#mollymuak tealeaf

[plantskiddo]

[l-herz]

LOVE

[quinn-of-aebradore]

I’m only half aware of combat right now, my brain is just screaming about Molly. Which is hopefully how Lucien feels right now.

[emissary-of-stuff]

Critical Role Episode 111 Campaign2

 My thoughts on how Critical Role Campiagn 2 episode 111 ended and some other things.

So, I’m pretty sure Lucien or Nonagon tried to become a god of some sort through the ritual. And know we know that he is alive and with Cree.   What I really want to happen is for Lucien to turn to the party and, with a confident grin or sneer say “I am your God, long may I reign.”   That quote has become so known with Mollymauk and I want Lucien to say and twist it.     Because let’s face it, the Mollymauk we know has been dead and gone. Another man wears his face, the man he was before.   And personally, I cannot wait for the reunion. 

[mollymauktl]

Honor Mollymauk Tealeaf today

By singing Mamma Mia in the shower and braiding your hair while drinking not-champagne out of a champagne glass.

Spread loving chaos my dudes

It’s what he/they would have wanted

[alexlestar]

If Mollymauk doesn't come back, I'd like his ghost to interact with Clay and ask him to watch over The Mighty Nien and let's them known how much he cared about them.

[matt-the-blind-cinnamon-roll]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast Characters: Yasha, Beauregard (Critical Role), Fjord, Nott the Brave, Jester, Bryce Felid, Frumpkin Additional Tags: Pacific Rim AU, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, amnesiac molly, autistic caleb, Rating for later chapters, Angst, ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, mild ablesim, references to masturbation, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Mutual Feeding, First Kisses, First Time, pseudo-virginity, Making Out, Frotting, Dirty Talk, Cuddling, Friends With Benefits, with feelings!, Tattoos, getting ink together, like holy pining batman, guided masturbation, Edging, Orgasm Denial Summary:

“I’m sorry to do this, Caleb, but I have no other choice.” Bryce’s words flowed over him. Caleb’s hands wrapped around the cup of coffee as the words went in one ear and out the other.

“Cobalt Kraken is grounded. Even if her pilots were alright she’s torn to bits. It’s going to take six months, at least, to get her functional, with crews working around the clock.” Bryce continued. “Los Angeles cannot be without a Jager. The city is too vulnerable.” They continued. “I would not ask this of you, but Peacock Rising is on her way and Tealeaf needs a co-pilot.”

[moondrropsa]

[ ♢ ] __ YOU’LL FIND ANOTHER LIFE TO LIVE.

another canon-divergent verse

coming back a second time feels lonelier than the first.  there are things waiting for you when you crawl out of the ground -- a coat to mark your grave.  you’re wrapped in a tapestry, like the grandest of blankets.  a sword at your side.  a note tucked into your pocket, and the moon, painted on a card.  the note tells you everything you need to know.

your name is mollymauk tealeaf.  you are a member of the mighty nein.  travel south, to zadash.  you will go to the evening nip, you will ask the bartender for a drink.  you will tell them that while you have no coin, you offer many gifts.  ( this is not a lie. )  the gentleman, when he sees you, will know what to do.  we will not be far from you.

                                                              c.w

the walk is long and quiet and cold.  your memories come slow -- sometimes in your dreams, sometimes in the middle of listening to a story told by a stranger you met on the road.  by the time you reach zadash you do sort of remember them.  at least, you recognize their silhouettes standing around you after your last fight before you slept.  everything else...well, hopefully they can fill you in when they come back.

but they never do.  seems you just missed them, according to the gentleman.  they must’ve left for the menagerie coast already.  you don’t know much about that place, but it sounds picturesque.

you’re pointed in the right direction.  once again you start walking.

( essentially this is a verse where mollymuak wakes up after being killed on glory run road and just misses the mighty nein; by the time he’s on the way to nicodranas, they’ve stolen the mist.  eventually he’ll reunite them, but for now he travels on his own. )

[seafleece]

“hello, um—” 

he shifts uncomfortably, the soft leather of his boots sliding against itself where his legs touch, crossed under him on the ground. “mollymauk, right?”

it’s starting to snow again, soft ethereal flakes that fall apart at the slightest touch of warmth, and they’re starting to soak into his traveling cloak.

it’s funny, you know, how he never thought to buy one before this. how he never thought of going somewhere without the reminder that he is important, that he is special, that he’s worth something to someone.

as if no one would believe it otherwise.

he wonders if caduceus would be angry with him for digging, for disturbing a grave. maybe they all would— from their tone, he can tell that mollymauk was dear to them. but, well, ignorance can be feigned— slowly, he’s learning not to feel like his image topples in someone’s mind the moment he makes a mistake. and he needs to know, okay? he just needs it.

the body before him rises slightly— curious, how caduceus’s trademark fungi seem almost to serve as a facsimile for tissue, tendons, in this moment, knitting the bones together enough for movement— and nods. essek suddenly remembers this spell has a limit and curses under his breath.

it’s not as if he’d gotten to practice, though, right? it was hard enough to learn the spell, to even get someone to teach it to him— the den’s coroner had looked at him strangely— funny, i thought your type was more interested in making corpses and leaving them for someone else.

he’ll just have to be more careful.

“i, uh, i wanted to ask you about caleb widogast, if you remember him—” he pauses for a moment and then the rest of his thought comes rushing out of him so mollymauk— what was once mollymauk— doesn’t try to answer yet.

“did you love him?”

there’s a long silence— behind him, his horse snorts out a big cloud of breath and paws at the dirt. caleb had told him about when they’d had to travel on foot, and how molly would still be with them if they hadn’t. what would that mean, he thinks, for himself? whether they’d have had a fraction of the interest in him, if they’d still had their dear friend. if he’d still be alone, still cold inside. if he’d have made the wrong choice, when it mattered. 

he’d wanted to try it for himself, taking the long way. sleeping afraid under the stars, long days of dust kicked up by the horse. feeling small under the sky, fragile. mortal.

the corpse nods, and fear and sorrow climb in his throat like vines.

“ah,” he says, and swallows hard and scratchy. “i see—“

“i know who you are, you know.”

“what?”

another thing he’d forgotten about the spell— it lets them speak.

“jester’s tried to message me before. she thinks it doesn’t work, but i still heard them.” it’s an impossibly dry voice, like sandpaper on sandpaper. fibers from the fungi shift and stretch as the head tilts.

“oh.”

“she sounded happy when she talked about you. that’s enough for me.”

essek looks at the body of mollymauk tealeaf for a moment, first at where the horns curl out from the skull, back into an elegant spiral. jewelry still dangles from them, faded and covered almost entirely in dirt. the lower half of the breastbone is broken off entirely, as if crushed inward, and cracks spiderweb up out toward the ribs.

“does it hurt?”

“what?” and yet, he thinks mollymauk knows already.

“dying.”

he’s not afraid, not really— if things stay as they are, he will live another 400 years, at least. far longer than caleb. mollymauk’s skull regards him, and even without the bright red eyes caleb had told him about, he thinks that mollymauk can tell he’s not asking about himself.

“it doesn’t have to.”

“would you have chosen to be consecuted?”

he doesn’t ask if mollymuak knows what he means.

“i don’t know.” the body of mollymauk lifts its bare, skeletal hands, examines where they’re wrapped in thin fibers. “maybe, if i believed it would work. if i believed i was supposed to live any longer than i did.”

“but you didn’t.” it’s not a question.

“no.”

that same silence blooms between them, again, and then mollymauk’s body begins to lie down again, to slot itself back into the space the dirt has left for it.

“wait, i am not done—”

“that was five,” mollymauk says breezily. “i have no need to answer you further.”

essek reaches forward, presses one hand to the broken sternum. as though touch will extend the spell.

“i don’t think you’ll mind this last one.”

mollymauk says nothing, but pauses all the same.

“are you at peace?”

if he could, essek thinks, mollymauk would smile. he can hear it in the voice as the body lies back down fully, gazing up at the wide, winter-white sky.

“yes.”

essek stands again, brushes dirt from his pants. the cloak he knows to be mollymauk’s still hangs from the branch over the grave, catching and billowing for a moment on the wind and falling again. the blood that blooms across it is still red, somehow, bright red. to match his eyes, he supposes.

“thank you.”

essek is not a particularly religious man, but as he draws the dirt up and back over the body he says a prayer to the god caleb tells him is mollymauk’s. the moonweaver. a trickster. fitting.

he sends the horse away, first, back to the zadash stables. the part of the journey he knows he needed to spend on foot is over.

then, he sits and traces out the sigil for the xhorhaus in chalk, the way caleb still likes to. the sigil is different than the ones to any other major city— he and caleb had made it themselves, made it so that the magic worked just by drawing it, so they could all use it. so everyone could return home, if they wanted, after just a minute of work. because coming home should never be hard.

he chalks in the larger circle first, filling it inwards, and thinks about the smith in the gallimaufry he’d visited earlier that week.

(finally, veth’s shoulders stop shaking with laughter, and she tips her chair forward again.

“sorry, sorry,” she wheezes. “it’s cute, really. you should buy rings.”

“rings?”

“it’s a sign you’re together, if you both wear them.”

“you don’t have one from your husband,” he grouses, pride hurt, and backtracks immediately when her face falls. “i’m sorry, i—”

“it’s okay,” veth says, and looks at her hand, at the shaky black shape tattooed onto one of her fingers. essek recognizes jester’s handiwork. one of her earlier pieces, he guesses— it bears so little resemblance to the flowers he knows she’d given yasha, the elegant spirals he can see on beau’s back, briefly, when she stretches, but the color, the curiously deep shade of black is the same. 

“i lost it, awhile ago. we got these instead, after—” and her face scrunches a little further. they don’t talk about it too much, about the time before they trusted each other this way. about the things they all did before they had to think about if it was wrong. “you know.”

she brightens again. “but i’m sure caleb would like one. just make sure you measure beforehand.”)

and he had, had made sure caleb was deeply asleep in the plush armchair they’d had brought into the study, book threatening to tip backwards from his lap. he’d ordered one silver, for himself and one gold for caleb. with a blink he remembers the mismatched jewelry hanging from mollymauk’s horns, and laughs, completing the circle home.

(some shadowgast/widomauk for @fiovske!!)

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

I feel like labeling the critical role development as BYG is 100% ignoring all of the other queer characters in the show. There have been at least ten confirmed queer characters over the course of the two campaigns, and the incidental death of one does not constitute a deliberate act of the creators in an attempt to bury queer identities. Like this is genuinely concerning to me as an author who both writes every character as queer and features character death prominently.

I don’t think it is. 

I know there are a bunch of confirmed LGBTQ characters throughout the two campaigns, but like if we are focusing on this campaign - which I am - we’ve had a handful at most. Not to mention there’s a difference between a queer NPC and a queer player character. 

Also that representation is great but it a) doesn’t do much for on screen representation in this campaign and b) doesn’t do as much for people that have never seen that campaign. They don’t have that to fall back on the same way those of us that have watched both campaigns do.

Incidental? Look Matt made the decision to kill Mollymauk. He did like he 100% did. He shot down Keg’s attempt to talk to Lorenzo to prevent it. Like this isn’t like if they stumbled upon a trap and he rolled the dice and that outright killed the character because of how the dice rolled [which could still be fudged for narrative flavor or whatnot]. He made a conscious decision to do so.

If all/majority of your characters are gay and you kill some it doesn’t matter because that’s the way to offset BYG. Majority LGBTQ cast.

mod v

[amarietie]

To add to my own thought on this, one thing that was small that I always picked up on was that Molly always gave very big, generous tips. It’s something I remind myself, whenever I go to leave a tip, that Molly taught me very subtly, that when you have extra, you give extra.

Big Dick Energy

Mollymauk didn’t just leave his fellow fictional characters better than he found them, he surpassed the fictional world and left real fans better than he found them. I wore some $3 velvet shorts and a neon purple shirt to a large social gathering. It made me pretty happy. It made me feel like me.

These fictional things that we love can telk those deepest truths and concepts of life that we know in our hearts to be real, but can only be portrayed through the abstract. Music, art, plays, puzzles, slices of the living experience, compressed into a universal sliver of comprehension.

Iconique

[mollymauktl]

Big Dick Energy

Mollymauk didn’t just leave his fellow fictional characters better than he found them, he surpassed the fictional world and left real fans better than he found them. I wore some $3 velvet shorts and a neon purple shirt to a large social gathering. It made me pretty happy. It made me feel like me.

These fictional things that we love can telk those deepest truths and concepts of life that we know in our hearts to be real, but can only be portrayed through the abstract. Music, art, plays, puzzles, slices of the living experience, compressed into a universal sliver of comprehension.

Iconique