#i realize after i wrote it that caleb's sounds like yasha but that just fuels my post-canon headcanons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spottedenchants · 1 month

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'I Didn't Ask For This' by Beth Crowley

Ooooo interesting interesting 👀

Going with my first reflex with these, bear with me xD

Strike first Make it hurt When everyone assumes the worst I never have to say I'm sorry

Beau

Exactly what she tried to do at times- if people assume the worst, you can literally only ever meet or exceed their expectations AND there's no need to apologize over things people already know you're going to do. Also ties into the whole 'you can't be the one rejected if you reject others first' thing that we saw exemplified when Beau considered her potential deal with Isharnai.

Spiteful Ruinous I'm all things you feared I was Another villain in your story

Molly -> Lucien

Really thinking about how losing Molly was a story-altering event and how Lucien's entire revival from the Nein's POV is desecration in every literal and metaphorical way. Also thinking about this meta in the frame of Molly the person vs Molly the icon and how Lucien was a twist on both as well as an 'obstacle' in the way of getting their friend Mollymauk Tealeaf back.

You think that I'm a spitfire? You should Afraid you're on my bad side? That's good If I wanted to end you I could I could

Jester

Her sweetness isn't a veneer in the same way her capability for severity isn't an act, but there's an earnest self-awareness she develops over the course of the campaign that this bit reminds me of. Yeah she's chaos made mortal, a damage-dealing cleric, and could wreak havoc upon you at the drop of a hat, but just don't be evil to her and it's fine!

I'm sinking down If you only knew how hard it is For me to climb out I'm kicking and screaming But no one can hear me So what happens now The shadows are creeping in I didn't ask for I didn't ask for this

Fjord

I think this can sum up everything from his upbringing to his pact with Uk'otoa to his struggle to be 'himself' with the party. Fjord was an isolated soul through most of his life, both by force of others and by choice as a result of that force, and really only found genuine peers in the Nein and only after a fair bit of vulnerability on everyone's parts. But hey, they reached their hands out and lent their ears when he was at his lowest and he took them up on their offer to be there for him :D

Cold rage Hides the shame Of images I can't escape Scars that live under the surface

Yasha

She can't remember the worst of her actions, and that makes it worse, doesn't it? Horror is made sharper when imagination is given free reign, so to of disgust and revulsion. So she gets mad, she rages and roars in her distinctly and somehow-quiet way, she taunts the world to take her out for the sins she's committed and it mocks her; but power only makes her undying. How cruel.

It's strange What I became When part of me was ripped away And replaced with something worthless

Veth

Even before becoming Nott, Veth's sense of self was torn to shreds before she had the chance to darn it, line it, wrap it around her shoulders like a shield. Left with threadbare tatters, she still stitched together contentment, a life- only for that to be taken too. So she resisted, fought back, reached out, tried to make something of herself that she could be proud of, and for what? A double-masked face despised by both herself and those she cared most for?

Caduceus

Yes I used this bit for Fjord and yes I will point at it again for the Wildmother's first boy. There's something to be said about being so avoidant towards the things that eat you that you can't even recognize when you are in desperate need of help. Caduceus had faith that good things would come, but faith is nothing without action. No, rather- faith without action is starvation for both mind and soul. His family left, as was their duty, as eventually would be his. The Savalierwood won't wait.

Take what's left Of my fractured heart Bloodstained 'cause The pieces are so sharp

Caleb

Driven to ruin by loyalty and love, what good is a heart if it murders its reason for being? Maybe he is the disgusting being he thinks himself, but guess what? That heart of his still beats and needs and a blade can be used to tend a beard just as well as it can be a shank. Maybe he can't wash the blood from his hands, but he can water a garden with the run off. In time, perhaps, with time.

Never forget I didn't ask for this

Essek

Knocked from his high horse and forcibly befriended. I'd like to think that deep down, even after all the dust has settled and Essek's come to terms with his new life, there's still a teeny tiny itty bitty kernel of resentment in him. The Nein are bold souls and he is grateful to know them and be known by them, but they did, quite literally, ruin his life faster than he ruined it himself.

#full disclosure: despite holding acotar and its related books in my hands several many times each week i have no idea what they're about #valakiir #chanswers #i realize after i wrote it that caleb's sounds like yasha but that just fuels my post-canon headcanons #team introvert my beloveds #they will grow nice things together #song song song hmhmhm...#how about a total 180 and Twinkling Lights by Annalise Emerick #end of campaign nein in my heart in contrast to early campaign nein #chanse writing

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beauregardlionett · 4 years

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this poem is my confessional (loving you isn’t a sin)

AO3 Link

A/N: big shout out to my man @sadwizardvibes for the inspiration AND for writing me a fucking song to go with this piece thanks for fueling my beauyasha brainrot man <3

If she was honest with herself, giving Beau that poem had been entirely an impulse decision. Yasha had told Jester she would work on it—which she did—and that she would find a special moment for it. But most of the moments she shared with Beau were special to her, so that didn’t exactly narrow things down. She cherished every conversation and tried her hardest to keep Beau safe. Especially after the events at the chantry, Yasha appreciated every moment she got with Beau.

So, she had handed the paper over and prayed she didn’t embarrass herself.

Beau had seemed flustered, touched, and Yasha had wanted nothing more than to kiss her then and there. But she had held back, because she wanted Beau to at least read the poem before anything else happened.

And then all of that insanity with Vess and Molly—no, Lucien—had happened, and Yasha found herself grateful nothing else had transpired between her and Beau. She hated to think the memory of their potential first kiss might have been marred by the events following.

Regardless, they were underway toward Aeor; the snowy landscapes were taxing, endless, and a little boring. Supposedly it was a good thing they had encountered none of the foretold beasts, but Yasha harbored a lot of pent up frustration and nerves. It would be nice to have something to take that out on.

At the end of their second day, Caleb set up his tower. He ushered them all inside to a haven of warmth and stained glass they were becoming steadily more familiar with. Dagon seemed understandably impressed with the magical structure and grateful for the guest room he was directed to.

Usually they would gather up for dinner together, but there seemed to be a silent, unanimous decision that exhaustion took precedence. They retired to their various rooms with yawns and quiet ‘good nights’, safe for the time being. Yasha lay on her back on the cot in the room with the floral mural. She traced an absent gaze over the patterns, identifying flowers in her head and hoping it would lull her anxious mind to sleep.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Molly—Lucien—and what they would do when they caught up to him. Yasha couldn’t stop thinking about Beau, about the poem she carefully tucked away to read later. Yasha couldn’t help but remember of Zualla as she stared at the flowers on her wall.

There was a knock at her door.

Pushing to her feet after a moment, Yasha walked to her door to poke her head out. She was confused about who might be at her door at this hour until her eyes found Beau fidgeting on the other side of the threshold.

“Hi,” Beau mumbled, hands behind her back.

“Hi,” Yasha breathed back, opening the door a little wider. “Are you okay? It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, voice pitching up a little at the end in a tell Yasha quickly realized meant she was nervous. “Yeah, I just uh…”

Yasha raised an eyebrow at Beau’s nerves, unused to a Beau who floundered. She realized in the second before Beau pulled the piece of parchment out from behind her back what this was about. The Aasimar flushed pink and her eyes flicked to the ground, embarrassed.

“This was…really beautiful, Yasha,” Beau mumbled, fingers fiddling with the edges of the paper. “But I uh…I noticed this.”

Yasha chanced a look up, Beau extending the paper and pointing to a tiny note scrawled in the bottom corner. She had forgotten about that.

In her messy, cramped handwriting, Yasha had scrawled the word harp? She had been considering turning her poem into a song, because it was always easier for her to express things through music. Plus, she knew that Beau enjoyed her music, so why wouldn’t she put it to chords? But Yasha ended up pushing the idea aside. It was one thing for Beau to like Yasha’s wordless performances, and a whole other for Yasha to direct poetry with music toward the woman of her affection.

“It was…just an idea,” Yasha said with a half-hearted dismissive gesture.

“Would you play it for me?”

Yasha felt her cheeks grow warmer, more red than pink now. But before she could give it too much thought, the Aasimar felt herself nodding. She stood aside and let Beau into her room, leading the monk back into the chamber painted with flowers.

Beau sat cross-legged on the floor across from Yasha as the Aasimar tuned her harp. She took a little longer with the task than strictly necessary, just so she could freak out in silence.

Of course, she had prepared chords for this, because she had run with the idea. But Yasha shied away from it, losing her courage. Music was something that had helped Yasha heal, a meditation in her own way. It brought her peace and offered her an outlet for emotions she didn’t quite know how to express. So, to have Beau sitting before her, eyes trained solely on Yasha, was intense and nerve-wracking.

If Yasha had learned anything, though, it was that she could trust Beau. The monk had been looking out for her, and for the entire group, since day one. Before Beau had trusted any of them, she had still been looking out for them. It was something Yasha admired about Beau—her capacity to care and to love despite everything she had been through. Beau inspired Yasha to keep fighting.

The least she could do was play this for her.

She didn’t need the parchment back. Yasha had spent hours pouring over the words and the chords to make sure it sounded perfect.

Oh, oh Beau, I’m grateful for you.

You waited while I wandered,

While everyone was wondering

If I’d ever come back, you stayed true.

Her voice faltered slightly at the start, uncertain and underused, but she persisted. Beau’s eyes on her simultaneously made her nervous and strengthened her resolve.

Oh, oh Beau, you mean so much to me,

I’ve lost so many people,

I cannot fathom losing

The woman who has loved so fearlessly.

Yasha rarely sang. She used to sing for Zualla in those quiet stolen moments years ago. When they were out in the fields alone, walking or hunting or just existing to stare at the stars. She sang once for Molly, both of them a little past tipsy after a good night for the circus. He had told her she possessed a voice fit for performances, but Yasha had waved him off.

Her voice was sweet, higher than her speaking voice because she sang from her nose and her head. It threw most people for a loop, but Beau merely sat there and stared. Her blue eyes were wide with awe, lips slightly parted. If Yasha didn’t know Beau couldn’t be charmed, she would almost think the monk under a spell.

And I’ve ambled and trekked over miles and miles,

Every step lead me straight back to you.

You gave me the space to learn where I belong

And I’ll tell you right now, it’s the truth.

It was almost like nothing else existed. Yasha’s fingertips buzzed against the taut strings of the harp, her voice vibrated in her chest, and Beau’s eyes stayed fixated on Yasha’s face. This was all that mattered right now, and Yasha couldn’t think of what existed before this, or what might exist after.

Oh, oh Beau, the one I’m thinking of,

I want to hold your hand and

Stand quietly beside you.

I want to confess, you’re my love.

The last strum of her harp faded into silence, and Yasha reveled in the peace vibrating through her veins. She had rarely known stillness like this before discovering music.

Beau sniffed, and Yasha twitched as she startled, eyes snapping up to Beau’s face. The monk still stared at her, eyes wide and watering.

No one’s ever written me a poem before. Yasha remembered the soft-spoken admission as a tear tumbled down Beau’s cheek. She guessed without asking that no one ever sung for Beau before, either.

“Yasha…” Beau breathed. “That was incredible. Your voice…”

The Aasimar ducked her head, not even trying to suppress the smile pulling at her lips. Beau’s awe was so genuine, Yasha barely knew how to face it head on.

“I didn’t know if you would…y’know want to hear it like that. Or if you would just rather read it,” Yasha rambled, running her fingers with absent focus up and down one string on her harp. “So…yeah, I mean, it’s a song, too. But it was originally a poem. For you.”

“Yeah,” Beau’s voice cracked. “I don’t—Yasha, that was…incredible. You’re incredible. You wrote that? For me?”

“Of course,” Yasha said, looking up again with a small frown. The note of disbelief in Beau’s voice upset her. Why wouldn’t she write a poem for Beau?

“Thank you,” Beau said, her voice overflowing with an emotion Yasha could empathize with, but couldn’t name.

“I am glad you liked it,” Yasha said as she set her harp aside. She didn’t know where to go from here. Jester had said Beau was waiting for Yasha to make the first move, and this…was this enough? It felt weird to question that kind of thing because Yasha had been married before. Theoretically, she should know how to do this. But then again, everything she and Zualla had done had been in secret. Yasha never learned how to express affection for someone openly.

And knowing what she did about Beau, Yasha figured that the monk had no better clue in any of this than she did.

“Maybe uhm…” Yasha started, but stopped. She didn’t want to mess this up. “Maybe after we finish this job…we could, y’know…get dinner? Just us?”

Watching a slow smile spread and pull at Beau’s lips was like watching a sunrise. It began slowly, a little hesitantly, colors bleeding into and washing away the darkness of Beau’s uncertainty. It was a gentle harbinger that lasted a lifetime in no time at all. Then, between one blink and the next, the sun. Beau grinned with wild abandon, lips pulled wide to reveal her teeth, and eyes scrunching at the corners with the force of it. Yasha’s heart went giddy in her chest at the mere sight of Beau’s joy.

“I’d like that,” Beau whispered. There was the same quiet, awed excitement in her voice from when she first received Yasha’s poem.

Yasha’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “It’s a date.”

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #writing #my writing #beauregard lionett #yasha #LET'S MANIFEST #i honestly got this idea like two weeks ago but better late than never am i right #c2e114

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