#and molly has those warm fond feelings for Caleb

[dent-de-leon]

Help how do I tell everyone who never read Lucien’s book that Lucien and Molly are both genderfluid and also Molly thinks of the widomauk forehead kiss so fondly and literally remembers Caleb as “Softness and light—”

ALSO,, EVERYTHING WITH LUCIEN’S FAMILY—

[justahumblebard]

Grief

Mollymauk Tealeaf X Fem!reader

Spoilers for episode 26

Guess who decided to make herself sad today 

Staring at the colorful fabric in your hand; tears well in your eyes as a sob builds up in your chest. It is grief in it most basic form. You had been so busy the past few month that you had not been able to process his death. Today however it hit you head on as you decorated the empty room that you had been given. Holding the colorful coat close to your chest you sob; you had found a beautiful tapestry dedicated to the Moonweaver in the market and on impulsive purchased it, because it reminded you of him. Now you sit on the bed clutching a well-worn coat to your chest breath hitching as a broken sob comes forth. You missed him, you missed his warm, you missed the life he brought into any room that he entered. It hurt, like someone had stuck a knife in your chest and twisted the blade. It felt like he was taken from you far too soon. Memories flood your memories of time spent with him

The first time you met him he was staggering out of the woods covered in grave dirt muttering empty over and over. You and Gustav quickly realized that he had no recollection of who he was or what happened to him. You watched him grow from a hollow shell to a vibrant colorful soul. Your relationship started with a simple flower. Before he had even started talking you found yourself fond of the purple tiefling. One night before a show you felt a tug on the sleeve of your robe as you were getting ready. There stood a timid looking tiefling holding a beautiful rose out to you. It was the soft kiss you placed on his forehead that lead to a lasting relationship. “Love you.” Was one of the first things that he said to you when he found his voice. It still remained one of his favorite things to tell you whenever he saw the opportunity. Along the way you added Yasha to your loveable group of misfits; Mollymauk adopting the tall women, taking her under his colorful wing. You helped her adjust to life with the circus and she became one of your closest friends.

Then you met the Mighty Nein, a rag tag group of misfits you found in a small tavern in Trostenwald. You never could have imagined the adventures that you would get into with that group. Mollymauk getting arrested that night had been an unfortunate consequence. You barley managed to not be drug away in chains that night. You never expected a member of your circus would turn out to be a fiend, or that you would have to comfort the small dwarven girl that had befriended him when you had to kill him. After that the circus had to disband and you found a family with the group of misfits you found in the bar.

The name ‘The Mighty Nein’ came along the way when you finally had to establish yourselves as a group. You truly became a family of misfits after that and wacky adventures ensured as you made your way through the city of Zadash. Molly making everything brighter and more lighthearted along the way. During your time in the city the two of you snuck out on several dates and in a moment of impulse decided to get married secretly with only Yasha as a witness. Life seemed to be so bright and colorful with Molly in it. Time seemed to move impossibly fast, but he was there for you during every moment with a warm arm wrapped around your waist. There were times when you looked forward to your future together with him. You kept having reoccurring dreams of a small purple infant sleeping soundly in tattooed arms, that brought a warm fuzzy feeling to your chest.

Soft loving kisses and whispers of a family and the future were shared often between each other on the road in the moments before going to sleep surrounded by your friends. You never realized how much you needed to cherish those moments or how few it would feel like you have. Traveling through the swamp and back making new friends along the way. Having fun in Hupperdook and waking up realizing someone had stolen Molly’s purse. Moments traveling with this small makeshift family would turn into memories that you would cling to so that you could remember him.

Everything changed after leaving Hupperdook. Your last night on the road with Molly has burned itself in memories. It had been a normal day. You had picked up supplies and traveled further down the road. You had set up camp in a relatively open area as you were traveling through grasslands. You had volunteered to take first watch with Jester.

“Love you” Molly kissed you before heading off to the tent that you were going to share.

“Love you too.” You smiled watching the colorful tiefling walk away from you.

Those were the last words you spoke to him. You never saw them coming when the Iron shepherds kidnapped Yasha, Fjord, Jester, and you. You fell unconscious with a quick strike to the back of your head. Being the champion to the Raven Queen you were lucky when your goddess shielded your mind from the torment that you and your friends were going through. It was only after your friends rescued you were you given the news. It did not sink in that Molly was dead until you reached where they had buried him. Standing there looking at the mound of dirt it felt like you could not breathe, staring at the coat blowing in the wind your heart broke and you screamed falling to your knees in front of the grave. You put up a fight when they wanted to leave the coat behind. Caleb was the one who grabbed it off the stick they had used as a marker and handed it to you. You clutched the coat to your chest the whole way to Zadash feeling lost and broken. You did not know what to do when Yasha left as well; you just felt numb. For two weeks you felt nothing but numbness, your friends trying to help you out of your grief. Caduceus your new friend trying hard to help you deal with your grief to no avail.

Traveling was what distracted you from your grief. Leaving Zadash you found life to be moving too quickly for you to have to deal with your grief rather pushing it to the back of your mind. It wasn’t until you were putting together your room and you went to ask Molly a question, realizing that you would never get an answer. Once the tears started it seemed impossible to get them to stop.  You can’t hear the soft knock or the door opening.

“Y/n” Yasha’s soft voice breaks through your cries. Her large form slowly moves into the room as to not startle you. With your friend moving into the room you make your way into her arms crying into her shoulder still clutching the coat. Strong arms wrap around your form holing you close whispering softly in celestial to you

“We didn’t get to say good-bye.” You sob into her shoulder “We didn’t get to say goodbye.”

You feel her rest her head against yours and a few tears fall onto your hair

“I know.” She whispers.

“How do you deal with this pain. How do you deal with the gaping hole.” You voice breaks as you look at her eyes red, tears running down your cheeks.

“You don’t. The pain never goes away, it just gets easier to deal with.”  A calloused hand wipes away your tears. She wraps her arms tightly around you and you burry your face into her shoulder tears soaking through her shirt as your cry.

Yasha stays with you the rest of the day letting you cry and scream and deal with the grief of loosing Molly. The rest of the Nein checked in on you every now and then, making sure everything is going to be alright. Caduceus came in at one point to help Yasha comfort you and to help you work out your grief. Eventually you cry yourself to sleep, Yasha staying in your room the remainder of the night keeping a silent guard over you as you clutch the coat close to you in your sleep.  

[midnigtartist]

Oops all mermauk

Another mermauk au ficlet. A direct continuation of this

He is not quite sure how something like this could even be possible, but Caleb had not been lying when he’d said he was happy to see Mollymauk. Perched on the edge of the tub he watches the mermaid clean out the sand stuck between his toes. And if he's staring, it's only because the whole situation is utterly baffling. It was already such a slim possibility that he would ever find someone like Mollymauk, Caleb has spent most of his professional career getting laughed out of conference halls because of his theories on mermaids. He’d simply grown deaf to the whispers that would follow in his wake. According to his peers, Mollymauk is an impossibility, and yet here he sits, waist deep in warm water in Caleb’s tub. And if all that weren’t enough to send his heart racing and his mind spinning, there is also the rather blatant fact that Mollymauk, by some stroke of magic, now has legs. Legs Caleb would have never imagined him able to possess. He can't possibly hope to explain how that’s possible, not without looking into it, and he hopes Molly will let him look into it further,  but he is grateful for the anomaly all the same. He had thought, well, feared really, that after he’d done all the research he could do, Mollymauk would stop coming back to see him. On a few occasions he had heard in passing that Molly has a group that he travels with. It's such a silly thing and yet,,, yet Caleb dreaded the idea of never getting to see him again. So when he’d seen him out there on the dock, standing on trembling legs, it was almost like seeing him for the first time all over again. Impossible and everything he’d hoped for. 

Wet fingers nudge his knee, pulling Caleb out of his thoughts. He jumps, looking down at Molly who’s looking up at him with a slight smile on his face.

“Aaah, are you done in there then?” he asks.

Mollymauk nods, planting his hands on the side of the tub so that he can stand. A jolt of panic flashes through Caleb as he sees his legs tremble beneath him, and he dives forward to grip Molly’s forearms. The water sloshes against the sides of the tub but Molly doesn't fall. 

“Bitte Mollymauk it is slippery. Here, let me help you out.”

Molly hums a thankful note and together they manage to get him out of the tub and back onto the cold flagstone floor.

He really is a sight, standing there dripping onto the tile. The long gills that run along his sides flutter every so often, and his tail whips back and forth excitedly, scattering drops of water across the floor. Caleb is quick to draw his gaze away, releasing Molly as soon as he’s sure he won't slip and fall, and turning to find a towel instead. It would be pointless to deny the fact that Mollymauk is very attractive, and that he finds it rather distracting, especially with him being nude as he is. He shoves a fluffy towel into Molly’s hands. 

“Here, you can dry yourself off with this.” he says, keeping his gaze steadfast above the other man's navel. Gods he's going to have to find him some pants soon, and maybe then his heart will stop beating so fast.

Molly looks at the towel, and then back up at him. Expression utterly blank. 

“Oh ja, uuuh you probably do not know what I’m talking about.”  He just realized he’s trying to explain the concept of dryness to a creature that sends the majority of its time completely underwater. Where to even begin with something like that. “You just aaaa just pat on your body until you are no longer dripping.” he says.

Mollymauk looks- confused, but he does as Caleb says, slowly and methodically patting the towel to his wet skin.

Good enough, Caleb thinks, moving around Molly to gather up his coat. When he turns back Mollymauk has left the towel in a heap on the floor. His hair is still wet but its going to have to do. Again he sets his coat on Mollymauk’s shoulders and again the mermaid beams up at him. He nuzzles down into the collar and hesitantly threads his arms through the sleeves. Gods he really is cute though. Caleb feels himself returning the grin a bit shyly.

Gingerly he places his hand to the small of Mollymauk’s back and steers him towards the door.

“Come Mollymauk, we will aaah we will get you somewhere comfortable, and something better to wear than just my old coat.”

Molly cocks his head to the side. A ‘why’ or a ‘where are we going’ perhaps. 

Caleb answers both. “You will be more comfortable in some proper clothes.” he explains, guiding Molly down the hall. “And warmer. I  aaah- I have some things that you can borrow, in my room.”

Caleb pushes open the door of the second room on the right. It is the second smallest room in the house and it is filled to the brim with all the books he could not find space for in his office. He leads Molly inside and directs him to sit on the bed. “My coat will do for now, but if you are - are you going to be - to be staying Mollymauk?” he asks.

He's not sure how this works. If it is only for this one day or if Molly’s transformation is permanent. Caleb is still not sure what he is going to tell Beaurgard and Jester.

Molly pauses for a moment, looking down at his legs, and then nods. Yes

It only really partially answers Caleb’s question. They are going to have to find a better way to communicate, if Molly truly is going to be staying. He might have a solution for that as well, but at the moment it's far more pressing that they get Molly dressed.

“Alright. Ja my coat is sufficient, but if you are going to be staying here, up on land, you are going to need more than just that”  he says, slipping said coat off Molly’s shoulders, and draping it over the bed.

He is a bit taller than Molly in the legs but certainly he should be able to find him something suitable to wear. Caleb strides over to his dresser. It only takes him a moment to find a decent pair of rough wore slacks, which he presents to Molly. 

“Here, put these on.”

Molly points towards the bundle in his arms, then at Caleb’s own pants. 

Caleb nods “ Ja ja they are pants just like mine, they may be a bit long though.”

He does try to give Molly some privacy as he dresses, but after a few moments of listening to him stumbling and flailing, he decides he should at least offer him an arm to steady the mermaid. With his hand gripped like a vice around Caleb’s bicep Molly is able to carefully step into the pant legs, fastening the trousers around his waist. They do a good job of covering the lower set of gills on his flank, and Caleb nods his approval.

“Ja, those will do. I’ll get you a shirt as well, aaa hold one moment please.” he leaves Molly to inspect the new pants, turning and twisting to get a decent look at them with his tail wiggling out from the bottom of one of the cuffs. Caleb crosses to his dresser once more and fishes out a simple blouse shirt from within. He hardly wears it, so he will not miss it much if Molly were to take it. The collar opens fair to wide for his taste, but he has a feel that will not bother Mollymauk much at all. 

“Here Molly-”  he turns back, only to find Molly in a state of undress once more. Perched nude on the edge of Caleb’s mattress with the trousers left abandoned on the floor. 

Caleb clears his throat, as if that will stave off the rush of heat to the tips of his ears. “Nien Mollymauk, you need to keep those on.”

Molly shakes his head, no.

“Why not?”

Molly gestures towards his sides, towards his gills that twitch and flutter ever so slightly. The lower set are flared out and look agitated. Molly brushes his legs down and shakes his head once more. “They’re uncomfortable.”

“Ah I see” coming around Caleb set his hand gently on Molly’s side.its a farmillar touch and he doesn’t think much of it as he carefully moves Molly to get a better look. The gills do look irritated, and of course they would be. To have that rough fabric brush against such sensitive organs. Yet another obstacle he’s going to need to find a work around for. “Well I suppose it is alright for you to just wear this then, at least until we can find a better solution.” he says, handing the shirt off to Mollymauk. “It aaaa well it's not like you are going to be anywhere other than the house, for now.”

Molly takes one look at the shirt before setting it to the side with another shake of his head. He leans over to snatch up the coat from the foot of the bed, and pulls it over his shoulders. Then he throws his arms out wide, beaming up at Caleb. 

Caleb chuckles “I take it that you are fond of my old coat then?”

Molly nods, tugging the coat tighter around him. Almost as if to say ‘I’d like to see you try and take it from me.” He reaches up to tap Caleb twice on the shoulder before burrowing down into the fur collar.

“I’m not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but if you are comfortable then I am happy.”

At least its something so that he does not startle the girls walking around with his junk on full display. Though it does cover very little. Not that Caleb has noticed.

“Ja, we will look for a better solution tomorrow, I think.” he says. Jester, or even Beau, would probably have some softer garments that would be less agitating. he will have to be sure to ask.

Molly hums in absent agreement, occupied, it seems, with the buttons on the cuffs of the sleeves. A fond smile creeps its way onto Caleb's face as he watches. He's always found Mollymauk’s curiosity to be endearing. He’s always so enthralled by things that Caleb would consider mundane, like the buckles on his boots or the pen we takes notes with. It’s good that he gets to see him again. Those few days where Molly had stopped showing up at the dock Caleb had been so certain he had moved on. He’s very glad that that’s not the case, he would have missed Molly’s unabashed desire to discover terribly. 

“Is there anything I can get for you, Mollymauk?” Caleb asks, picking up the discarded clothes to put them back in their respective drawers. “I can get you something if you are-- uuuhhh,,,”

There was another half to that sentence but it vanished like smoke from the tip of his tongue the moment he turned back around to find Molly splayed out over his duvet. On his back with Caleb’s coat spread around him and he his face turned into the sheets.

It has to be intentional, it must be. That every time he turns his back Mollymauk seeks out new ways to fluster him further. Either that, or the mermaid really has no concept of modesty. There’s no leering grin on Molly’s face, or bright red eyes that watch him knowingly. Instead he lets out a great yawn, and cuddles down deeper into the bedding. Caleb flushes red all down his neck, caught between how very long and lean Molly’s legs look, and the soft expression on his face. Gods he must be losing his mind.

“Are you tired Molly?” he asks, keeps his voice light and conversational.

A single nod from Molly. Caleb feels his heart melt just a little bit. It's only about three in the afternoon and yet Mollymauk seems exhausted. He should have noticed it sooner. That walk up to the house can be a struggle for him at times, he can't imagine having to do it on new legs. And that’s not considering whatever else it might have taken Molly to get here. It is only natural that he would be tired, especially now that the excitement is starting to wane. 

The house has another spare room that Caleb has yet to fill up with research notes. If Molly is going to be staying with them, he will need a place to sleep. 

Tentatively Caleb approaches the bed. “Mollymauk, I have a room for you if you wish to rest. You will have to get up though.”

He's not even going to entertain the idea that he's strong enough to lift Molly. Molly's response to this is to press his face tighter into the mattress. 

Caleb chuckles. “I realize you are exhausted Molly, but you cannot sleep here. This is my bed.”

A lavender hand sneaks out from the bundle of Caleb’s coat and pats the bed beside Molly. The tips of Caleb’s ears burn at the implication. 

“N-nien Mollymauk that ummmm-” he not quite sure what ‘that’ is but knows he can't just curl up next to Molllymauk like that. He just- he can't. He shouldn’t. So he won't. He gnaws nervously at his lower lip. “Nein Molly that’s not what I ment. we cannot share the bed.”

Molly lets out a huff that sounds almost disappointed, but he drops it, apparently too tired to press him further. He gives another great yawn, tail curling up like a cats, and settles back down against the mattress.

‘Well i guess this is his bed now’

[xhorhasiannights]

sweet peaches at the sea [yasha x reader, 1.4k words]

so, i caved in and started a mighty nein blog because i’m a complete trash with no self control. if you’d like to write me for any characters, requests are open! ideas are welcome as well. 

[yasha x tiefling reader, 1.4k words, pre-relationship fluff and awkwardness takes place during mighty nein’s piracy adventure]

The deck of the ship was enveloped in scorching sun rays, but you found yourself embracing the warmth. After traveling across the Empire, the weather at sea was something you welcomed with open arms, finally able to discard your leather in favor of flowing linens, even if for a short while, and let your skin bask in the sun. You were currently propped against the railing, with your back to the sea and legs crossed as you sat on the warm deck. In your lap, there was a wooden bowl filled with a variety of fruit - courtesy of Caduceus, as you helped him with picking out food supplies for your journey. While your cooking skills were no match for his, you could certainly appreciate a high-quality meal. Popping a grape in your mouth - gods, it's been ages since you've had one of those - you glanced over to the upper deck, where you could just see Jester, currently neatly braiding Nott's hair, a smile gracing your lips upon this sight. Close to them, but carefully hidden in the shade, was Caleb, deep in thought, an open book in his hands. It seemed that he learned his lesson after burning his fair skin merely the day after you and your companions managed to obtain The Mist. The Mistake, you corrected yourself, still amused by the fact that apparently your group were now pirates. 

You were halfway through your afternoon snack when Yasha emerged from below the deck. Even though her skin appeared to be fairer than Caleb's, it didn't look like the sun bothered her much, yet she still spent most of her time in the closest vicinity of her temporary quarters. A pang of sadness resonated within your chest - you remembered all too well when you stumbled upon her Nicodranas, the wound of losing Mollymauk still fresh. She's taken his death the worst of everyone, which was to be expected, you supposed. They knew each other longer than any of you had known Molly and it still hurt. "Decided to catch a few rays of sun?" You asked, shaking away the painful memories. Yasha's head snapped in your direction, startled. She must have not seen you, sitting down on the deck. "I, ah, yes, I suppose." You smiled upon hearing her soft voice. Even though she appeared as the most intimidating from your entire group, underneath all that muscle and sharp eyes was gentleness that you were quite fond of. "Great! Being cooped up below the deck won't do you any good," you said. "Besides, you look like you could use some sun, you know." The words were out of your mouth before you had a chance to think. Yasha's brows furrowed and you winced at what you have just said. "Not that you look bad, mind you, the paleness suits you, goes really well with the entire barbarian look," you rambled, trying to save your face. "In fact, I'm quite a fan of it, it's just, ah, a bit of sun never hurt anyone, right? And the air up here is such a nice change from the usual… smells of the city, if you catch my meaning." You were pretty sure that you were making a complete fool of yourself, as Yasha watched you with an unreadable expression. Finally, she nodded slowly, as if not fully understanding what exactly you were talking about - and in truth, neither were you. It was quite a blessing that your skin was of this deep, red coloring, as you were sure otherwise you'd be blushing furiously right now. "Anyway, would you like to join me?" You patted the spot next to you. She seemed hesitant for a moment, before deciding to join you and sat down on the wooden deck. From this proximity, you could smell the floral oils she used on her hair. It was a very pleasant smell, you thought. "So, you're not a big fan of the weather here, I take it?" The question sounded lame to your ears but you wanted to fill the silence that has fallen upon the both of you. You offered Yasha the bowl of fruit and watched, with slight disappointment, as she settled on a quarter of an apple. She munched on it for a moment. "It's just different. I do not dislike it but I never was in a place where it's this… hot. I know rains, and thunder, and bone-chilling frost, but I don't believe I ever imagined myself to be in a place that's just heat and sun." You watched Yasha intently as she spoke, drinking every word. It wasn't often that she spoke of herself, and so you always paid attention whenever she mentioned something of her past. "It is really a wonder that your skin doesn't burn, then," you commented with a smile. "Caduceus had to prepare an ointment for Caleb, you know. Don't mention it to him, though - I only know of it because I snuck into the kitchen when Cad was preparing it." Yasha let out a low chuckle and you couldn't help but feel pride at the accomplishment of making her laugh. "Guess it's just luck." She smiled at you and warmth filled your belly. You ducked your face, grin spreading on your lips, and reached for the last fruit in the bowl sitting in your lap. It was a plump, golden orange peach - you brought the fruit up to your nose and inhaled its sweet scent. Peaches were your favorite since you were a child but they were hard to come by during travels across the lands. You were dead set of enjoying every bite of this one. With a sharp knife, you skillfully cut the peach in half and extended your hand with the part that had no pit in it towards Yasha. Too engrossed in the vision of the fruit's sweet juices filling your mouth, you didn't notice as she tentatively took the half from you, brows furrowed as she stared at the peach. You bit into yours without a second thought, suppressing the moan at the delightful taste. It was just as heavenly as you remembered. You finished the piece within seconds and, with no shame whatsoever, licked your fingers clean from where the fruity juice dripped on them. Satisfied, you looked at Yasha, only to find her staring at you, her gaze unfamiliarly intense. A shudder ran down your spine despite the heat coming down from the sky. The second you returned her gaze, however, she seemed to shake out of it and glanced down, towards the yet untouched half of the peach. "I'm, uh—" she started, unsure, and you could swear that a faint blush graced her cheekbones, "What exactly is this?" You let out a gasp that was a mix of shock and terror. Surely she didn't mean…? "You've never had peaches?!" The question came out louder than you intended it to and Yasha's blush deepened. You shook your head and scooted closer towards her. "This is an absolute crime, Yasha, I absolutely cannot believe… These are the sweetest fruits to grace our lands, so simple and yet so delicious, a poem on your tongue. Some people from these parts of the world will tell you that they're common and nothing special but don't listen to them. They're wrong. Peaches are positively one of the best things that I've ever tasted and I'm honored to be the person that introduces you to this miracle of nature." You were aware that your passion on the subject was a bit ridiculous but Yasha seemed to humor your antics, as she nodded with a serious expression. There was a twinkle to her eyes, however, that could have been nothing else to amusement. "Then I am thankful to discover them thanks to you," Yasha said, softly. Then, with you intently following her every move, she hesitantly bit into the fruit. You watched, fascinated, as her face changed. Her eyes widened when the sweet richness of the peach spilled on her tongue - she seemed so lost in this new experience that she didn't notice the juice that her trickled down her chin, taking another bite. Or maybe she didn't care. You, on the other way, were overtly aware of the sweet droplets glistening on her face. All too soon, she had finished eating and while you waited impatiently for the verdict, her expression said it all. She had loved it. "You were right," Yasha finally said, a serene smile on her face. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "This — peach — it was divine." A delighted squeal escaped your mouth, echoing throughout the entire ship. From the upper deck, Beauregard glanced down at both you and smirked. Suddenly, placing a bet on you didn't seem like such a bad idea.

[critical-derolo]

not like the stories

"You'd think there would be one bookstore in this town," Caleb grumbles beside her. He folds his arm on the table, around his mug of swill, and taps his fingertips against the surface. "Even in a city of beasts, someone is bound to partake in some light reading. Knowledge is the foundation of any society..."

It's not totally her fault that she tunes Caleb out - not when he dives into a lecture of academia, he knows she can't force herself to focus on something she finds so boring. But Caleb is her friend and so she hums and nods every now and then, leaning against her elbow with her chin in her palm as she stares at the tiefling across the crowded tavern they're in. The fake tiefling. The human polymorphed into a tiefling. The incredibly attractive fake tiefling that's really a human, specifically her friend Beau.

Jester's eyes linger on the defined muscles of her bare arms, how vibrant the red of her skin is. The way it makes her blue eyes and black hair pop. People throw around the slurs 'devil' and 'demon' at Jester often enough, but gods, Beau is sinfully delicious as a tiefling.

The little Trickster sighs deeply, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. She drags her gaze along the expanse of abdomen that shows in the monk's vestments and robes, imagines running her fingers along the grooves of those stone abs. Her eyes flutter and she can almost see Beau beneath her, chest expanding with a choked expletive caught in her throat, Jester's cool palm against red hot skin as Beau drives her head back into the mattress. Those lovely defined arms flexing when she holds onto the bedposts above her head as Jester rides her for all she has.

"Even a little stand in the market with information pamphlets," Caleb groans and holds his face in his hands. "I'll take anything, at this point."

"Bahamut's balls, Caleb!" Jester hisses reflexively. She jerks up in her seat, swallowing heavily, and lets out a shaky breath. Her friend stares at her curiously. "It's almost as if this city doesn't appreciate fine literature!"

Caleb blinks and slowly nods like he's piecing together a complex puzzle. "Ja... ja, it is, isn't it. It's an affront to the pursuit of education!"

"Do you have any new books?" she wonders abruptly. Tilts her head and bats her eyelashes in a deceptively innocent manner. "Any sequels to Tusk Love or something like that, maybe?"

Suspicion glows in those blue eyes of his but the fondness in them outshines it. He leans back in his chair, brushing his hand over a scruffy chin. "You are meaning smut when you say something like Tusk Love?"

"Technically..." Jester grins.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I haven't - eh, replenished the library, so to speak. Travelling underground for so long and then popping up in this... city, I haven't had the chance."

Rather impressively, Beau juggles an armful of mugs as she approaches the table. Her grin is sharp, all predator, and Jester hops in her seat. Pointedly ignores the heat in her stomach, and leans forward over the table. "Beau, were you flirting with that Orc lady at the bar?"

Beau rolls her eyes at the eyebrow wiggling and sets the mugs down. Jester preens a little when she catches the flash of blue dart towards her cleavage, and maybe, maaaaybe squishes her arms together a little more than necessary. "Flirting is just like any other skill, Jes," Beau says around her smirk and kicks out a chair for Fjord. Yasha helps Caduceus bring over a couple platters of food, and Nott just appears when they're set down on the table. "Gotta flex it now and then or it gets rusty."

As if to emphasize her point, Beau lifts her arms to display those biceps carved by the Muses themselves. Jester hums or purrs, maybe, tail swaying back and forth behind her head. Fjord slowly, discreetly leans back to look between the two of them, brows pinching together with confusion.

And then Jester blinks, dropping back in her seat. "Well, I don't think you're rusty even a little. She's still staring at you." She decides to ignore the acid that churns in her stomach. "You must be really, really good at it."

A darker red creeps up Beau's neck and Jester wants to chase it with her tongue, but also... her heart clenches at how sweet it is that Beau is blushing? How someone can be so suave, so brash, so cocky... and then turn around, getting bashful by the attention - it makes something in Jester ache with longing.

No. Nope, bad thoughts. Beau is pretty. Just super pretty. And tiefling Beau is handsome like Fjord, and Jester is just getting herself a little confused. Maybe she's been reading too many books lately.

Beau is her friend and she doesn't ache for her friends - well, mostly not. Mostly just Fjord. Only Fjord. Maybe Yasha now and then, when the pain in her eyes is so profound it takes Jester's breath away. And Beau just, like, at night when she's reading and Beau groans in her sleep, or when Beau twirls around a bad guy to drop him like a sack of bricks, or when Beau finds her on the ship just as she's about to fall apart, saying such kind and lovely things that make the world hurt just a little bit less. But! Mostly Fjord.

Fjord, who gives her the guiltiest puppy dog eyes she's ever seen. Who hovers over her like a parent over a newborn, like she's made of fucking glass, like she isn't a grown woman who fights monsters and dragons, like she's a frightened little girl whose feelings were hurt because he chose Captain Avantika, sex goddess of the sea.

"Uh, Jester? Did I do something to upset you?" he asks hesitantly.

She blinks and smiles, head tilting, and watches the colour drain from his face. "Of course not, why would you even ask that?"

"Oh, it's just..." he waves his hand dismissively, lips puckering in a frown that tries to force itself to be casual. "You're glaring at me something fierce and you impaled that apple with your fork, uh, straight through into the table."

Jester instinctively releases the death-grip on her fork, staring down at the poor little fruit. "Oh, no, I was just drifting. Whoops."

"If that's you drifting, I'd hate to see you angry," Nott chirps around a mouth full of... meat?

Beau scoffs into her mug. "Gods, I'm still aching to see it."

Intrigue draws Jester up on the table again, leaning closer. "I could-"

"Jester, would you pass me the... thing that looks like salt?" Caleb asks loudly and Jester drags her heated gaze away from Beau's wide eyes, to a knowing Caleb. And then around the table to all of her friends. Her friends.

Oh, she really, really needs some midnight reading. "Sure, no problem, Caleb!"

Fjord plucks it right out of Caleb's hand when he catches it, a crooked grin on his face made all the more charming by his tusks still growing in. "What's the magic word?" he teases.

"Holscheif."

Fjord blinks. "Bless you?"

"It's a magic word, hand me the salt." Caleb holds out his hand, tracing a circle in his palm. "Or I will make you."

An eyebrow crooks up. "Mighty big words coming from a man who still has his own blood dried in his beard."

"That door came out of nowhere and that is beside the point."

Fjord claps his hand on Caleb's shoulder and presses the salt shaker into his palm. Caduceus leans over to pull the fork from the table, biting into the apple. Nott looks between them all as she shovels more food into her mouth, the gears slowly turning, and Yasha's lips curve up in a warm smile.

.

The day has been long and gruelling. After trudging all the way out to the river, only to spend the morning walking the banks, they finally found the tumormoss... and a Roc. And then Gnolls. Roc and Gnoll do not mix, trying to fight off the pack with a monstrosity swooping at them was a literal nightmare that depleted every last spell slot between them.

But it's over. They won. They walked away, lived to keep on fighting, to keep on running. Those who fell got back up, and now they drag themselves back towards the city. Anxious looks shot between them as they eye their friends' wounds warily.

Everyone is alive.

Ahead of her, Jester watches Fjord and Beau cradle Caleb between them. An arm hooked around both of their shoulders, while Nott trails behind quickly. Fjord grunts, his hand slipping from Caleb's coat, and Beau twists to catch and hold all of the wizard's weight.

It only takes a moment for Fjord to adjust his bag and hook Caleb's arm around him again. Jester watches on fondly, sighing softly. "I miss Molly."

Beside her, Caduceus rases a pink eyebrow and angles his face down towards her. He literally always has a sort of dazed, serene look on his face, but in the glow of the afternoon light, he looks like peace incarnate. “Hm? Oh, sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

He watches her for a silent moment where her entire frame droops with the weight of life and death. The guilt of a survivor is a unique thing, almost untouchable, a burden that only a tormented few bear. Torn between the gift of a second chance, and the knowledge that you weren’t there, you couldn’t help. “I know. But it will always hurt, in its own way, for the rest of your life. I'm just sorry. Is there a specific reason you miss him right now?”

“I need to talk to him about something,” Jester says thoughtfully. She stares up at her fellow cleric, at the concern and comfort that brim up in his gentle eyes. 

He smiles softly. “You should then. I don't know for sure about the afterlife,” he waves his large hand around, “I don’t know for sure about this life. But. Things have a way of gettìng around, and I'm sure it would feel better than it does right now if you did.”

It’s not exactly foreign, she knows she’s heard it somewhere before. It might be something she'd overheard her mother tell her grieving clients, that people aren’t ever truly gone. That sometimes it’s best to just get the grief out than keep it in, eating away at your soul. And if her momma said it, then it’s gotta be true. “That's true. You're super wise, Caduceus.”

“Thank you. Maybe I could help?”

She considers her actual question and can’t help but giggle. Tries to smother it with her hand, and shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t know. You're super wise but this might be beyond you.”

“Okay.” Caduceus doesn’t even blink. Just a simple shrug of his shoulders and he inclines his head amicably. They walk in silence a few more steps and he tilts his head curiously. “I could try.”

It’s worth a shot, Jester supposes. “Well... do you think Beau is sexy?”

Those big pink eyes stare down at her blankly and she waits... and waits. His brows slowly furrow with thought, nodding ever so slightly, as if he’s truly considering this question as deep as one might ponder their reason for existence. "Oh. Oh, uh. Sure, yeah. Why not. Sexy like the sky.”

“What does that even mean??” Jester laughs with a shake of her head, hooking her arm with his.

His lips twitch, a long grey finger tapping his fuzzy chin. “Just. You know. As comforting as she is unyielding. It's a little uneasy, a little uncomfortable when you can't see it, a panic when you don't know where it is. But reversely, if you look at it too long, if you stare more than you should...” he instinctively reaches for his staff, bracing himself as he gazes up above them.

“You don’t know what sexy is, do you?”

Caduceus grins. “No. Sorry.”

“I still appreciate the effort.” Jester sighs, shaking her head with a delighted smile. “It does feel a little better, talking about it.”

“So you think Beau is sexy then?”

Jester gasps, pulling her arm from his to lightly slap his elbow. “Caduceus! I think Fjord is sexy, and handsome, and dashing, and all of the things I'm supposed to think he is.”

He looks confused again. “Supposed to? Thoughts are free, Miss Jester. You're allowed to think whatever you like.”

“No, I know that, I just meant. Okay, technically, like, I am all about Fjord, you know. But also, maybe, I'm sometimes about Beau? But like lately... these days... for a while now... maybe since the Ball Eater... I have been very much not all about Fjord. And perhaps, if we dissected it, I have been all about Beau.”

“Okay.”

Jester wrings her hands, smiling anxiously. Purple eyes flit away, shadows of hurt lingering in them. "But Beau is about Yasha. And I am about Fjord. So it's silly! It doesn't even matter, I don't know where I was going with that. It's really, really ridiculous.” She glances back. “Right?”

“Maybe,” Caduceus agrees softly. Tilts his head to one side... and then the other. Looks back down at her. “Maybe not. Is Beau about Yasha the same way that you are about Fjord?”

Eyebrows jump and Jester opens her mouth. The words linger on her tongue and she looks ahead of them in time to see Beau flash Fjord a grin and adjust Caleb’s weight again. “I... oh. I hadn't thought of that. Like, she's not really about Yasha, she's only supposed to be?”

“Who decides what we're supposed to be about?” Caduceus wonders aloud. “I would like to ask that person some questions. How do they decide?”

“It's not a person, it's just... the way it is!”

“Why?”

Well. Well... because. It just is? Maybe? “I'm not really sure.”

“That doesn't seem fair then,” he decides and nods firmly. “I think I'll ignore it, and feel how I feel, and think what I think.”

“That's a good idea,” Jester agrees while her mind races.

Another quiet moment passes between them. Yasha’s hand stops glowing and she doesn’t limp anymore when she pulls it away from her hip. In another few strides, she hoists Caleb up over her shoulder and falls in step with the others. “What do you think your friend would have told you?” Caduceus asks.

“Oh, I don't know. Anticipating Molly was always difficult, almost impossible, really.” She thinks about it and hums, smiling slightly. “He would probably tease me about my taste, he really liked giving Beau a hard time. But maybe he would have told me that the heart wants what it wants, and who are we to disagree with the whimsy of love? Something like that, he was very poetic. I feel like he could have written half the books I read.”

“He sounds lovely.”

Some of the sadness creeps back in, but Jester forces her smile to stay strong. Brilliant and blinding, just like his. “He was. I'm sorry you never got to know him, Caduceus. And that he never got to know you, I think you would have liked each other.”

“I think he would very much appreciate the way you all still carry him with you. I also think maybe we should catch up to the others before they get worried.”

She snorts. “Yeah, no, yeah. I see Nott's Mom Face aimed back at us, let's go before she assigns first watch on us.”

.

Soft gasps and muffled moans echo in the quiet room, the darkness of the night like a protective shroud that blocks out the rest of the world. It's just the two of them and the bed beneath them, moonlight spilling in from the window and catching the blues of Beau's eyes. Pools of crystal clear water and Jester has never wanted to drown before, never wanted to fall in, and in, and in... her tail tightens around Beau's thigh. Her fingers splay across the brown skin of Beau's abs, flushed with the heat between them, and she runs her hands up Beau's sides.

It's adorable how the monk tries to bite back her grin and electrifying how she wiggles and squirms between Jester's thighs. But a tickle fight is not why she crawled into Beau's bed tonight, and so she rolls her hips in a seductive circle and gasps at the lightning that shoots up her spine. Beau clenches the sheets in her fists, swallowing her favourite vulgar word, and shudders.

"Beauregard..." Jester purrs and rocks her hips forward again, a delighted smile full of her fangs when it draws a guttural groan from the woman beneath her. "I know you've been watching me lately."

Swooping forward, Jester catches herself with her hands on either side of Beau's face. Their noses brush together and her eyes crinkle when she catches sight of the blush creeping up Beau's neck. So she dips down and follows it with her tongue, a scorching path up, and up, and-

A strong hand cups the back of her neck, yanking her forward into aggressive but oh so gentle lips. Desperation tamed by adoration, and the molten pit in Jester's stomach tightens, the grip on her inhibitions loosens. Beau's arm circles her waist, and rough fingertips trace Jester's jaw featherlight.

Another strike of lightning, Jester rolls her hips down into Beau. She swallows the monk's gasp, and playfully flicks her tongue with her own. Beau tastes like blood - a faded copper bite, and Jester has seen that bloody grin often enough. Has swooned over it, has tasted it now, and the heat in her stomach grows. Intensifies. The coil tightens. Beau's hands slide down her sides, fingers dig into her hips as she sucks on a far more experienced tongue. Magic crackles against her skin everywhere she makes contact with Beau, Beau, Beau...

She sits back with a gasp and drags in as much air as she can. Beau pants beneath her and Jester stares up at the ceiling, her chest heaving, continuously rocking down against her friend. "Beau," she chokes out and swallows. Forces her heavy eyes to focus on the blown pupils that stare up at her hungrily. Jester lays her hands over Beau's on her hips, guiding them up her sides again. "I really, really like you," she whispers in the moonlight. Brings Beau's hands to her lips and presses a kiss against the scarred fingers, placing them on the lace ribbon of her corset. "Do you like me?"

"So much it hurts," Beau growls in a voice so rough it sounds like gravel. Jester rocks harder against her and Beau leans up, kisses Jester again. And again. And again. Until they're against each other, in each other, and Jester didn't even notice she's pinned Beau back to the bed.

Until Jester feels the ribbon laced across the front of her chest pulled free. And then not even the desperate, heated mash of lips and tongue can distract her from Beau pulling the corset loose. From her breasts spilling up and Beau slipping her hands in. A deep, primal noise is torn from Jester's throat, along with Beau's name.

She gasps harshly in the cool night, eyes shooting open wide. Her chest still heaves and she swallows, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of their inn room. She lifts a trembling hand to wipe her sweaty forehead.

"Jes...? You calling me?" Beau's groggy voice carries across the room from her own bed.

Jester turns her head and leans up, feels the sheets and her nightgown cling to her sweaty skin. "No!" she says in a voice much too squeaky. "I said... oh...?"

In the soft moonlight, Jester watches Beau sluggishly turn onto her side. Her eyes are closed, on the precipice of sleep, but hums. "Did'ja have a bad dream?"

"No..." She hates the way her heart drops. Her chest sinks. The way reality crashes in and steals a moment, even a fake one, from her. "Maybe."

Beau's breathing heavily and Jester wonders if maybe she wasn't really awake to begin with. A few seconds pass and she slowly lays back down in her bed, knowing she's going to have a long, lonely night of sorting out her head.

But Beau grunts (Jester ignores the reminiscent pulse of want that echoes through her) and pats her bed. "You can sleep with me if you're scared."

It's probably not a good idea.

Probably a bad idea.

Almost definitely a bad idea, especially with how preoccupied her thoughts are these days. How loose the control she has over what she wants, and what she's doing about it.

But that doesn't stop Jester from climbing into Beau's bed and snuggling up against her back. From looping her arm around a warm waist, and her tail around Beau's leg.

So what if her mind plays tricks on her and tells her that Beau hums again, sinking back into her embrace?

.

Xorhas has an unfathomably beautiful sky. It's so big and open, a stretch of purple that fades to blue that fades to black, with pink just barely peeking over the horizon, and an explosion of stars scattered across it all. There are patches, true, where the night is so dark that you can't see your hand in front of your face, but out in these open fields, the stars shine so bright that she can sketch in the soft glow of light.

Especially in the little pocket of wildlife they've found. With grass so green that in the dark, the roots give off a faint blue luminescent glow. Splashes of purple pop up with the mushrooms, and Caduceus snores amongst the orange flowers that almost seem to cradle him while he sleeps.

Jester couldn't sleep if she tried, not when there's so much beauty to capture, to memorize and desperately sketch. None of her inks do the colours justice and her hand cramps painfully, but she can't stop.

"It's not as pretty down south," Yasha murmurs from her side of Caleb's bubble. Jester twitches and looks up in surprise, watching the little smile that graces the barbarian's face. "Sorry."

"You apologize a lot," Jester tells her thoughtfully.

And nothing more, just an observation, surface deep. Or it would be if those purple eyes didn't hold the same kind of scrutiny that Caleb's do when he's studying. "I do," Yasha agrees. "Do you want me to take next watch?"

"If you'd like. I might stay up a little longer, I'm not sleepy." She doesn't mention the hassle that is sleeping lately, how she can't get her dreams under control and she's worried about letting something slip while she's asleep. She doesn't mention the sour twist in her stomach, looking over to see Beau between Caduceus and Nott, no room for Jester.

She doesn't mention that she wants Beau so badly that her unconscious is screaming at her.

It's not Yasha's problem, it's barely a problem. Not worthy of anyone's time, not when they're out here to rescue Yeza. Not with the risk of death looming over them. Not with war on the ever approaching horizon.

Jester has a crush, who cares.

"Are you alright?" Yasha asks softly. And her gaze. Her gaze is so gentle, so compassionate, and Jester knows that Yasha would care. That if she told her, explained that her heart hurts, Yasha would care enough to help without hesitation.

But Yasha is maybe part of the problem. Yasha maybe holds Beau's heart in her hands. Beau maybe holds Yasha's broken one. And the last thing Jester wants, the last thing she would ever do, is hurt her friends.

Still. What is it that Caleb is always saying? Knowledge is power, neither good nor bad. A resource to use and share.

"Yasha, how..." Jester adjusts her sketchbook in her lap and casts a glance around their group, careful to be quiet. Prying ears are not what she needs.

Seemingly following that line of thought, Yasha stands silently. She holds out her hand and jerks her chin to the side, very easily pulling Jester up to her feet.

They don't go as far as they did last time. The fear lingers down both of their spines, remembering the last time the two of them, and Fjord, had wandered too far from the group. They stay close enough that Yasha could kick stones at the bubble if she needed to.

"What's on your mind, Jester?" she asks and fiddles with the little bracelet that Nott had given her.

Jester stares out at the sky, where the blue and the black collide and make something daunting and hopeful. "How did you know you loved Zuala?"

"Oh." Jester glances up to see Yasha's eyebrows bounce and the smile stretch across her face. Her large shoulders slump, entire stance relaxing. "You had such a serious look on your face, I thought something was wrong." Her smile... doesn't fade, but it softens into something more tender. Her mismatched eyes skirt the area, always alert for danger, but she looks... happy. And sad. It's weird. "I suppose I always loved her, but I guess I knew, for sure, on our first hunt together."

Simple delight flares at her edges and Jester pours herself into it like she always does, so desperate to make those feelings last as long as she can. Knowing that they will fade - they always fade. So she twirls in place and clasps her hands under her chin. "Was it super romantic?"

"Well..." Pink slowly creeps across Yasha's cheeks, she scratches at the back of her neck and ducks her head. "Not really, no. But it was nice. Sweet. I fell out of a tree."

"Oh my gods, Yasha, that is so cute!" Jester gushes brightly. She can totally picture it - big badass Yasha with her warpaint and rippling muscles... falling out of a tree in front of her crush. "What happened?"

"Oh," she sighs and scoffs, a chuckle mixed in. "If that wasn't bad enough, I landed on her. She twisted her ankle and I spent an hour trying to heal it but, well, I couldn't do what I can now. So I carried the boar and her back to camp."

"You're so strong!"

Yasha bobs her head in a nod because, yeah, she's really fucking strong. "I was so nervous with her in my arms and so embarrassed about falling on her, I got lost. We spent the night in a hollow tree."

Jester hums thoughtfully and taps her chin. "And that's when you knew?"

"Yes."

"How??"

"Later in the night she told me that I didn't really land on her, so much as she tried to catch me," Yasha murmurs with a twist to her lips and a sparkle in her eye. "And that she didn't point out we were heading in the wrong direction because she didn't want our hunting trip to end."

"And that's when you knew?" Jester asks and Yasha nods. Which is frustratingly unhelpful, if not super sweet. "But how did you know?"

Yasha sighs and brings her hands up onto her hips. Stares up at the sky and thinks about it. "I don't know. I just... felt it. My chest was so full of this giddy warmth that I could hardly breathe, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I guess, I don't know, I realized my life would always be better with her in it and that I wanted to spend the rest of it by her side."

It's not something to cry over, like, okay, yeah, it's such a lovely story and maybe it is super sad when she thinks about it. Knowing that Yasha had that and lost it, lost Zuala. But it's sharp, it tears through Jester's chest like the talons of a roc, and she chokes back a sob. Buries her face in her palms and holds her tears at bay.

For a while, at least, for a moment where she's not sure if she'll ever stop feeling like this. But then strong, warm fingers pull Jester's hands from her face - Yasha ducking to catch her watery eyes, concern shining back at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Jester insists in a broken voice, even as she pushes a beaming smile on her face and it is perfect. Jester's smile is always perfect - the perfect tinge of mischief, the perfect flash of joy, perfectly warm, and perfectly charming... not even her tears can take away from it. "Everything is fine, of course!"

Yasha swipes a thumb along Jester's cheek, wiping away a tear, and smiles softly. "That is an impressive trick."

"I'm okay!"

"It's alright if you're not," she insists gently.

Jester's chest tightens and she sucks in a sharp breath. "I'm totally fine, Yasha!"

"Even a mountain bows to the sky."

She shakes her head and clenches her fists. "What's with everyone and the sky lately? Why don't you just marry it?"

"I-... well, I actually don't have a reply to that. It's a pretty weird thing to say," Yasha tells her fondly.

So sweet. So patient. Jester nods and falls forward, sinking into the barbarian's hug and buries her face in a strong shoulder. "I'm maybe not totally fine, Yasha."

"And that's okay." Yasha hums softly, rubbing comforting circles on the tiefling's back as she cries. They stay like that for a little while as the night rolls by, as Jester lets her heartache pour from her in waves. Yasha never wavers, never pulls away. She simply holds Jester while something is mumbled into her neck. "What?"

Finally, Jester pulls back. She flashes an embarrassed but grateful smile and wipes at her eyes. "I like Beau."

"I know."

Wait. "Wait. What?"

They both look back towards the bubble where the monk stretches her foot out where Jester had been sitting. Where their friends, their family, slumber peacefully. Yasha inclines her head again. "I don't say much, and I won't mention it, but I see almost as much as Caduceus."

"Are you upset?"

Apparently, it's a weird thing to ask, if Yasha twisting to look at Jester like she grew another head is any indication. "No."

"It's just." Jester shakes her head and sniffles again, waving her hand towards the bubble. "She's always flirting with you, like, so super obviously."

Again, Yasha blinks and considers this. "Yeah, but... why would that make me upset if you like her?"

"She's yours...?"

"People don't belong to people," is Yasha's automatic reply. But her lips tug down in a frown and she shifts, rolling a shoulder. "But I get what you're saying and I think Beau and I understand each other. I will always be Zuala's, even if Beau likes to... poke. It's our thing."

"You don't want her?" Jester wonders with something like hope in her chest.

And Yasha chuckles, a frustrated noise. "You really need to word these things differently." She sighs and hangs a hand on the back of her neck. "I... I'm okay with how things are. It's how I want them to be, I couldn't... I can't be what Beau wants or needs."

Another comfortable silence lingers between them for a beat. They watch the monk stretch her foot down farther, towards the edge of the bubble.

"Jester, you are everything she wants and needs," Yasha tells her so softly she almost doesn't hear. "I'm not sure if either of you know it but I hope you realize it soon."

The cleric scoffs. "Right, because-"

"Jester!" Beau gasps and wrenches up in the middle of the bubble. Her frantic eyes fall over each other member around her and she twists up onto her knees. "Jester!"

"AHH!" Nott darts up to her feet, spinning around wildly with the crossbow in her hands. "Where are they? Who am I shooting?"

Caleb pops up beside her with a flaming fist, his eyes still closed. "Put down your weapons or forfeit your own face!"

Jester drags Yasha back towards the bubble. "Shhh! Beau, I'm here! Guys, quiet! You're going to wake up every creature in a hundred miles."

"Jes," Beau sighs in relief and springs from the bubble, not even at Jester before she starts reaching. Jester lets herself be dragged into a rough hug, while Beau places her hand on Yasha's shoulder. "What are you guys doing out of the bubble?"

"Stretching our legs," Yasha mumbles sheepishly. "Sorry. Sorry, Nott."

"I'll fuck you up," the goblin gargles - half asleep still. "Nobody takes my babies."

"Put it down before someone loses an eye," Fjord warns without lifting his head from Caduceus' arm.

She drops back on her butt, rubbing at her eyes, and yawns. "Alright. Just say the word and I'll blast 'em between the eyes."

Caleb wordlessly drops back into the grass and curls around Frumpkin.

"You should join them," Yasha says and nods towards the group. She presses her hand against Jester's back, guiding both of them towards the bubble. "I've got second watch."

Beau muffles her yawn in Jester's shoulder and scratches her cheek. "You sure? I can take it."

"No, I'm fine. Go to sleep."

She nods and steps between Fjord and Caduceus' legs, stopping only when their hands threaten to separate. She blinks sleepy eyes at the tiefling, a drowsy smile. "Comin'?"

"Yes," Jester breathes and crawls down between her fellow cleric and the literal girl of her dreams. Caduceus mutters something about flora and scratches his chest, sighing so deeply it disturbs the fireflies gathered in his hair. Jester stares up at them as they flutter and buzz, biting her lip when Beau curls into her side. "Goodnight, Beau."

"Don't stab me with a horn."

She can't smother the snort and freezes when Beau groans, readjusting to nestle her face in Jester's neck to shield her eyes from errant points. "Goodnight, Beau."

"Gonna make me say it?" She can feel the smile against her skin. "Goodnight, Jester."

.

"If you hurt him..."

"I know, Nott."

"If you so much as make him cry..."

"I know, Nott."

"I'll drown you again."

"I know, Nott."

"Okay. You better. He's a prince and he deserves to be treated like a prince. Now come give me a hug, floppy wrist. I'm very happy and proud of both of you."

"Aww. Someone's a big old softie under that tiny, prickly, drunken exterior."

"I will literally smother you in your sleep, is that what you want? Is this happening right now, is it go time? Put up your fragile little fists, I'm ready to go toe-to-toe with the wet tissue paper man."

She watches Fjord raise his fists, hopping side to side on his feet and feigning a couple jabs down at the goblin. Nott bares her teeth, fishing around in her coat, and Fjord is up the tree when she yanks out a vial of acid. Jester smothers her giggle in her palm, giving up on her sketch to quickly recreate the image in her book.

A shadow falls over her and she twists, holding her hand up to block the sun and squint at Beau. Her heart thuds painfully in her chest and she offers a brilliant smile. "Hi!"

"Hey," is tossed at her casually and the monk drops to the ground next to her, elbow hooked over her propped up knee. "How's it going?"

"You know, pretty good!" Jester sings and closes her book. It's been a few days since she's really spoken to Beau, more than a couple words in passing, or meaningless things amongst the group. She's glad they're heading back into town today, that they'll get to room together again. "How are you?"

The scars on her shoulder are still fresh, the swipe from the Bugbear particularly deep. Jester hates that Beau so willingly throws herself between her friends and danger, so eager to be a damage sponge. But she knows it only really became an issue after Molly, that Beau only started excessively doing it after he fell.

Jester knows she's not the only one who carries the guilt of walking away from the Iron Shepards.

"I'm pretty good," Beau echoes. Her hard eyes study the scene playing out before them, amusement making them sparkle like sapphires. "So." She clears her throat and tilts her head, glancing at Jester. "Fjord and Caleb."

"I know!" Jester gasps and presses a hand to her heart before leaning against Beau. "It's super cute, I can hardly handle it!"

Beau nods, let's Jester jostle her roughly, and grins. "No, yeah. That's... cute, I guess."

"Beau, you're still tough even if you think things are cute."

"Hey, I know. I'm very secure in my toughness. I think you're cute and I'm still tough," she replies gruffly and dramatically tugs at her vestments. But Jester hardly notices, her brain hooked on Beau's words and looping them over and over again. Beau brushes her knuckles against her jaw and stares out at their friends. "I just wanted to check in, make sure things were... pretty good. I know you like Fjord and stuff."

It's heartwarming, how much effort she's going to. Jester knows this isn't exactly Beau's forte, she's not into talking about feelings, or having feelings, or talking... but she's trying. For Jester. And it's the sweetest thing ever.

Even if she's a little wrong.

Jester hums and straightens up, smoothing her hands over the cover of her sketchbook. "I don't like Fjord like that, actually," she says as matter-of-factly as she can. She can see Beau whip her head around out the corner of her eye, and smirks. "I mean, don't get me wrong. He was super fun to flirt with and poke - he's very pretty, and charming, and funny, and handsome! So handsome."

"Yup, pretty, gotcha," Beau grumbles roughly.

Jester's smirk deepens and she tilts her head, leaning sideways to look up at Beau. "Not as pretty as you, of course." She waits for the blush to slowly unfurl up Beau's neck and straightens up again. "He checked a lot of the boxes that all of my stories told me had to be checked and I think maybe I got confused? He was my first boy friend and all the girls' boy friends eventually become their boyfriends, that's how it goes."

"Ugh, compulsive heteronormative ideals."

Jester nods, a little confused again, but utterly serious. "Yes, yes, quite. Hetertive ideas."

With a chuckle, Beau drops her face into her palm to hide her grin. "So you don't like Fjord?"

"I love Fjord!" she gasps earnestly.

"But not in the way that would have you crushed over him and Caleb getting together."

"No, I'm so happy for them!"

Beau stares at her for a few lingering moments where Jester digs her fingers into her knees to keep from leaning in. When Beau looks off again, she sighs in relief and relaxes. "Good. That, uh, you're not heartbroken or whatever. That's good. For you."

"Very good for me," Jester agrees.

Beau blinks. "Yup."

"... yeah."

"Great."

"Good."

She sniffs and nods, squinting up at the bright sky. "So I'm gonna go."

And gone she is, quick like a bunny, hopping up to her feet so she can dart away. Jester watches her dash towards the trees where Caleb reads, and sighs roughly. "Traveler, what the heck was that?" she groans and flops back in the dirt. "It was so awkward!"

.

With Essik gone and important conversations out of the way, everyone feels their exhaustion catch up to them. The emotional and mental fatigue of almost losing everything, only for Caleb to play the most powerful hand in their deck, to becoming heroes of the dynasty, all the way to having actually rescued Yeza? It's more than anyone can handle in a single afternoon and they all trudge down the hallway to their rooms.

Nott tugs Yeza by the hand, a nervous smile on her face as they enter their room, and something in Jester's chest flutters. Beau rubs at her sore shoulder, making for the next door, her serious and sharp cloud still lingering around her.

Jester knows this isn't the nicest situation for her to be in. While dangerous for them all, especially the humans, Jester wonders if it's not more precarious for a monk of the Cobalt Soul, for someone with connections to higher powers within the Empire, for someone who still belongs to something. She doesn't know how to lessen that burden, that worry. Doesn't know how to smooth the jagged edges that the group keeps getting caught on ever since they got here.

Maybe Beau is just tired.

Maybe it will be easier in the morning.

Maybe she needs a reminder that they're still friends? Still family? That while their lives change, their cores do not, and she might be with the Cobalt Soul but she's also one of them, and they won't let anything happen to her.

There's no time to second guess the decision - Jester sprints down the hallway to catch up and flings herself on Beau's back for a piggyback ride, her cackle echoing down the hall.

But Beau is tired and not Yasha or Jester herself, she drops to her knees and claws at the door as they fall. "Fucking what?!" she gasps as they go.

Jester winces as Beau's knees make impact with the floorboards. "Shit! Sorry!" she gasps and tries to skitter off.

Except Beau hooks her hands under Jester's knees and, with a grunt, pushes up to her feet again. They careen backwards, Jester's back slamming against Fjord and Caleb's door. "I got this," Beau grinds out between her teeth and Jester giggles, hugs her tightly from behind.

They angle forward and swoop quickly - Jester catches them with her hands on their door. "Careful!"

"Shh! Don't worry."

"Beau, just let me down!"

"Fuck that, I got you."

"Okay, bend down a little, I can't reach the handle."

"Sweet... Wildmother... my fucking knees..."

Jester fumbles with the handle and shoves the door in but without it, they lose their balance and go toppling into the room. Beau gasps and Jester shrieks, palms slamming against the wooden floor. Beau sags against it and Jester can feel the laughter against her chest. "Beau, are you okay?" she giggles.

"Always," comes the muffled reply. She twists beneath Jester, agile and lithe, and always, always so squirmy.

Her brown cheeks are flushed, dark hair clinging to her forehead, and Jester's heart jumps up into her throat. Blue melts into purple, they stare at each other for a beat... and then two.

Jester's tail sways side to side behind her head, she only notices when Beau's eyes flick to track the movement. When the grin on the monk's face smooths into something more tender. Jester leans her weight on one hand and her knee between Beau's, lifting a hand to brush back the hair on Beau's forehead, to tuck it back up with the rest. She trails her fingertips back down the side of her face and Beau's eyelashes flutter.

This is what she wants. It clicks in her chest, like the softest lock. This is where she wants to be, to spend the rest of her life by Beau's side. With her or with her, in any capacity the monk will have her. Not like her stories, not happily ever after, but something real.

Real like this.

Beau tilts her chin up to press her lips against Jester's.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

 Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes up in a grave by the road ten years after he died. Things have gone a bit wrong since then and he might be the only one who can set things right… since it’s the Mighty Nein themselves who’ve gone wrong. AU: Where Molly comes back to yell at his super-powered Level 20 friends. (AO3 - part1) (AO3 - part 2) (AO3 - part3) (AO3 - part4) (AO3 - part5) (AO3-part6) (AO3-part7) (AO3-part8) (AO3-part9)

The Blooming Grove is beautiful in the day light.

The sun slides beams of yellow through the gnarled canopy to the undergrowth, dappling dark grass and wildflowers in shifting stripes of sunshine and shadow. That’s what Molly spends the better part of ten minutes staring at when he wakes comfortably drowsy and a bit dehydrated from an all-night drug stupor. The morning is quiet, broken, only by distant murmuring and the muted twitter of birdsong. Mollymauk’s lying on his back still, though someone moved him a little into the space beneath a great oak tree, his head cushioned on a balled jacket.

For a warm sleepy while, Molly dozes a little somewhere between waking and unconsciousness, vaguely roused from his limbo by the impression of another person nearby. Yawning a little, Mollymauk sits up a bit, raking hair from his face.

Caduceus Clay is sitting nearby.

His back is partially to Molly, his face in profile serene as the morning around him.

He’s dressed in full armor, glittering chitinous green and grown with rosy lichen. Someone has taken the long section of his hair and pulled it back so the central part is woven elaborately, plaited and clipped so it stands up from his otherwise shaved skull.  The rest of his hair is braided in a heavy rope that coils over his left shoulder. There are carved bone and amber charms threaded into the soft pink.

He looks war-ready to Molly with his fauxhawk and his armor.

He looks like he’s been waiting for Molly to wake up.

Molly can hear him murmur quietly and in the fifteen seconds that he gets to simply watch, Molly supposes that the cleric is praying. His low voice is like a long chord from a strange instrument, deep bass and vibrato. Eventually, he seems to register Mollymauk’s attention and looks over his shoulder, one long ear flipping upward like a deer detecting a noise. He smiles and the fondness is all the way up to his eyes in a way that makes Molly feel extremely safe even now, despite the facts of his fate. It’s impressive really. Molly thinks Clay could calm a storm with that look.

“Morning,” Molly says.

“Good morning,” says Caduceus.

Mollymauk folds his hands on his stomach.

“I have no hangover. Is that because you have the best drugs in the kingdom, or because you did some healing while I was sleeping?”

“Both.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a gentleman and a scholar, Mr. Clay?”

“No. Because I’m neither of those things.” Caduceus turns a little at the waist and holds out an upturned hand to Molly. “This is yours, I think.”

In his palm something glitters, sunshine sparking molten before Molly gets a better look. There’s a thin chain pooled around a crystal heart amulet and when Molly recognizes it, there’s a moment of mild indifference (like when someone returns a knickknack) then a low creep of unnerve when he contextualizes how someone else came to possess it. The last resting place of this necklace, after wall, was around his own throat the day Lorenzo cut him down.

“Caleb gave it to me.” Caduceus tilts his head. “I think it’s fitting that it come back to you, Mollymauk.”

Molly arches a brow. “Caleb gave you a heart necklace?”

Caduceus gives him a look. “Caleb gave me the pariapt of wound closure on account of how often I was wounded in the course of regularly scheduled idiocy.” He shrugs a little. “But, yes, if you like.”

For a while, Molly says nothing. Then he says, “How does a firbolg cleric end up with the Mighty Nein?”

Silence for a moment while Caduceus thinks on this.

“They came to my graveyard – this one, in fact – on the sunset of your death. They asked me to come with them on a mission of vengeance and justice.” Caduceus looks out over the overgrown headstones, to the temple structure beyond and Molly thinks his expression gets a little wistful, an edge of… not regret but something. “I didn’t know anything about the world back then.” He turns back to Molly. “I know a lot more now.”

Molly stares at the periapt, then says, “No. It’s yours now. I don’t want it. Not if Caleb gave it to you.”

“It wasn’t a gift. It was a tactical—”

“Sure thing,” Molly says, grinning. Then, after Caduceus has reluctantly put the periapt back on, he asks, “You really think Caleb would risk ending the world?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Molly shakes his head. “I always knew he was deep in his head. I didn’t ever think he would… I thought he might fuck us, specifically, over. Or a lot of other people in general. I got that he was putting Nott and himself over everyone else. That made sense. That’s fine. But the whole bloody world?”

“You never knew him in context,” Caduceus says softly.

“Then put him in context.”

A hesitation then. Clay visibly wavers.

“You won’t spoil my good opinion of him, Mr. Clay. He killed me in cold blood for the sake of making a point I think.” Molly cracks a bitter grin. “I’d feel less sore about it, I think, if you gave me some framework for what makes a man do that to someone.”

Caduceus lowers his gaze a moment, then, quietly, he says:

“Caleb Widogast was insane once and finding sanity again required him to take hold of an impossible idea.” He raises his gaze then to Molly. “This idea was so fantastic it could hem in all the broken parts of him and hold his shape, make him a person again long enough to accomplish it. That impossible idea would have also, very possibly, done the world irreparable damage. So, you have this idea that Caleb ending the world is a new development and…” Caduceus shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but Caleb was always willing to end the world, Mollymauk. His restraint now is the new development.”

Quiet for a moment while Molly digests this.

“What do you mean he was ‘insane’? How and why?”

“I mean as a young man, a figure of authority convinced Caleb Widowgast to be a thing instead of a person. They hollowed him out the way authority can hollow a person and laid ideology inside him rather than morality. Then, on the say so of that ideology, he burned his family alive in his childhood home.” Cad is holding Molly’s gaze, unwavering, steady as a load-bearing beam. “The ideology wasn’t rooted deep enough to keep the horror out. He went insane. Then he stopped being insane and decided he might unravel time itself to undo what he’d done because the possibility of ‘fixing it’ was the only port in the storm.”

Molly stares.

“Gods fuck me, I knew something was wrong but… are you bloody serious?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve talked him down from something like this before.”

Caduceus nods. “Yes.”

“How’d you stop him last time?”

“I didn’t. Nott took his hand and asked him not to do it.”

Molly is quiet a moment, then, “But that won’t work this time. This time, he’d kill Nott.”

Something reactive crosses Caduceus’ face. “No. Never. He’d risk killing her,” he corrects. “That’s something he’s not been willing to do in a long time. I’m not saying he doesn’t love others and love them—" bit of a sigh here— “very, very much. But he’ll never care for anyone like he cares for Nott. Nott is what’s holding back the end of the world. Not me or Yasha or you or anyone else.”

“The whole world on a goblin-girl,” Molly murmurs. “Something kinda great about that.”

“Yes. So much depends upon odd everyday things.” Caduceus tilts his head. “Maybe on a carnival performer.”

“Ugh.” Molly rolls his eyes. “Stop. My stomach is knotting up just thinking about it. Did everyone come up with a plan while I was sleeping?”

“Yes. Breaching Caleb’s keep would be impossible… save for the fact we have Jester with us again. The Traveler travels everywhere. It may be a difficult approach, but he won’t be able to stop us like most wizards of his ilk might be able. But he can make it a treacherous road to walk.” Caduceus gestures. “The plan is simple enough, we breach the keep. Jester, Yasha, Nott, and I will try to hold Caleb. You and Fjord will find Beauregard. Fjord will… do what’s necessary.”

Mollymauk leans back against the tree, his arms draped over his knees. “Kill her in her sleep, you mean.”

Caduceus doesn’t flinch.

“It’s been my task all along,” he says, “to one day be the person who ends Beau’s life. If the Beauregard I knew isn’t dead already, then it is an unnatural thread that binds her to the world. As a person whose walked between life and death over and over tied by powers beyond your hold, tell me there isn’t a time to let life let go.”

Molly’s jaw aches from clenching it. But eventually, he shakes his head just once.

“No, I’m not disagreeing there. But she’s my friend, you know?”

“And mine. And Fjord’s. It’ll be him that does it and I don’t envy him the task, but I wish I could relieve him of it.”

“He volunteer for that job?”

“Yes. But even if he hadn’t, you and he won’t survive a direct confrontation with Caleb Widogast if he knows we’re coming. You’ll be best to end the fight at the its source.”

Molly glances across the graveyard, to the faint sound of voices and movement. Where he can sense that the rest of the Mighty Nein are milling around on the opposite side of the shrine, gathering things and preparing. The thought sets his nerves on a preemptive razor’s edge, his heart acidic suddenly in the back of his throat and he finds himself breathing faster, his hands clenching tight and he hears it clear as a breath against the coil of his ear: Lorenzo saying, “Respect.” Caleb saying, “Die.” Fjord saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Caduceus lays a hand on his shoulder and Molly twitches reactive under his palm. He waits for Molly to settle, but kneels there facing him now, pale eyes intent on Molly’s face the way one can be intent on a book they are reading. He squeezes Molly’s shoulder and it’s strange how heavy his hand lies on him, how much density that suggests in the cleric’s bones and build.

“Breathe,” he rumbles.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Molly says.

“None of us know that,” says Caduceus, “but we’re going to try. If you really think you can’t do it, you don’t have to –”

“Fuck you, Caduceus. You brought me back from the grave. If I go back to it, I’ll be on my bloody feet. Understand? I’m just saying, I’m a bit nervous.”

“I understand.” There’s a pause. “Mollymauk, I know I’ve said this before but…”

“Stop.” Molly waves a hand. “I’m sick of people being sorry for me.”

“No, I was going to say you’ve shown unusual bravery in the face of terrible things. Also, I am not really sorry. I would do it again.”

“Weirdly, that makes me feel better, thank you, Caduceus.”

This earns him a head tilt. “If you’re angry with me… with everything that’s happened, you have every right.”

“Trust me,” Molly huffs, “I don’t need your permission to be angry. I’m livid. I’m furious my friends are trying to end the world because one is an emotionally traumatized bookworm.” He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’m furious they didn’t take care of one another and you had to dig me out of a grave to sort it out for some reason. I’m out of my fuckin’ mind that somehow the gods are hanging this nonsense on me. I’m so mad I want to bite something.”

Caduceus nods. “I understand.”

Up close, the very fine gray down that colors Caduceus’ face and throat seems to shimmer a little and there are shards of gray in the pink ring of each iris. Caduceus Clay is a pastel riot of contradicting pieces and he smells like fresh-cut grass and whatever moss is growing in the chinks of his armor. Molly doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he’s reached up and taken hold of the long, pink braid hung over his shoulder pauldron. Clay doesn’t stop him, just peering curiously.

There’s a heavy iron clasp at the end of the braid, hard in Molly’s palm.

“Why did you stay?”

Caduceus flicks a long ear. “What?”

“With Caleb.” Molly grips the clasp a little, just to feel the metal dig in. He doesn’t look at the other man. “You were one of the last people standing with Caleb. Even after everyone else had gone other directions. Nott stuck it out, I get that. But why did you?”

“Because,” Caduceus says, “there was a time previously that I was capable of holding Caleb back as well. Second only to Nott of course.”

“Wait. What does that…?”

“Hey, Deuce? Molly? You two awake and sober or does Jester need to come over here?”

Fjord’s come around the side of the temple.

He’s standing among a collection of broken gravestones, his arms crossed, wearing that strange set of black leather armor he wore earlier. The only difference now is it looks as though Jester’s painted the symbol of her god across his shoulder guard. In the full light of day, Molly can see that he wasn’t delusional: Fjord looks almost exactly the same as he did ten years ago. Time hasn’t touched him. He’s been held in a capsule. The age is (instead) in his eyes, in the way he looks at them though Molly couldn’t identify what heaviness it is exactly that ten years has put there.

“We’re okay here,” Caduceus says. He leans his weight on his staff and stands up, offering Molly a hand up. “Just discussing the plan.”

Caduceus murmurs something and Molly feels the Death Ward charm again take hold of his soul, anchoring him to the world. The cleric lets go of his hand then.

“If you die,” Caduceus says, “and there is no one there to call you back from death, that’s it. Jester’s asked her god about the rules around you dying. You can be called back as many times as there is someone to call you, but if you die and no one calls…”

“I’m dead,” Molly says. “And Fjord is no cleric.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Fjord says, a little defensive, “but if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Point of fact, I think I’ll move faster without you –”

“He’s lying,” Caduceus says easily. “He’s just worried, particularly since he’s operating without his patron now.”

Fjord tosses his hands up. “Thank you, Caduceus, for your rousing pre-battle pep talks. Appreciated as always.” Then when his giant teammate just kind of gives him a benign but entirely shit-eating kind of smile, Fjord shoulders past him muttering, “Fuckin’ years later, still weird as hell…”

“I heard that.”

“Yeah, I know, Deuce. It’s what you’re there for.”

He glares over his shoulder, still standing close enough that he kind of has to tilt his head back to do it. Caduceus kind of smiles in return. There’s a beat in that exchange, a crisscross where something in the cleric’s expression gets a little sad despite the unabashed fondness there and something in Fjord’s glare loses the edge. Caduceus is the one to break the wordless quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

“I’m glad you’re with us again, Fjord.”

“I… yeah.” A pause. “Look, Caduceus, about what I said last night…”

Caduceus waves a hand.

“No. Man.” Fjord gets indignant. “It’s not okay. Just… you know…” He sighs. “Thank you. Nott told me a little bit about it, but she shouldn’t have had to tell me anything. I should have known you were doing everything you could. I was just… taking it out on you because I was frustrated and… and fucked up, honestly. It’s not excuse, but it’s what I was doing.”

“I know. I’m not upset.”

“You should be. I was over the line.”

Caduceus doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and glances away which doesn’t work especially well when one is taller than everyone else around them.

“You should have never been trapped as long as you were,” Caduceus says eventually. He meets Fjord’s eyes and Molly can see now what he was masking – a plain and painful guilt. “I was afraid to leave Caleb. I’m sorry.”

Fjord steps forward and grabs the cleric’s sleeve at the elbow, pulling him face to face.

“You listen. What happened to me was my fault and no one else’s. I did what I did. I signed on full well knowing what my patron was and what it wanted. I swallowed the fuckin’ sea and I took the blade when it was given to me.” Fjord hisses through his teeth now. “Dammit, Caduceus, why didn’t you get away from him like the rest of us? You didn’t have to stay.”

“We don’t do that.” Caduceus is perfectly calm, certain as sunrise. “We don’t leave each other.”

“Bullshit, Cad. We all left you.”

“You didn’t leave me. You were taken. There’s a diff—” And here he falters. He glances at Molly. Because in that instant Molly realizes (a slow unraveling dawning) that Caleb was quoting Caduceus on that beach— “there’s a difference,” he finishes. “Maybe not everyone was taken like you were taken, but you can be taken by grief, by despair, or madness, or circumstance. You were all taken by something.” Caduceus trails off. “I’m not angry.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not.”

“Gods, I don’t get you,” Fjord groans, pressing fingers into his temple. “It’s been how long now and I’m never gonna fuckin’ get you, Cad. You’re just so fuckin’ – oof!”

Fjord’s complaint is smothered rather effectively by Caduceus casually reaching out and yanking his shorter teammate into a hug. It’s an expert hug. Both inevitable and affectionate in equal unstoppable parts. Fjord, nevertheless, gives a cursory struggle before surrendering to Clay’s (apparently) unescapable embrace, the tension sliding out of his shoulders in increments. Molly is pretty sure he can see a glow in Clay’s fingers, light sinking into Fjord’s armor before disappearing entirely.

“Did you just hug a Death Ward onto me?” Fjord demands, muffled.

“Yes.” Clay squeezes him just once more for good measure, then lets him go. “Can you go get Nott for me? She has something for Molly, I think.”

“She can’t keep giving me her stuff!” Molly protests.

Fjord looks at Molly. “She can and she will.” He holds up his arm and there’s a pair of strange gold-hammered bracers strapped to his forearms. “I don’t know where she stole these, but apparently you can grab a spell with them and throw it back.”

“I love that girl,” says Molly. Then, after a moment, he jerks his chin to Caduceus. “I’m glad you found him after I died, by the way.” He waves a hand up and down generally encompassing Caduceus Clay as a whole. “You know, good color scheme.”

Caduceus stifles a chuckle. Fjord gets a lopsided grin and pats Molly on the shoulder as he turns to go. But he pauses. There’s just the one look – brief and curious as he looks a Molly, a question in his stare… so Molly slaps Fjord on the cheek in a way that clearly confuses him.

“Oi, none of that. Head in the game.” He winks. “We’ll sort it out later.”

Fjord hesitates. “Alright. I’ll hold you to it.”

Molly smiles until Fjord’s walking away.

“You’re lying,” Caduceus observes blandly. He’s leaning against his staff, head tilted. “You don’t think we’re going to survive.”

“No, I don’t think I  am.”

There’s a quick silence. Then, “Mollymauk, I don’t think–”

But before he can start in on some platitudes about how everything is going to be okay or something, Caduceus makes this aborted choking sound and doubles over. His eyes go wide, his head jerking back, ears coming up like a startled animal. Like he’s hearing or seeing something Molly can’t. Then, with no warning beyond that, Caduceus’ eyes kind of roll back in his skull and he staggers sideways against the oak tree and drops his shoulder against it.

Molly, who watched all this with a confused horror, rushes forward.

“Hey, Caduceus?” He touches his shoulder like you reach for a high shelf. “You okay?”

“Head rush,” the firbolg mumbles, digging around in his robes for something. “Just… have to walk it off.”

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I think something just… I don’t know.” Caduceus seems distressed and a little dazed honestly, so Molly catches his elbow and pulls the gangly cleric upright, letting him lean his weight against his shoulder from his seven feet of height. He’s a little quiet until they’ve walked a little toward the south side of the graveyard, away from the temple and the others. “Apologies. I might have over worked myself. I’ve been getting the team ready for the fight this morning and yesterday was… taxing.”

“Well you did kill a dragon with a tree.”

“It wasn’t really a dragon. It was a warlock.” Caduceus rubs his temple gingerly as if nursing a migraine. “If it had been a real dragon, I doubt we would have prevailed. True ancient sea dragons? They’re leviathans without mercy or the depravity of their land-bound cousins. It would not have played with us. Her cruelty made her stupid and we killed her for it.”

Surprise jolts through Molly then, his head coming up a little to glance Caduceus. Oddly, his calling someone stupid even in death seems off-color for the gentle giant-kin and Molly frowns a little.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know. I feel strange.”

“Well, shake it off. We have another round of bad business to deal with. Gotta take care of the Mighty Nein, right?” Molly kind of nudges the bigger man when he doesn’t get an immediate answer. “Right? That’s our job in this group.”

Caduceus gives him a strange look, somewhere between sad and regretful. “Yes, I guess so.”

Molly maneuvers around a low headstone, Caduceus’ hand still resting against his shoulder. “Caduceus, you didn’t seem like you had a head rush. You seemed like you saw something and it scared you. Don’t spare my bloody feelings if Malora’s sending you visions or something, you can tell me.” Molly hesitates then adds, “If the endgame in this story is me going back to the grave, you know I… it’s okay.”

“Mollymauk—”

“It’s okay.” Molly laughs, though it comes mirthless in his mouth. “It’s fine if I don’t survive this. Not many people get three lives, much less the number I’ve been afforded. It’s alright, Mr. Clay. I don’t expect to–”

“Hey!”

Molly stops and looks over his shoulder. Nott is rocketing across the graveyard, full-speed, a darting blur of gnomish speed accelerated by some kind of magic that makes her a yelling blur. Her cloak flaps furiously behind.

“Hey! What are you doing!?”

Caduceus turns.

“You’re outside the boundary! Caduceus!?! CAD, WHAT ARE YOU—!?”

Caduceus interrupts her by suddenly raising a hand and saying a word. He thrusts his hand backward. He’s holding what looks like a large diamond between his thumb and forefinger and as he speaks, magic rushes through it like light through a prism throwing a sheet of rainbow like an aurora against the wall, painted against the air like it’s solid. Then the light shudders, the diamond splits, and simultaneously the air collapse inward and becomes a humming door composed of light.

“MOLLY, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Molly’s heart stops.

Caduceus grabs him around the waist, hooking one long arm full around his narrow midriff and with a terrible almost beast-like strength the previously gentle firbolg yanks Molly’s slim tiefling weight up into his arms and steps back. Time seems to slow then, like it always does in a moment of horror as the quantum pull of the teleportation spell begins to close around Molly and pull him apart down to the atomic structures of himself. Nott is almost on them, having crossed the yard with expeditious speed.

Molly is inside the tunnel of light, pulled back through the threshold into the howling inter-dimension while Nott is lunging from the foyer of reality. She’s framed in a dark, living green, a window of the Blooming Grove at her back as she dives for Molly, her hand extended as if a gnome-girl jumping in mid-air will stop the pull of a high-level vortex through time and space… and Molly nevertheless believes it. He drives his boot back against Caduceus’ thigh and lunges off him like wall, his middle still collared but like a thrashing animal in a snare he gets just loose enough and shoves one arm forward and –

Reality snaps in that way Molly’s become so familiar with.

   Molly hits the ground at speed. His head cracks hard against the rock, a sick jag of pain spiking his brain and for a red moment the world goes dark and muddled in his skull. Dizzy, the world rotates on a nauseous axis, wobbling like a bowl dropped on a table until it rattles to a stop and he’s laying face down on the ground. The stone is cold against his cheek and palms, the warmth bleeding from his body into the ground.

He blinks slowly, vision focusing…

He’s staring at his own fist against the ground In it: the broken gold chain of Clay’s periapt. Like he tore it from the firbolg’s neck in his panic. Confused, Molly lets it slide from his fingers and rolls onto his side.

Caduceus himself lays some five feet away. He’s sprawled, unmoving. His staff lays on the floor near his head. The amethyst at the head is pulsing slowly, like a heartbeat, revealing the dim fifteen by fifteen foot cavern they’re trapped inside, like a bubble inside solid rock. There’s no other light source, entrance, or seam in the walls of their cell and for a terrible moment, Molly feels the weight of the earth, the walls like a sarcophagus around them and panic begins to bleed in him.

Molly gets to his feet.

“Clay?”

No response.

“Fuck. Caduceus?”

Clay stirs then, groaning as he tries to push himself into a sitting position, head hanging low.

“What… what hap—?” He kind of jerks and doubles over retching. He shudders, then looks up, looks around at the dark cell around them. “Oh no. No…”

“Hey. Clay?” Molly remains at a distance. Molly has both rapiers in hand. “You alright, friend? What’ve you done? It’s okay if you’re okay now. You okay?”

He looks at Molly, looks at his weaponry in hand, the look on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mollymauk.” He touches his neck and it takes Molly a moment to realize he’s touching the hollow where the periapt once laid. “I’m so…” His expression kind of buckles in grief, a bright pain welling in his pale eyes. “I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Caduceus,” Molly murmurs, moving slowly to kneel next to him. “What happened?”

“I think he turned the… the chain on my periapt into an enslavement ring.” And, having said the words out loud in all their horror, a low, animal growl rises out of Caduceus’ chest and the fingers at this throat dig into the collar of his shirt just above his armor. “He must have done it… a while ago.” The growl is horrible in the firbolg’s throat, this eldritch-fey noise of rage and sorrow. His words stutter and sob. “I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d…”

Molly sheathes one rapier and loops an arm around Caduceus’ shoulders. “Shh, hey. Stop. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“The others are still out there. He only got the two of us.” Molly squeezes Caduceus’ shoulders meaningfully. “And he didn’t tell you to hurt anyone. All you did was pull us into some stupid pocket dimension or something. He doesn’t mean to kill us, I guess. It’s okay. He just sidelined us.”

“He’s split the party. They need us. We can’t fight him staggered–”

“They’ll be okay. They’ve got gods and assassins on their side.”

“How long have I worn this?” Caduceus seems to be in shock.

“Hey, stop. Hey. This isn’t a subtle spell. If you’d been under its control before, you’d know.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Caduceus covers his eyes with one hand. “I know this is the first time he’s used it, but how long has he been comfortable letting me wear this?”

“Since you switched sides,” says a voice suddenly.

Molly’s on his feet instantly. He’s only aware that he cut himself because his rapier burns now in his fist, swarmed in radiant fire. Blood soaks his shirt collar, his neck bleeding gently. Standing in the room, sudden as a blink, is Caleb Widogast. He glances at Molly’s sword, then meets his gaze. There’s something wrong with his eyes – the halogen blue color has ignited and shifts in his skull like blue flame burns behind the iris. The air around him breathes distorted by heatless mirage, power sweltering off his skin so strongly, it makes Molly’s nose sting.

“Don’t do that.” Caleb’s eyes hold Molly’s. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You didn’t hurt me, you killed me,” Molly says, this even as dividing by two and just as factual. “What did you do to Clay?”

“Exactly what he said.” He looks at Caduceus then and shrugs. “It was when you asked me if I’d changed my mind about Beauregard. That’s when I changed the chain on your periapt. That night.”

That seems to do Clay some harm because his fingers dig deeper into the hallow at his throat and his eyes clench shut. So Molly steps between Caleb and the other man, his single drawn rapier throwing white in eerie ripples across the walls. Caleb’s eyes slide across the blade, then back to Molly.

“You’re stronger,” he says, “than when you died.”

“Any chance I can convince you to just back off?” Molly says.

“No.”

“Why? You win. We’re stuck in your stupid pocket bubble whatever. Gloating about it is fucking rude.”

“I’m not gloating. I’m sorry, but I need you to–”

“Fuck you and your sorry,” Molly says merrily. He circles a little to Caleb’s right and the wizard tracks him with his eyes, his fingers burning with some held sorcery that Molly talks over. “Rude to kill someone, you know. Rude to enslave someone with a cheap piece of jewelry too.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Caleb says. “Neither of you will win here. This room is made to hold my enemies. So…” He holds out an empty hand. “Molly, come with me. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, sincere as his mask of sociopathy will allow, “but I will hurt Caduceus if you don’t cooperate.” He waits for Molly to react, but only for a second before getting impatient. “Did you hear me? I will hurt him. Put the weapon away. I’m beyond you, Mollymauk. Just do as I say.”

“Suck. My. Purple. Dick,” Molly enunciates.

Caleb gives him a bewildered look.

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Widogast.”

“I forgot how annoying you –”

“Eat me. Also, you’re terrible.”

Caleb’s eyes roll a little, a low fury coming into his gaze so Molly pivots quickly.

“If you’re such a goddamn monster now, why the hell didn’t you use that enslavement bullshit on the beach?” Molly blows air through his lips, makes a face. “Caduceus sure pissed you off then. If you’re so dedicated to this asshole shtick you should have sold it a little better, honestly. I don’t think—”

“I wasn’t wearing it on the beach.” Caduceus says this quietly, cutting Molly off. Caduceus doesn’t move from where he’s kneeling, one hand still pressed to his throat. “I was… I meant to give it you, Molly, on the day I raised you. I wasn’t wearing it.” He looks up at Caleb then. “That’s the only reason you didn’t use it to stop me earlier, isn’t it? Nothing else.”

“I told you,” Caleb murmurs. “You’re expendable to me.”

“Dramatic,” Molly snaps. “And bullshit.”

“You’ve been dead for ten years,” Caleb says sharply. “You don’t know anything. Now, put that sword down or I’ll make you.”

“I’m not wearing your stupid collar, Caleb. You want me down? Put me down.”

Caleb’s eyes flare then and he hits Molly with a spell.

Molly feels the enchantment clutch his limbs like a seizure; his hands immediately open and drop his rapier. He barely has time to panic about that, because in the time it takes them to hit the ground, Molly’s sprinted fifteen feet across the small room and slammed palms first, then sternum into the wall, pressing there like he can shove himself through the damn stone, his whole body possessed by the compulsion to just get away, far away, as fast as possible. But fast as it drives him to his knees, the compulsion is gone and he’s breathing again, gasping.

He hears voices behind him.

 Clay saying, “Enchant him again and I will make you regret it, Caleb.”

“You can’t beat me here.” Caleb’s voice has nothing in it, but the syllables. Molly looks over his shoulder. Caleb holds one hand toward Caduceus, the other up behind him, a shivering static screaming around one extended index finger. “And I won’t fall for the same trick twice. Anti-magic won’t work here, Clay.”

Caduceus is breathing hard, light fading from his staff, kneeling on the floor still but in a defensive stance now, his holy symbol raised in front of him. Molly can smell the ozone and sugar stink of dispelled magic in an enclosed space. Caleb’s stopped him from doing something clearly because Caduceus is shaking from some exertion, pink light fading off his body like steam from a hot stone.

“Tell Molly to do what I say,” Caleb whispers. “I will bury you here just to make a point.”

“Liar.” There is fey fire in Caduceus stare now, lit rose-pink in his irises, bright as the blue behind Caleb’s arcane stare. “You just attack the things you love because you think you don’t deserve them.” There’s power gathering in him, suffusing his frame and crackling across fur and fabric. “But you’re not Trent’s toy soldier anymore. So stop trying to be the monster again because it’s easier than facing up to –”

Caleb shouts something and throws a hand forward, but Clay’s staff flares and the magic dispels across his shoulders like a snowball breaking against a window. Caduceus’ eyes narrow, but there’s light shimmering on the edges of him now, moss blooming suddenly up in the cracks in the cobblestones and the air smells like soil and crushed grass and fresh sap running from spring-green wood.

“Stop talking, Caduceus.” Caleb’s stare burns chemical blue. “I’m warning you.”

“You can’t put me in a box. You won’t protect me by putting me aside.

“I’m not protecting you,” Caleb hisses, but there’s something in his words now – not anger but fear. “Don’t.”

“You can’t turn back time,” Caduceus says and with each word, the light in his eyes intensifies. His war braid starts to unravel, the light pulsing like a heartbeat in the crystal focus, in the color of his hair, and in the lichen on his armor. Light breathing through the him as radiance through a moral veil. “Live with your goddamn consequences, Caleb.”

Caleb’s eyes go wide and, “Caduce—!”

The cleric slams his staff to the ground.

A terrible scream roars up through the wood, vibrating up the shaft like a tuning fork stuck to the howl of cicadas. It’s so loud, Molly has to clap his hands over his ears and watch, horrified, as the wood in Clay’s hand erupts impossibly into a black, writhing cloud of locusts, so thick they block out all but the smallest shreds of the light in the room. Molly scrambles away, back hitting the wall as Caduceus Clay’s plague of insects consumes Caleb Widogast.

He disappears into a sea of chitinous bodies, breaking like a wave over him. Through the clicking roar of beetles and wings, Molly can hear the wizard screaming. Molly smells blood and somewhere in that swarm, he can just make out the heaving thrash that must be Caleb writhing and thrashing as Caduceus’ spell bears down, merciless as the fucking tide under the moon. He’s not stopping. Caduceus stands in the center of the room, his staff blinding in his hands, a surging mass of insects breaking against the wall in front of him.

There’s blood glistening now on the bodies of the bugs, slick and iron and Molly can still hear Caleb. He’s still screaming. This insane animal sound of agony.

There’s a flare of fire from the mass, a mound of beetle igniting suddenly and a fireball the size of an umbrella erupts through the swarm and rockets directly at Caduceus. But fast as the spell is released, the bugs swarm again, and the wizard’s spell swerves. It rips a flaming path across Clay’s shoulder instead of his core, staggering, his arm suddenly a burnt and bleeding roadmap of fused fur and flesh.

Caduceus stumbles and for a moment the light in his staff flickers and the swarm slows… before he draws a long breath, steadies and with a bullish exhalation he focuses through the pain. The swarm surges again, renewed and Caleb is again, gone beneath the ravenous mass.

“Caduceus!”

Molly lunges off the wall and races to grab his arm. He doesn’t notice. So fixed on his task, he can’t hear.

“Stop! Stop it that’s enough—!” He wrenches Cad’s arm down, grabs his collar. “You’re killing him!” The swarm continues to burrow and spiral, crushing its target against the wall in a screaming wave and Molly can see Caduceus’ face – frozen in horror, his pale, glowing eyes running over liquid light and Molly grabs his jaw and pulls his head down to look at him. “CADUCEUS! Please –!”

And that’s when Caleb, still choking, being torn by insects, manages to say a Word.

Like he didn’t know the one that killed, Molly does not know this one. He, nevertheless, knows that the Word is ‘agony’.

It hits Caduceus like one of Nott’s bullets. It slams home in his ribcage, penetrating his armor like cotton and hurls the cleric down, dropping his body to the floor where the Word takes root like a weed in fast forward. The spell erupts through Caduceus in red veins of light. The veins lash themselves around his wrists, his throat, his skull, and like hideous assassin’s wire, they garrote him to the ground. Then they start to pulse. Fast. Then faster and faster. Until it’s a constant, whirring hum inside Caduceus.

And that’s when the cleric starts screaming.

The Word lights his body up, igniting the root-system of his nervous system until he’s a writhing skeleton caged by cherry-red wiring. A nebula of burning copper with a single racing coal nested in the ribcage. He’s rigid like he’s stroking out, his eyes turning back in his skull as his spine curls up from the floor, his shoulders pinned back by paralysis.

The insect swarm dispels instantly – whatever arcane focus needed to hold it instantly shredded as their spellcaster loses his concentration over to agony. Clay is howling, this horrible split-sound between a beast bellowing and a man screaming. He thrashes wildly, ridden from the inside by the pain, possessed by it until he’s incapable of screaming and he’s just shaking and choking at Molly’s feet.

“I told you,” Caleb gasps. He staggers forward, covered in blood, his entire body a red slick of uncountable insect bites. His robes are soaked and shredded. His blue eyes are still burning, fixed on his fallen teammate’s shaking form. “I told you, Cad. I told you –”

Molly’s across the room instantly. He slams into Caleb, shoving him back against the wall and one hand around the wizard’s throat and his second rapier against Caleb’s windpipe and blade edge digging into cartilage.

“Stop hurting him,” Molly rasps.

Caduceus is sobbing and retching now. Sick with the pain and clawing at the ground.

“Caleb! For fuck’s sake!”

Caleb just looks at him, calm as a summer day, eyes pale as clear skies through the blood that soaks his face.

“You’ve been with them three days and you care so much about even him…”

“You fucking idiot! You’re such a fucking idiot! How can you be so smart and be so bloody stupid!?”

“Come with me, Molly, willingly and I’ll stop.”

Molly throws the sword down and grabs Caleb’s shirt in a two-fisted twist. “STOP HURTING HIM OR I’M GONNA BITE YOUR BLOODY EYES OUT!”

Caleb waves a hand.

The Word douses like a coal dropped in water and the enchantment dies. Caduceus stops screaming instantly. Like someone knocked the air out of him and he lies there dark and numb and gasping. The light in the staff is just barely glowing, soft and thready near Clay’s head where it fell. He’s shivering, half-conscious, hair a pink muddle beneath his skull, curled in on himself like a stabbed creature. His shaking hand closed and pressed against his chest. He looks like he’s fucking dying.

Molly has his fists around Caleb’s throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What happened to you? He loves you, you stupid son of a bitch. They all do. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Saving Beauregard,” he says.

He offers Molly an open hand.

“Come with me.”

Molly hisses. Full on, Infernal snarling in his face.

Caleb just grimaces a little.

“Okay. The others are coming. Are you –?”

“I hope Jester punches your teeth in,” Molly snaps.

And he takes Caleb by hand and they vanish.

[moiraineswife]

The Courage Or The Fall - A WidoMauk Fic

Thanking yooou to @ace-absol for prompting this. I hope you like it, Maddy!!! 

A/N: For the purposes of this fic we’re gonna stumble into an AU in which the bathhouse scene never happened, and we’re going to pretend that we’ve all forgotten disguise self is  a thing, JUST LET ME HAVE THIS RIDICULOUS SET-UP IN PEACE, OKAY!? 

Title: The Courage Or The Fall 

Summary: Prompted:  “Shivering long after everyone else has stopped.” After ending up fighting a battle submerged in a  frozen lake, the Mighty Nein strip off in their camp to dry out and warm up. All but one.  Content warning: this fic deals quite a lot with scars, if that’s not your cup of tea, maybe avoid. 

Teaser: “I’m going to stop you freezing to death, you idiot,” he said simply, hand still extended. Caleb still didn’t move. “Trust me,” Molly murmured, his words only for the darkness and the wizard staring up at him, the firelight glinting on his pale eyes making them look strangely opaque and ghostly. “I should think I’d proved myself quite adept at keeping you alive after all this time.” 

Caleb stared at him for another long, thundering heartbeat, then he let a soft laugh huff past his lips. He reached up and grabbed Molly’s forearm, letting him pull him to his feet. 

Link: AO3

Molly had experienced a lot of interesting things in his life. In fact, he considered himself a connoisseur of interesting things. 

But in spite of that, he had never had the pleasure of battling a poisonous, enlarged serpent in the belly of a freezing lake. 

Until today.   

Nott sloped out of the lake last, shaking her head so hard her ears flapped, looking very much like a drowned rat. She padded right for the centre of their little bank-side camp where Caleb, bless him, had managed to get a fire going. 

Molly trailed after Nott, satisfied that all of them had now made it out, and made a beeline for the fire as well. Tieflings ran hot, and he was not at all fond of being cold. For all he loved travelling, and being on the road, and the wandering lifestyle he had with the Nein, he did not enjoy being frozen. 

That had diminished since he’d been travelling with Caleb, who was wonderfully good at producing fires. 

By the time he and Nott reached it, the fire at the centre was at the height of Molly’s waist, and roaring happily like an enthusiastic dragon as it consumed the logs the others were feeding it to keep it going. 

Molly stretched up on his toes, his tail quivering as it went taut, and then, without further ado, he began to strip. 

Living in a carnival had taught him several invaluable life lessons, and one of those was that if you wanted to survive on the road, privacy was something you learned to abandon quickly. 

“Molly, what in the heck are you doing?” Beau called from the other side of the fire, mock-averting her eyes as Molly pulled his loose shirt over his head and bared his scarred, tattooed torso for all to see. 

“What the rest of you should be doing,” he replied brightly, unlacing his trousers as he spoke. 

“We’re in the middle of the woods, Molly,” Fjord pointed out, as though he’d forgotten. 

“Yep,” Molly continued, shoving his trousers down his legs and leaving himself in nothing but underwear, which were also damp, but he decided to spare for the sake of keeping Caleb conscious, since the wizard was staring at him with dangerously wide eyes, frozen in the act of hunching over the fire and warming his hands. 

“Oh good, are we all getting naked?” Jester asked, her loud voice announcing her arrival as she bounced back into camp with Yasha, both of them carrying armfuls of wood for the fire. 

“The sensible ones of us are,” Molly said, giving Yasha a light tap with his tail as she passed him. 

“Why?” Nott asked, peering up at him from where she was crouching beside the fire. 

“Because we’re all soaked to our skins with freezing lake water,” he told her, “And if you don’t want to catch your death, you’ll take your clothes off, hang them up to dry by the fire, and huddle together with everyone under blankets to get warm,” he explained. 

There was a silence as the group digested his words then, one by one, they each seemed to see sense in the plan, and slowly began to strip off their clothes, too. Some enthusiastically (Jester), and some reluctantly, (Nott), but each of them did it in their own way and at their own pace. 

All except one. 

Caleb remained beside the fire in his long, tattered cloak, dripping, arms folded, that stubborn look coming over his face. 

“I will be just fine, thank you,” he said firmly. 

Molly walked over to him as Jester summoned Nott and Fjord over to her with promises of being their ‘tiefling hot water bottle’ for the night, and Yasha began wordlessly distributing blankets, glancing back at him but not saying anything. 

“I understand,” Molly said, quietly, “That you might not relish the thought of getting naked in front of everyone,” he began. 

Caleb made a soft, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, “I doubt that you,” he informed his own feet, not looking at Molly, “Understand.” 

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, and waited until Caleb stole a glance up at him before he said, “You don’t think I’ve ever been reluctant to let people see my body?” 

“No,” Caleb said, so quickly, and with such firmness, bordering on reverence, in his tone, that Molly found himself smiling in spite of himself. 

“I’m flattered,” he said, warmly, leaning in just a little and letting his warm breath tickle the shell of Caleb’s ear, “But I promise you, I do understand what it feels like to not be uncomfortable in your own skin, to not want other people to see it. But you are going to freeze to death if you don’t take those clothes off and come and get warm with the rest of us.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Caleb said, stiffly, “But I will be fine.” 

With that, he marched over to the other side of the fire that the rest of the huddle was happening, sat down, and stared resolutely into the flames, clearly considering this conversation done. 

Molly hesitated, opening his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by Jester’s voice, “Molly! They’re stealing all of my good tiefling heat away! I need you to come and help me stop the cold people from dying.” 

He gave one last look towards Caleb, then sloped over and allowed Jester to envelope him in her blankets. 

Half an hour later, exhausted from their fight, and designating him on watch since he was ‘the most awake’ according to Jester, the rest of his group had fallen together in a strange, lumpy pile on the forest floor, curled around one another for warmth, buried in blankets. 

Glancing across to the other side of the camp, Molly carefully extracted himself, wrapped in a single blanket, and padded towards Caleb, who was still dressed in his water-logged clothes, shivering as a drip of water fell from one lock of his auburn hair and splattered against the ground. 

“Caleb,” Molly murmured, quietly, “Come here.” 

He extended a hand towards him. The fire that Caleb had kept roaring all this time with occasional spells caught the lights of the rings on his fingers, and cast a strange, obsidian sheen on the tips of his black claws. 

Caleb stared at the hand for a very long time, but didn’t take it. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked, eyeing Molly warily. 

Molly laughed softly, “So suspicious,” he purred, padding a little closer, his tail lashing from side-to-side in worry. He only bothered to try and make it behave when Jester was around, since he doubted the others could read anything from it. 

“I’m going to stop you freezing to death, you idiot,” he said simply, hand still extended. Caleb still didn’t move. “Trust me,” Molly murmured, his words only for the darkness and the wizard staring up at him, the firelight glinting on his pale eyes making them look strangely opaque and ghostly. “I should think I’d proved myself quite adept at keeping you alive after all this time.” 

Caleb stared at him for another long, thundering heartbeat, then he let a soft laugh huff past his lips. He reached up and grabbed Molly’s forearm, letting him pull him to his feet. 

He stepped in close to Caleb, close enough to breathe in the scent of earth that seemed to cling to him. It was a good scent, a safe, soft scent that made Molly think of a home he couldn’t remember, yet still somehow felt and longed for. 

They were almost painfully close now,  Caleb still fully clothed, Molly with nothing but a thin blanket draped about his shoulders. It was a closeness that implied intimacy by its very nature, a closeness that Caleb would have fled from mere months ago, but that he now seemed to lean in to.

“Everyone else is asleep,” he told Caleb, his voice low and smooth, like the thick feeling in the air after a thunderstorm, heavy with words unsaid that nevertheless echoed between their chests. “It’s just you and me, now,” he continued, letting the darkness swallow his words as he swallowed the rhythmic sound of Caleb’s breathing, which was becoming faster by the minute.

Molly raised his eyes slowly and met Caleb’s, briefly, but enough. He raised his fingers to the small clasp of the simple cloak that Caleb had bought in Zadash, simple, not gaudy, not too loud, as he had once found Molly to be, and undid it with a soft snick, only audible because of the silence of the twilight that was closing around them.

“I will stop,” he said, his voice a steady, anchoring contrast to the nervous hitch in Caleb’s breathing, “The moment you say the word. But you do need to get out of these clothes and let them dry off.”

Caleb stared down at him for a long moment then, softly, he murmured a faint, “Alright,” in Zemnian, and gave Molly permission to continue.

He did so slowly. His fingers were deft and dextrous from the hours and hours he’d spent manipulating his card deck, and they could have had Caleb’s clothes from him faster than he could blink. A part of Molly, the part most closely connected to his boiling blood and swiftly lashing tail, wanted nothing more than that. But Caleb trembled slightly at the lightest touch of Molly’s hands, and so he forced himself to be slow, and calm, and controlled.

They didn’t speak as Molly slowly undid each of the clasps that held Caleb’s coat shut until it hung open and loose. Forcing himself to take slow, steady breaths, Molly slid it gently from his shoulders, and off his thin frame.

It always surprised him how much smaller, and slighter Caleb seemed without the bulky coat, that seemed to contain half his worldly possessions at any given time. He barely ever took it off, and Molly had simply learned to picture him wearing it, even though it more than doubled his bulk.

Gently, carefully, Molly arranged the cloak on one of the lines they had hung up with their clothes beside the fire.

As he turned and took a step away from him, he could have sworn Caleb shifted behind him, some instinctual part of him longing to be close to Molly, magnetically pulling him closer as he stepped away, as though they were connected by an invisible string of thread.

Molly gently unbuckled the belt around his waist, and lifted the brown tunic away, leaving him in only a ragged shirt Molly wasn’t sure he’d actually ever seen, buried as it normally was beneath other layers of clothing.

He hung that up as well, then moved his hands to the laces which had pulled the shirt tight closed around Caleb’s collar. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat and withdrew slightly. Molly stopped at once, glancing up enquiringly at him.

“The rest first,” Caleb gritted out hoarsely.

Molly gazed at him for a long moment, but said nothing before dropping to his knees and beginning to ease off Caleb’s boots.

The longer he spent with him, Molly noticed, his hands always deft and careful, taking care to establish an iron wall of boundaries between them, and refusing to step across it, let his touches be anything but respectful and casual, the more Caleb seemed to lean into him, as though seeking more, more contact, more intimacy. As though he too fantasised about, and longed for, the searing kiss of skin against skin.  

After what might have been minutes, or hours, or several days spent suspended entirely in darkness, not even the sun daring to disturb this moment, Caleb stood before Molly in nothing but the shirt he had still not allowed him to remove.

Molly straightened up and turned to face him, “This now,” he said softly, but Caleb withdrew as though his hands blazed with heat, and were like to burn him if they made contact.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb began, not looking at him, though he shifted uncomfortably in place, still trembling violently.

And though he was still wet, and no doubt frozen to his bones, something told Molly this was from more than just cold.

“What is it, Caleb?” he asked, as gently as he could, taking a cautious step closer, but not moving to touch him again.

Before he quite knew what was happening, Caleb’s hand was gripping his wrist, his fingers, thick with cold and what he could now see in his eyes was fear, fumbling until they managed to intertwine with his.

He still didn’t look at Molly, his eyes fixed firmly on a spot between their bare feet, but his grip on his hand was like iron.

Molly responded with softness, pulsing his hand gently, like a heartbeat, trying to reassure him.

“You have to understand,” Caleb began, shaking more violently than ever, and Molly couldn’t help himself from taking another step closer, his tail curling instinctively, protectively, around Caleb’s waist. “I, I am not- It, it is not...Not pretty. What is underneath.” His eyes darted nervously up, caught Molly’s for a second, then fell once more as he whispered hoarsely, “I am not pretty.”

Molly didn’t have any idea what this was in reference to. But he said, as staunchly and firmly as he could, “I don’t need you to be pretty, Caleb, I just need you not to freeze to death.”

This seemed both the wrong, and the right thing to say, for Caleb both deflated, but also nodded his head.

Hesitating due to the mixed signals, it was with surprise that Molly felt the hand that was still held in Caleb’s slowly rise. Caleb placed it flat against his own chest, right on top of the tightly tied laces, a clear invitation and nod of approval.

Molly watched him for a long moment, but Caleb neither spoke, nor met his eye, nor reacted at all. So, resigned, he gently tugged on the tight bow and began undoing the laces.

Neither of them seemed to breathing as they did so and, strangely, Molly felt as though this was more intimate, and more important, than the kisses he had dreamed of stealing lately, more so even than the sex he had found himself fantasising about more and more often, late at night, when he was alone on watch, or when he found himself unable to sleep.

Caleb helped him pull the shirt over his head, baring him, but for all his reaction to finally standing before Molly all but naked, he may as well have been carved from stone.

Molly hung the shirt up beside the rest of Caleb’s things, then turned back to him in time to see him jerk his arms instinctively to cover his torso. It was an empty gesture, however. For all that that concealed, there was far more that the firelight, and Molly’s eyes, accustomed as they were to darkness, revealed.

Creeping across Caleb’s chest, shoulders, and up the left side of his neck, where the scarf he wore usually covered, and which he had kept carefully angled towards the darkness the whole time Molly had undressed him, was a twisted pattern of what was, clearly, burn scars.

They covered the entirety of his upper body, and made Caleb’s aversion to fire instantly understandable.

Molly reached out instinctively and brushed the tips of his fingers against Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb jerked back at once as though Molly had slapped him, hunching in further, attempting to hide more of the scars.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said, his voice hoarse, his throat tight. “I didn’t hurt you-“

“No,” Caleb said at once. Then, more quietly, calmly, “No. You did not.”

“They don’t hurt, do they?” he asked softly.

Caleb looked up and said, with surprising candour for the way he still tried to hide while he bared his darkest secrets before Molly and the watching stars overhead, “Do yours?”

“Sometimes,” Molly admitted.

A shiver rippled through him as, unbidden, he remembered the nights he had woken, thrashing, held down by Yasha’s strong arms, as phantom pains from injuries he couldn’t remember but still carried tattooed across his skin and his soul, had wrenched him from sleep and tormented him to the point of near madness, where he had wished with every last, strangled, agonised breath in his lungs for the merciful oblivion of such insanity. Or better still, death.

Caleb briefly met his eyes, then nodded and said quietly, in a way that made Molly quite sure he understood everything that word contained for them, “Sometimes.”

Caleb angled his body slightly away from Molly, seeming to want to pull his clothes from the line, put them on, and flee into the woods where he would never need to be looked at again.

Unable to bear the self-loathing implicit in every twisted line of his body, Molly moved closer and said, softly, his voice shaking uncontrollably now, “Caleb.” He reached out and gently took Caleb’s hand, which was still pressed over his chest, trying to hide himself. “Please,” Molly whispered imploringly, putting a very gentle pressure on the hand, just enough to communicate what he was asking for.

Slowly, reluctantly, Caleb relaxed, and allowed Molly to draw both of his hands away from himself, baring the ruin of his chest completely to Molly.

“I am sorry,” he bit out at last, his words clipped and his tone black.

“Don’t,” Molly snapped out, harsher than he had intended. He squeezed Caleb’s hands gently and repeated, his voice softer this time, “Please don’t apologise. Not to me.”

Caleb looked up at him and seemed to understand what those words, the tremor in them, meant.

“How do you do it?” he rasped, very deliberately, more deliberately than usual, even, not looking at Molly as he said it.

“Do what?” Molly asked, cocking his head slightly to one side.

“How do you-“Caleb broke off and gestured hopelessly, a broad circle that seemed to encompass Molly as a whole, “How do you...How are you so open about yourself, about, about-“

The word got caught in his throat, but Molly supplied it for him, “My scars?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Caleb nodded jerkily, then continued. “How do you not seem to care about what other people think of you?”

Molly laughed softly, “There’s no secret to it, Caleb,” he said, shaking his head, “I just genuinely don’t care. I don’t give a damn what people think of me. Whatever it is that goes through their heads when they see me, they’re welcome to it. I spent too long hiding, and censoring myself for other people’s benefit. It got very tiring, very quickly.”

“But-“ Caleb began, brow furrowed, apparently not able to process this way of thinking.

“Caleb,” Molly interrupted him, “Look at me.” Caleb did so, and he said, “What do you see?”

“I see...You,” Caleb said, frowning again, apparently confused by this question.

Molly huffed a soft laugh, and allowed a brief interruption to the moment to press a swift kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “Alright, what do you think other people see when they look at me?”

“Well..I imagine that they see you, as well,” Caleb replied, looking more confused by the moment.

Molly resisted the urge to sigh with great difficulty.

“No,” he said, patiently. “They don’t see me. They see a monster.” Caleb opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to protest, but Molly pressed a long, thin finger against his lips, stopping him. “They see a purple demon covered in tattoos, and piercings, and scars, with burning red eyes looking like it crawled out of one of the Nine Hells to be a perfect, living representation of the things that haunt their children’s nightmares.”

“That was a very detailed description, Molly,” Caleb muttered, “I think you might have given this too much thought.”

Molly continued, as though he hadn’t heard, “I can’t control what people think of me. If they look at me and scowl, or hurry their children to the other side of the road, then they’ve told me more about themselves than they ever learned about me from a single look. You only get one life, and it’s too short for me to bother limiting myself, and my existence, to try and provide some kind of hollow comfort for those that don’t deserve it.”

He shrugged as Caleb frowned, apparently digesting all of this.

“I might get fewer stares, and people spitting at me, if I didn’t have these,” he gestured towards his jewellery, “Or these,” he indicated the elaborate tattoos covering his skin, “Or these,” he pointed at the scars that criss-crossed his chest, “But they’re each a part of who I am, and if there’s one I will never apologise for, it’s of being entirely who I am. I can’t be anyone else, and trying is just a waste of my time. And it doesn’t improve matters. Trust me, I’ve tried everything, and it’s not worth it.”

Caleb bowed his head again, only to raise it once more as Molly’s fingertips brushed over his ribs, just above his heart.

“I won’t tell you they’re beautiful,” he said quietly, “Because they’re not. And I won’t stand here and lie through my teeth to you, or give you words you know are empty, because they don’t help. I know they don’t help.”

He stepped closer, their bodies pressed flush now. The kiss of bare skin burning between them was everything he had been craving since he had stepped away from the group and approached Caleb, everything and more.

“But I will tell you,” Molly breathed softly, stepping in closer, and brushing a stray lock of hair that had fallen into Caleb’s eyes back, “That I think you are beautiful.”

Caleb shivered at that, but it was no longer from cold. The heat eminating from Molly’s body seemed to have done him good, and there was a dull, warm flush of colour spreading up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Danke,” he whispered hoarsely.

He shifted, raising his head to look up at Molly, jolting slightly in surprise when his forehead knocked against the tip.

Amazingly, Caleb laughed softly at that. He looked so beautiful in that moment, so free, and vulnerable held in Molly’s arms, that he couldn’t help himself. Molly reached out, his claws grazing ever so gently along the line of Caleb’s jaw, rough with a faint dusting of stubble.

“Caleb,” he breathed softly to him, delicately cupping his face in his hand. “My promise to you still stands,” he shifted slightly, pressing their bodies even closer, “If you say stop, I will.” He leaned in, mindful of his horns and the jewellery that dangled from them as he tilted his hand, the fingers underneath Caleb’s chin tipping it slightly upwards without resistance, as he breathed softly against his lips, “But if you don’t...I’m going to kiss you.”

“Molly,” Caleb whispered back, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips slightly parted.

“Yes?” he rasped, not sure how much longer his brittle patience could stand the roiling tension between them before he snapped.

Caleb’s hand slid slowly up his spine before his fingers wound their way deep into Molly’s hair, “I’m not saying stop.”

So Molly kissed him.

And kept kissing him. He kissed him long, and deep, and slow. He kissed him with his fingers gripping tightly at his hair, and his claws biting gently into Caleb’s hip. He kissed him blind, and deaf, and utterly oblivious to the rest of the world watching them. He kissed him until they were both breathless, and panting, even as they held each other, arm’s around each other’s waists, soft, disbelieving little laughs on their lips.

“Come here,” Molly murmured softly against Caleb’s neck, drawing him gently down onto the ground with a soft groan, his body starting to ache after the beating he’d taken earlier, “We need to sleep.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Caleb murmured, still breathless, twisting around and surprising him with another kiss.

“Caleb,” Molly said, in mock-shock, eyes wide, “How very forward of you,” he mumbled thickly against his lips.

This kiss was broken by a faint groan of pain on Molly’s end, and Caleb drew away, concern replacing the lust in his eyes.

“Might have bruised a few ribs,” Molly said, leaning in and stealing another messy kiss, “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he continued, propping himself up on a hand and holding his body over Caleb.

The confidence of this statement was somewhat undercut as another spasm of pain flashed through him and he all but collapsed on top of Caleb.

“Hm,” the wizard said, delicately shifting Molly off to the side, “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, “Sleep.” Molly opened his mouth to argue, but Caleb gave him a suddenly stern look and repeated firmly, in a tone that allowed for no argument, “Sleep, Molly.”

Grumbling, Molly folded his body around Caleb’s, warming him, his tail coiling around his ankle, connecting them.

He let Caleb’s body relax, becoming soft and pliant in his arms as he settled against him, before he leaned up and nipped gently at Caleb’s neck, just below his ear, with his fangs and whispered, “But tomorrow...You’re mine.”

Caleb shivered again and Molly smiled, feeling rather pleased with himself as he tugged the blanket up over them and pulled Caleb closer.

[dainesanddaffodils]

Let’s Dance, pt 2 - Widomauk 

Because what’s a Harvest Close festival without DANCING! 

read on a03

The streets of Zadash look like they’ve caught fire.

Lines of colorful paper are strung between buildings, wreathes of autumn foliage adorn ever lamp post, streamers of reds and golds hang from windows and street vendor stalls and when the evening’s setting sun hits it all just right, the entire city looks as though it is ablaze.

Perhaps that is why Caleb feels distracted throughout the day. The breeze rustles the festive papers around them, light catching their movement and turning them into dancing firelight for a fraction of a second, before they settle again. He sighs and tries for the umpteenth time to direct his attention elsewhere.

He is usually rather fond of autumn, of the warm days transitioning to crisp evenings. He is usually equally fond of the festivals that surround the season, and had hoped that perhaps this day might be one he could actually enjoy with his motley little group.

But things so rarely worked out the way Caleb hoped.

“-What about you, Caleb?”

He started, turning towards the address and meeting Jester’s expectant gaze, closer than she was the last time he had paid attention to their order.

He is, as he so often is, towards the back of the group as they wander some of the less populous backstreets. They’ve spent much of the day on the main thoroughfare, perusing street vendors and watching performances on various stages that have been set up over the last few days. Enjoyable as it has been, even the more sociable of the Nein (Mollymauk) seem content to step off the bustling streets to eat some of the food they have purchased and actually be able to hear each other talk.

Not that Caleb has been hearing anyone. “What?” He asks Jester.

She looks neither surprised nor offended to find that Caleb has not been listening to anything the party has been saying for minutes now. The Mighty Nein have begun to pick up his habits, have begun to know him. He isn’t sure how he feels about that yet.

“We’re talking about other Harvest Close festivals. I guess Beau and I are the only ones who have ever been to one before now. What about you?”

Caleb takes a second to file that information away. It doesn’t surprise him that Yasha, Nott or Molly have not seen one before, but he expected it of Fjord. “I have not had a Harvest Close festival, exactly,” he says. “The Zemni Fields has a festival for the fall but it has a different name, and it is not quite so large.”

It is not remotely as large. Caleb remembers thinking of his home festivals in comparison to Molly’s troupe, considering them to be larger and more put-together events, but in hindsight they are a candle to Zadash’s bonfire.

Summoned either by his thoughts, or more likely by the mention of the Zemni Fields, Mollymauk hangs back from speaking with Yasha and Nott (sitting on her shoulders) so he can fall into step with the two of them. “What do they call it?”

“Just ‘Autumn Festival’,” Caleb says with a shrug.

“In Common or in Zemnian?”

He doesn’t know why it matters, but Mollymauk has always been one to latch on to the details he does not expect to be latched on to. “Zemnian. It is ah- Oktoberfest.”

“Oooh!” Jester says, eyes going wide, “That sounds much cooler than Harvest Close!” 

“Much cooler,” Yasha agrees from in front of them, with about as much enthusiasm as she says anything. Caleb bites this inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Agreed,” Molly says and he’s looking at Caleb in a way that makes him think his smile was not as hidden as he had hoped, but does not call attention to it. “Sounds more majestic somehow. Oktoberfest.”

“It means the same thing,” Caleb points out dryly. “And your accent is horrendous.”

Mollymauk puts a hand on his chest with an theatrical gasp. “Caleb, you wound me! Most people call it ‘disarmingly sexy’.”

Oh Caleb is sure they do. “Most people have not heard you try to speak Zemnian.”

Molly pouts, and it is both more amusing and more adorable than Caleb wants it to be. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to teach me until it improves,” he says, and Caleb’s slowly blooming smile dies before it reaches his lips.

It has been nearly a week since their job for the Gentleman and the party that was held in the Evening Nip after they had returned. It has been nearly a week since, at Mollymauk’s playful prodding, Caleb had taught him a Zemnian festival dance, the kind of dance they’d have at Oktoberfests back home. It has been nearly a week since Molly’s offhand compliment about Caleb’s skill at teaching had flustered him more than even their close proximity and he still couldn’t quite explain why.

Molly catches his expression and his dramatic frown turns more genuine and damn, Caleb is used to being hard to read. Before the tiefling can speak, however, Nott calls over. “Caleb! Caleb, I have something for you! Come here!”

Unsure what his friend could have found for him while sitting on Yasha’s shoulders, Caleb does as he is told, keeping his eyes away from Molly as he passes. “What is it?”

Nott grins, and it is Caleb’s favorite grin – the kind that nearly splits her face in two, showing all her teeth. It is a grin Nott only uses not only when she is happy, but when she is comfortable enough to not be self-conscious of her appearance. Proudly she extends a woven flower crown in his direction. Caleb realizes, at her vantage point, Nott could and did grab a number of flowers off of street lamp garlands and hanging pots. 

“That is very nice.” They’re not very neatly woven, and look like a too-strong breeze would force them apart again, but it is the thought that counts. “They might blend in with my hair, I think. Perhaps Jester would like them.”

“It wouldn’t fit around my horns!” Jester says from behind him. 

Well, he can say he tried - and he doesn’t really mind Nott’s new habit of putting flowers on him every chance she gets. Certainly he does not feel too dignified for such things; he has long since stopped having dignity. “Alright then,” he says and inclines his head towards Nott. Yasha stops walking in order to keep her steady as Nott very regally places the flowers atop his head.

He hears a slow clap and knows it’s Mollymauk even before the tiefling speaks. “Such grace! You’ve been crowned king of Oktoberfest!”

Caleb shoots him a look. “I regret telling you that; you make it sound ridiculous.”

“That’s what I’m best at.”

From the front of their grouping Beau - who until this point Caleb had not believed was paying them any attention - calls back, “Ain’t that the fucking truth!”

Molly flips her off but he’s still smiling, seeming to know full well that she isn’t looking.

“You look very nice,” Jester says, walking next to him along one side. “It looks like your hair is on fire.” 

Caleb stiffens, managing to barely suppress the sudden urge to take the crown off immediately. “I- that is not-” 

“Nah, that’s not right,” Molly says, smoothly taking his place on Caleb’s other side. When Caleb turns to him, his expression is as cheerful and mischievous as ever. “He looks like he’s sprouting flowers.” 

Jester considers this. “He does, doesn’t he? Caleb, you are turning into a tree, like Fjord is turning into water.”

“We are doing neither of those things. Hopefully,” he adds, just to be safe (the world sure loves to jinx them), but he feels the tension in his body uncoil. If Mollymauk has noticed the effect of his distraction he does not show it, and Caleb isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed.

Instead he nearly collides with Yasha’s back, as the woman stopped just before colliding with Fjord’s back. Caleb cranes his neck to look past the two taller figures, and sees that their peaceful little alleyway has reached its end - meeting up with what looks to be a confluence of many streets, forming an open (and by the sounds of it, bustling) square. 

“Weren’t we just here?” Fjord asks no one in particular.

Molly doesn’t move forward, but leans around to get a better look at the square, speaking absently. “’All roads lead to Zadash’?”

“All roads lead away from Zadash,” Beau deadpans. “People just take them the wrong way.”

“You’re a poet,” Molly says, sarcastically. Without looking back, Beau flips him off. Caleb struggles not to laugh.

He is only just sure that he has schooled his expression into something neutral when Molly makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. 

“Well would you look at what we found, Caleb,” he says, his eyes still trained on the open square before them. His voice is pitched low, meant for his ears alone. “Dancing.”

Before Caleb can think to respond - or frankly, think at all after that statement - Jester perks up. “Dancing?” She jumps up and down trying to look over shoulders, before finally pushing forward so she stands between Fjord and Beau at the front. “What kind of dancing? Is it Molly kind of dancing?” 

Molly laughs, shaking his head. Caleb exhales a bit gustily as he watches Mollymauk leave his side to stand by his fellow tiefling and dancing partner. This is good, he tells himself. Molly will dance with Jester, just like before. 

But because things simply cannot go the way he plans, he hears Molly’s voice a moment later. “Well, I certainly don’t know this one. Hey Caleb!” He calls back cheerfully. “Come here and tell us if this is another Zemnian dance!”

If it is, Caleb is not going to say so. But he obediently comes forward, pointedly ignoring the way both Jester and Beau are looking between him and Molly. 

Finally at the front of the group, Caleb can actually see what everyone is talking about: there is a flagpole in the center of this square, impermanent-looking and likely set up for the festival, and at it’s base a small band is playing a simple tune. In a circle around them are many, many citizens of Zadash. All ages, various races, all common folk dressed in as fine of festival clothes as they could likely put together. 

The music is not Zemnian, and the dance certainly not Zemnian. “I do not know it, either,” he says, a little glad that it is the truth. 

Still, he stays where he is and watches the dance as it continues. The music has a slow, steady beat. The pairings of people - and they are coupled together - take small, simple steps. Two to the right, two to the left. Then one to the right and one to the left. Moving to face one another, they take three steps, spinning away form each other and then clapping before spinning back in. They switch places and repeat the spin and clap, before returning to their first position and the whole thing begins again.

“Doesn’t look hard to learn,” Mollymauk observes. Caleb starts, surprised that the tiefling’s thoughts so closely mirrored his own. He has been focused a while, he realizes, and much of their party has separated to watch the dance more comfortably. Caleb sees Nott has somehow found more flowers and is weaving them into Yasha’s braids.

He feels Molly’s eyes on him, and when he looks back a hand is extended cordially. “Shall we? I’ll lead, if you’d like.” 

He can feel heat rise to his face, and his heart pounds a little too hard in his chest. “Ah- I am sure- wouldn’t Jester rather-”

Molly grins, wicked and amused. “You really do space out, don’t you? Her dance card’s full.” He jerks a thumb out toward the dancers again, just as Jester pulls Fjord with her into the circle - couples gladly opening space for them. Fjord’s face is a dark muted red and Caleb thinks he looks close to afraid. 

A corner of his mouth turns up, in spite of himself. “And if we go to join them we will not be able to watch.”

Mollymauk laughs. “You know me, darling; much more of a participant than a spectator.” 

He wants to make a biting remark about how well the group can possibly know him, but the ‘darling’ causes his brain to freeze long enough for the remark to die before it can form. 

And, well, Mollymauk is right. Caleb does know that about him; that he enjoys the spotlight and that he, too, has no sense of dignity whatever, and that he seems to enjoy learning new things as much as he does (although their taste in new things varies wildly, the excitement in learning is there and is recognizable). And as much as he has been struggling to avoid it, Caleb knows that Molly knows him too. He knows that Caleb could protest this much more stubbornly if he really wanted to avoid this, and the fact that he hasn’t can only mean one thing.

At least the they are not the only party members dancing, and he will not be the center of everyone’s attention. 

With as much ease as he is capable of, Caleb puts his hand in Molly’s.

Like with Fjord and Jester, the circle of dancers opens up when they join them. This dance isn’t led in the same way the dance Caleb taught Mollymauk had been, which is probably for the best since neither of them really know who should take the lead. In the end they settle on Molly being in what served as that part. 

The music has picked up speed by the time they join, apparently with the musicians having decided that the dancers understood what they were doing by their third or fourth go around. Thankfully, both of them are quick studies, and the up in speed doesn’t throw them. Caleb can hear Molly quietly speaking the steps aloud, likely for his own benefit as much as for Caleb’s. 

They go through it twice, simply enough that Caleb doesn’t need all of his focus of the steps and finds it wandering to things like the way the fading sunlight catches on Mollymauk’s jewelry, the way his coat flairs out when he spins, the lopsided smile on his face when they step together and then apart again. 

So he is caught completely by surprise when the music speeds up again. 

He stumbles a little through a step left and hears Mollymauk laugh softly. “Do you think this is how it is supposed to go, or are they doing it to fuck with us?”

“Could be both,” Caleb says.

When it loops to the beginning again, the musicians speed up once more. 

“Oh dear,” Molly says, still with easy good humor. “I think you’re right.”

The tune begins to steadily increase with speed, and as the dancers stumble through keeping in time laughter begins to fill the square. With what little attention Caleb can spare on their surroundings, he begins to see couples stepping out of the circle breathless as much with exertion as with laughter, leaning on each other for support.

“What-” Calev says, short of breath himself, “do you suppose - one gets - if they’re the last - ones left?”

Molly is grinning, his face a little flushed and laughter wrinkling the corners of his red eyes. “Want to - find out?”

"I am not sure - how much more of this - I can handle,” he admits with a rueful smile of his own. They spin away from each other, clap, and when they spin back together Caleb’s vision takes a moment to catch up with him and he stumbles, leaning heavily enough onto Molly that the tiefling stumbles a bit himself.

“Aye, I think we’re done,” he says, keeping a hand on Caleb’s arm and stepping them outside the circle - which is all well and good because they speed up, again. “I feel like if we looked into it there are probably stories of people being trampled in this dance.”

Caleb laughs at the concept of there being sordid histories behind types of dances. It sounds very much like something Molly would know. 

“Looks like Jester and Fjord are still going strong,” Molly observes. 

“If it is a competition, Jester will settle for nothing other than winning,” Caleb says. “Poor Fjord.”

Molly shakes his head. “Poor Fjord, indeed. It’s a good thing he didn’t drink as much as some of us did earlier. Though now I’m wondering about some of these other fine couples.” He links his arm more comfortably with Caleb’s. “Come on, let’s watch this from a safer distance.”  

They take no more than two steps before Molly stops them again “Ah! One second!” He stoops down to retrieve something off the dusty stone street, straightening with Nott’s flower crown in his hands, which clearly had been flung from his head at some point in all the spinning (it is, by some miracle, still holding together). “Nott would hate me if you lost this.”

He settles the crown back on Caleb’s head with more care than is perhaps necessary, and his hands linger on the sides of his face ever so slightly longer than need be, and Caleb’s heart is pounding a little faster than the can be solely blamed on the exertion from dancing. 

“There,” Mollymauk says, suddenly dropping his hands and dusting them on his coat. He doesn’t take Caleb’s arm again. “There you are. King of Oktoberfest again.”

Caleb groans, internally more grateful for a reason to be irritated than he is actually irritated. “If you keep this up I will have to teach you Zemnian just so you will stop offending my ears.”

“That’s the goal, darling,” Molly says sweetly. His long legs take him a few steps ahead of Caleb and Caleb lets him go.

It means he doesn’t see it when Caleb brings a hand to absently touch his cheek where Molly’s hands brushed so lightly a moment ago, feeling the heat in his face and knowing he must be blushing quite red indeed. He slows a bit more, watching Molly as he walks away as the setting sunlight catches on his coat's embroidery until it looks liked the embers of a dying fire.

Oh, he thinks. Oh dear. 

[dent-de-leon]

Honestly, Kingsley jumping at the chance to make a deal with the Cloaked Serpent really illustrates so well why he needs the Nein.

He volunteered to enter a dark bargain with some powerful, otherworldly force he barely understands—entirely on a whim. Just out of morbid curiosity, just because he finds it exciting and interesting. But mostly? As he says to the Nein, “All of you weren't going to do it, you were taking your bloody time. And what else do I have?...I'm not betraying anything."

And god—isn’t that just gutting? These people love him so much. They fought and bargained for his very life and shattered soul, they made sure he didn’t wake Empty and alone. That his first moments of this new life were warm embraces and tender words, surrounded by loved ones. And…he still can’t see it. Still doesn’t know if he’s earned it—

He needs them, their grounding words and open kindness. Jester sitting with him under the moonlight, flipping through their deck of tarot cards together. Kingsley wanting so badly to ask Yasha and Beau about Molly, trusting them to tell him the truth. King struggling with the memories that slip back in lovely dreams and haunting nightmares.

Struggling to reconcile himself with the past, all his lives and desires and fears bleeding together. A lingering loss and longing he’s too terrified to admit. Caleb’s affirmations that they’ll always take him back regardless, another stray he’s grown dearly fond of.

Kingsley is…foolish, impulsive; drawn to romance and adventure and a little thrill of danger. A life of piracy at sea is his attempt at an escape, desperately hoping that, “those chains will find some quiet.” As Mollymauk, he never got the chance to confront the past, to make peace with it. And it's only now as King that he's finally daring to "learn" from the lives he led before, to face his greatest fears.

The reality that Kingsley still feels alone, how he claims he has nothing left to lose. Out of everyone...I think it really is Kingsley who needs the Mighty Nein the most right now. Even if he's too afraid to admit it--

[dent-de-leon]

For the ask game, I have to know your take on Widomauk. What made you ship them?

oh I feel like it's very predictable of me, but....I was watching all the early episodes of C2 live from day one, and it was so exciting to see everyone's relationships evolve and grow week after week, never knowing what would come next. But I don't think I ever actually shipped anything until Alfield--when Molly runs in to put out the fire and comfort Caleb. Gives him a tender forehead kiss and some soft words of encouragement, carrying him back out into the sunlight with Beau. I think that's what really did it, and I've adored them ever since :')

There's also some adorable moments right before the Nein lose Molly. "Ja, ja." "Oh, that's cute." And, "'The only magical thing here is you, friend.' Pat pat on the cheek," certainly come to mind. And I'm pretty sure that's in the episode before he dies. So,, yeah, it was........very easy to get attached, not knowing what was coming. And seeing those two have all these lovely little soft and playful moments right up until episode 26--and I was so excited to see where their story would go, and really thought they had a whole campaign ahead of them...

So I shipped them since pretty much the beginning, and once things start heading into Aeor arc--when Caleb realizes getting Molly back is a real possibility, that "reunion" is possible and he keeps fighting for it? It just warmed my whole heart. I always found all these little glimpses of their relationship compelling, but you really don't see how much Molly truly means to Caleb until after he's gone. "Shine bright, Circus Man," Caleb digging Molly's grave, and everything that comes after--how he grieves and mourns, but never truly "knows defeat" until he believes he's lost Molly again for good. Asking everyone what they even came all the way to Aeor for, if it wasn't all to bring back Mollymauk--

Kingsley falling for Caleb all over again when he wakes up just feels so right to me, and I enjoy those little stolen moments between him and his Magician so much. I really hope one day they get the chance to explore those feelings more--or at least, King reaches a place where he's more comfortable opening up to Caleb. I feel like the fact he always insists he isn't the same but still lets Caleb call him his Circus Man says a lot, as does him experiencing the same feelings for him again and again. Something about constants and every incarnation of Tealeaf sharing the same heart.

I feel like there's a just,, a lot of elements that make widomauk so compelling to me, and I've babbled about them so much. It's bittersweet and nostalgic, it's two people with such painfully similar pasts and scars giving each other hope.

Molly bringing a bit of color and this spark of light into Caleb's life--the way it makes Caleb so determined to save Molly in turn. How their positions kind of reverse over the course of the narrative; Caleb being in this place where he has had so much time and space to grow and heal, while King is still very much haunted and running from the past. Caleb always reaching out the way Molly did for him.

There's a lot that really drew me to them, and I think it can kinda be summarized by that one bit in the Lucien novel where Molly thinks back on that forehead kiss so fondly. Caleb being "softness and light" to him is just...the sweetest thing to me.

And I think my favorite line of the campaign is Caleb begging Molly not to give up, promising that he deserves another chance, that he has his whole life ahead of him, "Please don't give up, you can still find your own life again. There will be time for that later." Caleb being a fond memory from Tealeaf's past, and the promise of his future--