#I’m thinking of making another Essek cover

[shrugsinchinese]

DON’T FORGET BEST BOI CADUCEUS CLAY!!!

Critical Role: The Mighty Nein (comic covers)

[rainbowcaleb]

FICLET FRIDAY : Hot boi by the sea

Prompt: summer vacation | Rating: T | Pairing: shadowgast | WIP, currently 2400 words

A/N : I rediscovered this fic from June last year and have been finishing it for posting! Enjoy this longer snippet from the middle of the fic…

“But you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear so little clothes!” She gestures at his outfit, the black linen sleeveless top and loose plum silk trousers.

“Oh, Light.” Essek mutters and uses his free hand to shift the wrap of his shirt a little more closed. His clothes suddenly feel so scandalous, despite being practically required for this coastal heat.

“Oh no, nonono, I’m sorry Essie, I didn’t mean to make you feel all self conscious, but is it really such a bad thing to be a little ogled at?” Jester looks so earnest that Essek feels compelled to answer.

“It is because you are right; it has easily been decades since I’ve worn such garments in public. I may have been a child last. You all have certainly…relaxed me, but I think my comfort level still has legs to stretch.”

Caleb’s hand is back, now brushing against his shoulder, still so careful to touch what is still covered in fabric. “If you’d like, I have a spare shirt packed, if you wish for another layer.”

“No.” Essek says firmly. “Thank you. I think perhaps the challenge is good for me. I would like to see the ocean, and partake in –what was it Jester?– the local iced poles.”

“Pops, but yes Essek!” She snaps the fingers of her free hand. “It’s hot boi summer, let yourself look hot!” She leans forward enough to catch Caleb’s eye on Essek’s other side. “Even Caleb agrees.”

“Ja, I—” He starts, mouth making a couple silent word attempts before continuing. Then he stands straighter. “Yes. Yes, Jester is right. Your chosen outfit is quite…” He trails off, eyes caught in the sheen of Essek’s pants and looking completely lost for correct words.

“You. Two. Are. Dating.” Jester sighs with the gusto of an elephant trumpet. “At some point you’ll see each others’ dicks so you should really stop blushing over clothes. Unless you have doodley-dooed already and you’re trying to throw me off?”

“Jester!” Essek’s sounds are the squeaking mouse to Jester’s elephant. “We, no, what we do is between us–”

Caleb, despite being tomato red, replies in a fairly reasonable tone. “You are one of our closest friends, but there are some things that will stay between us. For explanation, I was simply…flipping through my mental dictionary and coming up short.”

“Hot boi.” Jester rolls her eyes. “It’s his nickname for a reason.”

“You do look—” Caleb gives him a radiant grin, the bastard. “Very hot.”

Essek wants to bury his face in the inside of his robes, but alas his robes are absent and his shirt is far too low cut. “Thank you Caleb, I think you do too.”

“What, this?” He gestures at his open white shirt, offering a lovely view of bare chest and chest hair, and thigh length linen shorts. “You should see my swimsuit.”

Jester breaks out into a giggle and then quickly tries to stifle herself. Essek and Caleb share a look; it certainly sounds like there is mischief afoot.

“Blueberry.” Essek lets the word roll around his tongue, trying out the nickname. Jester looks at him delighted. “Speaking of swimming, we have been walking for quite a while and have yet to reach any sight of shore. I kindly ask again, this is a tourist town by the sea, correct?”

[sldlovescartoons]

As time went on Essek looked more and more forward to his meetings with Caleb. As it was he could only drop his disguises in very rural west and south areas and with the Nein and the whole thing got more exhausting all the time. Plus, Caleb was making such quick progress with his studies, chatting only got more interesting with each visit.

He was also pretty sure it was normal to miss one’s partner, but such romantic thoughts flustered him too much to think on so early in the afternoon. That train of thought was for once Caleb and him have gone through a whole bottle of wine.

“Professor Widogast?” Knocking on the door with his most neutral accent. He was Halsunn Deeproot today, a forest elf who did magical research. One of his partner’s favorite aliases.

“Ah, come in, Deeproot!”

And so he went in, senses immediately assaulted by the smell of cooking meats and veggies. Ah, so they were eating in tonight. Appreciated, since their latest separation had been especially long. The drow dropped his disguise as he drifted into the kitchen to the grin on of ridiculous human partner.

“Awh, putting Halsunn away already? But he’s such a looker.”

“Don’t tease me, young man, I’m of no mood for it.” He complained with no malice as he finally reached his destination and got to give Caleb a peck on the lips, getting a quick glance at whatever he was cooking before it was covered with a lid. “That looks… different.”

Caleb and Essek were not cooks, but they had been gradually improving now that they had to fend for themselves as full adults. That said, the list of things either of them could cook consistently good was short. Both could do the easiest of soups and some stews, Caleb knew how to do basics roasts and sides and he knew some very simple baking. This didn’t stop either of them from trying something more complex, wizard hubris and all. Whatever his ginger had in that deep pan wasn’t one of the roasts the human whipped out when he had the coin and wanted to impress. There was twine and toothpicks. The drow really hoped that he wasn’t going to spend his first night of this visit choking down something inedible, but it would be fair turnaround for those awful plum cookies Essek had made two visits back.

“Don’t worry, I practiced this one a bit. I wanted to do something nice to surprise you. Do you know what a few days ago was?”

Fucks sake, he’d forgotten something. What did he miss? An anniversary, surely, but he couldn’t…

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“Don’t worry, I forgot too, until it’d passed. Four days ago was the third anniversary of the day we met. It’s not something most people remember, or even celebrate, so don’t worry, it’s just- I remembered and wanted to make you a little treat.” Caleb glanced at some sand dials he had set up. The drow noticed more covered pots. Steaming something, maybe?

“You don’t have to go so out of the way.”

“I want to, though, and I will.”

“But of course.”

“Now-“ Another, slightly longer kiss and a soft smile with blue eyes that took his thoughts away more often than not. “Why don’t you go wash up a bit, hm? You smell like a beast of burden. Dinner should be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Bold words from the man who smells like ox mating season.” Essek was eternally glad that his complexion was too dark for blushes to show at the teasing. Also hypocritical since the cologne Caleb smothered himself instead of bathing regularly smelt like animal musk and the vague concept of a forest. “But yes, I think I will.”

He tended to take long bathes whenever he had the luxury of time to do so, so by the time he was clean and had his hair done (he would sooner die then have Caleb seen him without his curl cream in.) dinner was being put on the table.

“Just in time, darling.”

“Well time is one of my specialties.” The statement was something of a flirt or inside joke now-a-days, and got the soft smile he was looking for as a response. He gave him a quick peck on the lips and looked down at Dinner. “Caleb, did you make a roulade?”

“I did.” And he looked so proud of himself, too, but Essek kept looking and as further realization came to him. “But that’s not all, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

The meat roulades, sliced not too thick, not too thin, was served with rice and what was distinctly Xhorasian steamed veggies.

“This meal is very xhorasian inspired.”

“I figured you might be a bit home sick and the market in Rosohna was just a teleport away.” They sat down to eat, Essek much slower as he tried to process this gift.

“You went through all that trouble…”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, so don’t worry about it and eat up, Liebling.”

And so Essek took his first bite (with chopsticks, even!!! Caleb was using a fork but he’d remembered Essek’s utensil preference, the darling man), a fair chunk of meat, filling, and rice.

And promptly burst into tears.

“Oh Schiess, is it that bad? I practiced the technique, but this is the first time with the marinade-“ Caleb, his darling starshine Caleb, started to lean over and fuss. The drow shook his head quickly to try and assure him, to try and get himself together. But he was having a hard time because-

Because Caleb had made *rat*. Giant Rat, had to be. Now in his den, they had mostly livestock and great beasts, their days of having to eating rats like the common folk was centuries past, but one couldn’t deny themselves a little comfort food every once in a while, could they? And what was more comforting and simple to creature of the Underdark than some well cooked rat? This rat dish reminded him starkly of something that his mother had ordered the chefs make when he’d recovered from an awful fever in his… twelfth year, maybe? Something hardy and comforting after he’d been sweating and puking for days to bring him back to health. A rare kindness from his mother and warm memory- and there the tears went again. Lights above, he was a mess.

“Wh- Where did you source the rat? It tastes fresh.” Essek was doing his level best to act like there weren’t thick crocodile tears on his face. His partner blinked at him in open bewilderment.

“I… killed it this morning, down in an abandoned part of the academy. I used the silver it earned me to buy the veggies. Is- is this because of the rat? It’s the most exotic meat I could find short notice-“ A Fresh Hunt!!! It was like Caleb had read his primary school journals from before he found out he didn’t like people and such.

“And you used plum wine in- in the marinade, yes?” He pushed forward, adamant to ignore the crying that was happening. Gods, it had been far too long since he had something that tasted like *home*. “Goes well with the nut and date filling- really cuts the gaminess of the- the rat.”

“So, we are ignoring the tears. Ja, alright.” Caleb seemed to resign himself to this reality quickly. This wasn’t the first time Essek had clammed up about something because feeling were embarrassing, and he knew he’d be told eventually. “Yes, I got recommended a good brand to use by Yasha and Beauregard, so we gave them to thank for that. Do you enjoy the bits of pan fried mushroom in the rice?”

“Yes.” Even though they were slightly over, a bit tough, just the thought was so sweet and so homey.

He had such a wonderful partner.

[hello-eeveev]

Beau had half a mind to march over to the Candles and kill Ludinus Da’leth herself, if only so she didn’t have to spend another day looking over the same documents, trying to find something they could use to get him out of power. She didn’t trust him—hadn’t from the start—but the more she walked in similar circles, the more she had to deal with the Assembly’s bullshit, the more she was convinced that whatever Ludinus was up to at any given moment, it couldn’t be good. But he had spent centuries navigating Dwendalian politics; of course he knew how to cover his tracks well.

She was halfway through plotting out the assassination when Caleb, who was sitting at the desk across from her, closed his book and looked up at her. “It’s five o’clock,” he said.

“Finally.” Beau sagged in her chair, taking in a deep breath. As she exhaled, she let thoughts of work fade from her mind. Once she felt suitably non-murderous, she slapped her hands onto her desk and stood. “Let’s get going then.”

She and Caleb fell into their routine as easily as they fought side-by-side. Caleb collected all the files and documents and organized them as he saw fit, while Beau stacked the books in the order that she knew would be most convenient for whoever reshelved them. Then they switched. Beau ran the papers back to her tiny office and locked them in her desk drawer, and Caleb passed off the books to the nearest archivist to be put away. When they met back up, Caleb walked Beau all the way to the teleportation circle on the other side of the Archive. Outside of going home to Yasha, this was Beau’s favorite part of the day, because regardless of what they ended up talking about, they made sure that, for at least these fifteen minutes, neither of them had to think about their country’s corrupt systems and the horrible people running them.

By the time they arrived at the teleportation circle, her half thought-out plans of murdering the Martinet had been shoved into the back of her mind by Caleb’s fond tales of the kids he tutored and the progress they were making.

She really hoped he would take the Soltryce job, if not for the good he would do there, at least for himself. He seemed so happy when he talked about teaching, almost as much as when he was nerding out about spells with Essek or Veth.

The caster in charge of the circle beckoned Beau into the center of the room, and she jogged into position as they began drawing the sigils for the Zadash Archive circle.

“Hey, so tomorrow night, Yasha’s trying out a new recipe that she got from Martina,” Beau said, turning to face Caleb who lingered at the edge of the casting space. “It’s a stir-fry sorta thing that she learned on a trip to the Menagerie Coast. I think it’ll be really good, especially if we use some of your green beans. You down?”

The invitation was more of a formality at this point. Caleb joined them for dinner almost every weekend. But Caleb shifted awkwardly, looking down at his feet.

“Ah, I would love to,” he said, “but I already have plans for tomorrow. Maybe another night.”

“Eating a boba and reading all night doesn’t count as dinner plans.”

Caleb huffed a laugh. “No, it is a, um…” He picked at some fuzz on his coat sleeve. “A date.”

“Wha—” Beau blinked. Shook her head and blinked again. “What? With who?”

Caleb caught her gaze, expression completely neutral except for a growing redness on his face. “A friend,” he said.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m gonna need a little more information than that, dude.”

He glanced down at the runes being drawn beneath her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him run his thumb over the ring on his index finger—his Ring of Telepathy, it looked like—and his voice entered her mind.

“Essek.”

Beau’s eyes widened, but then the bastard smiled and waved like nothing happened. “Have a nice evening, Beauregard.”

Faster than she could run over and punch that smug look off his face, the chalk on the floor flashed and suddenly she was back at the Zadash Archive.

She fumbled for her Sending Stone. “Fucking piece of shit—I’m gonna—” She yanked it out of her pocket and activated it. “Caleb!” she shouted. Some poor young monk tried to greet her while an older expositor threw a stern expression her way, but Beau paid them no mind. She was already running out the door.

“The fuck kinda timing was that? What do you mean you’re going on a date with—” Shit, she couldn’t use Essek’s name in the middle of Zadash. “—with him? When did this happen? How? Who else knows?”

“You are the first, unless someone else has figured it out already,” he replied. “Unfortunately Sending is limited to twenty-five words, so I cannot say more. Goodnight, Beauregard.”

“I know for a fact that’s not how these Sending Stones work, you asshole!” She did a quick count of Caleb’s message in her head. Twenty-six words.

She could practically hear his shit-eating grin in the silence that followed.

Forget Ludinus, she had another wizard to kill.

Before long, Beau was sprinting up to her house. She waved off Martina’s sickeningly sweet hello and threw open her front door.

“Yasha!” she yelled. “Babe, you’re not gonna believe what Caleb just told me. Can you message Jester today?”

[conceptstage]

Age Before Beauty

"You know what's crazy?"

Beau grunted blithely, which from her could have meant anything between 'What the fuck are you talking about' and 'God, I love you' depending on the context. Right now, in this context, it meant simply 'What?' but Caleb would have continued even if she hadn't responded at all.

"Besides the obvious" -the obvious being her grown out undercut, her long hair in a battle style traditional among Yasha's people, the ice white scar across her lip that was easily a decade old, and the wizened look in her eyes when she finally turned to look at him from where she had been carefully fixing his tea on the kitchen counter- "You haven't aged a day."

She laughed and he did too, because the same could not at all be said of him. There were some times when he was scared to look in the mirror because he thought he may see his face staring back at him but when he finally looked, the truth was that besides the long white beard and hair there was little resemblance. Caleb's hair had held up better over the years, full and thick and slightly curled despite the color. He had laugh lines, deep and well used, that would have looked foreign on his face, and cheeks indicative of good eating and plenty of desserts appearing in his home seemingly randomly whenever Jester thought to send them.

Beau sat the cup of tea down in front of him on the coffee table and huffed as she threw herself back into the armchair that was always hers when she came over. "It's a monk thing," and he knew that because, though Beau had matured in the way she held herself and the way she spoke and the way she carried a room with her well earned authority despite there being no ounce of gray in her hair or hint of wrinkles around her eyes, Yasha and their four children had aged around her. The only indication that Beau was aging at all was the fact that her son, who she had once been able to hold with a single hand, had overtaken her in height years ago and Yasha, who still kissed her brow out of habit each time she entered or exited a room, who was covered in well deserved wrinkles.

She smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not one to look a compliment horse in the mouth but is there a point to this?"

He hummed and took a sip of tea. She could never get it just right, not like Essek did it, but it was passable enough and he knew that if he asked her to redo it she would make it worse on purpose. "I was thinking the other day… about our adventures when we were young. I would have followed you anywhere." Her cocky smile slipped into something more genuine and fond. "And now I can't. You still travel the world, saving people, killing monsters, and I can't follow you anymore."

She stared at him and though he knew he had said nothing absurdly embarrassing he still felt somewhat bashful under her thoughtful gaze. "That's fucking stupid." And though he didn't know why she had said so he was sure he agreed. "You're always with me, man." She gestured with her hands displaying the rings on her fingers that he had enchanted and given to her over the years. He recognized each one, the protections they provided her, the peace of mind they gave her wife and children when she was away. "These rings are the only reason Yasha and I were able to have a family at all. Without the protection these gave me she never would have let me leave on Cobalt business alone and she wouldn't have felt like she could stay home with the kids." She had one for each finger and several fingers had two, each protecting from a different type of threat Beau may encounter. “You’re the reason I get to go home.”

It was the steam from his tea that was making his water, he swore it. But Beau didn’t mention it so neither did he. “Thank you, Beauregard.”

She reached over to pat his hand. “Course. I love you, man. Even when you say stupid shit.”

He smiled and took another sip of tea. “I love you as well.”

Whatever they may have said next was swiftly interrupted by the signature ‘pop’ of a dessert defying space and time to appear in his study. “Oh, shit! Jester sent something. I call dibs!” She hurried to her feet with a speed that he wasn’t capable of even in his prime and he allowed it without fuss. When she disappeared through the door, he waved his hand which glittered slightly with magic and the cupcake appeared in his palm. He smirked and took a bite.

[essektheylyss]

What's the state of extradition like on the continent of Wildemount? Inquiring minds would like to know.

It seems that, if the Nein manage to survive this, Essek probably cannot stick around the outpost or the whole place is in danger. He can't go back to the Dynasty. At that point, his option is going awol, which is, uh, not something the Dynasty is likely to take kindly to, to put it mildly.

After this arc, we have two options: either we go straight to the Assembly conflict, or we lay low for a while and handle Fjord's business with Vandran. The latter seems like a better way to regroup after a very prolonged and difficult fight, and it's an easier loose end to tie up.

So say they go looking for Vandran, a man who used to know the Coast very well, had some influence, and definitely owes Fjord at least one favor. Fjord knows he used to have a warehouse in Port Damali—maybe that'd be a good idea as a hideout if they can get their hands on it.

Vandran is listening to this problem, has had to reinvent himself several times, and asks, "Well why deal with governments at all? Just hide your traitor friend in Darktow."

(Cue Fjord laughter.)

The Darktow situation is explained, and they think that's the end of it. But Vandran seems the type to be very decisive and also make some wild choices, so he has another solution.

"The Plank King wouldn't be difficult to beat."

Fjord, exasperated: "I don't want to be the Plank King."

Vandran points to Essek. "I mean, it doesn't seem like he's got a lot else going on."

(Cue Essek, "...Excuse me?")

Unfortunately for Essek, the idea of him becoming the Plank King makes a lot of sense.

First, it's a battle to the death to get the spot, and while he absolutely doesn't have the years of experience fighting that the Plank King has, he does have range, and I imagine he's a little quicker than the Plank King, who seems to be getting up there in years and has not really had need to properly fight in a while. (Besides, Essek really should be dead already, so what is there to lose?)

Second, the position of Plank King seems to entail: have general pragmatism, be smart enough to make sure the books are balanced, and keep the island protected. Essek covers all of that.* Plus, as Essek tends to be diplomatic and nonjudgmental, he'd probably be fairly popular as a ruler on Darktow—and he'll live for another 600 years, provided he doesn't royally piss off an island of pirates, which is good for stability. And most pirates do not want the job, because they do not want to be tied down—and as aforementioned, what else does Essek have going on? Plus, it doesn't seem like there are that many disputes to manage, and I'm sure most of the accounting is delegated, so all there is left to do is magic experimentation, so it's really a win-win.

Third, Darktow is territory that has no allegiance to any nation, and as such it's a bit harder for the Dynasty or the Empire to wheedle a sovereign into handing him over—not least because here, he is the sovereign. (Do we think the Plank King has diplomatic immunity?) Not to mention that the island is a stronghold—the Concord, with probably the largest naval presence on the continent, has not managed to infiltrate it.

And lastly, my favorite reason Essek would be a great pick for Plank King: according to the Wildemount guide, the pirates have started constructing arcane defense, including one designed to combat Clovis Concord skyships. If arcane defenses and weaponry is what Darktow is working to build, then who better to lead that effort?

Also, it means the Nein (and by extension, the Gentleman, hilariously) would conveniently no longer be exiled from Darktow, and it'd be really fucking funny.

In conclusion, Essek for Plank King 2k21.

*You even keep whatever weird connection the Plank King has to the Cobalt Soul! Matthew, what the fuck is that about. Please explain.

[c-kiddo]

i’m throwing this at u bc i shake ur hand all the time with ur m9 headcanons n whatnot.. modern nein go to the carboot sale. i always picture yasha having a van so i imagine they throw a bunch of stuff at her for their stall n then run off. no one wants to haggle with yasha n idk if she’d be too big on shopping.. essek might stick with her but also would probably follow along with caleb. but i imagine veth molly n jester buy yasha things anyways. jester would be selling some handpainted tote bags n stuff i think.

veth would raid everyone’s button n bead bags and would point out old grandpa jumpers to caleb while he looks at 20p books. jester would also be looking at beads but rlly she’d just look at everything, esp old stuffed animals.. she wants to give them new homes.. fjord n beau would probably still with yasha until jester drags beau away to look at a cool stall n fjord wanders off to look at like fishing equipment or old sports brand sweatshirts. molly is all over grandma’s jewellery from the 60s/70s. he buys flannel shirts for yasha n is constantly calling the rest of the nein over to look at stuff with him. cad goes to those big big vans that always have tons of flowers n plants n likes looking at handmade stuff :))

idk i’m missing carboot sales i think.. haven’t been to one since i was in like the single digit ages

oowaa ;;_ ; good. .. love thems. yasha quietly manning their stuff from her van is so good. she's like "No other offers. it is £2 :-l" and no one argues. i think jes and cad wouldve made sm things like beaded woven bracelets and polymer clay keychains and things like that, also painted tote bags like u said :-3 !! also cads extra plant seedlings (like, a million tiny spiderplants or tomato plants too) and also dried lavender sachets. also he has ear defenders on because some people are loud n have music playing sometimes . .. not a car boot sale but im thinkin of this big secondhand market i went to in berlin , it was so cool, so many things to look at, and some tasty waffles too (the ones shaped like flowers, with powdered sugar) :-3 . . also so true. .veth would be in all the button n bead bags :-3 someones selling a box of spare buttons n she starts th most intense haggling ever. meanwhile calebs silently looking (also wearing ear defenders) at all th books. .perhaps he finds some vry old (but not worth much) books and buys them all because theyre v niche and have interesting covers. also for sure gets all those grandpa jumpers .. . also keeps an eye on th ancient musty corduroy things molly finds some more old fabric to turn into things, and also some Ridiculous boots. like so tall, so shiny and uncomfortable but he's like Oh, perfect >:) , and oh! also he haggles for A Lot of rings. lots of shiny trinkets to make lots of noise , and definitely buys something because he thinks its cursed (and then cad tells him he cant bring it inside until its been sitting in the garden for a week to be Cleansed of ghosts or somthing). oh, speaking of garden, i think cad the carboot sale is where cad gets lots of plantpots :-D even slightly janky teapots and cups get turned to planters because he doesnt want to drink from them because they feel incorrect. and he buys seeds to grow :-3 also also wuahg yea ;w; yasha's got her flannels and maybe found a book that had pressed flowers in it and bought it to go with hers ;;w; also probably found another strange instrument perhaps. . .. and everyone meets up before going home when theyre all conked out n they all go get zemnian herzwaffeln and apfelschorle :-3

[vagabondfirelily]

keep your heart warm

→ AO3

A familiar double knock on the door comes quietly but still startles Caleb out of his thoughts, prompting him to pull his gaze away from the book in front of him.

“Caleb, are you there?”

“Ja, come in.”

He keeps his thumb in between the pages, folds the cover and straightens himself up in the big tower bathtub, water sloshing around his chest.

The bathroom door creaks open and Essek steps slowly inside. His hair is as perfect as ever, only a single pair of silver earrings on him tonight with an additional chain anchored to a clipping right below the point where the edge of his ear is torn off. There is one of Caleb’s sweaters hanging loosely on his shoulders, partially slipping off of one and leaving it bare. Caleb thinks this is as domestic as Essek will ever let himself get, barefoot, in well-worn black leggings, and his heart flutters in his chest like that of a lovesick teen at the vision of this man before him that he loves so dearly.

“Are you alright, 'chev? Dinner is ready, I’ve been waiting.”

In the dim light of the chamber only now does Caleb notice the worried furrow of Essek’s brow and he quickly checks his internal clock, noting with quite a great deal of embarrassment that he is indeed 12 minutes and 37 seconds late to their meal. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, feeling the tips of his ears burning red and looks away from Essek.

“Forgive me, Schatz. I got, ah, distracted.”

At this, Essek’s expression quickly turns to one of mild amusement, tension ebbing away from his body and a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He closes the door behind him and his bare feet pat softly on the bathroom floor as he makes his way towards Caleb.

“Is that book you’re reading really so enthralling it made you forget your date, Caleb Widogast? I must be slipping.”

Caleb watches Essek crouch down in front of the bathtub, both arms braced on the ledge, lips quirked up in a smirk and head tilted slightly to one side. He’s briefly reminded of a cat in a playful mood.

“Nein, nein. I was just… I wouldn’t say enthralling, but it is a decent read. I find the theorem of advanced transmutation quite compelling, you see…”

He trails off, attention shifting to the visible skin of Essek’s bare shoulder, then to those beautiful violet eyes that look at him like he hung the stars in the sky. And it’s a crime, really, because Essek shouldn’t look as good as he does in Caleb’s clothes.

Caleb glances at the corner of the page, commits the number to memory and sets the closed book down on the small side table next to the bathtub, his reading glasses following soon after. Essek watches him closely, trailing every move, the intensity of his gaze searing into Caleb’s skin.

“I must admit I feel quite like a fool. I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

I didn’t mean to make you worry goes unsaid, but he can see from the flash in Essek’s eyes that it carried across. Always so effortless, speaking to one another.

Essek chuckles quietly, head falling on one arm. He reaches out his hand, one finger brushing slowly along the underside of Caleb’s jaw.

“It’s alright, I forgive you. Shame about the food, though. I’m afraid it has all gone cold by now.”

He drags his finger down his lover’s neck, stopping at the clavicle and Caleb shivers, water rippling around him. Essek can’t help the smug look that breaks on his features.

“Enjoying yourself, my love?”

Caleb’s eyes flash blue and he snatches Essek’s hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of his palm. Now it’s Essek’s turn to shiver.

“Too bad about the food, ja. But we can always have the cats heat it up later. Join me?”

Essek almost melts right then and there at the smouldering look that Caleb is giving him and the husky sound of his voice. He pulls away, though, not giving Caleb the satisfaction of an easy defeat.

“I see how it is now. First, you stand me up, then lure me over here hoping I fall for your ploy. Tell me, Caleb Widogast, was this your plan all along? Are you done playing with me yet?”

Caleb laughs, low and rumbling, amusement sparkling in his eyes, and Essek has to fight to keep his face even as his heart stutters in his chest.

“Ja, you have uncovered my evil plan. All those weeks of careful plotting. Did it work?”

Caleb tugs at his wrist, lips brushing against the delicate skin there and Essek is slowly, deliberately taken apart. He slips his hand from Caleb’s grasp, cheeks flushing almost imperceptibly. Heart racing, he leans in and presses a single chaste kiss to his lips, his voice but a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a moment when they hold each other’s eyes, the air between them charged and heavy, before Essek breaks the spell and steps away, starting to undress off to the side. Caleb’s gaze lingers on him, watching the fine lines of Essek’s back as his elf takes off the oversized wool sweater, eyes catching on every pale silvery scar visible on the dark purple skin. Caleb knows each one by heart.

Essek strips off the rest of his clothing and slowly steps over the bathtub edge and into the water. He sinks down, back to Caleb’s chest, until he’s secure in his human’s arms. Caleb lowers them both further until the water reaches up to their necks and a sigh of pleasure escapes Essek’s lips as he feels it being heated up by Caleb’s fire magic. Caleb finds his hand and laces their fingers together, to which Essek tips his head back and nestles it under Caleb’s chin.

It’s quiet for a while, the only sound in the room being their measured breaths and the occasional rippling of water. Essek could stay like this forever.

In silence, he shifts slowly and turns to face Caleb, keeping as little distance between them as possible. Skin brushing against skin. He fiddles with the wet strands of Caleb’s hair, now more silver than fiery red and drinks in the sight of his beloved. His brilliant, piercing blue eyes, the freckles that Essek has renamed into constellations, the laugh lines and the wrinkles. All a testament to a good life.

30 years down the line and his is still the most beautiful face Essek has ever seen.

Caleb looks at Essek, eyes warm and loving, and cups his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing over the skin as Essek presses into the touch. He slips his hand from Caleb’s hair, fingers moving to trace the length of his collarbone instead. They keep their eyes on each other, nothing else existing besides this room and them in it.

“Is this what you wanted, Widogast?”

His tone is lost somewhere between teasing and captivated by the beauty of this man before him, the last of his words fading into the quiet around them. Caleb brushes a lock of hair out of Essek’s forehead and his eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Ja, couldn’t you tell? I’m an evil mastermind after all.”

Essek laughs softly, nuzzling into the palm that’s still holding his face. Then he leans in and kisses Caleb in the spot right behind his ear where the jaw and neck meet. Where he knows Caleb likes to kiss him to make him go wild. He hears Caleb’s quiet inhale, feels hands tighten minutely around his waist, and smiles into his lover’s skin, breathing in his scent. With delight pooling in the pit of his stomach, he swipes his tongue across the spot and moves down to mark Caleb’s neck with love bites, coaxing out of him a faint moan. Caleb’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Essek’s head, fingers combing through the silky short white hair there.

“Careful, Schatz. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Essek hums, relaxed and full of warmth. With one last brush of his lips, he pulls away and lays a chaste kiss on the corner of Caleb’s mouth. Their eyes meet again for a moment, radiating adoration and safety, before Essek turns over and sinks into the water once more. He rests his head on Caleb’s chest, steady heartbeat filling his ear, and closes his eyes.

Caleb wraps his arms around Essek’s pliable body, one around his flat stomach and the other around his chest, pulling him closer. Essek sighs drowsily and finds Caleb’s hands, closing his own around them.

“I love you.”

Caleb smiles fondly and kisses Essek’s hair before resting his cheek atop his head.

“Ich liebe dich auch, mein Augenstern.”

Essek hums in response, already drifting off with a soft smile on his face. Caleb holds him tight, not for the first time in his life feeling like the luckiest man alive.

[the-littlest-goblin]

*shows up to @essek-week 6 days late with all the prompts shoved into one fic*

based on this post by @slayerscake​

___________________________________________________________

Essek, for all his magical skill, had very little experience being a fighter. But you pick things up when you travel with a group that gets in as many scrapes per day as the Mighty Nein—you don’t necessarily learn how to fight well, but you certainly learn how to fight alongside the Mighty Nein.

While Jester is a cleric, try to go unconscious near Caduceus. 

“It’s not that she refuses to heal,” Fjord explained gently as he inspected the gash across Essek’s sternum for signs of poison. They were all a bit paranoid now since discovering that their previous monster encounter had, unbeknownst to them, injected a slow-acting venom into every bite. “She just prefers to take the enemy out first. It’s a strategy thing, you know. Save the healing for after the fight, once the danger’s gone.”

Essek turned his gaze over to Jester. In their post-battle huddle, while Caduceus hummed a healing prayer for the group and Fjord dressed Essek’s wound, she was several yards away helping Veth saw off one of the beast’s talons as a trophy.

 Fjord continued, “Of course, if you’re like, actually dying in front of her, she’ll heal you. I mean…” he trailed off. Sure, Essek hadn’t exactly been dead-dead when he’d collapsed next to Jester during the fight, but he wasn’t far from it. The last, ironic thought he’d registered before consciousness slipped away was how fortunate it was to fall in battle right next to a cleric. As his eyes fell shut, it was with anticipation that he would be up again in a second to rejoin the fray. 

When he had finally awoken, it was Caduceus’ face smiling over him, not Jester’s, and the ferocious monster had long since been turned into a carcass.

“Mm-hmm.”

Fjord sighed and sat back on his heels. “Just, maybe next time, if you have to go down, try to go down closer to Caduceus.”

“Noted,” Essek grumbled, watching with nauseated fascination as his skin knit itself back together in time with the melody of Caduceus’ spell.

When in doubt, polymorph.

“I am a bit surprised you don’t already have this in your repertoire. I have found it to be incredibly useful.”

Essek shrugged, shoving off the automatic sting of embarrassment that came with admitting ignorance. He didn’t need to feel that way around Caleb.

“Well, I have rarely found myself in a position to fly over rough terrain or transform a terrifying monster into a sloth. Until now, that is.” 

Caleb laughed lightly. “Such is the adventuring life, I suppose.” He smiled, taking a break from flipping through his spellbook to look up at Essek. Even this brief moment of eye-contact felt so charged with energy that Essek had to avert his gaze, the sense-memory of guilt welling up in his throat threatening to choke him. The intensity of Caleb’s undivided attention was still difficult for him to bear. His fingers twitched to rub at the burning spot on his forehead. Instead, he gripped his pen tighter. 

“Here.” Caleb flipped his book around to show Essek the page dedicated to the Polymorph spell, covered in transmutation runes. Essek recognized a few of the symbols in passing. “This should be easy for you to copy down. Then we can practice a bit. I think you’ll find casting it on yourself makes for a rather enjoyable pastime.”

Buff the lesbians. 

Essek’s eyes darted between Caleb and Caduceus, unsure how to interpret this piece of advice. “Um, can you be more specific?” 

Caduceus blinked at him, seeming confused. “Specific how? You mean like, which spells you should use on them?”

“No, I meant specific as in to whom you were referring. I just…” Essek glanced awkwardly around the table. Most of the group was distracted, digging into the enormous feast provided by Caleb’s clowder of feline servants. They were all worn out from a long day of hard travel and enjoying the warm reprieve of the tower.

Essek cleared his throat, trying to discreetly lower his voice without making it obvious that he was being secretive. “I have not exactly been given a briefing on all of your individual sexual preferences.”

“Oh, I can fix that!” Jester cut in. Apparently Essek’s attempts to be clandestine had failed, as they always seemed to with this group. “Caleb is—”

“That is alright, thank you,” Essek swiftly cut her off. His cheeks were already burning red-hot. “Can you please just tell me who ‘the lesbians’ are in this circumstance?”

He could feel Beau’s glare boring through him all the way from the other end of the table as she stared incredulously over her magical flask of whiskey. “You should really be able to figure that out yourself, man.”

Squishy wizards stay away from fights.

“Stay. Here.” Yasha’s growl was twice as terrifying as the insectoid beast screaming over their heads, and Essek was pretty sure the force from her shoving him behind the rocks was going to leave just as big a bruise as getting smacked by the creature’s tail, if not bigger. “Hide.”

“I was trying to help,” Essek muttered, a mixture of shame and indignation pushing him to defend himself to her.

“I know. You can help by staying alive.” A hint of softness entered Yasha’s gruff voice, although its effect was mitigated when she hefted up her massive sword. Essek instinctually slunk away from the arc of the blade. “Fighters get close, wizards hang back. That’s how we do things in this family.” She smiled at him, and another layer of the ice around Essek’s heart melted. “That’s how we keep you and Caleb from snapping like twigs. Save the close-range spells for when things are really desperate.”

Essek nodded his affirmation. Yasha turned and began running back into the melee, letting out an almighty roar. Just before she went out of range, Essek reached out his hands, whispering the incantation and twisting his fingers around the fabric of time that surrounded her large frame. Yasha paused for a moment as the effects of the Haste spell hit her, then turned to flash Essek another smile and a thumbs up.

That’s how we do things in this family.

You have to look sexy when using spells.

“I really do not understand the purpose of this.”

“We’re just trying to help you out!” Veth grinned at him mischievously. Somehow, the ghost of a goblin’s snarl showed through her straight halfling teeth. “Every good adventurer knows aesthetics are crucial to effective spellcasting.”

“That’s not—”

“Plus, we’re not fighting in the cold anymore,” Jester added. “We don’t want you to get overheated in the middle of battle.”

“That… really isn’t an issue.” But he knew resistance was useless when it came to these two. Resigned to his fate, Essek dutifully lifted the mantle over his head and began undoing the fastenings of his cloak. 

Outer layer discarded, he lifted his arms up half heartedly to show his self-appointed image consultants the results. “Is this satisfactory?”

“Hmmmm,” Jester tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Can you try rolling up your sleeves?”

“I’m not taking off my shirt!”

“No one asked you to!” Veth hopped off her chair to circle around Essek, studying him with an intensity she usually reserved for things she was about to shoot. “Now, show us your stance.”

“My what?”

“You know, your sexy fighting stance.” Veth stopped in place, whipping out her crossbow and striking a dramatic pose. 

“Um…” Essek attempted to mimic her, one hand on the meteorite pendant that served as his arcane focus, the other reaching out as if he were about to cast a spell. “Like this?”

Jester tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, that tank top did look really good on you, Essek.”

Essek put his head in his hands.

If you get charmed there is going to be a very high chance of Beau punching you to snap you out of it. 

A constellation's worth of stars swam in Essek’s vision, pain bursting through his head like a reverberating drum; he could feel the nasty bruise blooming at his temple where Beauregard had struck him. Blinking away the stars, he turned just in time to see Beau’s fist heading towards him once again, this time making expert contact with his jaw. The force of this second blow sent him hurtling toward the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

Amid the pain, a sense of clarity slowly came over him, cutting through the pleasant, misty haze that had overtaken his faculties. It gave him just enough presence of mind to scream an indignant, accusatory, “Ow!” at Beau.

She flashed him a cocky grin, seemingly amused by his tone. “Look man, this is what happens. Get charmed, get hit. Now square up.” 

Essek held up one hand in an attempt to stave her off, gasping for breath. The buzz in his brain was receding; somehow, Beau had punched the spell’s effect right out of him. “No really, I’m fine now, it worked—”

But she was already going in for another punch. Helpless to stop her, Essek braced himself for the hit, thinking that if nothing else, he had to admire her thoroughness. 

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently. 

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.) 

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him. 

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1]  While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2]  Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[nellasbookplanet]

Apparently the answer to “how long can i resist” is “less than a day,” have some tma au featuring Essek as the Archivist encountering a strange man with bad manners.

The first time Essek meets the man with the black-stained hands, it’s only been about two months since he was promoted to the role of Archivist.

Two months are just about enough time to realize something about the position is seriously fucked up, have his life threatened on three separate occasions, and develop an even stronger dependence on coffee than he already had, and so it’s no surprise that he, as Beauregard so eloquently puts it, is high-strung as fuck.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hm?” The man looks up from the handful of papers he’s been leafing through, looking distracted and faintly annoyed, as if he wasn’t just caught trespassing. “Can I help you with anything?”

He’s skinny and rumpled, all but disappearing in an oversized leather coat and a mess of hair that would probably be red if it’d been washed the last month or so. His skin is sallow and unhealthy, only partially visible beneath a short, untrimmed beard, and there’s a ratty scarf wrapped around his neck and pulled almost all the way up to his mouth. Honestly, he looks like someone come to give a statement.

Essek bristles. He hasn’t had his morning coffee yet (that is a lie; he had a cup at home) and was feeling irritable even before he stumbled on a strange man rooting around the Archives. Taking a breath, he forcibly pastes on his practiced customer service smile. “If you’re here to leave a statement, office hours are between twelve and three. Now, seeing as you’re already here at­”—he looks at a clock on the wall, not even trying to be subtle—“seven in the morning, we could arrange for—”

“No.”

Essek blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I am not here to leave my statement.” The man goes back to reading the paper at the top of the pile he’s holding, calm as all that. “You will have to find someone else to feed on today, I’m afraid.”

This is about the time Essek starts to realize something about this, something about this man, is wrong. Of course, being Essek, he keeps right on going anyway.

“This isn’t a public library,” he says, fingers itching to rip the papers from the man’s hands. The only thing stopping him is an unwillingness to risk damaging them. He hasn’t yet gotten to this part of the Archives in his effort to digitalize the nightmare left behind by the previous Archivist, and would be loath to leave part of the statements unfinished, no matter the nonsense recorded within. “How did you even get down here?”

“Walked in the front doors. Followed the signs saying ‘Archives.’”

“That’s not possible. The doors to the Archives are locked.” Or at least they are supposed to be.

The man flips a paper, scanning it briefly before going for the next. “Then perhaps someone wanted me here. You should know by now that Ludinous always has a plan.”

This is ridiculous. Essek is reaching to grab the man by the arm­—exactly what he’s going to do after that eludes him, seeing as he’s got the upper body strength of a day-old wet noodle—when he notices something that makes him freeze.

There are dark smudges on the papers in the man’s hands. At first, Essek thinks them dust or maybe dirt, and his anger gets another boost, but then he follows the stains and sees them entirely cover the man’s fingers, his palms and the back of his hands, before disappearing into his worn shirtsleeves.

And the thing is, it doesn’t look like dirt anymore. Doesn’t look like a covering of any sort. It looks like the man stuck both his hands in a fire and didn’t take them out until his skin had sizzled and turned to coal.

“You are…” Essek gulps. Much too late, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck are standing up in warning.

“Caleb Widogast.” Finally, the man looks up to meet Essek’s gaze properly.  His eyes are burning like fire, and Essek does not mean that in the poetic sense. “And you,” he says, “are the Archivist.”

Essek tries to gulp a second time, but his mouth has gone fully dry. He has to make an effort to stay where he is, faking calm. Predators can smell weakness, whispers the sensible voice in the back of his head. If you run, you will not leave this room alive.

“What are you?” he breathes.

Caleb Widogast cocks his head, looking for the first time interested in the man before him. “Am I your first avatar?” When Essek doesn’t answer, the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Oh, I am. What an… interesting turn of events.”

He steps closer, and this time Essek’s body reacts before his mind has a chance to give an order and he scrambles back, nearly falling.

“I admit I have been somewhat disconnected from current events,” Caleb Widogast says, following as Essek retreats. “Last I knew, someone else held your… esteemed position. Most knew better than to mess with him, and those who did not were quick to learn, even if they did not get to learn much else afterward. I would not have dared to openly challenge him. But you…”

Essek’s back hits a bookshelf. Papers slide off piles and float down around him, quick to cover the floor. Essek’s lizard brain lights up like a firework and he raises his fists. Caleb Widogast does not stop until Essek’s knuckles are pressed against his chest. It’s hot. Dangerously so. It’s a wonder his clothes don’t burn right off him.

He isn’t very tall, but it doesn’t take much to be taller than Essek. Tilting his head forward, he looks Essek in the eye. It occurs to Essek that, underneath the dirt and the grime and the overgrown beard, Caleb Widogast is a handsome man. Sharp jawline. A nose with a bit of a bump to it, lending character. Very nice lips. It also occurs to him that this is entirely the wrong time notice such things.

“Do you even know what your job is?” Caleb asks.

“I am—the Archivist,” Essek replies, trying to pull himself straight.

“And what does the Archivist do?”

“I… archive?”

Caleb huffs something that could very nearly be called a laugh. “Oh, it would be easy to kill you.”

He lifts a hand, fingertips starting to glow dully red as he goes for Essek’s face, and Essek blurts, panicked, “Wait.”

Caleb, raising a brow, waits.

“You’re looking for something, yes?” Essek babbles. “Some bit of information you think is hidden here. Well, trust me when I say you won’t find anything worthwhile in here without my help.”

“Maybe I will surprise you,” Caleb says, hand still hovering just at the edge of Essek’s vision. “I am very good at finding things.”

Essek, astonishing himself, says, “Then try.”

This time when Caleb smiles, there’s no real amusement in it. “I could make you tell me where to find what I am looking for.” He plucks at a lock of Essek’s hair, fallen from the otherwise meticulous quiff. Once trapped between his fingers, the white hairs scorch black in an instant. “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it, Archivist.”

Caleb’s tongue flicks out to wet his chapped lips. Probably it’s just because the air has gone dry in the sudden heat, but something about it looks hungry, like he can’t wait to do to the rest of Essek what he just did to his hair.

Essek realizes, belatedly, that he’s been staring. By the time he corrects his gaze, it’s clear Caleb has noticed. He cocks his head again, a considering, almost interested look in his eyes as he studies Essek.

“You do not know what an Archivist does,” he says, slowly, deliberately, “but do you know what you want?”

“I—” Essek has to stop to gather himself. Caleb waits patiently, not giving Essek back an inch of his personal space. “I want to get to the bottom of all this. Of the statements, and the things that cause them. And I want to do it before anyone else has the chance to.”

“Mm. Perhaps it would be a waste to kill you already. The next Archivist might not be anywhere near as accommodating.” Caleb’s blackened fingers brush over Essek’s cheekbone. It hurts, like putting hot metal against one’s skin, making Essek suck in a breath, but Caleb is stepping away too quick for him to react.

“Until next time, Archivist,” he says, nodding politely before turning and making his way toward the glowing exit-sign.

At the sound of the door closing, Essek’s body gives in all at once. He has to catch himself against the shelf, sending even more papers flying, and then just stands there for a while, shaking and gasping too much to move. It isn’t until the pain in his cheek grows too hot to ignore that he starts dragging himself toward his office and the cellphone left on his desk.

If he was smart, Essek would call up his boss and ask why the fuck the doors to the Archives were unlocked and security nowhere in sight. It would appear, though, that Essek isn’t very smart, because he scrolls right past Ludinous’s name in his contacts and goes straight for Beau, affectionately saved under the name of ‘nosy journalist.’”

He puts the phone to his ear—remembering just in time to avoid the injured side of his face—and prepares to be yelled at.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, #134

I’m going to be real with you: on the one hand I am, like Sam Riegel, committed to this goddamn bit about how the Mighty Nein are disrupting the lives, in one way or another, of every wizard NPC they’ve ever met. On the other this episode only covered about 3-4 or so hours in real time, which coincidentally is about how much sleep I got Wednesday night as my immune system took it upon itself to kill some spike proteins that it was tricked into making itself with fire. And so with those factors in mind this is going to be a relatively brief installment. Next week I will likely muse on the mental states of at least Yussa and Trent, probably Allura because I love her, and perhaps Two of the Three Morally Ambiguous Wizard Love Interests associated with Mr. Caleb “Bisexual Maelstrom” Widogast but tonight, we look only to the third. Essek Thelyss, take the stage.

As a reminder Mr. Caleb “Bisexual Maelstrom” Widogast is disqualified for being a wizard PC but if you are interested in his mental state I assure you there is information canonical, meta, and fanfictional to be had.

Currently sidelined: Oremid Hass, Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk, Pumat Sol, Ludinus Da’leth, Yussa Errenis (in more ways than one), Trent Ikithon, Allura Vyesoren, Astrid Beck, Eadwulf Grieve, and whatever wizards you’re thinking about from the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, the Tal’Dorei Guide, or vague asides in that one episode that one time.

Assembly member in a locket? That’s some Dead-Ass Wizard

Essek Thelyss: Much like *gestures vaguely at fandom* I was admittedly taken in by the demure dual admissions of soup-enjoyment and saying-up-in-the-tower-enjoyment as well as the conversation with Caleb last week, and did sort of wash over the fact that last week ended with Essek seeing Fjord make a brutal hail-Melora pass that is ultimately going to come back to him (that is, Essek) in terms of “who is technically in command of the Kryn rangers and verbally gave the order to Dagen.” And then in short order here is Essek’s night and/or morning: spat out on the ground from the tower, 60% of the Takers die immediately, Lucien says “fuck” and teleports out, rocks fall, nobody dies. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I owe no small part of my own mental health to long rests and soup, but one cannot live on long rests and soup alone.

This week things got pretty rough and (presumably) Essek is going Back to Bed Trance and that’s fucking valid. He is feeling some insecurity over the fact that as essentially Matthew Mercer’s character, he is subject to the DM PC Dice Curse* and can’t dispel magic his way out of a paper bag; he has experienced still more of the Full Chaos of the Mighty Nein including their adoption of a malfunctioning robot and messing around a mausoleum, and then he saw Caleb, the person I have to assume he trusts the most, be like “well I see we have a potentially lethal electrical security system. If I die please pull me out anyway LET’S GO.” As we have learned Essek is more of an academic/political type, not so much a combat/adventuring wizard and I think he’s experiencing a certain level of shock. And of course we have the words out of his own mouth: “me neither.”

That said his gravity sinkhole did work pretty well! and it’s only been a few hours for him too, and it’s safe for the whole party to take a rest which has got to be some comfort given that the whole party includes the people who can heal him.

Conclusion: 6/10. Stress levels are rising but we are not yet at the drop of this particular emotional rollercoaster. Here’s hoping he gets in a good conversation while taking watch or something next week.

*I don’t really believe in dice curses but like...oh, honey.

[catalists]

not quite a WIP Wednesday since (a) I don’t think I’m going to finish the story this scene belongs to, but I like it too much to let it languish in my folders forever and (b) it’s not Wednesday. but the middle of the week is always busy for me, so please enjoy ~800 words of a Mighty Nein modern AU where Molly reunites with his fuck-up friends and struggles to fit in because they are not fuck-ups anymore.

(not to say I’ll definitely never ever write more, but it’s below too many other projects to expect that to be soon.)

---

After four days of vague text responses, Molly took matters into his own hands. Jester had grown up a lot, but she was still painfully easy to manipulate, and it didn’t take much finagling to get her to drop the name of the café that Caleb frequented. It was an obnoxious bus ride to the area of the city around the university campus, but worth it when he tracked down The Melville. The building had large windows with green awnings and couldn’t seem to decide between a charmingly rustic aesthetic and an inexplicable nautical theme—the dark wood sign had a whale painted on it.

Inside, the place was well-lit both through overhead hanging lamps and the sunlight through the glass, and it was at a table illuminated by the afternoon sun that Molly finally saw Caleb Widogast again.

Caleb was handsome, Molly thought without consciously willing it. He’d always known Caleb was capable of it, of course, but back when Molly had known him he really hadn’t put in the effort—he’d always been vaguely grubby with an overgrown beard and ill-fitting clothes. Molly had found him attractive, but in a more ignorable way.

It was…less ignorable now. He wasn’t clean-shaven, but his beard was neatly trimmed. His long hair—redder than Molly remembered, although he wasn’t sure if that was his memory or more evidence of past dirt—was tied back in a neat ponytail. Molly recognized absolutely none of his clothes—he wasn’t even wearing the filthy duster he’d refused to be parted from, but instead a handsome purple coat in the Xhorhassian style.

The one thing that hadn’t changed was that Caleb was reading and paying no attention to his surroundings. Molly made it all the way across the café to him and stood across the table—he would have sat, but there was no chair opposite Caleb.

“I was going to ask if this seat was taken,” Molly drawled, “But you don’t seem to have one.”

“You can take the chair,” Caleb said distractedly.

“Someone already has.”

“What?” Caleb finally looked up, and did a double take. “Molly?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Molly said. “You’re in the group chat. I’m devastated you haven’t come to see me yet.”

“I am sorry,” Caleb said. “It’s a busy time of year.”

“At the university, so I’ve heard,” Molly said. “You did make it back to school, then?”

“Yes,” Caleb said, and smiled. “It has been—very good. Yes.”

“And yet you’re sitting here without company,” Molly said. “Let me alleviate that.”

“Ah, my company is coming,” Caleb said, apologetically.

“Let me join you, then,” Molly said. “Who is it? Jester?”

“Maybe another time,” Caleb said, surprisingly firmly. It almost distracted Molly from the fact that he hadn’t answered the question.

“You don’t want to see me?” Molly pouted. “Caleb, it’s been four days! I’m beginning to think you never liked me at all.”

“I do like you,” Caleb said. “But I am meeting someone else right now. It has been a very long time.”

“All the more reason to catch up,” Molly said. “Let me grab a chair.”

“I do not mean to interrupt you,” a new voice said, just behind Molly, “But Professor Widogast has regularly scheduled office hours, if you are looking for assistance.”

Molly spun around and was immediately rendered speechless. The man behind him was a drow—a rare enough sight that he would have garnered attention even if he wasn’t strikingly beautiful. His white hair was cut short enough that you could see the silver rings in his ears. He wore a dark coat that covered most of his body, and fingerless gloves. Both hands rested lightly on the wheels of his chair, a subtle indication that he expected Molly to move out of the way.

Molly stepped aside, on some kind of autopilot, and the man wheeled himself forward into the gap.

“That’s why you didn’t need a chair,” Molly said, snapping his fingers.

“Indeed,” the drow said.

“I will see you later, Molly,” Caleb said.

“You won’t introduce me?” Molly gasped. “How rude.”

“Ah, Essek, this is my old friend Mollymauk, who cannot take a hint. Molly, you have now met Essek Thelyss. He is a professor of astrophysics here.”

“Pleasure,” Molly said. He made to take Essek’s hand, but he withdrew it; the motion was so subtle that Molly wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant it as a rebuff.

He clasped his hands behind his back and inclined his head in a subtle bow. “It is always a pleasure to meet a friend of Caleb’s.”

“Don’t be so quick to say that with this one,” Caleb said, with a smile.

“I’d love to get to know you,” Molly said, because he wasn’t not going to flirt just because he didn’t know the man. “But Caleb seems to want me to be on my way…”

He’d meant to nudge Essek into telling Caleb it was fine if he stayed, but once again Essek either didn’t pick up on the cue or deliberately ignored it.

Instead, Essek said, “I am sure I will see you again, if you are anything like the rest of your friends,” and looked at Caleb.

The pieces fell into place. “Is this a date?” Molly wanted to know. “Am I interrupting a date?”

Neither of them answered immediately, but Caleb flushed.

[dhwty-writes]

On the Benefits of Trancing

This is a bit late, but was in fact written for Day 2 of sgtober, Can't Sleep. It's very fluffy, have fun reading! 

Summary: There are several reasons why Essek prefers trancing over sleeping. Firstly, as difficult as it may be to leave yourself vulnerable for eight hours at a time, he finds it even more challenging to imagine his friends defenceless. Secondly, sleep, inevitably, will give birth to dreams. And no matter if they are foul or fair, they torture him all the same. And lastly, well—.Essek reminisces about the strange habit of sleeping and his even stranger habit of sharing his bed with Caleb whenever he can't sleep.

Warnings: None, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

Sleep is a curious thing, Essek muses, that he doesn't understand and hasn't particularly cared for up until this point. It is a childish thing, and wild and vulnerable and oh-so terribly time consuming. Truth be told, for most of his life he has pitied the other races who are forced to bow to the whims of nature in that way.

Like so many things, that changed when he met the Mighty Nein. Well, not when he met them necessarily—back then he may or may not have been quietly plotting their demise for returning his carefully stolen beacons—but certainly when he started travelling with them.

As many aspects of elven cultures are, trancing is a solitary activity, a silent contemplation of one's most private thoughts to better cope with them. Shock and surprise don't even begin to cover his feelings when Caleb first cast his dome and Essek found out that sleeping, as many things for the Mighty Nein, is a rather communal event.

He had eight whole hours to come to terms with those implications—did they not realise what it meant, the trust one had to place in another to sleep in front of them? Did they not care? Or did they, by some miracle, in fact trust him that much?

When he came out of his trance the next morning, he realised some of the members of the Nein had moved during the night, curling closer to and around each other. Cuddling, they called it, and Essek's pity melted away, turning into something more bitter, more poisonous. Envy.

There is something about sitting upright, floating a few inches off the ground while surrounded by people holding each other that can make you feel so incredibly lonely, and that has to say something. Nearly a century of solitude spent between too-large, too-empty towers, too-secretive and too-pious schools, and a too-scheming and too-paranoid court have never left him feeling as isolated and bereft as that morning with the Nein did.

Of course, back then he didn't have the words to describe the feelings swirling in his chest. Nor did he have the words to ask for them to include him in their affections, lest he be presumptuous. That, to quote Caleb Widogast, takes time. Surprisingly little of it, if he is perfectly honest.

A few months down the line, he stopped floating while trancing and when he resurfaced the next morning, he found himself leaning against Fjord, who had taken the last watch. When he jerked away in embarrassment, Fjord blinked awake, too, a disgruntled look on his face, growling that he should stop moving around so much.

Despite his shame, Essek complied and held completely still until the rest of the Nein woke up. After that, he began to dabble into the casual intimacy his friends share. He even tried to sleep, occasionally.

In the beginning, he felt very self-conscious about it. He would wake up with messy hair, or drool on his pillow, or, worst of all, tucked close to Caleb. Another effect of the Mighty Nein, though, is that they very quickly rid you of your sense of shame. So, he no longer cares if he looks a mess, if his clothes are rumpled, or if he's getting spit on Veth's backpack. Just the last thing he can't help but feel embarrassed about.

There are several reasons why he still prefers trancing, though. Firstly, as difficult as it may be to leave yourself vulnerable for eight hours at a time, he finds it even more challenging to imagine his friends defenceless. He much prefers being able to watch over them for at least half of that time.

Secondly, sleep, inevitably, will give birth to dreams. And if sleep is childish, wild, and vulnerable, dreams are tenfold so. He often contemplates his crimes during his trances, as well as the discarded timelines, the lost possibilities that could have led to even more death, destruction, and despair. He frequently considers members of the Assembly lording their victory over him, disposing of him, torturing his friends. However, in his trance, he can choose to abandon these timelines. Dreams offer no such luxury. Once in their cruel grasp, you have no choice but to see them through.

Nightmares are one thing, but dreams are another. Even the pleasant ones often come unbidden, worming themselves through his subconscious to pluck out— What exactly Essek should call them, he isn't sure. He wouldn't dare name them wishes or hopes, for that would imply a certain level of possibility for them to come true. These visions are desires, more like, though that term implies a certain passion that does not fit the circumstance.

These unsought fantasies often include the Mighty Nein, years or decades from now. How they would still seek him out, include him in their midst. He dreams of feasts and festivals, of hugs and humour, of truthfulness and trust. And then there are other, even more forbidden dreams featuring him and Caleb. He dreams of soft kisses and gentle caresses, lazy nights spent in the tower reading books, of research and adventures and normalcy, of waking up as close to each other every day as they do from time to time on accident. He would love his future to look like this, but he knows there is a very little chance for that.

So, no matter if the dreams are foul or fair, they torture him all the same.

And lastly, well—

There is a knock on his door and Essek's heart lurches. "Come in," he calls as calmly as he can manage, forcing himself to slowly close the book he hasn't been reading instead of slamming it shut and scrambling to his feet.

The door opens silently, as all doors within the tower do, and Caleb slips inside. He's wearing simple sleeping clothes and Essek silently curses himself for already closing the book, so he can't even pretend to read that instead. "I, ah— I'm sorry for intruding... again," Caleb says, self-consciously tugging at his sleeves. "I hope I didn't wake you?"

"Not at all," he answers, barely keeping himself from saying: 'I was waiting up.' Instead, he opts for: "I was still reading."

"Anything interesting?"

"Are you trying to tell me that you have stored uninteresting books in your mind, Caleb Widogast?"

"Plenty," he deadpans and Essek chuckles.

"It's called The Creation of Silver." He turns the plain cover over to Caleb, to jog his memory. Based on what he could gather by skimming the first pages, it promises to be a rather run of the mill romance novel following the story of a Dwendalian noble trying to escape their arranged marriage. "So far, I find it quite entertaining."

"Ah, yes." Caleb quickly glances away, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Have you reached the part where Stefan leaves for the city yet?"

"I have not."

"Then I will not spoil you." Another tug on his sleeve. "The plot really picks up at that point."

Essek tilts his head to the side, studying Caleb. According to the clock in his room, it is past midnight, which is quite late for the human to still be awake. Yet, he is just hovering in his doorway, caught between stepping inside and leaving again. "I presume you did not come here to discuss my evening reading matter."

"Ah..." He tugs at his sleeves again. "No, I did not." As always, Caleb is as incapable of voicing his needs as Essek is.

Thankfully, Essek is not nearly as apprehensive when it comes to his friends' well-being as he is when his own is concerned. "Should you have trouble sleeping, you know you are more than welcome to stay. Seeing as we are to make progress tomorrow, I am very invested in you having a restful night."

Not being able to sleep is another thing about that practice that Essek cannot understand. Trancing is a matter of will, discipline, and tranquillity and he's always assumed sleep to be the same. He supposes it is, to some degree.

But travelling with the Mighty Nein, and Caleb specifically, has taught him that you cannot force sleep. There are circumstances under which they will toss and turn for hours, unable to find rest. Not even Beau's meditation, which he considered relatively close to his trance, seemed capable to calm a disturbed mind enough for sleep.

He has, however, also discovered that for certain members of the Mighty Nein, certain methods will accomplish the necessary peace of mind. Caduceus' tea appears to be able to work miracles, time and time again. Beauregard likes to tire herself out by running drills, while Jester usually draws in her sketchbook. Yasha tends to make flower crowns or, lacking flowers, braid other people's hair. Essek has been subjected to that numerous times so far and despite his aversion to Dynasty braids, he doesn't hate it. Fjord usually ties sailor's knots, and Veth sorts through her various collections.

Caleb, though? Caleb, for some reason, only needs another person to fall asleep next to. And for some reason, despite the numerous options he has, he chooses Essek more often than not. Not that he's complaining, of course. In fact, he may enjoy it a little too much.

Caleb laughs quietly as he often does at their antics. They have long since learned the rules to this strange game they are playing. "Well, if you put it like this..." he says as he rids himself of his slippers—Hausschuhe, he has explained to Essek, a very important part of Zemnian culture—and puts them next to Essek's. "I would hate to disappoint you, Herr Thelyss."

'You couldn't,' he thinks as he pulls back the covers. Instead, he says: "Indeed." As always, he freezes in place when Caleb joins him on the bed, scooting closer until they are nearly touching. Being this close to each other is not getting any less mortifying, no matter how long it has been since Caleb first came knocking on his door.

He still remembers that night in vivid detail. As so often, Essek has been reading and just got up to get a cup of tea. When he stepped out of his rooms, he nearly collided with a wizard who had convinced himself that his suffering wasn’t important enough to trouble him with. “Do you want to come in?” he said to his own surprise. To his even bigger surprise, Caleb accepted.

They sat on Essek’s couch and talked about everything and nothing at once. Hours later, with his throat gone dry, Essek asked: “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” The moments the words left his mouth he knew he’d said something wrong.

Caleb shot to his feet as if burned and Essek followed suit. “I am so sorry, friend. I will not continue to disturb you any—”

“Where are you going?” he interrupted him, perhaps a little irritated. “Give me some credit, Caleb Widogast; I am capable of far subtler ways to rid myself of an unwelcome visitor. Which you are not.”

He laughed self-consciously and said: “Regardless, I should go and rest. Schlaf gut, Herr Thelyss.”

“You could stay,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “I mean—I noticed your sleep to be more restful when you are around others. I am aware that I am not your first choice, but since the others are not here—You’re welcome to stay, if it at all helps.”

Caleb hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly.”

“In Ordnung,” he answered finally. Essek is still glad he had thought to float for that conversation. That way, at least, his knees didn’t give out.

A short discussion about who should take the bed followed before they stubbornly agreed to share it. Essek came to regret that immediately after when he was confronted with the practical implications of ‘sharing a bed’.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. Caleb took some time to rearrange the pillows and blankets—just like he does now—while Essek hovered nearby. Literally.

It took several reminders from Caleb for Essek to not instinctively recast his floating cantrip, but eventually they managed to lie down next to each other with a minimal amount of awkwardness. They have moved past that initial apprehensiveness by now, Essek thinks while he pretends to read. Shortly after, Caleb flops down, close enough that Essek can feel his breath ghosting over his cheeks.

“Good night, Caleb Widogast,” Essek says, stubbornly staring at the pages and nowhere else. "Do you want me to dim the lights?" He doesn't need them anyways; he just likes to appreciate the room Caleb made for him in all of its colours.

"No, I think I would like to read a bit. I am quite fond of that book."

"You are?" Essek looks down to him in surprise. ‘If Caleb tilts his head,’ the thought hits him, ‘he could rest it on my shoulder.’ He just thought it to be one of the countless books Caleb has read in his life, nothing special. "Why?"

He blushes again. "Ah— I think you'll see. The title is more literal than one would assume."

He considers the book once more, trying to discern what Caleb means with his words. ‘Luxon help me,’ he sends a silent prayer. It wouldn’t be the first time for him to pick up a romance novel that turns out to be quite a bit more explicit than anticipated. To think that such a mistake may have happened to him with Caleb so close—He thinks he might just combust from embarrassment.

"Do you mind flipping the page?" Caleb asks with a yawn, startling Essek out of his thoughts.

"Oh, of course," he says belatedly and turns the page. He hasn't read the last one yet, but nor has he read the one before, so it hardly matters. The novel has a rather shallow plot, so he has no trouble picking it up three pages later, and he's done so by design.

“Thank you.” He yawns again, louder this time and burrows down further into his pillows. “Gute Nacht, mein Schatz,” he mumbles and freezes as if he only now realises what he said. He seems to wait for an answer, but when Essek fails to provide a wrong one, he just smiles up at him and says: “Schlaf wohl und g’sund, bis morgen früh’s Kaffeele kommt.”

“I don’t understand you,” Essek tells him just as quietly, “but you can translate tomorrow.” After a moment of hesitation, he adds in Undercommon: “Sweet dreams, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He quickly glances back at his book before he can do anything stupid. Such as regret his words. Or kiss him goodnight.

Still, with Caleb reading along he does his best to at least somewhat read the novel. It’s a very flowery language, occasionally dropping Zemnian words Essek doesn’t know. Judging by Caleb’s grumbling at least some of them appear to be wrong. The protagonist, Stefan, seems like quite the bore. He does have a strong motivation, he supposes, to escape from the dreary life that awaits him in his arranged marriage. Besides that, and his general cold-hearted demeanour, he can’t discern any defining characteristics.

He finally reaches the part Caleb asked him about—Stefan leaving for the big city—when another character is introduced, presumably his love interest. He appears to be about as compelling as the protagonist, until— Essek snorts quietly. “Caleb Widogast,” he chides softly, “is this a love story about wizards?”

At first, he doesn’t answer and Essek briefly considers the option of Caleb wilfully ignoring him. Then, there’s a barely audible snore. When he glances down in surprise, the human is leaning against his shoulder, soundly asleep. He noisily chews on a strand of his hair, a bit of drool dripping onto Essek’s shoulder.

For a moment he can’t help but stare, a dopey smile on his face. He quickly arrives at the conclusion that something as disgusting as that has absolutely no business being as endearing as it is. But for some reason he doesn’t mind at all.

Moving carefully and slowly, in order not to disturb Caleb’s sleep, he puts down The Creation of Silver. It is getting rather late and he probably should begin his trance, if he wants to wake before Caleb's inevitable departure.

He leans back, wiggling a bit to find a comfortable position. He thinks he's doing a good job of not rousing Caleb until the human grunts quietly. Essek freezes, fearing he may have woken him, but instead of opening his eyes, Caleb just shifts closer to him, throwing an arm and a leg across his lap to hold him tight.

Essek looks down at his... friend with a fond expression. After a moment of consideration, he reaches down to brush the strand of hair behind his ear.  

Sometimes, he feels like he can barely contain all the love he feels for this man within himself. One day, perhaps, he might even find the courage to tell him so.

Zemnian Translations:

Hausschuhe - slippers. In fact a Very Important German thing. Can't wear your normal shoes indoors, so you need special house shoes. Schlaf gut, Herr Thelyss. - Sleep well, Mister Thelyss. Gute Nacht, mein Schatz. -  Good night, my darling. (lit. treasure) Schlaf wohl und g'sund, bis morgen früh's Kaffeele kommt. - Sleep well and sound until tomorrow morning the little coffee arrives. (My Caleb is Suebian now and I don't take criticism. I was writing this when I suddenly remembered this sentence my parents used to say to me and I thought if my sleep deprived brain remembers things like that, it would only be appropriate if Caleb's did too.)

[wristpockets]

Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

[everdreamart]

Read my Thoughts

The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.

OR

An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.

Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)

Rating: Teen and Up

~~~~~

Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.

Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.

"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.

"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.

"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.

"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.

Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.

Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.

-----

After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.

There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.

Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.

"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.

"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."

"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.

And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.

However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.

At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.

"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.

Oh.

How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.

"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.

-----

Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.

It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.

He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.

"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.

It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"

"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.

"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.

"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.

"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.

'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.

The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."

Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."

He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.

Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.

"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.

Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.

"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.

Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.

Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.

"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.

Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.

They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.

"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."