#Yash is pronounced like Yasha but without the second a

[averyreaderofmanybooks]

I was bored so I decided to make some Wilderlore characters, I will have a headcanon about the character and then I will have the character. (I know this is a bad explanation but whatever. Also their designs are affected by some of my personal headcanons btw.)

Tadg (He is very angy.)

Even though he acts really rude about it and calls people weird for trying to hug him, he loves hugs. He also complains every time someone touches him.

Barclay (The dog is supposed to be Root.)

He loves head pats.

Viola

She collects things like bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and anything shiny that she finds.

Shazi

She collects random metal things that she finds.

Hasu

She collects flowers that she finds.

Cecily

She often tries to copy Cyril's hairstyles, because she looks up to him a lot and wan'ts to be like him, and she steals his clothes cuz they are too big for her.

Yasha

He can't fall asleep unless someone he is close to, like Barclay, Moyta, or Audrian, are asleep near him.

Audrian (Dumb*ss)

He regrets getting caught and having his identity revealed because he misses Cyril and Runa, and he is sad that Yasha doesn't get to hangout with his friends anymore. (He also calls Yasha, Yash cuz why not.)

Cyril (Book nerd) (Cee-Cee)

He keeps every gift that his apprentices give him and refuses to get rid of them, even if Leopold tells him to get rid of them.

Runa

She lets her apprentices braid her hair while she tells them stories.

Leopold Warning (Yes I made Leopold)

Leopold (Grand *sshole)

No headcanons.

Context: He is mad at the apprentices for putting bows in his hair. (He hasn't read the shirt, yet.)

[unicyclehippo]

as much as they love big pranks and chaos, artagan loves messing w beau subtlety sometimes. on one occasion they manage to put a flower crown on her without her noticing. no one points it out, beau is just wondering why everyone’s smiling at her today

not exactly the prompt but fairly similar to what i was already writing, thank u. sorry it is long, i think. follows on from the artagan post i made earlier

//

‘Beau?’

A gentle hand shakes her awake—it doesn’t deserve the way Beau comes awake all teeth and tense fear, she doesn’t deserve that, but here in the graveyard of trees, relics of the forest that used to stand here, Beau has dreamed of gleaming green eyes and ghosts, laughter and the touch of long fingers closing cold around her heart. And pain. Yasha rocks backwards, takes Beau’s attack on one shoulder, and shakes her head at the immediate apology.

‘Yash—‘

‘It’s alright,’ she says, voice low. Her eyes crease and Beau—still blurred around the edges, still pulling out of sleep—doesn’t know what that means until Yasha pulls further away and Beau can see all of her face is smiling gently down at her. ‘The others are asleep. I just - wanted to thank you.’

‘Huh?’

‘For the flowers.’ Uncurling a hand, Yasha shows her the dozen or so little bluedrops.

Beau glances at them and then quickly away. Shuffles out of her uncomfortable half-up position and sits properly, crossing her legs.

‘Not from me. Maybe Nott. Or Jester.’

‘Oh.’ Yasha’s brows lift in the faintest hint of disbelief. Her eyes lift a fraction to Beau’s hair. ‘Then you have been visited too.’

She reaches out oh so slowly and Beau doesn’t flinch, not until she sees the rusted hilt laying in Yasha’s bedroll, far on the other side of the dome. Yasha pulls away at the flinch. She nods instead, Look her eyes say, and they follow Beau’s hand as she reaches up to—ah, fuck. Her hair ribbon.

Beau pulls her hand down, examines the bluedrop with frustration.

‘I can - take out the rest? If you want.’

‘Yeah. Please.’

They both go about it with caution—Beau turns around so she can’t possibly see the sword, Yasha does her best not to touch Beau at all as she tries to remove the little flowers, and it’s tense and awful so Beau, with all the talent in her body, relaxes back into her friend’s side as though they’ve done so a hundred times before, as though they’ve done more than simply exchange a few short words since reclaiming her.

Yasha’s hand settles shakily on her shoulder. Warm. Solid. Beau leans her head back against Yasha’s and smiles up at her, looks up out from the corner of her eyes. Maybe it’s a fey thing—not power, necessarily, but the habit of looking at things from new angles—but Beau finds from this angle that the sad lines of Yasha’s face are less pronounced. She looks younger, lighter. Beau relaxes a little more, and has to reevaluate whether it’s the angle that has Yasha awash with joy or the semi-awkward hug they share.

Morning dawns hot and dry, the coolness of the hut burned away the second the spell falls. No one else is waking, so the two sit together and wait. The flowers are set aside into a small pile and Yasha has long since finished, leans back on her hands and doesn’t ask Beau to move. So she doesn’t. Uses Yasha as a back rest instead.

She feels Yasha speak before she hears the words, the buzz of them moving from Yasha’s chest to Beau’s back, and she wonders idly as she tilts her head toward the rising sun whether there’s a way of...keeping a memory. Keeping this peace, this connection.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Mm.’

‘Beau.’

‘’m awake. Go for it.’

She doesn’t immediately. But it isn’t very long before Yasha sighs. Says, ‘I’ve missed things. While I was...away.’

Beau snorts. ‘Away.’

Yasha bumps her shoulder into Beau’s back, fond, chiding. They resettle. ‘There are things I see that...I don’t know if I should talk about. If they’re private or new.’

‘Mm.’

‘Fjord has a new voice,’

‘Wild, right?’

‘It’s...different. He’s different,’ Yasha says, and Beau nods. ‘You all are.’

‘It’s been a lot.’ Beau scrubs a hand over her face. Dredges back in her memory with a wide net, not wanting to pull up all the details. The close calls. The fear. The running and running to catch up to Yasha, only lose her again. The scrying. Jester’s tears. She doesn’t tell her in order, just plucks their history out from the pile. ‘Uh. We went into that Happy Fun Ball again, which, turns out, is more than just those couple rooms we saw the first time—well, not you, but the rest of us. It’s like...a series of folded inter-dimensional spaces that contain not only increasingly horrific things but also is totally designed to fuck up magic users. We went in cause Yussa—remember him? He went in and disappeared for like three weeks and turns out he got got by the Ball guardians—‘ Yasha snorts. Beau grins. ‘We met this super hot wizard chick from Tal’Dorei, Yussa’s - friend? Maybe? Who helped us out with that, and with you. The blonde chick who talked to us in the King’s throne room. Let’s see, what else? I made Expositor and then almost immediately got banned from all the fuckin’ libraries—long story, it involves teleporting horses,’

‘Ah. Okay.’

‘We visited a volcano—not the Traveller Con one, a different one—and tricked a white dragon and stole from some assholes connected to - to Shady Creek. Fjord got a new sword and a new voice, got hitched to the Wildmother, we met this superhero chick who could turn into animals, we got tattoos,’

‘You changed.’

Beau stops talking. Stares out, over the barren treetops painted pink and golds in place of withered grey. ‘I guess. Happens, y’know.’

Yasha hums her agreement.

‘Good change?’

Yasha ignores the crack in her words. ‘I think so. You’re...more confident. Comfortable.’

‘You’re pretty comfortable too,’ Beau says, threading it with a familiar flirtation, and she smiles more genuinely when Yasha laughs.

‘I didnt - like to see you in Kamordah.’ Yasha has to feel the way she tenses, entire body locking up, but she ignores it. ‘It was - like looking in a mirror.’

‘Oh yeah? Shitty parents?’

‘No. My parents were good enough.’ Yasha shifts ever so slightly. Beau doesn’t know how until one finger comes to rest atop Beau’s pinkie. ‘You looked ready to die,’ she says, voice blunt like a fist to the gut. ‘Ready to leave us. I don’t care for that much.’

‘You’re one to talk.’

‘I know. But am I wrong?’

Beau doesn’t answer. Not with words, not with a shrug or a laugh. It is hard to move beneath the sudden crushing sensation of being fully in her body, a body that is not dead, that is sat amongst a nest of friends she has not fully earned, deserved. She shivers, heart feeling small and cold again.

‘Perhaps I should not have spoken to it,’ Yasha continues very softly, and she lifts a hand to run it through Beau’s braided, flowerless hair. ‘But I have.’

Beau breathes out shakily. Fights the pressure that clutches her lungs. ‘Yep. Sure have.’

Yasha waits a moment. Then, ‘There is another, ah, topic.’

‘Fuckin’—fine. Yeah, fine, go for it,’ Beau sighs, pulls away from Yasha finally. Scrubs hard at her face again. Her cheeks and eyes are dry still and her skin is warm from the morning sun, but she feels numb. The gesture helps, a little.

‘I’m sorry. I have missed so much, I don’t know who to ask. And you—tell the truth. Without...’

‘Being nice about it?’

Yasha smiles. ‘I guess. But sometimes nice is confusing and doesn’t help me much.’

‘Sometimes nice is what you deserve,’ Beau mutters.

‘Is that the truth?’

It’s not what Yasha wanted to talk about, Beau is pretty sure, but she sounds very uncertain and Beau’s heart aches with it.

‘Yash,’ she sighs. ‘Yeah. You deserve—friends. Family. You deserve good stuff.’

‘Even though...’

Her eyes dip down. Beau is wearing a shirt now, not her old vestments. She’s been wearing a shirt since that night. The scar doesn’t bother her, but it bothers others.

‘Even though.’

Yasha hums, neither agreement nor disagreement. Then, so casually as to be super obvious about it, she looks about to see if any of the others are awake. No one is—or seems to be—but still Yasha folds herself forward so there is only an inch or two between their faces.

‘You and Jester,’ Yasha says.

Beau pulls quickly back.

Yasha doesn’t try to say more. Whatever the question would have been—she sees answer enough in Beau’s escape.

‘We should wake the others. Get out of here.’

‘Okay.’

‘Good talk.’ Beau claps her hands on her knees. Pushes smoothly to standing. ‘Good talk. Bye.’

‘Bye, Beau.’

//

‘These are such pretty flowers, Yasha! Where did you find them? I haven’t seen flowers for ages!’ Jester says, braiding a handful of them into one of Yasha’s plaits. She doesn’t notice the way Yasha glances to Beau, and doesn’t seem to require an answer, because she continues on. ‘And you know it’s a forest but it’s not like any forest I’ve ever been in—no leaves, no animals, no food! You should’ve told us if you saw flowers—maybe that means something.’

‘Ah,’

‘Perhaps a space where the curse is not so prevalent,’ Caleb adds thoughtfully. ‘Was it far from here?’

‘Ah.’

This time, no fewer than all of the Nein notice the way Yasha looks to Beau. Beau pretends she hasn’t noticed, examining the torn skin around her nailbeds.

‘Beau?’ Jester drags her name out teasingly. ‘Did you find flowers and give them to Yasha?’

‘No.’

‘If you found them—I do not know how much you heard, but if you did, there is a curse upon this forest and any sign of - leniency or space where the curse did not take so virulent a hold—‘

‘I didn’t find them!’ Beau snaps. Her eyes cut to Jester—she should’ve told her earlier, she realises. And not with everyone around. Fuck the Traveller, fuck Artagan for being right. She should have told her. ‘I—got given them. Sort of. He was being an asshole.’

‘He? A gift? Some kind of apparition?’

‘No!’ Beau cuts Caleb off. ‘No, I’m not stupid! It was — it was the Traveller, okay?’ She keeps her eyes firmly on Caleb, tries not to notice the way Jester’s smile blooms and then withers almost immediately. ‘He came around last night during my watch and said some stupid fuckin’ fey shit and bounced. Turned my cloak into flowers. That’s all. That’s all,’ she says again, turning her attention to Jester who summons up a wobbly smile and a cheerful,

‘That’s great! Isn’t he the coolest!’

‘He’s somethin’, alright.’