it, and you were beginning to suspect that this was not the first comment Wilson had made during your boyfriend’s plight. “I can’t wait to see you , I’ll let you get to shopping. Tell Tony we’re gonna have pizza tomorrow so you don’t have it tonight.”

“But it’s Pizza Friday.” You complained weakly, knowing the older man was bound to throw a fit over a change in the routine.

“He’ll get over it. He likes you the most anyway, so he won’t be angry if you tell him.”

“Man you are so lucky you’re cute.” You muttered, Steve chuckling into the receiver.

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll make it up to you.” Your heart shuddered at his promise.

“You better. Sorry about your candy corn blues.”

“S’alright. Maybe you were right about me being sweet enough already.”

The two of you said your goodbyes and hung up, an idea popping into your head as you buckled your seat belt, admiring the leather of Tony's expensive car. You were even more excited to go shopping now, the billionaire almost looking worried as you bounced in your seat all the way to the first store.

The next day Steve and his team dragged their exhausted bodies from the Quinjet, the mission that took nearly a month to complete heavy on their minds as they decompressed from the stress.  The press event with the President had been worse. How that was possible none of them knew. To say they were happy to be home was an understatement. Rogers had actually dreamt of his bed the last couple nights, more specifically the woman who was in the bed. You hadn’t been dating for more than six months yet but he was already head first and heart deep in love with you. Everything you did was so effortless and gentle. You always thought of him, putting him and others before yourself. He admired your strength, as you didn’t need serum or powers to kick ass. He always had a weakness for powerful women though.

He didn’t bother turning on the light when he entered his room, stripping off his clothes and promptly passing out on his bed, taking note you weren’t there to greet him. Probably smart for you to sleep in your room, as it was nearly three in the morning.

He woke up to the biggest shock of his life.

The light streamed into his room like the sun had made it its own personal mission to make sure Steve would go blind. Standing up, he yawned, rubbing his eyes before they widened in surprise.

His room was crawling in candy corn. Containers and bags of it flooded his floor and chair next to his bed. There were even a couple of bags on his bed. How could he have slept through all of this? He must have been more tired than he thought. There was a pumpkin shaped container nearly overflowing with the sugary confection on his nightstand, little packets meant for trick or treaters hanging out of his shoes. A knock at his door startled the man, Steve carefully stepping over the obnoxiously bright orange bags on the floor as he opened the door.

You lowered a large pillow in the shape of his favorite treat, large grin on your face. “Morning. Do you think this will hold you over til Christmas?”

He laughed hard at that, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you breathless.

“Doll, you’re the absolute sweetest. Thank you.”

“Anytime Captain. Now as I recall you have some making up to do.” You whispered suggestively, Steve taking the hint and closing the door behind you, smile never leaving his eyes.

The End.

Taglist: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more

Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 4

Fandom: Critical Role

A continuation of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt. I make some important notes about really the whole fic on the ao3 post. Short version: Landlords dating tenants is not cool, at all. I’ve been writing this with the knowledge that Caduceus wouldn’t abuse that power dynamic. But in the real world? Everyone should make their own choices, but I, personally, do not condone it.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57397261

Chapter Four: Pink Blossoms

He awoke in the morning to the sound of metallic clanging.

“It’s breakfast ti~ime,” Jester’s cheery voice sang from outside his door as she banged - what? Pots and pans? - together. “It’s time to wake u~up!”

He heard distant, high-pitched cursing from the direction of Nott’s room, followed by a giggle from Jester and her thudding back down the stairs.

Fjord threw himself out of bed, slinking into the bathroom for just a few moments to wake himself up. He’d slept like shit. Hadn’t he set an alarm to wake up early? Caduceus had said he could help out later in the day so he could sleep in, but he’d still wanted to be up for meditation.

So much for that.

Fjord made his way downstairs and through the kitchen into the dining room, where everyone but Nott was settling around a wide array of breakfast foods. There were tall stacks of pancakes, waffles, piles of fruit, syrup in different flavors, breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and more laid out, all in their vegan varieties. Fjord wasn’t sure about the vegan version of some of these items, but after everything else he’d eaten that week, he was willing to try.

Caduceus stood nearby, having just set down the final plate of food. He looked rather pleased with himself in his purple apron. A bit of light from the window was falling on his face just so, and Fjord thought that he looked rather handsome in that image.

Which was a weird thought, and one he squashed back down. He didn’t need to get into that weird admiration-crush area right now. In fact, it might be the exact last thing he needed.

Fjord took his seat, Nott following shortly after. They all tore into the food, shockingly quiet for a few moments as everyone was lost to the joys of breakfast. What had seemed to Fjord like a ridiculous amount of food turned out not to be, as the Nein neatly polished it off.

“That was so good Caduceus,” Beau said, slouching a bit with a hand on her stomach.

The others echoed their thanks to a pleased Caduceus. Fjord couldn’t help the thought that Caduceus was the kind who needed people to fret over. He supposed the Nein was about as perfect a match as any.

Fjord considered spending his day studying, maybe trying to look at job postings. The thought reminded him of his rough night, of regretting ever leaving The Champions’ house even temporarily. But now, in the light of day and with a stomach full of pastries, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the right choice. Maybe, if there was such a thing as fate, he was meant to be here now. Surrounded by friends, with the only stranger becoming a fast friend as well, in a beautiful nature escape, under the eye of a goddess that asks you to protect and preserve rather than consume and destroy.

Any of his plans for the day were dashed by his friends, who coaxed him into joining them at a pop up carnaval. It was a day full of Jester-levels of chaos, spurred on by Nott that he gave up trying to contain after about an hour. At one point, Caleb had gone off to read, Beau was trying to impress Jester by winning her a giant unicorn plush at a game, Nott was on top of a popcorn stand, and Yasha was showing a juggler how to actually perform.

He took a deep sigh, pulled out his phone, and recorded a clip of all of his friends in their shenanigans to send to Molly. Then, on a whim, he sent it to Caduceus as well. He was kinda part of the group now, right? That was the impression Fjord got, even if Caduceus couldn’t join them today. Visiting his sister, he’d said.

By the time they made it back to the Xhorhaus, everyone still laughing and jostling one another, it was nearly sunset.

Caduceus was sitting in his rocking chair, wearing an endearing straw hat that made Fjord smile instinctively.

“Caduceus~!” Jester called out. “The carnival was so much fun. Look what Beau won me!”

She raised the over-stuffed unicorn plush high overhead with pride.

“You should join us next time,” Fjord said.

He smiled wide, eyes crinkling. “I’d like that.”

He stood up, a little slowly as though he’d been sitting for a while. “Would you all mind very much if we fended for ourselves for dinner? I’m rather tired today.”

There was a chorus of, “of course!” and “no problem!” from the group as they poured inside.

“Ah, Fjord? Could I speak with you for a moment?” Caduceus asked. Fjord paused, then stepped out of the way of the others. Had he done something wrong?

Ah, shit. He’d forgotten.

“Right. I still need to earn my keep for today,” he said with a little laugh. “What should I work on?”

“It’s not that,” he said, distracted and gazing off across the Grove. “Actually, I’d like to skip our project work today, if you don’t mind. We can call it even.”

“Caduceus, are you alright? I mean, it’s not that I’m not grateful for a break, but you seem...tired.”

He met Fjord’s eyes to smile. “I am a bit worn out today, I’m afraid. But just tired. Calliope’s gym is very busy on the weekends. Too many people.”

Ah, that made sense. Fjord wasn’t bothered by crowds too much most days, but it was obvious that Caduceus, while sociable and friendly, was a more introverted man. In fact, it was a little strange to imagine the towering pink firbolg anywhere other than in the Grove.

“Of course. Is there anything I could do to help?” Fjord asked. “I could try making you something to eat? I’m, uh, not familiar with much vegan cooking, but I’m sure I could put together some of those sandwiches you left out the other day? The moss ones?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t impose--”

“I insist. We could call it my work for the day, if need be.”

Caduceus considered it. “Well, alright. I would appreciate it, Fjord.”

Fjord stepped towards the door. “You get settled again. I’ll bring out some food and tea, and then we can talk.”

“Right, thank you.”

Fjord disappeared indoors, suddenly daunted by the idea of cooking anything for Caduceus. And he offered to make tea? Caduceus was the type to make tea properly, to brew it at the perfect temperature for the exact amount of time that particular tea required.

He ventured into the kitchen, carefully sifting through the shelves so as not to upset Caduceus’s inscrutable system. He found the sandwich ingredients easily enough - it was the kind of recipe you could piece together just by looking at the meal. The tea he relied on the Internet for. A search told him honey lemon tea might be an easy one to make. He watched a quick tutorial and made himself meticulous notes.

After a bit of time, he had two plates of sandwiches, neatly cut in half, and two cups of tea. He placed them strategically on a large tray with a little saucer of honey, a tiny spoon, and a sliced lemon. He’d noticed Caduceus often added them to his teas, so hopefully that would be enough if he hadn’t gotten the flavor right.

Caduceus was still outside, his empty tea cup on the little rounded table, slightly unbalanced. Fjord set down the tray, shifting it so Caduceus’s half was closest to him, then sitting on the bench.

“Thank you, Fjord,” Caduceus said.

“I hope I did it justice.”

“I’m certain you did. You’re a quick learner.”

They enjoyed a quiet moment, the warmth of the day beginning its shift into a cool night.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” Caduceus asked after a few moments, his sandwiches gone and tea between his hands. He always held it up to his chest like that, especially when he was sitting idly. It was a little cute.

“Yes, though it was tiring in its own way,” Fjord said. “You may have seen the video I sent.”

Caduceus chuckled. “I showed Calliope, and she got a good laugh out of that. Still can’t puzzle out why Nott was up on the popcorn stand.”

“I think the vendor said something that offended her? I don’t know.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” Caduceus said, straightening a bit. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Right.” Fjord felt the pit in his stomach return.

“Calliope runs a gym, and she has a few people she’s brought on staff,” he said. “She’s very proud, we all are. She normally spends her time between all the tasks, training, running the business, working reception, and the like. But she’s gotten a bit overwhelmed with the gym’s success.”

“Understandable,” Fjord said.

Caduceus nodded. “She told me she’s been having a hard time finding people she likes to help her out more. She really wants to find a part-time receptionist. I think she had one already, but she needs another. I mentioned I knew someone looking for work, and how you’d been helping me all week.”

“Oh,” Fjord said, unable to form any words beyond that.

Caduceus tilted his head thoughtfully. “She asked a lot of questions, most I couldn’t really answer, but she wanted to know if you’d like to speak with her about the job.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“I told her I would ask, but that you might have other things planned. I don’t want to assume or push anything on you, but I do think you would like working at the gym. And it’s important to Calliope that her employees be, at least, accepting of the Wildmother, and I know you’ve been respectful of Her.”

“Of-of course.” Fjord took a deep breath. A job? The pay couldn’t be worse than it was at the cafe, so as long as he got the same minimum hours...Which it sounded like the gym was doing well enough to need him around a bit...And wasn’t it close by?

“I, um, I’d certainly like to talk to her more about it,” Fjord finally said. “I can’t promise anything, but I am interested.”

Caduceus brightened. “Good! I know it’s far from decided, but wouldn’t it work out just so nicely? I’d like for Calliope to have trustworthy folks around her, and she could use someone who is good with people on her staff. She’s a little rough, but she’d be much better to you than some of these other folks have.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Fjord had always had some level of charm, even in his more awkward moments. It wasn’t a surprise to hear, but somehow hearing it from Caduceus made him flush.

“Here, let me get you her number.”

Fjord entered Calliope into his phone after a few attempts at getting her name right.

“I’ll send her a text tonight. Unless you think I should call her?”

“I think a text is fine. I’m the technology-challenged one of the family, not her.”

Caduceus smiled at Fjord’s laughter. They finished up their tea, talking a little more about their day. Soon it was dark, with speckled stars overhead and invisible crickets chirping away. They said their good nights, and Fjord breezed through his nightly routine. Wash his clothes, brush his teeth, file at his tusks, check that his assignments were all in order, plan what he might need to study tomorrow, finish laundry, then crawl into bed.

Lying in the dark of his room, he pulled out his phone and stared at the new contact.

It didn’t hurt to ask about the job, right?

In the dark of night, all alone, he felt those familiar hooks dig into his chest, like something weighed him down. Avantika would be so angry if he took another job. It was as good as saying he wasn’t coming back. He might lose all his other things. All that time invested. All the comfort in having someone else to make his decisions.

But it was so damned warm here. The Blooming Grove, the Xhohaus, it was like a dream. Was it even possible that it would stay? If he reached for it, would it just vanish?

Mind shifting between possibilities, the cold comfort of pain well-known versus the warm but terrifying unknown, Fjord fell asleep with his phone on his chest and a single text message he didn’t quite remember sending.

Hey Calliope, this is Fjord, the guy Caduceus mentioned. He said you might have an opening for a front desk role at your gym, and that I should contact you. I’ve got a few years of experience in customer service, and I spent years on various ships doing all kinds of odd jobs. If you still have that opening, I can send you over my full resume if you’d like to talk more.

~~

He dreamt of the ocean. He was standing on the edge of a rocky outcropping, staring out into the softly turning waves. They stretched out before him, intimidating. Awe-inspiring. Eternal. Powerful.

He looked up into a bright blue sky, watching as it shifted. A cloud, or a face? A face made of a cloud, maternal, grew to encompass the sky.

~~

When Fjord awoke his mind raced with the...conversation he’d had with the cloud, the promise he’d made. His heart raced with his mind, and he took a moment just to breathe. Process.

The sun was just beginning to fill the room. Fjord looked around. It was the same room he’d woken in, what, six times now. It was his seventh day in the Xhorhaus. It was his last day in the Xhorhaus.

He planted his feet on the wooden floor, seeing his phone discarded face-down on the floor. He ignored it for now, facing himself in the mirror as he had done merely days ago. Days and yet a lifetime.

He looked disheveled. His hair was still too long, too gray for his age. His face was clean, fuller. His eyes were clear, his slouch more natural and less burdened. He looked...stronger. Somehow. Maybe not physically. Those kinds of changes didn’t happen overnight, after all, but still.

A flash of pink caught his eye, and he looked to the houseplant sitting on the dresser. It had flowered overnight, from nothing to a vibrant pink, pointed sort of flower. He stood and approached the plant, barely grazing the flower with his fingertips. He knew that shade of pink.

It was surreal. He didn’t know if he was still dreaming or experiencing a mental break, but some deep, certain part of him knew it was neither. He dressed and went through his morning routine with a strange calmness over him. When he returned to his room, another shock awaited.

He turned back to his bed, intending on gathering his phone and making his bed, but more color caught his eye. Outside his window, that large, beautiful tree he’d come to admire had burst into color. It’s usually vibrant green leaves were now overwhelmed by bright pink flowers.

Caduceus stood beneath the petals, dressed in the long teal-pink robe-esque coat he’d worn earlier in the week. His back was to Fjord, a staff in one hand while the other extended out to catch a falling petal.

Fjord pried open the old window and leaned out. “Caduceus!”

Caduceus turned at the shout of his name. “Fjord? Look at this! I’ve never seen--”

“It’s amazing! Wait a minute, I’m-I’m coming downstairs.”

Fjord hurried from his room, leaving his window and door open in his haste. He tore out the front door, leaping down the porch steps to jog to the tree.

Caduceus was waiting, smiling with childlike delight as he was gently showered in pink. Petals had caught in his hair, a near-matching color. He laughed.

“I’ve never seen this happen, never heard of it happening,” Caduceus said. “I… I should take a picture. At some point. For my family.”

“I think I--” Fjord caught himself. Who was he to act as if he might be the cause of this? A minor miracle amidst another family’s home for centuries, where they had all worshipped a goddess he stumbled across in a dream, and he was going to try and claim it was about him?

“Do you know something, Fjord?” Caduceus asked in sincere curiosity.

“No, I couldn’t possibly. I just…”

Caduceus watched him expectantly, wise eyes waiting for him to come clean.

“I… I had a dream last night. About the Wildmother.”

Caduceus straightened, leaning towards him in intense interest.

“She asked me… To serve her, I think. Like you do, but different?” Fjord relayed the dream, the vision of the ocean, all that the Wildmother had told him, the promise he made, even the flower on his houseplant.

Caduceus’s smile slowly widened until it looked like it might split his face in his joy. “This is wonderful, Fjord!”

“Is it?” Fjord said. “I’m a bit nervous, if I’m honest.”

“You’ve been lost to this darkness for some time, I understand. Something drew you to it.”

Fjord looked down for a moment. “I...wanted guidance, I suppose. Purpose. Not to figure it out alone.”

“The Wildmother can give you those things, if you’d like for her to. And from what you’ve shared, I think some part of you might.”

“I’m sorry,” Fjord said. “I don’t mean to make this about me, I’m sure--”

“It is about you,” Caduceus said, almost confused. “She has chosen you to join her following, to take under her wing and her protection. There are no coincidences Fjord. This tree did not burst into flower for the first time in my life the night after you accepted its goddess by chance. She gave you a sign, several of them. First, when you were brought to her temple here, then when you met me, and more this morning.”

Fjord didn’t know what to say. He looked up at Caduceus. The man was smiling down at him, brimming with joy and pride. Was Caduceus proud of him?

He felt something push at his eyes.

Caduceus looked up into the tree. “This is a blessing, Fjord. I sensed you were meant for greater things than serving destruction, but it seems She has surprised me once again.”

Fjord managed a laugh. “She is certainly surprising.”

“Today is a special day,” Caduceus said, still smiling. “Would you help me finish breakfast? I think I’d like to bring it out here.”

“Of course.”

My younger brother gave me a writing prompt! Here’s “The Moon and the Sea”.

________________

Life with the Mighty Nein was tricky. Living with a group was a difficult thing. Especially for Caleb Widogast. He liked the quiet and being by himself and reading and not having to deal with a handful of nosy adventurers. But there was safety in numbers, and safety was not something that a wizard could turn his nose up at. Besides, Nott got lonely sometimes and he knew that he wasn't company enough for her, so he had to take the drawbacks with the advantages.

Also being with the Mighty Nein meant being with Jester. Though they’ve only been traveling together for a couple of weeks, the cleric truly was a highlight to his life, and one that he would never take for granted. But he knew he barely deserved to be her friend, let alone anything more than that. So he just kept to himself, which was easy for him and necessary for his secrets.

"Looks like it's going to be a full moon,” he said to Nott.

The goblin's eyes widened. "Already?"

Caleb nodded. "They do occur every 29 days."

"STOP THE CART!!" Nott screeched.

Fjord pulled at the reigns startled and one of the horses whinnied in protest. "What are you going on about?"

"We have to stop here for the night," Nott said. "Caleb and I need to find some very important components for potions and such, and they have to be gathered in the full moon."

"What the f$%* are you going on about?" Beau asked. "We can keep going for at least another two hours."

Nott rolled her eyes. "The forest here is perfect for moonlight foraging."

"Ja, I'm running low on spell components. Some of them requiring picking under the full moon and it's cheaper to do it myself," Caleb explained.

Fjord frowned but nodded anyways. "If you say so. We'll set up camp now then."

Caleb sighed. Maybe he could do this. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to hide his furry little secret. Though, honestly, he was surprised that anyone could look at him and not immediately shout 'Werewolf!'. Maybe he blended in better than he had realized or maybe their new companions were just stupid. He was leaning towards the second option.

“You don’t have to go with me,” Caleb whispered to Nott as they set up camp. “You can stay with the others and get some sleep. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t mind. I’d just stay up the whole night worrying about you if I stayed.” Nott smiled reassuringly up at Caleb.

He hated the thought of her staying up with him in the cold night, but he was grateful for the company. Nott was a good friend and more than he deserved.

Night came quickly, and Caleb and Nott went deep into the forest where no one could hear anything. Caleb began an old routine he had done dozens of times before and took off all his clothes, stuffed them in his bag and handed it to Nott.

"Moon will be out in 4 minutes," Caleb said.

"You're going to be okay. I'll keep you safe," Nott said. "They're not going to realize anything."

Caleb frowned. "If they start getting suspicious, we'll just leave."

Nott nodded. "Yeah! We're fine on our own anyway."

Sometimes Caleb wasn't so sure of that. He nearly died in that gnoll attack and if he had who would take care of Nott? There was no way he’d forgive himself if anything happened to her. Especially since she believed in him so much. She really shouldn't have. "Ja, we are." Caleb sniffed the air. "Do you think that there's any rabbits here?"

"Don't know. I wouldn't complain if we caught some rats tonight," Nott said.

"Those are too small for a real meal."

Nott huffed. "For you maybe. We'll just need to get a lot of them. Caleb?"

He froze rigid eyes to the sky. The moon was out, all fat and full in it's glowing glory. His hair stood up stiff and grew in length. Caleb clawed at the ground his nails becoming proper claws and his teeth fangs. A howl of pain echoed out of him. Fur covered his naked form and a tail sprouted out of him. Soon where a wizard once stood, a wolf now shook shaking the sweat off his back. The transformation was a painful and tiresome process that Caleb had long since gotten tired of.

"Are you okay Caleb?" Nott asked.

Caleb nuzzled against her hands receiving scratches and pets.

Nott grinned at him. "That's good. Let's see if we can get some hunting done tonight." She hopped up on his back and he sprung into action.

***

Caleb woke up the next morning naked but human and next to Nott. It was a fun night though a bit tiring, but it was better than what he had feared his fate would be of being a mindless monster. Instead, he was merely a wolf and in mostly control of his himself though he did have some doggish habits he had trouble kicking(one day, he would have his day and catch a squirrel).

Careful not to wake up Nott, he took his bag from her, got dressed, and gently picked her up. Nott mumbled something curled towards him. He made his way back to the Mighty Nein’s camp.

“About time you two showed up,” Molly said. “We were starting to think that you two were eaten by the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Caleb asked stiffening up.

Beau nodded. “They were howling all night. Didn’t you hear them?”

“Ja, but they were further south. Nothing to worry about,” Caleb said.

“They sounded pretty close to me,” Fjord said.

Caleb shook his head as he put Nott in the cart. “It’s a trick, their voices are good at echoing.”

“Yeah! I read about that once too!” Jester shouted.

“You did?” Beau asked.

Jester nodded seriously. “Yeah, in a smut book. They’re surprisingly educational.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Beau shook her head and went back to putting away her things.

Jester skipped over to Caleb and tugged on his arm. “Oh, there’s something I need to show you by the lake.”

Caleb looked over at the others. “We should be going soon. It looks like they’re nearly ready to go.”

“It won’t take long.” Her big violet eyes were too much for him to take.

Caleb heaved a sigh. “Very well, show me what’s at the lake.”

With a grin, Jester took his hand and lead him. His face grew hot at her touch and he could hardly focus on anything else. “It’s super cool, so I know you’re going to love it!”

“Ja? I’m excited to see it,” Caleb said flatly. But he said most things flatly.

The lake was a plain one but trees blocked the view of its shores, so they were completely alone. Jester looked around furtively, pulled off her cloak, and shook it out revealing a second cloak hiding beneath it. But this one was much finer than the first one. It was fur, sleek, and beautiful. If Caleb had to guess, he’d say that it was some kind of seal and resistant against water. The fur cloak was a cool gray with black spots and one almost looked like a dick. “Tada!” Jester sang showing it to Caleb.

“It’s a very nice cloak,” Caleb said, “but I don’t see why you had to pull me away from the others to show it to me.”

“Oh cause it’s a super secret special cloak. Kinda like how you went off with Nott for a super secret special reason,” Jester said.

Caleb went pale. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Jester clasped the cloak her neck and it was sealskin. The flippers hung down and she slipped her hands into the pockets at the ends of the flippers. “It’s okay, Caleb. I know what secrets like that are like. I’m not going to hurt you or tell anyone or anything.”

“You aren’t?” Caleb was still apprehensive.

“I’m not. Now, I need to show you the best part of my cloak!” Grinning, Jester dashed to the lake and jumped into the water.

Startled, Caleb ran after her. “Jester!” He looked down into the lake but couldn’t see her anywhere down there. Caleb started to take off his coat and book holsters, when he saw a seal bob up out of the water. It was grinning at him and had a mark that almost looked like a dick on its head. “Jester?”

The seal nodded and waved a fin at him. Jester then swam back to the shore and was suddenly a woman again. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Ja,” Caleb said numbly. “What, how, are you like me?”

“Ummm, kinda? Well, werewolves and selkies are actually pretty different, but we both turn into animals so it’s pretty similar. I have to be wearing my seal skin and be in the water to change,” Jester said as she carefully took her cloak off.

Caleb nodded still struggling to process it. “Oh, okay. The moon decides when I change. It’s not very convenient.”

“I bet it’s cool though,” Jester said.

Caleb shook his head. “Nein. It’s actually a little painful. Have you always been a selkie?”

Jester nodded. “Yeah, my mama was a selkie too, but her skin is missing. She gave it to my dad, but he never came back, so when I go live with my dad, I’m also going to get my mom’s coat back too.”

“She must miss it very much,” Caleb said.

“Yeah, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose mine. So I have to be super careful with it and keep it secret.”

Caleb watched her as she hid it once again under her green cloak. “And yet you told me.”

“Well, yeah, cause we’re the same. I’ve never met anyone else who can transform before.” Jester smiled at him brightly. “That means we’re animal buddies.”

“It does?” Caleb asked.

Jester nodded so hard her hair swished about. “Yeah! And that means we stick together and keep each other’s secrets safe.”

“Oh. I’ve never had one of those before.”

“Me neither! This will be so much fun.” Jester then took a step back and her smile shrunk. “Unless you don’t want to be animal buddies.”

Caleb shook his head quickly. “Nein! I mean I would like to keep your secret safe with you.”

Jester grinned again. “Okay, so we need to do a handshake to make it official.”

“A handshake?” Caleb asked bemused.

“Yeah! Like this.” She took his hand and did all sorts of complex gestures with it.

Caleb smirked and then went flat again doing the handshake back. “Like that?”

“Yep! Now we’re animal buddies!”

“I like the sound of that,” Caleb said.

Jester jumped up. “Great! We should go back to the others now. And thanks,” Jester said.

“Thanks for what?”

“I’ve never shown that to anyone before. My cloak I mean. Thanks for now freaking out or calling me weird.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “I’m a dirty werewolf. I don’t think I can call anyone weird. Besides, it was very beautiful to see you transform.”

Jester stared at him and her cheeks almost looked purple. “No one’s called me that before. They always saved that for my mom.”

“Then I’m incredibly lucky to be the first.”

“We’re going to be the best animal buddies ever.”

Caleb chuckled. “Ja, we are.”

________________

Notes:

So, I asked my younger brother who doesn't watch Critical Role to give me a widojest prompt and he went 'something with a werewolf and a selkie'. So I wrote this.

so i saw @kelenia‘s wonderful cr taz au art and i blinked and i had written more than 4000 words of the mighty nein in the balance campaign, so...here’s that, i guess

read it on ao3

It starts in a tavern - or, no, really it starts when Caleb responds to an ad calling for adventurers, because it’s that decision that results in him sitting in this tavern with these people, and he’s already beginning to regret it.

The tiefling woman, who calls herself Jester, has more boundless enthusiasm than Caleb thought possible for a single person. On the other hand, Yasha is even quieter than Caleb himself. There is no reason the three of them should make anything resembling a good team, and yet - 

No one expected the members of the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration to make friends with each other. It wasn’t necessary for the job, for one thing, but for another it just didn’t seem possible. Mollymauk was too loud, and Yasha was too quiet; Beau too stand-off-ish and Jester too friendly; Caleb and Nott too insular and Captain Fjord too ingratiating. You would be hard-pressed to find a more dissimilar group to send out on a long-term space mission together, but, well…

Watching your entire world be destroyed by black tentacles suddenly bursting from the sky had a way of bringing people together.

-

Jester wasn’t so sure about these companions of hers at first, but it turns out they work really well together! Okay, so they got a town kind of sort of blown up. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though! Even though Caleb sort of froze up mysteriously when they first saw the magic fire glove thingy, and even though Yasha barely spoke a word to anyone, and even though Jester kept getting distracted by the weird magic orb she found, she thought they did okay! 

Anyway, that person - Bryce? - who they saved from the weird spider dude sure thought so. They were really quick to recommend them for a job, anyway. And the Director didn’t really hesitate, either. All that stuff about these super dangerous magic items seems pretty crazy to Jester, but hey, now she has a job! With pretty cool people, too. Bryce is really nice, and Mollymauk doesn’t say much but he knew super awesome card tricks. The Director is nice, too, but...when she thinks no one is looking, Jester thinks she seems kind of sad.

-

Caleb was the first of their number to die, in cycle 6. It wasn’t exactly a surprise - Caleb had always been a little too breakable for his own good - but that didn’t make it any easier. Jester’s journal pages were often tear-stained that year, Beau grew increasingly snappish, and Nott withdrew almost completely. As the restart drew closer, it felt like the whole ship was holding its breath.

Almost before Caleb had finished appearing on the deck, Nott’s hand was pulling out of his as she tackled him in a desperate embrace, Jester not far behind. Fjord, from his place at the wheel, just heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the gods - on top of everything else they had to deal with, at least they could count on death to not be too permanent.

-

Yasha still isn’t sure what to make of her team, but she’s growing fond of them despite herself - despite what happened the last time she let herself get fond of someone. Nonetheless, she often finds herself despairing of their capabilities as they try to solve the murder mystery on this train. 

She cannot understate how strange these new friends of hers are. Jester has taken to calling herself “Not the Best Detective Agency,” which not only doesn’t inspire a great deal of confidence, but also doesn’t seem necessary since Jester is just one person, not exactly an agency. Yasha can usually count on Caleb to commiserate with her about Jester’s weirder moments - she’s still not totally convinced this “Traveler” is a real god, much less that proper worship requires painting dicks on every imaginable surface - but he’s been distracted by, of all things, a little halfling boy traveling alone. Certainly, Luc had given them some assistance, but Caleb couldn’t seem to deny the boy anything, and seemed as confused as anyone by this turn of events.

Still, they manage - with, okay, a LOT of help from Luc - to figure out the mystery, and return another Relic to the Director. And if Yasha feels a twinge of sorrow as Mollymauk wordlessly brings them their payment, beaming, for reasons she can’t begin to guess...well, she never claimed to be any less strange than her friends.

-

When Fjord appeared at Beau’s door one night, dripping with seawater - despite the fact that the current cycle was on a planet with no oceans to speak of - even the unflappable first mate was distinctly perturbed. When he described the strange dream he had - of looming eyes, booming voices, promises and threats - she channeled her disquiet into waking the rest of the crew for an immediate debrief.

Through some experimentation, they quickly discovered that both Fjord and Uk’otoa - as the entity apparently introduced itself - could initiate these conferences. They also discovered, to their horror, that Uk’otoa’s threats in Fjord’s dreams weren’t empty. Even though he came back in the new cycle, Jester was never quite the same after she found Fjord’s body in his bed, drowned overnight in his sleep.

-

Luc’s appearance as a new member of the Bureau of Balance doesn’t particularly surprise Caleb, but he gives a stern look at the Director when she makes the announcement, regardless. A boy that young has no business being employed by a shady organization, no matter how noble its purpose. After all, look what happened with...well. No need to bring up the past.

The Director, for her part, rolls her eyes in response. Caleb is not surprised by her informality. He thinks perhaps he should be, the Director is overall a very solemn woman, but something about her always seems to brighten when the Mighty Nein are around. (Look, he knows there are only three of them, it was never meant to be a serious suggestion.) Not just Jester, whose presence lights up any room she’s in, but Yasha too, and even Caleb.

Something about her gets heavier around them, too, like there is a weight on her shoulders. He knows better than to bring up either of those things to her, though. 

He also knows better than to complain in front of Jester, who will tease him for weeks, even when their new mission gets them wrapped up in, of all things, a battle wagon race.

-

There was a year, amidst all of the frantic searching for the Light, the desperate flights from the Hunger, where things were...good, almost. The planet they ended up on was mostly beaches, and they found the Light barely a week into the year. Suddenly, they found themselves with time to just...relax.

Nott mostly stayed on the ship doing alchemical experiments - for fun, though, not for any mission-related purpose - and Caleb alternated between keeping her company and lounging on the beach, working his way through a backlog of unread novels. Beau spent much of her time meditating, taking advantage of the sounds of the sea to hone her craft, but took frequent breaks to assist Jester with various pranks. Molly and Yasha sought out what few flowers they could discover and wove them into extravagant crowns and necklaces. Fjord stuck to his duties at first, unwilling to shed his persona as the responsible Captain, but eventually let loose and invented a new ocean sport. That year, the eruption of dark tentacles from the sky was even more disheartening than usual.

-

No matter what Caleb says, Jester thinks that the mission in Goldcliff went pretty well. They got the Gaia Sash and didn’t destroy even a little bit of the town in the process! Okay, yeah, there was that weird thing at the end with the lady in the red robe who started yelling at them about being afraid and hungry and then blew up or something, but Jester definitely isn’t worried.

That isn’t the right reaction, apparently, because when they tell the Director about the Red Robe she freaks the fuck out and says that if they see the lady again they have to run right away. She’s also super bummed about the Captain, who it turns out was a friend of hers, and who she really didn’t expect to fall under the Gaia Sash’s thrall. But it works out okay for the Mighty Nein, because they get to be the only Reclaimers now, since everybody else keeps getting thralled. Just another reason why the Mighty Nein are the coolest!

Jester also isn’t worried about how her magic orb kind of seems to have a mind of its own. No, definitely, definitely not worried.

-

On cycle 100, they landed on a plane that was a lot like their home. Or, at least, like the plane they started in; they’d all spent more time on the Balleater than they ever did in the place they were born, and the ship and its crew had started to feel more like home than anywhere else.

Anyway, this world was a lot like theirs. It had elves and dwarves and humans and orcs, and magic a lot like theirs, and weather a lot like theirs. And they had a plan, they’d been working on it for a while, and they found the Light fairly quickly. So, they decided that this was as good a place as any to try to put down roots. 

-

Of all their missions so far, this one might be Yasha’s least favorite. She doesn’t like the suits they have to wear to avoid the transmutation magic, and she doesn’t like the creepy singing crystals they keep running into, and she doesn’t like the pacifying tones of the servant of death who wants to arrest them for necromancy crimes. (He somehow manages to sound agreeable while listing their impossibly high death counts - if Yasha had died eight times, she’s pretty sure she would remember - and that is a mismatch of intention and demeanor that Yasha doesn’t trust one bit.)

Yasha also doesn’t like how easy it is to win this time. Yeza’s only punishment for messing with the laws of life and death (what was he thinking, the man is an alchemist) is having to send back the souls he summoned? All it takes to wipe clean the Mighty Nein’s slate is a game of chance? Death isn’t that easily pacified, Yasha knows very well. It isn’t fair that things should be so easy this time, when they never were before.

Still. If Caduceus can take her message to Zuala, wherever she is...maybe it wasn’t so bad, in the end.

-

They broke the Light into seven pieces. They hoped that in smaller chunks, whatever drew Uk’otoa to the Light - its craveability, as Jester dubbed it - might be diluted enough that Uk’otoa wouldn’t be able to find them. Each of them made a powerful artifact from one of the pieces. 

(Yasha, with her troubled past, made the Temporal Chalice. Fjord, lover of the wild seas, crafted the Gaia Sash. Nott, alchemist extraordinaire, created the Philosopher’s Stone. Caleb’s talent with fire flowed through the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet. Jester made the Oculus to bring her wildest imaginings to life. Molly’s history with resurrection might or might not have influenced the Animus Bell. And Beau made a staff that even she, completely lacking in magical skill, could use to shield her friends from harm.)

And then they released the Relics into the world and hoped for the best.

-

Even while Caduceus was making his outrageous claims, Caleb was certain that he has not died dozens of times; his memory is perfect, he would remember that kind of thing. After the events in Refuge, he is even more certain, because dying is awful. He doesn’t think he could forget it if he had died before that terrible time loop.

That isn’t what has him hiding in his room like a coward, though. He’s overcome by the memories the Chalice had shown him, of his own terrible mistakes. The Academy, his time with Trent, his fall from grace - and that last memory, or rather, the earliest, that somehow gives him the most pause. He remembers flames, the screams of the dying. He remembers that he is to blame for their deaths, just as the Chalice showed him, but…

He doesn’t remember why.

This mystery wars for his attention with the guilt of turning down his chance to make everything right. He takes some small comfort in the fact that the dangerous artifact is destroyed now, and that Yasha and Jester made the same choice, but he doubts that they have made any mistakes so great as his. Even with these sudden holes in his memory, he has no difficulty believing that he burned those people - whoever they were - to their deaths at some point during his sordid history. But why doesn’t he remember?

Eventually, he’s torn from his melancholy by Luc knocking at his door. Of course, he remembers, it’s magic day; he’s agreed to teach the boy some of what he knows, and he’s glad to do so. They are meant to move on to mage hand, today, since Luc has picked up on message so quickly. He’ll just have to try and put this puzzle out of his mind for the time being.

-

As the months passed, and Uk’otoa never arrived, it became clear that the plan had worked. The problem with this world being so like their home plane, though, was that the people had the same corruption inside of them. The Relics’ craveability was too much to ignore, and in short order wars broke out. Each of Relics caused tremendous damage, and each member of the IPRE felt the guilt of creating them. 

Caleb tried to stop a conflict over the Gauntlet, once, and made things much, much worse. None of them felt like trying to interfere after that.

Eventually, Beau proposed a new plan: if she put up a shield around this plane, using her Staff, Uk’otoa wouldn’t be able to get to them, even if they were eventually discovered. The Light would be safe forever. Molly argued against this plan immediately. The plane wouldn’t survive without its bonds, it would fall apart. Besides that, it wouldn’t do any good to the planes that Uk’otoa had already consumed. They needed to find a better solution.

They put it to a vote. It was unanimous against Beau’s plan. She admitted defeat, and put it aside. They could only watch as their Relics continued to destroy the world.

-

Jester is not freaking out. She isn’t. Jester is a-okay all the time, no problem, no worries. It’s just that...when she went to go visit the Voidfish - you know, like you do - it’s just. Her magic orb kind of seemed to...react to it? Like it wanted to say something, almost. And if that wasn’t weird enough, she figured out what the Voidfish’s song means. The Voidfish has a baby.

And, okay, if the Voidfish has a baby that means the Director has been keeping secrets. Like, way more secrets than even a Director of a super-secret organization should have. And from the Mighty Nein, of all people! Call Jester crazy, but she feels like she has a bond with the Director, and she thinks the Director feels it too. Like they should be best friends, not just boss and employee. 

But none of Jester’s friends would keep secrets like this from her, she doesn’t think. Even though Yasha didn’t tell her about Zuala for ages, and even though Caleb still won’t tell her what the Chalice offered him...Okay. Maybe her friends would keep secrets like this from her. Still. Something is fishy. (Pun totally intended.)

-

It wasn’t all bad. Veth met a wonderful man named Yeza, and after a brief but passionate courtship they were married, and perfectly happy. 

Except.

Except that the world was falling down around them, and Veth had never been one to sit idle while things went wrong, and so she went out into the world over and over again to try and minimize the damage their creations were causing. And one day, she didn’t return.

Caleb came out of his depression just enough to help Yeza search tirelessly for Veth. They found no trace of her. 

-

Yasha takes back everything she said about the Crystal Kingdom debacle. Wonderland is, without question, the worst. Yasha herself has lost vitality, aged a decade in moments, and lost some future moment of glory, but it still feels like she has suffered the least.

What she hates is having to help Caleb struggle forward with so little health left. (He took a penalty rather than lose any memories, and another to try and avoid losing what little vitality he has; Yasha took that penalty for him, but that didn’t stop him from rolling body again. After such a loss, the first of his two successive skull rolls nearly killed him in a single hit.)

What she hates is watching Jester try to keep up a positive attitude after losing the only memory she had left of her mother, and most of her vision. (Jester lost her darkvision in the first round; in the third round she rolled brain again and couldn’t give up her memory of meeting the Traveler. Yasha wanted to take her penalty too, but Jester wouldn’t let her roll three times in the third round; when Jester rolled eye again and lost her left eye completely, the horrible demon twins just laughed and declared it bad luck. Yasha hates them most of all.)

-

It happened on a day like any other. Caleb and Yeza were planning their next avenue of investigation for Veth; Fjord was chatting with Jester and Molly at the helm; Yasha was looking for Beau to ask for a spar. 

It hit them all at once; they began to forget what they were talking about, who they were talking to. Caleb found himself losing Veth’s name in the middle of a sentence about her. Molly found himself losing words all together, too invested in his friends and the mission to remember anything at all without them. Yasha found herself staring at Beau as the first mate fed the last few pages of Jester’s journal to the voidfish, and Beau caught her as she fell.

-

Caleb doesn’t know what to make of any of this. He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he cast true seeing on himself, but it certainly wasn’t to catch sight of the mysterious robed woman from Goldcliff. Even less expected was communicating with her in thieves’ cant - he doesn’t remember ever learning thieves’ cant, all of these gaps in his memory are getting more worrying - and deciding, despite himself, to trust her. It feels right.

He nearly dies (again) when the succubus expels him from his own body using his second skull roll. Jester pulls some kind of miracle through the Traveler to get him into a temporary mannequin body, but not before his original body is destroyed, and not before he has some kind of vision of a world with two suns that feels like...home. And then that robed woman is there again, asking them to trust her, and he wants to, and Jester does too, because apparently the Director has been hiding things, and with that it takes only a little convincing for Yasha to go along with it all.

As they destroy their stones of farspeech to the sound of Luc’s desperate questions, he can only hope they aren’t making a terrible mistake.

-

Beau placed them carefully. Mollymauk, poor Molly, she had to keep at her side. He was as friendly as ever, but he just wasn’t the same as before. Losing his memories did something to him; he wouldn’t make it alone. He’d have to stay with her.

Fjord, she was dismayed to discover, had vanished. Gone without a trace, just like Veth, and now there were two of their party Beau either had to search for, using precious resources, or give up on, and live with the guilt.

-

If Jester stops to think about anything that’s happening right now, she might just lose her mind, so she isn’t going to. She won’t think about how the Red Robe turned out to be Nott the Brave, who they met in Phandalin before it was destroyed. She won’t think about how the Director has been hiding another Voidfish, and how they have to find it without her catching them if they want to get back the memories they are, apparently, missing. She really won’t think about how that means breaking into the Director’s office.

She finds herself instead thinking about her weird magic orb. Something has kept her from thinking about it too much, too deeply, but she thinks maybe she should have tried harder. It’s starting to feel important. 

-

The remaining three weren’t so tragic, not at first. Yasha, Beau found a community for, where her strength would be valued. She was overjoyed when she learned that Yasha had found a wife. She was devastated to discover that her friend’s love had been lost.

Jester ended up in a bustling city, residing in the care of a kindly performer. She thrived, for a time, finding new mischief constantly, and Beau delighted to check in on her. But one day, when Beau took a look, she found Jester confined to her home. Her mischief got out of hand, she went after the wrong person, and now she was in danger if she went outside. Beau maybe should have found a slightly less exciting home for Jester.

Caleb, she placed in a farming town that reminded her of the stories he told her of his birthplace. She expected him to thrive, and he did, for a while. Then he got caught up in some kind of wizard cult, and she didn’t notice until he’d gotten caught up in a mass murder. She could never find the evidence that Ikithon was the one really behind it, but Caleb certainly seemed convinced it was his own fault. New nightmares joined the flashbacks of events he couldn’t even remember, and Caleb’s life on the run got worse and worse, and Beau...couldn’t fix it. There wasn’t anything she could do but finish the mission as quickly as she could.

-

By some means that are beyond Yasha’s ability to fathom, Luc has gotten involved in this harebrained scheme, because he figured out that the Mighty Nein were up to something. Now she and Jester (with Nott secretly in tow) are breaking into their boss’s office on the intel of a mysterious lich woman who Caleb said they should trust, while Caleb and the kid are going to get him a new body that Luc thinks Pumat Sol might have for some reason.

It’s all a little beyond Yasha. But she wants to know the truth behind all of this, and if it takes breaking into a few offices to do it, she will. She’s very good at breaking things.

(Fjord is desperate. He’s been trapped in this gods-damned ball since Uk’otoa put him into it years ago, when he thought he died but didn’t, and he’s tried everything he can think of to get Jester to notice his presence. Nothing has been enough, and he’s terrified that his crew, his friends, his family, are about to go up against Uk’otoa without him, and there’s nothing he can do about it.)

(Veth didn’t mean to be gone for so long, she really didn’t. She barely meant to leave at all - she and Yeza had just gotten married, and life was finally really good for her. It was just - her Relic kept leaving a trail of destruction, and Caleb was so distraught about what had happened with the Gauntlet, and she just couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to do something.

She didn’t know that she’d run into that goblin tribe and get captured. She’d never have guessed that that witch would curse her and make her a lich, and make it impossible for her to get back to Yeza.

She definitely wouldn’t have risked it if she’d known she was pregnant.)

(Empty, empty, empty, empty - )

Caleb and Luc are racing through the halls after Caleb fended off those shadow creatures, knowing that something is happening, and whatever it is, the Director probably knows what it is. They burst into the office just in time to see Jester and Yasha down the Voidfish ichor, and the Director doesn’t arrive in time to keep Caleb and Luc from doing the same.

Memories flash through Caleb’s mind almost too fast for him to process. The Gauntlet - his Gauntlet - and the voyage, and Uk’otoa - the Director is watching in horror...no, Beauregard, Beau, why would she - ? And then he can’t think about any of that because he’s thinking about Veth, oh gods, how could he forget about Veth?

Jester is so busy dealing with all these new memories - Beau, Veth, Fjord, where’s Fjord? - that she barely notices her magic orb thud to the ground and begin to roll away. It rolls all the way over to Luc, and when he picks it up, it suddenly glows bright as a star.

I didn’t do that! Luc yells.

I know, Jester says, and she does, and she shatters the ball on the ground, and it explodes in light, and oh, there’s Fjord.

Through a blur of memories, Yasha watches her captain appear in an explosion of yellow. Then she watches Veth, released suddenly from the bag of holding, whirl towards Beau but freeze when she catches sight of Luc.

...Luc? It’s barely more than a whisper.

Luc squints, then his eyes widen and get very watery very quickly. Mama?

And then they’re holding each other and everyone else is wrapped up in that apparent reunion but Yasha only has eyes for Molly - Molly, Molly, Molly - wiping his mouth of the Voidfish ichor he drank during all the commotion. His eyes meet hers briefly, clear for the first time in years, and he winks before turning to the Director.

What the actual fuck, Beau?

Beau doesn’t know how it all fell apart so quickly. All of her plans, all of the sacrifices she’s made - she knows the rest of the group didn’t approve of her idea, but they were never good at seeing the big picture, that was her job - up in smoke. Uk’otoa is here, even though they split up the Light, and there’s no time, they either have to block this world off or run.

Beau wants to use her plan, of course. Fjord is all for running, and Caleb and Molly are quickly falling to his camp. Veth and Yasha don’t want to run, they have family and memories on this world, but they don’t think Beau’s plan will work either. It’s all starting to devolve into a screaming match when Jester softly says - 

What if there’s a third option?

From there, everything happens very quickly. Fjord steers the ship, masterful at the wheel as he’s ever been, while Veth and Molly head to the surface to fight off the incursion there. Beau is preparing the shield - with the bit of magic she’s picked up over the years, because she had to learn this spell herself after she wiped the memory of every mage in her party. And the Mighty Nein (gods it’s a stupid name, even now that they’re applying it to all of them there’s still only seven of them, it’s exactly what she would have expected,) is going to fight. And...they’re going to win.

And they do.

2019 in review

Tagged by @alethiometers​. I guess it’s actually 2020 now, time is fake, whatever. 

Tagging: @walkthegale​, @geoclaire​, @reconditarmonia​, whoever else likes some ask memes

Top 5 Films of 2019

Parasite. It fucked me up.

Booksmart. What a good comedy! The kind that’s secretly kind to every character, which I like.

Cheating by saying the Steven Universe movie because it hit my amnesia/reset id and honestly I’d put it here for Pearl’s single verse in that first song alone, I’m easy.

After this I am choosing between just okay movies, and the first three Twilight movies I watched while high off my ass. Hmm

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. An editing mess, but god, I love Rey so much you guys, how feral she gets, and I love Finn and Poe hanging out, and I love cool force moments that blow my mind the same way seeing a lightsaber as a kid blew my mind

This slot is shared between Always Be My Maybe and the baseball scene in the first Twilight movie. Complaints may be directed at my inbox.

Top 5 TV Shows In 2019

Gentleman Jack! What an amazing depiction of Anne Lister, a little bit more romantic than reality but leaving her very real flaws on screen. (I have mild thoughts on this and Hamilton the musical, but that’d TL;DR) I didn’t expect to fall in love with a period piece, how unexpectedly tropey. 

ODAAT S3. It shows up at the beginning of every year to leave me crying in a plane/my dorm room/my apartment, in the best way possible. Looking forward to an episodic schedule!

She-Ra S3 and S4. I have no urge to read fic for this fandom, because this show always makes interesting choices with its characters and I’m so satisfied with those

Critical Role. I have run out of actual tv shows, I love Beau and I love this found family food.

B99. :D 

Top 5 Songs in 2019

Quality taste likely not found here.

May I Have This Dance - Francis and The Lights

I Heard Your Voice In A Dream - SMASH cast

Fistfight - The Ballroom Thieves

Safe and Sound - Electric President

Putting The Dog To Sleep - The Antlers

Top 5 Books in 2019

The Wrong Stars by Tim Pratt. A punchy space opera with f/f between the leads, and  there were aliens I thought were really cool

This Is What Inequality Looks Like by Teo You Yann. A sobering, vivid ethnography of inequality and poverty in Singapore. Author’s a great essayist imo.

Red, White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston. Cute YA m/m, tropey and sweet. (I recently realized I wouldn’t have liked this book nearly as much if it was f/f, which was a very odd realization to have.)

Gentleman Jack - Angela Steidele. Not the tie-in biography for the show, but a translation of a different one. Unflinching in rendering Lister as she was, but not untouched by her either.

Severance - Ling Ma. The prose was really good, and I liked the mish-mash of genres and it all coming back to nostalgia in the end.

Five Good/Positive things that happened to you in 2019

I found a place to do karate at again

Several people visited me from elsewhere this year, family and friends

Combining Tumblr ficlets and AO3, I wrote 55k of fic?? Also I got a bunch of awesome gifts in fic exchanges!

I went to multiple cities I hadn’t been to before

Uhhh IDK what else, I got a microwave? TJ frozen dinners are saving me tbh.

It’s been quite an eventful night for Zoey. She had returned to her dorm from a night of dancing, partying and two huge bombshells being dropped on her dainty shoulders. On the outside, she was drenched in confusion and spilled Champagne, but underneath her Princess of Monaco worthy ball gown and fake eye lashes, she was secretly loving this; the attention of the two boys she had crushed over all semester. Aaron finally had the nerve to tell her how he feels about her and Luca, well, Luca dusted off his finest tux and rode in like a shiny knight to sweep his princess off her feet once and for all. The two lads showed up within minutes of each other; romantic gestures cocked and loaded, and made their feelings known to her. Now, it was official; it was real, and Zoey could no longer play the game of pulling two strings. She actually had to make a choice between the two boys fully aware that whomever she picked, the other would not wait around for her any longer. And wait he did not.

After Zoey wandered around her room from desk to bed to floor and back to desk, all the while twirling and twisting and chewing anxiously on her long, curly hair, she finally came to a decision. It was Aaron; it was always going to be Aaron. Luca was the mysterious, broody, cool kid; an enigma, and it was enchanting to her. But Aaron, he cared about things and he was not afraid to speak up about them. He never hid underneath invisible sunglasses and apathic, disaffected coolness. His passion oozed out of every indignant rally and heated conversation. Sure, it got a little much sometimes, but she wanted to be with the guy that made her question what she stands for and made her care about things on a deeper level. Zoey was a superficial girl. But “this is college; it’s time to grow up”, she thought and Aaron might just be who she needs to be with at this pivotal moment in her life.

Of course, Luca was disappointed. Perhaps if he had made his feelings known sooner, Zoey would be with him instead. He let out his woes unto his canvas and painted numerous odes to his object of desire. Though it was no huge loss like the death of a loved one or the end of a great romance, the salty taste of rejection followed him around for weeks. With every brush stroke, however, he could taste it a little bit less. Like many great artists, he emptied himself completely unto his art. Soon, his mind was clear of all that is Zoey Johnson. He may even have his sights on a new girl.

Skylar, Zoey’s friend, had been there for Luca as he licked his salty wounds. She felt that he was the better choice for Zoey and she made that clear to him. “I like Aaron, I do, but Zoey is an idiot if she doesn’t see how amazing you are”, she said to him in slurred words as they both gazed at his final ode to Zoey; a masterpiece of juxtaposition between the passionate brush strokes that illustrated her beautiful, bouncy hair and the soft, sweeping glides of oil that reflected light off every curve on the figure’s body. Luca took the dirty blunt sitting between his fingers to his mouth and inhaled deeply before passing it over to Skylar. “Dead ass”, he slurred back.

After weeks of pining over Zoey, Luca was finally ready to move on. The unusual friendship between he and Skylar – unusual because they seemingly had nothing in common besides Zoey – began to blossom outside the realm of their mutual friend group. They laughed at each other’s hair, despite both having long, black locs styled differently, Luca took her to his underground, cool-kid parties and they shared a similar taste in music, especially when they were high. Getting high was extremely familiar to Luca, but new to Skylar. She had recently discovered how relaxing it was to let the world melt away and her problems melt along with it. They were also both brilliant at their fields – he, a brilliant artist and she, a brilliant athlete – and neither of them had many people in their lives to whom they could vent about the expectations and weight that comes with such brilliance; not without sounding like conceited assholes.

Most of all, it was easy. Being around each other was effortless and uncomplicated. They bonded over things they now knew they had in common and laughed over the things they could only ever agree to disagree on. Luca’s extremely easy going nature, the thing that made him unfit for Zoey, was perfect for Skylar. Deep down, she was a free spirited girl, but wound tightly by the pressures of her circumstances. Being on a sports scholarship came with its own set of tribulations after all. With him, she found an escape and with her, nothing had to be performative. They could both just be themselves. Skylar never demanded he perform care and interest, for anything, in a way that suited her. She could read the subtleties of his facial expressions like a map and he could do the same with her. And when that failed, they were both mature and confrontational enough to have straight forward conversations. Neither of them had the capacity for head games and two-sided interactions.

As they relaxed into each other’s easy-going company, their bond deepened. They both started to notice things about the other they never had before. She observed that for a guy who seems so cavalier about everything, he was really hard on himself when it came to his work; an observation that blew her mind as she felt he was fantastically gifted. She also noticed his style. “You know, for a stoner dude who couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of him, he has impeccable taste”, she confessed to her sister Jazlyn. He also had started to notice her – how the sun danced and flickered around her hazelnut eyes. Their mesmerising shade of brown had even become his new favourite colour to paint with.

Jazlyn was admittedly “sceptical about Skylar’s new nth-cloud pal”, as she cheekily put it, but she quickly converted into a supporter of the pair when she began to witness her sister drift back into the relaxed essence of light she once was. There was, however, one person who could never understand or support Skylar and Luca’s new bond. Upon spotting the pair from a distance on one of their mundanely adventurous outings, Zoey hissed and sighed silently about it for hours on end, unable to make captive audiences of the people around her and voice her true feelings for fear of hurting Aaron’s.

It felt like a personal slight to her; a betrayal. Little did she know that her current feelings of betrayal were only the beginning, because despite maintaining that her relationship with Luca was strictly platonic, Skylar was starting to develop romantic feelings for the artist. Luca, on the other hand, was wise to stay away from Zoey and Skylar’s friends. Perhaps he was cautious of the way he gazed helplessly and lustfully at Skylar when she tucked her hair behind her ear being a dead giveaway to the group, and possibly to Skylar herself.

Despite Zoey’s quiet objections, Skylar and Luca continued to hang out together; acting both as fans and as escapist havens for each other. One perfectly yellow afternoon, Skylar had just finished a race and as she and her sister jogged off that burnt orange track in victory, glistening, smiling from ear to ear, their friends – Zoey, Ana, Aaron, Nomi, Vivek and Luca – received them unto the side-lines with cheers and refreshments. After the race, they all planned to get together for a movie night at Aaron’s place but Luca, who wasn’t too keen on watching Zoey and her new beau canoodling in their natural habitat, swiftly excused himself from the group meet.

Trying to be sensitive to Luca’s awkward predicament, she claimed to herself, Skylar stepped in to rescue the budding artist. “Yeah, there’s that show we wanted to see right?”, she said swiftly, inviting herself to join him and Luca was more than happy to play along. “Yeah, I’m hoping it inspires something for my class project”, he said in his usual mellow tone. Zoey glared at Luca smiling at Skylar, and as she pictured her magical night of dirty frat-house couches and pizza, she coveted Skylar because she too had experience Luca’s artsy world when his eyes were still on her.

Later on in the night, as Luca and Skylar wandered down the lit-up streets finding reasons and excuses to touch, playing “something in your hair” and “something on your jacket” games, they came to a halt in front of a door of what looked like an old tattoo parlour. “We’re here”, Luca said suspiciously. Skylar raised her eyebrows at Luca and said “where exactly are we?” with a slight excitement and hesitation in her voice. She might have trusted him, but she was still weary of dodgy-looking abandoned buildings. Luca opened the door by turning one of the fifty antique-looking knobs and handles on it and let her in to yet another underground party.

As they made their way slowly through the crowd, they started to move subconsciously to the music. From their worries and fears to pressures and the world around them, everything disappeared, time stood still and they began dancing together. Now, they had the perfect reason to touch and roll and grind all over each other. Luca’s fingertips found reasons to glide over every visible inch of Skylar’s bod, across her face and down her arms and around her waist; each stroke more electric than the last. With emotions running high and inhibitions running low, they stopped and looked at each other for a long second – it was like they had both just witnessed beauty for the first time – before Luca leaned in and kissed Skylar. The party lights sparked and shimmered like fireworks, giving the pair their fantastical moment which lasted just the perfect amount of minutes that felt like years.

After the kiss was over, they unlocked their lips and looked at each other for another long second, both trying to confirm that the magic they felt was not one-sided and imaginary. The smile that swept across both of their faces and the look of satisfaction and awe in their eyes was confirmation enough. Luca winked cheekily at Skylar to make her laugh; she rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. Time unfroze and everything around them started to move again just before they became aware of the music and proceeded back to dancing.

#6 Tipsy Kiss for a CR pairing of my choice--I’ve been feeling Fjord x Jester lately, so I had to!!! For the wonderful @blogteas of course! <3 Thank you for all the prompts, my dear! :D 

(Also, this one is based on a real life experience: my husband and I once had a very, very strongly alcoholic tiramasu. Note, most tiramasus aren’t all that strong, as when baking with alcohol, its good to temper oneself. Not this tiramasu though. He also doesn’t drink, like Jester, but we didn’t have four of the tiramasu, so similar events did not occur.)

“Tiramasu is verrrry good,” Jester slurred, and all of them looked at her in a bit of wonder. Jester often spoke in a silly manner, lengthening words and rolling her rs for emphasis and fun. But this. This was a distinctly different silly Jester than the Mighty Nein had encountered before.

“What is Tira… Tear-ah. Tear-ah-massooo?” Nott practiced the word on her tongue, looking to Caleb for confirmation. “Tier-eh-maschooo?”

“Tyre-ah-mazu,” Caleb tried as well, rolling it around like a pebble in his mouth, “Tire-ee-matso?”

“Tire-ee-matso, that sounds right,” Caduceus offered, smiling. “May I try some?”

Jester beamed, and began spoon-feeding Caduceus while Beau leaned over the dish, and sniffed it.

“Well, I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it has booze in it, that’s for sure.”

“But like cooked out, right?” Fjord asked, suddenly worried. Jester was leaning very precariously to reach up to spoon feed Duces, and her chair rocked slightly.

“Don’t smell like it,” Beau shrugged, and dunk a finger in it to taste. “Don’t taste like it either. Why don’t we all get this?”

“I prefer my booze in drinking form, thank you,” Nott said, taking a large swig.

“Ya, but consider, Nott, what if we put the Tire-ee-mazzooo into your flask, and then you have it forever?” Caleb suggested, also a bit far into his cups.

This was all fine and dandy, but Fjord couldn’t help but watch Jester closely, carefully, knowing full well she’d never had a drink before. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol was in whatever the hell tiramisu was, but she had already had four. And she certainly was acting peculiar.

Just as her chair was about to topple under her, he rushed over, and scooped her up in his arms. The spoon was left in Caduceus’s surprised mouth, and the rest of the Nein let out a whoop at Fjord’s daring rescue.

“Fjord! My hero! My Oskar,” Jester purred, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and snuggling into his neck. She certainly smelled a little boozy. What the hell was this dessert?

“Easy there, Jess, easy,” he said, trying to let her down gently. She still swayed a bit on her feet, so he didn’t remove her completely from clinging to his arm.

“Fjord,” she said, plainly, looking up at him with her big ol’ eyes, as if she’d been meaning to tell him he’d had spinach in his teeth all day. “I’d very much like to kiss you. I’ve been meaning to for quite awhile.”

That.

Stopped him.

Dead in his tracks.

“No, you haven’t,” he said, quietly, and Beau giggled.

“Eh,” Caleb shrugged, taking a swig of his own drink, and Nott rolled her eyes.

“It certainly hasn’t been subtle.”

“Yes, yes, I have been meaning to, but I did not feel as though you would recip. Recip.” She stopped, frowning, trying her luck again at a different word, “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I… I…,” he really was at a loss. She couldn’t possibly have gotten drunk off of desserts of all things, but if this was her first drink. Nothing about this situation was good and the rest of the Nein was not being helpful, giggling and snickering at him. But worst off, Jester would not want to have done it this way. She didn’t deserve to do it this way. She deserved that silly book she always brought up, being swept off her feet, romanced, the whole deal.

And he wasn’t Oskar, but… He wanted to do right by her at least a little, and let her have that when she was ready, and not tipsy for the first time.

“You,” he started, carefully, “Are teasing me, Guinevere.”

Jester’s eyes lit up, and she practically bounced on his arm, “Oh, Oskar!”

Beau groaned. “Oh shit. This is from the book. You’ve read it?” Incredulously, she turned away from the scene, starting to delve into the remains of the tiramisu with Caduceus and Nott, who both had become bored.

Caleb alone smiled at Fjord, pleased.

Fjord winked at him, and returned to Jester’s bouncing face, “You need rest, for the long road ahead, beloved. Come, let me take you,” he put on a voice and everything for her, and she squealed with delight, thrusting herself back into bridal style in his arms. A little off kilter, he began to carry her back to her and Beau’s room.

He laid her down, and made a note to grab her some water as well, before putting the covers around her.

“You know, Fjord, I’m not actually sleepy.”

“I know, Jess.”

She looked up at him, with a bit more clarity than before, and pursed her lips in that way that meant she was thinking. Finally, as she laid back down, she said, “Thank you for covering for me. I don’t really think it worked, but at least they all thought I was being silly.”

For a moment, Fjord felt stung, and he wasn’t sure why. Did she think that was all they all thought of her? “Jess, we don’t think you’re silly.”

She smiled, and laughed, “It’s okay, I am silly. I like being silly.” Her pause was heartbreaking. “I got a bit too silly tonight though.”

“First taste of alcohol will do that to ya,” he tried to make it better, sitting on the floor near her bed so they were face to face. “I’ve been pretty silly myself when in my cups. It happens. No one remembers. You move on.”

Again, she pursed her lips, and he worried perhaps, perhaps still he’d said something wrong, until she leaned forward, and gently brushed her lips against his.

He was about to speak, but she put a hand up. “That one doesn’t count, okay? That’s not our first kiss. That will be wonderful and birds will sing and the stars will cry, but this one, this? This is thank you. I wasn’t being silly. I really want to kiss you. But I don’t want to do it this way, and I know that you don’t either, if you ever do. So thank you.”

She smiled shy, and barely could look at him, and he honestly felt much the same. But he squeezed her hand, tempted to do more, but knowing that this, this was all enough. “Anytime, Jess. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I know, Fjord. Me too,” she smiled, finally looking up at him, and he knew they were alright.

[I wrote this back before the thing happened, but I still liked it so here]

“A copper for your fortune?” asked an elderly voice that drew Molly’s attention. He followed the voice with his eyes, peeking around the crowd of people moving passed and finding an elderly gnome woman with long white hair that reached her little feet and milky, unseeing eyes. She gave him a smile so rusted it squeaked. “Yes, child, you there. A copper for your fortune?”

Beau rolled her eyes and tugged on Molly’s arm. “Come on, Caleb and Nott are waiting for us at the gyro stand.”

The festival was starting to wind down for the day. The merchants were rolling their carts away and the parents were shuffling their children indoors, away from the chill in the air. The food usually stayed open later, he knew, to catch the people having dinner. “We have time. I want my fortune read.” He started over to the woman and tossed her a copper which she caught out of the air effortlessly.

“What? Come on, Molly, you told me fortunes are bullshit. You and your damn cards, you just tell people what they want to hear.”

“Exactly. And it’s always so much fun watching other people do it. I don’t think she’s about to tell me how I’m going to die or where I’ll meet my true love, it’s just for fun.”

The woman chuckled and gently laid her hands over his, loosely holding his wrists. “I cannot tell you how you meet your true love, dearie. You paid for the future, not the past.”

He smirked. “Oh, so I’ve met them already then? When I was child?”

“You were never a child, my dear.”

His smile started to fall and he saw Beau tense up beside him. “What do you mean?”

“You were born from the womb of the ground, in an body left vacant. He never met his true love. But you have met yours. But, you don’t care about that, remember? You’re here for your future.”

“Molly,” Beau said, gripping his clothes. “Let’s go. This old bitch is obviously bullshitting us.”

“No, no,” he said, gently patting her hand until she released his jacket. “I want to hear what she has to say. Alright, then. Tell me my future.”

She turned his hands over, purple palms up and started running her thumbs over the creases in his skin. “You have a long life ahead of you, young man. Not constant, there are minor interruptions, but long in total.”

Beau sneered and crossed her arms. “That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”

The old woman glanced at her briefly. “There are people who care about you. They will bring you back two times.”

“But not the third?” he asked with a smirk.

“Everyone must die sometime. But most of them will be with you when you finally pass for the last time, holding your hands and kissing your face. Not all. Unfortunately you lose one before your time comes, but she is waiting for you on the other side when you arrive.”

Beau grabbed his jacket again and squeezed. “Let’s go, Molly. I don’t like her.”

“It’s not you, dearie,” the woman says, looking over at Beau again and staring at her for a long moment before turning her attention back to Mollymauk. He tried to pull his hands away but she closed her fingers around them. “Perhaps I should not have started with death. Most people find it too intense. Would you like to know more about your future love then? It’s a beautiful love, hard fought and hard won but easy to hold once it’s in your grasp. It will not be soon, but it will be lasting.”

Molly blinked and considered a question for a moment. “Is it… who I think it is?”

“It is the person you want it to be, but you will both be so different by that time, it would not do to try and move too quickly. You both have edges to dull and walls to erode before the pieces fall into place. Remember, the future is malleable and knowing it can affect the outcome. So don’t fuck it up, dearie.”

A laugh forced its way out of Beau’s throat even though she was trying to be stoic. He was finding this less and less funny. There was no way some bull shitter like him could be this accurate, she had to be the real deal. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, glancing at Beau briefly out of the corner of his eye before whispering his question.

“What about family?” He asked. “Do I have anyone…”

She gave him a sad smile and let go of one of his wrists to pat his cheek. “I’m sorry, dearie. The man you were before didn’t have a family. But you will. Someday soon, you’ll be surrounded by so much love you won’t know what to do with yourself. A brother, four sisters-” Molly tried to ignore the way she looked at Beau for the sister part. “-a lover, a small handful of nieces and nephews. A kid of your own too, not of blood but yours all the same.”

He did take his hands back at that, standing and staring down at her. “Let’s go, Beau,” he said, turning sharply and leading her away. “She’s obviously a huckster. A kid? Me?” he huffed dismissively.

She hummed thoughtfully and followed him with her fingers linked behind her head. “I don’t know, she got most of the rest pretty close. She even got your gross crush on Caleb right.”

“I don’t have a-” He paused when she just raised an unkempt eyebrow at him and then he sneered in response. “Go fuck yourself.” But there wasn’t really any heat behind it. There never was these days. “Nothing she said was even remotely accurate.”

Beau shrugged. “Alright, man, if you say so. I just want a gyro. Or four.”

He sighed and rerouted them since before now he’d just been marching purposeless in a straight line of fury. “Yeah, let’s go find the others.” He looked back at where the fortune teller had been but the sidewalk was empty.

“For what it’s worth,” she said with a teasing lilt and he looked over to her. “I always wanted a brother.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, shoving her gently but he was smiling and she laughed obnoxiously loud as she moved to keep from running into someone. When she’d righted herself he reached over and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back in and kissing her temple. He ignored her cry of ‘Ew, you fucker’ and grinned. “Come on then. Let’s not keep our family waiting.”

running with knives (chapter 2)

Yasha is so bad at people.

or; shopping shouldn’t have to be this stressful.

read part one here

“That’ll be two hundred and seventy-eight gold, please.”

Yasha glances up. There’s a hand held out, palm open, barely a metre from her. Yasha blinks around as everything comes back into focus, sliding out from grey to colour.

The rest of the group has moved on. There’s no one occupying the space behind her, and it’s a cold feeling that bleeds down her spine as she struggles to properly occupy her present space. She vaguely remembers Caleb feverishly mumbling “bookstores” before dragging Nott away. Jester had been – hungry, maybe? No one had quite the energy to argue with a hungry Jester.

The man in front of Yasha is small and stocky, easily half of her size. It’s a more common affliction than it sounds – Yasha has spent most of her life looming over strangers. Growing into her bones had been a painful experience of bruised knees and strained lungs and stares. So many stares. For all of her life, from the moment Yasha was born, she has been the subject of stares.

He is nondescript, a face out of a thousand faces. Human, maybe. His clothing speaks of money, though his wares don’t – two hundred and seventy-eight gold for the thing in Yasha’s hand is less bargain and more blind robbery.

“Uh, no. Thank you,” Yasha says, putting the thing gingerly back onto its shelf. The stall is a temporary construction of slotted, sanded pieces of driftwood – the group had been wandering close during the initial setup, watching as the owner had unpacked his cart and pulled everything together in the span of twenty minutes. Around them, at the crossroads, almost thirty other people have opted into this travelling marketplace. Glass glitters in the morning light. In the distance, Beau is haggling for something small and pretty-looking. Nott is trying to steal a jewelled statuette.

“Are you sure?” the man says. “That’s my best piece, right here.”

It’s…garbage. A knotted piece of fabric swaddling a rock the size of a goose-egg. Yasha likes the weight of it, the smooth green colour, but she doesn’t like it enough to pay two hundred and seventy-eight gold. At the moment, Yasha doesn’t even have two hundred and seventy-eight gold. A part of her wants to just walk away, but she’s trapped, now, in a web of words. Yasha has an unfortunate habit of getting out of store-side conversations by just buying something, but there’s no way she’s doing that here.

“It’s enchanted,” the man says. His smile is practiced. His teeth are very straight. “Anyone who has it on their person can turn invisible.”

Yasha shakes her head, trying to keep from making any large gestures. She’s learned long ago that being as big as she is, it’s easy for people to claim I was threatened without much need of evidence. Not that evidence had ever been needed in the first place.

“No, I’m – fine,” she says. There’s something in the man’s eyes. Something – something small, like glitter –

“It’s so very useful,” the man says, low and soothing. He doesn’t stop smiling. “It’s beautiful, it is. Look at it. Reach out and touch it – yes, just like that. Spend some time with it, and, well. No one will ever have to see you again.”

Something tight twists into Yasha’s gut, something visceral and hard enough to leave her winded. She struggles to breathe around it, struggles to take a step back.

What Yasha wants to say is, I’m fine, thank you. Clean, simple, effective. It shows a lack of interest while remaining polite. Yasha always intents to part on good terms, though the reality of the situation rarely matches up.

People don’t like the way Yasha looks. The way her eyes glow when she’s angry, the way blood looks when it spatters across her pale, pale cheeks. It marks her something vengeful, something unnatural. Something bloodthirsty.

(There is so much in Yasha that craves blood).

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” the man says, looking up straight into Yasha’s eyes. The surprise kicks her back – when people are shorter than her, direct eye contact is infrequent at best. Yasha wants to drink it in. Yasha wants to look away. “To never be seen again?” I can do that, you know. Just take that stone, and all your troubles will be over.”

Yasha shakes her head. Slowly. It takes effort, but she does it.

The glitter sparks, bright light flickering. His eyes widen, voice deepening. The rest of the world begins to peel away, sloughing off her bones like rotted skin. Molly is – somewhere. Not here. Fjord stayed close, hadn’t he? Or had he left, too? Yasha can’t remember.

The stone is cool under Yasha’s palm, soft as silk. She rubs her thumb over it, and then again. There’s a soothing sort of repetitiveness to the gesture, to the way it sits in her hand.

Something flashes blue, just out of the corner of her eye. Something warm weighs down her collarbone. Yasha blinks, and then puts down the stone. Again, a flash. Yasha blinks, and takes a step away.

Mine, something says, in the back of her mind. Her holy symbol burns hot.

“No. Thank you,” Yasha says, forming the words from somewhere deep underwater. Noise seeps back in, washing over her. Jester is yelling in the distance. Yasha tries to take another step back, shaky. She’s almost in the middle of the street.

They are standing in the corner of the temporary marketplace, the vendor and Yasha. Everything on either side is facing away, boarding a thin dirt path that cuts smoothly through the grass. The Mighty Nein had made camp here just last night, amidst a distinct absence of other people. Come morning, the ground had been full to bursting with caravans and sellers putting up along the marked grooves. From the easy familiarity the shop owners seemed to possess, it hadn’t taken the Mighty Nein to realise this was a regular occurrence.

“No one will ever look at you again,” the man promises.

Yasha tries to say something, but she can’t. The words sit low in her throat, cutting off her oxygen and drowning her lungs. I don’t want that is a lie. All of it is a lie. Yasha wants something like that so bad she can feel envy blister across her skin. I don’t need that is a lie. Everything Yasha wants to say isn’t true, except for I don’t trust you, which very much is.

And two hundred and seventy-eight gold is a lot, for a rock. For a rock that probably doesn’t even work. The further away Yasha gets, the further away she is to being convinced that the rock is real.

The vendor steps out from where he’s been tending to the rest of his wares. He’s taller than Yasha had initially pegged him, but not by much. He straightens out his shoulders as he walks right up to her, putting a hand onto Yasha’s wrist and pulling her a little bit forward. Yasha doesn’t want to back up, ad she doesn’t see the movement in time – by the time she notices that he’s put out his hand, it’s already clamped down hard over her skin.

“I can make it all go away, little celestial,” the man promises, glitter in his eyes, teeth in his mouth. He has a lot of teeth.

(This morning, Jester had sat down the rest of them and said, We don’t want to make a scene here, today.

You’re usually the one making the scene, Fjord said, unimpressed.

Jester waved him off. We are just here for a few hours, and then we have to keep going. So be good, okay?

Everyone looked at Nott.

No promises, Nott said.

Yasha hadn’t promised anything either, not really, but –)

“I – I just –”

“Yasha! There you are, stop wandering off like that –” Beau says, pushing her way through the thin crowd in order to stand next to Yasha. She doesn’t tower over the man like Yasha does, but there’s a decent amount of height difference. Beau stares down her nose at the vendor, slinging an arm with deceptive casualness around Yasha’s other elbow.

“Beau,” Yasha says blankly.

“We were just discussing price,” the vendor says. “Perhaps you would like to come and view my wares, as well…?”

“Not really,” Beau says, tugging a little on Yasha’s arm. “C’mon, we’ve got to get going.” Her voice drops. “Nott did something not very smart, and –”

The man’s fingernails dig into Yasha’s wrist, and something ugly and red starts to shift under Yasha’s skin. She flexes her fist and tries not to let it show. People are so breakable. Yasha has spent all her life trying to stop herself from breaking them.

“In a minute,” the man says.

“We seriously need to go right now,” Beau says.

“I,” Yasha says, struggling to breathe.

Someone starts shouting in the distance, close enough to have Yasha instinctively reaching out for her sword. Beau takes the opportunity to reach over and whack the man with her staff, dragging Yasha away from his grip in the momentary confusion. There’s a howl behind them as they hurry towards their cart, which is parked -somewhere else. Yasha is already lost, and they haven’t even turned off the main dirt path.

Thankfully, Beau seems to know where to go, because not a minute later they’ve caught up to Fjord and Molly. The former looks stressed, while the latter looks extremely amused. Both are out of breath.

“There you are!” Molly says when he sees them, grabbing onto Yasha’s arm and hauling her forward. What is it with people grabbing her today? Yasha hasn’t felt this manhandled in years. “Quickly, now. I’m afraid we’ve run into a bit of a troublesome situation. Jester should be here in just a few –”

“FIRE!”

They all whip around in time to see one of the tents burst into flames, the metal poles twisting under the intense pressure. Yasha ducks out of the way just in time for a flaming piece of wood to sail over her head, nailing Fjord square in the chin. He stumbles back a few steps, eyes unfocused.

“Oh, hell,” Molly says, just as something lunges into view. It is tall, and terrible, with glittering eyes and teeth for miles. It smiles at them, red leathery skin gleaming in the firelight.

“Hell is correct, cousin,” it hisses, tongue sliding out from its mouth to curl around its scaly lips. He stares directly into Yasha’s eyes. “Come here, little celestial. I can make it all go away…”

Fjord is sitting on the ground near them, Molly obviously torn between getting the concussed man out of the line of (literal) fire and just activating his swords. Jester and Nott and Caleb are nowhere to be seen, which is simultaneously relieving and worrying. People are still shouting – it’s getting closer, but not close enough to distract Yasha from the way this creature is looking at her. I can make you unseen, it says, and Yasha’s skin crawls.

(Yasha wants so, so badly for people to just stop – looking –)

Yasha’s holy symbol bubbles and blisters and burns her skin, white hot. She is so angry. All of her life, Yasha has been so angry. It washes her vision red and draws her lips into a ghost smile, into a pretend smile, so she can show off just how many teeth she has. Not as many as the thing in front of her, but a lot. Yasha has a lot of teeth.

Inhale. Exhale.

Snap.

“I cannot believe you ended up back in jail.”

“Shut up, Fjord,” Beau says, glaring balefully at the free man. There’s a nasty bruise along the right side of her temple that runs all the way down to her shoulder, the skin almost as green as the half-orcs’. Yasha is covered in lacerations and pieces of…thing. She is very carefully not thinking about it. A bath sounds heavenly right about now.

“Now, now,” Fjord says. “Is that any way to talk to the person getting you out of here?”

“Why aren’t you in here?” Beau demands.

“I’m just an innocent bystander,” Fjord says. “You were the one who destroyed all those stalls.”

“We were fighting a literal evil creature from the bowels of hell –”

“Now, now, no need to get testy,” Fjord says. “I’m the one paying your bail money. You two are going to cost me a fortune. Is this going to be a regular thing? Should we start setting up a party fund, just in case?”

“No,” Beau says, at the same time as Yasha says, “Probably.”

When Beau twists to give Yasha a hard stare, Yasha can only shrug awkwardly.

“Uh, this is your – third time? – in just. A few months. I don’t think, well...”

Beau sets her chin mulishly. “You’re one to talk.”

Yasha gives a vague and unhelpful gesture, shoulders at her ears. “I guess,” she says.

“Where are the others, by the way?”

Fjord’s sigh is painful and drawn out. “They were taken to a different holding cell,” he says. “As soon as I deal with you, I’m going to go and get them.”

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”

The Munchkin Nein - Falconet Fjord

Explaining this series

Wew real life is pretty time consuming, my week of travel has been kicking my arse in time management, barely had time to catch c2e23 on thursday. Nevertheless, here I am with today’s episode of the Munchkin Nein.

A falconet is a smaller falcon (and also has the same number of letters as falchion). It is also used to refer to a type of early cannon mounted on ships for combat. I was a bit indecisive over Frigatebird or Fregatidae but those sound a little too bland or esoteric, so I settle for falconets. 

Fjordy the Texblade is a level 5 warlock. One of the most surprising thing about him is that his patron is not, the Great Old One that the Cthulhian seeming entity that appears in his dreams, but instead a sword possessing spirit. Not entirely sure how this works out in the lore, but just like Fjord himself, there is a whole ton we don’t know yet.

What we do know is the ass-kicking our Texan accented warlock can dish out on a regular basis. First off, he wields the magical Wastehunter falchion (barnacles and creepy eye included). It does d8 slashing damage one handed, d10 for two. Fjord does hold a standard shield, giving him +2 AC. Not sure on how they play the rules with regards to 2 handing the sword in one turn and having the shield bonus in the same turn. Does Fjord have to spend his interaction stowing the shield to 2 hand the falchion? Or is the shield more like a buckler that can be brought to bear at anytime? I believe atm it is the latter case and Travis not exploiting the ruling to max out all the time, and instead using 2 hands whenever RP dictates.

As a Hexblade, Fjord adds his CHA mod of 4 rather than his puny STR mod of 0 to attack rolls and damage. Additionally, the Wastehunter adds d8 (i believe from ep22) damage against monstrosities and big creatures.

Finally, at level 5, Fjord chose the eldritch invocation Thirsting Blade, giving him an additional attack, bringing him nearly up to the melee capabilities of the other melee fighters of the Nein (molly, beau, yasha)

Crucially, this melee capability is equalled by the ranged power given by the cantrip Eldritch Blast. With a comfortable 120 feet of range, Fjord constitutes a vital part of the Nein’s reliable ranged output, doing d10 force damage. Being level 5, Fjord issues two such blasts every time he casts this cantrip. He has also augmented the output with the invocation Agonizing Blast, adding his CHA mod of 4 to the damage roll. He can even cast it while wielding his falchion and shield thanks to the War Caster feat (q.v) [google that i just learnt this notation today]. Can’t wait for the day Travis plays the double eldritch blast like a double quick draw with a pair of finger guns like them Texan cowboys do.

Now back to the crunch, the above are the regular things Fjord can always do, leaving him a dangerous threat even after prolonged combat. As a half-orc, his criticals are more dangerous, giving an additional dice roll (d10 or d8 for eldritch blast/2hand falchion or one hand falchion respectively). And he doesn’t go down easy. Once each day, if he is reduced to 0 HP, he instead stay at 1 HP allowing him to disengage if his turn comes up next, or Jester’s to heal him. I believe concentration on his spells is not automatically broken if he uses this racial ability. Also, I think its worth mentioning that half-orcs have advantage on Intimidation checks. Considering Fjord’s charisma is 18, its worth a go scaring enemies into submission, flight or just for the fun of it. But Fjord seems more into charm than fear tactics. For now. 

Now speaking about spells, warlocks have a more unusual economy in that they have far fewer slots, all at the highest level available, and are recovered on a short rest. At the moment, Fjord has 2 Level 3 spell slots. Just 2. Thus he has to be pretty tactical and careful with his spell choice, not hurl them willy nilly like Jester and Caleb can. 

Choice wise he has 6 to choose from, on top of his other cantrips of Minor Illusion and Booming Blade.

Minor Illusion allows Fjord to get creative in combat, though with his existing combat options he doesn’t really need to, to gain the edge. Booming Blade’s effectiveness can be in question. It costs an action and allows a single melee attack to be made. At level 5, a successful hit causes the target to suffer the usual d8/d10 + 4 slashing, as well as d8 thunder damage. In addition, if the target moves willingly after being struck, it suffers 2d8 thunder damage. The trade off between the cantrip and the two melee strikes is as follows:

Cantrip: 1 attack roll, d8/d10 +4 + d8 + 2d8 (conditional upon target moving willingly).  Min damage if hit: 6

Average if conditions met, attack hits (assuming one hand strike): 22

Average if conditions met, attack hits (assuming two hand strike):  23

Average if conditions unmet, attack hits (assuming one hand strike): 13

Average if conditions unmet, attack hits (assuming two hand strike) : 14

2 attacks: 2 attack rolls, 2 x (d8/d10 +4). Min damage if both hit: 10

Average if one attacks hits (assuming one hand strike): 8.5  

Average if both attacks hit (assuming one hand strike): 17

Average if one attacks hits (assuming two hand strike): 9.5  

Average if both attacks hit (assuming two hand strike): 19

Therefore, Booming Blade is best utilized if for some reason, Fjord can only make a single attack (slowed, opportunity attack etc). It would obviously be very helpful if the monster will obligingly shift its arse after being struck (intimidation maybe? does that count? idk) It will also depend on how easy the target is to hit. In summary I think one could say Booming Blade is higher risk, higher reward than two straight attacks. 

Someone has helpfully pointed out that the spell Blink works wonderfully in conjunction with this cantrip, since phasing out into the Ethereal plane generally forces the enemy to re-position in the material plane, triggering the bonus damage from the cantrip. If not for Thirsting Blade, Booming Blade would be the staple of Fjord’s melee routine. 

Onto the very important spells. I will discuss these spells at level 3, since at the moment (and up till level 7) all of Fjord’s spells will be cast at this level. 

Armor of Agathys  Gives 15 temporary hit points and does 15 cold damage to the attacker on being hit in melee. This makes Fjord a tank. A very spiky tank on the level of the venom troll faced in ep 21 and 23. In fact, that damage is nearly the maximum of what the troll puts out (though only triggered by melee attacks) The additional 15 HP can come in clutch. The only drawback is that the spell only lasts an hour, so Fjord can’t really prep it at the start of the day, rest up to regain the spell slot and wade in. It will take much more precise planning or signalling to read that flow of the story, almost to the point of metagaming. Or unless Fjord is raring for a fight. 

Hex One of Fjord’s bonus action possibilities, it gives additional d6 necrotic damage on Fjord’s successful hits. Also, one of the ability scores of the target is chosen. An ability check made with the chosen score is made at disadvantage for the duration of the spell. Which happens to be 8 hours. Though Fjord must maintain concentration for that duration. With a range of 90 feet, that could be a good way of initiating combat. Note, it is ability checks that are at disadvantage, not saves which are more often used in combat. However, checks do still occur such as STR checks for grapple contests, WIS for perception for the hiding Nott maybe? This could lend it to a more non-violent, yet hostile approach. Also, if the target is reduced to 0 HP, Fjord can use a bonus action to transfer it to another target.

Witch Bolt Not a very impressive spell in my personal opinion, save perhaps for the raw damage. 3d12 lightning damage on hit (avg 19.5). On following turns, if concentration is maintained, Fjord can use his action to automatically inflict 1d12 lightning damage. Not doing so ends the spell. Whose range is 30 feet and must be maintained. And the target must stay out of total cover. In terms of damage trade off it would win against Eldritch blast for the first round, then never again, unless the target is nigh impossible to hit and auto hits are valuable. Against the other spells that compete for the precious spell slots.....the medium run utility can be questionable. Unless its raw damage you’re looking for. 

Crown of Madness Pretty useless against a single target. Can be useful against enemies that attack in concert. A humanoid must make a WIS save, or suffer the charmed condition, using its action before moving to make a melee attack against another creature (excluding itself and Fjord). If it does not, it can act normally. At the end of its turns, it can make another WIS save, and Fjord has to spend his action maintaining control, on top of concentration. Thus only when the creature has adjacent enemies (of the Nein) to attack and can deal more damage than Fjord, will this spell be mechanically valuable. However, for most humanoids, having an ally turn against them can play a very strategic role in combat, sowing mistrust and scattering them. They could even egg on the infighting to gain a further advantage. 

Hunger of Hadar Thar’ be Cthulhu! Or Hadar as D&D calls it. Concentration, 150 feet range, 20 foot radius void of darkness and tentacles. Nasty voices audible within an extra 30 feet. Within this 20 foot void, creatures are blinded, insufficiently magically powerful light cannot illuminate it or dispel the darkness. Also, is difficult terrain. Starting the turn in it causes 2d6 cold damage. Ending the turn inside forces a DEX save (on DC 15) or else 2d6 acid damage. Range wise it is the longest option available to Fjord, and also acts a way of terrain control. The damage is....alright, not stellar but the tune of 14 damage a turn sounds decent if lumbering or CC’ed foes are kept penned in the area. Probably more useful in isolating targets than actually killing them. 

Blink  A very well RP’ed spell by Travis. When I first read the spell, I almost dismissed it as non-combat viable. But then someone on reddit pointed out the defensive value of disappearing between your turns, with 10 feet of teleportation to boot. The need to roll 11 and above makes it a little unreliable, but if the dice are hot like Fjord’s on his first use in ep22, it can really take the heat off. Therefore, it should not be used in conjunction with Armor of Agathys, since that rewards being hit. 

I left out Wrathful Smite as listed on critrole stats since Fjord could only have gained a second level 3 spell at level 5 by exchanging one of his previously known spells. Also, we have never seen Fjord use it, nor should he since it isn’t particularly effective. I may have to speculate on which spell he will trade off in his next level up, but I’ll leave it till then. 

Also, all the spells bar Blink and Armor of Agathys requires Fjord to maintain concentration. Which his War Caster feat greatly helps with, giving him advantage to CON saves to maintain it. With a CON mod of +2, he has held on in many crucial situations. The final part of the War Caster feat allows Fjord to cast a single hostile target spell in place of an opportunity of attack, enabling Booming Blade, Witch Bolt or Crown of Madness to be used as a reaction. 

If you think that’s all for Fjord, nope! His subclass grants him yet another feature. Hexblade’s Curse is a bonus action, 30 feet. 1 min duration. Not concentration, but ends if target dies or Fjord dies/incapacitated. This gives the bonus of proficiency (+3) in damage rolls against the target. Crits are 19s and 20s instead of just 20s (Fjord’s crits are also nastier than most). If the target dies, Fjord heals 9 HP. Once per short/long rest, so basically a specific extra spell slot that he can be relatively liberal in using. 

Finally, it should be mentioned that Fjord is a contender for the tank-iest of the Nein with 51 HP, AC 17 with a shield due to his cloak of protection. Armor of Agathys brings him up to an impressive 66 HP at level 5, while Hexblade’s Curse if activated by the death of an enemy turns them into a helpful health potion (9 HP of healing). (thanks to ehdubyah for reminding me HBC can’t be transferred on death, unlike Hex)

Mechanically, Fjord is a very well rounded character. Comfortable both at range and in the thick of it, he has the sustainability and versatility to engage with the many possible situations the Nein will run into during their adventures. This possibly leads to Fjord being a natural leader, as some have suggested, due to his adaptability and ability to do something in any given situation. Although, his WIS mod is -1, which makes him as wise as Yasha is charming (awkward aasimar that we all love). Also, I have to constantly remind myself he is STR 11, instead of Travis Willingham STR 20++.

Love yall, and we are on the Internet today cos Talks Machina with Matt and Sam! Interestingly July 3 and 5 they’d be off; with 4th of July they’ll be able to take a well deserved holiday. And if I’m not mistaken isn’t Laura and Travis’ baby coming in the first week of July? What a strange coincidence of timings. Still, super hyped for their new studio. 

14. Confessions

Read on AO3

Eyes closed, I stepped blindly into the light.

“Edward!”

Beau’s cry of panic and the sound of frantic running startled my eyes open. He was rushing forward to me, the panic obvious on his face. I held up my hand again, palm forward, and he stumbled to a stop.

His eyes were wide, shocked. His heart beating erratically. He stood, staring at me as the light shattered across my skin; crashing in haphazard prisms and fiery sparks. He squinted his eyes as the light blinded him.

After a moment, his eyes seemed to adjust. He scanned my body, taking it all in. Was he horrified? Was he disgusted? He must be repulsed by me, there was no way he wasn’t. His eyes scanned my face. Could he see the fear? Could he see how worried I was by what his response would be? And what’s more, could I retain my tepid hold on my self-control? Standing here, I was the furthest thing from human as I could be right now. I was a monster, a freak… I was a vampire.

He suddenly took another step toward me, I cringed away only slightly.

“Does that hurt you?” he whispered.

“No,” I breathed.

He took another step forward and I let my hand drop to my side. His eyes followed the light as it shimmered down my arm. He circled me examining me closely, but he kept his distance. He must be terrified of me now. There was no way he could take this in stride.

He finished his circle, then closed the last few steps between us. His eyes remained wide and unblinking.

“Edward,” he whispered.

I asked the question I didn’t want to hear the answer to, but I needed to know. “Are you scared now?”

“No.” His voice was soft, full of wonder.

How could he not be scared of me? How could he not be repulsed? It was impossible. I stared into the depths of his diamond eyes, wishing I could read the thoughts behind them. They were the eyes I knew so well and how I knew them best; wide and bewildered.

He reached out toward me, slowly and carefully, watching my face the entire time.

How could he want to touch me? I didn’t understand, but a part of me craved his touch—needed it. I become perfectly still, like the stone I was. His fingertips slowly grazed my shoulder, every movement so controlled and exceedingly careful. His warm fingers singed my icy skin. I could see the sun reflect off my skin and onto his. His face was still unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” I begged, completely lost.

He bit his lip, sorting through his thoughts. “I am…” He paused. “I didn’t know…” Another pause. Then he took a deep breath, and tried again. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful—it’s like diamonds.”

Beautiful? How could he find me beautiful? He had to be sparing my feelings, there was no way he found this freakish display beautiful. I lifted my hand, and the prism of light that refracted off my skin repulsed me and I dropped it again.

“It’s very strange, though.” I murmured, disgusted by myself.

“Amazing,” he breathed.

“Aren’t you repulsed by my flagrant lack of humanity?” I certainly was.

But he shook his head, unbothered. “Not repulsed.”

I scanned his face with narrowed eyes. “You should be.”

He simply stood there, watching me. Looking at me. Like I was a work of art. It made no sense to me, but he didn’t seem upset, he didn’t seem disturbed. We stayed like that for a long while, the seconds ticked by slowly and furiously fast all at once. Eventually, I slowly sat down on the grass. I felt my anxiety rising in the silence, so I reclined back with one hand behind my head and closed my eyes.

I heard him slowly sit down beside me, probably still staring.

What was he thinking? It was the question I had been asking since that first day. The most vexing question of them all, yet I had never so desperately needed to know the answer. Everything was laid bare now, there were no secrets, no pretenses… I couldn’t pretend anymore with Beau. He knew everything. Yet he was still here, with me, in this clearing. Sitting with a vampire as the sun shone down upon us.

He was so still beside me, that my nerves would occasionally get the better of me. I couldn’t know what he was thinking or feeling. I could only guess… but when had my guesses ever been correct? I never knew with Beau. Whenever my anxiety over the situation threatened to get the better of me I would sing to myself. Sometimes a song I enjoyed, sometimes one of my own compositions. I didn’t think he would notice; I was singing too low for humans to hear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“Wrong?”

“Your lips. They look like they’re trembling.”

Ah, he did notice. What didn’t he notice?

“I’m singing to myself.”

“Singing?” He asked.

“It calms me.” I replied.

The sun was warm upon us, it changed his scent ever so slightly—warming it and enriching it. The gentle breeze that blew through the meadow would catch his scent in the slightly humid air and carry it across me, each time an assault on my senses… Would this be what broke me? Was this what Alice saw? His scent sending me over the edge? I couldn’t allow that to happen. No, what would be best now would be if he ran from me. Escaped from this strange monster lying in the grass before him. He was so still and quiet, if it wasn’t for his steady heartbeat I would have thought he had left me. Perhaps he was considering it. He didn’t speak.

Then… he touched me.

His finger stroked the back of my hand. Careful, gentle, and warm… so warm.

I opened my eyes to watch him. He was sitting with his chin resting on his knees, looking intently at my still hand. He traced his finger along the back of it, like he was looking for some imperfection or detail in it. His eyes flicked from my hand to my face. A slight smile appeared on the corner of his lips, and his eyes were warm and trusting.

“Are you sure I don’t scare you?” I asked, trying to sound teasing, but the curiosity was still there in my voice.

“No more than usual.” He said, casually.

I smiled widely at his even response.

Then he crept closer, just inches, and stretched out his hand to feel my forearm with trembling fingertips. His fingers delicately grazed my arm from wrist to elbow, heat and electricity with each touch. His touch was full of trust and affection. It was bliss. I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation.

“Do you mind?” He asked, tentatively.

“No. You can’t imagine how that feels.” I breathed the words out in a contented sigh. His touch always had the strangest way of calming me, soothing me. Even at my most… inhuman moments. His touch was a unique kind of magic.

But this touch. This was more than that. His hand trailed over my forearm, tracing lines from the crease of my elbow to my wrist. I felt a strange, unfamiliar ache. A need. I craved more of his touch—more of this touch. I opened my eyes to watch him. His free hand reached toward mine, I surmised that he wanted me to turn my hand over and did it for him, not bothering to do so at a human speed.

He jumped slightly, and his fingers froze on my arm.

“Sorry,” I said, closing my eyes again, relaxing. “It’s too easy to be myself with you.” And it was too easy, especially now.

He lifted my hand and turned it back and forth. I peeked at him through half-open eyes. He didn’t notice me watching him as he pulled my hand closer to his face, squinting at the light glistening off my skin. I wanted to reach out and touch his face, his lips… but I didn’t want to startle him again.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I whispered, watching the concentrated expression on his face. His eyes met mine and his expression relaxed. How confusing! How intriguing he was! “It’s still so strange for me, not knowing.”

“You know, the rest of us feel that way all of the time.” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a hard life.” I could envy that life, I could only faintly remember the peace of mind I had known in my human life, the perfect silence. “But you didn’t tell me,” I pressed.

“I was wishing I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing I wasn’t afraid.”

Ah, he was afraid. Of course he was. He had every reason to be afraid, yet I hated that he was. I hated myself for making him afraid.

“I don’t want you to be afraid.” Could he hear the pain in my voice? Could he hear how desperately I wanted to tell him that he had no reason to be afraid? That I would never hurt him? But I couldn’t make that promise.

“Well, that’s not exactly the fear I meant,” he said. Of course it wasn’t. “Though its always in the back of my mind.”

Was it? He seemed too at ease now. I’d feel slightly better if I truly believed that he was aware of the danger he was in every second. But what did he mean? I didn’t understand. I sat up, propping myself on my right arm, leaving my left hand in his, not bothering to move like a human. My face was only inches from his, yet he didn’t move. He didn’t so much as flinch. He stared at me, his eyes wide, though not fearful.

“What are you afraid of?” I whispered. If my heart could still beat, I imagined it would be pounding now.

He didn’t answer, but his heartbeat sped. His eyes were locked on mine. His pupils widened. Then he leaned forward, his lips parting.

I panicked. The ache, the hunger—the new hunger, seemed to intensify wildly. It was greater than it had ever been. I wanted to wrap my arms around his body, and pull him into me. I wanted my lips to meet his, to give in to my passion and my hunger, my need for him. But I couldn’t do that. I could not let myself give in to anything for even a second. I would hurt him, I would kill him. Letting go meant losing him, because letting go was too dangerous for him.

I pulled myself back. I practically flew, propelling my body away from him as quickly as I could manage. I stopped a good twenty feet away from him under the shade of the large fir tree that sat on the border of the meadow. I stared at him, wide eyed.

His face was shocked by my sudden retreat. “I’m… sorry, Edward.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I could hear him easily.

“Give me moment,” I called back. My breath was ragged. My body was so tensed I felt like I could snap at any moment. The ache deep in my body was electric and burning. How close had I just come to killing him? How easily would he have let me? He had shown no signs of hesitation.

Even if I managed to somehow be gentle enough to hold him in any capacity, being that close to him… how could I resist his blood? The moment our bodies touched, the second our lips met, his heart could start beating, the blood pulsing through his veins, and I would snap. I would give in to my monstrous instincts. Just now, the smell of his throat, so close, so warm, was maddening.

After ten seconds I slowly, even slower than my usual human pace, walked back towards him. I stopped several feet away and sank to the ground, crossing my legs. My eyes never left his. I breathed in once, then again. Deep, cleansing breaths. I tried to smile, repenting.

“I am so very sorry.” He still looked shocked, I tried to lighten the mood. “Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?”

He didn’t speak, and he didn’t really smile. He simply nodded. His heart started beating harder now, but this was different. It wasn’t excitement. It was fear. True fear. I could smell it in his blood, the adrenaline that pulsed through his veins. I could see the fear creeping into his wide silver eyes.

I saw him then, the monster I had worked so hard to beat back since that first day in that small classroom. He was seething, desperate. I thought my deep love for Beau had been enough to silence him. But he was raging now. Eyes red and wild, teeth snapping. I was a monster, and Beau was meant to be my prey. He had come so willingly to this secluded place with me. Not a single hesitation. My smile changed on my face, it turned harsh and mocking. It became the monster’s smile.

“I’m the world’s best predator, aren’t I? Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I need any of that!” I jumped to my feet, and circled the meadow in less than a second.

“As if you could outrun me,” I laughed, bitter and angry. This is what I was; a monster.

I reached my hand out and ripped a thick branch from the nearby tree. It came off effortlessly, like pulling the petal from a flower, with a loud cracking sound. I balanced it in my hand for a moment, like it weighed nothing, then flicked it away. It flew across the meadow, crashing into another large tree and snapping into splinters. The tree it hit shook and groaned, I could hear the crack in the trunk as it spread through the tree.

In less than a second I was in front of him, a mere two feet away, standing as still as a statue.

“As if you could fight me off,” I said. For what could this boy do? He was fragile as glass, infinitely delicate, devastatingly mortal. A simple flick of my finger could shatter his skull, a twitch of my hand could snap his neck, and a small bite would trigger a hunger and frenzy in me that would leave him lifeless in seconds.

He didn’t move, the fear obvious in his lovely face. His eyes were wide with it. His face was completely colorless, and his body seemed to tremble minutely.

I watched him there. I could end all this right here. Yes, we would have to leave, yes it would destroy everything we had worked so hard to build here… But I could do it. I could give in to the monster, stop trying to fight him. I could kill this boy and drink his blood.

But I couldn’t.

He couldn’t outrun me… but he didn’t run. He couldn’t fight me off… but he wasn’t fighting. He was here. With me.

And I loved him.

I loved him more than anything in this world. His existence meant everything to me. I would do anything, give anything—even my own existence—to keep Beau alive, to keep him safe. Nothing else mattered. I would burn for centuries, I would take any punishment, any suffering, I would throw myself into the sun, tear myself limb from limb, whatever I had to do… I would do all of it for him.

I was decided. I was certain of my path now. Beau would live and, if he would allow it, I would love him.

I watched the monster inside me falter, then writhe in agony before crumbling away into dust. He would not win, he would not even exist anymore.

Beau still sat perfectly still and afraid. I felt shame pour over me.

“Don’t be afraid,” I murmured. “I promise…” No, a promise wasn’t good enough. “I swear not to hurt you.” It was for my benefit as much as it was for his, if not more.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” I whispered, taking slow, cautious steps toward him. I didn’t want him to be afraid of me. Never again.

I sat down where I had been before, keeping my pace as slow and human as I could. “Please forgive me.” I said as calmly and kindly as I was able. “I can control myself. You caught me off guard. But I’m on my best behavior now.”

I waited for his answer, but he did not speak.

“I’m not thirsty today, honestly.” I winked, trying to reassure him.

Finally, he laughed. It was shaky and breathless, but it was still a laugh. It was an exquisite sound.

“Are you all right?” I reached my hand out slowly and carefully placed in back in his soft, warm hand.

He looked down at my hand, then back at my eyes. I hoped he could see how truly sorry I was for frightening him, how bad I felt for doing so, and how determined I was to keep my promise. His eyes dropped from mine, and my chest went cold.

But then his hand returned to tracing along mine with his fingertips. He looked up at me and smiled.

I could almost feel myself warm from the inside. I smiled back. He forgave me. He trusted me. I only wondered what I could have possibly have done to deserve his trust.

“So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?”

“I honestly can’t remember.” He half-laughed.

I tried to smile, but I was embarrassed by my actions still. “I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reasons.”

“Oh, right.” He murmured.

“Well?” I pressed.

He dropped his eyes, and ran his finger along my palm. He didn’t speak. His silence gnawed at me. How adrift I was! I wasn’t used to it. This was all completely new to me, the not knowing, the uncertainty…

“How easily frustrated I am,” I admitted with a sigh.

He looked into my eyes, and a strange sort of understanding suddenly appeared in them. A smile danced on the corners of his lips for a moment, then he grew serious. “I was afraid… because of all the ways you could hurt me.”

“Yes,” I agreed slowly. He was finally making sense for a change, but there had to be a catch. He never acted or thought the way I expected or he should. “That is something to be afraid of, indeed.”

“Not just physically.” Was his soft response. “Thought that is a pretty big deal.”

Even that was an understatement.

“You could hurt me in ways I can’t even begin to think about by breaking my heart.” He continued, sadly. “By leaving.”

 “I should have left a long time ago. I should leave now. But I don’t know if I can.” What I should do and what I wanted were locked in a battle of wills with one another.

“I don’t want you to leave,” his eyes locked on mine, his voice serious.

“Which is exactly why I should leave.” His face dropped. “But don’t worry.” I assured him. “I’m essentially a selfish creature.” A very selfish creature… the most selfish creature on this earth. “I crave your company too much to do what I should.”

Crave was perhaps the wrong word, or perhaps it was the perfect word. I craved him in so many ways, terrible as it was.

“I’m glad.” He said, softly.

“Don’t be!” I pulled my hand from his, gently as I could. My voice had a harsh edge to it, not because I was angry with him, but with myself. “It’s not only your company I crave! Never forget that. Never forget I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else.” My shame overtook me, I couldn’t look him in the eyes, I had to look away, in the direction of the forest without seeing the trees.

Beau was silent for a moment.

“I never forget,” he finally said, “but I don’t think I understand exactly what you mean—by that last part anyway.”

For all his cleverness and despite being so quick to notice every little thing, sometimes he missed the most obvious things. I looked back at him and smiled.

“How do I explain?” I watched the crease appear between his eyes, signs of apprehension in his face. “And without frightening you again… hmmmm.”

I felt his hands tighten around mine, I looked down, surprised to see my hand in his again. I didn’t even realize I had moved my hand… How easy could be to be with him! Effortless and arduous all at once. But the warmth emanating from his hands into my own hand was a wonderful feeling, like nothing I had known before.

“That’s amazingly pleasant, the warmth.” I sighed.

He smiled at me as I tried to think of the best way to explain my thoughts to him; the most appropriate method. I used the first one that came to mind.

“You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?” I already regretted the analogy. The word flavor was too correct in this situation, but I had already started so I tried to finish. “Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?”

He nodded.

“Sorry about the food analogy—I couldn’t think of another way to explain.”

He smiled, amused. My answering smile was rueful and apologetic. I thought of a different way of explaining to him.

“You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he’d gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now let’s say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with its warm aroma—how do you think he would fare then?” Much like myself in his presence, I imagined.

He didn’t respond, his eyes stayed locked on mind. I tried to find the thoughts hidden behind his eyes, to no avail. The way he looked into mine, I almost felt like he was trying to do the same thing.

Looking into his eyes, thinking of how potent and intoxicating his blood was to me, a new—better—analogy came to me.

“Maybe that’s not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead.”

A smile danced on the corners of his mouth. “So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of heroin?” His voice was light, teasing.

I smiled at his effort to understand. Perhaps he was too understanding at times, but it was a comfort to me just the same. “Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.”

“Does that happen often?” he asked.

Always asking the hardest questions. Emmett’s memories flashed through my mind. I stared off towards the treetops, deciding how to respond.

“I spoke to my brothers about it. Royal didn’t feel like participating.” That was a half-truth; I hadn’t really been able to ask Royal, but he wouldn’t want to talk to me regardless. I chuckled thinking of Royal’s face if I had tried to talk to him about it. “To Jasper, every one of you is much the same. He’s the most recent to join our family. It’s a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn’t had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor.”

I felt a twinge of panic, and quickly glanced at Beau. I was speaking too openly, too frankly. I worried I had upset him.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” He said, shaking his head. “Please don’t worry about offending me, or frightening me, or whichever. That’s the way you think. I can understand,” he paused, “or I can try to at least. Just explain however you can.”

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I had to look at the sky, unable to look at him while speaking about such monstrous things.

“So Jasper wasn’t sure if he’d ever come across someone who was”—I hesitated, trying to choose the correct word, the least offensive—“appealing as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other.”

“And for you?” He asked.

“Never.” I breathed the word and the silence hung heavy in the air.

No one had ever impacted my world in so many ways as he had; his scent was only one component.

“What did Emmett do?” He asked, suddenly.

Always asking the wrong questions. Emmett’s memories of what had happened when he had caught the scent that broke his self-control flooded through my mind. My hand clenched into a fist in his soft hands. I couldn’t control my expression as I tried to force the thoughts out of my head—I couldn’t let them influence me right now.

“I guess I know,” he said after a moment.

I lifted my eyes to his, I didn’t want him to think badly of Emmett and I wondered if he would judge us for our weaknesses, despite trying our best.

“Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don’t we?”

His expression changed, becoming guarded. “What are you asking? My permission?” His voice was sharp at first, then he paused, and began again with a softer tone. “I mean, is there no hope then?” He asked, the crease reappearing between his troubled eyes.

“No, no!” I said, my sorrow obvious in my apologetic voice. “Of course there’s hope! I mean, of course I won’t…” I couldn’t say the words, but my eyes stayed locked on his. “It’s different for us. Emmett… these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn’t as… practiced, as careful as he is now.”

I watched his face in silence as he considered my words. The crease stayed between his eyes.

“So if we’d met… oh, in a dark alley or something…” he trailed off.

I was beyond elusion at this point, answering honestly. “It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of people and—“ My words caught in my throat as the memories flooded back to me; the way his scent had assaulted me, the different ways I had planned to kill him, the torture of that hour… I tore my eyes from his, unable to look him in the eye when such despicable thoughts were coursing through my mind. I tried to calm myself. “When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carlisle has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn’t been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.” I scowled at the trees, my contempt with myself brimming over.

I glanced at him, his eyes were wide, obviously replaying his memories of the day and analyzing them anew with this information. “You must have thought I was possessed.”

“I thought you were a jerk.” He said flatly. “I couldn’t understand why. How you could hate me so quickly…” His voice trailed off.

“To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. The fragrance coming off your skin…” I trailed off, inhaling his scent as it was warmed by the air, I averted my eyes, “I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what it would do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the word that would make you follow…”

I looked up then to see his expression, his eyes were wide and his expression was astonished and slightly aghast. I stared into those innocent, wide eyes. Hating myself for ever thinking of doing him harm.

“You would have come,” my voice was full of anguish.

His eyes didn’t falter from mine. “Maybe.” His voice was mostly calm, only the slightest waver in his tone.

I dropped my eyes and glowered at our hands. The fire of his, the ice of mine. “And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you, you were there—in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there—so easily dealt with.”

He shivered then, I glanced back up at his expression, but his eyes were distant and unfocused. Probably recalling his memories of the moment. He shivered again.

“But I resisted. I don’t know how. I forced myself not to wait for you, not to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn’t smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home—I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong—and then I went straight to Carlisle, at the hospital, to tell him I was leaving.”

He stared at me in surprise as the memories flashed through my mind.

“I traded cars with him—he had a full tank of gas and I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t dare to go home, to face Esme. She wouldn’t let me go without a scene. She would have tried to convince me that it wasn’t necessary…”

“By the next morning I was in Alaska.” My shame for my abominable cowardice was thick in my voice. “I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances… but I was homesick. I hated knowing I’d upset Esme, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I’d dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little human”—I grinned down at him, because now I knew he was the furthest thing from insignificant—“to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back…” I stared off into the sky while the memories continued to burn in my mind.

He was silent, his eyes watching me with curiosity.

“I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about it.”

More than arrogant, I was stubborn. I was lucky it was working out as well as it was.

“It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn’t simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn’t used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jessica’s mind… her mind isn’t very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn’t know if you really meant what you said. It was all extremely irritating.” I frowned at this memory, but a smirk appeared on his face.

I continued, “I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager, actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expression… and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand or your hair, and the scent would stun me again….”

His scent still stunned me, though I was so much stronger now and able to control myself so much better, I was hyper-aware of his scent now.

“Of course,” I said frowning, “then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes, Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment—because if I hadn’t saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don’t think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, ‘Not him.’”

I closed my eyes, reliving the moment for the thousandth time. He was quiet for a moment and I desperately wondered what he was thinking.

Finally, he spoke, and his voice was quiet. “In the hospital?”

My eyes flashed to his. “I was appalled. I couldn’t believe I put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you.”

We both flinched when the word slipped through my lips. It was an ugly, disgusting word to say. “But it had the opposite effect,” I continued quickly. “I fought with Royal and Jasper when they suggested now was the time... the worst fight we’ve ever had. Carlisle sided with me, and Alice.” I grimaced when I spoke her name, remembering his ghastly visions from that conversation. “Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay.” I said, shaking my head indulgently. “Emmett was mostly indifferent.” I chuckled.

“All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn’t understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn’t become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far away from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath, your hair… It hit me as hard as the very first day.”

I met his eyes again, my adoration for him brimming from my very core.

“And for all that, I’d have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, then if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you.”

He stared into my eyes, his own wide. “Why?” He asked in a small voice.

“Beauregard.” I said his full name slowly and carefully, reveling in the sensation of every syllable of his name on my lips. The ache to touch him was burning in me again, and I allowed myself that touch this time. I lifted my free hand and ran it through his hair, ruffling his curls playfully. His heart pounded erratically. “Beau, I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don’t know how it’s tortured me.” I dropped my eyes from his, ashamed again. “The thought of you still, white, cold…” Alice’s visions flashed through my mind. “To never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses, to never hear you scold me again for my temper… It would be unendurable.”

I lifted my eyes back to his brilliant, warm eyes. “You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.”

It felt like nothing I had known until now to finally say it all out loud. To tell him the depth of my feelings, even if the words paled in comparison to the true depth of my love for him. His heart was pounding against his chest now and his breathing was unsteady. I waited, suddenly feeling anxious that perhaps his feelings for me weren’t as intense, as consuming. His eyes dropped to our hands, I watched as he studied them intently.

“You already know how I feel,” he finally said. “I’m here… which, basically means I would risk a whole lot just to be with you.” He frowned to himself. “I’m an idiot.”

My joy knew no limits in that moment. The utter bliss to know that he felt the same way about me as I did about him. And he was right, he was risking everything being with me—risking his life just to stay with me. While I didn’t approve of his recklessness, I selfishly was glad for it.

“You are an idiot,” I laughed. His eyes met mine, and he laughed too. Easy, simple laughter. It was a such a human moment, laughing at the inhuman. The juxtaposition was ridiculous.

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…,” I murmured.

He blushed when I said the word love. A smile dancing on the corners of his mouth.

“What a stupid lamb,” he sighed.

“What a sick, masochistic lion.” I stared into the forest. I was sick. It was wrong of me to steal Beau from his human world, selfish and sick of me to want him. This would never be easy—for either of us—he would always be in danger, and I would always want his blood. It was the most masochistic thing I could do to myself. But I didn’t care.

“Why…?” He began, then he paused, hesitant.

I looked back at him and smiled. The sun reflected off my skin onto his face.

“Yes?”

“Tell me why you ran from me before.”

My smile faded, “You know why.”

“No, I mean exactly what did I do wrong? I’ll have to be on my guard, you know? So, I better start learning what I shouldn’t do. This, for example”—he gently stroke the back of my hand—“seems to be all right.”

I smiled again. It was more than all right. It was heaven. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault.”

“But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you.”

“Well…” I considered that for a moment. Was there anything he could do? To make this easier? Safer? For both of us? “It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alien-ness… I wasn’t expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your throat.” I stopped myself, my eyes darting to his face to search for any signs of distress.

He didn’t seem phased. “Okay, then,” he said, his tone casual and flippant. He tucked his chin into his chest. “No throat exposure. Turtlenecks and scarves from now on.”

I laughed at the absurd expression on his face. “No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else.”

I would allow myself to touch him again. I would be strong, I would execute perfect self-control. I raised my free hand and placed it gently on the side of his warm neck. He sat perfectly still—as still as a human could be—his eyes wide and his heart racing.

“You see,” I breathed. “Perfectly fine.”

His heart continued to race, the blood pumping through his veins. The constant, thrumming pulse of his heartbeat seemed to fill the entire meadow.

“The blush on your cheeks is lovely,” I murmured. Gently, slowly, I freed my other hand from his, and he dropped his hands into his lap. Softly, I brushed the skin along his cheekbone, then I held his face between my hands like he was made of precious glass.

My self-control would be without rival. My strength would be absolute. I wouldn’t harm him, but I could still enjoy the unique and tantalizing bouquet of his scent.

“Be very still,” I whispered.

I kept my eyes on his as I leaned toward him. I warred with myself for a moment, then I decided what I would do. I gently rested my cheek against the hollow at the base of his throat. The warmth radiated from him and onto me, warming my cold skin. His scent was everywhere, the thirst burned my throat still, but it wasn’t as unbearable as it had been in the past. I kept my breathing even and calm, the whole time he was completely still, only his heart moved at a frantic pace.

I let my hands slide down from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. He shivered and my breath caught. The shiver was different from the others. It wasn’t from cold or fear. I didn’t understand this shiver, but something about it excited me. My hands didn’t pause as they moved to his shoulders, then down to his waist where I let them rest.

I turned my face to the side, running my nose across his collarbone, inhaling his intoxicating scent. As if I were holding the most fragile work of art, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into me, my face resting on his chest.

His heart continued to beat loudly. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. It filled me with warmth and joy, just listening to his heart.

“Ah,” I sighed.

We stayed there without moving. Time didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Was it hours or only minutes? I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was his heart. I listened, enthralled, as it slowly calmed back to a normal pace. His scent cascading around me, his blood pumping so close to me. I thought perhaps I would feel more tempted than I was, but I was beyond pleased to find that I could handle it. I could be close to him and not worry. It was heaven.

Finally, too soon, I released him from my arms.

His eyes were wide still.

“It won’t be so hard again,” I said, pleased with myself.

“Was that very hard for you?” His voice was shaky.

“Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?”

“No, it wasn’t bad… for me.” He said it confidently, with a huskiness to his tone.

I smiled at the way he had said it. “You know what I mean.”

He smiled back at me.

“Here.” I took his hand and placed it against my cheek. “Do you feel how warm it is?”

He bit his lip, and his hand was tense. At first I was confused, but I watched his pupils dilate as he gazed into my eyes.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

I didn’t know what he planned to do, but I felt invincible. I felt like I could do anything. I closed my eyes and stayed perfectly still, like a statue.

He inched closer, and moving as slowly as he could—slower than I could imagine possible for a human—he stroked my cheek, then my eyelid. If I had a heartbeat still, it would be pounding as loudly as his had been a moment before. Then his fingers traced along my nose, then down to my lips. As his warm, electric fingers traced my lips, the yearning ache from deep inside me grew and intensified. I wanted to pull him to me again, to caress his face, to feel the lines and contours of his face… and more.

My lips parted, a new and unknown hunger desperately trying to break free from me. I didn’t understand it—I couldn’t. I had never felt anything like it before. Too soon, he dropped his hand from my face and leaned away.

My eyes opened, and there was a hunger in his eyes, too. The same hunger I felt in me. Could he see it in my eyes? Was that why his pulse suddenly flared?

“I wish,” I breathed, “I wish you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand.” I brushed my hand across his scarlet face.

“Tell me,” he breathed, his hands moving to my shoulders.

“I don’t think I can. I’ve told you, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though—“ I managed a half-smile—“as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can’t empathize completely. “

His breathing was shaky as he gazed into my eyes.

“But…” I touched his lips, ever so gently, with the tips of my fingers and his pulse began racing again. “There are other hungers. Hungers I don’t even understand, that are foreign to me.”

“I may understand that better than you think.”

Perhaps he did, in fact, I was sure he did. After all, these were the most human of hungers.

“I’m not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?”

“For me?” He paused, thoughtful. “No, never. Never before this.”

I took his hands from my shoulders and held them between my own. His skin was like silk, his bones like porcelain, and warm as the sun’s rays. The exact opposite of my own, stone, cold hands.

“I don’t know how to be close to you. I don’t know if I can.” I felt weak admitting it, while I had succeeded fairly well so far, it wasn’t a guarantee I’d do as well in the future—with anything… closer. I knew the natural progression of this hunger, this ache, even if I wasn’t accustomed to feeling it. I knew, and I was afraid.

But he kept my gaze locked in his, his eyes full of confidence and assurance. He slowly leaned forward and placed his cheek against my bare chest. I managed to keep my breathing even, though how I managed it was a mystery to me.

“Right now…” He breathed, “this is enough.”

Overwhelmed by his patience and kindness, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his hair.

“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for,” he sounded amused, pleased.

Was I? Was I actually… good at this?

“I have human instincts—they may be buried deep, but they’re there.”

And so we stayed that way for unknowable amount of time. It was strange, almost like we were frozen there, trapped between our desires and doing the right thing. After a while, the shadows began to encroach upon us. As the darkness crept in and the light faded, I was reminded of that day I watched him sleep in his yard. The shadows stalking forward, sapping the color and life from him… He didn’t belong in that world, he was meant to stay in the light.

“You have to go.” My voice was tinged with sadness, but I didn’t think he could hear it.

“I thought you couldn’t read my mind.” He smiled against my chest.

“It’s getting clearer.” I smiled in response.

A sudden idea sparked in my mind. I placed my hands on his shoulders and gently eased him back away from me so I could see his face.

“Can I show you something?”

“Show me what?” He asked with cautious curiosity.

“I’ll show you how I travel in the forest.” He made a worried face. “Don’t worry, you’ll be very safe, and we’ll get to your truck must faster.” I couldn’t help but smile thinking of how long it would take him to walk back to his truck.

He looked at me for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was wary. “Will you turn into a bat?”

I laughed so hard and loud I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone back in town had heard me. I swiftly retrieved my shirt from the tree line and slipped it back on before he had time to blink.

“Come on, climb on my back.”

He didn’t move, he just stared at me, the doubt and hesitant obvious in his expression. I smiled at his overly-cautious expression and reached my arm out for him. His heart started racing immediately. I gently swung him onto my back and as soon as he was in place he clamped his legs and arms as tightly as he could around me.

“I’m a bit heavier than your average backpack,” he warned.

“Hah!” I rolled my eyes. He weighed nothing to me, and even if he did, I felt stronger than ever in this moment. Stronger physically than Emmett, and stronger-willed than even Carlisle.

Impulsively, as if to prove my point, I grabbed his hand and pressed his palm to my face, inhaling his scent deeply. I was pleased to find I could handle it even better than before.

“Easier all the time,” I mused.

And then I was running.

I enjoyed running more than anything. It was a wonderfully freeing feeling, that instead of running to clear my head, I was running to carry my beloved. I wasn’t running away from Beau, I was running with him. Normally, I wouldn’t mind dashing through a few branches; they’d glance off me as if they were nothing. But I was especially careful with Beau on my back. I imagined how it must feel for him, probably like flying—like racing the wind and beating it.

Beating it. That was what we were doing. Beating the wind, beating the odds. As I ran, I felt his warm body against mine. The hunger ached inside me, I wondered how far I could push myself. I had told Beau I didn’t know how to be close to him… but I wanted to try, and I knew exactly how I wanted to push myself.

Too soon, we were at his old truck. It had only taken a few minutes. I was eager to try out my idea.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” I asked, waiting for him to climb down.

He didn’t move, his arms and legs were locked tight around me.

“Beau?” I asked, suddenly anxious, a hundred possibilities of what could be wrong with him running through my head.

“I think I need to lie down,” he gasped, like he hadn’t been breathing.

“Oh, sorry.” I stayed still, waiting for him to let go when he was ready, but he stayed clutched onto me.

“I think I need help,” he said, voice shaky.

It was a humorous reminder of how fragile and human he was. I carefully loosened his grip around my neck, if he resisted at all, I couldn’t tell. Once his arms were free, I pulled him around so I could look at his face, holding him in my arms to assess the situation, his face was pale and he looked disoriented. Carefully, I set him down on the ferns, holding him steady.

“How do you feel?” I asked, still unsure of what was wrong.

He seemed unsure for a moment, he swayed slightly in my arms. “Dizzy, I think.”

Ah, motion sickness. That made sense. “Can I help?” I tried to think of remedies for motion sickness.

“Just give me a minute.” He said, breathing deeply and slowly. “And hold on to me, please.”

That I could do, gladly. I was sorry I hadn’t considered him getting motion sick from the speed. “I guess that wasn’t my best idea.”

“No, it was very interesting.” He tried to sound enthusiastic, but his voice wavered.

“Hah!” I shook my head. “You’re as white as a ghost—no, you’re as white as me!”

“I probably should have closed my eyes.”

“Remember that next time,” I cautioned.

“Next time!” He laughed darkly.

I laughed in response, I felt like nothing could dampen my mood.

“I suppose it was better than hiking.” He offered, closing his eyes, focusing on his breathing.

Swiftly, silently, I moved so I was just in front of him. Our faces always inches apart. I felt electricity rumbling deep inside of me.

“Open your eyes, Beau,” I said softly.

He opened his eyes, slowly at first, then they shot open with surprise. His breath caught, and his pulse sped.

“I was thinking, while I was running…” I paused. How did I say it? This was terribly difficult for me!

“About not hitting the trees, I hope.” He narrowed his eyes, slightly.

“No,” I chuckled. “Running is second nature to me, it’s not something I have to think about.”

“Lucky you,” he muttered.

I continued, to excited, to eager. “No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try.” I took his face in my hands again.

It seemed like his breathing caught… or did it stop? I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t focus as carefully as I’d normally like to. It was like the electricity was coursing through my body, short-circuiting my brain.

I hesitated, suddenly feeling very uncertain. I let myself think about what I was planning to do, imagine every detail of it; how it would make me feel, what the risks were, what the temptations could be. Could I do this? Could I control myself?

I could, I was sure I could.

I pressed my cold lips very softly against the velvet warmth of his.

It was like nothing I had experienced before. Everything else paled in comparison to this moment. The electricity between us that had been so steadily mounting could not be contained any longer. It burst free from the careful containments. There was no stopping it. I could hear his heart pounding, I could feel the heat in his blood. It radiated from him and into me. His heart was beating so hard I could practically feel it in my chest. I didn’t feel like a monster… I felt alive.

His arms were around my neck, his fingers twisting in my hair, like he was as desperate for me as I was for him. It overwhelmed me, it thrilled me.

My hands dropped from his face, sliding down his body to his waist but even that wasn’t enough. My arms curled around him and pulled him into my body. As intense as it was, I was still in control. It was… tenuous, but I was somehow managing.

And then, the most sensual sound escaped his lips. It was somewhere between a whimper and a moan but it was full of absolute, unrestrained pleasure. I heard another sound; a deeper, throatier moan. I realized, aghast, that it had been me. How did I not notice?

I was out of control and I needed to stop. I would hurt him if I didn’t stop myself now. I couldn’t slow us down, my mind and my body—for once in my entire immortal existence—would not operate in unison.

The only thing I could force myself to do was become stone. My hands, still firmly on his waist, gently pushed him back. He seemed unsteady in my arms. He took a deep, shaky breath and released my neck, his hands slid down to my bare chest, burning me with electric heat. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared, bewildered, into mine.

“Oops,” he breathed. “Too much?”

“That’s an understatement.”

My jaw was clenched tightly and I could feel the wild energy in my eyes, but my voice was even.

“Should I…?” He tried to step back, but I didn’t want him to go. I was terrified to have him too close to me right now, but more than that, I was worried that I would lose my mind if he wasn’t near me.

“No, it’s tolerable.” And it was, I just needed to calm myself down. “Wait for a moment, please.”

He watched my eyes carefully, his face apprehensive.

But it was getting easier every second, I felt myself regaining control. Then I realized something that both surprised and pleased me; I craved his presence, his love, and his physical touch more than I craved his blood. I had been slightly careless when we kissed, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I would be strong, I would in control. If I could do that… I could kiss him again… the thought put a grin on my face.

“There.” I said, pleased at the way things had turned out.

“Tolerable?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m stronger than I thought.” I said, laughing. “It’s nice to know.”

“I wish I could say the same.” He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

He was sorry? For what? It made no sense, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“No, no. What you did was… You were…” I closed my eyes. There were no words to describe the experience, no words to describe how… wonderful he was. “You did nothing wrong.” I smiled.

Reluctantly, I released him from my hands, and he seemed thoroughly off-balance, more so than usual, that is.

“Are you still faint from the run?” I asked, laughing. “Or was it my kissing expertise?” I felt different, like I had shed much of the monster I had been and was becoming more human every second.

“Don’t get a big head,” he glared at me. “It was a good kiss though.” He admitted with a wistful tone.

I couldn’t have been more pleased with my accomplishment. Not only had I successfully kissed Beau, I was rather good at it.

“Maybe you should let me drive.” I suggested.

“Excuse me?” He frowned.

“I can drive better than you on your best day,” I teased him. “You have much slower reflexes.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” he raised an eyebrow, “but I don’t think my nerves, or my truck, could take it.”

“Some trust, please, Beau.”

His hand went straight to his pocket where his key was. His lips pursed as he considered what I was asking, then he shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Nope. Not a chance.”

He could be so stubborn! I couldn’t hide my disbelief at his obstinate attitude.

He tried to step around me, toward the driver’s side of the ancient truck. I almost considered letting him pass, but he was still unsteady so I caught him around his waist from behind and pulled him back to me. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his soft hair. He was clearly in no state to drive and I was too excited to stand another glacial crawl back to Forks.

“Beau, I’ve already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I’m not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can’t even walk straight. Besides,” I grinned to myself, “friends don’t let friends drive drunk,” I chuckled at my quote.

He spun around in my arms, and glared at me. “Drunk?”

“You’re intoxicated by my very presence.” I grinned, feeling smug and playful.

He rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. “I warned you not to get too full of yourself.” Then he sighed, and his teeth chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He held the truck key high above his head and dropped it, my hand caught it instantly. “Take it easy—“ he warned—“my truck is a senior citizen.”

“Thank you,” I smiled.

“So are you not affected at all?” His voice was bothered. “By my presence?”

What a question! I gazed down at this ridiculous human boy who I loved more than anything. I didn’t answer, instead, I leaned into him and brushed my lips slowly along his jaw, brushing his warm skin from his ear to his chin and back again. He trembled at my touch.

“You have no idea.” I growled the words, a playful growl that held all burning electricity inside my body. My hands slide to his waist and he shivered—no, not a shiver… it was a quiver… of pleasure. I grinned.

“Regardless,” I breathed, “I have better reflexes.”