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hopeymchope · 3 years

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Judging the Danganronpa x Sanrio character pairings

You may have already heard that a DANGANRONPA X SANRIO line of crossover merch was announced a few days ago! Which is obviously AMAZING, because they’re combining cutesy characters that have often been marketed to wee children with everybody’s favorite murderdeathkill game! I LOVE IT.

I have a niece who went through a Sanrio/Hello Kitty phase, so I actually know a few of these characters. In turn, this means that I have THOUGHTS on how the DR1 and Sanrio cast were paired up.

Granted, I still had to look up a lot of these guys and read about them. But now I feel adequately educated to the point where I can judge just how well the Danganronpa and Sanrio pairings actually match up.

Makoto Naegi/Cinnamoroll - Obviously this totally works because Makoto IS something of a cinnamon roll, eh? EH? But Cinnamoroll is said to be shy albeit still very friendly. He also likes to seek out fun new adventures. So, aside from “very friendly,” I’m not sure that this sounds like Makoto. I also doubt that calling a character a “cinnamon roll” is common slang in Japan. So this is whatever.

Sayaka Maizono/Wish Me Mell - Mell has the power to connect people’s hearts by simply stating the feelings they keep inside. She was initially withdrawn and believed she didn’t have any friends, but the people who cared for her finally broke through her shell and convinced her that she DOES have friends. So uh, Maizono... I guess music can also bring out people’s feelings? And perhaps you could plausibly HC that Sayaka has often felt like her surrounding friends were “fake” and only there because of her celebrity status. There’s not really much to go on here.

Leon Kuwata/Tiran - Tiran is an orange T-rex that is said to be scatterbrained but still a strong and reliable leader. Meanwhile, Leon has orange hair, and he’s certainly strong and kind of scatterbrained sometimes. It sorta works.

Kyoko Kirigiri/Marroncream - Marroncream is bright, positive, and fashionable. She is talented at making crafts and sweets. She lives in Paris. She has nearly nothing in common with Kyoko, although Kyoko did live abroad a lot in her younger years. So I could try to latch onto the Paris thing.

Hifumi Yamada/Pokopon - Pokopon is a raccoon that loves to read but dislikes ghosts and “the thunder god.” (uh... what?) He also finishes his sentences with the unusual suffix “-das.” Of course, Hifumi loves to write (which certainly is connected to reading), and he likes to end all names with a weird suffix (”-dono”), so I can see how they might make a cute pair.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru/Pekkle - Pekkle is a duck who is good-natured and kind. He loves to sing and dance. It kind of sounds like he should’ve been matched with Sayaka, but instead he’s here with Taka. While Ishimaru is definitely a good person, I don’t think most people would immediately describe him as “kind.” And he certainly isn’t known for his love of music.

Yasuhiro Hagakure/Monkichi - Monkichi is a laid-back, easygoing guy who is upbeat and loves puns. His dream is to become a poet. It’s said that once he sets his mind on something, there is no stopping him! And in comparison, Hagakure is... well, he’s kind of laid-back in the sense that he’s kind of lazy? But he’s actually pretty high-stress a lot of the time, too. Honestly, there’s not much linking the two.

Chihiro Fujisaki/Kurousa and Shirousa - Shirousa is the white one and is the older sibling to Kurousa, the brown one. Shirousa is described as an energetic leader and Kurousa is described as being nice but lazy. They like to make cakes. What does any of this have to do with Chihiro? Beats me. This particular pairing is nonsense.

Byakuya Togami/Badtz-Maru - Badtz-Maru is said to have a bad attitude and dreams of being “the boss of everything” when he grows up. He tends to act a bit selfish, and he mocks things he dislikes/disagrees with. He enjoys expensive food and collecting photos of movie villains. With the exception of that last point, I’d have to say that this sounds like a near-perfect match for Togami.

Mondo Owada/Goropikadon - The Goropikadon are a group of cave boys whose actual names are Goro (blue hair), Pika (pink hair), and Don (teal hair). Goro is always hungry and joking around. PIka is a thoughtful, shy mama’s boy. Don is serious and places a high value on honesty. Overall, I suppose that how quick Mondo is to get angry and resort to violence kind of makes him seem like a stereotypical caveman? But in terms of their distinct personalities, only Don’s focus on honesty rings true for Mondo.

Toko Fukawa/Lloromannic - Another multi-character one. The Llormannic are a pair of creatures named Berry (the black one, who is male) and Cherry (the pink one, who is female). They are mischievous and love to play pranks on humans. Cherry was originally alone and created Berry for companionship; however, she mixed up her magic spell ingredients and used salt when she meant to use sugar, which resulted in Berry turning out to be a more hostile being than Cherry. I suppose the fact that Berry is a darker creation of Cherry’s sort of reflects the relationship between Toko and her other self, Genocide(r) Syo/Jack. However, Berry and Cherry are still best friends. Toko and Syo/Jack are definitely not that.

Celestia Ludenberg/Kuromi - Kuromi is the rival of a bunny named “My Melody” who doesn’t appear in this promotion. Kuromi is said to look “tough and punk” in her jester’s hat with the pink skull on it, but in reality she is very girly. She enjoys writing in her diary, reading romance books, cooking, and checking out good-looking guys. I suppose Celestia did have that dream of living in a mansion where she was served by handsome guys dressed as vampires? So... they both like hot guys? But that’s all I’ve got here. Pretty sure this pairing only exists for aesthetic reasons. And admittedly, their aesthetics mesh very well.

Aoi Asahina/Keroppi - Keroppi lives with his family on the edge of Donut Pond. He is bubbly, a fantastic swimmer and, because of the name of his home pond, is often associated with donuts and/or things that are donut-shaped. Ok, so this was an obvious pairing, then. They nailed it. Probably the single best pairing they came up with.

Sakura Ogami/My Sweet Piano - Yes, the character’s name is literally “My Sweet Piano.” She’s described as soft, kind, and girly. Given Sakura’s secret love of girly things, I can see how this soft, pink, girly sheep would be something she’d love to be around.

Junko Enoshima (...?)/Hello Kitty - Hello Kitty (a.k.a. Kitty White) is described by Sanrio as “cute, bright, sweet, kind-hearted and tomboyish.” They also say that Kitty is very close with her sister, Mimmy. As for Junko... look, the only reason I think maybe this is supposed to be Junko is because Mukuro already has her own Sanrio matchup (see the next entry), but in terms of her appearance, this “Junko” sure looks like it’s “Junkuro.” The telltale sign is that giant bow on the left side of the head, which only Mukuro-as-Junko has ever worn. I doubt we’re supposed to be thinking that they did two Mukuros in two different outfits, though?

It’s like this: If it’s Junko, well, I guess both Junko and Kitty are icons within their respective brands. And Junko tries to put on a “cute and bright” exterior persona, I guess? But that’s pretty thin. On the other hand, if this is Mukuro in disguise, this is actually a semi-decent matchup! Mukuro is arguably tomboyish and certainly very close to her sister (at least from her own perspective), so these two are not without their parallels.

In either case, both Kitty and the Unknown Despair Sister have a big bow on the left side of their head. Which I think is the real reason they’ve been paired, honestly.

Mukuro Ikusaba/Little Twin Stars - Kiki and Lala are a pair of twins that were born on December 24th. Mukuro is one half of a pair of twins ALSO born on December 24th. Instant connection! Kiki (the blue-haired boy) loves fishing and inventing things. He is curious and cheeky. Lala (the pink-haired girl) loves drawing, writing poems, and cooking. She is rather timid. In short, the “twins with the same birthdate” thing is the only thing connecting Mukuro to these two. Still, it’s not bad.

Also, the most amazing thing to come out of this team-up so far HAS TO BE MonoKitty. Hello Kitty cosplaying as our favorite psychotic MurderBear? How great is that? SELL ME MERCH OF MONOKITTY.

#sanrio #danganronpa x sanrio #sanrio characters #danganronpa merch #hello kitty #danganronpa crossovers #danganronpa official art

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katzkinder · 3 years

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London Bridge Is Falling Down

Envy Pair version of my Counting Sheep series! Himiko is my headcanon for the name of Mikuni's mother. Since Mikuni's name contains the character for "kingdom," I thought this name belonging to an ancient queen suited his mother well.

Mikuni is annoying.

That’s something Jeje has always known, ever since Mikuni was a child, ever since the first time he saw him, bounding around his mother’s skirts and throwing himself into Lily’s arms to be held and cuddled and fawned over while Jeje had slunk back to the cellars. Himiko had been so bright, back then, the rot of Envy not yet showing in a visible way, that tiny baby that would grow into his brother’s Eve gurgling happily in her arms.

Jeje was the one who had found him. Himiko had wept when she saw him, all the anger and hate leaving her at once, vanishing as if it never existed when she laid her eyes on the fragile little bundle, swaddled in soft fabrics with little gloves on his impossibly tiny hands. She had sobbed all the harder when she took the crying child from him, her hands shaking while she cradled him close, useless apologies spilling from her pretty lips. The body of the babe’s mother had rapidly been growing cold on the carpet, and little Misono… Would remember none of it.

(Jeje remembered all of it, though. He doesn’t think a single moment will ever fade from his mind, no matter how many eons pass)

As Mikuni had grown, with Jeje watching over him as a silent, imposing, guardian angel, always behind the boy’s mother while she had read bedtime stories to him, always so aware of those bright, bright, too bright eyes, Jeje had also become aware of a number of other things, and those things remained true into adulthood. Mikuni has all of his mother’s gorgeous looks (and some from his father, but admitting as such is just asking to be choked), her stubborn brightness, her sharp tongue and wit, but more than any of that...

Mikuni is annoying.

...Because he never listens to what’s good for him. Just like his mother before him, he had taken Jeje despite his warnings, and some bitter, sick part of Jeje had wanted him to. The same part of him that had given in to Himiko herself.

But, well, he’d always known Mikuni never listened, too.

He wonders if Lily knows, though he doubts that he’s aware, of those golden afternoons when Mikuni would sneak down to his hiding place and find him lurking near the boilers, the excited, terrified whispers of Lily’s children, his human children, chasing after the young heir as he confidently hopped down, step by step, into the “monster’s” lair.

They had talked. About nothing. About everything. Well, actually, Mikuni had talked, seemingly not caring that Jeje never said much back, incredible and beautiful and… Well, there was a reason everyone called Mikuni brilliant.

Jeje knew better, though.

***

The most annoying thing about Mikuni, in his opinion, is not how loud he is. It’s not his contrariness, or his capriciousness, or his constant, gnawing curiosity causing him to make mischief.

The most annoying thing about Mikuni was how badly he wanted people to think he was naturally good at everything.

See, Mikuni was smart. Jeje would give him that. But he was also very stupid. It wasn’t as if he lacked common sense, though sometimes Jeje wondered, but it was like Mikuni wanted people to resent him.

More than anyone Jeje had ever met, his Eve was a hard worker. Someone who hated owing others a single damn thing. It was that useless pride and sense of responsibility for things that couldn’t possibly be Mikuni’s fault, things Jeje suspected, no matter how much he denied it, Mikuni had learned, had internalized, from his father and from Lily, that was why Jeje refused to call Mikuni brilliant like everyone else.

...But he did shine. Like a candle in a darkened room. Like a beacon. Warm, and inviting, someone to warm himself beside, even knowing that that flame would burn him up, just like a moth.

The question was... Who would that flame melt into nothing first?

Jeje would be damned twice over if he let it be his Eve.

Turning away from way he had been watching the other man work late hours, hunched over Nod’s ledgers and planners and Mikuni’s own personal notebooks, where his pen scratched across the surfaces of each calculating profits, expenses, bills, new products and designs and promotions and planning trips, Jeje silently makes his way to their kitchen.

Burning the midnight oil just means you won’t have any left when you truly need it.

A snort, reaching for their cabinets. Of course, that’s what Mikuni had him for.

***

He’s gotten very good at brewing tea. Jeje isn’t much of a chef at all, but living with Mikuni for so long, it was practically guaranteed he’d learn to at least make a semi-decent cup, and thank god he had. He would have truly killed Mikuni by now if he hadn’t, he swears, the man is just as persnickety about his tea as Lily is with his coffee.

...He’s also gained a new appreciation for the stuff, but maybe that comes with the territory of spending hours upon hours listening to Mikuni’s one sided argument about the best ways to drink it. It’s hard not to be impressed with all the little details that goes into brewing what’s considered a perfect cup (by Mikuni’s standards, anyway), and even harder still to not feel a fondness for something that draws such genuine passion out of his once charge, now equal.

...It’s such an odd thought. He knows what people think. That Mikuni has always had a stranglehold on him. That Mikuni has always been in charge. That Mikuni has always been someone… Grown up.

Again. Jeje knows better.

He sets the temperature on their electric kettle, one purchased on one of their many visits to the British Isles, sits at their kitchen table, and waits. Thinks.

Mikuni has been grown up for a long time now. And he will continue to grow, and people will continue to think, no matter Jeje’s efforts, that he is a no good, conniving schemer who would sacrifice them all on a wish and a prayer and something like a maybe.

And, well, perhaps they aren’t wrong. Perhaps Jeje is a fool. But if he’s a fool, he’s a court jester, and as court jester he will make absolutely certain this time that the king does not make his mistakes without someone there to make fun of him for it, even if only behind closed doors, even if only between the two of them.

To everyone else, he is a dictator’s executioner, and that’s fine with him. Everyone else doesn’t matter.

His eyes drift to Mikuni’s favorite cup, one made of glass and painted with delicate, swooping strokes of gold, with lilies and a taupe lacquer surrounding all but a window through which one could admire the lovely colors of their favored drink. He takes it into his hands, so much larger than this tiny cup, and finds himself smiling as he turns the joint birthday gift from the Lust pair over and around, admires those intricate, fancy details that speak of quality and knowing down to the letter exactly what Mikuni’s tastes are.

Well.

Almost everyone.

***

The teapot has been warmed, the kettle filled with mineral water and piping hot, and by the time Jeje finishes steeping the loose leaf tea, their little kitchen clock, kitschy and cute and shaped like a cartoon chicken hatching from an egg, reads 2:17 in the morning.

Jeje picks up the cup, the container of melatonin supplements Mikuni has taken since he was twenty at his Servamp’s behest, and carefully carries both back to where he knows the other man will still be completely absorbed in his work.

True to form, Mikuni is still at it. The predictability of his late night, sleepless habits, of his need to do something with his time, makes Jeje’s frown deepen, ever so slightly.

He wishes Mikuni would just rest. Close his eyes, not do anything, just lie there and let Jeje guard him, just be still, be quiet, like did when he was a child.

… He knows better than to think a mind as stubborn and that moves as fast as his Eve’s could ever achieve that, but he can dream. He can also just sicc the Lust pair on him.

That’ll put him to bed real fast.

“What’re you grinning about over there?”

He startles, not having expected Mikuni to acknowledge his presence, and nearly sloshes hot chamomile with lavender onto the pretty little matching saucer that accompanied the cup. It’s a miracle it didn’t fall over completely. Jeje lets out a breath, so quiet it’s inaudible, and curses himself for forgetting that Mikuni can see him right now.

Then again, even if he was wearing his mask, Mikuni would have seen right through him.

He always does.

His Eve is watching him still, waiting for him to move, and then his eyes flick down to what Jeje has in his hands. His lips twist.

Jeje ignores it and continues to make his way over to where Mikuni had been peacefully working. They don’t speak a word to one another, and no sooner than Jeje sets his cargo down, he’s going back the way he came, knowing it’s useless to try and ply Mikuni with words or favors.

The man is annoying in his stubbornness, too.

He hears a sniff behind him, the scratch of pen on paper once more, but it isn’t long before that little noise stops again. A sigh. Jeje chances peering around the doorframe, smiling, just a tad, as a clearly frustrated Mikuni slaps his pen down onto the counter and picks up his cup, no doubt tempted by the smell of his favorite night time blend.

A swallow. Two.

Mikuni unscrews the lid on the melatonin gummies. Pops a couple into his mouth. Chews, and swallows. The tension leaves his shoulders. He allows himself to savor the warmth in his hands.

Jeje leaves him be and heads upstairs to their room, knowing Mikuni now won’t be far behind.

“Jeje,” Mikuni calls after him, voice soft in that way it sometimes, ever so rarely gets, so quiet Jeje almost misses it. “... You still really suck at this.”

Mikuni is annoying.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #jekuni #servamp jeje #mikuni alicein #pawprints #it's done!#it's late but it's done!

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

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As you all know, I have been watching Hunter x Hunter sine last week and I have to say the show is VERY interesting. Unfortunately, Netflix has decided to only upload 4 seasons right now. Who knows when the rest will be uploaded. Anyway, I am fully digesting season 1 which is about the Hunter’s Exam.

Killua Analysis| Illumi Analysis| Chrollo Analysis

Thus far the main character has left home to pursue the same career as his father. He meets Leorio and Kurapika on a ship and stays with them through out the exam. I immediately questioned why and how a 12 year old was able to survive all of that. He had to fight people much older and stronger than him AND use his Hunter’s license correctly. I am going to ramble about some of the characters and my thoughts on them. Keep in mind I haven’t seen the rest of the seasons or the movies yet. I have to say that or else the toxins will slide into my DMs. Let’s get into it!

I’ve mentioned this character before a few times because he has caught my attention the most. Can you guess it? That’s right! I am talking about Hisoka Morrow. Ironically, I saw a screenshot of he and Illumi on my twitter page and I unintentionally said “Who are they?!”. I soon found out that they were on this show. Here is what attracted me the most to looking at this show:

Clothes

I saw a man wearing what seemed to be playing card patterned white or black crop top, a light pink shirt underneath, and fitted white pants. I will admit that this is a unique styling for anyone in an anime that I’ve seen but I like it a lot. I didn’t know why he wore that patten on his shirt(s) until later.

Shoes

When I say this man is stylish, I mean it. I noticed during season 1 he wore court jester shoes. They are black and pointed up where the toe is. To think that this man was running in a long tunnel, outside and did it flawlessly boggles my mind. How did he not twist his ankle?! I ran in Nike slides before and FUCKED my ankle up so badly. In season 2, I noticed that he switched from the jester shoes to what I call “The Casual Boots” which simply means they are still pointed but have a small heel on them. Again, how he fights in heels boggles my mind. Fun Fact about myself, yeah , I cannot walk in heels without my feet swelling! The fact that he flawlessly defeats appointments in heels is crazy and just the thought of that makes my ankles hurt more.

Face

I immediately noticed the tear drop and star on his face. One thing that I love about a character’s design is their face markings and tattoos. One character that I will always love is Clockwork from Danny Phantom. He has a thunderbolt tattoo under his eye that compliments the red in his eye. Some people view Hisoka as a clown because of his makeup and how he dresses but I got the impression of him being a court jester. I’ve made jokes about how he minded me of a human version of Haxus, a Galra solider from Voltron Legendary Defender.

Hisoka has been blessed with a chiseled jaw and a body like Adonis. I’m sure you’ve seen it. This is stuck to my brain like glue because for the longest I have tried to draw my own OC’s like this for a few years and they never come out right. Other characters like Shiro and others have caught my attention in the same way.

Hair

His hairstyle is very unique. I like to describe in the shape of a volcano that shifts between the color of red and orange. How he gets it to look like that everyday is still in question. Some fans have said that they like it down but I like the up-hairstyle. I think the down hairstyle would be appropriate for formal occasions.

Voice/enunciation

This will vary for other viewers but this is how I feel about how Hisoka speaks. I’ve noticed a trend with certain villains in anime shows. Characters like Illumi, Hisoka, Lotor, Zarkon, and many more with English Voice Actors enunciate their words more clearly and sharply for impact and effect. I’ve stated before in an ask about the Galra and their culture before the rift accident where I believe Zarkon has a mid-Atlantic accent. A mid-Atlantic accent is an cultivated accent of English blending together features of both American and British English (specifically Received Pronunciation for the latter) that were considered the most prestigious by the early 20th-century American upper class and entertainment industry. I’m sure this is done to show the characters and viewers that they are serious and they mean business. I don’t know about you but his English Voice Actor did a great job and it fits his personality.

If you’ve made it this far into the post, thank you. It means a lot.

Lastly, towards the end of the series, Hisoka went to “cast” his vote for chairman since Netero died in the Ant Arc. One thing I noticed was his golden dangling earrings. He and Illumi are on the roof of the building talking tab out Netero and that is why they’re casting their votes. He asks if Hisoka has seen the news and then answers with no. Illumi then blasts him saying “If you weren’t playing tag with Chrollo, you could have fought Netero.” I will cannot tell a lie, that was funny and more funny when Hisoka let that slip over his head. Hisoka then decides to pay the newscaster (forgot his name) a gruesome visit, but can we talk about his new attire? He still wears the fitted white pants BUT with a playing card patterned belt? Better jewels?

Better shoes?

Bad bitch mode activated.

Anyway, I am glad you took time to read this post. These are the thoughts that I have gathered about his character and I’m sure I’ll add more as I digest the rest of the show. There are somethings I still don’t understand. If you’d like me to continue these character analysis, be sure to let me know! Keep the asks coming!

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ariadne-mouse · 3 years

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For the Physical affection prompts, how about 5 for Fjorester? Because Soft ^TM

#5 - giggly cuddles (958 words)

Jester was fully aware that Artagan was not a god. She also knew that after Travelercon, he also wasn’t too keen on spreading word of The Traveler.

Despite this, she still had the urge to play pranks in his honor. It felt both similar and different than when she thought she’d been evangelizing for The Traveler. Just like before, it was like… saying hello, a Sending to a dear friend saying “I’m thinking about you”. She knew he’d see, and he’d laugh, and maybe even come to share the laughter. Except now, she knew him, really knew him, all his faults and foibles. There was less mystery, but more fondness.

Pranks were also fun. She’d been playing them as long as she could remember, longer than she’d known The Traveler, even. Mischief was in the fabric of her soul.

The priests of the Platinum Dragon in Rexxentrum would likely not appreciate this personal history or rationale.

They were furiously giving chase as she cackled and fled the Dragon’s Seat temple, paintbrush still wet in her hand, having left behind a dozen lewd drawings in prominent places. Her disguise as an old crone was still in place. There were more priests and guards than she had planned for, but that wasn’t a problem! She had Dimension Door in her back pocket. The game was trying to get away without using it.

Things were going swimmingly until she rounded a corner and smacked straight into a trio of burly Crownsguard.

“Hold her!” shrieked the temple guards, panting as they caught up. “Bahamut’s balls, she’s fast!”

The Crownsguards seized her.

“Oh, my old bones!” yelped Jester. One of the Crownsguards instinctively loosened his grip, and she kicked him in the shin.

“She’s no old woman,” One of the temple guards said.

Jester struggled, but their hold on her was firm. Should she use Dimension Door? Maybe. It had been a very close call the last time she’d vandalized a major temple.

She was just opening her mouth to speak the incantation when a loud voice interrupted them.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Another Crownsguard was approaching - a burly Goliath, oddly compact for his race, with regalia far more ornate than the guards who held Jester. His voice was gruff and… interestingly familiar.

“This woman has vandalized the Dragon’s Seat!” squawked a temple guard. “With- with- unsightly images! And--!”

“Stand at attention!” snapped the newcomer, the intensity of his command startling all the guards into a stiff, formal posture. One of the temple guards let out a squeak.

Yes, Jester knew that voice, just like she knew those mannerisms - folded arms, the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin - even if his features were pale and tattooed instead of two-toned green. The confidence and poise was unmistakable.

Suddenly the hardest thing was not to break out in a grin and jump up and down with glee.

“You are causing a scene in his Majesty’s streets,” the Goliath rebuked the group. Then he leaned in and lowered his voice to a menacing hiss. “This woman is a covert agent of the Crown, to whom you are now drawing undue attention. And I am now in a position to be cleaning up your mess.”

As one, the guards all gulped and looked guiltily away. Jester caught the Goliath’s eye. He winked.

“Hand her over to me,” he continued sternly, “And back to your posts! If you do it quickly enough, perhaps I’ll consider being lenient in my report.”

“Yessir,” said the Crownsguard, followed shortly by the temple guards. The Goliath took Jester by the upper arm and began to lead her away.

Unfortunately, a bystander bumped into them - and partially through the Goliath - revealing his large shape as the illusion it was.

“Hey, wait a minute!” One of the temple guards exclaimed.

“Time to go!” the Goliath said hurriedly, taking Jester’s hand. They took off at a run down the street, Jester now unable to contain bursts of laughter as she went.

They careened around a corner, down another street, another corner, dashing as fast as their legs would take them. Finally the Goliath tugged Jester into the narrow passage between two tall buildings - too small to be properly called an alley - and pressed his back flat to the wall, waiting for their pursuers to pass. Jester attempted valiantly to smother her giggles, with no success.

Eyes closed, she leaned into the arms of the Goliath, pressing her forehead to his chest as she laughed. She could feel the hitch and rumble under her cheek as he began to laugh, too.

“Quiet, we have to be quiet,” he wheezed helplessly.

“Don’t you know,” Jester hiccuped. “You’re talking to an AGENT of the CROWN.” She opened her eyes and grinned widely at Fjord, who now looked like his usual self. She dropped her own disguise to match.

“That was good wasn’t it?” He said, looping his arms around her.

“That was amazing,” she agreed. “Did you see their faces?”

“Very nice,” said a third voice, and there was the sound of someone clapping. “Extra points.”

Fjord looked up sharply, but no one was there.

Jester blew a kiss to the empty alleyway. “I hope you liiiiked it!”

The reply sounded right next to them, fond and warm. “Always, my dear.” The voice drifted closer to Fjord. “And you - do keep up the good work, won’t you.”

“Yep,” Fjord agreed. His shoulders squared automatically.

There was the sound of soft laughter again, which slowly faded into silence.

They were alone.

“Is it safe to go, do you think?” Jester wondered, peering out at the street.

“Not sure,” Fjord said, pulling her in with a grin. “Better stay here a moment longer, just to be sure.”

It was some long minutes before they ventured out to rejoin the Mighty Nein.

#ariadne writes CR #fjorester #fjorjester #(never sure which one it is)#fjord #jester lavorre #artagan #critical role #tumblr snippets #physical affection prompts

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sociallyawkwardfoxwriter · 3 years

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Part of me feels like When Caleb and Nott were traveling alone, Caleb took really good care of Nott in ways that showed to others, which is why people kinda assumed Nott was like his kid. Like he’d brush her hair (to help avoid possible body dysphoria) and help her with her nails (very glittery) and making sure she had nice stuff. Nott of course did similar things for Caleb (understanding that he felt safer looking like a hobo, so she gets him book money instead.) which makes me wonder, what little things do you think Nott and Caleb do for the others?

Sorry I’m just now getting to this! I kept telling myself I would do it, then would get distracted by something else... Sorry again!

Oooo, this is such a fun and interesting thought. I’m such a big fan of doing little things to show others that you care about them. It is absolutely one of my favorite things! As for what Caleb and Nott would do/give the others...

Beau Help with her wraps, fix her nails and hair, get her eyeliner smudged just right, get the blood and other stains out, massage those hardworking muscles, make sure she’s drinking plenty of water, books, journaling supplies, monk shit!

Caduceus Assist with his treehouse garden, join him for tea, meditation time, exotic teas, all the pink, braiding his hair, beetle hair pins because aesthetic, things to keep him warm.

Fjord Anything turtle related, random buttons hidden on his person, cloak pins, hair ties in all colors, every nautical hat they find, little magical items, replacing his worn clothes with new ones, compliments.

Jester Drawing supplies, any vaguely dick shaped trinkets, brightly colored horn jewelry, manicures and pedicures, things to remind her of home, pastries, helping her with pranks.

Yasha Flowers, help tend her wounds, sword care products, stuffed animals, little figurines, soft blankets and other comforting items, bug treats, quiet nights together, all the hugs.

#anon #critical role #caleb widogast #nott the brave #beauregard lionett #caduceus clay #fjord #jester lavorre #yasha nydoorin #platonic relationships #love the little things #show them all the love

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klea221 · 3 years

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Blood and Gold Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It will be done”.

I couldn’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no! Jester what has she done now!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to meet you” I say shyly.

“Are you guys travelling too?” asks Beau.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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goose-books · 4 years

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the valley | a tmr short | word count: 2k

named for the oh hellos song! which has huge TMR vibes to me. i mean, sure, it’s a story about fae and a blood-drinking forest, but these kids deserve their beach episode.

you can find out more about TMR here. but for a refresher: the characters present here are winter auklet, farm-girl-turned-adventurer; her trusty dog skip, who follows her around like an NPC; viridi doveswing, a mysterious convalescent who can’t physically lie; patch gosling, the castle court jester, who has two hands (one for viridi and one for rowan); and rowan hawthorne, the blacksmith’s apprentice, who does not often talk or fear.

without further ado i bring to you: tmr beach episode.

“You’re going to want to take your boots off,” was the first thing Rowan said, when she met the others just outside the castle walls. He didn’t elaborate, and Winter didn’t get the chance to ask, because a moment later he was bounding off toward the north end of the island.

Winter looked, rather helplessly, at Patch and Viridi. “I only have one pair of boots.”

“You won’t lose them,” Patch said hurriedly, reaching down to pat Skip on the head. “Just leave them here, no one will take them - he’s right, we’re going to be swimming -” and they scampered after him.

Winter blinked.

She looked at Viridi, who raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Good God. Then, defeated, he exhaled and started off at a more stately pace.

Winter, staring at her feet, didn’t move until Skip twined through her legs and raced after him. Then she yelped and shucked her boots off, hopping on one leg as she peeled off her stockings, and shouted, “Wait for me, Skip!”

The summer sun burned hot in the dove kingdom. It shone off the lake, glittering blue; it lit up each waving blade of grass in the fields behind the castle. Not that there were many fields - the castle walls extended almost to the edge of the island. Their path traced the shoreline north, to the part of the island that pointed further out into the lake and not to the mainland city; the shore grew steeper and steeper until it sloped up into rocky cliff walls, overhung with vivid overgrowth.

Rowan had infuriatingly long legs. Winter caught up with Viridi first, which was to be expected but was still unfortunate, because then she felt obligated to keep his pace, and Viridi, for all he’d healed since his accident, was slow. Both of them were sweating by the time they reached the others - Patch, bent over puffing; Skip, circling excitedly around their legs; and Rowan, fording up the slope into the bushes.

“It’s steep,” Patch wheezed, straightening up and smoothing down their tunic. “Watch out for the branches.”

It was, in fact, steep. More of a climb than a walk, really; there was a faint suggestion of a path, where the undergrowth was more worn down, but really they were scrambling up over rocks and under bushes, dirt wedging itself under Winter’s fingernails, rocks gritty beneath her spread-wide toes, the scents of earth and leaves and sticky sweat hanging close around her body.

It didn’t particularly help to have Skip scrabbling up along with them, crawling through Winter’s legs and lapping at her fingers. But she wasn’t very well going to send him back.

Rowan took the head, Patch right behind him, and Winter followed at their heels, excitement already singing in her chest. She was slightly ashamed that it took hearing Patch call back, “Vee, how’re you doing back there?” to recall their fourth’s disadvantage.

When she turned around, Viridi was a ways behind her, further down the slope, past a particularly steep bit of ground. His good arm was braced against the side of the boulder the others had climbed over; his left arm was held tightly to his chest, as always.

Winter scrambled back to meet him. She was close enough to see him mumble a foul word under his breath before he called back, “I’m managing!”

Then he looked up to see her inches away and startled back.

“Here,” Winter said, offering her arm. “Put both your hands - right. And now if you put your foot there -”

When he gripped her arm, she could feel the raised edges of the scars on his palms. The whole affair seemed harder on his end; she’d borne the weight of sheep at home that were heavier. When he scrambled up beside her, Viridi dropped his hands from her arm - though he didn’t drop his gaze from hers - and exhaled heavily.

Winter tilted her head, scanning him. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was scanning for, but she reasoned that if he was about to collapse she should be able to notice that. “Are you all right?”

“I’m f…” He wobbled over the fine for a moment, lips puffing out, then settled on, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“If you’re tired -”

“I’m always tired,” Viridi said sourly. Making a face: “Dahlia says I ought to push myself.”

Winter grinned at him. She offered her arm again and nodded after Patch. “Well, in that case, I think Patch and Rowan are halfway to the raven kingdom by now.”

It wasn’t a far climb, though Viridi leaned on her most of the way. They caught up with the others at the top of the cliff - including Skip, who had once more wandered ahead. “Traitor,” Winter told him, ruffling his ears, before she rose to look around.

The island dipped here, pinching inward like the bread Winter’s mother used to fold - a little cove cut into the side of the cliffs. They stood atop a lip of rock overhanging the water, nothing but open space in front of them.

Rowan smirked at Patch. “I’m going first.”

Patch stuck their tongue out. “Oh, by all means.”

Winter tipped her head back to the sky, so blue it almost hurt her eyes. The wind ruffled her hair. The far edges of the lake were hemmed in by hills dappled with trees, brilliantly green. The forest, technically - but here, in the sun, dirt-smeared and breeze-tousled, she felt incredibly far from it. The forest couldn’t touch her here. Not with all of them here together, in the open; not with the sky singing in her heart.

“What now?” she asked.

Patch grinned lopsidedly, showing their dimples. “We jump!”

“Jump,” Viridi repeated, eyes flaring wide.

“There’s a path back up from the water! You can’t see it from here, but we’ve done this a thousand times.” They pressed a hand to their heart. “Jester’s honor.”

“You have to jump out far,” Rowan said, nodding toward the edge. “To clear the rocks.”

“Rocks,” Viridi echoed.

Winter peered over the precipice, toes curled over the stone. There were, in fact, rocks just beneath the surface of the water, large and formidable. The wind tossed the water around, exposing a peak here, a jagged edge there.

They weren’t too high up. She’d jumped from the loft to the barn floor, at home, and it was about the same distance. And all right, maybe she’d broken her ankle in the barn, but she had been landing on a hard stone floor and not plunging into a lake, and so it was different, she was pretty sure.

Winter clung to the rocks and grinned.

She barely had time to draw back before Rowan flashed past her. He whooped as he leaped; a moment later he splashed down into the lake and bobbed back up, a small red-haired shape down below, spitting out brine.

Looking up, he raised one arm out of the water, pumping his fist, and whooped again.

Winter returned the motion from above, huge-eyed. “Hurrah!”

“Careful, Winter,” Patch said gently. Winter glanced back to Patch and Viridi - the former poised for a running leap, the latter looking distinctly queasy.

She shifted to make space. A moment later Patch ran past, one hand held up to plug their nose, and jumped. Their splash was bigger; Rowan caught most of it in the face, and his colorful string of curses was audible even from up above.

Skip pressed his wet nose into Winter’s hand, panting. She ruffled his ears. “Oh, are you going to go follow them now, too? You want to jump off the cliff with your new best friends? I thought I was your b-”

Skip licked her face. Winter squeaked, laughing, and almost fell backwards off the cliff.

She glanced up to see Viridi standing beside her, neck arched so he could squint over the edge. “Our turn, Viridi?”

“Mm,” Viridi said, stepping back.

“Come on.” Winter removed Skip’s paw from her face. Skip replaced it; Winter removed it again. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t swim.”

“Well, you made it all the way out here; you might as well.”

Viridi squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“No,” he said, exhaling, “I mean I don’t know how.”

Winter shoved Skip off her lap and stared at Viridi.

“What?” she said.

Viridi gave her a sullen look. He enunciated slowly enough that it offended her a little: “I never learned how to -”

“I heard you, I just…” Winter shook her head. Skip shook his head, too, as if he were agreeing, though it may have been because his ear was inside-out. Winter flipped it for him. “How?” She had grown up swimming almost every day in the summers - the lake behind her house was much smaller, of course, but when she closed her eyes and dove toward the bottom she could pretend that she was in the ocean, seaweed tangling in her fingers, salt catching in her hair. She’d never seen the ocean. But she’d read storybooks. She’d dreamed about it.

Viridi was once again engaging in uncomfortably direct eye contact. This time made all the more uncomfortable by his scowl. “I just… never learned. I mean, I… my… we…” He shrugged jerkily. “I didn’t do that.”

Winter tossed a look over the edge of the cliff. Patch and Rowan had swum out a little ways to engage in some sort of mid-lake wrestling. As she watched, Patch splashed Rowan directly in the face, wriggled out of his grasp, and called up, “Come on! I promise it’s fine!”

She very much wanted to jump. In fact she itched with it. She desired nothing more than to run at the precipice and fling herself out into open space as quickly and as enthusiastically as possible.

Still. She felt some degree of responsibility for Viridi.

It wasn’t that hard to learn to swim, was it? Her parents had taught her when she was tiny. If a tiny person could do it, it probably wasn’t too bad. “You can do it,” she said encouragingly. “You just sort of…” She mimicked Skip’s paddle with her hands.

Viridi’s squint got narrower.

“Ah,” he said. “I just sort of.” He exaggerated the motion back at her with his good arm.

Winter huffed, somewhere between impatient and sheepish. His arm… did present a complication. “Oh, don’t be like that, I’m trying to help you - I’ll be right there, and so will Patch and Rowan, it’s not so far down…”

His silence was the most unnerving possible response. Winter looked up to see him eyeing the edge, looking more than a little ill. Without tearing his eyes away, he reached sideways for Skip, patting the air futilely until the dog trotted over to meet his hand.

“Are you scared?”

She watched his mouth form the no; she heard the puff of his futile exhale.

“Come on.” Winter kept her voice low and gentle as she got to her feet. “It’s okay. It’s not so far down. Patch did it and they’re shorter than you -”

“Patch is shorter than everyone,” Viridi snapped, reaching up to press at the hollow of his throat.

“Exactly!” When he didn’t move away, Winter reached for his good hand - slowly, carefully, keeping her movements in his field of vision, the way her parents had taught her to approach skittish animals back home.

His palms were rough, ridged with the lines of his scars. He intertwined his fingers with hers immediately.

Winter smiled at him, feeling sun-warmth unfurl in her chest. “I’ll be right here,” she promised. “And Skip, you stay up here, all right?”

“You can exchange him for me if you’d rather,” Viridi muttered. Winter shushed him.

They approached the edge together. Viridi’s grip on her hand kept getting tighter. Winter squeezed back, smiling comfortingly at him. “On three we’ll run up and jump, okay?”

Viridi nodded, eyes locked on the cliff’s edge, throat bobbing.

“All right,” Winter said, bending her knees. Already her grin was spreading. “Three -”

“You can’t - you can’t start with three,” Viridi objected, yanking on her hand. “You said we go on three. You have to start with one.”

Winter rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “One…” She squinted sideways at him, watching for any possible escape attempts. “Three!”

Viridi’s yelp was lost in Winter’s laughter as she pulled him forward. One, two, three steps -

They clutched each other’s hands and jumped.

#max.txt #tmr tag #max actually writes #winter auklet #viridi doveswing #patch gosling #rowan hawthorne #TMR BEACH EPISODE!!!#LITERALLY this is just good clean fun w the squad. just them catching a break for ONCE

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yfere · 5 years

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Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E72

A little out of order, but irresistible, to write The Rise of Fjord. Masterpost here.

-15 to Nott/Spelling So sure, the local Felderwin spelling bees probably didn’t see the word “Eldritch Blast” crop up all that often, but still—G? That’s almost as bad as Fjord’s new pronunciation!

+4 to Caleb/Essik as Caleb stalls for times to talk to the Fancy Wizard, promising to keep in touch, and the Fancy Wizard again pulls his Extremely Helpful “Should you require anything” business, which is, Perilously Close to a Princess Bride-style “As you wish.” Point loss for hurrying off and ditching the Nein at the first opportunity, the rude bastard

+4 to Nott/Jester for Jester defending Nott from Caduceus when he advocates for knocking her out and dragging her underwater with them, the son of a bitch.

+19 to Caleb/Jester as these two prove they are absolutely that couple who wears matching outfits all the time, or in this case, matching polymorph birds. When talking proves difficult, seriously considering mating rituals as a vehicle of communication (communicating Inner Feelings, we should say) “Thanks, Caleb,” which is always a point earner, Caleb advocating for a ghost book club with Jester and Jester agreeing, not to mention these two bookworms going gaga over the one (1) book in the Dust library, for ever so slightly different reasons. Not to mention, they are also Absolutely that couple that feeds each other, as they almost tune out the rest of the party being sweet over the bead of nourishment.

+17 to Dust/Stone/Clay as we abide by that most ancient of Shipping laws, “Fucking Until Proven Innocent”

+27 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester One doctoral candidate in the lab pointed out that both Caleb and Jester are confirmed Recipients of Fjord Winks, not to mention the iconic line “You caught on, and you’ve known me the longest,” meaning these two! Set apart for Fjord! AND, Jester immediately trying to feed Fjord the bead of nourishment after nearly giving everyone cavities with Caleb sweetness, AND, Jester and Caleb both Supporting Fjord In All He Does re: breaking up the ice, making it easy for him to see underwater or keeping him warm while he does it…That’s Love. How Caleb knows without even asking that the one person besides himself most willing to give up their magical items for Fjord is Jester Lavorre. Melora be praised, they all just deserve to be happy together, don’t they???

+9 to the Mighty Nein/Patriotism for Nott, Caleb, and Jester turning themselves red white and blue for their mountain journey

+17 to Jester/Caduceus “I admit it, you were right,” Caduceus says, radiating Longsuffering Partner Vibes. Giving Jester Resistance #BuffingIsALanguageOfLove, Caduceus wishing Jester would say the Wildmother is the coolest more often and Jester begrudgingly admitting she’s all right if not as great as the Traveler when converting Fjord proves unsuccessful. Caduceus being Very Into Jester’s porn reading, as well as her theory of the Dust/Stone/Clay orgy. Caduceus instructing Jester in the Ways Of Politeness by saying people like sending better “when they can picture your beautiful face.” I mean???? That’s flirting?????

+40 to The Mighty Nein/Ghosts with far too many members of the Nein thinking about ghost dick, Avantika showing up to ogle at Fjord, and in general all of the ghosts being big smut book fans.

+39 to Caduceus/Fjord !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! These two!!!! Fjord sticking by Caduceus at all times and wanting to do what Caduceus wants! Saying Caduceus is “inspiring!” Thanking him for being himself!! Caduceus saying Fjord will do great things!! The healing! Dropping the accent! Caduceus thinking the whole trip was worthwhile, just for Fjord! Melora! Insisting Fjord learned a new power, that he is valuable as he is!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! PICKING FJORD UP AND TAKING HIM AWAY TO REST, COMPLIMENTING HIS VOICE FOR BEING CHARMING SkhfhkadjkfafbjsfbjkKAADBADB

+6 to Caduceus/Nature as the trees give him The Nod.

+35 to Fjord/Jester THERE IS EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY IN THIS HOUSE 2NITE. I mean, besides making sure Fjord is Warm and Fed and Safely Carried Around (and the writing of Friendfiction), besides “you’re affable” and laughing at Jester’s porny mind and telling Jester to just do what she does being herself, besides Tusk and Accent Complimenting, Fjord…..voluntarily starts talking about Vandran, and has Jester call him? And Jester reassures him when the response isn’t exactly what he expected? They bond over how their worlds are getting bigger than they thought possible, the wish sometimes to just break away and find some peace, the knowledge that if they did decide to break away, that they would follow each other?? Fjord telling Jester how he lost his powers! Willing! To admit to weakness with her! Jester giving Fjord both her magical weapons, fuck it. Point loss because Fjord really is just never going to convert to the Traveler no matter how Jester tries.

+4 to Caleb/Cat Shaped Creatures for having Frumpkin keep him company while he did some Spring Cleaning on his coat situation.

+28 to Caleb/Fjord These two and their….hands. Mein Gott. Just….a lot of intense hand business (Hand Job?) happening over here again, not to mention the Symbolism of Caleb giving up some of his fire, that dangerous thing he didn’t want anyone to use, giving up that item that he and Fjord had both wanted way back in the beginning. The peculiar rightness of everyone handing their items over to Caleb to give to Fjord. Not to mention going on about Fjord’s Skills, the trying to look like Caleb, the “Some are better” accompanied by a Wink, the “What else have you got?” the “Maybe later.” Hahaha. Ha. Point loss for Fjord saying Caleb should stop reading so many books--even said jokingly the concept is Heresy and Unacceptable.

+40 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work for making the connection between the green glass of Caduceus’ visions and the residuum they picked up on a previous Case. Now that….that is some detectiving, godsdamn.

+7 to Nott/Yeza as Nott wants to draw on her husband’s alchemical skills to figure out how to make purified glass out of residuum! See, you should just take him with you everywhere, like a potion-making Bodahn Feddic!

+20 to Nott/Fire Powers as, with two words, she set Fjord on fire and reduced him to a smoldering corpse.

+12 to Beau/Jester as Jester once more sees through Beau’s “I’m totally fine I’m not suffering AT ALL” act to give her the rod of handwarming, Beau talking about how much she loves the ocean (and being quick to call the ghosts Jester’s fans), Jester scooping up Beau in eagle form and saving her from plummeting to her death! Point loss because Jester dropping her may have been the reason Beau was plummeting in the first place, and being jostled around until you throw up is Not A Fun Date.

+13 to Caleb/Caduceus as Caduceus turns in adorable confusion to Caleb to define “alchemical” and gets the most sweetly straightforward response, the two of them as usual being on the Same Page when it comes to the necessity of polite behavior, and continuing their ongoing, understated Feud on who is going to have the right to feed the group. For once Caleb comes out on top (ha,) as Caduceus is caught unprepared with his spellwork and therefore cannot yet make Holy Breakfast on the Anvil. Caleb once more indicating he secretly believes he lives in a fairy tale, promising to follow Caduceus’ lead because this is “his story”

+6 to Fjord & Caduceus/D.A.R.E as Fjord refuses drugs from Beau saying he doesn’t need them (damn right!), and with Caduceus, who is generally very pro-drug, nonetheless refusing Nott’s suggestion to snort the residuum.

-100000000000000000000000000000 to Fjord/Uk’otoa, but more importantly +5000 to Fjord/Channeling His Inner Hobbit as he manages to overcome his own need for power to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom—I mean, Summer’s Dance into the lava of the Kiln. The man one-upped both Percy and Frodo, hot damn.

#critical role #cr spoilers #shipping calculus #nott the best detective agency #shadowgast #widojest #widofjorester #widofjord #fjorclay #clayleb #clayvorre #beaujester #fjorester #lavorregard

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

BTS365 Prompts

[Masterlist] Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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April 16th - 22nd

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Kim Seokjin: Simile

Dressed in his best suit Seokjin entered the classroom. It was a parent-teacher interview and he was seeing you, Jungkook’s English teacher. He heard from Jungkook that you were weird-looking, all lumpy sweaters, long skirts, messy buns and big bottle-shaped glasses. Squeezing his tall frame into the desk he looked to the front of the class where you told all the children about what and how you teach their children. He thought Jungkook must have been so totally wrong to think you looked like that. You were stunning. Seokjin was almost glad for your baggy sweaters and long skirts, every now and then he saw the ghost of your figure hiding underneath. After that, you went around and discussed quietly with all the parents how each student was individually in class.

You got to him last after some major side-eyeing, I mean he was seriously handsome and you were dreading getting any closer. But everyone else had gone. “Mister Kim was it?” You asked and he held out the name tag each parent wore. “Your son is brilliant and very good at most things but he is a little bit of a prankster. And I don’t think he is applying himself seriously. I mean I asked them to write about their weekend and to include a simile and a metaphor and he only wrote one sentence. This weekend I saw a girl named Simile, but I don’t know what I metaphor (met her for*)” Seokjin started laughing. The sound was so high pitched and you felt yourself blushing.

Jin was proud.

Min Yoongi: Lookalike @anoesjkaax

Walking through the music store he saw you, dressed super cute at one of two registers. He liked that your short dark hair was in a half-up style and atop your cute little nose were a pair of black circular sunglasses. You looked cute sitting next to another young girl who was talking animatedly about her weekend. He was strolling through the aisles and was a little weirded out for a music store. It was so quiet.

“Hey, can I help you?” You asked he shook his head

“No, I am just looking?” Your coworker was quick to jump right back into her storytelling. He came back every day for a week trying to find something that piqued his interest. He learnt that every day you weren’t there the music was unbearably loud. But when it was silent you were sitting at the counter. Talking animatedly with your coworkers and customers. He had spoken a few words to you every time he came in asking where he could find certain genres and you would smile and gesture to certain parts of the store. He finally found something he thought he might like.

“Hi, just this one?” He smiled nervously hoping he didn’t seem weird for being in there all the time. He had made sure to style his hair and was wearing his nicest pair of jeans and hoodie.

“Hey have I seen you somewhere before, or do you have a lookalike” You smiled up at him causing his cheeks to grow pink if you noticed you didn’t point it out. Your coworker laughed saying that it was a terrible pickup line. He seemed to freak out some more when your coworker left you two alone going to fetch the cd. Paying with a card as you were at an EFTPOS only register. “Tell me what is that cologne you are wearing?”

“Uh can’t remember the name I got it as a gift”

“It smells like patchouli and really woodsy while still being fresh” an old man sighed

“I just want to buy this cd why aren’t you serving me? There are two registers, maybe if you weren’t sunglasses inside you would know I was waiting”

“My apologies sir, I only work the EFTPOS register as I can’t count money quick and accurately enough without a few minutes. And I promise you even if I weren’t wearing these sunglasses I still wouldn’t be able to see you as I am blind” pulling off your glasses to reveal your cloudy eyes. Yoongi laughed in relief this whole time he tried to look cool but you didn’t even care.

Jung Hoseok: Fun

“Come on, it will be fun”

“Hobi I don’t want to go on a group date it’s not my scene” he was trying to convince you to come out tonight to meet some guys because you apparently needed to get out more. But after arguing on the phone you gave in. Getting dressed, styling your hair and getting out of your casual clothes and searching in the back of your wardrobe finding a beautiful red dress and black heels. You put on makeup, something you only did for weddings. Arriving at the restaurant everyone was ordering chicken and beer.

Hoseok was late; he probably wanted to force you to talk with some of the guys before he got there, knowing you would only talk to him if he showed up early. Getting to know the guys you were drinking pretty well. They began a drinking game and you lost, they handed you a tall glass of beer but as you went to grab it a hand snatched it away you looked up to see Hoseok standing above you drinking the whole cup. He placed the glass down, grabbed you by the wrist and led you away.

“Hey what’s going on, why are we leaving you said I had to get out more” You whined getting annoyed from being dragged around you ripped your arm from his grip and stopped “I don’t understand”

“I didn’t mean like this, do you know how freaking amazing you look right now” He turned to face you he was towering over you even though you were in heels.

“What is your problem this was your suggestion”

“My problem is this” He kissed you full on the mouth pressing you against the wall, his hands in your hair.

Kim Namjoon: Good

With a hand over your heart, you took a few steps into the warehouse. His nickname was the monster and from the stories you had heard, it was a fitting title. He had a nasty habit of killing people, but that was literally his job so what did you expect? You were hiring a hitman, you had the money in a bag and you had no remorse. Walking into the warehouse you were led to an office upstairs by some of his henchmen, they patted you down looking for weapons and opened your bag to see the money before sending you up.

Namjoon leaned forward in his seat, he knew he was meeting with a woman who was asking him to do a job but he didn’t expect someone so… Colourful. You had a sky blue dress and you looked absolutely stunning. Like the daughter of some rich suburban father. You didn’t look like you had seen any struggles.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I would like you to kill someone for me” You gestured to the bag his henchmen took it and began counting out stacks. Before nodding to him to say it appeared all there.

“Tell me why would a nice young lady like you, come to a guy like me?”

“Look I just want the job done?” You hissed, “Can you do it?”

“Of course there ain’t no one better?” He smiled “Who is the unlucky fellow?”

You handed him an image and he sat up straighter confused. “Do you have a twin?”

“No.” You said “I am paying you to kill me, it’s your job to get it over with. I paid”

He pulled out a firearm from the top draw of his desk and cocked it aiming directly at you, he walked over to you watching you watch him. You were tense, eyes glassy, lip trembling. He frowned you looked so helpless and he hated seeing you scared. Pressing the gun under your chin, pushing your head up and kissing you slowly. “Sweetheart why would I kill someone who tastes so good”

Park Jimin: Chance

What are the odds that two babies were born in two adjacent rooms in a hospital? Those two children went to the same daycare. That they were friends in primary school and enemies in High school. That their desks were right beside one another. That they both applied for the same university. She wanted to study music and he wanted to study dance. That they both got approved to live in the same apartment. What is the possibility that during their time in university they never once addressed their growing love and desire for one another? The day they went their separate ways felt like the whole world was crumbling down around them. With their careers taking off they never thought they would meet again.

You were the music producer for an upcoming performance. It was going to be huge. And after a year of making show-stopping numbers, you were coming to see how it was going. Working beside the conductor explaining how each piece should feel. “This one should be like your running out of time; it's about not wanting to lose the one you love and being desperate to hold on. So the violins will run fast, getting faster and faster until they falter it falls silent and then it picks up on the cello, deep and rising bringing all the instruments back.”

“Hey, that was perfect, do you think you can do it again but this time with the ribbon in your hand. You are supposed to be clinging on to love here and that’s the symbol”

You watched the dancer and smiled, they weren’t facing the audience so you couldn’t tell much about them but they moved so elegantly and familiarly. Leaning back you headed over to the choreographer Hoseok who smiled.

“Everyone meet the music producer for the show, we have to make her proud because it is such a beautiful score.” Your eyes met and you couldn’t help his name slipping past your lips and he couldn’t stop his feet from striding forwards until you were in his arms. You went in for a hug but were surprised by his lips on yours. He held your face sweetly in his hands and moaned ever so softly into your mouth. “Jimin what are you doing, I am sorry about him he is a little flirtatious, he is sorry”

Hoseok had tried to pull Jimin away and you grinned at Jimin’s love-struck face, rushing forward to pull him into a kiss of your own. What are the chances the two of you fell madly in love? That you got married. That you had children and grandchildren and lived happy long lives.

Kim Taehyung: Pyjamas

Your roommate was holding a house party, you weren’t particularly fussed with the festivities preferring to lock yourself in your room. There had been multiple attempts at your door by drunk couples but you called them through the door to leave. The problem was, you were getting hungry. Sliding out of your room making sure to lock the door behind you, you didn’t want to return to horny young adults going at it on your clean sheets. Walking through the party you dodged people until you arrived at the kitchen.

Everything had been raided from the fridge. About to complain you saw a young man looking bored. He was super handsome, you ordered pizza-making specific requirements to deliver it to your bedroom window. Sending through an exact map of how to get to it from the driveway. The handsome man was cornered by a girl who brought him a drink, he looked super uncomfortable and after she had turned away he tipped it down the sink. He politely tried to refuse her and you laughed walking over. She eventually left him alone when her favourite song came on.

“Hey you look miserable” you laughed “You look really comfortable for a party”

“Thanks, these are my pyjamas, I am not at this party, I am just the roommate, I have been hiding in my room, I came out to get something to eat but everything is gone so I ordered pizza,” You said still trying to search for any of your hidden snacks. “You look like you're pretty popular with the girls, is that why you come to parties?”

“No, My friends they drag me here” he sighed

“You want to eat pizza with me, it will be quieter and I got a small tv we could probably watch a movie until the party is over” He nodded following you and as you stepped into the room together he hummed.

“You wouldn’t have a spare set of pyjamas, someone spilt beer on my pants earlier and it smells really bad?”

Jeon Jungkook: Astronaut

“Jungkook, I got to take your daily observations, come on” he sighed, following you to the tiny infirmary he sat on the seat and you took his blood pressure, his heart rate, respiration rate, the oxygen levels temp and more. He removed his shirt and you paused staring at his chest raising the stethoscope.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good”

“Is Everything going well with sleeping, eating, toileting and emotionally and mentally?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no and no”

“What’s up?” You listened to his breathing up and down his back and then his chest.

“It’s lonely up here but I am just really frustrated and there is nowhere to vent you know?”

“You can vent to me,” you said and he choked and you heard his heart skip a beat. Noticing his bright red ears it clicked “oh you mean to vent, vent gotcha, okay well I mean do you need help?”

“Y/n!’

“I meant we could request a facetime call with like a stripper or something maybe in their next supplies they can send up a toy or something, why does it feel like I have walked in on you masturbating but I am like your mother”

“Oh god don’t say that, you're making it weird, now I really can’t vent”

“I’m sorry how can I help, I know it’s a little unorthodox but I did part of my internship at a sperm bank, I can help you if you need, it would be one hundred percent a medical procedure it would mean nothing and it would release some happy endorphins”

“What if I want it to mean something” you paused for a second before kissing him without a care.

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circuslollipop · 4 years

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I haven't seen much about Jestermauk. Could you tell me what in particular you like about it? :)

of course!! tbh i sometimes find it difficult to describe exactly what i like about a thing, but i’ll try my best!

jesmauk is one of those ships, for me, where i enjoy their friendship a lot, but then one day my brain was like But What If They Kissed...and from there it was history.

apart from my simple bias over these two being my favorite characters? i really like their interactions. i think they’re cute!! their first meeting was particularly endearing; i just really enjoyed how quickly the two seemed to click. and they really do have a lot in common! the way they like to make people smile and feel happy but also their inherent trickster energy...good stuff. good stuff.

but both of them are also very insightful people (hello, high wisdom scores!) and i would love to see one of them be able to just Tell when the other is feeling down, and just be like ‘hey. hey you know it’s okay to feel sad right?’ and for the other, with a bit of a sad little grin, be like ‘hey you’re one to talk’ but it’s only a little teasing and they just. hold each other

but also i have a HUGE weakness for ships where the two are practically best friends, where they smile and laugh with each other and are just unapologetically goofy together and feel like jester and molly together would be like that to the MAX. and there’s also that added mischief element too, where they both would have fun playing pranks. and working together? hoooo boy they would be unstoppable.

another thing they have in common is that they didn’t have a proper childhood, and while many others in the m9 share this fact, out of all of them i can most imagine jester and molly just going out and having an absolute blast trying to get all those experiences they missed out on. they would absolutely be the ones going on amusement park dates and it would be glorious

and also the thing where they’re both artists is just *chef’s kiss*. give me those two openly admiring each other’s creations, absolutely in awe of what their wonderful s/o can do with a few paints. and of course there’d be the joke where they’d commission each other with the same gold piece (and they KNOW its the same gold piece because it has that one funny shaped nick near the top and it becomes Their Gold Piece, and eventually it accidentally gets spent on something else and both of them are Big Sad but they eventually find another gold piece).

and maybe this is just my incredibly touch starved self talking but the fact that they’re two of the most touchy feely members of the nein and that they would absolutely cuddle each other nonstop makes me weak. add in the headcanon that tieflings purr, and oh my god they’re just adorable

oh and don’t get me STARTED on how jester would make jokes in infernal during her hellish rebukes to make molly laugh? oh god that’s just cute. they absolutely gossip to each other in infernal, taking comfort in finding another to speak that language with. of course jester had her mom to speak infernal with before, but molly? jester was probably one of the first tieflings he met, and absolutely the first one he got to have an in depth conversation in infernal with. it’s just great

also they just look nice together? they’re both bright and colorful but in different ways but in different ways that work well with each other, and i maybe draw them together so often that i subconsciously gave them complimentary designs (jester’s roundness vs molly’s angles, but both of them have sharp features and expressions), oh and of course there’s that delicious, delicious height difference. oh but wait! tiny jester is absolutely the stronger of the two, and that fact is canon (16 vs 10 strength)! jester lifting molly into the air, bridal carrying him at every opportunity, and molly loving every second of it.

that’s about all i can think of! basically, in conclusion: I Just Think They’re Neat

#annalise-inks #oh wow this got long #thx for letting me talk about this cute little rarepair!

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vexie-chan · 5 years

Text

Not Made to Last

Widojest drabble? Widojest drabble. I wanted to write something about the moment when Caleb draws the Jester Angel in the snow. May write more later but I’m living 3 lives right now and I wanted to doodle this like Caleb’s lil’ Jester Angel while it’s still relevant <3

* * *

In Caleb’s mind, everything had been decided already. They are going back to Roshana where Caleb will go speak with the Vollstrecker in the dungeon again. He tunes the group’s chatter out as soon as he has a goal in mind. He takes out his chalk and begins drawing the teleportation circle, part of his mind already dedicated to planning what he’s going to say to her. As if he hasn’t been thinking about this since the moment they’d left the first time. (After he’d failed so completely to control himself—his old master would be so disappointed in him. His interrogation skills are so rusty now, his mind so easily distracted.) He stops before adding the final few lines, looking up at the rest of the Nein. He takes the breath to ask whether they’re ready to go, but stops, the question falling dead on his lips.

The group is standing around laughing. Nothing unusual about that. But it’s Jester who catches his eye. Jester is dancing as snow falls around her, glittering in the early morning sunlight. Tiny diamonds of snow are stuck in her hair and to her dark emerald cloak like thousands of tiny decorations. Her eyes are glittering like the snowflakes and she’s laughing—real laughter that reaches her whole face and every line of her body. She falls backward, sweeping her arms up and down in wide motions, her trailing sleeves making the design in the snow a little more chaotic than it usually would be. Caleb searches for the word for this activity in Common. Schneeengel. Snow Angel. Memories tug at Caleb’s mind—old memories from that forbidden time before.

“Like this, Bren!” Una makes the motions, standing above him. Bren waves his arms and legs through the snow like a wild starfish. He doesn’t quite have the dexterity for the coordinated jumping-jack motion et. The snow manages to find its way down the back of his coat, leaving tingling paths down his neck and back.

“It’s cold, Mama!” he giggles. “Is it done?”

“Let’s see! Give me your hands so you don’t step in it,” Una says, leaning forward and reaching toward him. Bren reaches up and puts his small hands in hers. She swings him up and out of the dent he’d made in the snow, swaying him in the air a few times before setting him down next to her.

“Good job! Look!” Una points, kneeling next to him. Bren follows her finger obediently. There is a small shape in the snow, as tall as a four-year-old boy, with a wide bell-shaped bottom and big wings out to each side.

“What is it, Mama?” Bren asks.

“It’s your snow angel. Look, there are the wings and the dress as she floats through the air,” Una says, showing him. Bren wrinkles his nose.

“Why is it a girl angel? I’m a boy,” he says. “I should have a boy angel.”

“Maybe it’s a robe, then,” Una amends.

“Should I give him a halo?” Bren asks. “Don’t angels need halos?”

“Not always, but you can give him one if you’d like,” Una says.

Bren carefully walks around the angel and draws a line over its head with his finger. He thinks for a moment, then leans forward and puts two dots for eyes on the face, and a wide, open mouth.

“He’s happy because it’s snowing,” Bren explains.

Una laughs. Bren runs back over to her, lifting his knees high to maneuver through the soft snow.

“Now you make one!” Bren says. “Right next to mine!”

Una agrees. She falls backward into the snow, laughing as she moves her arms and legs. She lets Bren draw the face and halo on her angel, too. They step back and admire the two angels, big and small.

“What do snow angels do, mama?” Bren asks.

“They’re windows so our guardian angels can watch over us. They can peek through and we can peek back. This way we can feel a little closer to them,” Una says.

“Does everybody have a guardian angel?” Bren asks.

“Of course. As long as you’re very good, your guardian angel will always watch over you,” Una says, hugging him.

For the next few days, Bren goes out to talk to his angel. Just to make sure his angel knows all about him. He even introduces his angel to Frumpkin, who is less than pleased with the encounter, dashing off into the woods as quickly as possible.

One morning, Bren wakes up to find a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. The snow angels are gone, erased by the new snowfall. Una finds him sitting in the window, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, my heart?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the windowsill next to him.

“My angel is gone. Now I can’t talk to him anymore,” Bren sniffles, looking up at her. Una frowns, confused, until she glances out the window to see the freshly fallen snow. She smiles and pulls her boy into her lap, wrapping her arms around him.

“Just because you can’t see him anymore doesn’t mean he’s not there. Papa’s not gone forever when he’s on patrol, is he?” Una asks.

“No, he’s busy protecting us,” Bren says, wiping at his eyes.

“That’s right! And just like Papa will come home soon, we can go out after breakfast and make new angels in the snow,” Una say soothingly. “Snow angels aren’t made to last. They always vanish, but we can always make them again.”

“What if the snow melts and it never snows again?” Bren asks. Una brushes his curly hair away from his forehead and plants a kiss there.

“Then you’ll have to believe your angel is still there anyway, and remember all the fun you had together this winter,” she says. “Just because things only last a little while doesn’t make them any less grand.”

Bren makes many snow angels that winter. He makes his mother make them with him as often as he can. It becomes his favorite winter activity that year.

Caleb blinks several times, a hand over his heart. He’d forgotten. He’d been so very young when he’d made snow angels with his mother. It had been a fleeting belief, but for that one winter, he’d dreamt of shining angels singing and protecting him and his family every night. By the next winter, he was big enough to ride a sled on his own and snow angels were all but forgotten. He looks at Jester again, laughing as she makes angel after angel, connecting them as if they’re holding hands. His mother’s voice echoes in his mind, rich with laughter as they’d played together in the snow.

As long as you’re very good, your guardian angel will always watch over you.

If that is truly the case, Caleb’s angel is long gone. No one is there to watch over him but himself. Not that he believes in such things anymore. He has not made a snow angel in a very long time.

Watching Jester, Caleb almost wants to make one now. She has that effect on him—on everyone around her, really. She has the most peculiar power to make everyone stop and see the fun and wonder in the world. How many times has she stopped their travels to point out the shape of a tree or a rock? How many times has she traced out entire stories in the stars during late night watches, making up her own constellations, even after Caleb had offered to teach her the widely accepted ones? Everyone in the party has become so attuned to this that “Dick Cloud” is now an unspoken traveling game. They don’t even have to say it anymore—someone will point and everyone else looks automatically. Jester has taught them to see things everywhere, to laugh at everything.

Because of Jester, they—no, he has learned to see things in the world again. He sees fun things. He sees pretty things. He has learned to laugh again. It still surprises him when it happens, but it gets a little easier every day.

He hadn’t thought it were possible. But more and more he finds himself laughing when she tells jokes. He smiles at the little drawings and messages she leaves him if he leaves his books on the table. Sometimes he leaves his books out just to tempt her, leaving a note on the page along the vein of “I hope Jester does not mark on this page” for her to find only to be rewarded with an answer of “Jester would never ever do that! She is too good and cute!” with a little Jester cartoon blowing him a kiss or doing something equally as silly. He treasures all of them. Jester’s doodles in his books have gotten him through many drudging nights of study.

Caleb may not have a guardian angel anymore, but he does have a little blue tiefling watching over him, smiling and inviting him to come and play.

He starts to stand but stops. Jester is still laughing and playing in the snow, but for the first time, Caleb notices where the snow is coming from. Fjord is summoning his sword, brandishing it in a huge arc to throw snow out over the ground and sending it away in another gust of snow. He’s laughing too, an open, relieved laugh. His eyes never leave Jester. He aims the arcs of fresh, clean snow in the easiest place for Jester to fall next. He’s making a winter wonderland for her, his face warm and gentle as he works.

Caleb sits back on his heels. He may have Jester, but Jester has Fjord watching over her. Not him. He is glad for her, he supposes. Those days on the sea were hard for her, with Fjord growing cold and distant (with and without Avantika). There had been times where Caleb had wanted to shake him for what he was doing to Jester. Had he been a different kind of man, he likely would have. Instead, he let Jester play with Frumpkin and tell him her woes, quietly seething in the belly of their ship. Lately, though, Fjord and Jester’s relationship seems to have improved. It’s good for the both of them, Caleb thinks, watching the soft smile on Fjord’s face. Fjord needs someone loving like Jester, and Jester needs someone heroic like Fjord. It’s very good.

Then why does it feel so wrong? A small, rebellious part of him asks. A part he tries to ignore. Seeing Fjord and Jester playing together like this makes his heart sink. He hates it. He hates knowing what it means. At least with Fjord and Jester’s relationship improving, he doesn’t have to worry about all the what ifs that have been plaguing him lately. For just a moment, he’d dared to dream a little bit. No matter whether he should, he couldn’t help it. He’d closed his eyes and thought of a future full of blue skin and violet eyes. But now, he can put his what-ifs away. It’s better that way. She’ll be happier with Fjord and that’s all Caleb wants for her. So long as she’s happy…

Caleb’s eyes stray back to Jester. He picks up a piece of his chalk and draws a little blue angel on the stone near the teleportation circle—not near enough to confuse the magic. He’s no artist—not like her. But his hand is steady and precise—it has to be for the magic symbols he’s learned. He draws her like a snow angel with a little triangle body and big arcing wings. He doesn’t give her a halo like the one in his memory. Instead, he draws little curlicue horns on either side of her head and a little tail peeking out from behind the bell-shaped dress. But her mouth is still wide and laughing just like all those years ago. Maybe he’d had a premonition, when he was a boy, that the one looking out for him would be laughing like that.

“Hmm.” The noise makes him jump. Caleb looks up guiltily. Beau glances down at the drawing at up at Caleb. She raises her eyebrows in a silent question. He can almost hear her—

You wanna talk about it?

Caleb shakes his head quickly, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks. He tries to erase the chalk drawing, but only manages to smudge it a little. Beau’s smirk widens, though her face isn’t unkind. He knows her well enough by now to know the difference. He shoots her a glare.

Don’t say anything.

Beau tilts her head to one side in confusion, though her eyes dance with mischief. Caleb had never had a younger sister, but he imagines that this is what it would have been like. He tries to glare harder. Beau holds her stare for a moment longer, then gives him a tiny nod, turning her attention back to the group.

A few minutes later, they’re ready to go. Caleb finishes the last few lines on his transportation circle and herds the group through. If he rushes them quicker than usual so they don’t have time to notice his little drawing, they don’t seem to notice.

He glances at the hillside one last time, where dozens of Jester-angels are left in the snow. Just before he steps through, a light snowfall begins, soon to erase them all. After all her work and all of the fun and joy they’d brought, they’ll have gone without a trace, hidden under the snow. No one will ever see them. And no one will ever see the small blue angel, drawn in a crude, mathematically trained hand on the stone.

Caleb steps through the circle and the snow angels are gone.

#Critical Role #Widojest #Caleb Widogast #Jester Lavorre #critical fanfic #Vexie Writes Fanfic #c2e77

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through.

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone.

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here?

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.”

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed.

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow.

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans!

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said.

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over.

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal.

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other.

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester.

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between.

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too.

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him.

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that!

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it.

“Thief?” he called ahead.

“Mhm?”

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow.

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.”

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads.

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton.

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover.

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley.

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue.

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination.

They could do this.

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like.

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face.

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle.

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side.

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin.

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled.

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted.

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that.

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off.

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him?

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.”

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity.

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively.

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally.

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay.

It was going to be okay.

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back!

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon.

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley.

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball.

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies.

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement.

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good.

It was going to be okay.

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky.

Angry, angry clouds.

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon.

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door.

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron.

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility.

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations.

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high.

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room.

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference.

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames.

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night.

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner.

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered.

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.”

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm.

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well.

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go.

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter?

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely.

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep.

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay.

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine!

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight.

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman.

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt.

Maybe he’d never get the chance.

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination.

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination.

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman.

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

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mithrilwren · 5 years

Text

if we knew the end (would we even start?)

Jester finally takes the Traveller up on his offer and decides to push her relationship with Fjord to the next level, courtesy of some dubiously-moral magical techniques. It goes wrong as quickly as you'd expect: read, instantly.

Warning: fjorjester, but make it angst. look not here for happy endings.

Also available on Ao3!

---

[There are many enchantments I could teach you.]

I don’t know if that’s the way I want to do this.

[How do you know, unless you have tried?]

Well, for one thing, I don’t even know if he feels the same as me. I mean, he would probably tell me if he felt like that.

[I have watched you both, my sweet. His eyes have lingered on you often. Just as mine do.]

…Really? Do you think… he’s watching me? Or he’s watching me?

[Heh.]

Oh, Traveller, what should I do? I really like him, but I don’t think he’d say anything even if he did like me back. He doesn’t like talking about stuff like this. You know; fun, sexy stuff. He gets all flustered and starts biting his lip and it’s kind of cute but also not very helpful. I don’t know what he’s thinking. That’s really frustrating, you know?

[He frustrates you. And yet you love him?]

I didn’t say love . I just… I want him to like me too. Like that.

[And I want you to have everything your heart desires, Jester. It hurts me to see you unhappy.]

I…

[Let me help you.]

I…

[Have I ever let you down?]

No, of course not!

[So?]

Um…

...alright.

[Yes?]

Yes?

[Excellent. You’ll need to get him alone.]

Well, that part’s easy. I’m very charming.

[That you are. Hands like this.]

Like this? Oo, that looks kind of naughty.

[Stay on task, my dear. Now the words.]

Traveller, this is so exciting. I mean… it’s a little scary. But mostly exciting. You know I’ve wanted this for a very long time.

[I do.]

You’re always so good to me.

[It’s only what you deserve. Now, focus. Repeat after me.]

“Bind me now, this heart, my heart, with a line that does not fade.”

The last muttered word of the enchantment draws like a thread from Jester’s tongue. She dizzies with the pounding flow of arcane energy as it pours out of her. It’s beyond anything she’s cast before, anything her fingers know how to shape. The energy has a life of its own, pulling from her chest and her heart and sizzling beneath her skin. It’s not a spell level she knew she could cast. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

Fjord’s dark eyes glaze liquid black and his hands go slack in hers, and for a moment Jester is desperately fearful her meagre grasp wasn’t enough, that the magic’s gone sour. But then his fingers stiffen and his head shoots up and he’s looking at her with wide eyes and he’s looking and oh, her head’s spinning, she can’t breathe-

Fjord pulls his hands out of her tentative hold and clears his throat. Why couldn’t it be a little lighter in this tent? She can’t see what shape he’s in. Is his skin flushed? Do his ears twitch? Is his heart beating as fast as hers?

“I, uh- really don’t want to keep you up any longer.”

That’s his voice. What’s he saying? It’s hard to hear over the rush of blood in her ears.

“’Night, Jester.”

He’s speaking, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s standing and brushing past and stepping out of the tent and Jester shivers in the cold wake of his departure. The tent is very lonely without him.

She gives Fjord five minutes to come back, but the ground is hard to kneel on and she doesn’t hear anything. No returning footsteps, no godly whisper in her ear. Jester balls up her hands and presses them to her eyes. Her head hurts, it hurts, but no worse than the ache in her chest.

Traveller, I don’t think it worked.

[]

Can you tell me what I did wrong?

[]

Traveller?

[]

Can you help me?

[]

Are you there?

No footsteps, no whispers. Her heart starts to slow, just a little.

After another five minutes, she leaves the tent. Not much to see except for the little fire at the center of their encampment, and Beau keeping watch, lazy as a cat by its warmth. She drops down to the ground by their small collection of firewood and Beau eyes her strangely but Jester twists out a smile, holds it until Beau stops looking so closely.

For lack of anything better to do, Jester pulls a little spool of twine from her bag and starts twisting it around her fingers. Her throat feels sore, like she’s been shouting all night long. Like there’s still something aching to come out.

What was it her singing tutor said, those many years ago? Remember your head voice, darling. Make your words dance, light as lilacs on the breeze.

When she finally speaks, her voice peals like summer bells, sweet and unconcerned.

“Have you ever played cat’s cradle? It’s really fun. Here, I’ll show you.”

One loop over the other. Practiced patterns. An easy way to pass the time. Beau relaxes into the simple game, which gives Jester the leeway to let a little bit of apprehension slip onto her face. She flicks her eyes from her hands to the darkness, searching for a trace of familiar dark leather between the trees.

There’s something brewing in her stomach, a sickening roil of humiliation, and disappointment, and something almost like relief.

Maybe everything will be ok tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Tomorrow. Right?

[]

---

The Mighty Nein take a leisurely breakfast when they wake, because it’s a luxury they can’t usually afford. It’s strange, to not be in a hurry. The next errand is a simple supply drop for the Gentleman’s network, a mission extended courtesy of a cryptic letter from an even more cryptic courier. Compared to the fury that was the Xhorhasian landscape and the terror of their barely-successful rescue mission, the endless fields of the Dwendalian countryside are almost quaint.

Homestyle food, the kind they haven’t had in months, crackles over the coals of the dwindling fire: fried eggs, slices of wild green tomatoes, bacon sides spitting globs of grease at anyone who wanders too close, a bushel of aromatic mushrooms that smell of moss and springwater (browning in a separate pan, per Caduceus’s request). Jester’s stomach is too knotted up to be tempted. She nibbles on a piece of hard cheese and watches Fjord from across the makeshift cooking pit.

If anything, Fjord is actively not looking at her, which tells her all she needs to know, really.

He must have just gone back to his and Caduceus’s tent last night to sleep. That’s all it was. So silly to get worked up over just that. And obviously her spell had failed since he wasn’t acting like the tales said he would be, falling over her with kisses and sweet nothings and devotional sonnets. Her toes tingle, remembering all the stories she’s read and heard and spied in her mother’s bedroom.

She considers sending another prayer to the Traveller, maybe we can try again, I’ll do it better this time! but catches the thought before it can escape her mind and find its way into the ether. It’s disappointing that the enchantment failed, of course. Really, so disappointing. But also…

Saying those words last night was maybe the most terrifying thing she’s ever done, and waiting the rest of the night to find out if Fjord was coming back had been pretty terrible too, and this was all a very good idea but maybe, it’s also ok that things didn’t work this time. At least it gives her heart a chance to recover. She’s not sure it could survive another night of it beating so hard.

She’ll definitely tell the Traveller all that, the next time they talk. Waiting can be good! She can wait, to try again. He’ll understand.

Jester offers to take Fjord’s plate to wash for him, just to prove how very ok she is and how she is not being awkward and avoiding him and-

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Fjord jerks the plate away from her outstretched hands, like they’re dirty, like he doesn’t want them near him. She searches his face, trying to understand the sudden coldness, but all she sees in his eyes is disgust and it stings like a slap. She’s left standing there, frozen, as he stomps away towards the communal basin and begins furiously scrubbing the dish.

Beau’s looking at her again with those piercing eyes, and this time Nott and Caleb are looking too. Jester usually likes having their attention. It feels nice, to have people looking at her. Usually.

“Ok! You got it!” she chirps at Fjord’s back, and tries very hard to keep her smile even and cheerful.

Caleb goes back to his breakfast, but Nott keeps on staring, wide yellow eyes darting between her and Fjord. “Did you and Fjo-”

Beau’s hand clamps down on Nott’s shoulder. “Go bridle the horses. We should get a move on.” She looks at Jester like she wants to say something, but bites her lip and turns away at the last second.

Jester makes sure to wait for Fjord to start loading up the tents into the cart before washing her own plate. Nobody’s watching her now. That’s good. The smile was getting very painful to hold.

---

There’s a fairly established order to how they do things, now that they’ve all gotten used to travelling together. Caduceus drives the cart, with Nott occasionally taking the reins to give his arms a rest. Yasha and Beau trade off lookouts at the rear, and the spellcasters do their studies and preparations for the days ahead on jostling knees, tucked into their separate corners. Jester’s preparations are much simpler than Caleb’s – a few prayers, some little drawings to remind the Traveller that she’s here and she’s listening and that if he wants to talk, you know, about anything, she’s here…

Fjord generally spends the days slouched near the back, making small repairs to their armour and teaching Nott various sailor knots and taking shifts on rear watch. It makes it so easy to steal moments together. She can lean over to show him passages from her books or poke him in the ribs if he looks too sullen or ask him to darn her stockings to see if he blushes.

They’re all just trying to stave off boredom, generally. He’s a good distraction. And there are moments, when their hands brush accidentally after a bump in the road, or when he leans over her to call a direction out to Caduceus, or when he steals her sketchbook to jot down something he’s been thinking about from their travels, that she wants to live in forever. It just feels nice to be next to each other. That’s all she wanted, really. A little bit more of that.

Jester crawls over to Fjord’s side of the cart. Maybe she can apologize for whatever she did at breakfast to annoy him. But Fjord shifts to his knees as soon as his eyes catch hers, then hoists himself over the sideboard and onto the road. “Need to stretch my legs for a bit,” he calls to nobody in particular.

Jester barely catches the flicker of Beau’s elbow jabbing at Yasha’s side, and after a moment Yasha mumbles, “I’ll join you,” and hops off after him.

A fragment of a hypothesis forms in Jester’s mind. It’s a nagging worry that only grows more insistent with each hour that Fjord plods beside the cart, just out of reach.

Traveller, say just hypothetically, is it possible for a spell to do the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to do?

[]

Cause, I think maybe Fjord hates me now.

[]

Please, I know you’re busy, but can you help just a little?

[]

Please?

Cart rides are usually the best time for praying since there’s nothing better to do, but maybe her heart just isn’t in it today. She’ll try harder tomorrow.

---

The delivery to Zadash goes off without a hitch. Their contact is all smiles, pays them well, tells them the Gentleman is out of town on business and not to bother enquiring at the Evening Nip.

“I don’t think he was being entirely truthful,” Caduceus murmurs as soon as the man strolls around the corner. Jester’s not always first to notice these things but that much wasn’t hard to guess.

“Oh, well, maybe the Gentleman will be back next time we’re in town…”

Does she even want to see a father who doesn’t want to see her?

If the answer is yes, does that make her just a little bit sad?

Better not to think too much about it.

It’s Yasha who suggests the bathhouse, of all people. Jester doesn’t really want to go. It was Molly’s favourite place, and it doesn’t feel right to go without him. But if Yasha suggested it, it’s probably fine. She was his most special friend, so she gets to choose how they remember him. That’s just how these things are. She tells herself this, but her stomach is still all twisted up in knots as they enter the elegant building.

Nott pays for all of them, which is ironic at best considering they all know full well she won’t set foot in the water. She’s been paying for a lot of things recently. Says she needs to make it up to them for getting them all stuck in Xhorhas so long in service of rescuing Yeza, and after a while it seemed fruitless to keep protesting.

Jester reminds herself to slip a few gold into Nott’s pouch after dinner. It’s her turn today.

They get a private room, same as the last time, and everything really does seem fine, right up until the moment that clothes start coming off. They’ve all seen each other naked enough at this point that the awkwardness of their first visit feels silly in hindsight. But Jester happens to look Fjord’s way just as she steps out of her skirt, and he freezes, face hardening behind the shirt pulled halfway up around his shoulders.

“…I think I might go back to the Leaky Tap. Not feeling well,” Fjord says finally, pulling the shirt back down. Jester hugs her arms closer to her bare chest.

Say it.

Oh no! Well, whatever you want, Fjord!

Just say it.

I hope you feel better soon!

How long can she keep the group from realizing it’s only her he doesn’t want to be around anymore? Not much longer, if she doesn’t open her mouth and-

Whatever she was going to say is drowned out by a resounding splash and the wave of water cascading over her bare feet.

Jester blinks at the afterimage of a blur of green and grey plowing into Fjord’s legs and sending him tumbling back into the center of the pool.

“Revenge, motherfucker!” crows a fully clothed Nott as she rolls into a half-crouch by the edge of the water, teeth bared in a victorious grin. Fjord comes back up sputtering, his soaked shirt hanging off one shoulder. He pushes the mop of black hair off his forehead, glaring at Nott, and then from the opposite end of the pool a low, dark chuckle begins to echo. All heads turn to look at Yasha, who lounges at the back with her arms spread wide along the tile edge. The faintest of smiles ghosts over her lips.

Jester hasn’t seen her face light up in a very long time. Ever, maybe. Certainly not since before Xhorhas. Her own smile comes a little easier after that.

If Fjord meant to protest more about feeling unwell, the impact of the water seems to have knocked the notion right out of him, and soon enough everyone is in the bath. Even Nott sits crosslegged by Caleb’s head, blowing bubbles through the neck of a brass flute she pilfered from some poor student in the Tri-Spire. Fjord is still keeping his distance, but at least he isn’t actively running away. That’s a good sign, right?

And there are some benefits to sitting on opposite ends of the pool. For one, she’s got a perfect view of what little remains above the rippling water.

He’s still wearing the shirt he was tossed in with, and his pants too. It can’t be super comfortable, but something about seeing that white linen almost transparent in the clear water, clinging to the hollow of collarbones and the divot of shoulders is mesmerizing. Goosepimples rise along the dip of her neck as a cool breeze drifts in from the hallway and she’s staring but she can’t help herself. It’s so hard not to fall back into daydreams, even if the reality is so much farther away than it was two days ago. A hand on her waist, the other wetting her hairline as it draws along her neck, and how nice it would be to return the kiss she didn’t get to feel the first time, to press her lips into the place where the fabric ends and the skin begins, to-

“Time to go, Jester.” Caleb’s hand comes down gently onto the water near her head, and little droplets of spray land on her cheek. She blinks and realizes the pool is nearly empty. The only people left are her and Fjord, who Beau is currently trying to drag out with a slightly less gentle approach.

“Oh, right, ok,” she says, and taking Caleb’s offered hand she clambers up the side. Behind her, Fjord insists he just wants one more minute.

‘Not feeling well’, huh?

Outside the safety of the steaming water, the air is impossibly cold, and Jester pulls her clothes back on as quickly as possible.

---

Somehow they manage to go a week in Zadash without the whole thing ever coming to a head. Sure, they share the same inn and the same meals and the same trips to the launderer’s but it turns out it’s very, very easy to avoid someone in a city. Or to be avoided, more precisely. Everywhere Jester is, is somewhere Fjord is not. That much is painfully clear to even the most unobservant in the party, and the looks get more frequent and more concerned. Eventually, Jester gives up on trying to corner him because what’s the point? The spell that she so masterfully screwed up isn’t wearing off, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

In the end, she spends the week shadowing the Halls of Erudition, searching for an in. She doesn’t take Nott with her because Nott would tell Caleb and Caleb would be upset, she thinks. Tell her it’s too dangerous. Well, it probably is, but she’s lost the Traveller’s favour along with Fjord’s friendship and that’s at least one thing she can work on. How better to prove her devotion than to paint his name across their worst enemy’s doorstep? And really, Oremid Hass can go fuck himself and his shiny school. He doesn’t deserve it, not after what the Academy did to her friend.

Getting in is easy-peasy. One quick Disguise Self and she’s a professor rushing back through the gates for a forgotten scroll, secure in the knowledge the actual professor is headed for the Pentamarket. The guards don’t even question her, just let her pass by, safe behind her waspish mask of feigned worry. She’d thought there would be better security, considering the remnants of rubble that still dot the base of the refurbished spire.

---

The getting back out? Not quite so easy.

There are five sets of footsteps dogging her own, and her hands pressing pink and emerald and maroon handprints into the fabric of the haversack as she hastily shoves the paints into the opening. Two doors to her right and left swing open and a wave of dispelling energy washes over her like a warm breeze. The black robes dusting her feet shimmer and shorten and fold into blue pleats and she’s running faster than she’s run in her life.

In her panic, she almost forgets not to expect the Traveller’s voice when she calls out to him, and that’s a few more precious seconds gone. She ducks down a winding corridor and throws another message to the wind.

Nott, I did something really stupid, and now I’m trapped in the Halls of Erudition and I haven’t got many spells left please come help-

For a second, there’s nothing but silence and the sound of Jester’s heavy breathing, and empty walls on all sides. She throws herself into the shadow of a curtained alcove just in time to hear the reply.

We’re coming for you, Jester! Just hang on!

And she’s hanging onto it, that last thought, when the hands reach through the fabric and pull her back into the light, and her bones lock in place, and she can’t move her mouth to scream.

---

Jester’s cell has no windows.

The stone beneath her skirt is slick with the condensation that drips from the low ceiling, and she sketches little animals in the pitted surface of the floor with her finger: a menagerie of familiar faces. She used to draw on her walls when she was younger, filling the empty space with forests of strange creatures, every single one with its own name and history. Then her mama gave her that first set of paints and papers, and she filled books with her imaginary friends instead.

She thinks she was unconscious when they brought her in here. That archmage knocked her out with a snap of his fingers, and now she’s in a cell. She doesn’t know where.

The mage didn’t ask any questions about Caleb. He thought she was just a common hoodlum, looking for kicks or credibility for having broken into such a prestigious school. She made sure he thought that. See, Beau? She is really, very good at lying.

“You definitely are, Jester,” she whispers to herself in a deeper tone, and adds the curl of a ribbon to the lion’s topknot before wiping the drawing away and starting another.

Given enough time, she could probably carve a stone out of the wall. Make her own little window into what lies beyond this little room. She’s done it before. She’ll do it again, if she has to. But she’s too tired tonight.

The faint runes inscribed into the metal around her wrists are cool to her cheek as she lays her head on her hands. No magic, no messages while these things are on. At least they didn’t gag her. She’s not sure she could bear that, not with the taste of Lorenzo’s iron bit still curdling in her mouth each time she lets herself think too long about chains.

Traveller?

[]

If he didn’t come to her rescue then, why would he come now? This isn’t nearly as bad as that time. At least now it’s only her she has to worry about, not Yasha’s ragged breathing from the adjacent cell or Fjord’s nervous groaning at her side.

And somebody will come check on her eventually. They have to. This is civilized society.

Probably.

She really doesn’t know where she is.

Another drawing. Caleb takes up two whole stones, and by the time she’s finished the soft sweep of his tail the feline points of his ears have all but faded back into the grey. She starts again, lets her eyes slip closed, welcomes the darkness.

In her dreams, the drawing comes alive. Claws grip the mortar by her cheek and scramble their way out of the stone, and then there’s a cat sitting in front of her. It mews softly, insistently. Wake up, Jester. Wake up. The cat’s yellow eyes blink, and she blinks back. When she reaches her fingers out to pet the creature, the shape is right but the hair feels all wrong – wiry and tangled instead of thick and soft.

What was-

“Jester, wakeupwakeupwakeUP!”

Jester opens her eyes, and the yellow eyes squeeze shut in relief.

“Nott? You came?”

“Promised, didn’t I?”

Nott starts to work on her handcuffs with a lockpick and Jester lays there, staring past her shoulder and watching the flick of a speckled tail bounce in and out through the slit beneath the cell door. That means Caleb’s not far away, and the others too. They’re here, sticking their necks out to fix her screw up. Nott is risking capture and probably execution to rescue her from a cell of her own making.

It feels so good to be loved. It hurts so much.

---

“That was reckless, even for you.”

Jester tucks her hands beneath her thighs, hiding them under her nightgown. Her feet don’t dangle from the bed, but it’s a near thing. She watches Beau pace as she unwraps the blue linen from around her wrists in long, winding circles.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do-”

Please tell me what to do, Beau, I don’t know what to do .

“-but could you leave off the sacrilege for a while? For the rest of this trip, at least.”

“Are you mad at me, Beau?” Beau always says things honestly, and she wants to hear it, even if it hurts to know the answer. Better to know than to wait in silence. That way, she can start fixing things, somehow.

Beau stops pacing and flops down onto her back by Jester on the bed. “I’m… worried about you, Jessie.”

Jester laughs. “I’m fine, Beau.”

“You’re not. You’ve been acting very not fine since we left Alfield.” She catches Jester’s eye. “Fjord too.”

Oh. So that secret is out. If Beau caught on, then the rest are sure to follow. Her heart is starting to beat too fast again.

“I saw you two. That night? You were alone in that tent for, like, twenty minutes before Fjord came out. Did something happen?”

“We were talking,” Jester says weakly. “Just talking.”

“Mhm,” Beau says. “Sure.”

And they were just talking, only she’d been talking to the Traveller too, and he’d told her what to say and what to do and how to do it, and every word was perfect but she still messed it up somehow, how was that even possible-

“Look. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But talk to someone. Tell Nott. Hell, drag Caduceus out for a stroll, he lives to stick his nose in other people’s drama.” Beau puts her hands behind her head and stares up at the ceiling. “Or, you know. I’m still here, Jester. Whenever you need me. I’m here.”

“Ok,” Jester says. Her voice sounds small, far off. “Thanks, Beau.”

“Anytime.”

Beau eventually curls onto her side and Jester follows suit, and when Beau puts her hand out, palm up, Jester threads their fingers together without a second thought. This is something she was offered. This is something she’s allowed to take. She’s starting to suspect all of this is punishment for not making the distinction sooner.

---

They spend their last night in Zadash in the Silken Terrace, because they can. Breakfasts and baths and soft beds, all in the course of a week. It should be the best week of Jester’s life. It really, really isn’t.

There are only four rooms left at the inn, but that’s par for the course. The usual roommate assignments split off, but so does Yasha for the evening, and suddenly they have a one room surplus. Caduceus offers to take it to give Fjord a little more space from their usual cramped arrangement, and Jester is stupidly grateful because she didn’t want Beau to jump at the chance and force her to admit she’d really rather not be alone tonight.

It’s late by the time they get checked in and finish dinner and Jester nearly forgets to run and check the mail for anything from the Ruby. To her delight, a little package is waiting. Crinoline and silk wrap another vial of purple ink and an embroidered sash that matches the silver in the tips of her horns. Smiling genuinely for the first time in days, she bounces back to the table. Caduceus is the only one left, still sipping on the dregs of his tea.

“Oh,” he calls out to her. “Beau wanted me to tell you that you two are in room 3 now, up in the terrace. Something about another guest getting sick and leaving early.”

“Ok! Thanks for letting me know,” That’s fine, Beau had the key anyway. She bids Caduceus goodnight with a soft kiss on his cheek and runs up to the third floor, darting around a pair of escorts as they make their way back down to the lobby.

Room 3, Room 3… the door is on the left side of the hall, and when Jester turns the handle it swings open easily. “I’m coming in, Beau, turn around if you’re naked-”

The door closes behind her with a click, and she finds herself face to face with a familiar half-orc who looks at her like an apparition of death itself.

“Um,” he says. Jester flushes. He’s got his leathers off, and all that’s left is his white undershirt and dark trousers, and he’s halfway through unlacing his boots, and the sheets are silken and expensive and the furniture refined and the carpet lush beneath her leather soles.

She indulges herself in a wave of self-pity. Isn’t this how it was supposed to end? Fjord would lay her down on a bed like this, hike her skirts up and kiss her senseless against the pillows, and there would be only one name on her lips and it would be his, before it’s swallowed again in the press of his mouth. That’s what she was promised. The books said she could have it. The Traveller said she could have it. She’d spied her mother having it twice daily through the hole in the curtains. Isn’t she deserving of love?

Fjord just sits there, watching her warily. Jester opens and closes her mouth like a fish, flailing for what to say. I’m sorry, Beau’s playing a silly prank, haha, I’m going to go now… And then she’s stuck heading back to her room and avoiding Beau’s pointed questions for the rest of the night.

No.

She’s not going to leave it like this.

“Fjord,” she says, and takes a step forward. He’s still watching her. That’s good. She takes another step and sits down on the bed beside him. The mattress shifts as he inches a little farther from her. Not quite as good, but he’s not running away. “Why are you mad at me?”

It’s better to know. It’s always better to know.

He chuckles, a low, derisive sound, and it stings till she looks at his face and sees that he’s got his chin buried in his hands, fingers pressing against the place where his tusks are just barely starting to grow in, and he doesn’t look angry. He just looks sad .

“Jester, I’m not… I’m not mad at you. I know I’ve been snappish, and that’s not fair to you, but… I’m not mad. I promise.”

“Then why? Why don’t you like me anymore, Fjord?”

Fjord shudders, pressing his face deeper into his hands. The sharp edge of his tusk starts to dig dangerously deep into the skin of his thumb, and a small prick of red blossoms at the point. “That’s not… the issue, Jester.”

“Then why,” and she reaches out to his hand, to try and get him to stop pressing so hard just for a second, but he pulls away just as quickly.

“ Don’t ,” he growls, but she’s quicker than him and she manages to wrench the hand away and in return he grabs her wrist and shoves her back onto the mattress and then he’s over her, and it’s nothing at all like the stories, and Jester is suddenly afraid in a way she’s never felt before as Fjord’s eyes grow wild and his hand presses her deeper down into the sheets.

“Fjord?” she whispers, and he shudders and lets go of her wrist before scrambling backwards.

“I’m not… feeling well, Jess,” he mutters. “You need to go.”

“You look pretty healthy to me,” and she’s not stupid, she knows what he meant, and neither of them laugh. Jester pushes herself up until she’s sitting, facing Fjord as he curls back down into the same hunched form.

“… You’re not going to go away, are you?”

“Never,” she says.

Fjord shudders again, forcing his words out through gritted teeth. “You remember that night, back in Felderwyn? That one, fuck, when Nott took us to the river?”

“Yeah,” says Jester. “Of course I do, Fjord.”

“You asked Beau if she was secretly in love with you, and it was a real funny joke. And then you asked Caleb. And that’s the moment when I realized what a fool I’d been.” His laugh is harsh, biting with reproach. “You were telling me all along, weren’t you, that it was a joke? The Oscar thing, and the offers, all of it. And I still-”

Fjord chokes off on the word and Jester doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand-

“I didn’t let myself admit it, not until that night in the tent. Think I was trying to hold off the inevitable. But I- I want you, Jester. I want you like I didn’t know I could ever want anything in my life.”

Jester feels her breath leave her body. Fjord… wants… “Oh,” she says.

Fjord curls his lip over his teeth. “It’s disgusting. ”

A second shockwave of cold ripples through her at the self-recrimination in his words. “Fjord, I don’t understand,” she says, crawling forward. He doesn’t flinch away this time, but he sits very still, and she doesn’t touch him. “You… want me?”

“Yeah, Jester. I do.” He drags each word through shattered glass, and they all cut on the way down. “It’s all I think about. No matter what I’m doing, I can’t stop thinking about it. I see you and it’s like I lose my goddamn mind. Something just… takes over.” He stands abruptly, and Jester nearly tumbles as the mattress shifts without his weight. “I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“Whatever you’re sorry for, you don’t have to be, Fjord, I-” I love you, she almost says, but does she?

Does she?

She was sure she did.

“You don’t have to be scared, Fjord.” Jester is so, so frightened. She doesn’t know how she didn’t see it sooner. There’s no fury in his eyes, just nauseous, heart-pounding fear and she never wanted him to look at her like this.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he says hollowly, staring into the space between his hands. “I see you and it hurts so much not to… not to touch you, and I need to keep away from you because sometimes I don’t know if I could stop myself.” He shudders. “How did I become this person?”

How did I become this person?

“Must be the orc in me,” he says bitterly, and Jester’s stomach bottoms out because she’s seen him get better about that part of him and to see him blame her magic on his blood is more than she can take. “But I’ll control it. Always have. I won’t be that person to you, Jester. I just… need space.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “And that’s all there is to it.”

Traveller, make it stop. Traveller, take it off him. Whatever I did, put it back, I can’t be the reason he feels like this.

“So,” he says, spreading his hands. “Now you know.”

With every second she stays silent, desperately praying, Fjord’s eyes grow more distant. “I… uh. I’m going to go.” And he makes for the door. But before she can reach out, her vision is eclipsed by a darker, shadowed shape: a verdant hood, a wicked smile.

[Why the tears, my darling?]

Sick relief mingles with the thrum of stop him, save him, call him back and she speaks with her mind and pushes past with her body.

Where have you been?

[I meant to give the two of you privacy. But by the state of things, perhaps I stayed away too long?]

His hand is already on the knob, turning, pushing. Leaving.

Traveller, what do I do? How do I stop this?

[Why the sudden change of heart, Jester? Isn’t he what you wanted? And now he wants you too. There’s no need for any pain. Give yourself to him, and he will love you eternally.]

I don’t want him to want me if I’m making him do it.

[There are few who fall in love without encouragement. Is this any different than the charm of a wink, the lure of a smile and a becoming hemline? Your magic is a part of you, like any other.]

If you won’t help me, then get out of my way.

[Your heart is bound to his now. That is the bargain you made. The line cannot be broken, by you or me.]

No one is coming to save her. Fjord is already past the threshold, and he’s leaving her alone, and he loved her , before she did all this, before the river in Felderwyn, he loved her, and there’s nothing else to do.

I can’t break the line.

But there’s something else I can break.

“Fjord, wait.”

He stills. Jester’s voice drops to a whisper.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

She tells him everything. She tells him the Traveller’s offer, and what she did, and why she did it. Impatience, boredom, lust. Nothing else matters but the look of betrayal in his eyes as she explains what she’s done, how she opened his mind and put something there not his own, how she made the choice for him. She watches as he gaze slides from self-recrimination to disbelief, to a deep-seated hurt that tears years from his sallowed cheeks and leaves him a boy, new and fragile and lost.

“Why?” he asks, like he’s never seen her before.

“Because I could,” she says, and watches as his heart breaks. Something silver and tight loosens around her heart and falls away, and Fjord takes a shuddering gasp as the magic that binds them fades.

And Jester runs.

---

There’s a window, somewhere in the West, that has the stain of sugared fingerprints and tiny palms. The room sits dark and empty, but if you flew high enough, you could catch the edge of little paintings ringing the walls in the midnight gloom, flashes of yellow and orange and aquamarine.

Jester goes there to hide when things become too much, unfolds the vision like silk and wraps herself in the familiar visage of home.

Her feet are dangling over the edge of the bridge when Beau finds her, and she has to blink the shades of green out of her eyes before she can focus on Beau’s brown skin, her blue eyes, her weary look filled with too much understanding.

“So Fjord came to see me,” she says, and she’s looking past Jester towards the stars, her arms propped on the stone railing. “He asked me if I knew.”

Jester keeps silent.

“Asked him, ‘knew what’? And well… guess I know now.”

Jester taps her fingers against the railing.

“He’ll forgive you, you know. He’s upset, but he asked me to come find you. Before you did anything stupid.” And Jester doesn’t miss the way that Beau’s posture is loose but the muscles in her shoulders are tight and primed to lunge.

“Think I already did the stupidest thing possible. It’s ok if you hate me, Beau.”

“Eh, but I don’t want to.” Beau kicks off and jumps up beside Jester so their thighs are brushing, and her body is warm against the night chill. “’Sides, I think I’ll let Fjord make that call.”

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Beau says, and slings her arm around her shoulders. “You did. But we’ve all done fucked up things, and you came clean. That’s more than most of us do.”

“Fjord shouldn’t forgive me.”

“But I think he will anyway. He loves you, Jess.”

Yeah. He did.

“Will you come back?”

“Okay.”

Jester lets Beau take her hand and lead her back through the street and to the Pillow Trove’s painted doors. The common room is empty. Jester wonders if Fjord told anyone else. Somehow, she doubts it. He’s always been one to lick his wounds in secret. She knows this, better than anyone.

Her head falls to the pillow with the exhaustion of wrung out tears, and she’s asleep in minutes.

[You cannot break the line, so you break the heart instead. Clever. That’s my girl.]

…

[Jester?]

…

[Goodnight, my sweet.]

…

Goodnight.

#critical role #critrole fic #critical role fic #jester #jester lavorre #fjorjester #fjord #critical role angst #the traveler

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