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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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Come Home With Me (final part)

Thank you for everyone whose enjoyed this fic, I can’t tell you what all the kind words and support have meant to me. An enormous hug for my beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

If you’d like to support me, I’d really appreciate a reblog, comment on this fic on Ao3 or supporting my ko-fi!

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Everything was always moving. He wished it wouldn’t.

It was like he’d been running, the same pounding of his heart so intense he was certain it could be seen through his skin, the same metallic taste at the back of his throat, the same acidic burn in his muscles. But it never stopped.

Whenever he tried to focus on a body part, he lost it completely. Whenever he opened his eyes, there was nothing there. Whenever he tried to sense anything beyond his own skin, it just felt fuzzy and indistinct.

Basically, he was nowhere. But a rushing, restless, crackling nowhere that was draining him more and more every second. Wringing him out until there was nothing left. Spreading him thin until he became see through.

He was so, so tired.

But not quite tired enough to let go. Not enough to sink into I and lose himself entirely. He got the sense that something in him was clinging to this imitation of reality with white knuckled fingertips.

It would be so easy to let go. To just…fade away. Let the rushing carry him away in its tearing, crashing current.

But still something clung on tight and he despaired.

He’d had a name, once. He thought he did. He’d had something…something to reach for. That must be what the part of him clung on for. For the sake of something he couldn’t remember any more. What was the point in that?

He couldn’t tell how long it had been like this. Forever maybe. Or never. Such words were hard to find meaning for, when you were lost.

However long it had been, he was done. Far beyond done. He was so desperate to let go, inches away from just doing it.

You could say the voice came right on time.

Through the crashing and crackling, the noise that sometimes sounded like a full forest on fire whenever he could find the awareness to know what those concepts meant, he heard the voice. It wasn’t a voice he knew, not that he could even grasp what he did and didn’t know right now. It sounded young. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

“Please come back. I need you. He needs you. Please?”

It reached him even through all of it, even when he didn’t have ears to hear it. He tugged on him like a fishhook through his navel, jerking him up. And suddenly he realised, his choice wasn’t just between letting go and holding on. He could pull himself up and out.

So he did.

And Caleb Widogast opened his eyes.

Molly had been sleeping by his side at the time, sat in a chair, bend awkwardly over the bed where his comatose wizard was laid out. An uncomfortable position but he was loathe to leave his lover’s side, as exhausting as it all had been.

But when he felt Caleb’s fingers move in his own loose grasp, he bolted straight upright.

He didn’t dare hope at first, not after so many painful wishes turned daydreams where he had his Caleb back but jolted back into reality only to see he was still gone. But then Mollymauk realised he wasn’t holding Caleb’s hand any more. Caleb was holding his.

Then he was sitting up, shifting gingerly among the pillows, blue eyes open and alive, no longer staring blankly. He was yawning, wincing at his own breath. He had an odd little smile on his lips.

“Caleb…” Mollymauk gasped, voice faint and shaking like he was the one who was a dream now.

He turned at the sound of his name, smile growing wider.

“Mr Tealeaf,” his voice was rough with disuse but it was his, beyond a doubt, “Sorry, Molly. You asked me to call you Molly.”

Tears finally spilled over the tiefling’s cheeks as he surged forward and kissed him full on the mouth, for as long as the two of them could go without air.

“Caleb Widogast,” he finally giggled, once the kiss was over, resting his forehead on Caleb’s, “I missed you.”

Mollymauk closed the bathroom door behind him. He took a long moment, leaning against it and taking one deep breath.

Finally he nodded slightly to himself, “Alright.”

Jaw set determinedly, he made his way down through the corridors of Whitestone Castle. It was a very easy place to get lost in, set as it was in fashionable disarray. Molly often suspected you needed to be of a certain social standing to navigate your way through it successfully. Even after spending a few weeks here every year when the circus’ route took them to the home of their patrons, he still got lost more times than he was willing to admit.

Though he knew the way to Caleb’s room well enough, given all the times he’d traced it in the last week. Since they’d all piled through the transportation magic, Molly bloodied and frantic and clutching his wizard who no one was really sure if he was dead, alive or somewhere in between, his world had shrank to the airy, spacious room the de Rolo’s had given over for Caleb to heal in.

At first, nothing on earth could have made him move from Caleb’s bedside; he’d snapped and hissed at anyone who had tried to coax him away, he’d not even let Caduceus heal his wounds for a good few hours, insisting Caleb needed him more.

But no magic, Caduceus’, Jester’s or Pike’s had done anything for poor Caleb. He’d stayed comatose and unmoving for a terrifying number of days, staring into space with his eyes clouded over. ‘Lost in his own magic’ was how Caduceus had put it, anxiously tugging on his ears. He’d fallen into the well of power inside himself, burned up so much of a resource he wasn’t used to using and in such a short space of time that it had forced him into a shut down.

All that could be done was make sure he didn’t starve to death and wait for Caleb to pull himself out of it or fade away completely. Molly had wanted to scream- and he had done, at first- with the unfairness of it all. Everything they’d done to bring him home, the blood and magic that had been spilled, and now there was nothing to do but wait. It was maddening.

The anger and fight had burned away after a while, leaving him empty, clinging to Caleb’s cold hand and refusing to eat, drink or sleep. He’d let himself be healed but only in the sense that he didn’t pull away when his cleric friends approached him with bandages and soothing magic.

It was Caduceus who had noticed. Who’d come to him one evening when he was sitting quietly, holding Caleb’s hand, when he was certain no one else would be around.

The next morning, Molly became himself again. He bathed, he finally changed out of his ruined battle clothes, he asked for fresh bandages. He ate the meals Vex had been sending to the room from the kitchens and politely asked for more. He’d brought out his lute, mercifully untouched by the fire Ikithon set in the camp, and filled that corner of the castle with music.

He still slept on a cot in the room by Caleb’s bedside and spent as much time as he could singing and talking to him but it wasn’t the despair of before. Of course, half his thoughts and words were still prayers, pleas, begging any god who was listening to bring Caleb back.

And someone must have had their ear turned to Whitestone. Because his Caleb came home to him.

Molly could still scarcely believe it. In the few nights since, he’d wake up and need to reach for his love sleeping beside him, take in him his arms and listen to him breathe and know he was safe.

No one was ever going to hurt him ever again. Molly promised himself that, it was inked as deeply into him as his tattoos.

No one would ever hurt his Caleb ever again.

Molly pushed back the door of the white, expansive room he and Caleb had been gifted. He smiled to see the wizard up and about, curled up like his cat in a wicker chair by the open doors to the balcony, a book in his hands. His lips moved ever so slightly as he read, the way he always did when he was reading something not in Zemnian, and Molly felt his heart flutter at how innocent and adorable it was.

“Looking well, my love,” he said softly, not wanting to make him jump.

Caleb’s eyes flickered up to him and he smiled. He smiled so much more now, wider and more frequent. He’d come back with a light inside him, though Molly expected it had always been there. It had just had a wall around it up until now.

“Feeling well,” Caleb shifted so his legs were neatly folded underneath him, dropping his book to the floor. Molly always felt the need to fan himself whenever Caleb abandoned a book for his company, coming from his wizard it was a gesture of fawning romance worthy of a song.

Molly sat in the twin to his chair, across from him. It was a beautiful day in Whitestone. Winter was clearly on the way but no one had seen fit to tell the sun yet, shining brightly across the valley, illuminating the orange gold leaves in the trees and the river, swelled by rain.

“Is everything okay?” Caleb tilted his head, seeing his love’s far away expression.

Molly opened his mouth for a moment but closed it again, seeming to change his words at the last second, “I guess I’m not used to staying in one place for such a long time, y’know? I love spending time with Percy and Vax but…I just get an itch after a while. I’m not built for stationary living.”

Caleb chuckled fondly, “I think I’m starting to get that too. But everyone’s back to full strength now, we’ll be back on the road in no time, right? And everything will go back to the way it was.”

Something in Molly tensed and he took hold of his tail, passing it restlessly through his hands.

“Right. Yeah. As to that…”

Caleb tilted his head, freezing in place, “Mollymauk?”

A coy smile flickered over his face and he chuckled nervously, “Would it be okay if things weren’t exactly the same? If maybe our lives were…pretty fucking different actually?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Molly shrugged, “It’s just, I’m like ninety…maybe ninety nine per cent sure I’m pregnant?”

Part of Caleb remembered a voice that was familiar and unfamiliar all at once, a voice that said it needed him. And then he forgot.

Mollymauk cleared his throat into the long silence that followed, practically vibrating with anxious energy, “Caleb? Love, are you still with me?”

Caleb started a little, he hadn’t noticed the silence mounting. A smile flickered to life on his face, his eyes growing shiny with unshed tears.

A road had opened up before him, leading off into the future. A future that he could imagine without any fear or hesitation. A future with love, bravery, security. A future with music and stories and magic.

Quietly, inside himself, he said goodbye to the poor, restless ghost of Bren Aldric Ermendrud.

“I’m with you,” murmured Caleb Widogast.

THREE YEARS LATER

Under the rows and rows of raised seating, in the shadows, it was surprisingly cold but Caleb had long ago modified himself a spell to spread just enough warmth through his skin to keep him perfectly toasty without being uncomfortable.

He looked out through the slats and smiled, content in the knowledge that absolutely everyone was in their right place and ready for the off. Even the audience, who was just starting to filter through the open doors of the tent. They were as important to the show as any of them.

Even as confident as he was, even after so many shows, Caleb still counted down those last few minutes in his head.

Or at least he tried to.

“Papa!”

Caleb turned, smiling with a mix of exasperation and fondness, “Well, well, well. Someone found their way out of the wagon.”

Trinket, his little son, came bounding up with a smile bright and innocent as a summer morning, “I wasn’t sleepy any more, papa!”

Caleb chuckled, picking him up and balancing him on his hip. Soon he’d be too big to hold like this; it was best to take every single opportunity he had.

“You might not be sleepy, Trinket, but it’s definitely very late. Far past little people’s bedtimes.”

His little purple face pooched in disappointment, “But I wanted to be in the show. Elaina and Joanna get to stay up…”

“Your cousins are a squeak older than you, little Schatz,” Caleb remined him but he could already feel himself relenting. He never had much of a backbone when it came to his ball of sunshine.

“I went to see daddy,” Trinket rested his head on Caleb’s shoulder, “Just to make sure he wasn’t nervous for the show.”

Caleb felt a rush of fondness and kissed the top of his head, stroking back the curls he’d inherited from Molly in a colour inherited from himself, “Was daddy nervous?”

“No, cos I have him a big hug and kiss,” Trinket sounded very pleased with himself, “And he let me play with his make up.”

“Ah…” he hadn’t noticed in the low light. And yes, now the shoulder of his shirt was covered in glitter.

Such were the joys of being a father.

And there were so many joys, glitter being the least of them. Since the first time he’d held Trinket in his arms, he’d found depths of love inside himself he’d never knew existed. And a tolerance for mess.

“Show’s going to start soon, my little Schatz, are you going to stay here and help me with my magic?” Caleb knew when to drop the mask of trying to be a stern parent. At least he’d made the effort.

Trinket beamed, showing off his fangs that would never be as big and sharp as his daddy’s but could smile just as brightly.

Caleb had always loved the show but he loved it even more when he could see it through his son’s eyes.

He was so wrapped up in it, in the way he gasped and kicked excitedly and pulled on his coat to point out all his aunties and uncles, that Caleb almost missed his cue.

There was still that prickle of anxiety every time he stepped out under the eyes of the audience. But he knew he could look out there and see Molly, right in the centre of the stage under the spotlight, arm outstretched towards him.

“…and finally, a round of applause please for our talented arcanist and my husband, Mr Caleb Widogast!” Molly’s eyes widened a little in surprise when he saw Trinket clinging like a koala to his husband’s back but he didn’t even pause, “And his spectacular assistant, Trinket!”

Caleb laughed with everyone else as he stepped up to take Molly’s hand, right in his place amongst the rest of the troupe. One of the family, right where he belonged. They all bowed deeply, perfectly in time.

“We have been The Fletching and Moondrop Travelling Carnival of Curiosities,” Molly called out, threading his fingers through Caleb’s and kissing Trinket’s pudgy cheek, “A very good night to you all!”

#widomauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #kingkiller chronicle #rothfuss au #cr: mollymauk #cr: caleb #mighty nein #vox machina #cr fic #trans mollymauk

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feral-renaissance-cat · 6 years ago

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Waiting Is the Hardest Part

(Turns out I’m not done processing. You can read parts one and two so this will make more sense.)

Death was proving to be terrible for Molly’s self-control. As he suspected, the flask Taliesin had given him never ran out, and neither did the box of cigarettes nor the bag of pills. He lost count of how much he drank and smoked and how many pills he swallowed, since his stomach never felt full and he never blacked out from intoxication. Furthermore he had a suspicion that the only reason he felt the effects at all was because he expected to. He didn’t dare test out this theory for fear that he would realize there was no effect and he would have to go back to being bored.

He had remained in the hazy space ever since Taliesin left. Whether it was the drugs or the nature of this strange plane, he did occasionally see what looked like some of the art and messages from the first place he had been. As before, he spoke out to the no-one so he could have something to do, and since clearly someone had listened before when it brought Taliesin to him. At first it was ramblings, but eventually he dictated his last will and testament.

“I leave my Tarot cards to Gustav. He saw something in me, so perhaps he’ll be able to see something in them as well. My swords I leave to Fjord, if the others ever rescue him. For that matter, if they rescue Jester, she can have my tapestry. I’m sure she’ll come up with some mischief to do with that thing. Yasha knows what she can have out of my stuff. Whether she’ll actually take it, I don’t know.” He took a long swig from the flask. It was a strong mead made with peach blossom honey that he had had at some fancy place that he couldn’t remember, possibly because Taliesin had never thought to give it a name. Whether the memory was real or not, the mead was good and it sent tingles through his head as though someone had struck his horns with a tuning fork.

“To... To Caleb, I leave my coat. It would clash horribly with his hair and he would look ridiculous in it, but maybe he can use it as an extra blanket on nights when he needs something to keep him cozy. To Beau, I leave the rest of my skein. She can take it herself or use it to drug someone else, either way I hope she has fun with it. Nott can have my jewelry. She might have already taken it if the others haven’t told her off for ‘disrespecting the dead’ or whatever. It’s fine, I don’t need it anymore. My money can be divided amongst the party, but some of it has to be spent buying everyone a round at the next tavern they visit.”

Molly pulled out the bag of pills. He had taken four at once the last time, and while they had caused him to see shapes in the fog while feeling very good about things, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he took an entire handful. Clearly it wouldn’t kill him, but he wasn’t sure what increasing the dosage by that much would do, if it did anything at all. Though the bag felt like it only held a dozen or so pills, when he shook it into his palm he had to quickly pull it back because suddenly they were spilling everywhere. He tipped about half his handful back in, because even he wasn’t that reckless, not to mention he didn’t want to try to swallow more than fifteen at a time. He popped them into his mouth, washed them down with mead, and that’s when the visions started.

There was no way of discerning direction in this place, so Molly simply went where his feet took him. He saw shapes in the fog again, but this time he walked towards them. The fog parted to reveal what appeared to be Pumat Sol in a tutu waving a magic wand over Nott’s head. A shower of glittering dust fell around her and she transformed into a lovely young halfling woman in a simple peasant’s dress. Her mask fell to the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Nott?” Molly asked. “Are you okay?”

Neither Nott nor Pumat Sol paid him any attention. Nott was too busy frolicking in her new dress and Pumat Sol was shaking hands with three other versions of himself that had just appeared. Molly kept walking.

Next he came across a small cabin in what appeared to be some backwoods clearing. Yasha was chopping wood with her sword. Beau sat on the cabin’s porch in an unbuttoned flannel shirt whittling some small figurine. Molly went up to Beau and waved his hand in front of her face. She kept whittling. Molly turned around. Yasha was no longer chopping wood. Instead she was using her sword to cut the heads off gnolls before tossing them into a pile already taller than she was. Molly hastily fled.

The next scene was far more serene. Fjord and Jester were sitting side by side on a bed. Fjord had his arm around Jester’s shoulders. Jester was cradling a tiny baby with sea-green skin and budding horns on its forehead, and it was sucking the end of its tail the way some babies sucked their thumbs. Molly had never seen Fjord smile like this. However, as Molly got a closer look he noticed one of Fjord’s eyes had no iris; it was simply an oblong pupil in a glowing yellow orb. Molly didn’t even bother speaking. He just left.

In the distance Molly could make out the shape of Taliesin. He was speaking with a cloaked figure. Though the hood of the cloak was up, Molly could see that the figure had bandages tightly wound around his eyes. Molly said nothing, and yet the figure still looked up in his direction with those unseen eyes, if there were any eyes beneath the bandages at all. Molly ran before Taliesin could notice him.

Molly was starting to pray that the drugs would wear off soon. Taking that many had been a terrible idea. It wasn’t until Molly spotted three other figures through the fog that he realized he hadn’t seen Caleb yet. “Caleb?” he called, stumbling forward.

It was Caleb, or so Molly assumed. This man had the same color hair, like the last dying embers of a fire, the same nose and chin and his eyes were the same shape, but he was...clean. He wore the uniform of an imperial mage, his beard was neatly trimmed, and his posture was tall and confident. He was flanked by an older man and older woman. The man had streaks of ember-colored hair amidst his grey and his nose was the same shape as Caleb’s. The woman had Caleb’s eyes and a similar pattern of freckles across her face. They were dressed far more modestly, but the hems of their clothes were blackened and smoldering.

Caleb’s eyes turned to Molly, except they weren’t Caleb’s eyes. These had a hard gaze that made Molly’s insides turn cold. A smirk spread across the man’s face. “Mr. Mollymauk,” he said. It was Caleb’s voice, but usually when Caleb called him that Molly couldn’t hold back a smile. Now Molly wished above all else that Caleb would have ignored him like the others. The man held out one hand. “Come to receive your judgement?”

“J-Judgement? For what?”

The man chuckled as he walked forwards. A pit opened in Molly’s heart and all his hopes fell through it. “I am sorry it had to be me, but those who commit crimes against the Empire must be punished.”

He was within arm’s reach of Molly. Molly took the man’s face in his hands. “Caleb, what did they do to you?” He had wanted to see Caleb whole again someday, but not like this. Never like this. It was as though all the empty spaces between his cracks had been filled with malice.

Caleb gently yet firmly pushed Molly’s arms down. “We must make an example of criminals such as yourself.” He put one hand over Molly’s heart. His smirk twisted into a gruesome grin. Lorenzo’s voice came out of his mouth. “An example it is.” Flames spread from his fingertips. Molly tried to back away but he was transfixed by the sadistic look on the man’s face. That horrible smile, those eyes reflecting the fire that was now burning through Molly’s chest, it was too much. Molly closed his eyes and screamed as the searing pain ate its way to his heart.

Then it was over. Molly felt cold, so so cold. He opened his eyes, but everything was total darkness. He blinked, but it made no difference. No matter which way he turned, no matter how hard he strained his eyes, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. And Mollymauk knew.

It was the darkness of the grave.

Molly hyperventilated. He wanted to scream but his chest felt crushed. He reached out his hands. Not only could he not see them, but they found nothing, not the lid of a coffin nor thick soil, simply nothing.

The silence was suddenly broken by a cracking thunderous sound, like boulders falling from the sky one at a time. They fell all around him, but Molly could not see them nor tell where they came from. He lost count of them, and over time he thought it would never end.

Then the hush returned. Molly was terrified that he had gone deaf as well as blind. Just as he was about to call for help, there was a voice. The voice was all around him, louder than the thundering boulders from before. Somehow it sounded like the voices of nearly every person he had ever met speaking at once, though with an underlying timbre that shook him to his core.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, it is time to go.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #mollymauk #mollymauk tealeaf #cr spoilers #spoilers #is it thursday yet?#this is the last one #I'm done #it's up to the players now #get well soon Molly #edited for that extra twist of a glaive #because sometimes I'm an awful person

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delightfully-difficult-pirate · 7 years ago

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Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven (7/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war. For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal. After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him. Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: A special thank you to @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta. To @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created. And to @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way.

AO3

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Art for Chapter 7 by @cocohook38

Killian, Swan, and his crew arrived in Camelot in the late afternoon and immediately Killian set about arranging lodging. He settled on The Frog and Frigate, and though the inn had definitely seen better days, it had enough room to house the seventeen of them without draining Swan’s purse. That same night, Killian set out to find a contact he hoped would be able to provide him with the information Swan would need for her mission.

Killian wasn’t in contact with many people from his days in the Templar Order, since many would be obligated to kill him on sight. However, there was one man he had made an effort to keep track of: William Scarlet, the self-proclaimed Knave of Hearts.

Will had run with Robin’s gang of Merry Men once upon a time, though he had never been an official member of the Order. He’d only become an associate after his lady love, Anastasia, had run off and married the Order’s second-in-command, Lord Ferdinand Stanford, who was also known as the Red King. Even so, Killian had worked with him on a few missions and had developed a fondness for the lout.

Years later, when Killian had set his sights on killing Lord Stanford, he’d gone to Will for assistance. The Knave had been more than willing to help. With the Red King dead, Will had had another chance to woo back Anastasia. The last Killian had heard the two of them were living quite happily in Camelot.

Scarlett was not a hard man to find. After asking a couple of questions, and passing over a few pieces of silver, Killian learned that Will could usually be found at a tavern called The White Rabbit.

“Got something to sell?” The barkeep asked when Killian inquired after Scarlett at The White Rabbit.

“I might,” Killian replied, tucking his hand and hook into his belt.

“Have a pint. Scarlett will be around in a bit,” he was informed.

Killian rolled his eyes, but bought a pint of beer and took a seat at an empty table. The beer was hoppy and not at all to Killian’s taste. The tavern, however, was just the type of place Killian frequented. It was full of disreputable men and woman and as he waited, Killian watched as numerous illicit deals were struck.

“So, Leonard tells me you might… By the gods, Jones! Is that you?” Scarlett exclaimed as he took a seat across from Killian. Killian could only laugh at the dumbfounded expression on Will’s face.

“Most people call me by my more colorful moniker now,” Killian held up his hook.

Will’s eyes glanced at the shining metal implement that had replaced his missing hand, but he quickly returned to staring open mouthed at Killian.

“You haven’t aged a day,” the shocked thief finally whispered.

Ahhh.

“Technically I’ve aged a few years since the last time I saw you,” Killian corrected him.

“Aged a few years…Jones, it’s been thirteen!”

Killian shrugged. “I spent about a decade in a realm called Neverland, where physical aging is frozen.”

Will frowned. “Isn’t that where your brother died?”

“One and the same,” Killian confirmed.

“What the devil drove you back to there?” Will looked at Killian expectantly, obviously expecting an exciting story.

Not in the mood to revisit one of the darkest times in his life, Killian gave Will a simplified version of his motivations. “I went to Neverland to retrieve Dreamshade, which has the ability to kill even the most powerful sorcerer.”

However, Will’s next statement told him that the thief was well aware of Killian’s turbulent past. “You wanted it so you can kill Robert Gold.”

The name of Milah’s murderer sent white-hot rage coursing through Killian. For a moment, he was back on The Jolly Roger, watching helplessly as Robert Gold plunged his hand into Milah’s chest and removed her heart. He’d crushed it with a squeeze of his fist and dropped the ashes in front of where Killian had been tied to the mast, slowly bleeding out from the loss of his hand.

Killian chugged the remainder of his beer, desperately trying to push back the painful memories

“Is that what has brought you to Camelot?”

“Sadly not. I’m here on business and was hoping you could help get the lay of the land.”

Will raised his tankard in a mock salute. “What do you need to know?”

---

Though she wasn’t keen to announce her presence in Camelot to the Brotherhood, Emma needed to know whether or not word of new status of traitor had managed to travel this far south. The local base in Camelot was operated by her old friend August. She was rather confident that even if he was aware of her treachery, he wouldn’t immediately alert the Brotherhood before at least hearing her out. He adored Henry.

August had gone to Camelot a few years ago to help establish an Assassin presence in the country. Though the mission had been marginally successful, the Brotherhood had established a local base of operations in the capital city to cement their small foothold. August had been placed in charge of the base in reward for his efforts and he now helped coordinate all Assassin activity in the region. He did so out of his teashop, Geppetto’s Tisanes, and that would need to be Emma’s first stop if she wished to make contact with him.

So, the morning after arriving in Camelot, Emma ventured into the city with only a vague memory of where August had opened his shop. Thankfully, people were eager to give her directions; the teashop was well known to the locals for having quality tea and tisane blends at fair prices. Emma was sure that the Brotherhood’s connections with trading companies played a role in that.

To Emma’s surprise and pleasure, Geppetto’s Tisanes not only sold teas and tisanes, but also served them. Patrons occupied all of the dozen tables that lined the shop’s walls. Men and woman from all social rankings, she noticed, taking in one man’s silk doublet and another’s rough canvas trousers.

Emma approached the counter and waited until the shop’s lone attendant, a young man, was able to attend her.

“Afternoon Ma’am. What can I get you today?” he asked as he wiped a stray tealeaf off the counter with a towel.

“I’m here to see Mr. Pinocchio,” she told him.

“And who may I say is calling?” The attendant asked, his eyes assessing her.

“Swan.”

He raised a brow. “Just Swan?”

“Yes. Just Swan,” she replied curtly.

The attendant nodded and headed through a door that Emma assumed led to the back of the shop. She studied the selection of teas behind the counter and contemplated purchasing some of the chamomile tisane.

When the attendant returned, he lifted a portion of the counter and indicated she should cross through the gap it left. Steeling herself for whatever happened next, she followed him through the same door he had left through earlier. She was right that it led to the back of the shop. She couldn’t see the walls for all the crates that were piled high along them.

August was sat at a table in the center of the room, placing tealeaves on one side of a set of bronze scales. It had been a few years since she’d seen her friend. There were a few more strands of grey in his brown hair and in his beard, which was longer than she had ever seen it.

“Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” August asked as he stood, coming around the table to offer her his hand. She caught a quick glimpse of his hidden blades before she took his hand and shook it, feeling odd. The August she knew would always wrap her in a hug whether she wanted one or not.

Did he know she was a traitor? That she had killed one of their brethren?

“Business, as I’m sure you can guess,” she told him, her voice as casual as she could make it.

�� August nodded, and then looked at the attendant who was still loitering behind Emma. “That will be all, Becket,” he ordered. Emma couldn’t help but notice the disappointed look on the young man’s face as he returned to the front of the shop.

“Follow me,” August whispered, pulling on her hand. He head led her around a pile of crates and down a very thin gap between them and the wall. It ended when it reached the corner of the room and Emma watched as August crouched and unlocked a trap door set into the floor. Though she was still a bit worried, Emma followed August through the trap door. Once he had lit a few lamps, she saw that she was in a subterranean room lined with all manners of weapons and gear any Assassin would could possibly need when on a mission.

“Emma, it is so good to see you,” August said as he wrapped her in the hug she had been missing earlier.

“It’s good to see you too,” Emma said, relaxing into his embrace.

After Emma had turned down his proposal of marriage when she had discovered she was with child, things had been difficult for the two of them. August had been bitter at her refusal and nothing Emma could do could sooth his injured pride. It had taken a few years, but eventually the two of them had returned to being friends despite that part of their history.

“I didn’t receive any notice that you were coming to Camelot,” August said, his brows furrowing.

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly here on official business,” Emma began. She was unsure of how to proceed with her explanation. August was one of her closest friends, but he was also a profoundly loyal Assassin. Even if he wasn’t aware that she was now a traitor, could she trust him to help, or at least not interfere, with her mission?

“There is a rumor that Robert Gold is here in Camelot,” she said, going with the same story she told Nemo.

Her friend frowned. “Are you sure? I haven’t heard anything like that; I would have sent word if I had.”

Emma shrugged. “I can’t be sure, not until I search.”

“Everything I have here is at your disposal,” August said as he got up and began searching through a desk drawer. He pulled out a copper disk about the size of Emma’s palm and handed it to her. “This will lead you to the safe houses we have set up in the city, should you need one.”

“Thank you, August,” she said, meaning it.

---

Emma returned to The Frog and Frigate after her visit with August armed with a detailed map of the city and updated knowledge of the local politics.

Rumpelstiltskin had arrived in Camelot three years ago, just months after young King Arthur the seventh had ascended to the throne. He had ingratiated himself quickly with the untried and nervous King, goading him into renewing his families quest to return the Holy Grail to Camelot. When the old King’s advisors had disagreed with the notion that some magical cup would solve all of Camelot’s problems, they had been booted removed from their positions. Rumpelstiltskin then became the King’s most trusted, and sole, confidant.

Understandably, angered a number of aristocrats and for the past two years, there had been a bit of a rift between the King and his court. Only recently had it begun to heal, with the King agreeing to marry Lady Gwendolyn, the daughter of Camelot’s formerly most powerful Count. Rumpelstiltskin was an outspoken critic of the marriage. Officially, he didn’t believe the woman suitable in temperament to be Queen, but everyone knew it was because he feared losing his influence over the King.

Emma was holed up in the inn’s private dining room contemplating whether or not she could risk speaking with the disgruntled members of the court in hopes of finding an ally when Hook found her.

“Swan! Care for a spot of lunch?” he asked, poking his head into the room.

At the thought of food, Emma’s stomach answered for her. Hook laughed and returned a few minutes later with two plates of food, one in his hand and the other balanced on the flat of his hook. Emma pushed her map out of the way to make room. Lunch was roast potatoes and a cut of meat Emma couldn’t immediately identify.

“Have you had any luck in finding the acquaintance you mentioned yesterday?” Emma asked, around a mouthful of well-seasoned potatoes.

“I did, in fact. Scarlet’s always been good at keeping his ear to the ground and I’m sure he’ll be helpful when we need information.” Killian poked at the meat with his hook as he talked and Emma was glad she wasn’t the only one who was a little suspicious of it.

“How did your visit with the local Assassin Leader go?” Killian asked, giving her a smug look.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Hook had known where she had gone even though she hadn’t told him of her destination.

“It could have gone worse. Word of my betrayal hasn’t managed to travel this far south,” she replied as she took a cautious bite of the meat. It tasted like goat, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

“I made sure not to tell Scarlet too much about what we had planned. Even so, he did let me know that five nights from now, the royal family is hosting a ball to celebrate the King’s recent engagement. It may be the perfect opportunity for us to abduct this Rumpelstiltskin.”

Emma stared at Hook, trying to comprehend his logic behind his plan. “A ball… You’re suggesting we infiltrate the royal castle of Camelot and abduct the court sorcerer while they are hosting a ball?”

“Come now, Swan. History tells me this is a tried and true Assassin tradition. Didn’t Ezio Auditore once assassinate a prince at his own banquet?” Hook countered.

Emma blinked. “He was protecting the Prince, actually.” she answered, amazed that Hook knew such an obscure piece of Assassin history.

He waved his hook dismissively. “Regardless, at a soiree of this size, the guards will be tired, over worked, and likely a bit drunk. It’ll be the perfect time to go unnoticed.”

Slouching in her chair, Emma rubbed her forehead, frowning. However much she disliked the proposed plan, she had to admit that Hook’s reasoning wasn’t far off the mark. With so many people attending a royal function, there would be plenty of unknown faces to blend in with if needed.

“I can only see this plan working if Rumpelstiltskin isn’t attending the ball itself. We can’t kidnap him from a room full of people,” she said, beginning to consider the plan against her better judgment.

Hook grinned, excited, and Emma’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll talk to Will again and see what he can tell me about the sorcerer’s habits. Providing, of course, you don’t mind giving him an idea of who you are after.”

Emma thought about that as she finished her lunch. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of revealing so much about her plan to another person. As friendly as she had become with the men of Hook’s crew, only the Captain and Starkey knew the target of her mission.

“Do you trust this Will Scarlet?” She finally asked.

Hook took his time to think about her question before answering. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve worked with the man, but he’s never been the type to sell out another for his own benefit. The only way he would betray us would be if Anastasia is in danger.”

Emma had to grudgingly admire Hook’s honesty, but she wasn’t ready to let down that wall yet. “Why don’t you take me to meet Scarlet and I’ll judge for myself whether he is trustworthy.”

---

Killian was initially hesitant to take Swan to The White Rabbit. Even though he knew that Swan was more than capable of taking care of herself, he felt the need to protect her from any situation where she might need to do so.

So during the walk to the tavern, Killian found himself walking closer to Swan than was strictly necessary, under the guise of telling her about his history with Will Scarlet. She asked a lot of pointed questions, probing his memories of the thief.

When they reached The White Rabbit, Killian casually rested his hand on the small of Swan’s back as he guided her towards the bar. She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t object.

“Will you tell Scarlet that Jones is here to see him?” Killian asked Leonard, the same barkeep from the night before.

“Got something to sell this time?” the man asked, glaring.

“No. But he should be expecting me.” Killian had had Logan deliver a message to Scarlet earlier in the day that he would be stopping by.

Leonard grunted. “Scarlet’s busy. Have a pint while you wait.”

Killian noticed Swan rolling her eyes at Leopold’s recalcitrance as he purchased two pints of beer. He was happy to see that they appeared to have run out of the hoppy beer from the night before and had switched to an ale.

He and Swan took a seat at a table near the back of the tavern. Since they both wanted to keep their backs to the wall, he and Swan both ended up on the same side of the table. Together, they sipped their ale and watched the taverns other patrons. Well, Swan was studying their surroundings, but Killian found himself watching his companion instead.

“Has your friend become a fence?” Swan asked, her eyes glancing around the room. He figured she was cataloguing all of the available exits.

“I suppose,” he answered. It fit. Scarlet had always had a good eye for valuables.

Killian was almost finished with the halfway decent ale when Scarlet dropped into the seat across from Swan and himself. Scarlet gave Swan a quick once over before he grinned at Killian.

“Jones, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Scarlet, this is Swan. It is her business that has brought me to Camelot. Swan, William Scarlet.” Killian introduced them and watched as the two of them sized the other up as they shook hands.

From the way she was frowning, Swan was clearly unimpressed with Scarlet. Killian couldn’t blame her; Scarlet had always had an aura of a man who couldn’t be fully trusted. His smile, unless it was for Anastasia, was always a little sly, his hands too quick.

Regardless, Swan forged ahead. “I need to know about the court sorcerer, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Scarlet clucked his tongue. “He’s a mystery, that one. Showed up out of the blue a few years back and weaseled his way into Arthur’s good graces. Word is he practices dark magic.”

Swan frowned, evidently unhappy to be receiving information she had heard before.

Scarlet continued, “Came to see me, last year, asking about some dagger. Gives me the creeps, that one.” Scarlet gave a visible shiver to emphasize his point. “Is he who you’re after?”

“In a way,” Swan said tersely.

Scarlet shrugged his shoulders. “Well the Kingdom won’t be sad to see him gone. What kind of information do you need?”

“I need to know his habits. Does he keep to himself? Spend most of his time in Merlin’s Tower? Go anywhere in the city on a regular basis?” Emma demanded.

Taking a sip of his pint, Hook watched as Scarlet leaned back in his chair, obviously deep in thought.

“Rumor has it he spends most of his time in the Tower,” Scarlet said eventually, with some reluctance. “Only really appears when the King requests his presence for meetings or royal functions. Even then, he leaves as early as protocol allows. Rarely comes into town.”

Killian grinned. If Rumpelstiltskin normally left royal functions early, he would likely be alone in his tower the night of the royal ball.

“Any chance you have a map of the castle?” Killian found himself asking, excited that his plan may have true merit.

Scarlet rolled his eyes at him before he replied, “Might.”

“It would be quite helpful if we could borrow it,” Swan said as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

Scarlet looked unconvinced about lending out such a valuable bit of information. Or at least he was until Killian fished into his pocket and laid a couple of silver coins on the table. Scarlet quickly scooped them up.

“It’s at home. I’ll bring it by your inn in the morning.”

---

Emma was pleased to find that Scarlet was good on his word and did, in fact, show up the next day at The Frog and Frigate just as she was finishing her breakfast. Map acquired, she and Hook commandeered the same private dining room she had used yesterday to pore over it.

The map was remarkably detailed. It not only included the locations of main rooms and halls, but smaller ones such as closets and lavatories. There were even notations about the usual routes guards took in different parts of the castle when on patrols. She had no doubt that Camelot’s King had lost some precious items to the intrepid William Scarlet.

“If this is accurate, there is a small gate on the south side of the castle that leads to the gardens. It looks like there is a service road that cuts through the forest that leads up to it. We could enter the grounds there and as so long as we avoid the kitchens, we should be able to make our way towards the Tower without being noticed,” Emma muttered, mostly to herself.

“Yes, we could do that, or…” the sound of a chair scrapping against stone caused Emma to raise her head. Hook made his way over to where she sat and held out his hand in invitation. Confused, Emma none the less placed her hand in his and allowed herself to drawn towards him.

“Or, we could attend the celebrations as invited guests, have ourselves a jolly good time, and then wander off.” Hook’s left arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her close, and he began to lead her in the first few steps of a waltz. “The guards won’t outright challenge a couple of lost guests, or those seeking somewhere private for some.... personal delights.” Hook had brought his lips close to her neck as he’d spoken, practically breathing the last words in her ear.

Emma shivered. “We’re planning to abduct one of the most powerful sorcerers in the realms and all you can think about is personal delights?”

“I am a man of many talents, Swan,” Hook whispered.

Emma allowed herself to enjoy the feel of Hook’s arms around her for a moment longer than she should have before pulling away. He let her go without a fuss.

“First things first. We have plans to make. Pleasure will have to wait for later.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Emma figured she was in for some witty and flirtatious comeback from Hook. Instead, he simply smiled and bowed. “I look forward to it,” before joining her in once more studying Scarlet’s map.

“We can make out way to Merlin’s tower through the gardens,” Hook added, tracing the route he was describing with a finger. “Once we have the sorcerer, we can go out through the gate you mentioned. Starkey can meet us with a carriage or cart.”

Together, they managed to come up with the beginnings of a plan that seemed like it would actually succeeded. However, there were a few factors that needed to be sorted before they could fully commit to arranging the finer details.

One, they would need invitation to attend the royal ball.

Two, a well maintained but unremarkable carriage would be needed to transport them to the castle and again away once they had Rumpelstiltskin in custody. It would also need to be sturdy enough to make the overland trip back to Hedge’s Run and The Jolly Roger. Hook had deemed it too dangerous to involve any of the local barge captains and risk the journey by boat.

And, most importantly, three, Emma would need to determine how she could hide any necessary weapons and gear she would need within whatever frippery was in fashion this season for Camelot’s ruling class.

The invitation, of course, would be the hardest to obtain. When asked whether or not he though Scarlet would be able to procure one, Hook shook his head.

“I’m sure he can get us a carriage no one will miss and some respectable clothes, but I doubt he is that well connected. We will need a legitimate invitation. A stolen one would only get us arrest.”

Disappointing as his assessment was, Emma agreed.

Sadly, that would leave them with only one other option: The Brotherhood.

---

Around midday, Emma set out once again toward Geppetto’s Tisanes. August, she hoped, would have the contacts to procure an invitation and not ask too many questions about why.

The teashop was busy when she arrived, with both August and Becket alternating between being behind the counter selling tea and serving those customers drinking at the tables. Emma managed to secure a table of her own when a couple of elderly gentlemen left and settled in to wait.

After a few minutes, August brought her a pot with tea a deep red in color and a single cup and saucer. No sugar, no cream. He knew she wouldn’t use either.

The tea was her favorite, called Yunnan Black, and it came from Mulan’s home empire in the east. It was rich and malty, with a note of sweetness at the end.

It reminded her of home, of long days learning the intricate art of diplomacy from her mother and even longer nights mastering the Assassin’s deadly arts. Mulan had first introduced her to the tea when the two of them had been Initiates together, trying to memorize the many ways to kill with a single stroke of a blade.

Allowing herself to enjoy the memories, time passed, and eventually the shop’s business slowed enough to August to join her at her table. He brought with him his own pot of tea, a pungent smelling brew that made her wrinkle her nose.

“It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Emma,” her friend said with a smile as he sat across from her.

“Likewise. However, I’m afraid I am here to talk more business,” Emma replied, glancing around to assess the safety of speaking in the shop. It was mostly empty, with Becket behind the counter and a few patrons lingering at a table on the far side of the room.

August gathered their pots of tea and cups onto a tray and transported them into the back of the shop, jerking his head to indicate she should follow.

“This should be fine,” Emma said. Trying to make August navigate the steep ladder down to the secure room below while balancing pots of hot tea seemed dicey.

August nodded and together they cleared a spot on his worktable.

“I need an invitation to the royal ball being held in a few days,” Emma said frankly.

August barely reacted to her blunt request. The only sign of his surprise was barely visible tightening of his lips. He, like Emma, had been well-taught not to show shock even at the most outrageous of statements.

“Emma, why?” he asked calmly.

Emma sipped her tea, fortifying herself. “Robert Gold enjoys the finer things in life and isn’t likely hiding among the common folk of Camelot. If I am to find him, he’ll be among the elite of the kingdom.”

August studied her for a few moments. Every Assassin was trained to spot a lie, but they were also schooled in how to tell one without giving any of the telltale signs.

“I have a few contacts who may be able to get one. I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last, sighing heavily. “Just promise me you don’t do anything rash, if you do find him. I can’t help you if you create a diplomatic incident. Not without the Brotherhood’s say-so.”

“I promise,” Emma said. The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.

Chapter 8

A/N: Trying something new by putting the art in the story, please let me know if you like it!

#CSBB #CSBB 2017 #CS FF #CS AU #Captain Swan #Assassin's Creed: Misthaven #My writing #AC:M

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dent-de-leon · 1 year ago

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every time I remember that we're getting animated mighty nein and I'll get to see the Circus Man and Magic Man tenderly kiss each other on the forehead I feel weak--

#theyre everything to me--#and when I get 'please dont give up. you can still find your own life again. there will be time for that later'#'empty no longer mr tealeaf.'#'i kiss him where he kissed me a long time ago'#'oh youre cute magic man--'#'this might be your first time meeting us but its our second time. stick with us.' 'we have a habit of taking in strays--'#then what??#i will be simply inconsolable--

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dent-de-leon · 4 days ago

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It shatters my whole heart that Caleb was the one who fought the hardest to save Molly in that final battle, that Caleb is the one who dreams of “reunion.” Tries to dig Molly’s corpse up with his bare hands because he believes he’s already damned, because he thinks his soul is beyond saving but Molly isn’t. “I’m already going to hell anyway.”

Caleb feeling lost and aching and directionless in Aeor, his only guiding light Mollymauk. “I know that we are supposed to go where Molly is, or we wouldn’t have seen the things we’ve seen. We wouldn’t be the Mighty Nein.” “Why did we come all this way, if not for this? Why did we go so far, and fight so hard…?”

Caleb pleading with the rest of the Nein to give Molly one last chance, to try and risk a resurrection. Caleb being the one to cast the spell, perform the ritual, and still…even as Caleb promises Molly, “Empty no longer, Mr. Tealeaf,” he still doesn’t let himself give one of the offerings. He lets other members of the Nein have that moment to reach out to Molly and connect, to bargain with his soul and try to convince him to return to them.

Caleb wanted the rest of the Nein to have that, because he cared so much for all of them. Because he knows how important Molly is to Yasha, Beau, Jester—how badly they’d want to tell him that. And yet…it’s tragic, that Caleb starts this ritual, pours all his heart and soul into it, and then doesn’t let himself take an active part it. How it mirrors the way Caleb just happily watches Molly reunite with the rest of the Nein from afar, content to just stand by and watch the others “descend on Mollymauk” and embrace him. Caleb who has such deeply intense feelings about Mollymauk, who longs so badly to bring him home, and yet. He’s always holding himself back.

Caleb not letting himself tell Molly how badly he misses him until after he’s already lost him. Caleb only returning Molly’s forehead kiss when he thinks he’s gone for good, when he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance to return Molly’s affection…

Do you think the ritual could’ve gone differently if Caleb had let himself give an offering too? If he kissed Molly back before the spell was over, would it have made a difference—

#Caleb widogast #Mollymauk #widomauk #in agony again because….caleb has all these feelings for molly #and just keeps holding himself back #even as he longs to just reach out to molly and be by his side again #Caleb literally using a spell to try and put molly’s corpses in the amber to ‘take him with us’ because there was no way he was just #leaving molly there #Caleb who can’t let molly go no matter how many times death tries to take him #whatever his thread of fate looks like I know it’s never broken from molly—

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dent-de-leon · 7 months ago

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Thinking always of King who still feels so new to the world, excited and eager to explore all that it has to offer. Kingsley who is young and foolish--full of passion and still a romantic at his very core--but also inexperienced. Impulsive, acting on sheer instinct at first; he steals a kiss from Caleb in a moment of weakness, when the memories and dreams start to blur, and his own heart betrays him.

King who feels like he's falling in love for the very first time, whose never had a relationship before. And being alive again for the first time in the longest time, every feeling is sharp as a knife, cuts right through him. The world is too much, too vibrant, too bright; his heart pounding when Caleb holds him in his arms for the very first time, the barest touch lighting a fire in him.

King who wants nothing more than to forget the gnawing, all consuming, hollow ache of Empty, Empty--chasing any rush that makes him feel real and whole, keeping his body grounded in the moment to forget the ceaseless dreams that haunt him day and night. Kingsley who just wants to feel, and touch, and cling to another lost, longing soul.

Caleb whispering soft words of reassurance and gently parting Kingsley's hair, soothing him to dreamless sleep with a kiss on every scar. Caleb knowing what it means to feel as though your heart's been torn away, the desire to just lose yourself in someone else to forget ever feeling Empty. Even if they destroy you along the way--

Caleb returning King's first kiss, gentle and compassionate. Caleb being so protective of this once shattered shard of a soul--a broken promise and a broken stone, the memory of Molly lying naked and bloodied at his feet, the sting of tears when it all fell apart. "Empty no longer, Mr. Tealeaf." Caleb holding onto his Circus Man while he still has the chance, never wanting to let go--wanting so badly for King's first experience with love to be a happy memory.

#mollymauk / king and caleb widogast thoughts haunting me once again--#widomauk #king acts so impulsively and just falls head over heels for caleb and acts on it immediately and i just...cant get over that #i can see him just kinda falling into a relationship with caleb #caleb knowing king feels like he's in a relationship for the very first time and just. being so kind and careful with him #caleb who has let others into his heart and been burned before #who wants to make sure king never gets his heart broken like that--#caleb being his very first partner and how much that means to both of them--#they simply mean the world to me--

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dent-de-leon · 2 years ago

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Because if any of these make into the animated series I think it'll both make me cry and warm my whole heart. I just really miss them and can't wait to see the Circus Man and Magic Man together again 🧡💜

#widmauk #critical role #caleb widogast #mollymauk #mighty nein

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dent-de-leon · 1 year ago

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"The dreams are still getting worse, aren't they?" Caleb's voice is a soft lilt, quiet and comforting. The raw tenderness of it makes King bristle--prickling away at something beneath the skin, a festering wound that just won't heal.

"I'm not one of your students," he bites back, sickeningly satisfied at the stricken look on Caleb's face. "You don't have to keep an eye on me, professor."

The cabin walls were too closed in, too stifling. He very nearly ran at the last port, just taken off into the night and stolen the first ship to catch his eye. But somehow Caleb Widogast is still bloody here, with that soft smile and those knowing eyes, pressing a healing potion into his palms that's worth far more in gold than his pride.

And even here on the deck, bracing gusts of frigid wind tousling his hair, the ocean as vastly dark and deep as twisting nightmares of the Astral Sea--void black and spiraling endlessly--here in the open air, he still can't breathe.

A whispered word, a snap of the wizard's clever fingers, and brilliant glowing globules flickered to life, gently drifting in the chilled night air, bobbing and weaving among the stars like ghost lights. That faint pulse of golden amber--the barest brush of Caleb's magic, a simple cantrip--just that soft touch of delicate spellwork was enough.

Kingsley felt it. A rush of comforting warmth and light-headed glee, a constant hum thrumming in his blood. The man's magic called to him, vibrant and inviting, enveloping his shattered soul in its tender embrace. Beckoning him home. It's all he can do not to flinch, to suppress a shudder, gooseflesh prickling along his skin.

It feels...intimately familiar. Grounding. Like a scent you could never forget. Incense burning as he lays down his cards, the cloying sweet aroma of sandalwood wafting through their cozy caravan. Dried rose petals scattered amidst scrapped sketches. A cup of his favorite tea left to steep. Someplace he couldn't escape.

As if he always carried a piece of the other man with him. It was far too tempting to bask in the warmth of that dazzling light; to lay his soul bare again, let Caleb's magic wash over him, set his wanting heart aflame. "Empty no longer, Mr. Tealeaf," Caleb had whispered, promised. A vow was a dangerous thing in such rituals, as binding as the very threads of fate themselves.

He winces. Why does he know that? He shouldn't. He shouldn't, but. A dark whisper purred arcane secrets in the bleeding edges of his subconscious, forbidden power and sacred rites, the innate force of sacrifice. Caleb's lucky stone shattering, his tears falling, shaking hands combing through his hair, warm lips on his bloodied skin--Caleb giving his own magic as an offering, pouring his very life into every spark of flickering light, fervently promising to restore his shattered soul. A vow sealed with a kiss--

His heart was already Caleb's.

"I--I care for you, Tealeaf," his Magician murmurs softly, a tentative hand reaching out--

King shakes free of his grasp, pulling away and turning his back on the man. This was a mistake. Telling Caleb anything--nearly everything--of course it was a mistake.

"You're carrying enough burdens, Mr. Caleb. And there's only so much one person can bear. Don't go taking on another lost cause."

But his Magician gazes back at him with such wistful longing, it makes his heart ache. Kingsley stands there petrified, heart hammering in his chest, utterly powerless as the man before him starts to close the distance. They're worlds apart, but in just a few steps they're face-to-face, and this time when Caleb dares to reach for him, he doesn't flinch away.

Caleb's touch is the barest press of fingertips grazing over mottled scars and bleeding ink, soothing and calculated, a flicker of desire dancing between urgency and restraint, real enough to center his drifting, wayward soul.

Caleb's thumb brushes lightly over King's collarbone, eliciting a soft intake of breath--a wordless plea for more.

"These are new," Caleb breathes, just above a whisper, his delicate touch trailing over the bare skin at King's throat.

Ah yes, wizards and their perfect memories. A neat trick, he has to admit. But once he realizes Caleb has memorized him, meticulously cataloguing each new scar with such attentive care, tenderly running his hands over each and every wound--something in his infernal heart twists.

Don't, he thinks, all his lives bleeding together again, every memory coalescing in the soothing balm of a single kiss. Don't you dare. It's far too late for this.

"I've had scars for as long as I can remember," he laughs. "What's a few more here and there?"

Never mind that he usually keeps the collar buttoned up, hides as much of the scarring as he can--covers up the empty patch of unmarked skin where a red eye used to brand him.

He pointedly does not fixate on the mage's lingering touch, the way those piercing eyes see right through to his bleeding heart.

"You still fight the same, don't you?" Caleb asks, so quiet Kingsley almost didn't hear it. "Volatile and reckless. It's a wonder your crew still has a captain at all. You fear nothing, and yet--I know that look, friend. Tell me, how many nights have you gone without sleep? What is it you're running from?"

This body. The Mighty Nein. You. Everything--

There's a million things, but neither of them have time for this. Not when each new night brings more vivid, violent dreams. The Moonweaver's voice waning softer as Ruidus rises, the sweet dreams of a beautiful woman and charming circus decaying into restless night terrors. Alien screams and all seeing eyes, Catha eclipsed in a sea of red. The ever gnawing sense that he was running out of time.

When he speaks, his gaze gets lost in the tide, swept away with the steady crash of waves and gusting winds. If he peers out as far as he can into the horizon, he can just barely catch a glimpse of searing red.

"There's always this...this bloody scream and that red moon," he chokes out. "Chains."

He can feel them even now, binding him to some otherworldly plane. Pitch black manacles biting into his wrists and ankles and dragging him down, down--

"Tealeaf. Look at me."

He can't look. Can't let the Magician see him, not like this, not when he's had too many sleepless nights, too many drinks, too many close calls and quick escapes. And one day he's going to have to face the gutting truth. He still feels Empty whenever he's away.

It made him feel real, whenever Caleb's warm eyes lingered on him. He found himself intrinsically drawn to all of the Nein, the world less Empty and cold when he was by their side. But Caleb. Caleb. A single glance from the man, and he almost remembered everything. It was exhilarating. Terrifying.

He wonders if the Moonweaver meant it as a curse or blessing. And hopes foolishly that whatever magic binds them together, Caleb can feel it too.

"I did not follow you all the way to Cognouza just to lose you like this," Caleb says sharply. "You think I would not do it all again in a heartbeat? You think I'd just leave you to the wolves? Come, you know me better than that, ja?" His lips curl in a wry grin, a pained smile that echoes King's own melancholy. "Besides, I...I have always had a weakness for strays."

Somewhere in his mind's eye, King sees a stack of letters left unopened. A muttered curse and sharp hiss, drops of blood splattering down, soaking into the parchment. He scrambles to clot the blood, to stem the flow, tearing himself from the desk before his damned blood can desecrate anything else. He wants to tip the whole desk over and send it crashing to the floor, watch it all fall apart.

One wrong move and an inkwell spills over, bleeding into blood, blotting out the words he was so desperate to cling to.

He can never quite remember what the letters say. Why he couldn't bear to let go of a single one.

But Kingsley does know that a part of him is still a coward; that he still clings to a weathered journal he doesn't have the guts to read. That with each passing day, there is another message, another soft whisper of Zemnian echoing from an old Sending Stone. And for many long nights, he would toss and turn and replay Caleb's warm words over and over.

But he never replied. Not to Jester's cheerful voice still ringing with laughter. Not to Caleb's gentle murmur.

I have a weakness for you too, King thinks, his hand itching to reach for the coat pocket where a stack of creased and dog-eared cards still rests. Longs to let his fingers cling to something real, to trace the softly smiling portrait of his Magician.

Kingsley knows, deep in his bones, that their souls are inexorably bound. Caleb's ritual didn't end in Cognouza--the effects of it still lingered beneath his skin, ghosting at his every breath. Perhaps it was the infinite possibility of the Astral Sea, the ineffable world of imagination and dreams. Or perhaps it was the moment their cleric called upon Divine Intervention, the gods themselves pulling him back from the brink, severing him from the sweet catharsis of surrender--

But the Magician's spell, cast in desperation, imbued with all the power of dreams and gods and the beating heart of a man who lost all faith long ago--it tied their lost souls together still. Threads of fate weaving between their broken hearts, anchoring him back to this shattered world.

He wonders, idly, if there’s some way he can give it back. If…if anything ever happened to Caleb—and it wouldn’t, because he was a smart boy, a survivor; clever and stubborn and tougher than he looked—but if it did, then maybe Kingsley could offer that life back. Let it course through the Magician’s veins instead. Return the gift he never asked for and surely didn’t deserve.

"If you really care"--and isn't that rich, the shattered shard of some empty husk without a soul, accusing someone real of not knowing how to feel--"then you'll stop trying to take on the whole world alone. If you were half as smart as I thought--or half as clever as you believe--then you won't go off and get yourself killed for nothing," he seethes through his teeth.

And Caleb, that arsehole, has the audacity to comb his fingers through King's hair so gently, to gaze into his eyes with such ardent longing.

"You don't know what you're asking of me. If...if you were truly born under Ruidus' light in the midst of the Savalirwood--more than that, if Lucien was fate touched--then you would be in grave danger, Mr. Tealeaf. I...I have seen firsthand what other wizards will do to fated souls. How much they'd torture you for just a taste of power. You managed to escape the Somnovem, but. What if you caught the attention of another? You got your life back, Tealeaf. You got another chance. You would risk losing it all again so soon?"

Of everything, that is what breaks him. Kingsley sees red, hands starting to tremble as he barks out a raw, hollow laugh. He sees it all in a flash, his hands clawing away at the dirt, tearing away at the earth until a beam of moonlight bleeds through--a glare of vibrant, burning crimson. His first gasps for air under a cursed moon. Whispers in the caravans of twisted fates and ill omen, rumors of other hapless souls sacrificed on blood red nights--

"You think I have a family or lover like everyone else? Anyone who'd really miss me? You think I've got a past and a future like the rest of you? I don't have anything to lose!" Kingsley snaps, a hoarse rasp that curls into a growl, words laced with the harsh, guttural snarl of Infernal.

The words are eerily familiar, an echo in the darkened caverns of a forgotten temple; smiling to bear sharp teeth, to stave off the clawing loneliness creeping in. "Why not?" he dares, challenges. Empty laughter echoing in the dark. "All of you weren't going to do it, you were all taking your bloody time. And what else do I have?" Rallying to justify it to himself, to them, as though speaking the words aloud will make them ring true, "I'm not betraying anything."

What else do I have? Just some bad dreams and an empty throne.

"You have me," Caleb breathes in a broken rasp. "And I--I could not bear to lose you, Mr. Tealeaf. Not again. Please."

The image returns, unbidden, of Caleb Widogast cradling him in his arms. Delicately parting his hair and bending down to return a gentle forehead kiss. Tealeaf imagines what it’d be like if his eyes fluttered open then, if he’d bolted upright and surged forward to meet the wizard—took him in a kiss that was far more passionate.

What it’d be like to feel Caleb’s lips on his, to pull him closer until they were lost in each other. Thinks of the two of them giddy and giggling after a good night at the tavern, Caleb singing some silly song, making the driest joke, showing off one of his rare smiles in the soft glow of candlelight. Holding him in his arms, taking him for a tumble. A night of fun and revelry and something he doesn't dare believe to be real.

A glint of moonlight washes over him, bathing Caleb in Sehanine's soft glow, sheltering him from Ruidus' gaze. Or so Kingsley hopes. Prays.

"Please," Caleb pleads. "It may sound foolish to you, but. If you would just stay until the solstice is over, it would put my mind at ease. I will have Beauregard, and we have--allies. Contacts. Reinforcements waiting for us in Marquet. We are prepared for this." He reaches out and squeezes Kingsley's hand, tries to ground him. "But if anything were to go wrong, the effects on a fate touched soul could be...catastrophic. Ruidus itself is said to twist fate. And wizards like Ludinus have sacrificed your kind for centuries. If only for my sake, promise me you won't take that risk."

As much as Kingsley hated it, he knew he could not deny him.

"Fine. But if anything happens to you two--anything, you hear me? I--I'm dragging both of you back here. This isn't how we do things, Caleb. That's not how this works. We--" We don't leave people behind--"You're not getting rid of me that easily."

#widomauk #kingsley tealeaf #caleb widogast #ive had most of this sitting in my drafts since before the solstice oneshot announcement and now im terrified and just want #to see king be there for caleb so badly and #here is just my very self indulgent circus man and magic man feelings #i still really hope we get to see them together in the solstice--#still not sure how i feel about this but here it is

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dent-de-leon · 2 years ago

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Spoilers for the Molly comic under the cut, but some parallels about Molly and Lucien's experience with romance and relationships that just breaks my heart:

I'm in agony over the fact that Molly falling in love always ends in death and grief. In Brevyn's final moments alive, Lucien kisses her on the forehead goodbye--and at the thought of that, of Lucien's last moments with his lover, Molly's memories drift back to kissing his Magician--

Mollymauk latches onto Lestera so quickly and falls so head over heels, only to lose her too. Building a whole life with her the way he did with Brevyn. But when he returns home one day, she's already gone, and it's all Molly can do to kiss her one last time. His only way of saying goodbye.

And it's just so heartbreaking and tragic, that Mollymauk felt something for Caleb too--"...a friend in crises emerging to a kiss on the forehead. A tender banishment. Caleb. Softness and light. Clammy skin under rough lips. Molly's nose brushing Caleb's hair..."

Only for it to end in another loss and guilt and grief. Caleb holding Molly's lifeless body in his arms and giving him one last forehead kiss, because it's the only thing he has left to give. Wanting to return a bit of that love and tenderness Molly offered him. Despairing over the fact that all his magic couldn't save him, even after he promised. "Empty no longer, Mr. Tealeaf."

Like Molly's farewell to Lestera. Like Lucien realizing there's nothing else he can do for his fading lover.

Thinking of how Molly finally gets to open his again, one last chance to start a new life. The way he sees Caleb and knows that's still his Magician, the lingering feelings that can't help bleeding in. King flirting with Caleb immediately, falling for him at once the way Molly fell so fast for Lestera. Molly's heart and soul still alive in King, his love for the Nein transcending death. A love where finally he doesn't have to say goodbye.

The way we know King's affection for Caleb comes from Molly's own heart, because Mollymauk himself told Lucien that, "kindness is never lost or forgotten--" I hope one day he gets to tell his Magician just how much he means.

#mollymauk #caleb widogast #widomauk #critical role spoilers #mollymauk mighty nein origins spoilers

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dent-de-leon · 1 year ago

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Hello, I am here once again to cast my Molly thoughts onto you.

Very often I think about Molly once being quiet…empty. But then he thrives in the joys, laughter, and color of the carnival, and then with the Nein.

But sometimes, Molly will have dreams, visions, nightmares of the quiet, the empty, THE EYES, and suddenly, he’s in a state of silence, unable to talk.

The Nein are fumbling on what to do, but then Yasha, his dear Yasha, easily holds himself close, and he hangs onto her like a lifeline. She does her best to talk despite not being the best conversationalist, but it’s what Molly is so familiar with, so soothed by. She tells him of the colorful flowers she’s seen, the crackling sound of thunder from her trips away from the group, the bustling sounds of people she has passed by.

The Nein learn from this, making sure that when Molly is unnervingly silent, they give him sounds, colors, warmth.

Molly may be silent, but never is he empty.

Oh, I absolutely headcannon this as well!! We know that Molly did have nightmares about Lucien and the Eyes--dreams that he always tried to forget. And at the very end of Campaign 2, Matt describes the haunting visions that Kingsley still sees of Cognouza and Lucien night after night. King reliving the moment when he sacrificed himself over and over, the primal alien screams and black chains that followed--

So I definitely think Molly/King still has moments when he feels that familiar, gnawing ache of Empty, once too many nightmares and memories come pouring back. And I can definitely see Yasha running right to his side. When Molly first confesses the truth about Lucien and his days of clawing Emptiness, he's so grateful to have Yasha there for him. Gives her a pat on the shoulder and says, "Thank you, dear." And at the very start of the episode, he stays close by her, still trying to suppress a panic attack--laughing nervously, admitting shakily, "I'm so glad to see you."

Just having Yasha near helps ground him. And if he got lost in feeling Empty again--even if the rest of the world and his memories start to fade, I think he'd still very much be drawn to her and reach out to her for comfort all the same.

I think a lot about how King Molly's first word after Empty is Love, how he goes up to Yasha and gives her a big hug and holds on tight. The way he goes and picks flowers for her and Beau in the Blooming Grove--all these little things that show how much he loves his charm and the rest of the Nein, even though he still doesn't have the words to say it.

The way Jester shows Tealeaf each of the cards in his tarot deck, gently tells him that she hopes just having them again will make him feel a little bit better. Tries her best to give him something concrete to hold onto, to anchor him. I can see her dealing out the cards between them whenever Molly's feeling Empty again, Jester softly telling him who each person is and what their card means. Tealeaf clinging to the deck and reading through it over and over in the moonlight, trying to commemorate every face to memory. The way Jester's so protective of Molly like he always was of her.

And then...I just can't get over how it's Caleb Molly calls out to first after Yasha. How first and foremost he has his Love, is warmed by just the sight of her so much, and then calls out for his Magician right after. The way Caleb fought so hard just for the chance to reunite with Molly, limped to his side and begged the rest of the Nein to save him. Casting the spell to resurrect him, promising so earnestly, "Empty no longer, Mr. Tealeaf." Caleb showing so much love and compassion for Mollymauk, that when all hope seems lost, when he doesn't wake--it's him Yasha turns to for comfort, looking to him for help as she cries, "Is there nothing else to do...? Caleb?" Because they both just love him so much. Because Yasha trusts Caleb to save him.

In those moments when Molly/King goes nonverbal, I think Caleb would also be very patient, very understanding. Because he'd been through very much the same thing, all those years in the sanitarium. We see panel after panel of him silently moving through the years in a haze, and I think it's very much implied he never spoke, never really felt aware. Just years and years of walking through this nightmare, dissociating from the world around him--Trent's spell further distancing him from himself, locking all his memories away.

So if anyone would understand exactly what it is Tealeaf's feeling when all he can say is Empty, I think it's Caleb. Because for an entire decade, that's how he felt. I can see him being kind and gentle with Molly in those moments the way he wished someone would have been for him. Sitting by his side when the memories get to be too much, when it all eats away at him until he feels hollow again. Caleb delicately parting his hair and giving him another forehead kiss, promising him again that he isn't Empty anymore--

It's like how Yasha told Molly having a family again made her feel less empty. I think her and Caleb just understand a lot of Molly's pain and grief in a very intimately familiar way, and it makes them both want to reach back out to Mollymauk like he did for him. Molly, who tells Lucien, "We love broken things the most," and gives his whole heart to try and save other shattered souls.

And I just love your idea that Yasha would see how Molly is grounded by color and light and joy and life; all the vibrant, beautiful things that Molly saw in the world, even though he still knew it was so "harsh and cruel." Yasha giving Mollymauk more wonderful memories to fill that Emptiness, to remind him that he is alive, and whole, and loved.

I think of Yasha holding onto Molly and hugging him as tight as she can when they fall asleep. Playing old songs from the circus on her harp. Beau reading pages from her journal aloud, showing off all the little trinkets she gathered in their travels. Jester fanning out the tarot deck and inviting him to pick a few cards. Drawing with him under the stars. Caleb casting Prismatic Image until golden memories flicker all around them, retelling all of their adventures like it's his favorite story, watching the way Tealeaf's eyes light up--

#mollymauk #circus man my beloved...#this is so sweet and absolutely the kind of thing I imagine #I can definitely see Molly/King starting to feel Empty again whenever the stress of all his nightmares and scattered memories #just become too much #and he subconsciously just...tries to shut it all out to protect himself #I think hes very much someone who needs lots of tactile comfort and affection and reassurance when he closes himself off #and I can see the nein becoming very protective of him and taking care of him like they did in the end of c2 #the way the nein help molly process his trauma and keep him grounded is just very important to me

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