#feeling like caleb rn

[br3adindadung3on]

how i miss you mr. thelyss….

[cross-d-a]

something something about Caleb Dume surviving the genocide of his people and divorcing himself from his culture and remaking himself entirely in order to survive

and something something about orphaned Ezra Bridger who loves Lothal but doesn’t quite belong being adopted into a self-made-cobbled-together family of outcasts from multiple cultures

and something something about Kanan choosing to embrace his culture and religion again despite his fear and the risk it brings to him and his family

and something something about Ezra embracing that culture as whole-heartedly as he can when so much of it has been lost

and something something about both of being denied the ability to practice certain aspects of their religion because otherwise they might be killed for it

and something something about Kanan remembering how Master Billaba carefully sheared his hair and oh so reverently plaited his Padawan braid and held it gently between her fingertips and told him she would do right by him and told him not to be afraid and told him she would be there for him until her dying breath and beyond and told him that he was going to be a great Jedi Knight one day and told him “you are our future youngling and I will do everything in my power to protect that future”

and something something about Kanan looking at Ezra’s wild hair with something hollow and aching tucked between his ribs because he longs to show Ezra the devotion his Master showed him and her Master showed before her and his Master before him but it’s not safe to gently plait that Padawan braid behind Ezra’s ear because such a sign of devotion will mean death and Kanan can only hope that Ezra understands how much Kanan loves him and how much Kanan is proud of him and how much hope and life he sees in his Padawan because while that Padawan braid may be the physical link between future and past tying together generations of Masters and Padawans who have lived and loved and passed on because “we are what they grow beyond”—

Kanan knows that every moment has led to this and Ezra is the future his Master and her Master before her never expected but they would be so proud to see Ezra now and Kanan can only hope Ezra knows how proud Kanan is of him too and know when he looks at Ezra he knows everything is going to be okay because “we are what they grow beyond” and despite everything that’s been lost to them Ezra is carrying the heart and soul of thousands of years of legacy and Kanan looks at Ezra knowing he can’t give him that Padawan braid but he’ll be damned if he can’t teach him the things that matter and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything to protect the future he sees in Ezra’s eyes

[aeoris4lovers]

Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar

There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.

It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.

Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.

He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone. 

“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”

Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.

The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside. 

As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces. 

When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.

All he said was, “Let me.”

She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.

“If you insist.”

Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time. 

Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.

Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided. 

At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep. 

Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.

And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.

In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim — it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.

And come it did.

One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.

All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.

As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions. 

“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”

And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?

How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?

It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.

[welcometogrouchland]

Find it funny how willow very much WAS the voice of reason a lot of the time in the demon realm but then she gets to the human realm and is so confused and scared that she sort of just sits back and tries to have fun and make memories where she can. We love a self care queen. Being stupid is good for her <3

[pipedreams13]

much as i'd like to say jude in the play for 'a little life' isn't exactly what i imagine him to look like from the vague descriptions in the book, all it took was one small clip from the play to convince me that no person couldve been better for the role than james norton was

the performance is just so fucking moving like for just those two minutes of the scene i got so absorbed into their reality that i forgot mine even existed

james embodies jude so well its fuckin insane. From every subtle movement of his to his delivery reminds me of the jude i read in the book and i think thats beautiful

its so rare to find a piece of theatrical media that does justice to the book the way they did

its sad that i couldn't see the play bc well im not in europe but honestly, i don't think i couldve if i was there either. The book ripped my heart out, loved it dearly yet at the same time threw it onto the ground and stomped on it till it was just a sludge of meat and blood.

And i'm still at 'the happy years' and i just know that its gonna keep getting worse from here on :')

[piratespencil]

Marisha’s Caleb impression in c2e75 is life changing.

[unfried-mouth-wheat]

okay owl house fandom count of hands how many of you would’ve preferred a Caleb Ex Machina rather than a Papa Titan Ex Machina?

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Beau: Are you afraid that if you get your old body back...

Jester: It means you have to leave us and go back to Yeza and your son?

Beau: Because that's totally a manifested condition you are putting on this situation

----

Caleb: Hard for a son to be away from a mother.

----

Fjord: We certainly need you. We'd be short sighted.

-----

Caleb: We wouldn't judge you if you wanted to stay with us for a while.

Beau: Or if you wanted to go home.

Caleb: Or if you wanted to stay with us for a while.

[diabeticgirl4]

I've noticed that since travis learned (in a talks episode iirc) that caduceus basically poured all his stats into wisdom, he's made a habit of constantly asking him "what do your elf firbolg eyes see" and/or specifically asking his insight/perception on things and he doesn't do that type of thing w any other character and idk if I'm just being overly petty or what but idk it just. Irks me. Rubs me the wrong way. Just a tiny bit. :/

[cranberrylane]

you know what reading YA rom-com for the first time does to an emotionally repressed 22-year-old? it makes her re-listen to junior doctor

[ana-bananya]

I've been waiting for Caleb's tome for like 3 years now and I wish I was more excited about it, but knowing that I probably won't be able to play the game so I can get his outfit and charms is killing a lot of my excitement over it. My living situation for the past year has made it difficult to play any online games and I've been hoping things would be fixed by now but they aren't. I know it's literally just a game but I've been looking forward for this for so long and I'm probably gonna miss out on most of it.

[pass-me-the-dilfs]

Being creative but lazy is such a struggle. Like I want to draw and paint and figure out digital art and crochet and do pottery and figure out drag makeup and write a book and also a screen play but I just..... don't? Like I would love to do those things in theory, but actually getting up and doing them? I'd rather die.

[littlestpersimmon]

Am caught in a death spiral my lieges. I don't feel entitled to anyone's time, effort or resources but I feel so beat down. I am disabled, I am working so much I genuinely developed a hunched back. I am alone responsible for my autistic sister, her parentified sibling, and my two parents who are disabled with extremely limited movement. I have three jobs. I can't ask for help on twitter because people I work for follow me there. My work requires me to draw every day, without a day off, ever. I have a "morality clause" which means if I or the author I work with are deemed to be acting in any way the company thinks inappropriate, we are immediately fired and would have to return every single cent we have made. I feel at my wits end. My employers are american- but I am not. I live in the global south- government assistance in the Philippines is *nonexistent*

Last week I asked for help to pay for electricity. The other week I asked for help with my sister who had to be rushed to the ER.

I doxxed myself and posted medical info to this blog, so many strangers know my address, my legal name, everything just for me to be able to seek mutual aid- Wallah I do not want to be this person, but if anyone could please, pick up a print from my inprnt, or subscribe to my patreon, I already have 300+ drawings up there and I upload thrice to four times a month, or if you could send direct tips it would make a world's difference. I will try to open commissions next week but as the world is being plunged into wherever it is we are headed, it's getting harder and harder to get clients.

Currently myself dealing with housing insecurity- we only have a year or two to fix our traditional filipino house as it is falling apart due to the philippine storms and termites- *please* help me and my disabled family of three. I feel I am rambling now bc there's so much on my mind, on my plate, I've asked friends and my partner for help, my sister and my cousins and my friends are all I have. My mom's side of the family cannot help as they are all extremely poor themselves, and my paternal side of the family have emotionally abused me and have members that committed routine csa on me. I do not take any of the help I receive here for granted, and I'm sorry. Reblogs are off as I am asking for help from followers as I feel very ashamed / embarrassed/ humiliated to still be stuck in this dark place . Sorry and thank you again

Inprnt is having a sale rn, everything is like at 40% off!

And my tipping jars:

Sorry and thank you again. If you can't donate or purchase its OK, just please please please include me in your prayers, make mi shebeirach for my health so I csn continue to work, or any prayers at all for me. Thank you

[toppatturmoil]

wait actually unrelated but. Thinking

[captainmera]

I know ur probably jam packed with requests rn so feel free to take this request whenever you feel like <3

But could ya draw Caleb carving/meeting Flapjack? I fricken love the dang birb

Take care, lots of love! 💕

🐦

[thatfaerieprincess]

I don't usually blog directly abt CR I just reblog but uhhhhhhhhh I am STILL thinking about Ashton getting his head inspected by Essek. That was literally almost everything I wanted from that scene!! I have been dreaming about nearly exactly that scenario for MONTHS!!

Ever since we first saw Caleb in C3 I've been sitting on this fic idea I'll never write where Caleb and Essek get to sit Ashton down in their shared study and inspect them and ask them questions and answer questions for them!!! I wanted Ashton to be treated SO gently and so respectfully and yet completely depersonalized as just A Thing for them to study, but still being checked in on!! Caleb being SO careful to make sure Ashton doesn't feel uncomfortable bc of his own history Being An Experiment, the two of them getting Ashton's full story and just Making Eye Contact over their head!! Swapping notes and theories, Caleb filling Essek in on what he knows abt the potions of dunamis, teaching Ash abt what they know, Caleb keeps going into teacher mode, Ashton being somewhat zoned out when they aren't being spoken too, sitting in a comfortable chair just letting themself be moved and positioned! Caleb asking if they need any water or snacks or extra pillows !! Ashton is deeply uncomfortable but in a very comfortable way, not used to being treated with this kind of respect and care, especially not being studied by someone who isn't LEERING !! They give Ashton a full briefing at the end with all their conclusions!! Maybe some other time they run some tests on their abilities!!

And obviously the scene in c3e95 is entirely different by way of No Caleb, but with just Essek that was p much everything I could've wanted!! Being asked "may I touch?" And then taking their jaw and tilting their head?! Peering into the hole in their head and going "O.O Oh Boy!" Getting to teach Ash abt dunamancy and the Luxon!! The only thing that could've made it better was if Essek mentioned the need to confer with his partner about it!!

My only dearest hope rn is that Some DayTM when all this is over and they get that chance to study a little more in depth, that Caleb can be there too. Idk if it'll ever happen again like that in campaign and not just post-campaign fic but!!! I was at peace for like 10 whole minutes there! nevermind Everything Else that happened in this episode!!