#Caleb who can’t let molly go no matter how many times death tries to take him

[dent-de-leon]

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—

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Redux! Oct. 13, 2020)

Gooooood evening good evening good evening, all! I started the VOD late for this recap and somehow the first four or so minutes of the show have a Twitch audio copyright claim, so I am reduced to only reading Brian's lips when he asks if we're on the internet. Hilariously, Marisha's background room is a comfy-looking blue/gold fabric wall with a ceramic colorful abstract lamp and a yellow silk scarf over the lampshade, and Taliesin's is an industrial looking games room in grey and black with multiple monitors, overhead speakers, and mysterious metal fixtures behind him. What a treasure this group is, honestly.

Tonight's guests: Marisha Ray & Taliesin Jaffe, discussing episodes 110 and 111 again. I wildly speculate once more about what might have caused their absence: jury duty? Sam appearing on The Masked Singer? Something to do with the animated show? One day, we’ll know, one day... (One day this “copyrighted audio” section will come back from the wars, too. Ugh!) Finally! The audio comes back to reveal Brian discussing the endless reality of digital meetings and Marisha talking about (I think) her glare-reducing glasses she’s wearing. Welcome to the New Age (welcome to the New Age, to the New Age).

Announcements: Marisha suggests checking out Dimension20, another live tabletop gaming group, which premieres live on Wednesdays at 4pm (CollegeHumor). 

Brian immediately wants to know how they feel about the revelation that Molly is alive. Taliesin’s personal reaction: he “knows some things” he can’t talk about and is aware of several possibilities that might be going on, but had a sneaking suspicion that there would not be a body for them to find. He says it’s almost all there for anyone to see in past material. Marisha’s personal reaction: she just wants to know how she’s doing with her theories, & was trying to block Tal’s face out deliberately as she was going off on her theories in the last episode. Taliesin says he thought her ideas were pretty good!

Cad has no clue what to think - it’s like listening to your friends talk about Buffy. Marisha thought it was a 50/50 Molly would still be there, but Beau had no idea. Not that it mattered, because as soon as Matt went through with it the reveal still blew their minds. Tal laid out his plans for the character with Matt during Campaign One (towards the end) after they all got their VM tattoos.

It is a “horrifying and gross” thing to dig up a body, and Beau was pretty reluctant to do it. Tal, as Cad: “Sometimes dead’s better.” The moral quandary of trying to speak with a dead friend was very different here than the frequent occasions they used the spell in C1.

Taliesin says his poker face is very bad, so it’s easier for him to over-react and let it all play out. The only other player he can see very easily from his place in their current setup is Travis, and because he knows Travis doesn’t watch TM, tweet, or participate in social media, he admits he thoroughly enjoyed watching Travis freak out at his freaking out. He says he only knew about 20% of what Matt described at the end of that episode. He was picking things to mug to increase Travis’s surprise. I love this so much.

Taliesin provided the table left leg shake; Travis provided table right. Ha!

Beau is really accepting her role in the Cobalt Soul. It’s good when “as a person, you feel like you can settle into your calling. Sometimes you can do more from the inside than fighting from the outside.” It’s a mirrored but opposite path of Keyleth from C1; Beau felt like she was too good for her duty, while Keyleth thought she wasn’t good enough.

Caduceus is not a big believer in jumping to conclusions. He does have an idea/notion of the “city of the undead” and thinks all this necrotic energy must come from somewhere, and wonders if this is the “capital of anti-death.” He’s willing to believe whatever he sees. This is one of the few things that trigger a bit of loathing and disgust in him. It was terrifying that the Wildmother didn’t know anything.

Beau is pretty confident in her Charlie Day impression laying-out-the-research last episode. She enjoyed taking the things that were known & extrapolating around them; this is a huge facet of Marisha’s own personality and she really enjoys it, so she built a character this time that would allow that kind of puzzle-solving. It’s also why she repeatedly notes when Beau journals, so she can avoid metagaming. Trent’s mention of Vess Durogna’s tomb raiding was completely circumstantial, and the only reason she’d made the connection to the Tombtakers was because she’d recently reviewed those notes for a separate unannounced project. Sometimes she tries to make connections and Matt is like, “It was...just descriptive. Just flavor. The curtains were red...” and she has to discard a paragraph of notes. She feels like it’s still something they have to do because of “look at what he does! Look! It’s totally valid!”

Cosplay of the Week: @kitsunstudios with a gorgeous Caduceus with a very intricate silk vest.

Caduceus’s takedown of Trent! One of my favorite moments in the entirety of C2. Taliesin felt Trent was an asshole; Caduceus felt sorry for him because of how dumb he thought he was. Caduceus’s response was "this is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s so dumb! Is nobody going to tell this guy how dumb he is? Oh, they’re all freaked out. Somebody needs to tell this guy he’s an idiot before somebody gets hurt.” (Marisha: “Before?”) Tal says it was the product of several years of therapy and many drunk conversations with Whitney Moore. It was from a genuine place of concern from Caduceus. “How are you allowed to have this much power and be that dumb?”

Brian loved how funny it was to watch everyone tiptoe around Trent and then Caduceus bulldoze through the end of the meal.

Taliesin: “Damage doesn’t make you interesting or better. It’s not what makes you good. Character isn’t found in damage. Just recovery.”

Brian & Marisha commiserate going through the stage where believing surviving something automatically made you a stronger person, better for the pain; instead it just meant you had to pick up the pieces after. Marisha talks about how strength through survival may be true for some people, but it shouldn’t be considered a necessity. Taliesin talks about how he used to think he had to be miserable to write. Brian talks about how believing he liked reading and writing miserable things only limited him for years.

Marisha feels it’s a C2 theme that almost all the PCs have someone trying to handwave or take credit for their accomplishments or explain their pain as being for their own good (Trent, Beau’s dad, Obann). She thinks it’s interesting to see all the various ways people try to take credit for your work/delegitimize you as a person. She loves that RPGs allow you to explore these odd moralities in interesting ways. The only way to fight it is to have a sense of your own self-worth, which is a problem a lot of the M9 started with.

Caduceus likes everyone, and really likes people who appear to need role models (Eodwulf). “With the right friends and the right bar and the right attitude, I think he’d be okay. Come over here where it’s so much better. That seems like an exhausting friendship that you have there.”

Marisha loves the mix of personalities in the M9; Veth, Cad, & Jester were all “we kind of like them!” after the dinner, and she immediately made eye contact with Travis and they both shook their heads. She knows Beau has to go along with it for Caleb’s sake for now, but she & Fjord are pretty sus of Trent’s proteges.

Beau is less concerned about Artagan’s relationship to Jester because “he showed his ass--she’s less worried about Jester now because a little of the magic is gone.” It’s a little like becoming an adult and realizing your parents are also just adults & human. Caduceus wasn’t suspicious of the Traveler for a long time until they got to the island. Aside: Taliesin loves the pantheon in D&D. “The notion of attempting to apply common Western conceptions of religion to a world where you have a pantheon of interventionist gods as baseline makes no sense to me. Everyone admits that every other god is there and doing shit; it has more in common with ancient Rome than anything else.” Now that he knows it was a con, he feels the wind had been taken out of it. He does have a sense that Jester’s gotten back together with an ex: “I hope that I’m really happy for you.” They’re both interested to see how Jester navigates the new relationship.

My internet goes out, of course. I panic for a second, thinking I’ve lost everything above, but all is well! Thanks, Form History Control addon!

Marisha loved punching Artagan, but regretting rolling so poorly. “I miss violence.” Dani lets us know it’s been about four episodes since the last battle.

There’s no way the Cobalt Reserve doesn’t have a single document on the Eyes of Nine. Beau believes “there are no real secrets” because people are just bad at not writing things down. For there to be no information at all seems really suspicious for her.

Fanart of the Week: @oddalchemist on twitter with some awesome Beau conspiracy red-thread boards overlaid a distant shadowy Molly walking away.

Caduceus feels a little guilty for really enjoying his time right now with the M9 and not wanting to go home. He’s starting to suspect that he’s going to go home very different than when he left. “He has the softest problems. I don’t know if I want to move back in with Mom & Dad.”

Beau is trying to get comfortable with the idea of being happy. Jester is probably Beau’s first real best friend & one of the first healthy female friendships she’s ever had. As long as she still has Jester in her life, she doesn’t care. For Yasha... “At the end of the day, Beau is a lonely person and has always been a lonely person. And I think you kinda reach this point where once you’re not lonely anymore, you can kind of come out of the fog and realize that was horrible! And terrifying! And is even more terrifying now that I know what I could have, and I don’t want to go back to that. At the end of the day Beau doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. There’s always been that flirtation with Yasha, but everyone had to figure their own shit out. And now it feels like it’s coming out a little bit of that haze, maybe this actually could be...” There are a lot of ways they complement each other & are good-different from each other. Marisha believes people can be attracted to more than person at once.

Caduceus doesn’t think nature turned against him on Rumblecusp, it was just a reality of nature being dangerous and violent. “He has a complex relationship with nature.” He doesn’t expect special treatment.

Thoughts on the mansion: “Man, it’s nice to be seen.” Marisha: “I don’t know how I ended up becoming the Scanlan of this campaign, but I’m living for it.” It felt like an echo of “I’m better for having known you.” They compare Marisha taking specific notes on the campaign to Liam taking specific notes on people’s favorite tapestries, comics, etc.

They talk about missing theme parks and daydream a park version of the mansion in CritRoleLand. It’s lovely.

Taliesin never expected Divine Intervention to work; he just wanted to roll some dice. He’s still processing what he saw/heard. They all agree it was very useful in the Vokodo fight.

Vilya! Marisha: “Ah! Ah! Ah!” As a player, Marisha was so deep in Beau’s eyes she didn’t pick up it was Vilya at first (especially since Matt really emphasized they should not be looking for C1 NPCs). Marisha’s brain melted. She bawled her eyes out on the ride home after that episode. Right after it ended, Laura told Marisha “Keyleth finally gets her happy ending,” and it makes Marisha emotional again since Keyleth’s story ended so bittersweetly. She talks about the very real feelings of “just wanting them to be happy, though!” She went back and listened to all her old Keyleth playlists. Everyone was teary after the episode. “Everyone has these 100% real memories of being these characters and having these good times.”

And that’s that for that! Thanks for your patience, all, and is it Thursday yet?

[dracoqueen22]

[CR] Little Do I Know

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two Characters: The Mighty Nein, Fjord/Caduceus Rated: K+ Enticements: First Kiss Description: Chaos is what the Mighty Nein does, but Fjord desperately needs a moment to breathe and ask himself the hard questions, and maybe, ask Caduceus a question, too.

It’s been non-stop.

Fjord feels like he can’t breathe. The Mighty Nein races from one chaotic moment to the next. They leap through portals and ride horses and riskily teleport and face down Obann only to suffer defeat.

Fjord knows he’s breathing. He’s pulling air into his lungs. His thoughts are spinning anyway. His chest feels tight, like there isnt any room for his lungs, and he gulps down air, but it’s just not enough. It’s so much.

He’s jittery and anxious. He can’t find peace.

At least, not at all times.

Calm only comes to him in the morning. When he and Caduceus are the first to rise with the sun, and Caduceus brews his morning tea, and Fjord joins him. They sit around the fire, sipping some special brew, and they meditate. Or Deuces meditates, and Fjord tries, but his focus lasts as long as a few heartbeats before he watches Caduceus instead.

He always feels better around Caduceus.

At first, Fjord thinks it a fluke. He chalks it up to his need to be free of Uk’otoa and believing Caduceus has the path to do just that. He looks to Caduceus for guidance and comfort, and when he receives both, Fjord thinks that’s all it must be.

That’s all it has to be.

Fjord doesn’t know who he is.

He doesn’t know what he is.

There’s an angry sea god haunting his sleep and stealing his magic, and an angrier pirate queen who still slips into his dreams to rightly blame him for her death. Sometimes, he swears he can still taste her. It had taken far too long for the marks she left on him to heal, and he doesn’t only mean the physical ones.

The mental scars have a tendency to linger. They are, in the end, the worst.

It’s no mystery why he goes to Caduceus the night Uk’otoa refuses to rise to his bluff.

Fjord panics, and all he can think about is comfort and security and calm. He thinks about tea and a deep, rumbling bass, and the feel of Caduceus’ magic rushing through him like a warm, tingling blanket. He goes to Caduceus without pretense and a mask, and it isn’t until later that he realizes how tired he is.

Tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying so hard to be something he’s not.

Caduceus doesn’t judge.

There’s a lot of things Deuces does judge. Their tendency to lie for one, but this, this Caduceus doesn’t judge. It’s like he recognizes the need for personal secrets, personal discomforts, personal pains. He doesn’t blink when Fjord speaks to him in a new accent, and reacts in a way only Caduceus could react when Fjord comes to him bleeding from the gut and desperate.

Fjord stops himself from falling into Caduceus’ arms, but only just. The firbolg radiates comfort and calm, and Fjord has to remind himself of something he doesn’t think anyone gets just yet.

Fjord doesn’t know who he is.

He can’t do anything, be anything with anyone, until he can answer that. Until he knows who he is and what he wants.

It hadn’t been Sabian.

It definitely hadn’t been Avantika.

And Jester...

Fjord adores her, he really does. But he doesn’t think what she wants and what he wants are the same thing. She fills him with light, but Caduceus fills him with ‘home’ and anyway.

It doesn’t matter.

Because Fjord doesn’t know who he is, and until he does, he can’t fall for anyone.

Caduceus heals him, and they talk, and Fjord starts to get an inkling. He goes to sleep, and She comes to him, and She offers and opens Her arms and Her heart and Her Being, and it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s an offer where the terms are expressed, and there’s nothing She wants from him but him.

He takes Her hands and wakes up a new person all over again. Or maybe not new. Maybe this is who he’s been all along, beneath the pretense. He kind of likes who he is now. And it seems the rest of the Nein do, too.

The hole Vandren left in him starts to heal and scab. Sabien is a distant memory. Avantika is a wound he can’t mend, same as the dark of Uk’otoa sitting like a lump behind his ribs, but he thinks -- I’m not alone. I don’t have to fight them alone.

And Caduceus.

Caduceus is there. Always there.

Fjord thinks he loves him a little more each day.

Love is unfamiliar to him.

Fjord thinks he knows what it is, but the Mighty Nein love him far more fiercely and genuinely than Vandren ever did. They protect him, and care for him, and encourage him, and sometimes, Fjord can hardly believe how lucky he is. He worries he doesn’t deserve it, but they keep reminding him, over and over, that he does.

Fjord thinks, if he knows anything of love, it has to be this warmth, this feeling when he looks at Caduceus. The slow creep of a smile. The way he goes weak and strong all over, how Caduceus can calm him with a look, a word, a touch to the shoulder.

He starts to lay his bedroll out next to Caduceus’, not that there’s really a next in the confines of Caleb’s tiny hut, but it’s as close as he can get. He can breathe in Caduceus’ distinct scent -- tea and dirt -- and it soothes him right to sleep. It can’t be anything more than this, not until he’s sure.

So he waits.

Back to Rosohna. Through chasing Obann. To Nicodranas and Zadash and back again. Chasing Obann and the Laughing Hand and Yasha through the Lotusden Greenwood and returning to Rosohna defeated and lost, and Fjord remembers.

It had been so close.

He’d tried to charm the Laughing Hand as a last resort, looking into the face of a monster which could kill him in a few blows. Jester and Caduceus were out of spells. They might not be able to bring him back. This might be his end, and the end of the Mighty Nein, and he’d cast the spell with every bit of desperation in his marrow.

And it had worked! They’d survived! A short-lived triumph in the end.

The sourness of their defeat lingers. The evidence of mortality makes his hands shake, and his heart thud, and he’s no better as himself than he was before, and he stumbles around, lost in the wake of it.

He doesn’t know what else to do but to go to the only source of solace he knows.

Fjord goes to Caduceus, who’s sitting at the base of the tree he grew for their home, incense sending curls of smoke up into the leaves, a cup of tea in his hands, still steaming, giving off a lightly floral fragrance. Fjord wonders who it is this time, and wonders when that stopped being so weird, or if it is still weird and he’s just used to it by now.

Fjord sits in front of Caduceus, legs curled lotus, and he waits. He doesn’t want to interrupt if Caduceus is meditating or communing. This is too important to rush. He can’t wait until the next close call, but he can wait right here and now.

"Hey, Fjord," Caduceus says with that slow and careful drawl, his mouth curving into a gentle smile. "You looking to commune? I think she's got her ears on."

A very small laugh escapes Fjord on an exhale. "No, I, uh, was wanting to talk to you. Actually. If you're not too busy."

Caduceus takes a long sip of his tea before he opens his eyes. "Not busy at all." Then, he blinks and startles. "Oh. Where are my manners? Do you want some tea?" He sets his cup down and pats around, in search of his bag. "I know the other cups are here somewhere."

Fjord curves a hand around Caduceus' wrist and then looks down in surprise at himself. He doesn't remember making the conscious decision to do this. But it's too late now.

Caduceus looks up at him, ears flicking. "Is that a no?"

"Maybe in a second," Fjord says, and his mouth goes dry, his tongue fumbling.

"This must be important." Caduceus settles back into himself, gives Fjord his full attention, but he doesn't shake off Fjord's hand, and strangely, Fjord doesn't seem to be in a big hurry to let go either.

His pulse pounds in his ears. He's hot all over, flushed. What in the Nine Hells does he think he's doing? Something stupid and reckless. Something a lot like pressing a shiny red button he ought not to have pushed.

He tries to speak, but his tongue ties itself in knots, and his hands shake.

"Fjord?" Caduceus' concern washes over him, and Fjord's chest aches with an emotion he doesn't have the right words for. He thinks it's probably because he's never felt it before, and therefore, doesn't know what to call it.

"We lost Yasha. Again," Fjord blurts out. "I don't know, it seems like we're losing. All we're doing is losing. And the strange thing is, you know, I don't remember when we started fighting. We were trying to get away from the war, last I checked, and now..."

Caduceus rests his hand over Fjord's, his fingers warm and soft. "Now it seems we're only getting closer to it."

"Yes. No." Fjord shakes his head, frustration gnawing at him. "I mean, yes, that's a problem, but no, that's not what I wanted to say."

"It's okay. Take your time."

Fjord exhales noisily and clasps Caduceus' hand between his, considering it a good sign when Caduceus doesn't pull away. "We lost Yasha," he says. "Again. If not for Jester, we'd have lost you. And we did lose Molly. He's not coming back." His voice cracks, and Fjord clears his throat to clean it. Some wounds heal a lot slower than others, no matter how much magic you pump into yourself. "I gotta do this before I lose anyone else."

"Yasha is only misplaced. We'll get her back," Caduceus says, and for once, his calm aura does nothing to quiet the frantic beat of Fjord's heart, or the sweat dampening his palms, or how tight his armor feels across his chest.

"That's not the point, Deuces," Fjord says. "The point is... I gotta stop being a coward before it's too late."

"You're many things, but a coward isn't one of them."

Fjord snorts. "I'm a mess is what I am. You helped put me back together, but that's not -- I don't want you to have to keep doing that. I want... I want more."

Caduceus tilts his head. "I don't follow."

Fjord hangs his head, and his fingers shake around Caduceus’. “No, I don’t guess you would,” he says, because Caduceus knows many things, but there’s a lot he can’t have learned, stuck alone in that graveyard with only his family and the dead for company.

Even traveling with them as long as he has, there are some things that can’t be taught. They have to be experienced.

Fjord swallows thickly and untangles his fingers from Caduceus’, hope buoying when he thinks he catches a flicker of disappointment on Caduceus’ face.

“I, uh, don’t want to just be a project,” Fjord says as he reaches for Caduceus, and cups the firbolg’s face oh so gently when Caduceus doesn’t rear back. His cheeks are soft under the stroke of Fjord’s thumb, and Caduceus’ eyes are so wide and bright.

But not afraid. Curious, definitely. Maybe a little confused.

“I want to be more,” Fjord says, and he licks his lips. He doesn’t want to be a coward anymore. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else. At least, not without trying first.

“Oh,” Caduceus says, and it’s quiet and wondrous, like he’s had a revelation. “Do you want to kiss me, Fjord?”

Gods.

Fjord swears steam whistles out of his ears, so quickly does his face flush with heat. “Could I?” he asks, and he’s already moving forward, tilted toward the curve of Caduceus’ mouth.

His thumbs sweep Caduceus’ cheek, and his mouth presses to Caduceus’ the moment he hears permission.

It’s not the fumbling, awkward, rough kiss he’d shared in the dark with Sabian. Neither is it Avantika’s biting claim. Or the desperate breath of life he’d given Jester in the temple.

It’s soft and gentle, a press of mouths, and the warmth of Caduceus’ lips. It’s a shiver over Fjord’s skin, gooseflesh rising beneath his armor and clothes, and the whisper of the night breeze as it sweeps over the roof of the Xhorhouse.

“Mm,” Caduceus says as they part, and a slow smile takes his lips. “I think I follow you now.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I could be any more obvious,” Fjord says with a laugh. His hands drop to Caduceus’ shoulders, and he tilts forward, his forehead pressed to Caduceus’ clavicle, the scent of tea and dirt floating up to his nose.

“I apologize.”

Fjord blinks and lifts his head. “For what?”

A long finger traces the scar on his face, and a shiver nips up Fjord’s spine. “For making you think you were only a project to me.”

“I’m not?” Fjord asks.

“Maybe at first,” Caduceus admits, and he ducks his head, looks a bit embarrassed and ashamed possibly. It’s hard to tell. Fjord doesn’t think he’s ever seen Caduceus be either. “You deserve better than that.”

“Well. I was a bit of a mess,” Fjord says. “Still kind of am.” He sits back, his hands slip from Caduceus’ shoulders, but they don’t go far, because Caduceus captures them. He tangles their fingers together, their palms pressed tight.

“You saved yourself. You did all the work,” Caduceus says, and he squeezes Fjord’s fingers. He sounds so earnest, Fjord can’t help but believe him. “You’re amazing.”

Fjord wonders if he’s ever going to stop blushing ferociously around Caduceus.

“Um, thanks,” he says, and gnaws on his bottom lip for a second, feeling the harsh pressure of his stubby tusks. “Not that I’m not appreciative of the support, it’s just…” How does he put this into words? How can he explain what he wants when it’s still so new to himself?

“You’d rather I were a little less religious leader and a little more… boyfriend? Partner? Lover? I’m sorry, I don’t know the term you’re looking for,” Caduceus says, in that frank way he has, which Fjord simultaneously adores and hates a little.

Fjord coughs and stares hard over Caduceus’ shoulder, looking for something solid in this suddenly stormy sea where he’s been set adrift. “Any of those would work if you were interested.”

“I could be. Maybe.” Caduceus tilts his head back and looks up at his tree stretching over them, the magical lights twinkling brightly. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Mr. Fjord, I don’t really know what I’m interested in.”

“Could you just call me Fjord? For starters?”

Caduceus breathes out a little laugh. “I can do that. Sure. Fjord.”

Gods.

Fjord swallows over a lump in his throat, and then he has to hide behind his hand, because hearing his name on Caduceus’ lips shouldn’t send a bolt of lightning straight down to his groin, but it does.

“Thanks,” he says, and sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic flutter of his heart. “Anyway, you don’t have to say yes right now. Or no. If you want to think about it, I mean, I did kind of confess out of nowhere, and it’s really not the time.”

“The way things are going right now, it’ll never be the time.” Caduceus squeezes Fjord’s hand and gets that distant look he gets when he’s thinking about something.

“Now is good,” Caduceus says after a moment. “Now is the time.” He traces a finger around the curve of Fjord’s face, and there’s something so tender in it, Fjord melts a little more. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

“Are you sure?” Fjord’s heart pounds a mile a minute, and his skin flushes, and a quiet hope nestles deep in his belly.

Caduceus smiles and leans in, and he kisses Fjord by way of answer. It’s a bit unpracticed, slow and unsure, but he gains confidence quickly enough, and Fjord eagerly kisses back.

Calm washes through Fjord.

Everything else might be chaos, but at least he has this, for whatever it becomes.

****

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome and appreciated. Feel free to scream in the tags, in a reblog, in my inbox, whatever. I’d love to hear from the readers! <3

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Come Home With Me (part seven)

Second to last chapter! Thanks as always to my indomitable betas, @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Sorry for this

Please consider reblogging, leaving a comment on Ao3 or donating to my ko-fi

---

Mollymauk took a moment to ask himself how long it had been since he’d last held his swords in anger. With the intent to use them to hurt.

However long ago it had been, part of a dark and murky time he deliberately held far away from who he was now, he’d put them aside and promised himself he’d never do it again. A promise half-remembered, half-forgotten was a promise nonetheless.

It had begun to leech back in over the years, as much as he hadn’t wanted it, as much as he’d tried to use drink, sex, various banned substances to keep it all at bay. Drops of ink spoiling the pool, reaching up with insidious little fingers to try and claim him back. But that wasn’t who he was now.

The grip still fit his hand perfectly. Molly flicked his wrist, catching his own reflection in the blade, the carnival glass turning his features blurry and indistinct, coloured incorrectly in the iridescent surface.

Not so indistinct that he couldn’t see the black eye. The split lip. The cracked tooth when he held his jaw open.

All of it made him angry, a sick, thick kind of anger in the very pit of his stomach. He liked his face a lot. It was half his job and more than half of his identity.

But that anger was a weak and feeble thing, a wind barely strong enough to lift a leaf when compared to what Mollymauk felt when he remembered the look on Caleb’s face. So scared, so vulnerable, a child who’d been hurt so many times that he’d stopped asking for a reason. Kissing Mollymauk softly and walking to his death without a shred of hesitation, like he’d expected it.

Like he wasn’t worth fighting for.

With a soft hiss, Molly holstered the sword at his right side, the twin on his left. He swept out of his charred caravan and marched out into the too hot dawn left behind by the rain.

For the first time in a long time, he drank down that darkness in a deep breath. The taste of blood prickled on his tongue and a deeper need for more woke in his chest. And he knew exactly whose blood he wanted.

The anger, a cavernous, yawning anger must have been plain on his face as worry swept over Yasha’s face when she saw him, though only briefly. Her fingers tightened on her own sword’s handle.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, voice quiet.

Mollymauk had always loved that about Yasha. No hesitation, no questions. But she always stuck to the plan.

He set his jaw, feeling a pang of pain from his broken tooth.

“We bring him home,” he replied.

When you knew you had such little time left, Caleb assumed, the small things would matter less.

He was wrong on that count.

On the long, long ride back to Rexxantrum, all he could thing about was how much the chains chafed on his wrists and how stuffy it was in the back of an enchanted carriage with the curtains drawn.

Every time the wheels hit a bump in the road, a rock or a pothole or something he couldn’t see, he’d hear the chains rattle and bite into his skinny wrists even more. They were heavy, he knew that much, he could have done without the regular reminders. He also knew they were inscribed with magic cancelling runes, serious heavy duty ones that Caleb hadn’t even seen outside of history books about far darker times.

That’s who he was then. A fiercely dangerous rogue wizard, using his powers for evil.

There was some irony in that.

“Mollymauk, listen, you can’t just go running into something like this.”

The baron of Whitestone had clearly been pulled out of bed by Nott’s message spell or, if not that, certainly the large flash of purple energy from Gilmore’s transportation spell erupting right in the middle of their parlour.

Shaun had been faster to rouse at the message.

Molly hoped it was because the newlyweds were awake and enjoying each other. He hoped their love still tasted sweet. He hoped it always would.

He hoped he wasn’t dragging them into something they wouldn’t come back from.

Percy caught hold of his wrist, turning him back towards him when he tried to walk away, “Mollymauk…”

“Perce,” Molly shook his head, “You’re kind to offer but I can’t wait for things to be made official. You getting involved now is a hair’s breadth away from an all-out declaration of war. It would be messy and lengthy and we just can’t afford it right now. I have to get to Rexxantrum, get in, get out fast.”

The frazzled looking human pulled his robe tighter around himself, “This man seized a whole troupe of innocent people performing under my name and took off with one of them. I can have him arrested and tried inside a day.”

“I may not even have that long,” Molly says softly, lowering his voice so his tiny militia massing in the parlour couldn’t hear him. A militia that seemed nowhere near powerful enough to take on an archmage of the capital city… “In a day, Caleb could be dead.”

“How do you know he…”

He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, the both of them wishing feverishly he’d never started it. But those blue eyes didn’t yield, Percival ever the pragmatist.

“I don’t,” Molly admitted, eyes flickering downwards, “But if I start thinking like that then…then I don’t know how I’m going to come back. So I can’t.”

After a lengthy sigh, Percy let go of his arm, resigning himself though he clearly wasn’t happy about it, “Get Caleb out. Then come back here, in one piece, and we do things properly. We make sure the bastard never sees the light of day again.”

“Yes sir,” a thin, brittle smile flickered over Mollymauk’s face, then replaced by one more gentle and real, “Make sure Vex doesn’t follow us. She’s good in a fight but I’m not taking a pregnant baroness into a midnight raid.”

Percy managed a short, tired laugh, “I’ll keep her here. I’ll explain its no slight on her fighting abilities.”

Molly gently touched his arm before moving quickly into the parlour. He turned to an anxious, tense looking Shaun Gilmore, sat with his arm around Vax’ildan, and inclined his head respectfully.

“Rexxantrum please.”

Caleb wondered idly if it would be a public execution. Was that the point of the chains? Flavour for the narrative of the dangerous, murderous wizard high on bloodlust and his own magic? A reminder to all of Rexxantrum. This is why magic is kept behind walls of privilege, status and money. Look who keeps you safe.

But the curtains stayed closed as they rolled through the city gates, Caleb only aware of it because he could hear the guard calling them through, hollering at others waiting to enter.

He frowned, even that small action causing pain to crackle through him, with his blackened eyes and swollen lips. How could they be in Rexxantrum already?

Though he supposed he was still thinking in circus time. They took a far more circuitous route, winding their way through all the tiny villages, zig zagging this way and that to visit other towns, circling the mountains, wandering around the lakes.

That and he’d long lost his grip on time, constantly in the darkness, the rocking motion of the carriage never ceasing even a little.

The smell of the smoke was unmistakable though. Smoke and bodies and the reek of water pooling in the street. It was Rexxantrum without a doubt.

Caleb closed his eyes and imagined Molly somewhere warm, with the sun on his shoulders, surrounded by the smell of clean grass.

The city was in darkness though lights still shone in windows like sequins embedded in black cloth.

Part of Molly admired how pretty it was from where he stood up on one of the hills that surrounded the city. He wondered what was behind all those windows. Maybe a pair of lovers who’d both been at work all day, the twinge of desperately missing each other carried in their chests for the long hours apart, finally able to dissipate as they fell into each other’s arms. Each kiss feeling so precious because of the distance that had made them wait, even though they’d both known it was only temporary.

Molly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tears threatening him, closing his throat.

He let the dark, inky part of him take over a little more. There were no tears in that, just the cold determination and the exact knowledge of what to do.

“We go in through the sewers,” he said, swords clanking when he moved down from the boughs of the tree he perched in like a peacock who’d lost his way, “Quiet, quick, no crownsguard. The house is at the centre of the city.”

His little team, Vax, Yasha, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Beau all nodded and made noises of agreement. Not everyone, a smaller group could move faster and more subtly through dark streets. Shaun would stay up on the hills, the piece of wire ready in his pocket to receive the message, telling him to transport them out or reinforcements in.

It would be a swift journey to their target. Molly knew it’s position well. It was where he met the love of his life, how could it not stand out like a glowing golden pin stuck in the world? It was the first time Caleb’s eyes had met his own, the first time he’d smiled at him and received the first glimpse of the man who would become the most important person in the world to him.

And it was where he was going to get him back.

Caleb didn’t want to cry out but he couldn’t help it. The blow landed so hard and so fierce, it wrung a scream from him before he’d even had the chance to make the choice. The taste of fresh blood burst across his tongue again as his jaw connected with the floor.

“Pick yourself up,” Ikithon snarled, apparently in the cold, echoing room Caleb had just been thrown into.

He did, the only other choice being to lay there on the stone floor. Or rather, he tried, staggering when his aching knees didn’t want to move, pitching forward when his bound hands jerked instinctively to catch himself but failed. He could taste his own breath inside the cloth hood, hot and sour.

But then a hand seized his shoulder and the hood was ripped away, revealing the cavernous basement where they’d held so many training fights. There was only gentle firelight flickering in the sconces on the walls but still it was too much for Caleb’s eyes after who knew how long in the darkness. He winced and ducked his head, tears beading behind his eyelids.

“Don’t you dare cry in front of me,” Ikithon snapped, “Pathetic wretch, I raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” Caleb forced the words through his bitten tongue and swollen lips, “You can’t say you raised a flower after you trampled all over it and kept it in the dark.”

“Poetic,” Ikithon’s cheeks flushed red, clearly not used to being spoken back to, “Did you learn that among those degenerates and devil bloods who called themselves players?”

Caleb stared up at him, hair strewn across his face, sticking to the dried blood and sweat, “I learnt plenty from them. What love is. What life is. How to ignore every damn thing you ever told me. And whatever you do to me now, Ikithon, you can’t undo that.”

And he smiled.

Ikithon pulled his lips back from his teeth and the wall lamps dimmed to nearly nothing, “I was going to give you a quick death, Bren, for the sake of the years you lived under my roof. But you’ve undone that. You will be begging me to let you die by the time I’m done with you.”

The smile didn’t fade, bloody and bright, “My name is Caleb.”

Whatever Ikithon was planning, it apparently didn’t start yet. He just took his chains and threaded them through a ring on the wall, pulling them taught to yank Caleb’s arms up above his head. And then he left him there.

Only when the shadows closed around him did Caleb feel safe enough to cry.

It was hard, to be held in the very centre of the place he’d been hurt so many times, where mocking spells and cruel words had knocked him to his feet, so often that he had no idea how it hadn’t shattered him completely. It made it hard to stay brave.

He cried for that skinny young boy, all skin and bones, even the memory of a kind family taken from him. He cried for himself as he was now, punished for even trying to seek love in his life again.

He cried for how unfair it all was.

Time slipped away from him again before too long. He didn’t sleep, at least he thought he didn’t, he just sat there and thought about how much he wanted to sleep in a vague, misty way that never did slip completely into fully dreaming. Not with the pain gnawing at him all the time, in a dull toothless way, not just his wound but hunger and thirst too which soon crept up and found him.

Eventually, thinking that he’d lose his mind if he couldn’t grasp the seconds, minutes, hours again, he passed the time by singing. Though tears began rolling down his face and stinging the opened skin there, he sang all the songs he could remember Molly singing. Caleb’s own voice couldn’t compare to his tiefling’s, not by a long shot, he still sang the words, the melodies making him feel closer to everything he’d lost.

He hoped Ikithon could hear him.

There were so many songs, Caleb realised, as he ran through them all. Bawdy tavern songs Molly had only sang after he’d ingested a fair amount of alcohol. Long ballads that brought ancient stories back to life, so many verses that Caleb had no idea how Molly remembered them all and was stunned to find he could remember himself. Sweet, simple folk songs that could be played on nothing more than an old tin tub, designed to stick in children’s heads.

And then there were the songs Molly had only sung for him. Songs where he’d lain back against the pillows, only his lute keeping any kind of modesty, looking half a god in the low light. And Caleb had felt like the whole world was in those songs.

Those songs brought the tears on thicker. His voice cracked and splintered like old wood, now he faded in and out between verses. But he couldn’t stop.

Caleb saved one song for last. The one he knew best and held dearest.

The one Molly had sang to close the very first show he’d ever seen. The song that had made Caleb brave enough to seek something more than misery in his life.

“I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely…” he sang, his voice rough and fading, “Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold…”

His fingers twitched listlessly at the empty air, trying to remember how Molly’s fingers moved over the silver strings. The words echoed through the empty space that seemed darker every moment. Or was that his own eyes…he didn’t know any more.

“Say that you’ll hold me forever. Say that the wind won’t change on us. Say that we’ll stay with each other and it will always be like this…”

Caleb’s voice finally crackled and disappeared completely. Deprived of water, deprived of fresh air there was nothing else he could do.

But in his mind, the song continued. And of course it was Molly’s voice that took over.

“I’m gonna hold you forever. The wind will never change on us.”

Caleb frowned. Molly’s voice echoed in his mind, not the way it had in the tent. And it was thick with tears too. Almost like he could see what a sad, broken thing his love had become.

It was soft too, not booming the way it had at the end of the show. It wasn’t for a whole audience, just for the ears of one.

It was almost as if it wasn’t a memory.

“Long as we stay with each other, then it will always be like this.”

Fingers brushed his hair back from his face. A familiar scent reached his nose, one that had no place in somewhere dark and terrible as this.

“You can’t be here,” Caleb rasped, sheer shock making his voice come back, “I told you to let me go.”

“And I didn’t listen,” Molly replied, smiling through his tears, “Are you surprised?”

“I…I didn’t dare hope,” Caleb managed a weak smile in return.

Molly shook his head, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s forehead, unable to say how he’d managed to keep himself from doing it for so long. He’d kiss other places too but they looked too sore and tender, wounds that made the inky anger rise but his relief and love at seeing Caleb alive pushed it back.

“We’re taking you home, Caleb. We’ve come to save you.”

Caleb’s smile faded, “No…Molly, Liebling, you can’t. He’ll never stop hunting me, he’ll never give up. And next time nothing I can do will keep him from killing you all.”

“You can beat him, Caleb, you said it yourself,” Molly looked dismayed, “We’ll get you healed and safe again and next time, you’ll beat him.”

“No…Molly, no…” Caleb shook his head, grasping for a way to make him see, difficult when most of him was crying out to follow him and believe what he was saying.

His heart sank as he realised how many of his family were here. Yasha, looming and powerful, stood at the door. Nott, his dear Nott, crouched over her little piece of wire. Fjord with a thieves lamp, sword glinting in the low light. Vax, half a shadow himself, daggers ready to fly. Jester hefting the axe that made Caleb’s arms ache to even look at, grinning at him, clearly itching to rush forward and hug him. Even Beau, staff rapping restlessly on the ground, eager to hit something though she gave him a crooked smile and a wink.

They’d all come for him.

“Caleb, I know you’re scared, it’s okay,” Molly cupped his face, gently so he didn’t hurt him, “But I will not leave you here with that man. You’ve trusted me before, do it just one more time for me? We will get you home.”

Caleb looked into those red eyes, the lighthouses of his life for the past year. Stranger things had happened surely…if he was willing to fight…

“You troupers really are as stupid as I hoped you’d be.”

Ikithon’s voice was the sound of tipping too far over and edge and falling, gasping for a handhold that wasn’t there.

A glow surrounded the cavern, bars of magic over every surface. Yasha jerked back with a hiss of pain, her hand burning on those that formed under her palm.

Caleb sat up, eyes wide, “No…”

Molly’s swords were free with a sound like an inhalation. His face turned cold, like nothing Caleb recognised. There was no performance in his voice when he spoke, it was truth.

“Come out and die, Trent Ikithon. It’s past time you paid for your sins.”

A shift in the magic of the room and Ikithon stood behind Caleb, wordless and flushed with fury. He reached down, clearly aiming to slit his throat but a sword came flashing out and he was forced to back off. Then the first spell shot out and, after a breath, hell opened up.

The flashes of light, the shriek of metal, the snarl of people determined to kill each other. And Caleb, frightened, panicked, sleep deprived, was in the middle of it all.

So many against just one should have been simple matter of mathematics. But not if the one was an archmage.

It was so frantic, Caleb could only get snapshots of it, fragments coming at him too fast to grasp for more than an instant. Beau staggering back, catching herself on her staff, red soaking into her blue shirt. The firelight catching on the line of Fjord’s hooked sword as he swung it high above his head, shadow creatures surrounding him in an unbroken circle. Vax’s cloak sweeping behind him, looking like wings.

Caleb closed his eyes, wanting to curl up and press his hands to his ears, wanting to stop it all. His friends were dying all around him. And there was nothing he could do, his panic forming tighter chains than Ikithon ever could have hoped to put on him. He couldn’t breathe.

A sound reached him over the clangour. Molly, crying out in pain.

Caleb’s eyes flew open to see Ikithon himself, arm outstretched, eyes like chips of dirty ice. The shadow beasts kept everyone else at bay, no matter how hard they tried. And his fingers closed around Molly’s throat.

One of his swords lay shattered on the ground, the glass broken into long, dangerous shards and each one held the picture in front of Caleb over and over again, a thousand times he had to watch his love dying, a thousand times he couldn’t save him.  

The darkness was thickening, oozing like spilled ink.

Not again. Not again.

Caleb stood, like the chains had never even been there. The shadows were gone, a bright and brilliant light filling the cavern instead. It took Caleb a few moments before he realised the light was coming from him.

It wasn’t like before. Like the time he and Ikithon fought, like the time in the woods with Mollymauk where he lost control. Both of those times he had forgotten the word as soon as he’d said it, like it hadn’t really come from him at all.

But now he knew it. It burned there on his lips. The name of fire.

It crackled up his skin, wreathed his hair, but he didn’t burn. How could he? The fire wasn’t on him, it washim.

Molly fell to the floor, Ikithon’s grasp slackened in a mix of horror, terror and awe. Everyone else was stunned, it was their turn to be unable to move, weapons still held ready even after the shadows were gone. Because who the hell knew what was going to happen next.

Caleb took step after step, like he was relearning how to walk. The pain hadn’t faded, in fact it was fuelling him like electricity, the way a fire consumes wood and paper.

Eventually, it was only him and Ikithon. Caleb realised that he towered over the man now as he shrank back in fear. He’d always been taller than him of course, it had just been a matter of perspective.

Was this what Ikithon had seen every time he knocked Caleb back with harsh words, every time he’d threatened him and forced him down to nearly nothing? Had this made him feel powerful?

Caleb just felt sad.

He tried to think of something to say. A hero would always have a witty quip, one line to cut as sharp as the final blow. But, as he’d already realised, to his dismay and his relief, Caleb wasn’t a hero.

“I have nothing to say to you. You aren’t worth the effort.”

His voice was like the crackling of a fire. He stretched out one hand. And everything in him flowed into Ikithon and burnt him to ash in less time than it would take to strum a lute.

The flash of light was enough to hurt. Orange then red then a harsh white. Mollymauk cringed and covered his eyes with his hand as his heart hammered in his chest, one word over and over. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…

The whole air smelled of burning, smoke hung in it like wisps of fine gossamer. Black streaked up the grey stone walls, an ashy residue all emanating from one point. Caleb lay in the centre of that point, curled up small like a puppet with his strings cut.

“No!” Molly sobbed, staggering to his feet, clearing the distance between them with something more like an extended fall than steps.

His throat still burned, bruises in the shape of fingers rising there already. It was hard to suck in air but Molly didn’t care about that right now.

Caleb felt so cold when his hands finally found him, turned him over and held him in his arms. It was like all like heat had gone out of him, lost to make that final rush of flame and light. His skin was covered in the sooty substance, his hair steamed gently like the ends of his copper locks had singed but his skin was icy.

And his eyes were blank.

“Caleb!” Molly gasped, voice painful, “Caleb, come on, come back to me…”

Nott’s voice was somewhere in the background through the smoke, calling Caduceus. Jester was already moving forward, her hands glowing with energy through the grey air.

“Caleb, please…” Molly murmured, moving back only as much as he had to so he could let Jester through. Any further from Caleb and he would have broken. “Please, it can’t end like this…”

There was no ink left in him, it had fled when his sword shattered.

All there was left was the song.

[mnemememory]

tick tick tick

The first time (sort of) Caleb meets Beau, she punches him in the nose.

“You motherfucker,” she says, throwing herself into a chair next to Nott and waving down Adelaine the waitress. “You owe me so many drinks.”

(or; the time-travel fix-it that absolutely no one asked me to write, but I did anyway)

fine part 2 on ao3 here and on tumblr here

The first time (sort of) Caleb meets Beau, she punches him in the nose.

“You motherfucker,” she says, throwing herself into a chair next to Nott and waving down Adelaine the waitress. “You owe me so many drinks.”

“Hello, Beauregard,” Nott says. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Beau says, and then turns to face Adelaine. “I need alcohol. So much alcohol. He’s paying.”

“I will pay for it,” Caleb promises, reaching into his purse and pulling out three silver coins. He places them onto the table in front of them, stacking one atop the other. Adelaine gives them a long look, before scooping up the coins and walking briskly away.

“Make it strong!” Beau calls after her.

“It is good to see you, Beau,” Caleb says, cautiously. There is blood dripping down from his nose. He feels around the bridge, making sure that nothing is broken, before staunching the flow with the sleeve of his threadbare jacket.

“No,” Beau says. “No, don’t talk to me, I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Caleb gives a heavy sigh. “Beauregard –”

“CALEB!”

Caleb barely has time to gauge the oncoming line of attack before he is assaulted by something very fast and very blue. Both he and the aggressor are knocked off the chair and onto the ground. Caleb’s head hits the floor with a painful crack, and he groans as the chair flattens onto his hip. He tries to get up, but Jester is a very happy (and incredibly strong) limpet at his side, severely limiting his range of movement.

Fjord follows after her at a more sedate – though still purposeful – pace, and easy smile settled onto his handsome face.

“Now, now, Jester,” he says, amusement plain. “Let him breathe.”

“Hello,” Caleb wheezes out, patting Jester on the back. She does not get up. Caleb tries to push her away, before realising the ultimate futility of the action. He lies back down and stares at the ceiling.

“Don’t act like you can’t hug people, Caleb,” Jester says, face buried into his neck. “I know you can hug people. You’ve hugged me before.”

“I am not much of a hugger, my friend,” Caleb says, though he does concede to putting his arms around her shoulders and squeezing. That seems to be just enough, because Jester gives a dizzy laugh and backs off. As she gets to her feet, all the windows of the inn slam open at the same time, sending a blast of cold air into the otherwise warm interior. A few patrons let out simultaneous startled exclamations, some more vicious than mean spirited than others. One man drops his flagon of beer onto the ground.

Jester smirks down at Caleb, and then effortlessly lifts him to his feet.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Jester says, patting him on the head and then picking up his chair for him. “You are an excellent hugger.”

The knock to his head has Caleb’s nose bleeding afresh, and he’s almost gone through the entire elbow of his sleeve. Nonchalant, Jester pulls out a handkerchief and smushes it into Caleb’s face with just a little too much force.

Blood dripping from his chin and onto his collar, and Caleb couldn’t be happier.

“It’s certainly been a while,” Fjord says, keeping his voice light as he settled in next to Beau. She doesn’t bother acknowledging him, too busy stealing Caleb’s drink and downing it in one large gulp. “A few years, by my guess.”

“I am not entirely sure,” Caleb admits, and there’s something hot burning in his stomach, warmer than a campfire on a cold winter’s night. “I have tried counting, but.”

“It’s a bit difficult to keep track of it all,” Fjord finishes for him.

Beau loudly slurps down the last of Caleb’s beer and side-eyes Nott. “You usually have alcohol,” she says.

Nott hugs her beer closer to her chest, porcelain mask firmly affixed to her face. “Don’t even think about it!” she says, teeth sticking over the edge. She looks very young, and very feral. Caleb kind of wants to hug her, just to prove to himself that he can. “I don’t have my flask, yet – I am not sharing this with you, Beau, back off.”

“You’ve gotten nasty,” Beau says. She’s about to say something else – probably unflattering to the extreme, probably with the potential for a bar fight – when Adelaine comes in with the biggest tankard of ale Caleb has ever seen. Beau’s eyes brighten, and she gives Adelaine a wide smile and a wink.

“Thanks,” she says, and promptly attempts to drown herself. Fjord has to drag it off of her before anything unsettling happens.

From the way Adelaine is looking them over (Jester attempting to strangle Nott with the power of her biceps, Fjord wrestling an intensely uncooperative Beau, Caleb bleeding over the table), they probably seem a little insane.

“Call me over if you need anything else,” she says. She doesn’t sound particularly enthused.

“Thanks for the alcohol,” Beau calls after her, and there’s a calming predictability to her rakish grin. Caleb counts them in his head – one, two, three, four –

The door opens.

They – all of them – almost break their necks with how fast they turn their heads. Caleb’s heart is pounding something awful in his chest. There’s a painful kind of certainty to the “knowing”, to the understanding, to the – weight, of it all. Caleb’s shoulders ache.

Mollymauk Tealeaf walks into the bar, breezing past the doorway with a dazzling flourish of his multi-coloured coat. His smile is sharp and his eyes glitter red, all flamboyance and cheery certainty. Flyers flash in-between his long fingers as he slides them along tables and into the open hands of the unwary.

There’s a shadow trailing at his back, large enough to be impossible to miss. Yasha doesn’t move more than a few feet away from Molly at any given point in time, eyes following the progression around the room with laser-like precision.

Caleb watches out of the corner of his eye as Beau makes a half-aborted attempt to get to her feet. Yasha looks over their way, taking in their clustered grouping with a blank face.

Molly comes to their table, finally – finally. Frumpkin is curled around his ankles, and there is still blood running down Caleb’s face, and everything is finally correct with how the world works.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Molly says, giving a low bow. Behind him, Yasha rolls her eyes. “At your service!”

Caleb has a Life’s Work.

It’s as grandiose as they come, he likes to think – altering the very fabric of existence. It’s possible. People have done it before. During darker times, bigger times, people have changed the fate of the world and withheld the heavy embrace of death.

(Oh, and the Mighty Nein regularly use it to win drinking contests).

But resurrection – no matter how complete – will not sooth the stitches in Caleb’s soul. He wants something bigger. He wants something better. He wants to have never made the mistakes he has made in the first place.

Impossibly, one day –

He finds it.

Caleb meets Nott in the middle of a robbery, because some things just never change.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, ducking back from a ray of light as city guards survey the area with large flashlights and vicious-looking dogs. Caleb is not a dog person. “I mean – who are you?”

Nott looks unimpressed about everything, though that could just be the way her eyes gleam wild in the low light. Her mask is off, and her teeth are bare, and she has a tight hand wrapped around Caleb’s forearm like she’s worried he’s going to disappear.

“Don’t give me that!” she whisper-yells, which – remarkably – does not immediately alert the guards to their position. “Do you know how long it’s been, Caleb? Do you? I’ve been trying for weeks to remember which store I had been casing out – this happened years ago, and my memory isn’t the best –”

Before he can think better of it, Caleb sweeps her up into a hug.

Yasha is surveying their little group with the distinct impression of a mother duck who finally has all her ducklings in one place.

She is sitting next to Beau – Fjord having surrendered his place with only a few good-natured grumblings – with Molly in her direct line of sight. He looks visibly startled, though he hides it well. His words are slick with charm. Still, there’s something off about his carnival spiel this time around. It takes him a few good five minutes to break, which is better than Caleb would have given him the first time around.

“Are these friends of yours, Yasha?” he says.

Yasha doesn’t look up from her own tankard of ale, arm slung low around Beau’s waist. “No.”

Jester pouts. She’s been vibrating in her seat since the moment Molly walked into the tavern. It has taken previously unknown depths of patience not to grab him in a vicious, bloody hug right there and then. “Yasha,” she says, sounding theatrically heartbroken. “Am I not your friend?”

Yasha sighs. “Yes, we are friends.”

“How about Nott?” Jester demands.

“Her too.”

“What about Caleb? Is he still your friend?”

Caleb gives her a narrow look, but she doesn’t even bother glancing in his direction. Yasha takes another long swig of her ale.

“Yes, we are friends.”

Caleb lets out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. He hadn’t been particularly loud about it, but Nott gives him a sharp look anyway. “Caleb is my friend as well,” she says, loud enough that the rest of the table sits back and takes notice.

“We are definitely friends, Caleb,” Jester says, beaming. “We’re all friends! Oh, I missed you guys so much.”

Yasha looks Molly dead in the eye. “I have never seen these people in my life.”

They visit the circus again. Molly undoubtably thinks they’re all crazy, and Yasha actually has a paying job that isn’t “freelance monster killer”.

“You should let us keep our weapons this time,” Beau says, trying futilely to hide her staff behind her back. “You know us. It’s fine.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Yasha says. Molly barks out a sharp laugh, which is soundly ignored. He starts moving back into the tent, but Yasha’s sharp glance pins him to the sport. She has him well trained. Caleb watches on, amused. “And I have to confiscate all your weapons for security purposes.”

“Yasha!” Beau protests, but Yasha just leans forward to grab Beau’s staff right out of her hands. “Hey! At least give me the same deal as last time!”

“No.”

“This is robbery,” Beau says, shoving the money into Molly’s hands and then turning to face the rest of them, hands folded petulantly across her chest.

“I’ll pay for everyone else,” Nott says. Beau gapes at her.

“Wait –”

Yasha solemnly takes the money (from where he’s standing, Caleb counts short, though that doesn’t seem to bother her overmuch) and ushers them inside. She does not take away anyone else’s weapons.

This time, there is no killer frog, because months ago (Yasha says) she had taken one look at Kylre and said, placidly, “Gee, that kind of looks like a fiend.” He had then proceeded to try and rip her throat out, which had led some credence to her offhand observation.

For most of his life, Caleb has been afraid of fire.

As a child, he would light candles with a simple tug of his stomach, watch as they sputtered light into the shadows and made them deeper, darker. His friends had delighted at the game, loved the way he could blink and leave a room differ than when he found it. They grew bored, over time, but in the beginning things had seemed so wonderful, so – well. Magical.

“Oh no,” Caleb says, voice bland as he stares at the unlit candle. “I can’t do it.”

Trent Ikathon gives Astrid a sharp look. She frowns at him, fingers moving in slow anxious circles at the base of her wrist.

“Caleb?” she says.

“It’s too hard,” Caleb says. “I’m too tired. Maybe another day?”

“You did it yesterday,” Astrid hisses, face mortified. She turns to Ikathon. “I don’t know what’s the matter with him, he –”

“Work ethic,” Ikathon says, bloodless lips drawn into a thin smile. “Is just as important as raw talent.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” Caleb says, channelling his inner Caduceus. Astrid groans and buries her face into her hands.

(Twelve-year-old Caleb whispers quiet to twelve-year-old Astrid: “Don’t let them pull you in. Don’t let them change you.”

She does anyway, because she’s always been too smart to listen to Caleb, so why should she start now? Caleb watches her go and hooks fire-resistance charms into the bedrock of his house.

He does not follow her).

“I’m leaving the circus,” Yasha announces to Gustav the next day.

Molly looks over at her. “You are?”

“So is Molly,” she adds.

“I am?”

Caleb wishes that he wouldn’t look so delighted.

The problem with time travel – especially with extremely experimental and possibly accidental time travel – is that Caleb has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s got some things right, at least.

“If you’re going to do this again,” Jester says, when they set out. “A little warning next time would be very much appreciated.”

“Yeah,” Fjord says. “Maybe just yell something right beforehand. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience, waking up and not seeing any of you all.”

“I was very confused,” Jester says. “My Mama was also very confused.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Molly says cheerily.

Yasha doesn’t say anything. The look that she gives him is more than enough.

“Now we just have to go and get Caduceus,” Beau says. “And we’ll be good to go. But yeah, Caleb – next time this happens, I’m going to give you more than just a broken nose if we don’t talk about it extensively beforehand.”

“Do not worry, my friends,” Caleb says. He’s almost skipping along the road, with how light he feels. “I do not think this will be necessary. Once was enough. The next time we go through my hometown, I will introduce you to my parents.”

[feral-renaissance-cat]

Molly, Meet Your Maker

(A direct sequel to “A Message from Mollymauk” because I’m coping through speculative fiction, okay?)

The flood of grief was slowing to a trickle. New bits of text and a few lovely drawings appeared now and then, but clearly the shock had worn off. Molly was bored. He hated it. He had tried speaking to his surroundings a few times with no results, so now he simply did it because it was something to do.

“Is it possible to die of boredom when you’re already dead?” he asked. He searched his pockets again for the hundredth time and found nothing, not even the ash from the cigarette Keg had given him. It seemed he had emerged into this world cleansed. He thought he would have been naked, yet here he was in the clothes he had worn during the attack, albeit without the fresh bloodstains and massive gash in his shirt. No drugs, no drinks, nothing to fiddle with. His tail twitched in agitation. “Would something just happen already?” he demanded. After a moment of thought he added, “Please?”

Everything around him stopped. Molly had already figured out he didn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would have been rapid now. “Um, hello there?”

All the words and images faded into a hazy fog. To Molly’s great astonishment, from the fog came a reply. “Who’s that?” asked a voice. The voice made the hair on the back of Molly’s neck stand on end. It was familiar and yet...different from how he thought it should be? Was that why he was afraid to strike up a conversation with it? Or was there a different source for the apprehensive dread in his chest?

The voice spoke again, but it was louder, closer. “Pretty sure I’m dreaming, but no matter how hard I try I can’t actually affect anything, which means I’m either the worst lucid dreamer or that last drink was more than I expected.” A shadow appeared in the mist and eventually its outline grew sharper. It was about Molly’s height, humanoid, arms outstretched. Molly instinctively backed away. Despite his yearning for salvation from his boredom, this was unexpected and the part of him that always told him to run from anything that resembled his past was currently screaming in the back of his mind.

As afraid and alone as he was, Molly could only think of his friends. This slinking away trying to avoid confrontation was exactly what Caleb would do. Fjord would have already stepped forward to exchange pleasantries with Beau right behind him preparing to accidentally make the conversation awkward. If the stranger proved to be harmless, Jester would prance up to ask them questions and Nott might follow her while keeping an eye on Caleb. Yasha...would be Yasha, standing there waiting to figure out what her part in this was and only acting when she was sure she actually had something to do. And he? What would Mollymauk do when the Mighty Nein faced a new acquaintance?

He stood his ground. Reflexively he turned his head to check over his shoulder for Caleb, that odd mad man who was so clearly broken yet continuously put himself into situations that could shatter him rather than abandon the group. Molly had to show Caleb it was okay. He took a step forward. “And who might you be?” Molly asked.

The shadow perked up and came towards Molly. Its form cleared into that of a man, human, neither very young nor very old, with a soft figure that still radiated an active energy, and his hair was much shorter on the sides while the longer part on top was neatly brushed back and had a faint sheen of some bluish purple color. When the man saw Molly, he stopped. His jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” the man said. “It’s you.”

Molly cringed. “I know who you think I am,” he said. “I’m not him. If you’re looking for Lucien, Lucien’s dead.”

“Of course he is,” the man said matter-of-factly. “He’s been dead for over two years. You...you’re Molly. Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly was getting nervous again. “Have we met?”

The man blinked as though suddenly realizing where he was. “Oh, no, not formally anyway.” He held out his hand. “I’m Taliesin. Taliesin Jaffe.”

Molly was hesitant to shake this man’s hand, but his curiosity had gotten him into worse places. The handshake was firm and highly enthusiastic on Taliesin’s part. “Good to finally meet you, I guess?” Molly said.

Taliesin continued to stare at him. “This is going to sound really weird, but the situation is weird as it is, so here goes...” He took a deep breath. “I’m your creator.”

Molly chuckled. “Are you a god or something?”

“Oh no, no no. But I made you. I’ve been wanting to pl- to introduce you for years.”

The wary part of Molly’s mind kept on screaming. “Were you... Are you the reason behind these?” Molly asked, indicating the red tattoos he had hidden among all the rest.

Taliesin waggled his head from side to side. “Ehh...technically? Let’s put it this way: I’m not a god, but I know who made the world you live in. I came up with your basic concept and told him to fill in the blanks for your past. I didn’t even know about Lucien until we got to the Gentleman. I’ve thought a lot about you for a while, but most of the little details you know about yourself are things I made up as we were going along.”

Molly narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you don’t remember the names of any places you’ve been, but do you remember what you were doing about a year ago? Say, ten months? Remember any particular encounters?”

So many things had happened in two years, it was hard to keep track of when ‘particular encounters’ had happened. Molly shrugged.

“I’ll tell you. You were telling fortunes and this lovely couple came up and asked for a reading. They said their relationship had hit a rough patch and they were looking for advice or insight as to what would happen next. You rigged your deck to draw The Lovers and the Three of Cups so you could tell them their relationship would be saved by bringing in a third person. So you convinced them to have a threesome that went so well that they said any time you were in town you were free to drop by for dinner and stay for breakfast. Remember now?”

Molly tilted his head. He could remember it all of a sudden. He remembered exactly how he had stacked and shuffled his cards to give him the result he needed. He remembered how he had flirted with the woman first then turned his charm to the man once he won her over. He remembered the parting kisses he had given them both and the giddy yet guilty feeling he had walking back to the wagons because he knew he would probably never see them again. He nodded.

“Well I just made that up. That memory didn’t exist until just now.” Taliesin shook his head sadly. “I know your past as you, Molly, and your present. That’s it. Your distant past -- and your future -- are out of my hands.”

“But...if you created me, then...you must know something.”

Taliesin laughed. “I don’t even know where I am right now. Last thing I remember was checking Twitter before bed and seeing...well, it’s gonna sound crazy but there are a lot of people who blame me for your death. Or they’re blaming one of two other people, but what happened to you wasn’t...” He put a hand over his mouth. “My god, Molly, I’m so sorry.”

A faint crack of hope shone in Molly’s heart. “Can you send me back? You said you know the man who made the world. He can send me back, right?”

“He could, but there are rules. He can’t just say, ‘Okay, that shouldn’t have happened. Let’s start over and this time no one dies.’ I have faith in him, and I will respect whatever decision he makes, but ultimately it’s not up to me.” Taliesin sighed. It was a deep airy sigh Molly could practically feel in his own lungs. “I was really excited about you,” Taliesin said. “There was so much left you had to do and learn and, now, I honestly don’t know if you’ll ever get the chance.” Molly noticed his hands trembling. This man who was his creator but who was not a god was trembling. Molly stepped forward and embraced him.

Molly wasn’t sure which emotion had triggered his tears. There was so much for him to process and he could feel Taliesin’s anxiety and grief compounding with his own. It was overwhelming. Then Taliesin put his arms around him and pulled him tight. Molly’s tail curled as he held back his sobs. The last thing he wanted to do was openly weep into his creator’s shoulder. Then again, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so, and so he did. He cried over the loss of his friends, over the fear of being alone again, over the hopelessness of his situation and the helplessness of the man who made him. He cried because he hadn’t cried in a while and damn it if you couldn’t cry about your own death when it was this unfair then when could you?

The hug lasted as long as it needed to. It was Taliesin who let go first. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

“Thank you,” Molly said. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his coat as Taliesin did the same with the heel of his thumb. Molly wasn’t sure what else to say. Then a thought occurred to him. “You mentioned ‘we’. Are there people who made the others like you made me?”

“There are.”

“Were they like you and they just know a little about all of them or did they invent their pasts too?”

Taliesin shrugged. “Little of column A, little of column B.”

“Did someone come up with Caleb’s past? The reason why he’s...broken?”

“Yes.”

“If you see that person, punch them in the gut for me, will ya?”

Taliesin laughed, and this time there was actual amusement in his voice. “I’ll tell him you said that. God, no one’s going to believe this. I don’t know if I believe it, but it was good to meet you, Molly.”

“Good to meet you, too, I guess.” The tip of Molly’s tail twitched. “Um, I’m guessing you have to go.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Taliesin put his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

Molly smiled. “Not like I have much choice, right?”

The two shook hands in farewell. As Taliesin turned to walk back into the fog, Molly called, “Wait!” Taliesin stopped to look over his shoulder. Molly grinned sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you have anything you could leave with me to, I don’t know, help me pass the time?”

Taliesin put his hand to his chin and furrowed his brow pensively. “Maybe I could...hmmm...” A smile crept across his face. His eyes twinkled. “Check your pockets. I think you have something in there that could help.” With that, Taliesin walked into the fog, waving goodbye as he went.

Molly huffed. He had checked his pockets so many times, what could possibly--

There was something in his pockets. He frantically turned them out. One pocket in his pants had a flask that had the same sheen as Nott’s. The other pocket had a drawing of everyone in the Mighty Nein charging together into battle. One pocket in his coat had a box of cigarettes with a small flint and steel. The last pocket had a small bag of pills with a note. “When things seem hopeless, Papa Molly.”

[moonblooch]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Major Character Death

Category: Gen

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationship: Beauregard & Nott & Caleb Widogast

Characters: Nott (Critical Role), Beauregard (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast, mentions of other characters

Additional Tags: Mentions of Character Death, Time Travel, rated teen for some cursing, zemnian has google translate grammar rules, initially this was just a fix it fic, but then i had a theory, i'm being a bit vague with the means of time travel, but only because the timline wouldn't let them be a high enough level to get wish yet

Language:English

An alternate timeline where Lorenzo lives, and the thurviving three travel back in time in order to get the jump on him.

“I don’t like this.” Beau pouted, holding out the gauzy fabric which had once been her jacket. “You’re sure you can’t do this again Nott?”

Nott shook her head.

“If you’re supposed to be the Moonweaver it’s probably better if your voice is, well, not like mine.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your voice.”

“If you say so. It’s hardly godly though, is it?”

Beau reflexively tried to protest, but bit her tongue when Nott simply shook her head again.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll be the Moonweaver. I guess I’m the only one who can carry him anyway.”

They had found the circus a day prior, though the tiny collection of dilapidated tents barely held up to her memory of the place. Maybe she was remembering through rose tinted glasses, but the show which had united the Mighty Nein seemed practically grandiose in comparison. Said tents were now five hundred or so feet away through the trees.

The night was moonless, which Caleb had said was perfect for their… series of things they were going to do (so called because she knew that the moment the word ‘plan’ reared its head they were fucked). After all, what better way to convince the people that the moon was walking among them than if they couldn’t see one in the sky?

Molly still hadn’t woken. They had found him burning up with a fierce fever the morning after the Traveller’s visit. On the few occasions he had stirred he had done little more than moan, sometimes in common, sometimes in infernal. They didn’t have the healing potions to spare to help, the few they did have were too, well, they were too good. Beau didn’t like the state they had to keep him in and she could tell that the others didn’t either, but healing him too much ran the risk of Molly remembering something about them. The last thing they needed on top of everything else was another time paradox to deal with.

Nott had been doing her best, and succeeding, in keeping Molly stable, but she was still grappling with her new powers. And weren’t those powers something? All it had taken was one touch and some of the worst of Molly’s injuries had begun to close. His ankle was still busted, but the lacerations covering him were beginning to look more and more like the faded scars he had worn when they had last seen him.

Beau pulled her goggles down over her eyes and looked over to Caleb, who was toying with a glow worm.

“You nearly done there Caleb?”

“Ja, ja.”

“You’re sure we can’t just let him loose?” Nott asked. “He’d probably just follow one of the lights.”

“Believe me, I did not want to do it this way.” He replied. “If it looked like he could still walk, that is the way that we would do this. This way is our best chance at getting him safe.”

Nott nodded, slipping the ropes from Molly’s body with disconcerting ease and coiling them for safe storage. Molly didn’t move, he barely even seemed to be breathing. Beau crouched, then slung him over her shoulder.

“Ah, I would perhaps suggest that you do not carry him like that.” Caleb suggested, producing a battered length of leather from the depths of one of his pockets. “It looks careless.”

“You think I should carry him bridal style?” Beau found herself asking with a certain level of horror. Future Molly would have suffocated laughing at something like that. “I won’t be able to fight if I do that.”

“If all goes well you will not have to fight anyone. And I am certain he will understand if you have to drop him, you can apologise when we have him back for good. Now would you rather have lights or the ability to fly?”

Flying sounded really cool. She’d only seen Caleb use it once before, rather appropriately, on Yasha. Yasha had shot into the air, unfurling her wings once she reached the highest point she could, then dived to slam the sharp end of her sword directly between the eyes of the dragon they were fighting. Beau had never had much faith in the gods, but watching that as she bled out on the ground was perhaps the closest thing she had had to a religious experience. Or maybe that had been the concussion she had at the time talking.

All but a small part of her cried out in protest as she said “maybe the lights? Or am I glowing enough already?”

“Looks pretty glowy to me.” Nott said, looking up briefly from the rope she was still shoving into one of their bags.

“But still a no to the flying for now, thanks Caleb.” Beau continued, “Save your magic for getting us out of there.”

It was only practical; she wasn’t an experienced flyer. The last thing that she needed was to drop Molly on his head from a great height, no matter how fantastic of a punchline that would make later on.

She ran through the series of events that were about to happen. She was going to walk into camp and, using every bit of repressed posture training her parents had made her go through to look regal and holy, demand that Gustav was brought to her. She was going to spout some bullshit about divine destiny, dump Molly on him, then get the fuck out of there before anyone asked any questions.

“Ready to go?” she asked the others, swinging Molly into both of her arms with as little grace as she could manage.

“Ja.”

“As ready as we’re going to be.”

“Great.” She replied. “And the code word for get me the fuck out of there is?”

“Mollymauk.” Two voices chorused back to her.

None of them liked it; it almost seemed like they were taking a choice away from him. But they couldn’t run the risk of something even more stupid sounding, then meeting Molly later only to find that he was actually called Uno. It wasn’t worth breaking the timeline over.

Beau re-adjusted her grip, trying to support Molly’s head without impaling herself on one of his horns.

“Let’s do this.”

Caleb trailed behind Beau, making as little noise as possible. Only the two of them had ventured into the woods, Nott instead leading their horses west to their pre-arranged meeting place further along the road. She had tapped him on the arm with a whisper of “anweledig” before leaving, meaning that for all appearances Beau was walking alone through the trees. Or the Moonweaver was; hopefully none of the circus had the power to see through the illusion. He was her way out (because running away was the only thing he seemed to succeed at lately).

“Caleb?” Beau whispered.

Under another set of circumstances he might have stayed silent (and the temptation was still there) but they had fifty six minutes and twenty two seconds until Nott’s spell wore off. They didn’t have time to fuck around.

“Ja?” he answered, voice as quiet as he could get away with.

“If I start spouting a load of bullshit could you, I don’t know, tap me on the shoulder or something?”

“Gods are prone to such things, as I understand it.” Caleb replied. “Certainly if everything that Jester has told us about the Traveller is true.”

“Yeah. Guess we’ll find out from Nott soon enough.”

Another thread to complicate their cat’s cradle of a situation; apparently whatever entity Jester had been praying to had taken a shine to Nott. Divine intervention on their behalf was not a thing to be sniffed at, but that assumed that the Traveller even was a god to begin with. He did not want to doubt Jester, but green cloaks were easily come by, and she had not communed openly with him in the presence of their group that Caleb could recall. He could think of a handful of spells which would produce the effect of an omnipresent shadow over one’s face, even he could have achieved that, and an illusion or teleportation, maybe an artefact which gave the wearer invisibility, would give the effect of appearing from nowhere.

But that left the troubling question of where exactly Jester had been drawing her power from.

They were close enough to the camp now that he could see the firelight flickering on the trunks of the trees around them. He barely dared to breathe when they could finally see the clearing.

“Who goes there?”

Beau could probably have gotten away with dropping Molly at the feet of whoever was nearest then running, but instead she stepped into the light, head held high, to face the owner of that voice. Caleb kept his hand hovering a whisper away from her shoulder, ready to get them out the second something went wrong.

A figure approached them, a shadow against the firelight. Upon closer inspection, Caleb recognised him as the man who called himself Gustav Fletching. He was holding a crossbow in a loose grip, not pointed at Beau yet but Caleb could see that it was primed and loaded.

“Who are you?” he repeated, shifting his stance.

“I go by a great many names.” Beau replied, pitching her voice to sound softer and more sultry than usual. A good start.

“Though you have no need to concern yourself with any of them, I rarely do. And I do not intend to trouble you for long.”

Slightly less good, but it sounded lofty enough that Gustav might have been buying it. He did not look like he was, but he could have been.

“Why are you here?”

Caleb hoped that he was imagining the way Gustav’s fingers tensed on the crossbow.

“I require a safe resting place for this one.” Beau nodded towards Molly, her trailing white hair floating upwards as she did so. “My influence is tragically limited in these parts, or I would care for him myself. I have done what I can, but my power wanes even now.”

She took a step forward and Gustav finally levelled the crossbow at her face.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not a charity. There’ll be half a dozen camps along this road, so you can turn right around and keep walking; maybe you’ll stand a better chance with them.”

Beau remained silent for a few seconds, and though Caleb couldn’t see her face her posture read as tense. He let his fingers brush her shoulder, just to let her know that he was still at her back. With his other hand he reached for the copper wire tucked into his lapel, mind already buzzing with suggestions.

“Go north along this road and you shall find a small grouping of trees, within which you shall find the grave that I retrieved this one from. I could observe nothing of value there, but your mortal eyes may lead you to something which your kind hold greater value in than mine does.” Beau spoke, squaring her shoulders.

There is no gold in that grave, they both know it, but if they can convince Gustav that Molly is worth keeping then that won’t matter.

“When you say ‘mortals’, you mean what exactly?”

Beau apparently choose to ignore this question, which was likely for the best Caleb thought. Gods, much like people who are well endowed, should never insist upon their status to others as it tends to bring said status into doubt.

“I have seen that your fate is entwined with his.” She says instead, keeping a sleepy quality to her voice. “And this one is important to me, so I will entrust his care to you for a time.”

“Say I agree to take him, then what?” Gustav asked, raising his chin. “What’s to stop me from putting him out of his misery as soon as you’re gone?”

“My darling,” Beau replied after a beat, and despite the severity of their circumstances Caleb had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing at how unnatural those words sounded in her voice, “I have said before that my influence in these parts is limited, but it is hardly non-existent. As long as there is a moon in the sky I will be watching over him. I will know if you allow any ill to befall him, and I will not be pleased.”

The crossbow, which had been inching gradually lower, swung back to eye level.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not yet.” Beau answered. Caleb mentally cursed, then dug into a pocket for a firefly. This was becoming too confrontational for comfort.

“You have not yet given me reason to.” Beau continued. “And I would like to think that you never will. The gift that this one has for understanding the fates will serve you well in future, and you do not strike me as the kind to squander such wonderful things.”

The crossbow finally lowered, though Gustav did not disarm it.

“Will you come back for him?”

“Certainly.”

Gustav shook his head, though the gesture was clearly more self-deprecating than anything else. Caleb dropped the firefly back into his pocket, then returned his hand to Beau’s shoulder.

“Very well then, you can leave him here. I’ll expect appropriate compensation when you come back though.”

“He will have provided that to you tenfold by the time we meet again, but should you feel that something is lacking I shall be happy to supply it.” Beau knelt, laying Molly on the ground as gently as she could manage without seeming ungraceful. She trailed her fingers almost fondly along one of his horns before standing again.

“Sleep well, Mollymauk.”

Taking his cue, Caleb grabbed her shoulder and pulled. With little more than a whispered “Maßtür”, they were gone.

[dent-de-leon]

Mollymauk, 4, 5, 11, 13, 14, 15, 21, 22 :D (feel free to trim down if this is too many)

asksjkdf I'm sorry in advance because I got a little carried away so this got a little long, but thanks for the ask! I love any and every excuse to talk about Mollymauk...

4.) Best places to kiss on their body

I think Molly is actually very partial to forehead kisses! I feel like he uses that to ground Caleb in part because it’s something that’s always been very comforting to him--for instance, when Yasha finally gets to embrace him again, she also kisses his forehead. I think I remember Molly doing this for the twins back at the carnival too, so I feel like it’s a habit he picked up from the circus? Just the kind of little thing you do for someone to show you love them.

Aside from that, I think he would really appreciate a kiss on the neck, where most of his blood hunter scars--and that haunting red Eye--are. A bit of loving tenderness to soothe the pain.

5.) Guilty pleasures

Oh I love this pick for Molly cause boY does he have a lot of these!! He builds a life off joy and hedonism, so he’s got this in spades. I forget where, but I’ve definitely seen someone theorize before that the reason base pleasures are so appealing to Molly is because he started out just feeling like an “Empty” body, so anything that’s very stimulating on a physical level is very grounding for him? I really like the idea of that. I think wanting to feel like he was really “alive” and “whole” is part of why he gravitated towards decadence and indulgence, anything that made his heart beat faster.

The episode where we get the famous “Long may I reign” scene definitely covers a lot of his favorite indulgences. But as much as he loves being spoiled, I think he also likes making sure the people he cares about are pampered like royalty too. Taliesin mentioned before that the reason Molly likes gold so much is because he’s got this very childish perception that money is Good because you can use it to get Nice Things that make other people Happy. Since Molly’s been alive for only two years, I feel like a lot of his guilty pleasures actually stem from this sort of sentiment. The fact that he’s still so young and everything in the world is very new and exciting and he just wants to be as happy as possible--and make his loved ones happy too. It’s a very endearingly innocent sort of view.

11.) Bad or petty habits

Hmmm I feel like the one thing that makes Molly the pettiest is when someone tries to tell him his tarot readings are bullshit lmao. Even if he mostly thinks so himself, he adamantly refuses to hear it from anyone else.

13.) What gets them flustered

I think whenever someone is being very genuine and having a real heart to heart with him. Molly is perfectly at ease talking bullshit or telling pretty lies. He’s also very comfortable being very sincere and compassionate when it comes to comforting others, like the little ways he’s always trying to cheer up Jester, the forehead kiss for Caleb, promising Fjord the Nein won’t let him die, bringing Yasha a four-leaf-clover with the wish that one day she’ll feel happier.

But whenever people are openly affectionate and trying to have an honest conversation with him? I think that makes him tense up and panic a bit. He’s not good with letting himself be vulnerable, dropping his showman’s performance. We actually see a lot of this when Molly is resurrected and starts going by Kingsley. He knows he has feelings for the Nein, but he’s definitely a little nervous and overwhelmed when he confronts that.

Several times, Caleb assures King he’s still welcome in the Nein, and that always makes Kingsley either defensive or very quiet, keeps catching him off-guard. “Well for starters, you are with friends.” “Perhaps this is your first time meeting us. It's our second time...Stick with us.” “We have a habit of taking in strays.” “This is the newest member of the band.” Being accepted just like that, loved by all the Nein so unconditionally, just like that? I think it leaves him a little shaken, because he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything to earn it. Like he doesn’t deserve to be this missed and wanted and loved.

14.) Ingrained habits/forces of habit

I think there are some nights where he keeps looking over his shoulder and feels like he’s being watched--when the Eyes of Nine start to itch and burn, when it feels like something’s crawling under his skin--and he looks at the mirror and swears he sees a face that looks just the same but somehow isn’t his. And for a while after he first wakes--and again when he’s resurrected--I think there are still moments when he’s scared or panicked and he’ll just keep repeating Empty over and over.

I also really like how Taliesin used to just pick a random card from his tarot deck to decide what Molly should do. I can definitely see Mollymauk doing something similar--just pulling a random card from his deck on a whim, trusting it’ll lead him in the right direction.

15.) What it takes to make them cry

I feel like Molly rarely cries, mainly because he hates feeling sorry for himself or ruminating on any bad memories. He’s kinda funny that way; he refuses to let himself be unhappy, especially when he feels like he’s always living on borrowed time. The one thing I can see really making him break down is seeing his loved ones hurting--he literally spits at the face of his own death, but I think he’s really terrified of losing someone else.

If there’s one scene where I can really see Molly crying, it’s when Jester falls in that final battle. When Caleb makes this desperate plea that breaks through to Molly for a single heart-wrenching moment, “You’re killing her, you’re killing her! You love her. You’re killing her!” The absolute horror of that shakes Lucien’s control for just a moment, and Molly claws at his own face in retaliation. You can just tell how much his heart is breaking just then, how scared he is, how much he must hate himself. I could definitely imagine Molly shedding a few tears right then, if he had enough control of the body to do it.

Having to watch Lucien use his body to kill Jester and Caleb, the amount of pain Lucien caused Yasha and all the others, the nightmares of his death and black chains that forever haunt him after--I think those are the kinds of things that would bring Molly to tears in his lowest moments. And when he finally reads Beau’s book and finds out about how Yasha suffered a similar fate under Obann? Yeah, I think he’d get choked up over that too.

21.) Turning points in their life

Oh, there’s so many interesting twists and turns Molly’s life takes in just a few short years. Undoubtably, I think every life, death, and rebirth left the biggest impact. The fact that he woke all alone that first time--and then found himself surrounded by so many loved ones a lifetime later--I think that had a profound impact on his sense of self worth and his attachment to others.

That first life, Molly convinces himself that he must have been someone awful before, to have been left alone in an unmarked grave on the side of the road. With no one who missed or mourned him. He believes he somehow deserves that fate. And when he’s taken in by the circus? Taliesin mentions he never spends more than 24 hours alone. He’s...very lonely, I think. Someone who can’t bear to be isolated again. So when he wakes up again to a whole family of people who love him? Who welcome him wholeheartedly and insist they’ll love him unconditionally, no matter who he is? It’s beautiful, and it means the world to someone like Mollymauk/Kingsley. “I’m looking forward to the future. And I hope to deserve to have woken up surrounded by such people.”

Molly’s also mentioned that it was the Moonweaver who helped guide him when he first woke, who gave him comfort in having a new start in life. “Can you imagine what it would feel like to not feel anything about anything that had happened to you so far?...It’s very freeing. It’s the best thing--It’s the thing that happened to me. It’s not the best thing that happened to me, it’s the thing that happened to me. I found peace in building a new person. The Moonweaver--” However he came to worship the Moonweaver, I think it was definitely one of the most formative experiences in all his lives. I also like to headcanon the woman in a red coat Molly/King met in his dream was another visit from the Moonweaver, and she was either trying to return his memories or offer him another chance at a fresh start.

22.) People who’ve influenced them greatly

Oh, pre-campaign I think Molly modeled a lot of his behaviors and mannerisms after others in the circus, especially Gustav. He’s the one who named Mollymauk and presumably the one who spent the most time raising him and caring for him in that Empty period.

Molly has his own set of morals he feels very strongly about, and it’s entirely learned from the circus, “Things came back quick, and the circus helped. They were good people. They did a lot for me, and joy can fill an awful lot of a person’s life.” “I may be a liar, but I’m never a betrayer. I’m honest in my work and I believe in doing a good turn...I stayed with that circus for two years, and I know how people treat each other. It’s important.” When Molly is resurrected again, I think all of the Mighty Nein have very much the same effect on him.