#Box attempts CritRole

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Kryn Opera Subjects, non-conclusive:

- ‘Alas, my true love has been reborn short-lived! We must make the most of the years we have until we are separated again. Unfortunately: politics.’

- ‘Killing All These Goddamn Spiders’ (received terribly by the critics, but a popular favorite)

- ‘My love! I remember you! For reasons contrived, you do not remember me! There is a cure but it is Forbidden. I will attempt it and end up a political prisoner. My den will fall.’

- ‘Just Straight -Up Evangelism with Fancy Clothes On’

- ‘Skirting the line of heresy for fun and profit’

- Heresy, with music.

- ‘More of Those Goddamn Spiders? Hell no.’ (Popular opinion agrees this does not live up to the original.)

- More Evangelism

- ‘Written for a Very Specific and Very Hot Singer Who Can No Longer Sing the Role due to a) new voicebox, who this? b) dying out of beacon range while on tour. Ooh…Awkward’

- ‘My Worst Enemy Has Been Reborn In My Den, and in between the long monologues about the growth of wisdom across many lives, I am really tempted to murder this tiny child who does not yet remember being my enemy’

- ‘Am I Who I Remember Being?: Existentialism for Soprano’

- ‘Thinly Veiled Philosophical Treatise, with shocking amounts of violence’

- ‘Rising From the Underdark’ [umbrella subject]

- ‘Killing All These Goddamn Demons’

- ‘Everyone Knows This Is Propaganda, Come On’

@road-rhythm

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Premises for Kryn Operas, Part III

- “I Am Romanticizing Our Perpetual Border Conflicts With Lots of Noble Horns and A Tenor With Washboard Abs”

- Actually, The Sound Engineering For This One Involves A Totally New Spell Because Everyone Is Wearing Insectoid Helmets The Whole Time

- This Is Just Hamlet

- “Beloved, Leave Me Behind And Seek the Surface, I Will Be With You In The Breeze That Caresses Your Cheek” [adaptation of a pre-Luxon fable]

- “The Matriarchy Is Still A Problem, And I Can’t Believe I Have To Write Another Goddamn Opera About It In Every Life So Far”

- Four Confusing Hours of Dancing Invertebrates [What If The Local Wildlife Were Twee?]

- Blatantly Racist Holdover Classic That Makes Everyone Uncomfortable, And There Are Academic And Critical Brawls Every Time It’s Performed [It’s About Orcs]

- “My Ph.D. Thesis About Themes of Lust In Early Dynastic Literature, Because Putting It To Music Was Less Scary Than The Defense Panel”

- The Scripts Were Collected And Censored, So It’s Anyone’s Guess

- “Wow, The Aurora Watch Sure Are Cool”

- Horrid, Accursed Musical Instrument As A Metaphor For The Seductive Lies Of The Spider Cult

- Edgy Import/Translation/Adaptation Of An Empire Piece

[arodrwho]

lowkey wish i’d started doing this ages back but fuck it. here we are

critrole 1.45 lb

“it’s acid-resistant” i love him

“whatever you want vex’ahlia” “he’s in such a sour mood lately” gEE i wonder why

i know u don’t know abt the deal he made there but surely u do realize u Died right. u must realize that affected him right. like

do. has this not occurred to u

that’s kinda sad actually

not like “wow how sad” sarcasm voice of anger at her, but like. sad as in it implies she maybe doesn’t realize how jus much he cares abt her? doesn’t occur to her that her dying is sth anyone might be any amount messed up abt?

“same could be said abt your new pajamas” hey vax ily

“that almost killed your sister” “that killed my sister” “i can’t say that” “what do you mean?” “i was careless” mmmmmmm

he looks like he might deck him

“all right. um. could you do me a favor?” “yes” “in the future. if there is anything that your little heart desires inside of a box. in the future, could you check with my sister or myself first?” mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“well listen, percy. we are not playing a game” lmao

“percival, i want to apologize. i’m sorry” “and i punch him in his know-it-all fucking mouth” GOOD. HELL YEAH DAMN RIGHT HELL YEAH

like don’t get me wrong i love percy but this. this is satisfying

jus from a sibling perspective

“do u attempt to move out of the way or take it” “yeah let’s take it”

“goodnight percival” “goodnight vax” fucking nice

i’m very delighted, this is very good

kima is not doing so great is she. can someone maybe give her like a hug or

calm emotions spell maybe if she’s down w/that

can keyleth also have a hug? she seems also not good. u know between vex briefly dying & also ur people being Fucked by dragons

“i thought i was gonna lose you and vax” D:

“he said to take him instead, is what he told the entity. he offered his life for yours” vex are u okay

“and my biggest fear was that neither of you were gonna come back”

“he seems to do that quite a lot” yeah i was thinkin of that

“keyleth? thank you dear. and i leave” bo y someone help keyleth though??

“i stay behind and burst into tears” seE??

no but rly though vex are u like alright, that was some heavy shit

like u seem to be handling dying alright (weirdly alright? but i don’t know how ressurections go in the dnd i don’t know dnd things), but the this new information abt the thing ur brother did

“i take out craven edge” oh damn i wasn’t expecting that

scanlan makes me uncomfortable about 75% of the time but currently right now all i can think abt him is “what a bro”

“he called you a dark weapon. does that--do u have feelings and did that hurt them?” grog i love you so goddamn much

“i’ve seen the blood and usually i wipe it off, but u like suck it in, and that’s a little unsettling i’m not gonna lie” lmfao grog i fucking love you. ur the best

“i have a question. would keyleth and scanlan be crying in rooms at the same time?” “right now yes. for very different reasons entirely” fucking incredible. 11/10, a very important question

“and i find my sister’s door, and i stand outside it, and i stare at it for a minute--” “vax, is that you?” “and then i stealth away” “i open the door” o dang

“and i wait for the door to close. and then i walk to keyleth’s door and i knock” o gosh

“you okay?” “i don’t know” hey give him a hug maybe

“what was once a very vibrant goldish-brass color has actually very heavily tarnished” o “cracked in 3 places” welp

“a single dark raven” helo

can like literally everyone have some hugs maybe except like grog n scanlan they seem okay

THank u keyleth a hug finally

“i’m afraid every time i look at one of your faces that it’s going to be the last and i feel like deep down i know that day is coming” D:

“i quickly leave her room” D:

god everyone is so fucked up

“you’re wasting water” “we’re in a drought goddammit!!” god that’s such a california Mood

“from there, i went and fell asleep in this idiot’s doorway” go o D

“i open my door and find my brother falling through it” “mmm i’m awake!” “good morning” “hi” “comfy bed?” “sorry i couldn’t find my room” vax u fuckin dweeb. i love u. also what good convincing sibs

“c’mere u shithead. don’t fuckin do that again” “it’s not like i did it on--” “don’t fuckin do that again alright. just don’t fucking do that again” “alright. i can’t breathe you’re about to kill me again” “you’ll live you’ll live” hey i love them

“i have this armor that i think would look really great on you” he looks so upset

he looks so upset

i want to hug him?????? i haven’t felt a single emotion abt vox machina until right now currently (beyond “oh that was cool!!” and “i love grog so much” that is) but now i am having so many

“and i pull out the arrow” “what’s this” this is the arrow of i’m sorry i killed you

“an evening of unbridled guilt” LMAO i was not expecting to be that close

oh i forgot i was doing this post

“how do you do it? why do you do it?” oooo a Conversation

“yes, but it’s fun while it lasts” scanlan u dweeb

survivors!!

o shit u have 1 dad here

i could have done without knowing that that was not rock but okay cool that sure is some extra pain there thanks matt

doot doot doot that is the ende

[noonmutter]

Critrole Binge Midpoint

Having been binging Critical Role in an attempt to catch up from episode...like...21? for two weeks, I just got to ep 46 last night.

I have had one dream about critrole that I can recall, but all I can actually remember is Taliesin Jaffe--not Percy--was missing a hand and that was a distressing problem for all parties in some way. And not in a “this is a serious medical problem” sort of way; like it was inconvenient for everybody. 

I am on the fence about whether I wish Keyleth as a character (I am fond of Marisha and flat impressed at her ability to modulate her voice on a dime to imply shock or tears) would shut the fuck up or if Vox Machina should really listen to her more often when she rants at them about being monstrous jackasses.

Vax needs a swift kick in the ass that I’m reasonably sure he gets eventually but I’m not there yet so right now I kinda want to shake him until his head falls off.

I don’t miss Orion in the slightest. Tiberius is kinda missed, but not really--not in the way I miss, say, Pike--because while he was entertaining, he didn’t often add anything.

SQUEEZE THE CANDLE, FATTY ARBUCKLE has been rolling around in my brain for hours now. I still don’t know why nobody burst out laughing when he said that. They die when Scanlan does a ditty, but nobody came within a hair’s breadth of throwing up when that came out? Really?

I’m sure I’ll start hallucinating by the time I get to episode 60.

Also I don’t regret having maintained my twitch subscription this entire time, despite not having watched the show live--or at all--for many months. I’ll get there. It’ll be magical. They deserve it anyway.

Finally: God fucking DAMN IT I want a box from Wyrmwood Gaming.

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

thank you, thank you, I do try!

tbh I would raise you “laws are for people who don’t WANT tenure”

The M9, returning to Essek’s outpost: yeah we don’t understand it none of our other wizard friends wanted to come with us into treacherous ancient ruins to kill a super-powerful anti-magic enemy because it’s “dangerous” and they “want to live”

Essek, the drow equivalent of 22, who sassed Ludinus Da’leth directly to his face, said yes when a crew of strangers invited him to their secret basement hot tub, and repeatedly teleported himself into a glacier out of pure stubbornness: wow lame what’s their problem

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Trick or treat :))

Heeeeeey! For you I have an Essek snippet from a document I rediscovered while Looking For Something Else. I have totally and 100% forgotten the context for this. Why is Verin there? We just don't know.

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

More Kryn opera subjects (still non-conclusive):

- ‘Beloved, are you well? Is your trust in the Luxon unshaken? I ask only because you have recently incorporated an arachnid theme into your wardrobe…. Fashions change, but I am concerned about the long-term socio-political consequences.’

- ‘We Have Hated Each Other For Many Lives, and now our progeny are entering into an intimate relationship. Surely we can set aside our differences and all this stockpiled poison (perhaps into your wine)’

- ‘Uncomfortable Echoes of Violent, Matriarchal Hegemony In Our Culture Today: paper-thin allegories for tenor’

- ‘I Yearn For Peace. Unfortunately: Our Neighbors are Fantasy Nationalists, Demons, and Cultists of the Religion that Subjected Us To Spider Tyranny’

- ‘I Am Gripped By Bloodlust! Fortunately: Our Neighbors Are Fantasy Nationalists, Demons, and Cultists of the Religion that Subjected Us To Spider Tyranny’

- ‘The Sun The Sun The Sun!: adaptation of a truly fucked up folktale’

- ‘I Did Away With All My Rivals For Your Affections, Beloved, Conveniently Forgetting About Consecution And Their Inevitable Return For Vengeance. They will kill us both, far from a beacon, assuming you were aware of my schemes.’

- ‘The Dark The Dark The Dark The Dark!: adaptation of another truly fucked up folktale’

- ‘Five Hours (Abridged) Of Splendid Music About The Bright Queen’

- ‘Three Hours of Glorious Music About The Bright Queen’

- ‘Four and a Half Hours of Desperate Music About The Bright Queen (Leylas, Notice Me! Fund my genius!)’

- ‘Delicate Pastoral Wonderment About All This Blighted Nightmare Realm We Have Reclaimed From Actual Literal Hell’

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

the question is do I love my boy enough to start caring about season 3

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

c-kiddo: of all th things to draw from ep133… i chose the ad read to redraw ksjnjfks it was fun tho, just a chill thing to do today :-3

of all th things to draw from ep133… i chose the ad read to redraw ksjnjfks

it was fun tho, just a chill thing to do today :-3

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

trick or treat! :D

Why hello there! Please have a snippet of a conversation from a draft of a thing I forgot about!

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Trick or treat! 🧛‍♀️

Hiya! Here is a snippet from a fic I actually deleted from AO3 a long while back in a misguided wallow of self-doubt. Perhaps I might put it back up someday, but until then:

And if it seems like this cuts off early, it gets, uh, pretty graphic after this and I did not want to drop that even as a trick ^^;

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

how about 39+124 with shadowgast for the non-sexual intimacy writing prompts? feel free to use only one of the prompts if they don't work together (but this seems like a prolific combo for them ;) ) ♥ thanks, love your writing!

oh god oh no an honest conversation??? 😂 They're doomed. I have actually posted this snippet elsewhere, but this prompt seemed like the perfect opportunity to share it here. Please enjoy Honesty Hour feat. Touch-Starvation?

(I don't think there are any obvious applicable cws, but if someone catches one, please let me know and I'll tag it!)

They learn each other slowly, backwards, reverse engineering the normal progression of mutual interest. Two geniuses; of course thorough study follows a grand discovery.

Essek knows Caleb habitually dodges left before he learns that Caleb hates the texture of wool on bare skin. Caleb knows that Essek will go stone still when there is someone in his blindspot, ears swivelling, before he learns that Essek has slightly better than average darkvision for a drow.

“Only two yards or so.” Essek shrugs, as if naturally being able to see 126 feet into pitch darkness is a quirk. Those extra yards are, for a drow, a bit like being able to roll your tongue. “At that distance, it is movement that catches the eye. Grey moving across different grey. Colors are muted or absent altogether.”

Caleb hums a note of interest. “One of my schoolmates could not see red or green. He said my hair was a muddy grey brown.”

“Colorblindness is frequent among my people. I struggle discerning shades of green.” Essek glances at him, a silver minnow flicker in a dark pool. “But I see red very well.”

Caleb can barely make out the lines of Essek’s face in the dimness. He had entered the study off the library under the assumption it was empty. Essek had been reading comfortably in the corner chair by the light of a few glowing beetles escaped from Caduceus’ room. Caleb dropped a stack of books on the coffee table next to the sofa, making Essek jump and giving them both a scare.

“Were you planning to trance here?” Caleb asks, because old habits die hard. He tosses a few globes of light into the air, evening the playing field, just in time to see the last flash of Essek’s wicked, knowing smile. He meets Caleb’s eyes, exchanging a spark, and closes his book. Caleb threw a volatile question into the ring apropos of nothing, and they both know the rules of that game.

“Am I answering my host or my friend?” Essek asks.

In another life, Caleb would fasten onto the quick, unconscious emphasis to ‘friend.’ It costs Essek something to say it every time, doling out the coin of his insecurities and vulnerabilities in the only currency of value that changes hands in their world. Essek spends a fortune like it’s pocket change.

Caleb’s lights turn his white hair to pale gold.

Like a fairytale, it will revert to white salt in the morning.

Trust, too, is coin, and Caleb decides he is too long a miser.

“Your friend.”

Essek is too well disciplined to drop his jaw open, but he pulls his head back and beetles his brow, which is the same thing. Caleb has him totally wrong-footed by validating his claim, and that is… sad.

“I designed this tower to keep my friends safe in comfort. You are a friend,” Caleb assures him.

Silence from the man in the corner chair. Then, testing the bridge over the chasm: “...Your friend.”

It’s a question posed as a statement. Caleb rifles through what little he knows about Undercommon, wondering if there is a grammatical hang-up somewhere or if Essek has really assumed he was tolerated here on nothing more than Caleb’s polite forbearance all these weeks. The longer the pause, the more mild and pleasant Essek’s face becomes, like the Shadowhand’s mask-like smile lives in his bones and emerges from the marrow.

Before Essek shutters completely, Caleb forces the truth between reluctant lips and says, “My friend, ja.”

Silence again, this time scrutinizing, not nervous. It fades into meek happiness. This, from an arcanist who sold his nation’s literal souls for a dipperful of water out of the well of knowledge, even knowing the well was poisoned. For someone so cautious, Essek’s calculated risks are monumentally self-destructive. No wonder he is cashing out bites of his heart at the end of the world.

“Were you planning to trance here?” Caleb asks again, trying to make it a teasing question.

“Ah.” Essek worries sheepishness and shame between his fingers. “Yes, actually.”

Caleb’s brow furrows as he thinks. “Should I change anything about your rooms?”

Essek huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “It sounds so ungrateful, but this space feels… I’m not sure. Occupied? That is not the word.”

“Lived in?” Caleb supplies, already mentally adding wear to the plush carpets of Essek’s suite, tarnished door handles, some of Luc’s scribbles at halfling-child height on the walls, visible cat pathways, and the like.

“Yes! That's it. I....” Essek trails off. He deliberates, mutters as if admitting something taboo. “Luxurious solitude holds less appeal than it used to.”

“I understand,” says Caleb. “I want you to feel comfortable in the tower.” He smiles, knowing Essek probably needs the reinforcement of expression with the words.

The spark when their eyes meet again would be strong enough to restart a heart.

Caleb feels the change tipping towards something warmer and makes a gamble. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable right now?”

Essek would not have survived so long in court if he couldn’t identify flirting. He smirks in coy appreciation even as his eyes express something very different. Sitting cross-legged on the big corner armchair, Essek unfolds himself, puts his feet on the floor, and perches forward on the chair leaning steeply towards Caleb. He scours Caleb with a searching look yet again.

“Yes,” he says, at last, with the beautifully synthetic confidence of the terrified. He stands and comes to sit on the far end of the sofa from Caleb, which is not what Caleb was expecting. Caleb had hopes for a lapful of elf, but, then again, they are still struggling to make eye contact for longer than a second. Essek leans forward earnestly as he did before. “But I have a question for you, first.”

Frost rimes the edges of Caleb’s heart. “Do you now.”

“No! I- yes.” Essek steeples his fingers and presses them against his lips. Caleb thaws as he watches Essek struggle to ask his question. His head snaps up, silver eyes narrowed. “Promise you will not mock me for this.”

Caleb’s eyebrows rise, but he holds up his right hand. “I promise, if it is that important to you.”

All in a rush, with barely contained shame, Essek shoves the words towards Caleb. “How does a person ask for touch?”

Essek’s teeth snap shut.

Caleb’s heart breaks a little more.

Some of Essek’s mask slams into place like a reflexive portcullis, and Caleb doesn’t begrudge him that retreat.

Essek continues, more academic. “I have tried replicating the body language that prompted you to take my arm, but that hasn’t worked. Jester is generous with hugs, but those are typically a greeting or by her whim. Caduceus would be so kind about this I couldn’t bear to ask him. And I am not about to walk up behind you and slap your ass, so that rules out Veth, Beau, and Yasha as examples. Yes, I know the word ‘ass,’” says Essek when Caleb makes an undignified little choking sound. “That leaves Fjord, who is… gentle and strong in a way I certainly am not.”

Caleb does not laugh, thus clearing the easiest of bars. “You always flinch,” he explains gently. “I assumed you would rather not be touched.”

“Of course I flinch,” Essek snaps, but at himself and not at Caleb. “It feels like- like…I do not know what it feels like.”

Caleb remembers what it feels like. Years by himself, slinking through towns like a kicked dog, and the decade of nothing preceding; working up the nerve to hold Veth’s small, green hand felt more monumental than his escape from Vergessen in the moment.

Searching for a baseline, Caleb asks, “When Jester hugged you, that day when you gave us the house-“

“That was the most willing personal contact I made in more than fifty years.” Essek’s words drop like a sandbag into the space between them.

“Well,” says Caleb, recovering. “No time like the present. May I?”

Essek nods, face tight. But, as Caleb reaches forward, Essek watches his hand as he would watch a snake and stiffens in something that looks like dread. Caleb pulls back, considers. “What about the reverse? Come closer, please?”

Essek creeps forward.

“You start,” Caleb encourages. “Do what feels natural, ja? I will say stop if you do anything I don’t want you doing. Though, uh, please stay above the belt.”

Essek turns a charming shade of plum. “I wouldn’t dream—“

“You can dream,” says Caleb, honestly, earnestly. “You can dream, if you like. I know I do.”

Essek almost glows with embarrassment, but now that they have acknowledged the mammoth in the room, he regains some of his archness. “I… would encourage you to dream,” he says, a quiet but delicious note of confidence in ‘encourage.’

“Good, because I intend to do so. We could—“

“—compare notes?” Essek asks, grimacing. “Caleb, that’s dreadful.”

Caleb just grins, and Essek’s hand comes up of its own volition to touch the corner of his mouth. Essek hovers there, but when he is not rebuffed, he traces his fingertip along Caleb’s cheekbone. Caleb is as patient as a stone and as taut as a bowstring under his hands. Dark fingers ghost Caleb’s hairline, press a little more firmly into the texture of his beard, smooth featherlight over the thin skin below his eyes, the long, strong line of his nose, tickle the rounded, pink shell of his ears.

By the time Essek is brave enough to lay the pad of his thumb on Caleb’s lower lip, he is also wild-eyed and half-ready to bolt. Caleb telegraphs every movement, takes Essek’s hand, and transfers it to his collarbone.

“Come here?” Caleb asks, lifting his arm to create an inviting place at his side. Glaciers move faster. Essek fights himself every step of the way.

But once he is sitting with Caleb’s arm around his shoulders, a barricade of inhibitions collapses. Essek tucks his legs up and curls against Caleb’s side. Caleb’s hopes for a lapful of elf continue unfulfilled, but perhaps this cat-curl of trembling elf with his cheek on Caleb’s chest is better. Essek has a fistful of itchy wool sweater.

“Sorry about the wool. It’s so warm with a shirt underneath, but it can’t be comfortable.” Caleb wants to play with Essek’s hair, but refrains.

Essek only clutches the sweater tighter, and Caleb smiles.

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

artistic-cocoon: Mission Accomplished Bonus solo Veth: 

Mission Accomplished

Bonus solo Veth:

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Summary:

Caleb knows what it is to be hunted. He sees it in Essek’s careful placement of his minimal luggage, how he has not unpacked anything more than what is needed at the moment, the modest respectability of his nightclothes, how he sets his boots by the bedroom door instead of on the tray in the foyer.

The Dynasty’s memory is longer than lifetimes, and Kryn lives are already long. Ludinous Daleth keeps fat ledgers. Their quarry will go to ground tonight with his head on Caleb’s pillow."

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Drabble prompt for you! Shadowgast, 30 “It made a difference to me.” or 26 “Why are you lying?”

How fun is it to say that this is technically finale spoilers?! cw: extremely vague references to Caleb's backstory.

~ Essek is a deft hand with a knife. Orange peel wedges heap one corner of the tabletop. On the rare occasions they cook for themselves - neither being much good in the kitchen - he preps and Caleb assembles.

“Another orange?” Caleb smiles and takes the slice Essek offers.

Essek savors an orange slice with evident bliss, eyes closed. Shameless, Caleb commits the expression to memory for later comparison with other blissful faces. From the way Essek peeks at him from between white lashes, this is intentional. A tiny smirk dimples his cheek.

“You say that as if you did not pick this hideaway for the trees in the yard.” Essek licks orange juice from his lower lip, and Caleb finds his attention wandering far away from the flatbreads cooking on the skillet.

It’s too hot for a heavy meal, so they have put together a hodgepodge of fruit, cheeses, assorted pickles, cold sliced meats, vegetable slices for a mysterious beet-red relish courtesy of Caduceus, and a single dish of ungodly spicy chutney Caleb has learned not to touch. But bread, even flatbread, Caleb maintains, should be made or bought fresh. He smells the current batch singeing and reluctantly looks away from Essek.

Essek resumes paring fruit, pausing at irregular intervals for a slice of orange. Caleb turns the bread in the skillet. It’s not a loud sound, the knife cutting into a peach, but he can hear it over the sizzle of the bread. Fibrous. Ripe with sweet summer juices that patter wet on the tabletop.

“Essek.”

Essek looks up. A neat, wide ribbon of peach skin curls away from his knife. Fuzzy peach hairs stand out in the evening light slanting through the window. Caleb reaches a shaky hand for a slice of orange. He eats it slowly.

Essek does nothing so gauche as to set down the knife. Unlike Caleb’s, his hands stay steady chopping carrots and peeling peaches. He turns the fruit and continues working the blade between fruit flesh and fruit skin, waiting for Caleb to collect himself without word or judgement.

“Why do you like oranges so much?”

One fang pokes over Essek’s lower lip. Now, he sets down peach and knife to select another orange slice. “Novelty,” he answers. “The den has its greenhouses. I was accustomed to daylight vegetables and fruits on my plate. All of it grew under artificial lights, of course. Here, I can step out the side door and take oranges right off the tree.”

Caleb snaps the flame under the skillet out without looking. He rests his elbows on a relatively clean part of the counter. “So you do like the trees.”

“I never said I didn’t.” Essek’s arch reply bounces right off Caleb’s growing smile.

“You are lying.” Caleb steals the last slice of orange just so Essek will glower at him.

“I like the trees, Caleb Widogast.”

“Oh, I know you like the trees. The trees are novel. Oranges cannot possibly be so foreign to a rich boy.”

Rather than answer that, Essek busies himself clearing peels and odd ends into the compost bucket. (Caduceus made certain they all have a compost bucket.) While he does this, Caleb recalls Essek’s baffled hesitancy when asked about his favorite food for the first time in more than a century of life.

They are still learning each other. Caleb cannot do fine work with a knife. Essek struggles to share mundanities.

“You’ll laugh,” Essek says. The towel he uses to dry his hands has a dick embroidered where a monogram would go.

“Only if you wish me to laugh.”

“It’s fanciful and childish and—”

“Essek.” Caleb eases the towel from Essek’s wringing grip. Essek lets him take it.

“Oranges taste… I don’t know. Blasphemous?” Essek looks at their hands, fingertips together. “Expensive to import, resource-intensive to grow, they are a treat and a rarity even for the wealthiest dens. They need so much light. When I was young - truly a child - the color alone fascinated me. All that light became color and sweetness. I imagined it was like eating a piece of the sun.” He smiles, self-mocking. “These are the first I’ve had in a very long time.”

Caleb strokes the backs of Essek’s knuckles with his thumbs, listening. Abruptly, he lifts their joined hands to plant a hasty kiss on Essek’s fingertips before letting go. “Plate up supper, please?” He picks up a basket from the chair by the side door. “I will be right back.”

“Going to fetch me the sun?” Essek calls after Caleb, a laugh in his voice.

“As many as I can carry!”

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Hello! 27 (public displays of affection) + shadowgast, if you'd like! Mostly because they are not pda people normally and I love seeing them outside their comfort zones haha

okay, admittedly they did not really go outside their comfort zones, because this was Weaponized PDA which seems like it would be very on brand for them ^^;; obligatory joke: in Rexxentrum, parent teacher conference go to you ~ Caleb loves teaching. He does. He loves watching the dawning understanding in his students’ eyes as they grasp a concept for the first time. He loves the challenge of breaking the complexity of magic down to its fundamentals and then pushing those building blocks across the table into new hands. Every student trying a spell for the first time is a pair of fresh eyes, and sometimes they make unprecedented observations or attempt something so innovative no one has tried it before simply because they do not yet labor under the weight of convention. Caleb loves their mistakes, both as opportunities to explain why something does not work and also because nothing keeps an arcanist on their toes like the accidents caused by people too young yet to know their limits. He spends most of his daily spell slots Counterspelling and Dispelling the misadventures of bright, eager, risk-blind teens with all the brains and lack of self-preservation it takes to be a wizard.

Caleb does not love their parents.

He watches a self-important galleon of a man in brocade push through the sea of tavern-goers and takes a deep breath. This is the problem with being both recognizable with his distinctive red hair and vocal in public forums. It’s always worse just after exam season. Nevertheless, he stands politely.

“Good evening.” Caleb greets the oncoming headache with a bland smile.

“You!” The man has the sense not to shout, but his speaking voice is unsubtle. “You failed my daughter.”

Off to the races. Hooray.

“Three of my students did not pass their exams this semester. What is your daughter’s name, sir?”

Caleb’s interlocutor seems offended by Caleb’s lack of immediate recognition and draws himself up. “Lisobet Brindholme.”

“Ah, yes.” Caleb resists the urge to sigh. “Frau Brindholme and I spoke earlier this week. We went over her exam results, and she understands why she did not pass. We have also reached an understanding with the Academy Board of Academic Integrity, who have recommended an academic probation period beginning next semester. Frau Brindholme will have the opportunity to retake the class when it is offered again in the spring.”

“‘Academic probation?’” Herr Brindholme seethes and sputters like an over-full kettle.

“That is Academy policy for cases of plagiarism, Herr Brindholme. Your daughter admitted to me and to the Board that she obtained and used pre-written essays with full knowledge that what she was doing goes against the rules of student academic conduct.”

They are beginning to attract a small audience, Caleb notes. The post-exam euphoria is wearing off, and the taverns are full of students settling into the mellow period between semesters. Not much is happening, locally, and a good argument is always entertaining. Unfortunately, Herr Brindholme seems oblivious to the fact that he is publicly humiliating his daughter.

“Lisobet’s tuition pays your salary. Meaning that I pay your salary.” Herr Brindholme leans into Caleb’s space. “You answer to me—”

“Excuse me.” Essek’s cool voice cuts through Herr Brindholme’s bluster like a razor through gauze. He steps around the man and sets two drinks on the table. “I was delayed at the bar while the keep tapped a new cask. Am I interrupting something important?”

Essek’s disguise is almost as beautiful as his true face. Half-elven, dark-skinned, crowned with neat braids, he looks as princely as ever in black silk. He knows very well that he is interrupting. Caleb throttles a grin as he watches Essek take command of the situation. The Shadowhand is alive and well.

Essek sits, leaving Herr Brindholme standing like a petitioner. One hundred and twenty years of political and social maneuvering aged to an acid vintage are wasted on a man like this, but Essek rarely gets to have fun these days. And, if Caleb is honest with himself, this is hot.

Essek sips his drink in the uncomfortable silence. He quirks an eyebrow. “Well?” he asks. “Is this important?”

Herr Brindholme, to his credit, rallies. “Yes, this is important! ‘Professor’ Widogast has compromised my daughter’s future.”

“Oh, I see.” Essek sets down his drink and laces his fingers before him, giving Herr Brindholme his full attention. “So important that you chose to address the matter in,” he sweeps his gaze across the room, “a public tavern.”

It dawns on Herr Brindholme that publicly accosting Caleb is a double-edged sword. His face colors, and he falls back on the familiar weapon of clout. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” says Essek, simply. Then, in softest, purest threat, he adds, “But I could find out.”

Caleb cuts in before this can go sour or make Essek’s disguise too memorable. He reaches across the table and squeezes Essek’s hand. “It’s nothing like that,” Caleb soothes. “Herr Brindholme is in his rights to submit a complaint to the Academy if he believes I acted in poor faith.”

Essek laughs. “That would be, what, complaint number 114? They haven’t fired you yet, radical that you are.”

Caleb shrugs. “I try to teach my students integrity and stewardship. That is hardly radical.” He turns to Herr Brindhomle and apologizes. “Sir, I understand your dissatisfaction, but the student handbook clearly states all academic policies. If you wish to pursue the matter, you should start with the Office of Academic Affairs. Your daughter’s studies are important to me as well, but I am off the clock and trying to enjoy the end of term.”

Herr Brindhomle, motivated either by embarrassment or Essek’s shark-eyed stare, adjusts his jacket cuffs and makes his parting shot. “I will do just that, and I will bring my solicitor.”

Essek takes a long sip of his drink when Herr Brindholme is safely out the tavern door back into the evening light. “That was remarkably vicious, even for you,” he remarks. “Gave me his name, and what was that about his ‘rights to submit a complaint’ and ‘poor faith?’”

“I was vicious?” Caleb smiles behind the shield of his tankard.

Both of them are very aware that they are still holding hands across the table, fingers now entwined. Neither moves to let go.