#if it had been - say - jester; to hold up the beacon and say Here is this thing. and I return it to you.

[mostlyanything19]

Well DAMN you guys, I just watched the part where, on the cusp of being arrested and possibly killed for being Empire intruders, Caleb pulls the lost Beacon out of Jester’s haversack and with one fell swoop shifts the atmosphere in the room, the possible trajectory of the war, and the ENTIRE game’s storyline 180 degrees on its axis. What a MOMENT. what a MOVE.

AND I also finally met Essek which is exciting, I’ve been VERY curious about him.

[xbadgerbearx]

bird

word count: 1.6k

Can’t Sleep: [4] … [6]

Not too long later, Gaius Grieves revealed himself. Your little trio watched as Robert discreetly put a gun to his back and started talking. You weren't close enough to decipher what he said. Once he started moving your team got the cue to follow. However, everyone stopped in their tracks once soldiers were spotted.

"I thought Milton was supposed to be our lookout," you muttered as the soldiers started speaking Spanish to the patrons in the club.

As the soldiers got more aggressive in their search for Americans, Robert turned to Cleo.

"All right," Robert motioned to Grieves. "Take him out through the back, all right? Find my coordinates in the pad and meet me in half an hour," he ordered while handing Abner a gun.

"What?"

"Hey, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, but-"

"Go."

Cleo hesitated before grabbing Grieves.

"Let's go."

As you were leading your small group to the back entrance, you heard Robert yell out, "Hey, calm down! There's no need to disturb everyone's night."

You could faintly hear Flag speak up as you found a door marked Solo Empleados.

"This way."

Unfortunately the door you opened was the dressing room for the dancers. You heard Abner say, "Oh, God," before a stumbling sound and a gun being handled. You briefly looked back to see Abner holding Grieves at gun pointing and ordering him to "Move it!"

Damn. That was a little hot.

Pushing your way through the dancers and out the door, you let out a small gasp at the soldier standing in front of you. Cleo, ever the quick thinker, used her device to have a rat crawl down his throat.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

You eventually made your way outside in an alley. Milton jogged over once he caught sight of you four.

"Your equipment manipulates animal behavior, clever," Grieves spoke out. "I'm working on something similar with humans."

"Be quiet, please."

"You are perceivably panicked. I'm guessing that you are not the alphas of this battalion."

"Do you want a dozen angry rodents crawling up your ass?" Cleo snapped.

"My answer might not be what you expect."

"Disgusting," you commented as Abner ushered Grieves to move.

You quickly made your way into the van. Milton took the driver's seat, Abner sat in the middle across from Grieves who still had a gun pointed at him, and you and Cleo took a seat in the back by Nanaue.

"Hello, friends!"

"Hi, yes, hello to you too, Nanaue," you said before pointing at Grieves. "Nom nom this man if I give the word."

"Okay!"

Cleo rummaged through DuBois bag before handing you the coordinate pad he spoke of earlier. Was that a picture of his daughter you saw? You couldn't get a good look since Cleo zipped up the bag. Coordinates in hand, you made your way back up the front to give Milton directions.

"Oh ho ho, what's this?" Grieves smuggly declared. You were too busy paying attention to the road to hear him.

"What's what?"

"I saw that little look you gave to your teammate."

"There was no look," Abner denied.

"Ah, but there was. How are you going to pretend you weren't just looking at their ass as they passed? You seem to have a school boy crush."

"Abner has a crush?" Cleo entered the conversation.

"No!"

Grieves laughed before answering Cleo. "You seem to have forgotten that I study people for a living, and I am very good at my job."

"Pet pet and Polky?" Nanaue piped up from the back.

"No! No Pet pet and Polky," Abner said with exasperation. However, upon looking at you and seeing how captivating you looked under the flashing lights of the street lamps, he followed it up with defeated, "Okay, maybe Pet pet and Polky."

"Dios mío!" Cleo exclaimed before she was hurriedly shushed. They both looked over to see if you heard.

"Okay, now take a right onto this street."

You did not.

"I'm happy for you, Abner."

"You seem to have forgotten you are on a mission. This isn't some little girl's slumber party."

Cleo slapped Grieves over the back of the head as Abner seemed to remember that he had a gun in his hand.

"Be quiet."

"Is- is that them?"

The team all looked at you as they looked out the window. Following your gaze, it landed on an upside down armored vehicle in a ditch.

"Of course it is, who else would be dumb enough," you sighed.

Milton slowly approached the area and parked the van. As soon as it stopped you jumped out to see if they were still there. Turns out you didn't have to wait long; the back door unlocked to reveal your three teammates scuffed but otherwise unharmed.

You wouldn't admit it but you felt relieved.

"All right," Robert grunted. "Let's go to Jotunheim."

"Nope. There's somethin' we gotta take care of first."

"What?"

Rick sighed out, "As much as it pains me to say, we gotta get Harley Quinn."

"Harley who?"

"Quinn. She was on Team 1 with me. Now that I know where she is, we gotta go get her."

"Fuck no."

"Come on, man." They made their way back into the van after you. "She's a valuable asset."

"I said no."

"Don't make me get Waller into this."

Robert thought for a moment. "Fuck, fine, alright. We'll go get 'er."

Everyone eventually got seated. This time you actually sat in a seat since you weren't planning on taking an impromptu nap—although that did sound nice. Flag filled Milton out on the details and directed him on where to go as you all got cozy. Robert and Chris were going at it again, Cleo was asleep, Nanaue was trying to get you to sit in his lap, and Abner was watching in amusement.

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"Pet pet?"

"No, Nanaue."

Nanaue put on his best pout, "Please?"

You should not have turned around to look at him. Sighing, you stood up and made your way over to him.

"Hahaha!" He sounded like a giddy kid in a candy store. He gently picked you up and placed you on his lap. Immediately he started petting you again and hummed. Your legs were cramped and you felt like you were about to fall off his lap. Without saying anything, you sprawled your legs across Abner's lap. He just looked at you with a smile before adjusting himself to accommodate you. Resting his arms over your legs, he continued looking out the window.

"How fascinating."

"Hmm?" You looked at Grieves.

"You don't happen to also control animal behavior, do you?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Fair."

You heard a loud sigh from Chris. "Is this going to become a regular occurance?"

"What, you jealous? I'm calling it now, if we have another night during this mission I'm using him as my cuddle buddy."

"Whatever."

Although you said you wouldn't, you were almost asleep before Robert made the call for everyone to gear up. While everyone was rushing to get their gear on, you just yawned and leaned over to handcuff Grieves to a seat before making yourself at home on Nanaue again. You weren't exactly trained to fight with weapons, although you did grab a nearby combat knife to carry.

"You gotta be kiddin' me. You're gonna risk the entire mission for a mental defective dressed as a court jester."

"This is coming from a guy that wears a toilet seat on his head."

"We don't leave our own behind," Rick reminded.

"You're okay with this?"

"No, but I've been around Flag when he's got a rag in his mouth. Best not to tug it."

"Motherfucker!"

Just as everyone seemed almost ready, you hopped off Nanaue and gently nudged Cleo.

"Come on, gotta wake up."

"All right, let's go."

Everyone—besides Grieves—exited the vehicle before Flag announced his plan.

"All right, we'll enter through the third floor, go to the inner staircase, and then down to the cellar where they usually keep their detainees. Hopefully, Harley's still alive."

Still butthurt about what Robert said, Chris stubbornly muttered, "It's not a toilet seat, it's a beacon of freedom!"

Everyone got into position; Peacemaker somehow scaled a building to get a vantage point, Abner was down the street looking for traffic, Rick and Robert were beside one of the walls ready to climb to the third floor, you turned into a bird (much to the amazement of your team) so you could quickly enter the window Robert would open, and Nanaue—who forgot you turned into a bird—stared at you.

"Ratatouille, what do you got?"

"Third floor hallway's clear. Abner?"

"There doesn't seem to be any incoming traffic."

"Bird."

"Nanaue, that's Mimic you meathead- and stay off the comm!"

"Colonel, I got a clean shot on the only one in the office. Just give the word."

"Fire on three, two..."

"What're you guys doing?"

Rick looked at Harley, then DuBois, then back to Harley. "I... you- we're here to save you."

"You were gonna... save me?" Harley visibly looked touched.

"It was a really good plan, too."

"Well I can go back inside and you can still do it."

"That's patronizing," Bloodsport commented.

You saw Harley drag a big stick thing over to Flag and hug him.

"Uh, what's with the javelin?"

"I'm waiting for God to tell me."

"Jesus Christ..."

"Yeah, or Him. Or any of them, really."

You and Nanaue watched as Harley and Bloodsport had an awkward introduction.

"Never mind everyone, Harley is secure."

"What?"

"Meet me in the van so we can leave as quickly as possible."

Sighing, you morphed back into your original form. Nanaue made an audible gasp as he saw you sitting on the railing.

"Pet pet?

"Yes, Nanaue, it's me, Pet pet."

King Shark laughed as he started petting you immediately. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you swatted his hand away and motioned for him to follow you.

[kmackatie]

Originally asked by @jamieylnn on this post: "84, 102, or 119 for the intimacy prompts with Shadowgast". I got around to another one of them. It's less fluff and a bit more angsty, but this is where my brain went with it.

Thanks again to @mllekurtz for taking my spaghetti-thrown-at-a-wall mess and helping turn it into an actual coherent meal. <3

request a prompt here

84 - sky watching Shadowgast, post canon established relationship, canon compliant, 2108 words, cw: brief fatalistic thoughts

Caleb stepped onto the roof, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen pants, feet bare and hair untied. He found Essek in the middle of it, lying on his back and hovering a few inches off the ground, one hand held up as he seemed to map something in the stars above.

He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, taking in the sight of moonlight against Essek’s skin. The shifting, gentle light was like a caress, catching on the smattering of freckles across Essek’s cheeks, the traces of silver still lined around his eyes, and glinted off the jewellery delicately clasped to his ears. He had come out here sometime while Caleb was bathing, the bedroom empty and the open window the only indication that he hadn’t teleported away completely.

They were in Emon, Caleb visiting Allura under the pretence of collaboration in magical education when really it was an excuse for Essek to spend some time investigating some interesting dunamantic pulls he had discovered in the jungles to the south of the capital. It had been three weeks of exploring, discovering, and relaxing in the way that Essek and Caleb do, days filled with academic pursuits while taking advantage of the fact that Essek didn’t have to hide, could just be Essek. They had their Tower, though it wasn’t used much, each more content to take the time to enjoy the open air and sky above them.

But, like all things, it had to come to an end. They lingered as much as they could, on the journey back to Emon. Had slowed down the pace, spending more time in the Tower than exploring outside of it, until they couldn’t justify the delay any further and Essek teleported them back to the house they had rented.

Essek’s easy smile had become strained during their dinner, as Caleb spoke of his students and the plans he had been toying with for the next semester, answers taking longer to come when Caleb would ask for his opinion. He could recognise the signs, having seen them before, but he knew that Essek would only talk about it when he was ready to.

He stepped forward, feet scuffing intentionally against the loose dirt and pebbles. One of Essek’s ears twitched, the only indication that he had heard Caleb’s arrival. Essek continued to stare up at the sky, hand pausing in its tracing before he pulled it back. His violet eyes were shining in the low light, the stars reflected back, an endless void that Caleb could lose himself in if he looked too long.

Pausing, Caleb debated for a long moment before he eased himself down onto the ground next to Essek, groaning slightly as his muscles protested the movement. He envied Essek’s ability to hover, the rough ground was not kind on his ageing body, but it was one trick he had never quite got the hang of every time Essek had tried to teach it to him.

He stared at the skyline of Emon, Allura’s tower in the distance, a beacon on the edge of the Cloudtop district, the few lights still lit up in the houses around them. It was still, quiet, and every bit of his focus was on monitoring the small movements of the drow next to him. The stuttering rise and fall of Essek’s chest, breath ragged and uneven, hand flicking through somatic gestures and arcane runes as if by habit, all while his eyes stared at the sky above, unblinking.

It was a long moment before Essek blinked and broke the silence, his voice rough and low.

“I miss the sky. This one… this one is different. It’s not Rosohna’s sky. I did not think— I should not miss it.”

“It is not that different—”

“Except it is,” Essek cut in, voice sharp. “Rosohna’s… it isn’t a perfect match for what would be in the sky above Wildemount. It’s based off the Bright Queen’s memory of what it once was, over thousands of years ago. The sky has changed since then.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Caleb admitted, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it, eyes still focused on Essek’s face.

“No. You had no reason to be. You weren’t there for that long… and you had more pressing concerns.”

“Fjord never did see that ceremony.”

Essek laughed hollowly. “No, he did not.”

They fell back into silence, and there was a tension there now that wasn’t there earlier. A wariness to the way Essek’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly, as if he had to brace himself for whatever was said next.

And Caleb didn’t want to ask it, didn’t want to bring it up, but he knew that if he didn’t, then this would fester and he couldn’t bear anything being a reason for Essek to stay away.

“Do you regret it?” He saw Essek flinch, a barely perceptible motion that he would have missed, hadn’t he been looking for it. He clarified, “Not… not taking it. I mean— well. Us, the Nein. We threw your plans into disarray and Jester… and me. You would not be here if not for us, you wouldn’t have had suspicion placed on you.”

“There would have been suspicion on me eventually.”

“And Shadowhand Thelyss would have had a plan for that,” he pointed out with a rueful chuckle. “Or at least, the glimmer that we saw of Shadowhand Thelyss would have, and if he was anything like Bren, well… plans upon plans.”

There was a long beat before Essek replied.

“I would not change any step that I took that led me to you—”

“I don’t doubt you on that, meine Liebe, but—”

“I don’t say that for you,” Essek snapped, holding a finger up between them while his eyes didn’t move from the sky. “Just… just let me finish.”

Caleb merely nodded, biting his lip at his instinct to respond.

“I don’t say that for you. I say it because sometimes I need to remind myself of what I have gained. I don’t… it’s not regret. Or rather, I did not know quite how much it would bite. I did not anticipate the… the vastness of it, of displacement.”

Caleb got the sense that Essek wasn’t finished, so he said nothing, just waited and watched, hands itching to reach out, to comfort and hold.

“I miss home. Not… I know I have one with you. My towers, my laboratory. I did not expect to miss it quite so much. The eternal night, the easy access… this hiding. I hate it. I hate it.”

Essek scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and Caleb’s heart ached. He knew what it was like to not be able to return to a place that he wanted to, a weight that nobody who hadn’t experienced loss understood. He lifted a hand towards Essek, but before his fingers could connect Essek flinched back, turning away from Caleb.

“Essek, Liebling.”

“No— don’t,” Essek gasped, curling in on himself. He hunched over, still somehow hovering a few inches off the floor, shoulders raised. “Don’t give me your sympathy. I bought this bed and now I have to live in it.”

Caleb could not help the way his heart clenched at that, the fondness for the jumbled saying seeping through his own pain, his own realisation that this had been brewing for far longer than he had realised. He should have seen it. Should have realised that all the times Essek snapped recently weren’t just due to the exhaustion of being in the sun, that when Essek chose to trance before Caleb had fallen asleep he did so to avoid conversation, that the times he had tracked him down to the ninth floor, the moment of vacant expression before a smile kicked in was more than just troubling thoughts. Caleb had to swallow around the lump that had formed in his own throat. There was a sudden hollowness in his stomach as he realised how much the situation was affecting Essek.

It took a moment to realise the hollow gasping sound wasn’t coming from him, that despite the swirling storm of his own emotions, his shoulders weren’t shaking and he wasn’t falling apart.

Essek was.

Essek, who had tried to hide his worries from Caleb. Essek, who had to be coaxed to state what he needed and wanted on a good day. Essek, who could command and demand his way into any room but would barely make eye contact when he truly cared about the opinion of whoever he was talking to.

This was exactly why he hadn’t said anything, why he didn’t show it. He was as bad as Caleb in his determination to carry his own burdens.

But there was something Caleb had learned, that he had an advantage on Essek in learning, and that was that burdens were immensely easier to carry when shared.

Shoving away his own guilt, carefully, ever so carefully, Caleb inched forward and placed a hand on Essek’s back. He felt Essek tense under his hand, but this time he didn’t move away. Swallowing, Caleb took that as encouragement and shifted again, hand moving across Essek’s back until his arm was wrapped around Essek’s shoulders.

“Essek.”

Essek gasped, letting out a heartbreaking sob before leaning the tiniest bit into Caleb’s grasp.

Caleb just waited. Not demanding, and not expecting, just hoping that Essek would take the comfort offered.

Slowly, Essek turned to Caleb, fraction by fraction he shifted until his shoulder was against Caleb’s chest, his forehead tucked against Caleb, and he was sobbing into Caleb’s shirt. Caleb held him, hand moving in gentle, soothing circles on his back as he murmured in Zemnian, nonsense phrases and observations about everything he loved about Essek.

When he judged that Essek may have calmed, when the sobs became sniffles and Essek stopped clutching Caleb’s clothing like he would drown without the lifeline, Caleb leaned down and pressed a kiss into Essek’s soft curls.

He gently ran a thumb under each eye, drawing away what dampness he could as shining violet eyes blinked up at him.

“I’m so—”

“Shh, Liebling, it’s okay. There is nothing to apologise for.”

Essek’s eyes closed, as he let out a shuddering breath.

“It is okay to mourn what you had, Essek. It is okay to acknowledge what you have lost, even while you acknowledge what you have gained. One doesn’t cancel out the other. Looking back… it is not a bad thing.” He was saying it as much for Essek as he was for himself. They had always been similar, had always understood each other in a way that no one else did. It could be a crutch, could be their downfall, but instead it led to a partnership that was equal, that felt so right, like it was always meant to be. He wanted to be that support for Essek, the way Essek always was for him. “When we visited Blumenthal, and I said goodbye, you stood with me. In the T-Dock even, you would have helped me, without question. You have ever since, even when all I wanted to do was rewrite time so I could step back and do it all again.”

“It is not the same.” There was little conviction in Essek’s tone, it was barely a protest.

“No, it isn’t. But what I am saying is that it is okay to have dark days, to have days where it is all too much. That is why I am here. To remind you that you can do this, Essek. That it is worth it, that you are strong enough to get through it. And on the days where you aren’t, where you need quiet and to escape, I will be here to hold you.”

“You won’t always be here, when you’re teaching and I’m off… wherever.”

“We can both teleport, distance and time are meaningless with the right determination.”

Essek half laughed and half hiccuped, an odd choked off noise that Caleb had never heard him make before. A grin started to grow across his face as Essek looked taken aback at the noise, and it was far too cute for Caleb to let it go.

He leaned forward and kissed Essek, chapped lips pressing gently against carefully looked after ones. Drawing back, Caleb presses a second kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose, another between his eyes, his forehead.

“I love you,” murmured Essek.

Caleb smiled, shifting carefully to lie back, adjusting and holding Essek to his chest as he went.

“Come. Tell me about the differences in the stars.”

[dhwty-writes]

On the Benefits of Trancing

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

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

Warnings: None, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And lastly, well—

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

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

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

"Anything interesting?"

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

"Plenty," he deadpans and Essek chuckles.

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

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

"I have not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caleb hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zemnian Translations:

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

[lynkhart]

MAJOR spoilers for the C2 finale of Critical Role so read at your own risk of you haven’t caught up!

I have so many feelings regarding Caleb and Essek’s intertwining character arcs I needed to explore, so strap in folks, you’re in for a bit of a ride! (But seriously though, this is like 4000 words long, I basically wrote an essay 😂)

At the start of the campaign, Caleb Widogast was dripping in guilt and self loathing and refused to believe he could ever absolve himself of his sins. Essek Thelyss was a cold, aloof individual who betrayed his people for selfish goals, and their differing yet mirrored narratives have been an absolute delight to watch unfold.

In the beginning Caleb truly hated himself. He shot down any attempt at a compliment, described himself as a ‘disgusting person’, outright rejected the idea that he was worthy of love, and never let the blame shift from him for what he’d done. When Beauregard and Veth/Nott pointed out that he was coerced and manipulated into killing his parents, he reacts in an incredibly visceral way, and I’ve seen several comments likening it to a victim of child abuse who was groomed into believing they were as responsible as their abuser, and I think that’s exactly how it was meant to be read. He doesn’t see himself as a victim, only a murderer, and punishes himself for it every day. We see this in the way he presents himself, dirty and unkempt because in his mind he doesn’t deserve to feel good about himself in any way. Other than Nott/Veth and Beau to a certain degree, he purposefully isolates himself from the rest of the group and it’s a long time until he feels relaxed enough in their company to drop his defences a little.

(Speaking from a purely meta point of view, Liam did an absolutely phenomenal job of showing this through body language and I’d love to see someone do a compilation video of it. He starts off very hunched and guarded, leaning his body away from the closest person to him and avoiding eye contact and physical touch; but by the end stands tall and sure of himself.)

Early on there were a few moments where he had the option to do some pretty dark shit, and I’m sure there’s a possible timeline where he gave into his desire for revenge and really lost his way, but I’m glad he stuck it out and worked through his trauma in the way he did. His PTSD and disassociation when casting with fire was tragic, but over time he was able to work through it thanks to the constant love and support of his friends who kept him from going off at the deep end.

Molly’s death was the catalyst for change in a lot of the party, and Caleb is no exception. On the verge of leaving the group prior to his death, the grief they shared, combined with their frantic attempt to rescue the other half of their party put things in perspective and gradually he learned how to be a person again, to care.

Altering time to save his family had been Caleb’s only goal in life, and so when Essek and by extension, dunamancy was introduced, you could see his eyes light up at the possibilities.

A huge turning point for him is aligned so closely with Essek’s redemption arc which feels quite apt I think. When Essek confesses to his crimes, Caleb delivers a beautifully iconic piece of dialogue where he acknowledges their similarities and how much he himself has changed as a person since meeting the Mighty Nein. (Source - CR wiki)

‘You listen to me. I know what you are talking about. I know. And the difference between you and I is thinner than a razor. I know what it means to have other people complicate your desires and wishes. And I was like you. Was. I know what a fool I have been for years. You didn't account for us. Good. That is life. Shit hits you sideways in life and no one is prepared. No one is ready. These people changed me. These people can change you. You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it. You have a rare opportunity here, Thelyss. One chance to save yourself, and we are offering it.’

This is not the same Caleb we met back in the Nestled Nook inn way back in the first episode. While not yet fulfilled or entirely convinced of his own worth, he knows he’s on the right path. That alone is progress enough, but that he uses his own experiences to help another escape those same chains of guilt says such a lot for his development. When he tells Essek that his ‘venom’ was learned, he’s also talking about himself and his own history of being manipulated and gaslit, with the implication being that it can be un-learned just as efficiently.

Caleb Widogast is selfish no more, or at the very least, doesn’t let his goals undermine anyone else’s anymore. Contrary to what he himself might still think, he is in no way a bad person. He loves fiercely and cannot abide seeing those he cares about in pain.

Early game Essek is what Caleb could have been if he’d rejected his friends and focused solely on his own selfish goal to undo his mistakes. Both are impassive at first and see the Mighty Nein as means to an end...until they get to know them and then their fate is sealed. The Power of Friendship wins once again!

At the beginning Caleb said he wanted to ‘bend reality to my will’ (sic) and in the end he does just that, though not in the way he originally intended. Destroying the T-Dock, and by extension the one thing he’d been building towards from the start, the chance to go back and change time, for me personally was the absolute peak of his journey. I rewatched the scene where Caleb revealed the truth about his parents death today, and it was really jarring to see just how far he’d come since then. It made me oddly proud actually.

I always felt like his plan to save his parents was the one thing holding him back from truly accepting their deaths, which is why the final scene of him in the cemetery with the letters for them hit so hard. He never truly gave up hope that they’d be reunited, but ultimately he realised he was merely postponing the inevitable and never allowing himself to live his own life. While time travel shenanigans would have been incredibly interesting to explore in game, choosing to let the past lie and not go back for them finally allows him to grieve and move on, and perhaps most importantly of all, to forgive himself at last.

I know some people were annoyed by Caleb’s decision in the finale to spend the rest of his life teaching rather than continuing to adventure, but I see it as the natural conclusion to his whole arc and his own personal victory.

He looked Trent Ikithon in the eyes, a man who he’d spent years wanting to kill and run from in equal measure, stripped him of his power and his voice (and ultimately his ability to harm anyone else) and finally spared his life so he had to live with the indignity of his defeat for the rest of his miserable existence. You couldn’t have asked for a more damning rejection of everything he’d been brainwashed into believing as a child. His dismissal of Trent’s position in the Assembly played into that as well. He never really wanted power for the sake of it; he had no desire for politics, he just wanted his family back, and while he didn’t get the one he started with, he made a new one for himself in the end.

As Caduceus once very wisely said:

‘Pain doesn’t make people; it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential; it's love that saves them.’

Caleb gets to break the cycle of abuse and teach a new generation of mages the way he should have been, with kindness and respect, and I’m pretty sure he’d have introduced a handsome drow as a guest lecturer from time to time. 😉

Speaking of...

Essek described himself as selfish and as a coward, forever putting his own wants and desires first, yet over the course of his journey with the Nein we see his priorities change drastically.

Having friends gives him people to care about, something he’s never had before, and it changes his outlook on life completely. For me, the first time we really see this is when he joins them for dinner in the Xorhaus and stops levitating. It’s a subtle thing, but meaningful. He explains that it had become an expectation of him, a quirk he’s known for, and so to feel comfortable enough around the Nein to drop that pretence is quite bold I think.

Much later, when he chooses to destroy the mini beacon they discover in Aeor in order to give everyone a long rest before the final confrontation with Lucian, he’s essentially giving up everything he betrayed his people for, just to keep his friends safe. The existence and context of that single artefact could have had an earthshattering impact on the Dynasty’s entire culture, forcing them to reevaluate their entire belief system and attitude to the Luxon, something he’d wanted from the start, something he helped start a war for, but he offered it up as a sacrifice without a second thought.

I’d say that’s a pretty big morality shift, and I’m super interested to see if Matt reveals if his alignment changed in the post campaign Q&A. I have a feeling he set him up as a potential BBEG but the party was like ‘no, you can’t have him, he’s ours now’ and that was the end of that. 😂

I think it says so much about the other characters too, that they befriended this person they barely knew, and when he was revealed to have done such terrible things, their first reaction was to give him comfort and an opportunity to atone. Jester held his hand while he confessed, and afterwards, while they didn’t immediately forgive him, they saw the good in him and wanted him to be better, which ultimately feels like what the entire campaign was about, leaving places (and people) better than they found them. It’s obvious that he’s never really had many friends before and has therefore never had the opportunity to be emotionally open with anyone, so seeing him gradually warm up to the Nein and allow himself to soften around them was really lovely to watch.

(Obviously, from a realistic moral perspective, he still fucked up big time. He’s still a godsdamned war criminal and really should have been put on trial for what he did, but I think from a narrative and personal point of view, his redemption arc was far more satisfying, so I’m glad it happened the way it did. (And not to derail but the rest of the gang have done some pretty horrific stuff as well, though perhaps not quite on the same scale)

He has a few moments towards the end that I absolutely love because they show that beneath the guilt and anguish, there’s an incredibly sweet and sensitive soul in there, just wanting acceptance. His dry jokes which often don’t quite hit, (the ‘I will punish the bakery’ line is such an under-appreciated one 😂) his simple joy at learning to garden in the Blooming Grove, and realising that he’d never been asked what his favourite food was before was actually kind of heartbreaking, because it highlighted how lonely his life must have been until that time. There was a moment pretty early on I think when he cast disguise on the party and Jester asked if he could cast it again to change the look of her outfit a bit and while he seemed to find it amusing, he refused, not wanting to waste a spell on such a frivolous request. Cut to their time in Aeor where he burns a fly spell just so he and Caleb can flirtatiously swoop around each other for a couple of minutes, all the while trying to beat Lucian to the city.

His breakdown when Molly’s resurrection failed really cemented to me how much he’d grown as a character. He never met Molly, his only knowledge of him was secondhand, through the eyes of his friends, but seeing it fail just broke him because he knew how much it hurt them to go through it all over again.

His comment to Caleb about not admitting defeat and wishing he could do more did get me wondering at the time if he was going to try and do something crazy, perhaps sacrificing himself via the Temporal Dock to make amends or somehow forcing another reroll, but I’m glad he didn’t. The conversation following that with Fjord was one of my favourites- he shows him acceptance and belief in his potential for the future, something he’s lacked for a long time, and when Caleb bluntly affirms afterwards that he is indeed an official member of the Mighty Nein, it’s the start of the rest of his life, and something he’s exceptionally grateful for.

It all leads to that final moment in Aeor with Caleb, when, presented with the opportunity to alter time and undo everything, he chooses to accept his decisions and carry the weight of his sins for the rest of his long life. That’s...huge.

He’s essentially choosing to live the rest of his existence as a fugitive, forever on the run, with no guaranteed peace or safety. He chooses to spend his life making up for his deeds, rather than looking for an easy way out.

I think that may have had a big impact on why Caleb ultimately made the same decision, as if Essek had been up for altering his timeline I think he’d have struggled to resist it himself. The conversation they had earlier in Aeor about their priorities and resisting temptation really comes to mind as well.

Now, to the relationship.

It was subtle, and not as ‘in your face’ obvious as the other characters, but I’ve been watching and hoping for a long time and I must say, it feels good to be vindicated.

(And if you have any doubt, both Matt and Liam confirmed on Twitter that their post finale relationship was 100% romantic)

I’d been hoping that Shadowgast would be a canon endgame relationship for a while, so the finale, and the aforementioned T-Dock scene in particular had me quite literally shaking with emotion as I watched live. Here you have two men, both damaged and guilt-stricken in their own ways, who find in each other a kindred spirit and a path to redemption.

They’re both very guarded and closed off people, but Essek in particular has a definite shift in the last arc of the campaign especially when it came to his interactions with Caleb. At the start he was quite aloof and stoic, though charming, and they had an instant connection through their shared love of the arcane, (anyone who couldn’t see them making heart eyes at each other when Essek was describing the different types of magic he could teach Caleb was clearly blind) but by the end he was incredibly open to showing his vulnerabilities and that takes a lot, especially for someone whose primary focus was to stay in control of every aspect of his life. The ‘Caleb, I’m scared’ moment during the Trent fight in particular made my heart ache.

No, we didn’t get a dramatic declaration of love or a cinematic mid-battle kiss, but I’d argue that their relationship was just as, if not more intimate than any of the other main characters were. They understood each other in a way the others didn’t, their shared guilt, feelings of inadequacy and their obsession with magic forged a deep connection from the get-go. Neither of them are big fans of PDA I think, though Caleb is tactile as hell (forehead touches and kisses, oh man, I’m so weak for those 😩👌) and some of their most iconic moments have them putting themselves in harm’s way to protect the other. Essek shaking off his forced guilt trip immediately after the now infamous forehead touch in ep140 was beautifully poetic, as was using his fortune’s favour to pull Caleb out of the rubble moments before. Caleb trying to include him in his Sphere of Invulnerability in the finale and Essek staying close to him the whole fight despite being obviously terrified of Trent was the icing on the cake. It’s clear that they care for each other a great deal; whether by the finale they’d consider it love is up for debate, but we know that’s eventually where it ended up and honestly, I love that. I deeply appreciated the fact Matt and Liam both emphasised that they took their time with their relationship, letting each other heal in their own way before they took the next step. All too often in media, and real life too sadly, a romantic relationship is seen as some kind of quick fix, and that a lover will somehow complete you or make all your problems vanish. They knew this wasn’t the case here, and that made it all the better.

While I would have *loved* to have seen them together as a couple right to the very end, the change in their relationship felt right, if bittersweet. I doubt they ever stopped loving each other, and if anything, choosing to shift to a deep and lifelong friendship over a romance that would cause them both so much pain is one of the kindest things you could do for someone you love. After all, friendship isn’t a downgrade, just another way of experiencing that same love, and it wasn’t as though they broke up and never saw each other again, it was pretty strongly implied that they remained a major feature in each other’s lives, they just changed their label slightly. Caleb would hate to have forced Essek to watch him wither away, and although his eventual passing would hurt Essek regardless, incompatible lifespans being what they are, having a period of time to adjust to it, to give them a buffer between the inevitable heartbreak was actually really sweet.

Their romance was no accident, they knew going in that it had a time limit, that it wasn’t going to be forever for one of them, and the fact they did it anyway says so much. They began their adventure wholeheartedly believing that they were both, in their own way incapable of love, only to later find it with each other. Whether their relationship lasted for a couple of years or multiple decades is irrelevant, what matters is that while it did they had a happy and fulfilled life together.

I know some folk wanted Caleb to use the transmogrification spell on himself so he could live on with Essek as another elf, or make him human instead, but that would have been way out of character for both I think. If they could have backwards engineered one of the rejuvenation stations in Aeor and used it to extend Caleb’s life by a hundred years or so, so he’d have a similar lifespan to Veth, now, I could have seen him possibly doing that, so he could spend more time with his best friend too, but nothing further I think. He longed to be reunited with his parents too much to postpone death unnaturally like that.

That both Caleb and Essek ultimately chose to live with their mistakes and make peace with themselves was incredibly cathartic, and I couldn’t imagine it playing out any better.

The fact Matt has explicitly stated Essek is Demi too means so much to me personally because the latter is a label I’ve been identifying with a lot recently, and it’s so rare for aspec relationships to get any representation! It has honestly given me a lot to think about over the last few days, and I really appreciate it.

To conclude, here’s a bit of shameless self promotion. I wrote this after watching the finale and honestly feel like it sums up my feelings on the nature of their relationship pretty well.

‘A casual hand on a shoulder, a waist, a wrist; a gentle kiss placed on a forehead is common between them now, an intimacy born of trust and mutual affection. Over time it grows, like a fire born of seasoned timber; gradual and steady, no spluttering kindling that flares and sparks, but a slow burn, one which lasts.

Their love is embroidered into every aspect of their lives together. Acts of service, of comfort, of understanding.

Sometimes a kiss leads to more than a kiss, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way they are content.‘

So yeah, I love these two wizard boys so very much and I couldn’t be happier with the conclusion of their stories. ❤️

[your-enby-antihero]

Blue Flowers and Balconies

Summary: One would think with the pearlescent smile he wore under the simple bronze mask would be enough for Cyrus Wyvernwind to not notice Dorian with that look in his eyes. Dorian was a bright boy, smarter than Cyrus he’d say, and more dignified in the arts and etiquette too. Cyrus always admired his kid brother, elegant and eloquent and always made their parents proud. But he could see the wonder in his eyes when he came back from the balcony. ———————— A Dorym Royalty fic where Dorian is the second Prince of the Silken Squall and Orym the newly adopted Prince of Zephrah. They meet and fall in love.

Also available on ao3

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Dorian Secondsun Wyvernwind hated it here. The tall towers and the always blue skies, it made him feel like he was just about to die. He didn’t belong here, he wasn’t strong and a leader like his brother. He wasn't as kind and eloquent as his mother. He wasn’t as steadfast and level headed as his father. He was just Dorian, he could hold a turn but not a room.

“Dorian~,” a feminine slightly accented voice flitted from outside Dorian’s door.

Jester, a female tiefling with blue skin and hair, his personal maid and close friend entered the room. She wore simple clothes with a heavily embroidered skirt. She entered the room, her skirt spinning in a whirl, a letter in her hand.

“Lord Essek of Rosohna has replied to your letter,” she said, her voice singing just a bit as she said the word letter and silly when she said Lord Essek.

Dorian took the letter in hand, it was drafted on exquisite white parchment and held in a black envelope with a purple wax seal of a luxon beacon.

Dear Brontë,

I am happy to hear you are doing well, Caleb and Mollymauk send their regards. My brother Verin was ecstatic with the ship your carpenter friend made for him and Veth’s son is very attached to the toy crossbow as well. Though the warning about fire was a bit strange. Anyway I’ll cut to the case. I write to you to inform you that I am coming to the Silken Squall in a few days time. As my mother is arriving to speak about some noble nonsense again. A party maybe? She has asked me to come along.

I hope that you and the others are doing well. Molly has been waiting to see Jester after our last encounter. And I hear that you have gotten word from Beauregard and Yasha after their latest journey with Ashton and Fresh Cut Grass to Molly’s home country Eiselcross and that they are returning soon. I also hear that there is another dignitary coming as well with the new adopted prince of Zephrah. I have heard from Caduceus and Fearne that he is a kind man but I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Tell Fjord thank you for the accompaniment during the talks with the Empire. It was nice to have a familiar friendly face. Laudna and Imogen have been adjusting to being the liaisons of the Silken Squall here in Rosohna quite well, I’m sure they look forward to coming to visit you soon.

I hope this letter finds you in good health,

All the best,

Dezran Thain

Dorian smiled at the letter, his face lit up at the Dear Brontë scrolled at the top of the letter. He had met Essek at a masquerade ball, his masquerade name being Brontë Storm and Essek’s being Dezrin Thain. They had been writing to each other after they had realized that some of their friends knew each other and that noble banquets were easier if you had a person you could hangout with. Though Dorian being a prince in a tower sort, not leaving the Silken Squall often or ever for the matter, loved when his friends came for visits.

He had met Imogen and Laudna one day in town when he slipped from his guards and nanny. He was a bit of a cry baby so when he had gotten lost two girls, one who looked like death and the other like an adventurer for stories, helped him find his way home. They snuck into the palace to talk to him from the window. Laudna had shown him her rat Pâte and given him a doll of one of his guards, Bertrand. Imogen had told him a bunch about her horse and her father, they also told him stories about adventures the two got in. They also told him about Chetney, an older gnome who had come to town searching for work. After becoming part of the palace staff, Dorian had met Chetney, whittling a wooden stake. He was abrasive toward the young prince but soon developed a soft spot, helping him sneak out to see his friends as he grew older.

Fearne was a lower noble from the feywild who had decided to stay and hangout with him. His parents had been fine with it since she was of nobility and they were trying to establish relations with the feywild. She had been fun to have around but soon she went on an adventure, picking up Caduceus on Jester’s suggestion.

He and Jester had bonded since her mother had been a talented performer and his parents had her under their employ. She was a few years older than him. Jester had wandered into his room and tricked the palace staff into believing that she was his maid. She had lied so much that it became true. She didn’t do much, just wake him up and hangout with him. His other servants took care of his other things though he tried to do most of his duties without prompting or help. He always enjoyed Jester’s presence and she was one of the only people in the entire gods damned palace who truly cared what he thought. He also had Fjord, Jester’s fiancé. He was a sailor who happened to settle in the Silken Squall for a while. He had met Jester and fallen in love so he would make regular trips back. He was kind to Dorian, treating him like an old friend rather than a prince.

Ashton and Fresh Cut Grass had been more recent friends of Dorian’s. He had met them through Yasha and Beau, friends of Essek’s who worked in the Dwendalian Empire. Caleb, one of Essek’s spouses, had also resided in the Dwendalian Empire. As part of a political marriage Essek was wed to Caleb. Though Molly had come into the picture and immediately the trio were deeply in love and inseparable. Molly being a Prince from a small kingdom in Eiselcross, he had brought his guard Yasha and Caleb had his companion Beau,not to mention Veth and her family. They hit it off and started dating and travelling the world together. The pair of women had stumbled through Jrusar and picked up the earth genasi and the tiny automaton. Dorian had made fast friends when they were brought for a visit.

Dorian was looked after by a plethora of guards but recently one had passed, the one he had since he was a young child. Sir Bertrand Bell, a man from Vasselheim, had taken a post in the Silken Squall and Dorian had been grieving his death for a few weeks.

Dorian, took a deep breath in, shaking himself out of his reminiscing. Jester was looking at him expectantly.

“Dorian~. Hellooooo? Ashton, Fcg, Yasha, and Beau are waiting for us in the garden. What are you doing, silly prince?”

Dorian smiled at Jetser, eagerly following behind. Greeting his friends with large smiles and happy shouts.

——————

Orym was sitting with Dariax and Opal in his brand new room. The ceiling was a canopy of vines and it was all in all a very pleasant room. But why was he even here? The ruler of Zephrah, The Tempest Keyleth. She had officially adopted him when her partner had died and she needed an heir. She was kind to him, he had grown up with her after all. She was wonderful but Orym didn’t really understand why it was him who was chosen to be the prince. There were more deserving people who knew what they were doing. Opal and Dariax had tried to tell him that he would make a great ruler. Dariax was a boy from a neighboring town, he had stumbled into Zephrah and somehow became one of Orym’s best friends. Opal had grown up far away in a small town but she had been found by Dariax on one of his adventures and now she spent days making Orym and Dariax laugh with stories and laughing at Orym when he stuttered talking to Riegal. Riegal was a kind boy that Orym may or may not have had a small crush on. Though he had fallen to a terrible disease before Orym could confess.

“Come on, Orym, it'll be fun. Remember those people, Fearne and Caduceus, they said that the Silken Squall was great,” Opal said.

He was leaving with Keyleth the next day to attend a ball in the Silken Squall. He had a fancy outfit that he had cut the sleeves off to show the tattoo of Ruidus and Catha on his shoulder. He took in deep breaths.

He looked at Dariax and Opal and smiled, “Promise you won’t leave me to deal with the nobles at the party?”

He was then attacked by a huge hug with resounding laughter.

It was going to be fine, just fine.

——————

Shit, Orym was not fine, not at all. He stood on a balcony just out of the ballroom of the Silken Squall. He had the simple mask he had stress carved the night before over his face. It at least covered the sweat on his face, a little. The ballroom was suffocating, Dariax and Opal had spotted a group of people that were laughing and had left him to fend for himself. Orym was being caught in various conversations he had no place participating in. Thankfully he had escaped to the safe haven of the fresh air. He looked over a garden of turquoise green plants and purple and blue flowers. Letting the wind cool him down and calm his breathing. When suddenly the doors behind him creaked open.

A handsome blue genasi with jet black hair that transitioned into a sky blue then a cloud white. He wore a bronze mask and blue formal wear. But as Orym looked at him, the butterflies that he had been harbouring in his stomach all night flew into a frenzied rage.

“Oh sorry, didn’t know that there was another person, um Brontë Storm it’s nice to meet you,” he smiled nervously, extending his hand.

“Oh I’m …Nancy,” he responded, giving a cautious handshake.

The genasi- Brontë smiled turned brighter and his face looked like it was holding back laughter.

“Nancy,” he wheezed between laughs.

Orym’s face flushed and the musical laughter filled the still night air. He found himself laughing as well. Brontë was very handsome, his eyes were deep pools of blue, and in high contrast to his deep browns and green colour palette, Brontë was a swath of vibrant blue. Orym couldn’t help but flush under his mask.

——————

Dorian was standing in the ballroom surrounded by all his friends. Essek was being smothered in peck by Molly, who seemingly was getting drunker and drunker off the booze they had smuggled in. Beau and Ashton also partook in the booze. He had decided to step out to get some fresh air but just as he closed the door he noticed a halfling man in deep brown and green. He could see tiny freckles dappling the bit of face he could see.

“Oh sorry, didn’t know that there was another person, um Brontë Storm it’s nice to meet you,” Dorian said, extending his hand.

“Oh I’m …Nancy,” the halfling responded, giving a cautious handshake.

Dorian stood a bit shocked, but tried to hold in the laughter burbling in his chest before it was too much to hold anymore. He laughed and laughed as tears filled his eyes.

“Nancy,” he wheezed between laughs.

The halfling Nancy began to laugh as well, his forest green eyes filling with joy. Dorian could feel a creeping blush hit his face. As he regained his breath Dorian felt a shock of embarrassment and turned to the door.

“It was lovely to meet you Nancy, if you're back in the ballroom in time, care to save me a dance?”

“Of course Brontë, I’ll find you,” Nancy smiled, a blue flower sprouting from his hand and placing it into Dorian’s.

As he re-entered the ballroom it was clear to all of his friends and his brother what had happened, the mooney eyes and dopey smile Dorian was in love.

[mouseratz]

Gotham season 4x20-22

4x20

- SECOND TIME IS THE CHARM!

- A GOTH JESTER GIRL YAYAYAYAY

- lee thompkins is so right for everything.

- a gift....that shan't be good

- I LOVE the VCR.....so much

- things must not have gone well for me.

- see, but dear riddler does not know there's a clown party

- LOVE his diary cover.

- well, he was not the most fantastic artist.

- who broke in, hrm....

- what happened in there.

- they're watching cartoons together. lmfao.

- "our advancements have not run apace."

- HIM CLOSING THE DOOR......

- AND PENGUIN......

- "you ever get tired of being wrong?"

- he thinks he's Jerome. huh.

- RIDDLER IN THE CLOWN COSTUME LMAO

- and lee hit him

- hiya, Jimbo.

- plus, I'm still dead. just more posthumous fun.

- jester girl is awesome looking sorry.

- the videos are so cheesy and fun. Love it.

- the blood in the glasses....

- the utter dud that he was.

- I looove that ecco jingles.

- "....with minimum fuss."

- "nah, I just wanted to see if would pee himself a little in terror."

- WHOO WHOO! I'm crying

- "I'd be into that, but they only had one."

4x21

- Lmao would be funny if jim died

- the fucking hat

- jokerpilled outfits

- sorry he's more boring than Jerome

- or woman power, if you will. #feminism

- the most interesting thing about Jeremiah is his relationship with Bruce

- where the fuck is he?

- oh, the narrows.

- "Bruce, I'm gonna be here whenever you need me." damn.

- "that's what you want?" "It's a nice, round number.'

- WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS ALOUD.

- WHAT are they doing to Alfred.

- "you know that she drugged me." "Yeah, don't really care."

- Jim has killed a lot of dudes, to be fair. He just didn't have fun.

- "one? Being a little kind to yourself."

- SCARECROW :)

- I assume Bruce has been gassed. or Alfred has. Or an awful mix

- who was the guy on the cameras then lol? like he was beating somebody up if Selina saw it?

- "well, bad news. I'm alive."

- Pure fucking luck.

- bad guy team up?

- has Selina technically died twice now. she's Catwoman so....

4x22

- he does strike an interesting image. props to the actor for portraying two different characters with the same face

- HI HUGO STRANGE :)

- "there was a blimp. It was a whole thing."

- "the answer is sleep, ed-" "it's polite to let people finish."

- RISE AND SHINE! good morning sweetheart.

- HES GONNA CRUSH HIM. I love riddler. Jesus.

- "we're destined to be best friends"

- "I know how this looks"

- one question- (walks in holding a gun as big as he is)

- "the demons head is really not working out for you...."

- Barbara and Bruce. Hilarious

- she has to know....

- "you and Jim really aren't that different."

- you're into that, I guess.

- BUTCH :)

- penguin......please don't. I SEE the way he's watching.

- yeah. That's what I expected from the look on his face.

- ITS ABOUT HIS MOTHER.

- I still miss butch. Like, a lot. A favorite of mine.

- this is kind of awesome you guys. the city's abandoned plot

- EVERYONES fighting for it. This is fucking awesome....

- Barbara is inventing misandry.

- the signal, it's meant to be a beacon that the building still has power, it's safe....but also a challenge.

- man-bat?

END OF SEASON

[saphirered]

Can We Go Yet

Here it is; another instalment  in the Eldritch Knight series and because I can’t keep to a word count it seems there’ll be another part. Enjoy 😘.

-

Essek swings his heavy cloak over his shoulders, connecting the clasp keeping it in place and rolls his eyes. He knew it was a bad idea letting his brother stay with him during his time in Rosohna instead of just dooming Verin to stay with their mother but when Verin showed up on his doorstep a week before he was expected claiming he had some extra days off and couldn’t do anything but dedicate them to some good old sibling bonding. Verin had showed up the night after he’d ask you out and the next day, today he’d be taking you out on your date. 

“Come on, brother. Let’s go out for some drinks, cause some mischief. Someone has to breathe some life into the Firmaments.” Verin clasps a hand over Essek’s shoulder interposing himself between Essek and his path to the door with a grin that said enough about the problems he intended to cause.

“I have other obligations for the day. Besides, you are perfectly capable of pushing the Firmaments into chaos by yourself. I would not wish to get in your way.” Essek tries to brush his brother off and manages to get around the taller drow, the door opening with a wave of his hand, letting the subtile hint show that he will not hesitate to make a fool of his brother in public should he try to stop Essek. 

“You and your obligations.” Verin rolls his eyes. “I could simply join-“ 

“No!” Essek may have spoken a bit quicker and intensely than he intended and he knew for sure he had when he sees the gleam in Verin’s eyes. It takes one to know one and that’s the look of a challenged Thelyss. 

“As you are so adamant. Fine. I will behave and I won’t stop you from going wherever you are.” Verin shrugs and Essek doesn’t know wether to be relieved his brother didn’t push further or scared because one thing’s for sure; he’s suspicious. Nevertheless, expression neutral and proper he bids his brother goodbye and leaves. Despite not being a devout follower of anything but his own practices he finds himself sending prayers to who or whatever is watching to be merciful and keep his brother’s antics from ruining today. Any day but today. 

Verin watches Essek depart staring him down before he closes the door. Quick as he is he rushes to a window looking around the corner and sees just the tiniest bit of his brother’s facade slip. Essek is relieved. He really shouldn’t be. Verin wouldn’t be a good and loving brother would he not cause his brother a generous level of embarrassment and trouble on his first day back home. From the top of the tower he sees Essek leave and once he’s sure Essek won’t be as alert he takes to snooping around his study. The usual arcane stuff, some paperwork from the Bastion and some notes, no a list. What are you planning Essek? He takes the list and accompanying notes and takes off to follow where Essek went.

The road leads him to a two-story mansion, a tree of green leaves growing out of the tower. Verin doesn’t think he’s ever seen a green tree in Rosohna. Ever. So it doesn’t come as a surprise that whoever would put such an ostentatious beacon on their roof would be affiliated with Essek. He does not, however see why Essek would willingly affiliate himself with them as he prefers not to draw attention. He watches as Essek knocks on the door. In a matter of seconds the door is opened, bell ringing, by a blue tiefling it seems who pulls him inside by the arm with a force and determination he hadn’t expected. The door is slammed closed behind them. Deeming it safe and trusting his skills Verin trails closer and finds a vantage point to spy on whoever these people are and begins to plot and plan what mischief he’ll cause. 

“Essek, Essek, Essek!” Jester bounces with excitement as the door slams closed behind him. The tiefling pulls him into the common area where Beau’s lounging on a couch giving him a nod of acknowledgement. Caleb’s seated in a chair bend over the table scribbling notes, undoubtedly amidst transcribing a new spell. The wizard gives him a look of pity at the tiefling hugging his arm and blabbering on about what fun he’s gonna have and how much you’re gonna like everything he does and how romantic he is for taking you on a date and giving him tips on how to be even more romantic until Fjord takes mercy upon him and pries the girl away from him allowing him some space to compose himself. 

Essek takes off his cloak revealing the clothes better suited for warmer weather when Yasha offers to take it while he waits for you. Gratefully he hands it to the woman who unceremoniously tosses it over the back of a chair, giving Beau a stern look who was on the brink of making some kind of remark. Jester is getting inpatient and rushes to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Are you done yet?!” She shouts up and half of the Nein wince at the sheer volume. The longer he waits the more nervous he gets and the more difficult it becomes to repress that feeling but he’ll wait patiently still. 

“Beauty takes time, dear Jester.” Your voice sounds from upstairs and the fine sound of your light steps hitting the floor approaching the stairs reach his ears. Jester getting the first view from her position gasps, fanning herself and this must have been the first time he’s seen the girl at los of words. 

And then you come into his view, little by little as you walk down the steps. Essek has trouble putting words to the vision as he much like Jester has lost all ability to speak in that moment. Divine. You look absolutely divine. The fine light fabrics fit in all the right places creating an elegant and complimenting silhouette while still being practical in its cut to allow you complete freedom of movement and not get in the way should a fight ever break out. He couldn’t see them but knows you wouldn’t go without some kind of weapon on your person but has no doubt a dagger or two and some throwing knives are hidden between the folds of the garment. Your hair is elegantly styled in the same practical way you usually have it but small flowers have been pinned and weaved in to bring even more to the ethereal vision you already are and when you look at him, eyes bright and a smile to match, he feels himself unable to breathe. 

Caduceus follows behind you, giving you a chance to walk down to Essek while he quickly clears the mess left in the wake of his work. He had claimed he used to do this with his siblings, finding new and creative ways to add flowers to their hair and weave them in by braiding and twisting, tying and simply pinning them in. It had brought him comfort he said, and with the knowledge of your date night he’d offered so you accepted happily. Your feet hit the ground floor and you look at the others, a quick inspection of the room to see they hadn’t been torturing Essek or hounding him for the details of your date you wait for Caduceus to join the others. 

“Thank you, Cad.” You give the firbolg a quick side hug as he passes to sit down next to Beau. He’s about to ruffle your hair but quickly decides against it as to not ruin his good work. You walk over to Essek with a smile, the space between you a little closer than he’d have allowed with the others and while normally you’d reach out for his hand you refrain because of the company. Essek notices your eyes fall to his hand and to your surprise he entwines your fingers with his, squeezing softly. Your smile brightens and his matches as you forget about the audience for just a moment.

“How do I look?” You flounce out the fabric letting gravity have its way with the feather light material taking half a step back to allow Essek better view of you. 

“Radiant. Like a divine being.” Essek breathes. Words have a difficult time formulating but he collects himself and veers away from the complete mind blank you’ve caused him. Not that he’s mad about it. It’s rather the opposite. It’s not even about the way you look, even though you had truly outdone yourself, he’d still thought you the most gorgeous person in the world in rags or sweaty training clothes. It’s about the confidence you radiate, the warmth like an embrace and the affection in your eyes. 

“Oh, such a shame. I thought you didn’t affiliate yourself with deities.” You jest with a chuckle as you step back to where you stood before. Beau makes a gagging sound and you send her a death glare over your shoulder that shuts her up and has Yasha cover the monk’s mouth with her hand to prevent any retaliation to leave her lips. 

“I better start now, then.” Essek whispers when you face him once more. He whispered for Beau’s sake and maybe even more so to stop Jester from gushing, the girl having already taken out her sketchbook and writing down everything you say and do for some reason. Then, you’re interrupted by the door to the study slamming open, Nott stepping out, a cloud of smoke dissipating from the room behind her and the smell that accompanies it just absolutely terrible that you reach up to cover your nose and subconsciously take another step closer into Essek’s side as if he can keep it at bay. 

“Momma’s got a little gift for you two before you depart.” She proudly holds up two vials of some kind of brown-is dark green liquid sloshing about and it seems that these, more likely the crafting of the contents within are definitely the cause of this smell. 

“What the hell is that?” You speak, slightly muffled trying to hold back the urge to gag. Even Essek is struggling at this point with the woman stepping closer and closer, doused in this rancid acidic chemical scent. 

“I’m glad you ask!” A gleam in her eye makes you not so glad. “These babies are some proper rhino sex potions. Or they should be and you two can test them out on your little date. Make momma proud.” The goblin grins widely teeth exposed. You watch a blush creep up Essek’s cheeks as Nott in uncertain terms explains exactly what it does and how it’s supposed to work. She also mentions they’re untested but it should be fine. Perfectly safe. Maybe Essek would have preferred just dealing with his brother instead of listening exactly how these rhino sex potions should affect the drinker. 

“You don’t bone on the first date, Nott!” Jester exclaims as if she knows best and Nott’s attention falls away from you and Essek turning to the tiefling instead. 

“We’re adventurers, Jessie! We do things a little differently.” Nott defends. 

“I mean, no. But yes, I’ve had sex on plenty of first dates.” Beau perks up siding with Nott if only to torture Essek further because she’s definitely loving the response she’s getting out of him, even though you’re comforting the man throughout it all. The argument continues, the rest of the Nein also getting into the mix of wether or not you should have sex on the first date weighing in all sorts of variables of your specific situation. 

“Let’s go while they’re bickering if you want to make it out alive.” You mutter under your breath, just loud enough to hear and Essek catches on looking between you and the Mighty Nein as you keep your eyes on them pretending you didn’t do or say anything. He decides to take your word for it and doesn’t even bother contemplating the consequences of not saying goodbye to them instead speaking the words to the spell and you’re whisked off to another place far far away from the Xhorhaus and eternal night of Rosohna. 

“Wait. Where did they go?” Yasha asks noticing the drow and their friend gone. The argument falls silent and eyes turn to the space where the two of you had been standing mere seconds before. 

“They left when you started talking about wether or not their prior outings counted and if they’ve ever slept together afterwards when they had some privacy.” Caleb doesn’t look up from his work and keeps transcribing. When he doesn’t indulge them in the continuation of their argument and it eventually ends he’s on the verge of finishing up his new spell. 

“You spoke with Essek yesterday before he left. Spill the beans Widogast.” Beau all but threatens. There’s a clearing of the throat midway up the stairs and while they first expected it to possibly be Dairon but the sound was too heavy and pitch different. 

“I think I can help with that.” A drow sharing a striking resemblance to Essek although more muscular and taller holds out some papers. The Nein is on guard immediately ready to attack. 

“I think we can be of use to each other.” Still wary it quickly becomes clear they do have a mutual goal and with the Nein’s ability to get into someone else’s business they had it covered. It took them exactly half a second to figure out what the list was; places in Nicodranas. Jester was already gushing on about them and ranking them in order of how romantic they could be. 

Essek had taken you to Nicodranas and it just so happens that the Mighty Nein has a friend with a teleportation circle there. Caleb can spare the spell slot so how couldn’t they go for a night exploring the city, say hi to Jester’s mom and Yeza and Luc and better get to know their new friend Verin. It would be their down time while you and Essek went on a date. Or at least that’s their excuse because it’s pretty clear they just need to spy and snoop. 

[joyfulsongbird]

sooooo. I wrote a Thing. all credit to @defilerwyrm for the concept of the mighty nein getting consecuted based on their connection to the beacon and credit to @mightymightynein for coming up with the idea that because molly died in proximity to the beacon, he would then come back in another body. none of these ideas are mine, I just couldn't resist writing out a little thing!! thank you both for your great ideas <3

ao3 link!!

*

Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes.

Not quickly, not all at once, but he wakes nonetheless. It does not feel like coming to, nor is it really the idea we all have of snapping awake one day and coming to the realization that you are not where you belong. He is born again, and born with the name Enna. He is a purple skinned drow, which pleases him that even in the next life he still has a lavender hue to his skin. He looks at himself in the mirror, once he comes to the realization. He looks at his features and tries to rearrange them into something he knew years ago, he imagines this face with horns, these brown eyes with red ones. It is strange, to look at what he knows is himself and it feels correct but at the same time, like something is missing. He grows used to the idea: his name is Mollymauk, he was a member of the Mighty Nein, he died and now he lives again. He does not know why but it takes time in order for him to fully come back to himself.

One night, after he is able to differentiate which memories are from his present life and which ones are from the last, he disappears. He had not been very attached to the family in this present life, they were distant as many parents were and even before his realization, he looked forward to the day he got to spread his wings and leave the nest. This just… pushes things forward a bit. He wraps an enchanted cloak around himself that would protect him from the sun (one that he had stolen months ago, old habits die hard), as that is something he has to worry about now, and sets off into the first adventure of his second life.

He walks and sorts through the memories in his head. Remembers their faces, their voices, the things they did, the way it sounded when they all laughed. On his travels, he purchases a deck of tarot cards. They are not his cards, not as elegant or artistic as the ones he used to own, but they feel good in his hands. His fingers slowly remember how to shuffle the deck, how to flip them between his fingers, and make them disappear, then reappear as if he had snatched them from behind somebody’s ear. He remembers, and it feels wonderful to be able to be a whole person.

His travels are long, he is only going on foot, and he only has so much money. To earn some coin, he gives tarot readings in bars and on the street just like he used to. People goggle at him, differently than they used to. Drows are not all that common, he finds, and it is especially not all that common to find a teenaged drow sitting in a bar with a grin on his face, telling an old man his future with as much confidence as somebody triple his age. As is his nature, people are drawn to him. He had forgotten the electric feeling that buzzes through his whole body when he is surrounded by life like this. It’s a wonderful thing, to feel alive even when you have died twice. And since he has experienced being lifeless twice before (only one of which he can remember his last breath leaving his body), he wants to experience it all again. Nothing wrong with that.

Months go by and he finds himself in Port Damali. He does not know where he is going nor does he have a destination but hopes that someday, fate will shove him near the Mighty Nein again by chance and he will be able to brush sleeves with them in this life too. He sits in a tavern, like he does every day, and tells a young woman that someday her spine will stop aching and that she needs to work less and that she’ll have at least three children. She grins at him and he grins back, already scooping up the three cards she had picked out and is waving his hand absently for somebody new to sit down.

“Do you read tarot cards ‘cause I really, really love tarot cards and I can read them too, you know? You read mine and then I’ll read yours, okay?” it takes him a moment, as he looks at the tiefling sitting across from him. She’s older now, wiser around her eyes but still just as bright in her smile. She’s dressed for the area, in what one could only ever describe as classic pirate garb. Molly smiles at her, his chest aching. It almost pains him to see her again, in this way where she does not recognize him. She leans forward eagerly, legs kicking back and forth under the table. She hasn’t changed.

He clears his throat, not prepared to let his thoughts get the better of him. “Of course! Here, pick whichever cards call to you. Three of them, if you please.”

She happily chooses three, placing them face down on the table all nice and even. Before he can turn them over, she leans in very close. She narrows her eyes at him, “do you know my name?” He laughs, loud and clear. “Let’s see if the cards tell us that, hm?”

Satisfied, she leans away, watching as he flips over the first card. He considers the card for a long time, and Jester watches, enraptured. “You’re a kind soul, aren’t you?”

She nods vigorously. Molly taps his chin in faux thoughtfulness. “You love to draw, am I correct?”

She gasps, “how did you know that? I do!”

“The cards told me.” he says, as means of an explanation. He flips over the next card without further analysis. “Ooooh, interesting. You should not let doubt plague you, you’re far too important to those around you to let those skills go to waste. Don’t hold back, let your chaos run free, my dear.” “That’s what I always say!” her voice rises in excitement and they get several odd glances from surrounding patrons. “You’re so good at this, oh my god!”

He simply smiles, before flipping over the final card. He forces a frown and Jester leans forward again, glancing rapidly from his face and back down to the card. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve lost things,” he says. “But don’t worry, you will find that not all is lost forever. Jester.” She jumps to her feet, her face alight with joy. Joy. He grins. He had been right, then, when he had named her card that.

She runs a small ways over to another table and grabs somebody's arm, dragging a familiar half-orc all the way back to Molly’s table, her words nearly incoherent out of excitement.

“Fjord, look, look! Tell him what you said, tell him what you saw in the cards- I told you, Fjord! It was the coolest thing, he knew my name, he knew it! I swear, look! Look at the cards!” she bounces up and down, her words strewn together as she points at the three cards laid out. Fjord looks down at them, then glances up at Molly who shrugs as he gathers up his deck and slips them back into his bag, finished for the night.

“I don’t know what they mean.” he says helplessly. Jester rolls her eyes, grabbing Fjord’s hand and then grabbing Molly’s.

“I want you to teach me! I’ve been practicing for-ever and I can’t get that good.” She grabs him and Fjord back to the corner table that Fjord had been sitting at by himself. She forces them both to sit.

“Jester,” Fjord says before she can get comfortable. “Could you grab me a drink from the bar?”

“Okay!” she doesn’t seem to question why, just bounces over to the bar and leaves the two of them in silence.

“How did you know her name?” Fjord asks gruffly. “I know it’s not because of the cards. Are you a spy of some kind? Seem a little young to be a spy.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” It takes him a long stretch of quiet before he can even come up with the words. It hasn’t quite felt real up until this moment, up until he was faced with the ghosts of his past who aren’t actually ghosts. They are very much alive, only aged and more weathered than he knew them last. As he explains, as briefly as humanly possible, he watches Fjord’s eyebrows raise higher and higher. His eyes grow wide and fists clench on top of the table. Mollymauk knows it sounds insane, it doesn’t sound real, by anybody’s standards. There’s an uncomfortable pause after he’s done speaking when neither Fjord nor him know what to say. They are interrupted (maybe “saved” would be the correct word) by Jester returning with Fjord’s drink.

“Why so quiet guys?” she asks.

Fjord opens and closes his mouth, his face paler, “we need to go see Essek.”

[fjoresterthoughts]

My hand fits in yours

@fjoresterweek 2021 - Day 1: Touch

[AO3]

They were exhausted. Even though their day to day lives were more peaceful now, they still were finding themselves incredibly tired and slowly unwinding. After saving the world and everything that they had been through recently, it was going to take a whole week of sleeping to truly feel recovered and refreshed. 

Although the Lavish Chateau was not open for business yet, Fjord and Jester found themselves momentarily staying there and enjoying having the place almost entirely to themselves. They had been keeping themselves busy and useful by cleaning and making repairs, but they hit that point in the afternoon where they needed some fresh air, rest, and maybe some lemonade. 

They had decided to sit in the back garden for a bit, which was still as lovely as before and thankfully untouched to any damage. If anything, things were a bit overgrown and unkept, but that made everything feel more secluded. Fjord could see why Marion had lived here for many years - the few trees provided just the right amount of shade on a sunny day like today, and the refreshing ocean breeze on a hot day was divine.

Despite the fact that there was more than one chair in the garden, after finishing her lemonade, Jester plunked herself onto Fjord’s lap and curled up in a little ball, tucking her head into his shoulder. Once he saw how sleepy she looked when she walked over, Fjord really didn’t have the heart to say no, and he was quite enjoying his new-found love of cuddling. Thankfully he had chosen a reclinable chair, and as he adjusted into a more comfortable position for the two of them, Jester lazily wrapped her tail around his leg. She then held his hand in hers, and fell asleep instantly and Fjord thought his heart was going to burst.

He couldn’t help but stare at their intertwined blue and green hands, though. It was a familiar sight - they’ve held hands many times during this whirlwind of a year that they’ve known each other for. How is it possible that one action, the simple action of them holding hands, can have so many different meanings?

The very first time they held hands was only moments after they had first laid eyes on each other, way back in Port Damali. Naturally, she had been running away from some sort of chaos she had caused, and when she had almost crashed into him and he had asked if she was alright, she had grabbed his hand and told him to run and she would explain later. They had pulled into an alley and she had given the authorities the slip with some sort of fascinating magic, and it was only after she had finished explaining, they had realized they were still holding hands. The start of them sticking together. 

Fjord remembered when they held hands when he had died on the ship, her strong yet shaking hands holding his bloodied and lifeless ones. How she was so scared of losing him, and when he had come to, he was dazed and confused but how having her hand in his made him feel stable. Only moments later, gripping her hand was his anchor, his lifeline while Uk’otoa was being painfully pulled out of him.

But then, when they held hands in the Blooming Grove it had been completely different. They were hopeful, and trying to figure out the new romantic turn to their relationship. They were mutually flirting but finally on the same page, and it was all warm and happy and they were laughing. Maybe that one was his favourite. 

When they got to Cognoza, however, he was scared. He had told his friends to be hopeful, and wanted to be a beacon of positivity for them… but he had been scared too. So when Essek and Caleb were tearing reality in front of everyone, unsure what the outcome would be, he reached for Jester’s hand. At the potential end of all things, he wanted to hold Jester’s hand. Things felt a little less scary when you were holding hands. 

A strong gust of wind carrying the smell of the ocean moved past them, and it made Fjord think of their upcoming adventures. He wondered what was in store for them, and when they would hold hands during it all. What would he feel during it? Would they still be holding hands when they are having retired beach walks in Nicodranas, and their hands are old and weathered and wrinkled? 

If he’s learned anything from Jester though, it’s to not plan so far ahead. Right now, he was going to join Jester in her nap, and after that? Well, they’d decide together.

[purpleandsilver]

Behind my eyes it's coming down

Fuck it here's some shadowgast fluff.

Title from Lucky by Aurora. It's an excellent, wholesome, gut-wrenching masterpiece. Go listen to it.

Spoilers for campaign 2, episode 140.

Essek watches from afar as the Mighty Nein get reacquainted with their previously dead friend. With Mollymauk. Molly to his friends. Essek smiles and sips his tea, made from "dead people" according to Jester. He doesn't think about it. Today- is it still today? Time felt different in the Astral Sea. It almost felt endless, and yet nonexistent- death had been very present.

He saw Caleb die and then he saw him come back.

He saw the Mighty Nein beg, plead for their friend whose body had been occupied from a horrendous entity. A terrible soul had taken over and it almost doomed the world.

He saw the resurrection spell fail. He felt anger at the unfairness. The Mighty Nein achieved absolute miracles. They stopped a war. They fought a god! And yet, when it mattered the most, they couldn't save their friend.

And then they did it. They brought him back. One failure did not led to another. Now that friend stood slightly confused but with a grin on his face. The Mighty Nein laughed and cheered and joked and drank and celebrated. Essek stayed in the shadows of a tree within the Blooming Groove and merely watched. He had participated somewhat but duty called him, and he could not stay long. Such is the life of a Shadowhand. He would have a hard time leaving, though.

Who wouldn't, in his position?

The thought made him pause, his lips mere centimeters from his tea cup.

With the Mighty Nein he was safe. With the Kryn Dynasty, he was doomed. Essek goes back and he's done for. Because let's face it: Essek's greatest sin will not be hidden for long. Not with the Dynasty's investigation. Not with-

There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Essek sets down the teacup and pulls his shaking hands under his cloak. He has to go back, no matter what. He could do some good, with whatever time is left for him. Perhaps he could write something about the beacons, fester doubt in the minds of the people. He often worried about the power the Luxon religion held over the nation. He worried that it made the people of his nation do unwise things, ignore hard truths, all for selfish reasons. Perhaps he could help foster relations with the Empire. Teaching Dunamancy could be a first step in that. Expanding the understands of magic all for the sake of unity. Perhaps-

Essek closed his eyes and leaned against the tree. Think small, Thelyss. He didn't have a lot of time left. Not with how close the investigation was getting to the truth.

The tightness in his chest returned and Essek took a deep breath. He didn't want death. He wanted to live. To see the Mighty Nein and whatever future they had. He wanted to begin anew with them, regain their trust, he wanted to know more about them. About Caleb, who made him feel things he hadn't felt in years, perhaps his whole life. He wanted-

Yes, he wanted to live. But duty calls.

Essek stood up. His rest was over. The Mighty Nein were beginning to wind down as well. Talk of sleeping reached his ears. Good, they needed a rest. Especially Caleb.

Essek took a deep breath and turned away, intending to cast his teleportation spell right then and there. They would understand if he left without saying goodbye. Duty calls.

Duty to his nation. Duty to his position as Shadowhand, as-

A hand grabbed his arm, stopping him mid cast. Essek jumps and spins around. He cloak catches the teacup and it knocks over. Essek ignores it because there before him is-

There, in the light of setting sun stood Caleb. His red hair ablaze in the sunset. His eyes alight with joy. Caleb puts his other hand on Essek's other arm.

"I'm not letting you leave just yet, Thelyss."

"You know I'd love to stay Widogast, but-"

Caleb steps closer to him, his hands still holding onto his arms. "Let's stop with the formalities, ja? We just saved the world. You just helped to save the world. Fjord told me about what he said to you. I can't help but agree with him: I've seen all I need to see."

"Caleb...." Why is there tears in his eyes? Why does his chest feel like it's going to collapse inward? Why does saying anything more than his name hurt?

Caleb let's go of Essek and steps back; Essek follows. He reaches up with a shaky hand and brushes a stray piece of ginger hair off of rosey cheeks. Sets his foreheads against another.

"Oh Caleb...."

"Can I kiss you?"

Essek nods, tears streaming down his face. "Please."

There are no words after that.

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Seven ~ “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; near-death experience; angst

word count: 11.9k

chapter summary: not one to wait around on the mandalorian for rescue, you begrudgingly join forces with an unlikely ally, knowing it will take all of your wit and tenacity to outsmart the threats looming against you and the children

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: this is a repost as the first time i posted it, it didn’t show in the tags. opening italics are a flashback to the previous night. this chapter makes quite the narrative sandwich. begins and ends with fluff, but the middle filling? pure a.n.g.s.t.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Seven: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

“Tell me, Mandalorian,” you laugh, letting your eyes lazily dance along the outline of his gleaming Beskar, admiring the flickering flames reflecting back against it. “I have a question.” You didn’t need a mirror to know that mischievous glint in your eyes had returned. You could simply feel it: the up-to-no-good attitude radiating from within like a blazing warning beacon.

Happy.

You are happy. You haven’t felt this in so long, you’re simply drunk on it.

After several hours singing and dancing at Kuill’s homestead, your spirit- your heart- are bursting with bliss, like they might just erupt wings and soar up of your body, leaving the bounds of the physical realm for the mysterious realm of the Force.

The euphoria has pretty much eradicated any anxiousness you still felt regarding the day’s prior embarrassing events. Though, to be honest, as much fun as the dancing has been, the Spotchka is perhaps the most to blame for your loosened lips.

Which leads you back to your question for the Mandalorian.

He leans forward, resting both hands atop his knees, quiet, patient, and long-suffering as always when dealing with your jestering mood.

“Mandalorian-” you drop down to your knees, directly in front of him- “dance with me.”

He stares, neither speaking nor moving at your request. You might have wondered if he had heard you, except that he is staring directly into your eyes… At least, you assume it’s your eyes. A bit hard to tell with the, you know, helmet and all.

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “You know-” you motion circles in the air with your hands- “dancing: when two people grab hands and let the music dictate their movements?”

He jolts his head away, staring down at the dirt.

“I don’t dance.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter at the frown in his voice. But you lose the fight, the grin stretching across your face despite your best efforts. “The Mandalorian doesn’t dance.” You say it as a statement.

He begins rapidly tapping his fingers against his thigh armor, probably hoping you’d just go away.

No chance of that, Mando.

With a smirk, you reach out and grab onto his upper arm, just below where his armored veneer ends, and you teasingly squeeze.

You open your mouth to smart off again, but the words fall flat when his gloved hand slaps down on yours, pinning it in place against his bicep. Your lips part. At first you thought he might throw your hand off- maybe you broke some Mandalorian code by, you don’t know, touching him or something. But you watch, blinking, as his shoulders relax, falling back into repose.

Yet his hand remains, holding your own hostage.

Neither of you speak.

Maker. This… is awkward. A running theme with your interactions, it seems.

“Well,” you clear your throat, flashing him a cheeky grin, “that’s okay, Din. I guess you got two left feet, huh?” You release his arm, but his own hand keeps yours pinned in place. You’re not sure what to do, so you tug, relieved when he releases his hold.

You leap to your feet, dusting your skirt off in hopes of appearing casual about the interaction. “Fine, so you don’t wanna dance-” you scrunch your nose down at him- “so I’ll just dance with Cara then.”

“Cara?” he grunts.

With one last snicker, you hop away from the Mandalorian, straight to where Cara is conversing with Omera, interrupting their conversation with your request.

“Cara, Din turned me down.” You throw both hands on your hips. “So, will you dance with me?”

“I think I need another Spotchka first.”

“Oh!” Omera laughs, grabbing both yours and Cara’s hands. “Come on!”

The three of you join hands, laughing and snickering as you join the others around the fire in a lively dance.

-------

Few things bring Cara more joy than tormenting her favorite people. But what brings her the most joy? Tormenting Din. And after observing his behavior last night at the bonfire, she has plenty of ammunition to hurl his way.

“Mando,” Cara calls out, increasing her pace to catch back up to her companion. “What’s the big rush?”

This, of course, is a baited question. Cara knows exactly why her Beskar-clad friend is moving faster than a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard that’s being chased by a Hutt.

And it involves one lively, plucky little friend of the Mandalorian.

And what kind of friend would Cara be if she didn’t take the preverbal knife and twist it just a little deeper, tricking him into taking the bait.

“She can wait, you know.”

The hitch in Din’s step brings Cara immense satisfaction. The Mandalorian, even hidden behind all that hard exterior, is damn easier to read than he thinks.

A dangerous, mysterious Mandalorian warrior- brought down by simple childish infatuation.

How amusing. But really not surprising.

He can don as much Beskar as he can physically strap on, harden the soft layer of human skin with an impenetrable shield. And yet, for all the advances in technology, they’ve yet to discover how to armor the heart against the blaster blot of a crush.

“We can’t waste our entire day here, Cara,” Din grumbles, shooting Cara a glance. “We need to get back to the homestead.”

“Don’t give me that look, Mando.”

Din shoots Cara another glare in response.

“Yeah, that look.” Cara grins. The Mandalorian is no fool. And yet, even with all his experience, he really is about as dense as his armor. “Are you really in a rush to return to the homestead-” Cara casually adjusts the rifle slung across her back- “or are you just fretting over your pretty little friend?”

The Mandalorian freezes mid-step.

“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, Mando-” Cara brushes past him and continues walking- “you haven’t exactly done a great job of it.”

Cara downgrades her grin to a smirk as Din’s footfall resumes behind her.

“I don’t know what that liquid is the Sorganians keep offering you-” a harsh huff of air follows- “but you should probably lay off of it.”

Her chuckle turns into a mocking belly-laugh. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this one, Mando,” she snorts. “While she was singing, Kuill tried asking you a question. You didn’t even look at him, much less give an answer.”

The Mandalorian spins around. “He did not-”

“Uh huh. He shuffled off, mumbling something about a ‘love-struck blurg’.”

The Mandalorian continues stalking forward, but he’d have to move much faster than that to escape Cara’s prodding. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cara.” His tone is a warning, but she’s hardly afraid of him.

“Fine! Fine,” Cara sighs. The Mandalorian is making this way too easy. She really had hoped he’d put up more of a defense.

Cara lets the air hang silent a good thirty or forty long seconds- just enough to let Din think he’s off the hook. “You know,” she blurts, “you could have danced with her last night when she asked you, you damn Bantha-brain.”

“I don’t dance,” he mutters, a twinge of ire in his tone.

Cara huffs. “No, you just stare, apparently.”

The Mandalorian releases a long, heavy sigh, but does not respond.

“She’s pretty…” Cara voice takes on a nonchalant tone, “great personality…”

“And a lot of damn trouble,” he grumbles, hooking a finger in his belt and twisting around to face Cara.

“Well,” she puffs, intrigued by his reaction, “don’t get your Beskar britches in a stitch. If that’s how you feel, guess it’s a good thing she’s coming with me then.”

He faulters a split second before huffing through the vocoder.

“It is.”

Cara rolls her eyes. There is no talking him through this. Fine, be stubborn. Mando, you are a-

“On Taek,” his voice barges through her thoughts. “Since Taek…” His voice turns slow, languid. “She’s… just inexperienced, in over her head.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” His words are careful. He crosses his arms, slowly, methodically.

Cara pauses long enough to gather her thoughts. With a shake of her head, she sighs, “when she was fighting me- sure, she wasn’t very strong or even good at it, but the way she instinctively moved and reacted, she’s been trained before, I’d say. She isn’t clueless.”

“What are you thinking then?” The Mandalorian shifts his weight, angling his helmet to the side.

“I don’t know for sure. But I certainly don’t think she’s exactly what she portrays.” Cara raises an eyebrow. “We should probably run her name through the databases. I’d be curious to see what shows up.”

“I already did.”

“Not surprised,” Cara chuckles. “And?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s impossible.” Cara stops in her tracks. “No one is recordless.”

Din sighs, brushing past her. “I know.”

“False or wiped identity.” Cara can’t help but smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“Just watch her, Cara,” Din mumbles through the vocoder, matching his pace to Cara’s. “And… watch out for her.”

“I’ll leave the ‘watching her’ part to you for now, since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

Even through a dark visor, the long-suffering, please-just-stop gaze was more than apparent to Cara. But, of course, she plans to pretend she hasn’t noticed.

“Mando, you truly ar-”

“Cara.”

The alarm in Din’s voice rips the words from her mouth.

“What is-” Cara freezes. “Hey!” She throws a hand on her hip, the other hand reflectively slapping against her blaster holster.

“This… is where we left the bikes-” Cara blinks, glancing around at the empty alley- “right?”

Din does not answer. He steps forward, swiftly circling around the perimeter, observing the surrounding environment, the neighboring alleys… but finding nothing.

“Were they stolen?” Cara growls, temper beginning to take control. “Damn! I ju-”

“Look.” Din lifts something up off the ground, and Cara’s heart plummets.

“Is that…?”

“It’s her bag.” Din’s voice is measured, dangerously cool. “And her purchases are still inside it.”

Cara sighs, knowing this… didn’t bode well. “She wouldn’t have left it willingly.”

Din angles his helmet to glare out into the far horizon. “No.” He shifts his weight, swinging around to face Cara. “No, she wouldn’t.”

Cara frowns at Din’s fluttering cape as he sweeps past her, stalking straight back towards the shops.

She sighs.

“What have you gotten yourself into…”

-------

“Don’t worry, kids!” you weakly chuckle, knocking your hat back out of your eyes. “Look, this is just a little… fun adventure.” You rest both hands on your hips. “I’ve been kidnapped before, and I’m still here. We’re… going to be just, uh, fine.”

“No!” Large, rolling tears race down Winta’s cheeks. “And- and we’re trapped here! With them! And-”

“Winta,” your voice turns firm. You toss her a warm smile, grabbing ahold of her shoulders. “If I’m not worried-” you pause to brush your hand across her cheek before pulling her close- “then you shouldn’t be either, sweetheart.”

Of course, you are worried. Terribly worried. Nearly freaking-out-wanting-to-shriek-and-jump-out-the-ship worried.

Okay, so panicking. You’re panicking!

You swallow, the dry walls of your throat sticking together, making it difficult to even breathe.

“Yeah, this will be fun!”

You flash Birdie a curious gaze, raising an eyebrow when you discover him grinning with glee. “Birdie, what about the current situation has you so excited?” you can’t help but prod. Damn, you want a slice of whatever has this kid beaming with elation because, kriff it, you might just start crying yourself any minute.

“The Mandalorian will find us,” Birdie chirps, spinning around the hull of the Razor Crest. “And kill them! Just like one of his adventure stories!”

“Birdie!” Winta hisses. “You don’t know that!”

“He will!”

“He might not!”

“But he’s Mandalorian!”

“He might die, Birdie!”

“No, he can’t!”

“YES, he CAN!”

“Kids!” you bark, separating the two of them before hands start flying. Stars, where’s an adult when you need one because you sure as hell don’t feel like being one right now. You kneel down on the ground between them. “Stop this immediately, both of you. Winta, go over there. Don’t talk, even look at each other.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

Both kids obey your orders, but that doesn’t stop them from tossing each other angry glares from across the room, each tempting the other to break your order first.

You sigh, roughly rubbing your face with both hands. Stars, what next?

You feel a little tug on your pants. You flash your eyes downwards, smiling wryly at the baby. His expressive eyes are visibly distraught from the heightened emotional tension in the room, and the blanket you had wrapped him in remains tossed over the back of his head like a protective canopy.

“Come on, kiddo,” you sigh. You reach down and toss him up against your shoulder, releasing a tight breath when he tucks his face into your neck for comfort. Such a trusting action would normally warm your heart, but instead, your wry smile turns bitter. These children need you for comfort, for reassurance, to tell them it’s going to be okay. After all, that’s what parents do- they promise everything’s going to be okay.

But that’s just it. You can chant the words over and over and over again until the air runs out of your lungs, your empty chest filling with a baseless hope. But words on their own are meaningless. They cannot change fate.

You- you can’t do it again. You cannot lie to another child.

Your hands begin to shake, the hollow ache of grief bubbling and swirling in your stomach, the excruciating anguish of grief and despair eating away at what is left of your confidence. How can you sit here, swallow back against your fear, and vow to these children it will be okay?

A tiny squeeze on your arm rips you back to reality, back to the children here now. You press your eyes tightly together one last time, throwing away your pressing desire to just break down. Peeling your eyes back open, you sigh at discovering Winta and Birdie pressed against you, wide eyes glued to your face, searching it for answers and guidance.

“Listen, I said it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to be okay.” You flash them a shaky smile followed by a sharp nod. “And that’s that.”

Your smile warms, relief flooding your heart as their faces relax at your promise, however baseless it was.

Maybe that’s all a parent really is. Someone who lies about the truth until you are old enough to face the bullshit for yourself.

“Chins up,” you sigh, jumping to your feet and placing the baby back down on his blanket. With a sharp whine, he takes it up in his hands, crawling back underneath it.

Kid’s got the right idea.

You take this moment to flail your eyes around the room, desperate for a shred of an idea, any idea on how the kriff to get out of this. Unfortunately, the Mandalorian’s weapons are locked away, as the Nar Shaddaa lady assured before leaving you alone with the kids in the hull. Everything- the escape pod, the ramp, all locked down.

Maker. This- your plans- are spiraling out of control. When this whole mess began, you had a few escape scenarios in mind, but they were wild and risky, per your usual style. They had to be scratched the split second the children were involved. You’ve never cared much if you take risks with your own safety. After all, what is life but a game of chance? But it would be a cold day in each of the seven Corellian hells before you ever, ever put a child in harm’s way.

You groan as you are punched with reality: you are completely and utterly dependent on the Mandalorian and Cara for rescue.

And, well, that’s just not good enough. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your miserable existence in this galaxy, it’s that you can never, ever rely on others as a first line of defense.

Gotta take matters into your own hands. You might not be much of a fighter, but, blast it all, these Nar Shaddaa gangsters have made one critical, critical error:

They’ve triggered a mother bear…. And there’s no coming back from that. You will fight for them. If things get out of hand- If things change… You exhale slowly, resigning yourself to your decision.

If there are no other options, you will give them that name- the one once so unfortunately, intrinsically linked to your own.

But you can face that name again for them. The children are worth it- worth throwing everything away for.

You are emboldened by this decision, the protective instincts flooding your system, renewing your resolve to get out of this mess for them.

“Well, kids-” you lower your eyes, meeting three innocent expressions- “ready for a little fun?”

“YEAH!” Birdie shouts, bouncing up and down.

“Shh!” you hiss, swiftly pressing a palm to Birdie’s mouth. “Ready for quiet fun, Birdie. Quiet fun.”

Birdie mumbles something through your fingers as you lead him over to the bunk compartment. With a grunt, you lift him up to sit atop the mattress.

“Winta, bring the baby over. I want you three to stay right here. Do. Not. Move.” You swoop your finger in the air. “And no fighting.”

“I never fight,” Winta snorts.

Birdie jumps up on his knees. “You do too!”

You open your mouth to interrupt another round of squabbling. “Kids, you have go-”

“Girl,” barks a voice from the cockpit. “Get up here. Now.”

You grit your teeth as the snarled demand of the woman from Nar Shaddaa reverberates throughout the hull. The baby whimpers, tucking his head back behind Winta, who doesn’t exactly look that much better herself. The sparkle- the zeal for adventure- has even been ripped from Birdie’s eyes.

“Do not move.” You point a finger again. “Winta, you’re in charge.” Birdie’s mouth drops open, preparing to object, but you slam a hand down on the control switch, entombing the children inside with a snap.

With a heavy sigh, you yank on the brim of your hat to lower it back down on your brows. Biting your lip, you begin to make your way up the ladder, dread building in your stomach at not knowing what exactly to expect.

“Get up here,” barks the woman again.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you respond lazily, your outer rim accent thickening as you slip into your Nar Shaddaa persona. You stroll into the cockpit, hands raised in the air in surrender. “What is- AHG!”

Her hand lashes out, fingers sinking into your upper arm, digging ruthlessly into your flesh. With a harsh shove, she heaves you to the floor. Your knees crash into the metal flooring of the cockpit, and you cry out as your hands catch the brunt of your fall. The pain reverberates through your joints, the ache lingering longer than you think you can bare. Your cry is cut off by your own hand pressing to your lips, not wishing to alarm the children hidden down below.

“Stay down,” the man seated in the pilot’s seat grumbles, flipping switches.

Oh. Oh, you are seething now.

Clenching your teeth tightly together, you begin to raise up off the floor. “This- AUF!” The woman’s boot smashes into your back, sending your head hurling towards the floor. You grit your teeth, raging as hot, sticky blood trails down your cheek from the impact.

“Really? Making us repeat ourselves?” The boot presses harder, pinning your cheek flat against the biting cold of the metal floor. “Stay. Down.”

You squeeze your fists together, so tightly that your fingernails are digging into the flesh of your palm, to keep from snarling back at her. You can’t be stupid- you can’t be prideful. Hold back. Hold on.

“Well-” the woman sighs, lifting her boot- “you are an annoying one.”

“Thank you,” you grumble under your breath, “cultivated talent.”

So much for silence. Hell, your stupid mouth is going to get you killed. This- oh stars. Oh stars, what can you do? How do you get out of this? The children, they-

“Where is she.”

Your heart clenches.

That…that voice- that voice! The holo-communicator!

Din!

“I said,” he growls, low and dangerously measured. “Where is she?”

You’re about to open your mouth when the boot presses down on your back in a silent warning. You bite your lip as hard as you can stand to keep from snarling an expletive.

Think of the children. Think of the children…

“First, Mandalorian,” says the woman, “we need to come to terms on an agreement.”

“Show me her,” the Mandalorian’s voice lowers. “Now.”

Your stomach flutters at the rage lurking in his voice, but you don’t have a chance to think beyond that. A hard hand yanks the back of your collar, dragging you up to your feet as you cough and choke against the grip.

“Fine,” the woman sighs, sounding almost bored with all of this- their terrorizing. She shoves you forward. “Here’s your girl. She’s fine.”

Coughing into your hand, you rapidly blink, your eyes finally coming into focus. There he is- shrouded in the blue light canopy of the holo-display.

Cough- “Man-” cough-cough- “Man-do!” cough.

The Mandalorian steps closer, reaching out as if he could just somehow touch you. You clamber forward, slapping your hands down on the base of the holo-display.

“Mando! They ha-”

“Are you hurt? Is that blood?” His voice is hard, dangerous, even through the crackling audio of the holo-display. “Tell me. Have they hurt you?”

“Din!” you cry, losing every ounce of your cool. “Din, they have the children!”

Dead silence.

Breathing heavily, you continue, “Winta, Birdie, and, oh stars! The baby! The baby, Din!”

The Mandalorian freezes, visor trained on you, his stare melting you down to a little puddle on the floor.

“Oh yes, forgot to mention that,” the man mumbles, leaning back in the pilot’s chair beside where you stand.

The hum of the holo-display reverberates throughout the room, the only noise outside of your harsh, panicked breathing.

“You-” the Mandalorian’s voice burns. “If you put one mark on them-” he takes a step forward- “there is no place you will be able to hide from me.”

“Don’t worry,” the man snorts, “we’re taking good care of them, right?” He shoots out a hand, twisting it around your arm.

“Kriff off!” you snarl, all your pent-up rage exploding like a bomb. You fire an elbow at his face. He catches it, twists you around, and pins it against your back. “Go to hell!” you scream, kicking and stomping your feet. He twists your arm further, and you yelp from the burst of pain.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Or what?” the man snorts. “You’re not exactly here, are you?”

“Rea, stop antagonizing everyone,” the woman barks, clearly irritated with her partner. “Let her go.”

“Hmf.”

He heaves you forward, and your ribs crash into the edge of the display, sucking all of the air from your lungs like a vacuum.

Your name- you can faintly hear it- over and over and over again- slipping through the stars and fog and mist swirling around in your head.

“I-” you groan- “I’m o-okay.” You press a hand to your ribs, taking deep breaths against the aftershocks of pain. You clench your teeth.

Oh. Oh, you’re going to kill them. By your hand. You will kill them.

“Listen,” the woman takes over, pushing aside her partner, “we are sending the coordinates for a rendezvous point. You have my word-” she smiles, that sickly, fabricated Nar Shaddaa smile- “they will not be harmed further, if you come alone and bring the original datachip you took from Marek. That’s all we want.”

You hold your breath, awaiting Din’s response.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” His voice faulters, lowering even further.

He’s afraid.

“Good. Just remember-” -the woman smiles, that same phony smile- “one mistake-” she rests a hand on your shoulder- “and the deal is off.”

The Mandalorian shifts, twisting his head to find you- to stare you directly in the eyes. You hold the gaze, unblinking, sending him a silent promise through the connection, just wishing, somehow, he could receive the message.

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

Four seconds…

“I understand.”

And the holo cuts off.

-------

“No, no,” you mumble. “I promise. This isn’t blood.” You continue wiping the very-much-actual-blood on your forehead from where it collided with the floor.

“Sure,” Winta grumbles from the Mandalorian’s bed, his blankets thrown over her head.

“No, really.” You wince as you dab at a tender area. “Okay, it is blood. I, uh, was thinking too hard.” Tossing Winta a lopsided smirk, you tuck your legs under as you sit on the floor of the Mandalorian’s Razor Crest bedroom. “I was thinking too hard, and my brain started bleeding, that’s all.”

“Whoa, really?” Birdie grabs onto your shoulder, staring directly at your wound. “That’s weird!”

Winta huffs, but you smile over at her, sneaking her a sly wink. No use scaring the kids. Might as well be a little silly. After all, anything that calms them, it in turn calms you, right?

Rising up from the floor, you toss aside Din’s shirt that you had been using to clean the blood away. “I owe you one shirt, Mr. Metal Man.” You grin as the kids giggle at your words.

Twisting around on your heel, you throw open his drawers, pawing through the mess the Nar Shaddaa operatives left behind in their search for the datachip (and checking for weapons, no doubt). Not that they really made the mess much worse. Din did a fine job of that on his own.

The man lives like a kriffing Rakghoul.

You glare up at the wall, sighing at the bare space left behind from the now-missing vibroblades. “Mando,” you grumble under your breath, just barely loud enough for the kids to hear, “couldn’t you have hidden a blaster in your, oh, I don’t know, underwear drawer?” Your smile blossoms as their giggles turn into full-on roaring laughter.

“Hey, if the Mandalorian asks-” you fling his clothes right and left over your shoulders, adding to the mess already consuming the floor- “the Nar Shaddaa bad guys made this mess.” You lift up a flannel shirt, similar to the one you had “borrowed” previously. “Deal?”

With a sly little giggle, Winta nods her head, lifting the blankets up for Birdie to join her underneath.

You shift to stand, and you pull on Din’s shirt to cover your blood-stained one. A gentle tug on your pants freezes you mid-buttoning. “Oh!” you gasp. Your eyes twist downwards, meeting the expressive orbs of the baby. His little hands are outstretched, pleading to be picked up.

“Of course, baby.” You pull him up against your chest, expecting he wished for more comfort. But instead, he stares, almost mournfully, at you, observing your wounds.

“I’m okay, little guy,” you sigh as you exit the bedroom and pace the hull a few times. He reaches his little three-fingered hands upwards, grasping for your wounds, but you push his hands back down with each attempt.

He squeals in protest. “Shh, I need to think, baby. I’m just a clumsy oaf. I tripped, is all,” you half-heartedly mumble, deep in thought. You need to focus. You need a damn plan.

Your thoughts are barely coherent, sloshing back and forth in your brain like a thousand loose marbles. If you could just… You freeze mid-step, mouth dropping open.

The back of the hull.

You see it.

A gleam.

A shine.

An… idea.

With a burst of a grin, you flip around, racing back into the bedroom. “Kids,” you hiss, dropping the baby back down on the bed. “Come! I need you to make a lot of noise. Scream; holler; just- noise.” Giggling to yourself, you rush back into the hull, freezing mid-way when you don’t hear them following after you. You twist around, discovering them still staring at you, wide-eyed, from the bed.

“Come on!” You wildly motion at them. “Don’t you want to be a part of an adventure?” You throw them a wink.

Birdie is the first to leap to your side, energy fueled by a promise of excitement. “Scream? Scream?” He grabs onto the fabric of your pants, yanking on them as he bounces up and down. “Why! Why!”

“A distraction.” You smirk, dropping down to meet his eye-level. He bursts into giggles as you ruffle his hair. “Think you can handle it?”

“But- but how?” You look over at Winta, finding her standing in the doorway as she bites her finger uncertainly.

You shrug, tossing both hands on your hips. “I dunno; doesn’t matter.” You sweep your hand in the air around the room. “Just scream about the, oh, refresher or something.”

“The refresher?” Winta snorts.

“I DON’T WANNA USE THE REFRESHER!”

“Stars, Birdie!” you hiss, slapping both hands over your ears. Maker, the sound certainly reverberates in this blasted metal ship!

Winta stares at you with large eyes, but you just raise your eyebrows at her. “Go on,” you mouth.

“Um-” Winta walks over and slides the partition covering the refresher open- “you’ve got to, Birdie! It’s the only one!”

“No! It’s stinky and gross, and I hate it!”

Heh. Kid would make a good actor.

“What the hell is going on down there?”

Just as you expected, the Nar Shaddaa operatives immediately check in on all the commotion.

“Um,” you mumble, rushing over and leaning up against the ladder. “The, uh, girl is just trying to help her friend with the refresher. He’s never seen one like this, and he’s…um, scared.”

You bite your lip to keep from snickering when muttered curses swirl down the ladder followed by the snap of the cockpit door clicking shut.

An impish grin stretches across your face, and you knock your hat back, amazed at how easily this is working out. “Well-” you turn to face the children, giving them a pointed look- “did I say stop?”

The children erupt.

And the baby, not one to be left out of the fun, takes it upon himself to begin wailing.

“Good, uh, good.” You cringe at the racket, fumbling over your feet in your hast to race to the back of the hull. “Keep on! Keep going!” You come to a halt, beaming up at your one-way ticket to rescue.

A blaster.

Of course, said blaster might still be clasped in someone’s hand.

And that hand might be frozen in carbonite.

But, hey, that’s a minor issue you’re about to take care of.

Grumbling under your breath, you begin punching away at the controls on the side of the carbonite block, unsure of what exactly any of them do. “Blast!” you hiss under your breath. “Come on, Carbonite Man! Unfreeze!”

You gasp. The block warms under your hand, shifting in color. Stars! He’s either cooking alive or unfreezing! Or is he- OH! HE’S MOVING!

You slap both hands over your mouth, gawking wide-eyed as Carbonite Man leans forward from the block like some sort of horrifying rebirth. So caught up in the terrifying visual, you barely register the kids abandoning their distraction technique to rush over and stand beside you. You stumble forward, reaching out a hand in the man’s direction. “Uh, sir, I- Oh!”

He drops down, coughing and sputtering and shaking against the floor.

“HE’S DYING!” Birdie shrieks against your leg.

“Shh! He’s, uh, fine!”

You hope, anyway. A dead body would be hard to hide.

You come back to your senses, swooping up the blaster the man dropped during the unfreezing process. You twist it around, pointing it directly at him as he coughs and shutters against the floor.

You blink, wide-eyed, as his body abruptly stops convulsing, resting stiff against the floor.

“Is he…?”  Winta mumbles, voice quivering.

“Oh, blast!” His dark eyes shoot open.

Winta screams, clasping her hands over her mouth.

He groans, placing a hand on his forehead. The man, maybe in his early thirties, rapidly blinks, his eyes flittering around the room until they freeze, resting on your face.

Oh no.

He’s cute.

Had it been any other scenario, you would have jumped in feet-first flirting. The unruly stubble and the sweaty curled hair plastered to his forehead? Yes, please.

“Well, he-llo there, beautiful.” His lips slowly twist up into a smirk. “What’s a doll like you doing in my bedroom? I think I’d remember you.”

Maker. Why are they always cute until they talk?

“Where the hell do you think you are right now, bud?” you grumble.

He squints his eyes. “Uh… my eyes are actually pretty blurry, and I-” His expression plummets to the ground.

“Oh no.”

“Exactly.” You shove the blaster in his face. “Get up.”

“Wait, was- was I… carbonite?!” He leaps to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.

“Get back,” you growl, jabbing the barrel towards his ribs.

“Shit! Calm down with that blaster, lady!” The brief flash of anger in his face is swiftly replaced with horror. “Wait- where’s… Mandalorian?!”

“Calm down,” you bark, pushing as much authority into your voice as you can muster. “You’re on the Mandalorian’s ship, and you had better listen to me.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing the children a pointed look.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

They reluctantly obey, even the baby as he grasps at the ends of his ears, attempting to fold them down against his head.

“Now, let’s talk business.” You step forward, blaster corralling Carbonite Man up against the wall.

“Blast, blast, blast, wait, lady!” the man laughs nervously, throwing his hands out to the side. “I mean, come on! We can make a deal here, sweetheart.” He takes a step forward.

“Bold move considering I wield the blaster.”

“Drunk on power, are we?” His tone shifts into a smooth blend of irritatingly cocky confidence. “You like being in charge, sweetheart?”

“Maker,” you mutter under your breath. You bite your cheek to keep from losing your cool. After all, the kids will have enough lasting trauma from this situation without you adding to it by shooting this nerfherder in front of them.

“I mean, if you and those kids are his bounty-” he throws them a little wave; Birdie returns it eagerly before Winta slaps his hand down and recovers her ears- “shouldn’t you be pointing that thing-” he motions at the blaster- “at him?”

“Look-” you purse your lips, taking on a defensive stance. You didn’t trust this man to not do something stupid like rip the blaster from your grip, getting all of you killed. You step forward again, and he steps back, pressed up against the wall like a cornered womp-rat.

“Listen,” you hiss, using your authoritative voice again, “long story short, we’re being held hostage here-”

“By the Mandalorian? He took children? That dirty-”

“Just stop!” you groan, rolling your eyes. “And just listen. No, he’s a… a good man-”

“I beg to differ, ma’am.” He lifts an eyebrow, motioning wildly at the melted carbonite block from which he emerged.

“Really? You’re one to talk.” You snort and knock your hat back, shooting him an incredulous glare. “And why exactly is there a bounty on your head? I’m sure you’re just so innocent, such a good man.”

You inwardly cringe. You really are the last person in the galaxy that should be mocking a man fleeing a bounty hunter, all things considered…

“I’ll have you know I am innocent.” He crosses his arms.

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

He shoots a glance at the children, all three of whom are watching him with intense fascination. Birdie looks like he’s found a new hero- a bit concerning, to be honest.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

“Aw,” Birdie whines, but they obey the demand once again.

“Tighter, kid…. No sneaking a listen…” He shifts back around to face you. “Ah-” the man slips you a wink- “let’s just say I had no idea the heiress was still married.”

“Oh stars.”

“But her partner sure informed me!”

“Dank farrick,” you groan, “you really are a banthabrain.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enough of this.” You meet the children’s eyes. There’s no use forcing them to cover their ears at this point. They’ve overheard enough drama in just the past few hours to write an entire holodrama. You have to instead focus- focus on getting them out. If this man can be useful towards that goal, then he had better start talking- and talking fast.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” You smile, crossing your arms but keeping the blaster pointed at his head.

“I’d focus better without that blaster- hey! That’s mine!”

“Two Nar Shaddaa syndicate members are up in the cockpit.” Your lopsided smile drops. “They are holding us to get something they want from the Mandalorian. And if they find you, they will kill you. Catch my drift?”

“Kark. I didn’t ask to be unfrozen and dragged into this!”

“Then get in the freezing bay!”

“Now wait-”

“Are you afraid?” Birdie chirps, rushing over to grab the man’s hand.

“Birdie!” you hiss, jerking forward to snatch him back.

“Kid, to put it simply and in as few words as possible-” he drops down to Birdie’s eye level- “yes.”

Winta races over and grabs his other arm. “We can help!”

“Kids, you’re killing me here,” you groan as you snatch up the baby with your free hand before he can waddle over to join Winta and Birdie. “Look here, uh-”

“Pablo.” He smiles at you, sticking both hands out towards Winta and Birdie to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

They giggle as they take his hands. You lean all your weight to one foot, jutting your hip out. “Carbonite man, Pablo, whatever-” you purse your lips- “whether you want to or not, you’re stuck in the middle of this. You have three options.”

“One-” with the hand grasping the blaster, you lift a finger up- “help us, and I will have the Mandalorian release you.” Second finger. “I can refreeze you. Or three-” you smirk- “you get shot.”

“Dank farrick.”

“Well?”

Pablo turns his head, raising an eyebrow at Winta and Birdie. “Guess I’ll hedge my bets on the Mandalorian’s kindness.”

You release a long breath. Maker, you hadn’t realized how tense you’d been…

“Good. Well then-” you let a smile tickle the corner of your mouth- “got any ideas?”

-------

“No, that’s too dangerous. It’s a stupid plan.”

“Got anything better, little miss genius?” Pablo grumbles.

“Oh, and you’re a genius?” It takes all of your inner strength to keep your voice below a whisper. You feel your face warm with seething anger. “You’re the one who got caught by a bounty hunter!”

“And you’re the one who got kidnapped.”

“Stars!” you growl, shifting further away from Pablo, sliding across the Mandalorian’s bed. “Honestly? I hope they do kill you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

You hand is raised in the air, prepared to shove him off the bed when Winta bursts through the doorway of the sleeping quarters.

“Someone’s coming!”

“Kriff!” you hiss, flying to your feet.

“Hey, hey, wait, where the hell-”

“Under the bed!” You slap a hand on the top of his head, shoving it down with force. “Go!”

“I can barely fit,” he growls. “I think I’m stuck- HEY NOW.”

“Move!” you hiss through your teeth, pushing on his ass with both hands.

A few more panicked wiggles, and he slips underneath.

“Here.” You slip him his blaster back. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He peaks up at you with a lopsided smile. “Never, sweetheart.”

You barely make it back into the hull before the female Nar Shaddaa operative steps down from the last rung of the ladder.

“We’ve finalized the last details of the rendezvous with the Mandalorian.” She throws both hands on her hips, rolling her shoulders forward, taking on a much more intimidating presence. “We should be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

Stars! Fifteen minutes… Within fifteen minutes…

Oh Maker…

Swallowing back your anxiety, you stroll over to where the children sit in the bunk compartment, climbing up and joining them. You take the baby up, setting him down in your lap. He stares up at the woman and coos as the other children tuck behind your back.

“And?” You are trying your hardest to use your professional, almost bored tone of voice, the one you used when discussing “business” on Nar Shaddaa.

“I’m just reiterating my earlier point-” she smiles- “that one wrong move, play heroics, and you know how this will end.”

You blink, keeping the mask on your face. “Good, well, thanks for the update.” If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm… If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm…

The woman huffs and does a quick visual sweep of the hull before spinning around, climbing right straight up the ladder again.

Hell.

The unfrozen carbonite block. Tucked away in the back.

The kriff. She didn’t see it. Bloody hells!

You’ll just have to blame Pablo for that one.

You groan, letting your head flop forward against the baby’s head. He coos against the touch, reaching up and clasping both of his hands against your cheeks.

“Baby, I know you miss your daddy,” you sigh heavily, rubbing his ear with affection. “I think you all need naps.”

“You need a nap.”

You twist to frown at Winta. She just shrugs.

Well, she might have a point. After a long day of plot twist after plot twist, well…

You can’t take many more of them.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Your eyes shoot up, your mouth plummeting to the floor.

“What the kriff are you doing?”

Pablo keeps his blaster trained on you, shrugging at your question. “Sorry, but I intend to do this my way, whether you like it or not.”

You grit your teeth, rage boiling in your stomach- only the fear of alerting the cockpit keeping it from spilling over and consuming Pablo alive.

“I- you- how dare-”

“Save it.” His face falls into the most serious expression you’ve seen from him thus far. He swoops along the wall, angling his head cautiously, peering up the ladder.

“The door’s closed. Stay quiet. Climb.”

“Are you crazy?!” You leap to your feet, marching over with little regard for the blaster trained on your head.

“Get back,” he spits, holding a hand up in warning.

“No,” you growl, ripping your hat off your head and slamming it against the floor. “Shoot me. You won’t! Shoot me, you kriffing coward!”

His hand launches forward, twisting around your upper arm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh beneath the sleeve as he yanks you forward to hiss in your ear. “Don’t do this, not in front of the children.”

The children.

Stars.

You- you lost your temper in front of the children. You peak a reluctant glance over at the bunk, horrified to discover sheer terror etched in their expressions.

You want to throw up.

But your pride, your temper, still speak for you when your lips open. “In front of the children? Says the man pointing a blaster at me,” you say through clenched teeth.

His eyes grow hard, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You’ll thank me later.”

You have no idea what’s about to happen, but your priority is the children. Their safety. Their comfort. Their lives.

You will get them out of this, somehow. Somehow.

“I won’t forget this, Pablo.”

-------

It took Pablo less than thirty seconds to override the locks on the escape pod. Who knew that there was an emergency feature that allowed for it to be manually unlocked? Certainly would have been handy information to have that one time a Gungan was chasing you on his freighter…

“Come on, doll,” Pablo whispers, shoving Winta as tightly against your body as possible. She groans, wrapping both arms around your leg. “I’m tired.”

“I know, babydoll.”

“Ouch!”

“Shh!”

“Maker,” you mumble, barely audible. “Who designs a coffin escape pod that fits one person?” You squeeze the baby against your chest, praying there would be room enough to shut the door with all four of you stuffed inside. He releases a little whine, leaning into you as tightly as possible.

“Listen-” Pablo dips his head down within inches of your ear- “they won’t know you’ve launched. I froze the pod’s system computers from this panel, so you should be safe.”

“How do I know you didn’t screw the pod up?” you sneer.

He cocks his head, dipping in even closer to your ear. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear.

“Trust me.”

“Kriff. Off,” you mouth at him. He has the audacity to smirk.

“What in the Corellian hells are we supposed to do when we land?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Kriff, you want to smack that smirk right off his face…. You gasp when something cold presses into your one free hand.

“Take it.”

You look down, astonished to find his blaster in your grip. Your eyes shoot back up, honestly baffled by the gesture. This… this leaves him defenseless. “I could blast you right now.” A smirk tickles at the corner of your lips.

“Shoot me.” He grins, a bright, wide grin. “You won’t, you kriffing coward.”

And with one final chuckle, he seals the door shut, plastering the four of you tightly, but safely, within the confines of the escape pod.

“Here we go, kiddos,” you mumble, feeling light for the first time since this whole mess started. Yes. Finally… The kids will be out of danger… A thousand-pound weight lifts from your shoulders, and you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Let’s fly.”

With a jolt- a jerk, the pod releases, and you take over the controls, begging the force for a safe landing, if for any reason, for the children’s sake.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“Maybe not, Winta.”

Probably not.

-------

“I hate adventure.”

You reach down into the escape pod, pulling Birdie up to his feet. “Come on now, Birdie. You love adventure!”

“Not anymore!” Birdie screams at the top of his lungs. “It’s stinky!”

“I want to go home!” Winta cries, flopping down on the sand. The baby takes this as his emotional cue, dramatically flopping over into Winta’s lap and launching into high-pitched whining.

“Stars almighty!”  You drop down to your knees and throw your hat off your head. “We’re safe! Look, don’t give up now!”

You know this isn’t a fair request. They’re children, for goodness sake. Tired, hungry, stressed children. But you have no clue, no clue, where you are on Arvala. No clue where Kuill’s is. No clue what direction to go or how long it will take. It’s hot, everyone’s hungry… And outside of one blaster pistol, defenseless.

You stare up into the sky, squinting against the blazing, unforgiving sun.

Sigh.

“Come on now.” You lumber back up to your feet, thrusting an arm out towards the horizon. “We’ll get home that way.”

Yes, the direction the Razor Crest was headed when you launched from it. Better than wandering around in circles.

You rest the baby against your hip, the other hand clenching the blaster with a steely grip. The children stumble into a line behind you, eyes drooping and shoulders low. You sigh.

“Let’s sing while we walk, how ‘bout?” you chirp.

They grumble an affirmative. You think so, anyway. Stars, you’re actually jealous of their freedom to show outwardly how they really feel, not have to worry about keeping up a tough face.

Being an adult, to quote Birdie, is stinky.

-------

Eh, everyone’s a critic. The children fall into a heavy silence after you finish the second song, so you give up on the singing. Well, maybe at this point, letting them process the day in silence would be better for them than anything else.

They need the- wait.

You freeze, dropping your body down to the dirt at the top of the hill. You jerk your arm in circles, and the children flop down beside you.

“The Razor Crest!” Winta gasps, eyes widening.

Resting a hand above your eyes, you squint against the sun’s rays, sweeping your eyes around the valley in which the ship is positioned. But what you find is… well.

Not good.

You see no one. Hear no one.

But the ramp is open, and there’s blaster bolt residue all along the sides of the rocks, the far cliff face, and even new marks on the Razor Crest itself. You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. At- at least you don’t see their bodies. That’s… good, right? Means they’re somewhere… fighting?

Oh, stars…

You shift back on your heel to stand, anxiously brushing your pants off. “Stay here. Do not move for any-” you point at them and raise your eyebrows- “and I mean any reason.” You are met by sharp nods of agreement.

You sigh, twisting around to slide down the hill towards the ship. Crouching down, you scramble from rock to rock, moving closer in towards the ship. You still hear nothing, not even from within the ship. You pause, frozen in place, for a good three, four minutes, just enough to make sure it was safe enough to approach closer.

If no one is in the ship, you can fly it off. Fly it to Kuill’s, get help, call the Mandalorian, anything.

You cautiously rest one foot at the bottom of the ramp, as if it was triggered with bombs just waiting to go off with one wrong step. You release a puff of air, standing completely motionless as the Arvala wind whips your clothes around. You shake your head, taking several more steps.

All seems good, so now you can-

“WATCH OUT!”

You leap back several feet, clumsily falling off the edge of the ramp with an oof. You don’t allow yourself time to feel pain. You clutch at the arm you landed on, gritting your teeth. Stumbling up, you slip on loose rocks as you race towards cover. Panting heavily, you jerk your head around in circles. You reach down to your waistband, grasping for Pablo’s blaster.

Wait- no, no! The blaster- Pablo’s blaster! You- you must have lost it by the ramp in your panic! Damn!

“LOOK!”

Your eyes tear up to where Winta stands at the top of the hill. She and Birdie are leaping up and down, motioning wildly towards the opposite side of the Crest where you sit. You spin around, expecting the worst.

And finding it.

Seven Corellian hells.

The Nar Shaddaa woman, dusted up and bloodied, is racing towards the Crest.

And she’ll have to pass you to get to it.

“Watch out!”

BLAST.

BLAST.

The kids shriek as the blaster bolts sail over their heads. “DROP!” you howl, leaping up from your position. “DROP DOWN- ARH!” You grasp your left arm, grinding your teeth as the blood begins to pool on the fabric, warm and sticky against your hand.

You spin around, tears dripping from the pain. She’s lifting it again. Aiming.

You dive, screaming as your bad arm crashes into the dirt. No, no. The world falls dark for only a second. But now you’re stuck- stuck behind a rock. She’s coming- coming closer. You can hear her boots, crunching against the rocks and pebbles. Crunching crunching.

Kriff.

Kriff.

Kriff.

You- you can’t breathe. The smell of burned flesh- your flesh- turns your stomach inside out.

No.

This can’t- this won’t be your end.

Tears of terror and pain and resolve flood your cheeks.

You have one option. One chance.

You will get to the Razor Crest first.

One deep breath. Stumbling over pebbles, you push for the ramp. Your eyes are fixed forward. Tuning out any other thought besides-

run.

A bolt whizzes past your right ear. You instinctively jerk left, falling over from the burst of pain blasting from your arm straight to your head.

No, no. You can’t- You have to get up. The children…

Rage seethes in your chest. Damn her. Damn this galaxy.

You belly crawl to the nearest rock, pressing up against it. What can you do? Oh, Maker, what can you do?

You peak your head up. She’s so close. Closer. Lifts the gleaming silver. Aim-

Wait, what?

You gasp, slapping your good hand across your mouth.

You- your eyes… is this real? It can’t… You blink. No, it’s real.

The woman is floating in the air.

“What the hell,” you hiss under your breath. “What th- OH!”

The woman goes blasting off, crashing against the Crest with an audible crunch. Winta screams. You rip your eyes away, staring up at the hill, just in time to watch the baby fall into Winta’s lap.

Oh.

Oh no. No. No.

The baby- the baby used the force.

Complicated. How do things keep getting more and more complicated?

Movement pulls your attention away. The woman is getting up- clutching her side in pain. She releases a guttural scream, eyes flashing flames at you.

Right between you. In the middle. The blaster.

Like a match being lit, you burst forward. The pounding in your ears is like the hum of machinery, pushing you on like you had no say in the matter.

But then she falls, tumbles over her own feet, and you grasp the blaster from the dirt. But she’s on you. A snap against your fingers, and you cry out as the weapon launches from your hand. She kicked it.

She wraps an arm around your neck, but you pull her down with every bit of your body weight- both of you screaming against your injuries and wounds, but neither giving in.

Side leap- roll. You launch at her legs, taking her down. She throws you off- climbing astride. You grab her wrists, tears bubbling in your eyes as the pain in your arm blackens the edges of your eyesight.

You freeze.

You don’t- you don’t feel pain.

It’s cold. Just feels… cold.

With shaking, trembling hands, your clutch the handle of the vibroblade- your vibroblade- jutting from your side.

She jumps up off you, twisting around on her heel. You kn-know… she’s… the children. The children. You think you can… faintly hear them.

It wasn’t smart. But you have to… Gritting your teeth, you yank the knife from your side. Flopping over as you wail, the pain held back like a dam releases all at once.

Face kissed with tears, you wobble up to your feet, swaying against the darkness encroaching your vision.

May the force guide your hand.

You swing back. The knife flies, slips right out of your fingers. Slices through the air.

The Nar Shaddaa operative collapses, the handle of your knife glowing golden in the sun’s rays.

This will be your legacy.

Not your arrests, rebellion, schemes, failures, betrayals.

No.

When you die, your legacy will be the golden knife shining from their back. Your legacy will be the three children that will live on another day.

You’re selfish. You’ve lived a selfish life. But somehow, you think, with the last three minutes of your breath, maybe, just maybe, you have wiped that slate clean.

“Valera,” you mumble. Stars, you see her face. That’s all you want. Yes, to hell with this life. Valera… Bright eyes giggle above your face.

Maker…. You’re hallucinating… You’re… you’re actually dying. Years of close calls, and now you’re dying.

“V-Va-Valera.”

You reach up. But it is not softness nor warmth you feel.

Cold.

Hard.

“She’s going into shock.”

Din.

His voice is a thousand miles away. You are buried a hundred miles below the surface of an ocean. You are only vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath you, lifting you.

You feel no pain. Only a dark light, hovering at the edge, consuming more and more of the bright light. A battle, life and death. And you are stuck between them.

You comprehend a few things. The soft hug of blankets beneath your body. The gentle give of a mattress. A deep voice, muffled above the water’s surface. Soft, affectionate fingers tracing your jaw, cupping your cheek.

You hear your name, clear through the fog, a desperate, pleading voice.

It calls out. You want to answer.

But the darkness wins.

-------

You don’t remember the first time you awaken. Or the second. Nor the third. But the fourth time-

You pry open heavy eyelids, as if the lashes were tied to lead strands. You groan- you feel so heavy, like there’s a pressure boring down on you from some invisible source. You wiggle against the weight; the soreness shoots up your side; your arm-

Oh!

Your eyes shatter the lead weights into a thousand crystal shards, blasting wide open when everything hits your mind at once.

Hell! What- are the kids…? Where are- wait!

You lean forward, lifting up from the bed like some rakghoul emerging from its grave. A mistake. You moan against the ache that quivers up your spine.

“Easy.”

Catching the movement of silver, your eyes tear over to the opposite side of the room... Din’s room. You’re on the Razor Crest.

“Din,” you breathe, groaning as you place your good hand on your forehead. “What- what happened?”

He tilts his head. “You were stabbed.”

“I- I think I figured that part out,” you grumble as you stare down at your body, laying back against the pillows.

He remains silent, moving across the room to stand at your side. He doesn’t go to sit or even speak; he just… stares down at you.

“What?” you grumble, perhaps a bit heavy on the aggression. But hey, you’ve just been stabbed and shot. You imagine you have the right to be grumpy for at least a week or two. Maybe three, if you push it.

“I’m trying to determine-” he reaches down, dusting your forehead with the hint of leather- “if it’s you or the drugs speaking right now.”

“Drugs?” A teasing smile blooms at the corner of your mouth. “Hey, what kind of drugs are we talking about here?”

He lowers down into the chair positioned beside your bed with a grunt.

“It’s you.”

You chuckle even through your aching exhaustion.

“I…” you drop the humor, voice lowering to a mere whisper. “What happened? I don’t remember…”

Din twists his head away from you. You fear he might not answer; you begin panicking, wondering if something horrible happened and-

“When we arrived,” he sighs, heavy, tired, “they refused to show us you and the children. Next thing I know-” he tilts his head- “a man emerged from the ramp saying you were safe and to shoot them.”

Pablo. Some plan! You roll your eyes, perhaps with a smidge of affection in your heart, if you searched very, very hard. Very hard.

“Then we found you,” he whispers, barely audible through the vocoder. He leans forward, resting both elbows against his knees and shaking his head.

“Ka’r’ika, you… ” He reaches out again, dusting of leather against your cheek. “I- you died.”

“I… I did?” Your eyes widen. “I- it’s… really?” You blink, humor taking over for your lack of words. You force a grin. “Damn, that’s… hardcore.”

Din does not attempt to mask the aggression in his tone.

“They died too quickly.” He leans against the mattress, voice dropping in volume. “They deserved to have it dragged out.”

Shivers spike up your spine at his words. Sometimes you forget he’s a hunter, running with his own, perhaps sometimes cruel, set of rules and codes. But quickly… was it quickly? You let your eyes slide shut, trying your hardest to forget to stench of raw, burnt flesh, the children wailing…

You launch forward with a gasp. “The kids! Are they-”

He pushes you back with a firm grip on your shoulder.

“Time has helped.” He leans forward. “Every time they tell the story, the details grow a bit more elaborate. A good sign.”

“Heh, no surprise there- wait a minute, how much time are we talking about here?”

“Three days.” He angles his head at you. “Been taking turns watching you.”

“Stars! Three days!” You blink, biting you lip. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I can go to my, um, own bunk now. I feel better…” You begin shifting, but a firm, yet gentle, hand presses you back down, fingers lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.

You sigh, letting your good arm flop down on your chest.

“Ka’r’ika…”

You turn your head to watch him; he taps his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

“You did well.”

A small smile peaks through your lips, and you slide your hand along the edge of the bed, seeking his. You grasp the cool leather, pleased when he returns the grip.

“We can’t seem to stay out of trouble-” you toss him a lopsided smile- “can we?”

“No,” he rasps. You are happy to hear amusement has returned to his voice. “You can’t.”

“Mando-” you scrunch your nose- “you can kriff right off.”

He laughs… stars, even more beautiful than the first time you heard it. Best watch out, Mando, now you will do everything in your power to pry open that tin can heart of his and pull that laugh out.

Your mood turns, your face dropping.

The baby.

The baby.

Hell, he… he used the force. Surely the Mandalorian knew, right? How- how could he not? Do you bring it up? Ask? You twist your head, avoiding meeting the dark depths of his visor.

You will wait. You will wait and see if he brings it up.

After all, the children saw it too. They must have told him what they saw…

“What’s wrong?”

You blink rapidly, breath catching in your throat. “Oh, ah, nothing.” Biting your lip, you take a deep breathe of air. “I guess, I just wonder, you know, this is my fault. I should have- could have… I don’t know.” You will not cry you will not cry. “I’m a karking coward.” You bury your face in your hand.

“You’re a lot of things-” you rip your hand away, staring at him as he speaks- “but a coward is not one of them.”

You blink as he continues.

“You protected our children. Killed to do so.” He angles his helmet. “Didn’t run, stayed with me to take a Bateran down.” He blows a huff of air through the vocoder. “And a coward wouldn’t have risked their life for those women on Taek.”

“That was just a gut reaction,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks burn at the Mandalorian’s praise.

“Bravery as an instinct is stronger than a deliberate choice. It means it’s in your nature.” He shifts to stand, hovering over your body before stepping back. “This is the way.”

“Um, oh. Ok-ay.”

Pride, there was pride in his voice.

“Well-” you stop him before he can move further away from you- “what now for you, Mandalorian?”

“Delivering the chip to the client.” He steps over a pile of clothing to stare up at some piping running through the walls. “That should take care of any future issues, for both of us.” He hooks his fingers in his belt, stepping back away from the bed. “I redirected their beacon. Made it look like they were in a completely different sector. Kuill should be safe, protected.”

Your eye twitches, afraid to ask your next question.

“So, where is this chip to be delivered?”

“Nar Shaddaa.”

Oh.

Oh, hell no no nonono.

You didn’t spend months of blood, sweat, and tears running to get away from there only to go back now. No, no. You’re going with Cara. You’re going to Keolith.

Movement from the corner of your eye breaks apart your panicked thoughts.

Din, stepping over another pile of junk, stoops down to pick some of it up.

“It- I…” he pauses, several quiet, long seconds. “I could keep you safe- if you were to stay with me.”

You blink, thinking you hear a light strangle of air slipping under his helm.

“…Until things with Taek are cleared,” he swiftly adds, stuffing some shirts into a drawer.

“Din,” your voice is soft, barely audible. He drops everything to turn and stare at you.

“I’ve been lying to you.”

Silence.

“I- I can’t stay here- not with you, your son, these people.” Your voice grows louder with every word. “It’s too dangerous. And- and I can’t go back to Nar Shaddaa. I had to flee the planet with only the clothes on my back. I’m in a big, hot mess.”

You vigorously shake your head, avoiding looking in his direction. “If there isn’t already, soon there will be a price on my head. It doesn’t matter why. And- shit- I… it’s bad, really bad.” The words spill faster and faster.

“And I don’t mean cheap hunters!” You throw your good hand in the air. “We’re talking private, high-level hunters!” You slap your face into your hand, yanking on your hair as you groan.

“Hell, on Taek- I stalked you. I heard stories of the Mandalorian hunters. Expensive, efficient. I thought you were there for me.” Gulping back against your dry throat, you force yourself to turn and face him.

He stands motionless, watching you. His visor, that damn visor, bores into you like it could dig secrets from your soul.

Oh no.

A hunter. He is, first and foremost, a hunter.

You-you messed up. He wouldn’t- maybe you overestimated… He’s going to turn you in, collect-

“I know.” His voice is soft, gentle.

Your lips part, confusion etched in your furrowed brows.

“I knew you were watching me, trailing me to the cantina.”

Your eyes widen.

“I followed you to the courtyard that night,” he rasps, crossing his arms. “To observe. Maybe question you.”

“Poodoo,” you breathe, eyes wide open in disbelief. “And there I was the whole time thinking I was being sneaky.”

A small gasp escapes your lips when he suddenly steps to the side. He sweeps around the bed, stomping right over the clothes you had tossed on the floor only a few days prior. You startle, digging back against the pillows, holding your breath until he pauses right beside you.

“You’re staying with me.”

“W-what? Didn’t you just hear what I said?” You start to sit up, but his firm grip on your shoulder pushes you back, holding you there as he resumes speaking.

“I’m not letting you leave until it’s safe and this situation is cleared up.”

You know you can’t argue when he uses that tone of voice, but you can try. “But the hunters!”

“Will not hurt or find us. I will- I swear-” he rips his hand away from your shoulder, dropping down into the chair. “You will be kept safe. And- after that… I will return you to Keolith, or whatever you wish.” His voice drifts, softening towards the end.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

But no, you will not cry.

You grab his hand with yours, ignoring the sharp exhale of breath that slips beneath his helm. You desperately wish you could feel, squeeze, the soft flesh hidden away in leather. You want to touch the man inside.

But that thought scares you. It scares you because, you have a feeling, if you were to ask, he would do it for you.

You- you don’t want that kind of power. You can’t handle that kind of power.

“Interrupting anything?”

You rip your hand away, tucking it beneath the blankets.

“Cara!” you laugh, brushing off your discomfort.

“So, you live!”

“It appears so.”

“Feeling okay?” Her voice softens, dropping the jestering tone.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Good.” That mischievous glint returns to her eye. “Well, aren’t we going to be just one cozy little group, all together in the Razor Crest.”

“E-excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow.

A new person entering the room rips your attention towards the door.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but-” Pablo takes another bite of his apple- “hey! That bed could fit three, easily. Who wants to spoon me?”

“You!” you growl, wincing as you lift up off the bed. “You’re not spooning anyone tonight! How about we just freeze you back!”

Pablo throws his hands in the air, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Hold the spunk, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of the apple, casually walking closer to you. “I’m a free man. Kids vouched for me. They love me.”

Din releases the heaviest, most long-suffering sigh you have ever heard from him.

Apparently, three days with Pablo hasn’t exactly made the Mandalorian a fan either.

“In exchange for his assistance, I messaged and had Greef wipe his Guild bounty, listed as dead,” Cara chuckles.

“Yeah, saving Mando’s girl got me on the buddy list. And Mando, you wouldn’t have caught me the first time if I wasn’t taken off guard.” He points a finger at Din. “Lemme know when you want a rematch.”

“I-I’m not his girl,” you mumble, heart beating faster at the insinuation. Oh stars… You dare not steal a glance at the Mandalorian.

“Oh good, I was worried,” Pablo sighs. “Didn’t want Mando to find out that you grabbed this tight ass when we were alone in here.”

“Pablo!” you yelp, growling through clenched teeth. Stars, you’ve had enough. “Remember our previous conversation? I’m going to bloody kill you!” You launch a pillow at him with your one good arm that he easily dodges. “Get over here, you coward!”

He flops on the other side of the bed, yelling and covering his face as you smack him repeatedly with a pillow.

“Damn- HEY- wa- ouch!”

“Blast-” smack- “you-” smack- “banthabrain!”

“Stop.” A strong grip pulls your arm back. “You’ll agitate your injuries.”

“I will not travel with him in the same ship!”

“I’m not too excited about it either, sister!”

“Go with Cara then!”

“About that-” Cara taps her chin- “my little craft might have been destroyed in the scuffle with the Nar Shaddaa creeps.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t my ship,” she chuckles.

“We’re dropping them off,” Din sighs, rolling his head back as if to say, “how did I get into this mess?”

“If you can’t handle each other’s presence,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I can freeze you both.”

“Grumpy old man,” you snort.

You turn towards Pablo, sticking a tongue out at him. He returns the gesture.

Cara grabs the back of Pablo’s collar. “Come on, let’s let her get some rest.” Cara swoops her hand towards the door. “Din, go get some sleep. I’ll stay and listen for her.” She leans in close to you, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “He wouldn’t leave your side.”

You feel your cheeks burst into flames, and you wish you could bury your head under the covers like the children.

“Fine.” Pablo spins around in the doorframe, tossing you a quick wink. “Later, sweetheart.”

Cara chuckles. “You too, Din.”

Letting his shoulders fall, he shuffles over towards the door, pausing just before the frame.

“Ka’r’ika, wait.”

You lift your eyes. “What is that?”

Your mouth falls open, the familiar golden gleam finally registering in your head.

Your knife.

“You should wield this with honor, Ka’r’ika,” Din rumbles.

You hesitantly reach out, taking it with a trembling hand.

“You earned the honor.”

You raise your head, a small smile on your lips.

“Teach me sometime?”

His hand lifts your chin. Skin, not leather, strokes just below your lip.

“As you please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the comments)

a/n: I know this chapter is incredibly long, so I really appreciate it if you made it this far! :D No, seriously, I really do! I write mostly for my own pleasure. I mean, that’s the “correct” answer to give, right? But I will be the first to admit I also write because I want my readers to feel what I feel- a shared experience. So, if my writing has in any way affected you- made you feel something- feel free to let me know in a comment! :D Think of your comments as the gasoline that fuels the writing lol! Comments here or Ao3 are always loved. 💜

See you next chapter! Where do we go from here, hmm? ;)

And I went ahead and bumped the story up to an “M” rating on Ao3, mostly for the language and violence. Just to be safe. Each chapter will include detailed warnings so you can make the decision on whether to read it or not.

Feel free to check out my bio for links to my masterlist, Ao3 account, and taglist!

[violet-t-9]

Check in on my (not very realistic) wish list for episode 135

1. The M9 eventually find a way to catch up with Lucien and Cree before they are able to go to the astral sea and at least start the combat (Bonus: Cree gets a wild magic effect that gives M9 some advantage or laughs).

Doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen. Well, I’m still personally REALLY happy that they all decided to explore a little bit much and ended up with combat lol. I love the heavy lore dump, reveals, map and the Aeorian nullifier/others combat, all part of the D&D fun.

2. Caleb and Beau somehow don’t get any extra eyes from their dreams (look, let me have some hope alright, last episode was kinda open-ended).

Noooo not on the clavicle and the palm... These stupid eyes are the reason why the empire siblings rolled bad rolls first thing in the morning, I’m telling you.

3. People on watch in the dome have some one-on-one conversations (Yasha and Fjord are doing the first watch, looking forward to it, also hoping for whoever on the second watch to talk).

Nope :( I’m a bit sad that they just kind of time skipped to the morning but it’s understandable.

4. If the empire siblings do get eyes can we at least have a morning eye check routine and Essek’s reaction to it? (Bonus: Essek examines the eye and offers help in some way)

I mean, we got part of a nice conversation about the eye so that counts as a reaction right. Essek is very wary about it, understandably. Don’t worry Essek, Fjord will take care of it if the eyes turn them evil. 

5. More wild magic effects from casting in Aeor! Jester, Essek, Caleb, Caduceus, Veth and Fjord I’m looking at y’all. (Bonus: the effects are harmless and fun ones, like Bjald)

OH NO CALEB not first thing in the morning... wow never mind it’s a nice nostalgic smell! Apple tart, how awesome. I mean a lot of people used higher level magic and didn’t roll yet (or maybe they did we just don’t know)? This particular effect was harmless and fun tho. 

6. They explore the Aeorian ruins even more along the way and discover cool relics/labs/history and lore (Bonus: clues related to the Eyes of Nine).

Ayyy genesis ward looks like a fun place, thanks to their high investigation rolls we found so much sweet lore. They also went into underground city ruins and basically wizard paradise lol. AND A BOOK ON THE SOMNOVEM! This is the first clue we have found so far. Also, Factorum Mollis project/Creator Hammer? Athodan’s rejuvenation/dunamancy? The plot thickens. THEY FOUND WHERE THEY NEED TO GO! B9!

7. Beau and Yasha have fun with some shameless PDA OR alternatively they get some super private time (bonus: cuddles in the dome).

I love their morning flirting. “That was amazing babe”, “Jump I’ll catch you!”, “Come here baby”, that’s some shameless PDA right there we love to see it. ALSO, Marisha said “we are doing PDA it’s a thing” and I feel so validated right now.

8. Jester and Fjord heal each other at least one time OR have a deep conversation (bonus: Jester complimenting Bjald).

They didn’t heal each other/converse BUT they had some nice moments! Fjord holds Jester’s ankles and waist at her request, how cute!

9. Continuing to hope for Essek’s fancy dunamantic spells OR magical items (I just love his style and flair okay).

OG Fortune’s Favour!! Thanks Essek. Identifying the keycard was also helpful. Essek giving Veth a pearl and telling her to aim it was so funny lol. LEVEL 4 LIGHTNING BOLT? What spell/item is that? Wow Essk is well-equipped.

10. They talk seriously OR laugh together about Bjald/smooth Fjord (Bonus: Veth disses Bjald just because) but Fjord eventually gets his hair back.

Wow straight out of the gate lol, Veth doesn’t wait (they are seriously expending spell slots for this). Also Veth cannot stop trying to grab his illusory hair. She also tells Devexian that Fjord is not a robot despite him not having hair I can’t even- Also, rejuvenation tube gave Bjald hair back and a long rest, great! 

11. Continuing to hope for Caleb to polymorph into anything really, or using polymorph on any party member (polymorph! Caleb interactions my beloved).

Sparrow! Caleb my beloved! “I’m adorable” indeed, he totally is adorable. Landing on Jester, Fjord and Charlie must have been fun.

12. More moments of Essek’s trust issue (OR changes in his opinion) with Charlie and more moments of Charlie being helpful to the party.

Charlie was a very competent translator! Also, Essek does continue to have a lot of trust issues. 

13. Jester and Charlie cute interactions OR Veth and Charlie interactions (Bonus: They reach the genesis ward to fix Charlie).

Charlie stopped listening when Jester asked him to, how cute! Veth also advocated for Charlie’s repair because she is already 100% attached - and they did fix Charlie I MEAN DEVEXIAN. Veth’s flirting with Devexian is... kinda cute? I guess?? Not sure how Devexian feels about it lol.

14. Cad attempting to speak with the dead on the remaining TT members (there is still Otis and Zoran right) and learning some useful information.

Well, speak with the dead was cast on the dead Aeorian warrior and some useful information was learned about the rejuvenation chamber I’d say. It was not cast on the TT members though. 

15. Caleb casting fire spell challenge! I miss his signature fire magic that we have not seen in a long time, actually (Bonus: Essek is impressed).

Well fire bolt is a fire spell and actually does decent damage for a fire bolt.

16. Cad has a particularly badass moment in or out of combat (bonus: divine intervention success).

HOLY THAT BANISHMENT WAS SO BADASS, also that canceled nat 20 on Yasha. Wow Cad continues to be cool in battles, he is such a MVP!!

17. Veth has a particularly badass moment in or out of combat (bonus: HDYWTDT).

I mean all Veth’s sneak attacks are badass in my book.

18. The wizards nerd out about/investigate Aeorian magic together OR have another conversation (look, I love how they talk to each other okay).

WOW both happened! Essek stayed behind with Caleb in the record room and had a conversation to keep him on track. Right after, Caleb also reminded Essek of the same thing. Once again, I love how they talk to each other. Their dynamic is so fascinating. They also nerd out about/found dunamis (and a literal beacon piece) together in that chamber! That would make sense, time magic = rejuvenation and all that.

19. I know this is highly unlikely but I still kinda want to see the tower again with Essek getting a full tour! I want to see his room decor.

Nope, as expected lol. I don’t think we will see the tower until they deal with Lucien? We will see though, you never know.

20. We find out what exactly Capeleb/Caleb saw when Jester was casting commune/scry (it’s totally something Artagan-related, but what though?).

Nope, but it’s fine. It’s probably not urgent, otherwise Caleb would mention it.

21. Yasha pushes another red button and Beau enabling her out of love.

Yasha went “do it” as Fjord went in the tube lol so she was more of an enabler.

22. You know the drill by now - everyone remains relatively happy and alive by the end of the episode except Lucien and Cree (they can perish), and the episode ends on a terrifying cliffhanger as always.

Wow that episode was PACKED with so much information, I can’t even digest it all. Anyways, the score this time is  14/22, which is not bad at all. 

Bonus: 

Caleb shared half of his pearls with Essek! Also, wow that IS a beacon that they just found. The 3 magic users showboating each other at the end I can’t lmao I love them.

I just love all the noises of the Aeorian Nullifier, thank you Matt.

Jester, for that wand of smiles move, I love you even more (also she was the only one who actually tried to keep the party on task lol).

This episode will certainly need some re-watching to process all the information... but wow what an experience! Loving everything, as always. I cannot wait for next Thursday!

[voidstilesplease]

command me to be well

(a Beacon Hills Academy for the Supernaturals ficlet)

~•~

Supernatural creatures are known and accepted in society, and they have their branch and section in everything - the government, religion, court justice, health, food production, etc. They coexist with humans. There are still supremacist groups on both ends of the spectrum, but as a whole, supernaturals and humans share the world in equal.

In Beacon Hills Academy for the Supernaturals, mages (magic wielders) and shapeshifters (werewolves, werefoxes, were-coyotes, etc.) study and learn about themselves, strengths, and weaknesses, and adaptation in the human world. 

Stiles takes both mage and shapeshifter classes. His mother had been a fire werefox, and his grandmother a mage. The magic ability stays dormant in between generations, so Stiles received the spark that skipped his mother. Stiles's dad is the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, Homo Sapiens division. (It's not what it's called, but Stiles uses the term to annoy his father.) 

Every werefox can shift to their animal forms since birth. Their blood has no infectious components like werewolves, to turn an existing creature into one. So their kind only reproduces through procreation, but the power comes only between the ages of eighteen to twenty and never predictable. There are thirteen classifications of werefoxes: Heaven, Wind, Spirit, Fire, Earth, River, Ocean, Mountain, Forest, Thunder, Time, Sound, and Dark. And they all have to study every single one element through simulations and a weird practice called internalization. It's like the Buddhists' enlightenment when they have to "seek within themselves the core of their being" or whatever crap like that.

His mage classes are much worse. As a werefox, his reading skills are for shit, even with his human blood. His kind takes time to make sense of written symbols -it's called dyslexia in the human tongue- and so it proves to be a problem in his magic lessons.

"Stiles!" Kira, also a werefox and his non-biological sister, appears at his side after class. "Come over this afternoon and have dinner at home. Dad is making sushi."

The mention of sushi makes his mouth water, but he curls his lips downward. "I can't. I'm on my way to solitary study."

She winces sympathetically, "Yikes."

The solitary study is another word for detention in the Supernatural school. The students are put into confinement to reflect and read. It could be for an hour up to five -their offense and the amount of hate the teacher has for them decides the length of the stay. It doesn't sound bad when you hear of it the first time, but the stillness of being alone in a white room, being forced to think, drives everyone crazy. Stiles is probably the one person in the school who has seen those walls the most.

"What happened?" She asks, hoisting her backpack, forehead creasing intently.

Stiles shrugs, "In my mage class, we were practicing an incantation. I mispronounced a word because the symbols were flying all over the page," they stop walking when they reach the hallway that will separate them; Kira to the exit, and Stiles to his punishment. "All the light bulbs in the room broke simultaneously, and the shards went everywhere, mostly lodged in my classmates' and teacher's faces."

"Ouch,"

Stiles hums, curling his lips. "My incantation teacher hates me, just as much as I hate him. Every mistake I make is an excuse for him to send me to solitary. He also thinks I'm doing it on purpose. He gave me five hours today, and I'm expecting another tomorrow for the potion I fucked up earlier in another of his class."

"But that's unfair," Kira says, indignant for Stiles. "We're dyslexic. Every teacher should consider the limitations of each of us."

Stiles purses his lips but doesn't say anything. He doesn't mention to Kira that when the symbols rearrange in his mind, it's not always a gibberish mess. Sometimes, they're also perfectly readable -and quite harmful, depending on the caster's intention. He doesn't mention that more than half the time, he purposely utters curses and adds the wrong ingredients to concoctions. Stiles only does it for fun, though, to ruffle his teachers and enemies. He's a school jester; everyone knows that. He doesn't mean to cause pain to anyone -not all the time.

He's not vicious or vengeful. He swears he's not.

He's only a playful fox, curious with the less explored potentials of his power -even its violent capacity.

~•~

But it gets worse. It becomes an inclination more than a mere curiosity, especially when Stiles meets him.

In his fourth year in the Supernatural school, the management opened a program for the underaged supernaturals in the custody center. They're the young, homeless lawbreakers abandoned to the care of social workers after countless encounters with the law enforcement and their family's depletion of funds to cover the fines for damages they have caused.

The program grants them one term of attendance in the school instead of being instructed by tutors at the center, and a second one if the first term yields positive reports.

There are eight of them, and all are shapeshifters. There are three werewolves, a kanima, a wendigo, a chameleon, an electric eel (Stiles doesn't want to know how this kind came to be), and a were-coyote. All of them have criminal records, of course, but one has a count for murder - and his sister, no less. And Stiles knew him before his lock-up. They had not been friends because of Stiles's mistrust of canine shapeshifters, but he recognizes him right at first sight in years.

But while werefoxes prefer to stay away from the dogs, the latter doesn't have such urge to keep scarce, especially one among the outlaws: Theo Raeken.

He's taken one look at Stiles and decided to torment him. Witnessing Stiles do illegal magic did not help the case. Instead, it invited Theo more. Theo stalks him (as much as he can inside school grounds), stares at him, vies for his attention, pushes all the wrong but right buttons. Stiles feels repulsed by the way his blood thrums in Theo's presence. He's disgusted with himself for getting excited by his challenge. Stiles reminds himself daily that it's Theo -the one who murders their blood, and will probably have no qualms on staining their hands with someone else's. But Theo keeps provoking him, daring him to let go of caution. 

One day, Stiles does.

He unleashes himself and leaves Theo bloody, beaten-up, broken, and exhilarated, and himself satisfied for the first time. Theo stops prodding him after that. He starts tempting him: We can run. None of them listens. Their truth is the only truth. And Stiles thinks he's right.

He's almost eighteen. His fox's element should be manifesting -and it looks like it is.

~•~

"What happens if I turn out to be the wrong kind?" Stiles asks Kira one night, in the middle of video game night at her house.

Kira is focused on the screen, but she echoes Stiles. "The wrong kind?"

"A dark fox,"

That pulls Kira's attention away from the screen quicker than they can run. Her eyes are wide with alarm when she presses pause and turns to Stiles. She opens her mouth but speaks nothing for a long time. It seems she's too shocked for words. Finally, she shakes her head. "You're not."

Stiles sighs, putting down his controller. "There's one out of thirteen possibilities that I am. It's little, but it's there nonetheless."

Kira scoots closer, holding Stiles's arm, her clutch tight. "Yes, but," she stammers, "there hasn't been one in a long time."

"Of course, there isn't," Stiles agrees, looking at Kira. "They're exterminated as soon as they present to snuff out any chance of gaining power and growing a second tail."

"But you're not one," Kira says forcefully, eyes suspiciously moist.

Stiles replies softly, "I enjoy causing mayhem."

She shakes her head hard, "We all like trouble, Stiles. That's sort of what we are,"

Stiles can't look at her eyes when he admits his truth, so he turns away. "I inflict pain," Kira freezes in her touch. "and like it. The sight of blood makes me sick but with pleasure. I-" he pauses, wipes the sweat that gathered in his nose. He swallows. "I want to get into someone's head and twist their mind. I have done it, and I want to do it again."

Kira draws uneven breaths beside him. Her scent has turned sweet with fear -and though it makes his stomach twist, Stiles inhales it, savors it.

Kira's voice quivers, "If you learn to suppress it-"

"If it can be suppressed and controlled, there would've been no vulpine law authorizing the killing of a nogitsune."

Kira bows her head in defeat, sniffing.

"My magic," his whispering voice is loud in her room, reverberating in its four walls. He's been coming here since he was a child. Who knows when and if he can have the chance again. "It knows what I might be. It flows in my veins with my blood, rushing when I'm doing what I shouldn't be."

They're silent for a long moment; Stiles refuses to meet Kira's eyes, and Kira strives to calm her racing heart. She doesn't recoil from her touch, even when she was afraid. Now that the fear has subsided, she moves to kneel in front of him and takes his face between her small hands, prompting him to face her. When he raises his head, Kira's eyes are glowing, fiery around the black. Stiles flashes his in response.

"If you are," Kira says, tone final and sure. "I'm with you. You're my brother, and I love you."

Stiles knows she will stand by her words, but he doesn't wish her to. Kira has a whole life ahead of her that she can't spend hiding a nogitsune or running with one.

Because Stiles will run, damn if he won't. He's not going down, and he won't let them catch him. 

He leans his head against her hand, kissing the soft palm of it. He rubs his nose on the residual unease still clinging underneath her skin. "I love you, too."

And then he will come back invincible.

~•~

[thirstyforcharacters]

See Through (Anakin  Skywalker x Jedi Reader)

Summary: The Clone Wars have been taking a toll on you. Somehow, Anakin always knows what to say to make you feel better.

Notes: Hello! This one-shot was made to celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you guys soooo much! I truthfully never thought that people would pay any attention to my writing, so getting 100 followers means so freaking much to me! I hope you all enjoy this one, and thanks again! 💕💕 (no pronouns, no y/n)

Warnings: a little angst

WC: (almost) 1.1k

I am see through, baby

So take a look inside

I am see through, baby

And I don't wanna hide

For the very first time

See Through-Pentatonix

Being a Jedi meant many things. It meant diplomacy with even the most vile of creatures. It meant far too many life or death situations to be healthy. It meant being a shining beacon for all of the galaxy to look up to. It meant fighting the battles that most of the worlds never could. Most importantly, and certainly the most difficult thing, it meant keeping a facade of indifference to the pain in the world.

Well, you supposed it wasn’t indifference, necessarily. It was more so not showing that you were hurting. Not letting people see the fear that was gripping your heart when there were too many droids and not enough time to save everyone. Not showing the anger you felt when the enemy destroyed yet another town full of innocent citizens, or the heartbreak when another one of your comrades fell dead at the hands of those on the dark side.

It was growing harder to keep those emotions at bay. You could feel all of these feelings threatening to bubble over whenever you were in council meetings, on the field, or even just taking a walk. Meditation didn’t help you anymore. Nothing did.

Except the one thing that shouldn’t. Love.

Every moment that you spent with Anakin melted all of your anxieties away. Since he was more emotional than the other Jedi, he created a safe space for you to tell him all of your deepest fears. He never judged you, often sharing the same sentiments as you did. He always made you feel safe, a feeling that you thought that as a Jedi, you would never truly experience. When you were with him, you wore your heart out on your sleeve. You were see through, like a window, and you realized that you were okay with him seeing through you. Eventually, with reassurances that you could keep it quiet from the Council, the two of you got together. Unfortunately, when you needed him most, he wasn’t there.

Life was hitting you hard right now. You had lost almost a quarter of your clone troopers in a recent skirmish with the Separatists, as well as much of your equipment. You cared deeply for the men that fought by your side, and a loss of even one was enough to plunge you into the darkest depths of your thoughts. So the loss of so many made your heart indescribably heavy. You desperately needed to rest, but your pleas to the Council fell on deaf ears. They needed the remainder of your men to meet up with Master Luminara, who needed assistance with a sect of enemy fighters in the Mid Rim, and you were the closest one. When you got off of the holo call with them, you almost burst into tears. Jester, your commander, placed his hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“Why don’t you take a breather, General? You need as much strength as you can get before we meet up with General Unduli,” he suggested, though you knew it wasn’t really a suggestion.

“I believe I will, Commander,” you replied, “we all need a brief moment to collect ourselves before the coming battle.”

He nodded and turned back to his fellow troopers, and you dismissed yourself to your private quarters. Once there, you couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Everything felt like it was going wrong all at once. You had lost so many men, and no one was there to help you. No one could catch you while you were falling.

Almost as if he knew, a holo call from your beloved was coming through. You scrambled to answer it, placing the device on the table in front of you. You tried to wipe your tears away, but as soon as his figure appeared in front of you, they started as if they had never stopped.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed upon seeing the state you were in, “I’m so sorry.”

“I-It’s too much, Anakin. I c-can’t do this right now,” you sobbed.

“Yes, you can, love. I know you can. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Once you finish helping Luminara, you can come back to Coruscant again, and I can hold you as much as you need.”

“Until they send me out again. I feel stretched so thin, and it’s not going to stop anytime soon. I-I just wish you were here with me. I need you.”

It was still hard for you to be so open with your emotions, but Anakin always encouraged you to tell him everything you were feeling, even if it was negative.

“Letting go of those emotions,” he would say, “will help you in the long run. Crying releases the dark feelings we all have, and that is just as valid of a way to keep the Dark Side at bay as meditation. Don’t hold back in front of me.”

You knew he was right, which is why you allowed yourself to show him all of your vulnerabilities. You trusted him, and he trusted you with the same things in return.

“You have me now, love. I may not be with you physically, but I’m always with you, no matter what. You can do this. Just let out all of the bad stuff now, and bring the best version of yourself you can to the table for this fight. I’ll be right here for you to lean on,” he comforted.

You smiled gently through your tears, “Thank you, Anakin. Somehow, you always know what to say.”

“Anytime, baby.”

A soft knock sounded at your door then.

“General,” came Jester’s voice through the door, “we’re almost there. We need you back out on the bridge.”

“Thank you, Commander,” you replied, “I’ll be out shortly.”

You turned your attention back to Anakin, “I have to go. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course. Good luck out there, and may the Force be with you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you murmured softly.

You saw a smile spread across his face as well before he ended the call. You straightened yourself out before exiting your room, where Jester was waiting for you.

“Better now, General?” he asked with a knowing look.

“Much, Commander. Now, let’s blow up some droids.”

Jester smirked, “That’s my general.”

The two of you walked swiftly down the winding hallways. No matter what happened during this fight, you were ready. And it was all thanks to the only man who had truly made you feel like you never had to hide.

[agerefandom]

Picking Up The Pieces

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: regressor!Caleb, Caduceus acting as current caregiver. The rest of the Nein are briefly present.

Words: 2,100

Summary: Takes place during Episode 49: A Game of Names. Caleb and Nott have been fighting, and Caleb is exhausted. Caduceus is the one who has to step in and help. (regressors are established in this world. Could be seen as a sequel to Books and Pigments, my other agere!CritRole fic. I’ve been wanting to write this fic ever since I listened to episode 49 and it made me cry.) 

Warnings: This is heavy on the angst! Unsettled conflict, hurt/comfort, fears and feelings of abandonment, panic attacks, involuntary regression, abandonment by a parental figure, and cglre terminology (Mama!Nott)

All seven of the Mighty Nein are exhausted by the time they get to the Felderwin inn, their rooms for the night already arranged.

They all gather in one room to debrief, the backpack holding the newly named ‘beacon’ sitting between them as they debate their next move. Caduceus breaths in the atmosphere of tension and uncertainty, glancing around the rough circle they’ve formed on the floor.

Nott has finally dropped her disguise, her sharp broken teeth in jagged contrast to the freckled halfling she’s been for most of the day. Caleb is sitting with his eyes on the ground and Frumpkin on his lap, hood pulled up despite the heat of the inn.

Everyone is watching the two of them, even as they discuss amongst themselves. It’s been a long day for everyone, but Caleb and Nott have always shared a special bond. The way that Nott had screamed at Caleb in that cellar, the dullness of Caleb’s eyes ever since, the quiet retelling of his past that Caduceus had only half-heard… the group feels bruised by the conflict, drained by the number of secrets revealed in a day.

They discuss plans and names and family, but the tension doesn’t dissipate into the easy banter that the group shared on the road before. Jester reaches a hand for Caleb’s knee, and he allows the contact without reacting. His eyes never shift from Frumpkin’s place on his lap, even as he throws the occasional sentence into the conversation.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Fjord announces eventually, standing up. “Caleb? Caduceus? Want to group up for the night?”

“That’d be nice,” Caduceus says.

“Ja,” Caleb agrees, still sounding distant. “Roomies.”

“We’ll head off, then.” Caduceus also gets to his feet, and Caleb follows suit. Frumpkin climbs off his lap, clearly disgruntled, then vanishes into nothing. “Goodnight, everyone.”

A cacophony of “goodnight”s follows them into the hall. The four women can divide the remaining rooms between them: no one expects Caleb and Nott to share tonight.

The three men have shared rooms enough to have a routine. Caleb and Fjord get the bed, as Caduceus rarely fits and sleeps just fine with a pillow on the floor. 

Caduceus pulls a blanket from his rucksack and leans against the wall to watch Caleb organize his books, tucking one under his pillow and opening the other as he begins to trail his silver thread around the room. Fjord goes straight to the bed and barely manages to get his boots off: Caleb is still finishing his spell by the time Fjord’s snores fill the room.

Caduceus can hear voices through the wall behind him: Jester and Nott have taken the room next-door, and Jester’s voice always carries. She’s chattering about the town and the shame of the buildings burned, clearly nervous in the face of Nott’s continued silence. Caduceus can still remember her face at the meeting.

“I’m really sorry for everyone,” she’d said, and Caduceus had felt the helplessness in her voice. It was a sentiment that he was familiar with, feeling the heavy history in the air yet being unable to dispel it or lift the weight for the members of their group who were struggling. Caduceus has never liked feeling helpless.

The mutter of Caleb’s spellcasting suddenly breaks off into silence. Caduceus glances over and sees Caleb kneeling, both hands moving in glowing gestures. As the words stop, so does the shine of the air around Caleb’s hands, and they drop to his sides. The silver thread the wizard had lain around the room doesn’t glow and vanish as it usually did. Caleb mutters something frustrated, running a hand through his hair and pushing back his hood.

He looks over his shoulder at Caduceus, who blinks back at him calmly. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Caleb?”

“Fine,” Caleb grits out. “I’m going for a walk.” He stands up abruptly, takes two steps towards the door, and then stops short. He stands there for a moment, his back to Caduceus, the line of his shoulders tense. Then he slowly crumples to his knees, bringing his arms around to hold himself.

“Mr. Caleb?” Caduceus shifts to kneeling, ready to come forward if he’s wanted. He’s seen this kind of despair, and knows how easy it is to lose yourself in.

“They’re out there,” Caleb hisses. “It’s not safe.”

“I can go with you,” Caduceus offers. He needs to get some sleep tonight, but a night walk was never an unpleasant experience.

Caleb laughs, an unpleasantly jagged sound. “You couldn’t help if they saw me. If they recognized me.” He’s shaking, his breaths coming faster.

“Can I help you now?” Caduceus asks. His instincts are telling him to get over there and wrap Caleb in his arms, but he holds himself back. Physical contact isn’t what everyone wants, and it’s never safe to assume such things. He’s seen Caleb be comforted by touch before, and he didn’t turn Jester away earlier, but the human has never initiated such contact with Caduceus before.

Caleb shakes his head side to side, and Caduceus can see that his eyes are squeezed shut. Fjord is still snoring, and Jester’s voice rises and falls in the background. The noises almost block out the sound of Caleb’s broken breaths, but Caduceus can feel each one burn in his chest.

“Trapped,” Caleb mutters. “Not safe.”

“You’re safe here,” Caduceus says, drawing each word out, keeping his voice low. “You can rest however you need.” 

Caleb laughs again, choking on the noise as it turns into a sob. Caduceus watches him grit his teeth against the sound, clearly holding back tears.

“Let it happen,” Caduceus advises. “Let it go.”

And Caleb begins to cry. The tension of panic leaves his body all at once, and he collapses forwards, still on his knees, his forehead resting against the floor. His tears are quiet, only the shaking of his shoulders giving him away.

“There you go.” Caduceus stays against the wall as he reassures Caleb, not wanting to crowd him. “Good to let it out. That’s good. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb manages. His voice has changed, something Caduceus has only heard once or twice. Nights when he was supposed to be asleep, but the owls were too loud, and Caleb was with others on watch. 

Jester made no secret of the fact that she was a somechild, containing two ages in the same mind. Caduceus has swung her around as a child, let her climb onto his shoulders and exclaim at how far she can see. But Caleb kept quiet about his own status, never a child in front of Caduceus or the group, only letting his guard down at night. And now that guard has been stripped away from him by exhaustion, leaving Caleb as a child crying on the floor.

“No apologies needed. Can I help?”

“Blanket,” Caleb says, voice high and choked with tears. “Please?”

“A special one, or any old blanket?” asks Caduceus, already gathering his own blanket into his arms. Instead of answering, Caleb starts to cry louder, rocking back on his heels and covering his eyes. Caduceus approaches him slowly, blanket outstretched.

“Here, Caleb.” Caduceus offers the blanket and Caleb reaches out a hand, twists it into the fabric, and keeps crying. Both hands fist in the blanket, pulling it from Caduceus’s loose grasp. Caleb throws the blanket to the floor and returns to sobbing.

“No good?” Caduceus pushes the blanket aside and kneels beside Caleb on the floor. “Do you need something else?”

“Mama,” Caleb sobs. “Mama.”

Oh. Caduceus has heard that too. Nott calls Caleb ‘her boy’ to anyone who will listen, and ‘her son’ when she’s had too much to drink. Caleb smiles at her names, but Caduceus has only heard him call her Mama one night when he was little, and once after a fight when Nott came rushing forward to cradle Caleb in her arms.

“I can get her,” Caduceus offers. He fears that Nott will be too angry to come, but if Caduceus were Caleb’s caregiver, he would never let an argument with the adult stop him from caring for the child that Caleb sometimes was.

“Nein!” Caleb shakes his head, reaching out and seizing Caduceus’s shirt to prevent him from leaving. “She… she doesn’t want me!” This time, he bursts into proper tears. Caduceus would be worried about the boy waking Fjord, if he didn’t know that Fjord could sleep through a hurricane.

“Caleb, that’s not true.” Caduceus stretches out his arms in a wordless offer, and Caleb throws himself into them. His small human body collapses against Caduceus’s chest, so easy to lift and cradle him close. “Hush, child, it’s not true.”

“She- has- a NEW son!” Caleb wails. Caduceus rocks him slightly, trying to comfort him. “I was- just- nothing.”

“She loves you.” Caduceus has seen Nott run to Caleb’s side too many times to doubt that.

Caleb’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “She yelled at me. She said it was my fault.”

“She was wrong.” Caduceus sighs, remembering how he’d carried Caleb out of the cellar, the smell of vomit hanging in the air and Caleb dull-eyed and limp in his grasp. “She was angry. She apologized later, she knows it isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know.” Caleb’s voice is small and muffled by tears. “She yelled.”

“She shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Caduceus pushes the hair back from Caleb’s face, revealing his dirt and tear-streaked cheeks “You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did,” Caleb whispers. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Caduceus presses Caleb’s head to his chest, holding him closer for a moment. “You’re trying very hard. And I’m very proud of you.”

Caleb makes a sad little sound at that, and puts one hand on Caduceus’s arm. His fingers disappear into the fur.

“M’sorry,” he says.

“Nonsense.” Caduceus shifts into a cross-legged position, keeping Caleb in his arms. “There’s nothing here to be sorry for. I’m sorry it was such a hard day. Tomorrow we’ll get some answers.”

“I…” Caleb’s face changes, his eyes glassing over for a moment. Then he frowns, confused. “Tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry.” Caduceus continues his gentle rocking. “Tomorrow is for big folks to worry about. The only thing you need to worry about is bedtime.”

“Bedtime… it’s ten thirty-five,” Caleb says, sounding quite proud of the fact.

“Is it really?” Caduceus doesn’t have a way to check, but he doesn’t doubt Caleb. “That’s very late.”

“Not really.” Caleb’s eyes are starting to blink closed, clearly exhausted from the long day, the panic attacks, and the most recent bout of crying. Caduceus uses the soft pads of his fingers to wipe the tears from Caleb’s cheeks, taking some of the dirt with it. Caleb will have to reapply his disguise tomorrow, but for tonight he can sleep without tears on his face. “S’early.”

“Not for little ones who need to rest,” Caduceus assures Caleb. His eyes drift closed with a little hum of acknowledgment to Caduceus’s words.

Caduceus sits in the center of the room with Caleb in his arms, rocking him gently until Caleb is fast asleep.

Then Caduceus carefully gets to his feet, lays Caleb in the bed next to Fjord, and tucks the blanket gently around him.

He takes his pillow and lies in front of the door. It’s not a magical silver thread, but Caduceus figures he’ll wake up if someone opens the door into his back. Caleb and Fjord’s snores intermingle in the quiet room, and Caduceus watches over them until sleep claims him as well.