#head empty only shadowgast

[wizardnuke]

10 ship songs! i wasn't tagged by anyone to do this i just saw it on the dash and wanted to do it - five for beauyasha, five for shadowgast :^)

beauyasha!

cute thing by car seat headrest

i got so fucking romantic, i apologize,

lemme light your cigarette?

come visit kansas for a week of debauchery,

songs and high fives and weird sex.

alone together by fall out boy

i don't know where i'm going, but i don't think i'm coming home

and i said, i'll check in tomorrow if i don't wake up dead,

this is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end.

the only exception by paramore

i've got a tight grip on reality, but i can't let go of what's in front of me here,

i know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up,

leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream.

butch 4 butch by rio romero

i sing her songs in my garage and make her fall in love with me,

and once we're done, the sun is gone,

we both just sit so nervously.

i talk real slow and speak real low, hoping she'll lean into me.

unknown/nth by hozier

it ain't the being alone (sha-la-la)

it ain't the empty home, baby (sha-la-la)

you know i'm good on my own (sha-la-la)

sha-la-la, baby, you know, it's more the being unknown

so much of the livin', love, is the being unknown.

--

shadowgast!

beautiful crime by tamer

when the sun sets, we're both the same

half in the shadows, half burned in flames

we can't look back for nothin'

take what you need, say your goodbyes

i gave you everything, and it's a beautiful crime.

love from the other side by fall out boy

i saw you in a bright clear field, hurricane heat in my head

the kind of pain you feel to get good in the end, good in the end

inscribed like stone and faded by the rain

"give up what you love, give up what you love, before it does you in"

heatstroke by brick + mortar

be by hozier

the strongest thing i ever felt

was feelings for you

so try to look me in the eye

a difficult goodbye

to all the things we hide

be as you've always been

oh, when there is nobody upstairs to receive us

when i have no kind words left, love, for you

(lover, be good to me)

demolition lovers by my chemical romance

i'm trying, i'm trying to let you know just how much you mean to me

and after all the things we put each other through and

i would drive on to the end with you.

[spritewrites]

(drawn to that sort of) library magic

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Word Count: 4557

A/N: Another huge shoutout to the discord for this one. Love you guys. Based on this prompt that @chockfullofsecrets got. If I got anything wrong about Essek or D&D or grammar, no I didn’t.

They don’t get much time alone, these days.

For one, Essek’s almost always in disguise, and while Caleb isn’t exactly a war hero, he is a relatively well-known public figure around Rexxentrum. And even in Zadash, he sometimes gets looks. They can’t keep creeping into alleyways and between the stacks in the archives, some noble or other will have words about Professor Widogast pressing some mysterious elven man up against a hard surface and kissing him until they’re both flushed down their necks.

On the one hand, Essek rather doesn’t mind that image. On the other, he’s familiar enough with politics, even on this side of the Ashkeepers, that he knows how that would go.

But they still try to find time to study. The sort of mind meld that happens when they work together on the arcane, the moment of clarity when everything falls into place—that’s a magic all its own. And Essek will certainly never tire of watching Caleb work; the way his hair looks tied up to keep it out of his ink, and the way he worries at his bottom lip when he’s having trouble with something, and the way he smiles when he makes a discovery, like he’s just seen the sun for the first time.

It’s intoxicating. Essek’s hooked.

So, an afternoon in the library of the Cobalt Soul, courtesy of Expositor Lionett, is somewhat of a treat. Pays to have friends in high places, he supposes. Shelves upon shelves of arcane knowledge and Caleb Widogast all to himself? It must be his birthday.

They start neat, like they always do, but it’s not long before books and papers are scattered across the heavy wood table. Equations trail off the ends of parchment and finish their message on the paper beside, ink stains their fingertips black, and they’ve begun placing stacks of books on the floor when they run out of surface space. Caleb’s coat has come off at some point, and now it’s hooked over the back of a chair, leaving Caleb in just a shirt and his book holsters. Essek tries to only stare a little.

Caleb has a smudge of ink on his face. Essek wants to kiss it.

The sun is not quite touching the horizon when Caleb sighs, sets his quill down, and stretches.

“The last time I tried to study here, Beauregard kept poking at me. We were almost kicked out.” He’s smiling a little, fond, and faraway.

Essek’s brow furrows. “Poking at you?”

He expects a simple explanation, perhaps some vague words about monk abilities and research and whatever Beauregard is up to these days, but Caleb’s smile freezes to his face.

“Oh. Ah. Well. You know.”

No. No, Essek doesn’t.

“No. No, I don’t.”

Caleb looks pained. “Um. Beauregard does not like—ah. Beauregard is not terribly fond of books, you know. And it does not take me long to read, but… well, you are aware. She can get bored easily.” He turns back to his papers, almost shy, and his voice drops to a mutter. “And she has her ways of dealing with boredom while I read.”

It’s been a while since Caleb has felt the need to hide anything from him, but Essek is familiar enough with the patterns of behavior in his partner to know that indeed, that is what’s going on.

“…All right.” He turns back to his books. “You do not have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

They return to reading, and gradually, talking, and soon they’re back in their rhythm. Papers are passed back and forth, symbols are scribbled down, and even Caleb loses track of time a little bit.

It’s comfortable, familiar, and Essek isn’t used to taking things for granted—especially not in the last decade or so—but he’s fairly certain they could do this forever.

“Here,” Caleb’s saying, “This one discusses Chronurgy in pre-Calamity Marquet, and talks of ancient—bitte, come see—”

Quite literally exactly what they have been looking for. Essek leans over, reaching under Caleb’s arm to swipe his quill from where it ended up on Caleb’s notes a few minutes ago.

Caleb jumps, the book falling from his hand as his elbows pull in toward his sides, and immediately Essek retracts from his personal space.

“What was—”

“Nothing,” says Caleb, far too quickly. “I just thought you were going to… never mind.”

“I was going to what,” Essek says, not quite controlling his frustration. “You’re awfully skittish today—”

“I know, I am sorry.” Caleb’s biting a little bit at the corner of his thumb, a nervous habit he picked up from Veth. “I… am caught up in my own head, I suppose.”

Essek feels his impatience fade at the vulnerability in his words, and he gently removes the hand from Caleb’s teeth and lays it in his lap. “Dangerous for a wizard, chathtiu.”

Caleb gives a soft half-smile, which Essek counts as a resounding win. “You are right, of course.” He smiles wider, trying and failing to hide a rising blush behind his other hand. “Gods, Jester would tear me apart for this.”

Essek only just manages to suppress the “for what?” that rises behind his teeth. He does not want to push too far, too fast. “Jester would do no such thing. I know it. You are hard on yourself, even now.”

“Perhaps.” The secret smile is still clinging to his face, even though Essek can see him trying to stifle it. “Or perhaps you have not spent very much time with tieflings.”

“What?” Now Essek is very lost.

“Never mind.”

“Caleb—”

“It is nothing, really,” Caleb says, taking Essek’s cool hands in his own. “I promise, schatz.”

Essek hesitates. “Is… is this about Beauregard—what was it? Poking you?”

Caleb goes still. More than an answer.

“I see.”

“It is not a… a problem, exactly—” Caleb says quickly, “it is only that I am, ah. Somewhat sensitive to poking.”

Oh.

“And Beauregard, she is not a merciful one, as a rule. You are aware, I am sure.”

Oh.

“So, I am a bit on edge, you understand.” His words are desperately sincere. Essek hardly notices. He is too busy controlling the biggest smile of his life.

“Understood, chathtiu. I am sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

Caleb’s shoulders relax slightly. “Not uncomfortable. Never uncomfortable.”

“Hm.” Essek kisses his forehead, gentle and soft. He smells like cat fur. “And Beauregard, she… pokes you regularly?”

“Not…” Caleb squirms a bit. “Not terribly often.” He has that look that Essek recognizes, the one where his ears are just starting to turn red, and he looks like what he desperately wants is to bury his face in something soft until the embarrassment goes away. It’s usually a cat, but sometimes it’s Essek’s shirt.

Essek decides to scoot a little closer, in case it’s the latter.

He gives Caleb’s back a small rub. There’s something vaguely fiendish curling in his chest, pricking at his lungs in a way that he has not felt since he and Verin were small. He remembers darting through the stacks of tomes in the Lucid Bastion, hands clasped over his mouth to keep quiet, searching for a glimpse of shimmering robe or pointed ear, and when he did find it, he’d sneak up behind and pounce and—

Caleb picks a bit of fuzz off the front of Essek’s shirt, making him flinch at the brushing touch. For a moment, he wonders if Caleb noticed, but he’s not a spymaster for nothing. He can manage a little deception. Caught up in his own head, indeed.

“I am sorry,” Caleb’s saying, “I feel somewhat foolish.” He swivels his knees back under the table. “Have you finished the one about the Abyss?”

Essek flicks out his ears a little. “Well, I would have, but the funny thing about papers on the Abyss is that a lot of it is in Abyssal.”

“I see.” Caleb removes a pinch of soot from his components pouch. “Here, I will take it, I have a first-level slot left today. You can read the Marquet one.”

He takes the scroll, amber glyphs spilling from his fingertips as he speaks a few arcane words. His eyes flash, and then he’s scanning the paper, chewing his lip. Fuck, but he’s attractive when he casts.

Essek moves to read over his shoulder, but although the letters are familiar, it looks like gibberish on the page. Caleb, however, is focused on the words, fingertips still glowing with a fiery energy. They’ve got a system for things like this; Essek knows Comprehend Languages as well as any other wizard worth his salt, but Caleb will remember what the paper says long after the spell fades. If it’s useful, he might write down a verbatim translation for them to reference later.

Caleb can read faster than Essek, but translating through the spell slows him down, and it’s not long before Essek grows restless. He could go back to his own book, he supposes—he left off in the middle of an intriguing passage about Ank’Harel—but he’s found a very nice place for his chin in the crook of Caleb’s shoulder, and he’s not sure that he could find it again if he moved. A few strands of copper hair tickle his nose, and he scrunches it in displeasure.

One minute passes, then two. Essek’s fingers itch. He doesn’t blame Beauregard, studying with Caleb without doing any studying yourself could get tiresome. He’s only been doing it for a handful of minutes, and the poking idea is sounding appealing. After all, he’s right there. Adequately distracted. An easy target.

But he suspects that Caleb would not be very appreciative. If he is as… sensitive as he claims, he might be somewhat put out by such things.

On the other hand, knocking Caleb Widogast off-kilter for a moment sounds interesting. Worth experimenting with, at least. Beauregard does it, and they’re still friends, so the consequences can’t be terrible.

And, well. He wouldn’t have gotten here if he didn’t take risks.

A cautious indigo finger traverses the space between them—not much, anymore, with how close Essek’s pulled his chair—and makes contact with cotton, then wizard.

“Scheiße—” Caleb jumps like Essek cast Shocking Grasp on him, nearly falling out of his chair. Essek—also jumps, not exactly sure what he was expecting but rather surprised and delighted at the result he got.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Are you alright?”

Caleb rights himself and casually covers the spot that Essek touched with his elbow. His cheeks are pink. “I—yes, of course. My apologies, I was not expecting something like that from someone so…” He squints suspiciously. “Not Beauregard.”

He’s really quite cute when he’s flustered. Essek stifles his smile. “I did not mean to startle, chathtiu. I merely… you mentioned that you were ticklish, and I—”

“I am sensitive,” Caleb corrects. Essek raises one eyebrow.

“Mm. Regardless, I did not mean to scare you. I did not know you would have such a…” His gaze tracks down to where Caleb’s arms are tight against his sides, then back up to wary blue eyes, “reaction.”

Caleb raises his chin. His voice only barely wavers when he speaks. Impressive. “Alright, yes, very funny, teasing the human. The human who is reading a very interesting paper with information that you need, if I may remind you—”

Essek laughs. “All right, all right, I am sorry. Please, return to your reading.”

Caleb still looks rather huffy, which is terribly cute, but he obligingly turns back to the table. Instantly, Essek’s hand darts out to pinch his hip, and Caleb makes a little high-pitched noise.

Essek’s smile grows. “You know, Widogast, I am rather sheltered, but I was young once. I know how to recognize when someone is ticklish—”

“Mr. Thelyss.”

Oh. Essek’s in trouble.

“Yes?”

Caleb’s blue eyes are twinkling in the light from the setting sun. “If you wish to be able to perform somatic magic for the foreseeable future, I suggest you keep those—” a pointed look at Essek’s hands— “to yourself, hm?”

Essek isn’t—well. He’s not particularly familiar with the steps of this dance, but he’s certain he can pick it up as he goes along. He’s a quick study. “Of course.”

“We will go back to studying, ja?” Caleb’s talking to him like a child, and it would feel condescending if he were not feeling more childish than he had in a very long time.

He nods. “Yes, Professor.”

Caleb gives him a look, almost stern enough to conceal his amusement. Essek thinks he’s probably getting better at this joking thing.

They’ve not been reading for two minutes when Essek reaches out again. He’s—he’s not trying to be cruel, he really isn’t, it’s just that Caleb is right there, and has only just admitted to being vulnerable. And Essek doesn’t mean to torment him, but the thought of Caleb Widogast, respected teacher and mage and Hero of the Dynasty, giggling is frankly too delightful to resist.

Once more couldn’t hurt. He’s not the sneakiest, but he knows for a fact that Caleb’s perception is terrible when he’s invested in a book.

Another poke, this time to the softness just under his ribcage.

Caleb jumps again.

“Essek.”

And he’s trying to look stern, Essek can tell, but there’s a smile at the corner of his mouth, like he’s only barely keeping it together, and Light above, this is the exactly the kind of thing that makes him want to kiss Caleb Widogast until neither of them can breathe.

He raises his eyebrows, trying for his best Dynasty smirk. “Yes?”

“You are terrible.”

“Mm,” Essek agrees, “Absolutely diabolical.”

And maybe it’s the physical closeness that makes him bold, or the strange mix of mischief and hesitation in Caleb’s eyes, or perhaps some adverse effect of spending an absurd number of hours in a dusty library—but before he can control himself, he leans over, reaches between the holsters, and squeezes Caleb’s ribcage with both hands.

Caleb makes another high-pitched sound, this one significantly louder and more desperate. Instantly, both of his hands are clasped over his mouth, stifling the noise, but doing absolutely nothing to protect him as Essek squeezes again—then again—

A choked laugh tumbles out from between interlocked fingers, and Essek feels his ears twitch toward the sound.

“Oh?” He carefully fits his fingertips into the grooves of Caleb’s ribs. Caleb doubles over with a whine.

This is—honestly, not what he was expecting, but maybe even better than what he was expecting. There’s the sneaky corner of a smile peeking out from behind Caleb’s hands, and Essek feels like he just found his favorite new drug. For a wizard who never smiles, Caleb is awfully ticklish, squirming in his chair as little bitten-off noises leak out from between his fingers.

Essek is struck by the sudden realization that he wants to make Caleb laugh like this forever.

One kicking foot hits the leg of the table, nudging some of the papers about, and Essek immediately withdraws his touch. “Sorry,” he says, amused, as Caleb’s hands dart from his face to around his waist to protect his ribs. “I did not mean to go too far—”

“You,” Caleb huffs, sparing one arm to point an accusing finger at Essek, “are a traitorous snake, Essek Thelyss—”

“Well, we knew that—”

“And,” he continues, “are worse than Beauregard.”

Essek can’t help himself; he bursts out laughing. “Am I really?”

Caleb’s ears turn a bit pink. “Well. Perhaps not quite as bad.”

“Mm.” Essek leans forward, and Caleb wraps his arms a little tighter around his middle, but Essek just presses a little kiss to his cheek. The skin is warm under his lips. “I would hope not. Although,” he adds with a smile, “I would love to see what you look like when you get it worse than this. You’re quite ticklish.”

The pink turns red, and Essek half-expects another correction about being sensitive, but Caleb bites his lip.

“Maybe worse is the wrong term for it—it is, ah. Different. When you do it.”

“Different?” asks Essek. “Different how?”

Caleb meets his eye with an expression somewhere between sheepish and mischievous. “Beauregard does not kiss me afterward.”

Suddenly, Essek is very relieved that a blush does not show very well on drow skin. “Ah. That would explain it.”

“And I…” Caleb is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt in an extremely distracting way. “I do not mind it so much. If it is you.”

Oh.

Well.

“I see.”

“That’s not an invitation—”

“No, of course, I figured not—”

“I… I still have my dignity—”

“Certainly, chathtiu.”

Caleb’s eyes light up at the pet name. Comprehend Languages must still be in effect.

Essek chances it and gives a little wiggle of his fingers toward Caleb’s torso. “I assume ribs are a pretty bad spot?”

The look on Caleb’s face is worth all the coin in the Dynasty.

“Okay, we are done here—”

Essek’s self-control is truly stellar today, excellent work on his part, because the yelp that he wants to make as Caleb makes a lunging grab for his hands comes out as a tiny squeak of alarm.

He glances frantically around to see if a librarian or a monk heard, but no one’s approaching—not that he can tell, anyway, distracted as he is by Caleb’s warm human skin against his fingers, curling into his palm. He’s sure it looks to all the world like they’re merely holding hands, engaged in an intense conversation, but Essek notes the way that Caleb presses his fingers insistently in with a level of amusement.

“All right, all right,” he laughs softly, tugging. “Fair enough—”

But Caleb’s not letting go, or rather, he shifts his grip, and suddenly there’s hands locked around Essek’s wrists.

Essek fights back a smile. Caleb clearly has not been spending much time with wizards recently if he thinks that’s enough to stop him.

With little more than a flick of his fingers, a translucent hand of arcane energy darts up to tickle under Caleb’s chin. Caleb squeaks, ducking his head.

“Fucker—”

“Oops,” Essek coos, not sorry at all, and the hand curls around a rounded ear. “Fight back, then, if you’re so put out.”

Then Caleb’s hands are trying to escape their mutual grip, probably to cast or wriggle free or something, but then Essek grabs his wrists. Joke’s on him. Essek knows for a fact that Caleb doesn’t know Mage Hand.

Spectral fingers spider down Caleb’s shoulder blade, and he shivers, wiggling and distracting Essek just enough to pry his hands free. Quick as lightning, his fingers are in his component pouch, and he’s murmuring a few words under his breath. Essek jerks back out of his lap, wary, but before he can say anything, cool hands are prodding into his waist from behind.

He jumps, managing to keep a squeak from leaving his lips, but when he spins, there’s no one there. The hands move over his ribs, and his elbows jam into his sides as he curls forward. “Schmidt—”

“Yes, schatz, you are in very deep Schmidt indeed,” Caleb quips, and Essek has exactly enough control to flip him off.

“You—hm, aah—are a menace, Caleb Wi—Widoga—shit!”

“Oh, cursing, are we?” smirks Caleb, but Essek can barely pay him any mind when the ghostly prodding has wormed its way up into his armpits.

He hasn’t been ticklish—or, upon considering recent evidence, perhaps he just hasn’t been tickled—since Verin was young, and the sensation is simultaneously novel and comfortingly familiar. It feels almost like he swallowed Beau’s lightning gloves, like his lungs are sparkling within his chest, and something big and mischievous is swelling in his throat. He chokes on a giggle, but there’s another one right behind it, and suddenly they overwhelm him, pouring from his mouth like fire breath.

He’s desperately aware of the fact that he’s in a library, and suddenly doesn’t begrudge Caleb the choice to cover his mouth. Essek bites his lip, snickering as quietly as he can, and strongly considers doing the same. Besides, it’s hard to figure out what to do with his hands when his attacker is invisible and only semi-corporeal—speaking of which.

“Now, are you going to let me finish reading?” Caleb says, sounding very smug.

“I—eehehe, nahaha—Caleb, qualla—” The Unseen Servant is still scratching at the hollows of his underarms, and Light forbid Essek move his elbows even an inch for fear of giving him more access. He can, however, flick a fingertip and send his Mage Hand to tickle under Caleb’s knee.

Caleb snorts, which is decidedly not the reaction Essek was expecting, and is nearly distracting enough for him to lose concentration on the hand. His leg jerks up, and he twists to try to avoid the touch, ending up curled in his chair like a pill bug. “Scheiße—”

The problem, which Essek had completely failed to consider until now, is that Mage Hand is a concentration spell. Caleb smacks at the spectral purple hand, trying to keep it away from an apparent weak spot where his hip meets his leg, and it flickers briefly. Essek chokes back a laugh as Schmidt prods delicately into the back of his ribcage, steeling his mind to keep the hand in existence.

The spark of mischief and competition, familiar from when he used to play with Verin as a child, rises in his chest. Keeping quiet, which once seemed so important, falls to the wayside in favor of tickling Caleb until he forgets his own name.

“N-nohoho, bitte,” Caleb squeaks, as the hand crawls up his side. “Ich kann nicht—”

He lands another smack on his spectral attacker, which flips him off. The good news is, the Mage Hand is fairly durable.

Schmidt is not.

By the Light, Essek had forgotten how helpless laughter makes a person. His chest aches, every limb feels like it’s made of lead, and his best bet to escape is wild flopping. Not particularly helpful, and certainly not dignified. He could, however, try to eliminate the threat.

He brings his hand up to perform some sort of Dispel, but it fizzles at his fingertips as the arcane words are rudely interrupted by another bout of hysterics. Shit. He clutches desperately at his robes, trying to gather his self-control from where it’s slipping through his teeth, and tries again. This time, he doesn’t even make it halfway, as helpless giggles come tumbling out of his mouth the moment he opens it.

If he survives this, Caleb’s sleeping on the floor for a week.

The human in question, however, doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Essek can’t focus well enough to get a good look, but he seems to be attempting to curl up as small as he can, giggling quietly. Essek notes with a level of amusement that he looks like if he makes one wrong move, he’ll slither entirely out of the chair and onto the floor. He sends the Mage Hand to prod at Caleb’s ribs again, where he seems to be most ticklish. Maybe that’ll help the process along.

“Bastard!” Caleb squeaks, kicking, and maybe ribs weren’t fair, but Essek hardly has the clear mind or empathy to care. Watching Caleb fall apart is far too much fun.

Caleb bats the arcane energy away from his torso long enough to stutter out a few giggly instructions. Schmidt tickles over the back of Essek’s neck, dangerously close to his ears, and Essek scrunches his shoulders like a turtle. All right, that isn’t fair. “Ahaha, ehe—cheat! S-scoundrel!”

“Y-you started it!” Caleb snorts, and who’s childish now, Widogast?

In a move that could only be spurred on by some wild mix of desperation and prayer, Essek throws an elbow back to try and catch Schmidt, do some damage—any damage—and he—

Misses, of course he misses, he’s a goddamn wizard in melee with an invisible ghost—

Another wave of laughter hits him, clawing at the back of his throat and battering at his lips as he tries to contain it. Incorporeal fingers are pinching at that dreadful spot where his underarms meet his shoulder blades, and suddenly teleporting to the Astral Sea sounds very appealing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Mage Hand flicker in and out of its path over Caleb’s stomach. And Essek—

Essek—

He can’t, he can’t do it, it feels like his mind is melting, the air in his lungs feels carbonated, and really, this is cheating, how did Caleb know about his underarms—

He cracks, the Mage Hand dissipating in a purple mist as he fully resigns himself to overwhelming, hysterical laughter. Both hands reach forward wildly, intending to tickle, but once he locates Caleb through his mirth, he finds that all he can do is grab his holsters and hold on for dear life.

Caleb gives his scalp a little scratch, which goes wildly underappreciated in this moment. “Learned your lesson, schatz?”

“Vith’ir, lueth vith dosst faer—”

“Essek, I can still understand you—”

“Gentlemen.”

The magic dissipates. Essek’s eyes snap to gray-blue robes, a pair of firmly clasped hands in front of a cobalt sash, and finally up to the face of the blond half-elf standing over them. Fuck.

He feels his ears drop in panic, grip tightening on Caleb. This might be worse than being caught kissing in an alley. He opens his mouth, but Caleb’s already speaking.

“Our apologies, sir, we did not mean—ahem—we will be on our way, will we not?” Caleb meets his eyes. “Essek?”

Essek is suddenly violently aware that he looks a mess. His hair and clothes are mussed and covered in smudges of ink, he’s breathing like he just ran from here to Xhorhas and back, and he’s blushing like a schoolgirl.

Light. If his Den could see him now.

Some subconscious part of him—the Thelyss part, he presumes—takes over. “Yes, of course, we do not mean to overstay our welcome,” he says primly, waving a hand to sort out the papers that have scattered in the scuffle. He keeps the magic in front of his face, to try to distract from the dark indigo touching his cheeks, and sends a little silent thanks to his mother for all the court training. The only good thing his mother ever did for him, Essek supposes.

He accepts Caleb’s hand up and smooths his robes, trying to disguise his heaving lungs as they attempt to recuperate even a fraction of the necessary oxygen. “Thank you, and please be sure to let Expositor Lionett know that we very much appreciated the Soul’s hospitality.”

“…Hm.” The half-elf does not seem impressed.

“Well—” Caleb grabs Essek’s hand and yanks.

Essek stumbles over his boots, laughing a little, and just manages to dodge past the monk on his way toward the entrance to the library. He shouts a word of thanks over his shoulder as he scrambles to keep up with Caleb, barely managing to control a giddy laugh as they burst out into the setting Zadash sun.

[raedrart]

A sketch trying to combine half lazy morning energy, half “pretty sure young man” energy.

[ID: A black and white drawing of Caleb Widogast and Essek Thelyss from Critical Roll. Essek is sitting in Caleb’s lap, wearing an oversized shirt that is falling off of his shoulder. Essek is holding Caleb’s chin up, and they are both smiling. End ID.]

[fempunkandkittens]

So are none of us gonna talk about the part where essek grabbed Caleb by the back of the head to direct him where he wanted him to go

Or are we just all still processing that

Matt saw the bottom energy Liam gave to Caleb and decided to fully advertise that Essek is a top and I’m here for it tbh

[am-toast]

my redraw of the thumbnail from the latest episode! the shadowgast brain rot is strong with this one

[ch0c0tat]

I enjoy Essek very much... almost too much. In the details on his cloak I've also stuck lil easter eggs to all of the members of the Mighty Nein.

...I may make this into a gif in the future.

[spacepirateangels]

no but its perfect that the first canon acknoledgement of Caleb's feelings for Essek was not said out loud, it's probable that it would have taken him ages to open up about it otherwise!!

[emptyshellofanillusionwizard]

✨i’ve got that essek thelyss brain rot✨

(click for better image quality ^-^)

[orym-blossoms]

Don't mind me, just . . . Thinking about Shadowgast again.

[cardinaldaughter]

I heard one of my cats playing on the scratch pad and thought to myself, “I wonder which cat that is, Caleb or Essek?”

My cats are named Buster and Lily.

[spritewrites]

Hi! I love your writing! I was wondering if I could ask for prompt 30 with lee!Essek

oh, anon, if you only knew how much you absolutely can.

this got away from me so far it’s not even funny. like i can’t even see it on the horizon. expand at your own risks, this boi is beefy

30. “I’m not ticklish, who do you think I am?”

“Caleb?”

“Scheiße—” Caleb jumps.

Oh. Essek.

It wasn’t that he… forgot the man was there, that task would be nearly impossible. It’s only that Essek hasn’t spoken in a few hours, and Caleb had been wondering… well. Maybe he isn’t enjoying the book; recommendations for people you don’t know very well can be tricky. Maybe he simply has to go home. Maybe he got a Message from the Bright Queen, announcing that all of the Nein were to be executed immediately.

All were possibilities.

That is why he is surprised to see Frumpkin’s tiny owl form perched on the drow’s shoulder, investigating a studded ear with nimble precision. The shoulder in question is hitched up quite high, seemingly trying to protect the thin skin but only succeeding in giving the owl further access to the pointed tip.

There’s some kind of quivering tension playing around Essek’s lips. Caleb consciously stops himself from staring. It wouldn’t do to offend his research partner.

“He is—ah, he is nibbling me, Caleb,” Essek hisses. His ear flicks, and Caleb watches his fingers twitch, tracing half-beginnings to a number of spells that he seems to reconsider mid-cast before squeezing his hand into a fist.

Oh, dear.

“Frumpkin,” he says sharply, and snaps his familiar back to his own shoulder. Frumpkin immediately chirps and nuzzles the side of his own rounded ear, and Caleb huffs fondly and gives him a little scritch on his head. “Be a good cat. I apologize, he should know better than to attack anyone ticklish. I believe Fjord taught him that lesson rather well.”

He’d hoped the quip would smooth things over well enough to continue their study. Instead, Essek… bristles. “I’m not—I’m not ticklish, who do you think I am?”

Fuck.

“I do not mean to offend,” Caleb says quickly. Frumpkin gives a skeptical quirk of his head, clearly indicating his thoughts on the matter. Well. We can’t all go around rubbing up against attractive wizards, now can we? “I only thought… well, no matter. I am sorry that he bothered you.”

He shoots the drow a look that he hopes comes across as generally respectful and amiable—he is their liaison, after all, and they’ve worked far too hard to jeopardize such a relationship—but Essek’s eyes aren’t on him. They’re off, just slightly, trained on the spot where Frumpkin’s feathers are brushing the crook of Caleb’s neck. “It’s quite alright. You are… not, I suppose?”

Caleb swallows the “No, Nott is the goblin” that wells up in his throat. “Hm? Not what?”

“Not…” Essek gestures vaguely in the direction of his own recently victimized ear. “Not ticklish.”

After several months of dealing with tieflings, the way he stumbles over the word is not lost on Caleb. A flush begins to rise in his cheeks, and he can only hope his scruff hides the full effect of it. “Ah. Ich verstehe. Ja, but not…” He casts a sideways look at Frumpkin, who blinks. Bastard. “Well, a long time with fluffy animals on one’s shoulder builds up a certain tolerance in the area, I suppose.”

Essek also blinks, unreadable. His face is perhaps a bit more violet than it had previously been, but it may also be a trick of the light.

And Caleb could certainly blame that for making him bold, or something pent up inside from sitting across from Essek for two hours and forty-seven minutes without talking, or something else, but...

“It is funny,” Caleb continues before he can talk himself out of it, “that you say that you are immune. You seemed quite ticklish a moment ago.”

Essek goes still. Scheiße, if Caleb could just maintain enough composure around this man to talk about magic and research like a normal person, and not ask personal questions, they might manage to get out of Xhorhas alive.

“You are…” Oh, Essek’s speaking. “You are not wrong, Caleb Widogast. I suppose it has been… a while. I was under the impression that I had grown out of such things.” He clears his throat, and his ear flicks again. Must be involuntary. “It appears I was mistaken.”

Oh.

Well, that wasn’t what Caleb was expecting at all.

“I see.” He manages a small smile. “I will be sure to keep that information away from the others.”

Essek looks alarmed. “Would they… I mean…”

Oh, dear, the Shadowhand might be in greater trouble that even he realizes. Caleb’s smile pulls harder at his dimples at the thought, but he stifles it. “They can be a bit mean, if they know too much. Not to worry, I will keep them at bay for you if anything were ever to… come up.”

The anxiety in Essek’s gaze fades, but his ears are still fixed in Caleb’s direction. It’s rather difficult not to feel like an insect under a glass, with the way his dark blue eyes seem to see far deeper than they should be capable. “They subject you to this as well?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” Caleb had not anticipated how difficult this would be to say out loud. “When they can.”

Essek tilts his head. “But not your neck, you say?”

“My, ah. My ribs tend to be a bit more… productive. If that’s the sort of thing you’re after.” The flush is back. Fuck.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Essek looks… curious, almost. Studious. The way he looks when they’re researching, but he’s eyeing the fabric underneath Caleb’s book holsters instead.

Caleb fights the urge to squirm.

“Well,” says Essek, catching Caleb off guard with the breeziness of his tone. “We have work to do, yes? Frumpkin seems to agree with me.”

Indeed, Frumpkin is hopping off Caleb’s shoulder to peck at a bit of blank parchment. Honestly, Caleb wouldn’t put it past him to be doing it on purpose. Probably for the best, either way.

“Yes, yes of course. Apologies, if I overstepped—”

Essek waves him off. “Nonsense. After all,” he grins, “I find it useful to learn the weaknesses of my friends along with my enemies.”

Hm. “It goes both ways, Herr Thelyss.”

He seems to consider this for a moment, glancing between the owl on the table and the blushing wizard sitting across from him. For a moment, Caleb swears he sees something in the smooth lines of his face—something darker, perhaps, or just deeper—but then it’s gone, and the drow is smirking again.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it does.”

[the-things-i-love]

Jester, stage whispering in a VERY small room: Caleb, you should get naked!!!

Essek: 😳😳😳

M9: 👀👀👀

Me, and the rest of the Shadowgast community:

[essektheylyss]

Professor Widogast is halfway through explaining why the runes for this particular evocation spell need to be drawn very, very carefully when an arcane flash emits a small elven figure into the empty space above his office couch, collapsing into the cushions with barely a word, only a muffled groan. The student sitting in front of him nearly jumps out of her chair.

The lines in Widogast’s face only wrinkle as he sits up and frowns. “Are you alright, schatz? Do you need anything?”

The student—who had been nodding silently along to his explanation, having come narrowly close to blowing herself up earlier in the week—blinks at the man who has just appeared in Widogast’s office and received such an unsurprised response, one laden with a term of endearment, no less.

“No, no, I’m fine,” the elf replies, voice faint with exhaustion. Though she can’t see much of his face, he seems to be young, his skin a darkened brown more common on the Menagerie Coast, though his accent is unfamiliar, and she mirrors her professor’s frown trying to place it. This doesn’t seem to be alarming to her distinguished professor, so she tries to match his stoicism.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Widogast asks, with more intention, and the elf moves enough to shake his head. She sees a flash of violet in his eyes, which is far more uncommon in the Menagerie Coast.

“No, narrowly so. I simply needed to make an expedient exit.” His voice is fainter still, and she blinks again—he seems to be half-asleep already.

He buries his head into a cushion, and Widogast nods. “Alright. Well, I’m going to finish up with Aleya, if that’s alright.”

He mumbles an affirmative, and his breath is already steady and slow by the time the sound fades.

Aleya glances sideways at him, committing elements of his appearance to memory—his modest but fashionable clothing, a brimmed hat that obscures much of his sleeping face, a significant quantity of silver jewelry, and a large ring gleaming with small arcane runes adorning his left ring finger.

She knows runes well—this is not the first time she has found herself in a professor’s office, working out how to make her rather unwieldy drawing skills form the shapes of them in ways that will not get her killed in the process of casting. She can’t quite places these particular glyphs, as small as they are, but they seem at least somewhat familiar.

When she turns back, Widogast is peering keenly at her with a crooked smile. “A friend. Pay him no mind.”

She nods, but leans forward, and tries to keep her voice as low as she can while still allowing the aging man to hear her. “Elves don’t sleep.”

“They can, especially if they are tremendously tired,” he answers at the same volume, and taps the side of his nose. “Let’s finish with these runes, ja?”

It takes another twenty minutes before he is satisfied with her penmanship, and she packs her spellbook and her texts back into her bag. “Thank you, sir,” she nods, slipping out of the door.

She hangs at the threshold of the door as it closes behind her, and hears the creak of the professor’s chair as he stands.

“Oh, merely a friend?” the elf’s voice asks, and she can’t tell if that’s humor in his voice.

“One of these days you are going to give a student a heart attack, and I am going to have too much paperwork to do.”

“Well, next time I will ask the Empire’s spies to give me an hour before they turn me over to the king.”

“And yet here you are in the office of a Rexxentrum mage, associated with the crown.”

The glyphs on the ring click in her mind. Illusion magic. Her jaw drops, and she shuffles away as quietly as possible, but she isn't quite out of eavesdropping range.

“Darling, as much as I enjoy the verbal sparring, I am quite exhausted. Are you joining me for a nap, or no?”

[zukostolemyhonor]

btw I think I got why Liam said Essek was toxic, he's toxic for Caleb, in a way, because he sees too much of his old self in Essek, too much, and he's afraid to get close or to even think properly about those similarities, it's extra hard for him because he's trying to heal the best way he can and he's afraid of slipping back to his old habits and purposes, I mean we know that Essek has a lot of power regarding time, if the both of them work together they might have a possibility to really change the timeline, Caleb knows that and he's afraid because there's a part of him that still wants that outcome to become a reality, and the other part, the one who's trying so hard to heal and change and be better and atone is fricking terrified of that, he doesn't want it. I think caleb has the potential to help Essek and help himself in doing so, I think the way Caleb says thing to him resonates deeply with Essek's conscience, if they talk, understand each other properly and rely on the rest of the m9 they both can grow stronger and wiser and hopeful, i think Essek will truly start to heal if Caleb continues to reach out an hand for him (even if he's scared) and that healing process will be the key for both of them to understand one and for all that changing time is not the right way and is not the type of solution they truly want.

[amyinabisexualmaelstrom]

Sure. Essek will stay behind to "keep watch" oh my sweet boy you are not subtle.

[marius-lepual]

fellow shadowgasts it's been an honor shipping with you