#teaching vox to braid??!?

[inmaki2]

i wanna play with Vox's hair. And if he says no, i will annoy him for hours and hours, days and days, MONTHS AND MONTHS, untill he FINALLY says yes! I will then brush his hair and put girlish hair clips in his hair and make him regret giving in and letting me play with his hair.

Yours truly "pancake SLAP"

ur so real for this one pancake.. smug boy definitely make u work for such a privilege— a lil’ begging for his amusement sake, but still ends up giving in pretty fast 🫶 gosh his long silky hair would look so nice with accessories AAGHH AND BRAIDING IT??!!? the possibilities are endless wehhahah

[storm-angel989]

Is it okay if it is a one shot instead? I don't want to force you to do anythinggg 😭😭😭 it's my own preference!!

Hi There!

I will DEFINITELY do one shots when requested! They’re so much fun to write about, and honestly this is one of my favorite things to write about.  I think to keep it organized from the “Outside The Office” series I’ll respond directly to the request with the story attached and add that to the master list.  

You asked specifically for Val or Vox x reader and their little girl, so I tried to give both Val and Vox their time to shine in respective, responsible, parental roles. If you want a specific Vox x reader and their little girl or a specific situation for Val x Reader and their little girl, let me know! There are SO MANY to choose from but this is the first one that came to mind! 

As always, enjoy! Feedback is always, always appreciated and valued! 

“Princessa, hold still.” Valentino grumbled to the squirming toddler. His hands moved as quickly as they could, weaving her blonde hair into braids. “Princessa, stop, I don’t want to pull your hair.”

She let out a shriek and Valentino quickly wrapped the end of the braid in a soft pink hair tie before he scooped her up into his arms and rocked her gently, tucking her against him. “Shush, princessa, daddy is here.” 

Never did Valentino ever think he would be calling himself daddy in the most appropriate context of the word. 

She quieted quickly and snuggled into him. Valentino smoothed back her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead. Cooler than she was an hour ago. But not quite broke of her fever yet. Definitely due for her next dose of medicine. 

She stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked vigorously- a habit he despised with every fiber of his being. Honestly, he’d rather let her just have the pacifier but his wife was insistent that she break the habit. It wasn’t good for her teeth, she said. 

He guessed she would know more about it than he did. She read more books on the subject than he had, and he had read quite a few himself as he tried to teach himself how to be the father he had never had. Truth be told, when his wife first found out she was pregnant, he was both ecstatic and terrified. A baby of his own- of their own. What if he fucked it up? What if something went wrong and he lost them both in the process? But the first three years of his little girl's life proved to be the opposite- he loved her with every fiber of his being. 

The flutter of the kicks during the first nine months of her life. Listening to her heartbeat for the first time. Watching the love of his life, his reader bring her into the world, and the first time he held her in his arms- she was so tiny he was afraid of hurting her. 

He remembered sitting in the hospital room, holding her as his wife slept, when the nurse came in and suggested that he take his shirt off and doing skin to skin contact with the baby.

“That’s a mom thing, I’m not her mom, I’m her dad,” he protested as loudly as he dared, so as to not wake the sleeping infant. 

The nurse said it didn’t matter. The process would help her regulate her temperature and her heart rate- it was biology. Beneficial to them both. Reluctantly, he handed her off his baby and unbuttoned his shirt. The nurse handed her back to him and guided him to hold her against his chest, over his heart, and covered her with the smallest pink blanket. 

“There you go Dad, just like that,” she told him.

Dad. No one had ever called him that before. At least, not in the true sense of the word. 

Overnight, the top floor of the V tower he and his wife shared with Vox and Velvette had turned into a hybrid of ruthless overlords and a little kid's dream house. Neither aunt nor uncle spared any expense the moment they found out he and his wife were expecting a little girl, and Velvette herself had designed her pink princess themed room that his daughter called her own.

Not that she slept there. For a while, she was in a bassinet. And then a crib. And as soon as she was mobile she crawled into her parents bed and that was it. She slept between them, and more than once he and reader were grateful they had a big bed. For such a tiny kid, she sure took up space. They would have to break that habit he swore he would never develop, but according to the books he read- it really was okay, at least, for the time being. 

“Dada,” she muttered. “Don’t feel good.” 

He snapped his attention back to her.  “I know babygirl. Come on, Daddy’s going to make you feel better.” He lifted her up and carried her into the kitchen.  

One of the only benefits of being home with a sick toddler was simply that he didn’t have to go into work today- he could stay at home with his little girl. Normally his wife would be the one who handled all the care, but today was day two of his sweetheart’s sickness, and his wife was spent. And so, he put her to bed and the last time he checked, she was fast asleep. 

And now as he filled the plastic syringe with a mix of bubblegum pink medication and juice, he half heartedly regretted that decision. 

“No!” She screamed when she saw the dropper. “No! No! NO!” 

No. It was her favorite word, one he was both proud and unhappy that she knew. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her for her refusal. He had tasted the sticky liquid himself out of curiosity and immediately regretted the decision. In all of hell’s amazing medical advances, could’t they make something that tasted good? 

“Dollface, I know,” he said to her tiredly. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. You take this, and I’ll take you down to see Uncle Voxxy and his sharks, okay?” 

That perked her up. 

“Sha ka. Now.” She demanded. 

He held up the medicine dropper. “Medicine first. Then sharks.”

“Sha ka!” She demanded. 

“Then open up,” he replied, taking her chin in his hand. “All of it goes into your tummy. Then sharks.” 

She gave him a look of disdain that inwardly made him wince, but she opened her mouth. Honestly, he feared what her teenage years would look like if she was this defiant at three. He stuck the syringe in her mouth and slowly pressed down on the plunger. 

“Swallow it. All of it.” He reminded her. “The sooner it goes from your mouth to your tummy, the sooner you can have juice.” 

To his relief, she swallowed it and he handed her a bottle of juice. Also probably not the best parenting decision, letting her be on a bottle this long, but the pacifier battle was enough of a fight. Even with Vox and Velvette’s help, they had to pick and choose their battles. 

“Sha ka.” She demanded, reaching for him to pick her back up. 

Valentino sighed but lifted her into his arms. She snuggled into his neck and that feeling of love, of protectiveness washed over him. He held her a little bit tighter as he carried her towards the elevator, pausing only to grab the diaper bag at the entryway. 

Love. It was his field of expertise. But nothing, not even the day he married his wife, could compare to the type of love he felt the first time he held his daughter in his arms. It was different than anything he had ever felt- pure and protective. That feeling had never gone away, even on the roughest of nights, when his wife struggled to stay awake every few hours, struggling to feed this tiny little creature that now depended on them for her every need. Of taking turns holding her until she granted them both the mercy of sleep. 

“Sha ka!” She screeched as he stepped into Vox’s office. She struggled in his arms and Valentino set her down. 

“Aw, how’s my little peanut? Come to Uncle Voxxy!” Vox turned around in his chair. 

Valentino watched as she took off to him and jumped into his arms. For the overlord of technology, he turned into mush around the little girl. And she felt the same way about him, that much was obvious. 

“Yeah, you wanna see the sharkies? Come on, we’ll go see the sharkies!”  Vox lifted her up and looked at Valentino. “You look like shi- fuck. Crap. I mean, you look like you need a shower.” 

“Swear jar. Three quarters. No exception.” Valentino half joked. 

The first time his daughter called her stuffed animal a word no toddler should say, Velvette in all her genius introduced the swear jar. The rest of them resisted at first, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it.  Vox struggled the most with the no cursing rule around the kid rule and as a result, she had enough in her piggy bank to buy herself a new car if she wanted. Sometimes, Valentino wondered if he did it on purpose. After all, she could spend the money however she chose and Valentino had a feeling that it would be spent at the toy store the next time he and his wife went out of town. 

Or he would just buy her whatever she wanted and let her keep it. The word spoiled didn’t exist in his vocabulary. At least, not when it came to her. 

“I mean it Val, let me take her for a bit. Go get cleaned up. Maybe lay down for a few minutes. I got the baby, yes I do, yes I do!” 

He looked down at himself. Black tee shirt, and yesterday's sweatpants. Probably baby vomit from when she got sick earlier. But a shower sounded like a fantastic idea- a dream, really. 

“She puked earlier, and she’s still running a fever. You sure you want that?” Valentino warned doubtfully as he handed Vox the diaper bag. 

Vox shrugged. “Push comes to shove I’ll bring her upstairs and get her changed. Not a big deal.” 

Valentino watched her snuggle into him and her bottle fell to the floor as her thumb went right back into her mouth, leaving baby drool and Lucifer knew what else all over his shirt. He bent down and picked it up, handing it to Vox. 

“You don’t want to help with bath time tonight, do you?” Valentino asked hopefully. 

Vox laughed. “Ha! Not on your life! I know what a little terror this princess is with water, yes I do! Yes I do!”

She let out a cross between a giggle and a shriek as he lightly tickled her. 

“Go, Val. Shoo. We’re fine, I promise.” Vox reiterated as he turned back towards his desk. “Say bye bye to Daddy, babygirl, we’re going to go see sharks!” 

“Sha ka!” she shrieked. “Uncie Voxxy! Sha ka!” 

“Alright. Princessa, be good for Uncle Voxxy okay?” He kissed her forehead. Cooler, but not as cool as she was earlier. He turned and walked out the door to the sound of Vox cooing to her. 

He walked back up the stairs and took as quick of a shower as he could, hoping he didn’t disturb his sleeping love. To his relief, reader didn’t move from where she lay, fast asleep. A pang of guilt. Being a full time mom was no joke, and he wished he could help her more. But hell would freeze over before he allowed his little girl in the studio- it was bad enough reader came in from time to time. He hated his wife seeing him in that role. 

He pulled on clean clothes- jeans and a black shirt and bent over, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Was it him, or did she feel warm too? She blinked, and let out a tired yawn as she looked up at him. He saw the panic in her eyes. 

 “What time is Val? Where is the baby?” she asked, swinging herself out of bed. 

“Baby is with Vox, go back to sleep my love,” he said soothingly as he caught her before she could stand up.  “You need to rest.” He carefully looked at the watch on her wrist and opened the synched app on his phone. She was running a temperature too. Son of a bitch. “Do you feel okay?” 

He listened to her as she inhaled and broke out into a coughing fit that sounded similar to what the kid had come down with. She shook her head no.

 Double fuck. 

“Honey, I’m going to bring you some medication and a drink. Do you want water or juice?” he asked. 

“Water is fine.” She buried her face in her hands, only looking up when he brought both over to “I need a shower.”

“You’re free to do whatever you want, my love. I’ve got the baby.” He smoothed back her hair as she swallowed the drugs. “You rest, I need you to feel better too.” He pulled her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I can only do this by myself for so long. I need you back to full force, and that means lots of rest for you.”

She broke into a laugh that turned into a coughing fit. “That’s going to mean less sleep for you.”

“I’ll manage.” He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her head to his chest for a moment. “Go shower, love. I’m going to free Vox from her grasp.”

She nodded and he stood up. He waited outside the door for a few minutes until he heard the water running. Only then did he make his way back down the stairs.

“Princessa? Vox?” He called as he walked into the studio. 

Vox turned around in his chair and shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips. Even from a distance, Valentino could see her tucked against Vox, his sleeves rolled up and his jacket covered her like a blanket. The drool stains on his shoulder were larger now, and was he wearing a different shirt? 

 “Shush, you’ll wake the baby,” Vox said softly as he carefully stood up and adjusted her against him.  

She snuggled into his neck and started to fuss. Vox carefully handed her back to Valentino, ensuring she stayed wrapped up in his jacket. 

“Hey baby, Daddy is here,” Valentino said quietly as he adjusted her in his arms. “Thanks, Vox.”

“Don’t mention it. That kid will rule the world someday, mark my words. I’ll see you after work tonight, happy to watch her for a few hours so you can get some rest too.” Vox handed him back the diaper bag. “She did puke by the way. Bright pink medicine, all over my shirt- totally wrecked it. Thank god you keep an extra tee shirt in the diaper bag, and I keep a spare set of my own in the office. I cleaned her up the best I could. But she fell asleep right after and I didn’t want to move her any more than I had to.” 

God, there were definitely some parts of being a parent that were completely gross, even for Valentino. 

She was fast asleep by the time Valentino carried her back upstairs. He pressed his lips to her forehead and was relieved to find she wasn’t burning up. A cool washcloth should help. He checked in on his wife, and seeing her fast asleep, made his way to the living room and laid down on the couch. It was a risk to lay the cloth on her neck but thankfully she didn’t stir. 

As he laid on the couch with her in his arms, he wondered how he would get through the next few days, and hoped that whatever sickness took both his girls down stayed far, far away from him. He needed to take care of them, after all. 

[ravenquingvax]

Thinking about Vax'ildan.

Thinking about Vax and hair.

Thinking about a small child running to his mother crying because a bigger kid pushed him into the Gladepools and his hair is all messed up now.

Thinking of him sat in front of the fire as his mother dries and untangles his hair, singing to him in her mother's tongue.

Thinking of him and his sister sitting on stools at the kitchen table waiting impatiently as their mother braids their hair all prettily for the Harvest Close Fair, the pair giggling and kicking their feet as they're asked to "please sit still for just another minute, you two."

Thinking about Vax asking to brush his mother's hair and braid it, so she teaches him how to do it and Vex asks him to braid her hair as well.

When Syldor takes the twins, aged 10, to Syngorn, he forces them to have their hair cut according to Syngorn's bizarre Family Hierarchy Hair Rules;

waist length hair is indicative of political status

hair just above the waist is indicative of being the head of your household

just above the elbow length is indicative of being the household heir

just below the shoulder length is indicative of being respected by your household

hair that's shoulder length exactly is indicative of being from a wealthy household but of having little respect

just below chin length but just above shoulder length is indicative of you coming from a non-wealthy family

hair at chin length or shorter than chin length is indicative that you have been disowned by your family's household

Syldor has waist length silky black hair, which he usually leaves undecorated unless he's hosting or attending a ball

Vax also has silky black hair, Syldor having it cut from just above the elbows up to exactly shoulder length - while Vex has curly brown hair that had also been just above the elbows before it was also forcibly cut to shoulder length exactly

Vax would continue to help his sister with her hair, brushing it and braiding it for her

Whilst Vex slowly earned a modicum of respect through her hard work at school, her hair allowed to grow longer, Vax never gained any respect as he flunked his classes and started to act out, so he had to keep his hair shoulder length

By the age of 16, Vex had her hair back to just above her elbows to show that she's now the household heir - while Vax has rebelled and cut his hair into a choppy pixie cut in an attempt to piss off Syldor

He's forced to wear a wig to social events and he's banned from using sharp objects, but its worth it to him

When the twins run away from Syngorn and end up living in the woods when Byroden is gone, Vex has Vax cut her hair to match his as a symbol of her love for him and Vax cries while doing so because his sister's hair is so important to her

from then onwards, Vax comes to consider both of their hair as incredibly sacred to him, taking as good of care as he can of both of their hair even while living out in the wilderness

they both grow their hair out to be waist length, almost as if to spite Syldor and Syngorn

Vax braids Vex's hair in a way that protects and maintains her curls, while he likes to decorate his hair with small braids with colourful beads through them

When they join Vox Machina, Vax accidentally becomes the resident hairstylist as well as the resident cook - Scanlan, Pike and Keyleth all go to him for hair cuts, hair styling & help with shaving properly

Percy wouldn't start asking for his help too until after they've dealt with the Briarwoods and freed Cassandra & Whitestone

Cassandra also goes to Vax for help with her hair, having him cut it to her shoulders for her after years of Delilah not letting her style it how she wants to

when Grog gets the belt and grows a beard, Vax helps him to style and maintain it

Vax and Gilmore do each other's hair, teaching each other different styles and hair care tips as they gossip - just two boyfriends who have "caring for the other's hair" as a love language, so cute!

Vax and Allura, who are best friends with messy feelings in my fanon, love to gossip over tea and take turns braiding each others hair as they do

and I can so see Vax starting a hairdressing salon in the back of the 2nd floor of Gil's shop

just...Vax'ildan and hair 😭

(I will never forgive TLOVM for the fuckass ugly hair they gave Vax, let him have pretty hair!!!)

[scun-gilli]

TRT Winged Wingmen Character Descriptions

OKAY. Work is finally over (at 10pm....kill meeee) I apologize for the excessive amount of reference links and how freaking long this is.

Here are detailed descriptions of the Morningstar brothers.

We will start with the oldest and go down.

URIEL MORNINGSTAR

Hair color: White

Hair style: When he was younger, it was super long (like Sephiroth lol) but during the current story, it is short and neatly combed back. Think Connor from DBH

Skin color: PALE. LIKE A GHOST (or me lol)

Features: He looks kind of androgynous. Similar again to Connor from DBH but slightly softer. He has four white wings that come from the side of his head (around the temples) and fold over each other to hide his eyes when he's not actively using his magic. He is pretty thin and lanky. Two white wings

Eye color: He has four eyes (stacked like Stolas) That have black pupils and dark purple sclera (the sclera look similar to a starry sky with the milky way)

Magic color: Very celestial, like the milky way (like stolas)

Height: Super tall, like Sera or Valentino

Fighting style: He is TRASH at close quarters fighting or even with weapons, but he is an extremely powerful magic user.

Known abilities: [these are the ones we know of now ;)] Prophetic vision, warding, true vision (He can see the past, the true nature of souls, the prophecies written into reality and the red threads of fate)

Duty: His job is of course on the royal counsel as an advisor using his visions and conducting the thread ceremonies.

Clothing: On a day to day basis, he wears something similar to this (in fact, this is pretty close to how I imagine him in general) But in his typical white/purple/blue (more star motifs lol) tones. Also, the capelet is not present unless it's for formal occasions. Also knee high boots because I am a sucker for men in tall boots.

MICHAEL MORNINGSTAR

Hair color: blonde

Hair style: Shoulder length, typically pulled back into a half up bun hairstyle. Like this

Skin color: Also Pale like Luci.

Features: Face wise, he basically looks like Luci (without the animal features), maybe slightly sharper than luce but they overall look really similar. He is a muscle daddy, broad shoulders and abs, the whole thing. Two white wings

Eye color: Blue (now just the right one) the left eye socket is now covered with bandages but he'll eventually get an eyepatch thing.

Magic color: Gold or blue. Takes the form of little bolts of electricity (kinda like Vox ig)

Height: Still tall but not as freakishly tall as Uriel. I would say a little taller than Al.

Fighting style: Dude is a beast. Works best in hand to hand or weapon based combat (that he infuses with magic). He prefers to use his chains (think Kurapika from HxH kinda chains) or he has a sword like Luci's.

Known abilities: [these are the ones we know of now ;)] summoning weaponry (like the chains), electricity based magical pulses, being sexy, smithing (creating the armor and weapons like the armor he made for Al), battle strategy, teaching (like at the KA), convincing Al to take care of himself when needed XD

Duty: His job is the general of the royal army, writing the curriculum for the students at the knight academy and training the new knights at the academy (like he does with Al)

Clothing: He is a lot more casual than his brothers. On the daily, its usually something like a white dress shirt (no tie, only for formal occasions) and slacks OR a black turtleneck with slacks. When he is fancy, like this or something similar. He also frequently wears a cloak (like in the picture) When actively training cadets, he is in clothes he can easily move in (T-shirts/sleeveless shirts and pants) If left to his own devices, he would be dressing in sweatpants all the time.

RAPHAEL MORNINGSTAR

Hair color: light brown

Hair style: Pretty long and curly (ringlets about past the chest). He usually braids it to keep it back or will put it in a ponytail (now with assistance or magic)

Skin color: tan and with a lot of freckles (he is a sunshine boy that loves to garden and he looks like it)

Features: He looks a lot more feminine than his brothers, softer features. dimpled cheeks. Two white wings. Only one arm on the right side.

Eye color: Golden (with little flecks of green)

Magic color: Gold

Height: As tall as Alastor (who became my scale for some reason)

Fighting style: Fighting is NOT his strong suit, but when he has to, he prefers long range weapons (like spears or bows)

Known abilities: [these are the ones we know of now ;)] Extremely potent healing magic, can diagnose illnesses, green thumb, well versed in all forms of medicine (including holistic), he's well versed in nutrition and can basically find a tea for any ailment ever, he can also calm souls around him using magic.

Duty: His job is, of course, the healer. He studies medicine from all realms (he and Belphegor will get along for sure), he teaches other healers and he plants herbs and other medicinal plants anywhere he is allowed XD

Clothing: Raphael will dress both masculine and feminine. He's very fluid about it. He prefers simple clothing that he can garden in (or if he is actively healing, he wants something that is out of his way) He usually wears a cloak over his clothes (Especially after his injury in the war) but underneath I imagine something like this or this (without overcoat) I can't find a reference for his formal outfits to save my life but it would be super flowy and in earth tones. I am not too happy about the clothing reference but I am eepy and struggling to find something cute. Hell, I may make an outfit reference board at some point, but I am sweepy.

GABRIEL MORNINGSTAR

Hair color: Dark brown

Hair style: Kept fairly short, basically a big mop of brown curls. He likes to braid beads and other accessories into his hair.

Skin color: tan like Raphael

Features: He has rounder features. (for some reason Wybie from Coraline comes up) two white wings.

Eye color: Bright green

Magic color: Green

Height: Shorter than Al but taller than Luci.

Fighting style: He can fight but really prefers not to. When he does fight, he's not half bad. He uses brass knuckles or his magic. He is a very strong magic user (not quite as much as Luci or Uri but still really strong)

Known abilities: [these are the ones we know of now ;)] Can detect magic influences and can even trace it's sources, Very fast (can quickly travel between realms and is the fastest flyer), He can speak basically any language and is pretty good at reading people when he puts his mind to it.

Duty: His job is the ambassador between realms. His job is to not only be the communicator between powers but he also escorts souls into heaven for meetings with the king. He is also the voice of father, meaning that father can speak through him when needed.

Clothing: He is a huge fan of being casual (like Mike) When he is able to, he's the big sweaters and floppy pants type of guy. He also really likes jewelry. (like bohemian style. almost hippie?) But when he needs to be formal he wears something more traditional, similar to this but in greens (and is usually disheveled in some way) I am not that pleased with this clothing reference either, but I repeat, papa is EEPY.

Annnnnd we are done!!! Thank you for reading this far XD I may update this after I sleep but I will let you know if I do. This is what we are working with so far.

I can also do descriptions of Al and Luci (like outfit inspos and what headcanons I adhere to for the fic. I just wanted to focus on the bros for now)

Here you go @elkaseltzer! Thank you for your interest in knowing about the winged wingmen. This is also for @i-genuinely-dunno who requested the descriptions as well. Huge thanks to my girl, Yuzu, on X for the help with these XD

[ravendruid]

Hi I have a prompt if you are interested! ❀ yarrow (everlasting love) — “i don’t think i’ll ever stop loving you.” For Vaxleth please! :)

Hi!!! Thank you so much for sending me a prompt! :D Yarrow (everlasting love)

I Don't Think I'll Ever Stop Loving You

Somewhere under the thick canopy of trees, a gnome sat, cross-legged, within a purple arcane circle. His eyes were closed in concentration, low hum coming from his throat, and one could see a purple glimmer of what looked to be a third eye on his brow.

Vox Machina sat not too far from where Scanlan was casting his spell, Pike and Grog happily chatting while Vex and Percy carried a conversation in whispers as they both ran their hands through Trinket’s warm fur. 

The eternal hues of twilight peered through the canopy, reflecting on Keyleth’s short red hair as she slowly combed her fingers through Vax’s long locks. She had her back pressed against the trunk of a large tree, and her legs were crossed between them. 

“So, this is it?” She could feel the sob building up in her throat.

“Keyleth…” Vax turned around, cradling her face and looking deep into her eyes.

Keyleth shook her head, trying to dismiss the tears in the corner of her eyes, and she spun Vax, so his back was once more against her chest. They sat in silence, Keyleth weaving small braids on the sides of his head and tying them as one at the back. 

“We all might die tomorrow.” She whispered, trying to hide the fear in her voice. “This could all have been in vain, your death, your deal… this fight. If we die tomorrow, the world will never be the same.”

Vax didn’t speak. He knew the grievances his girlfriend had been bottling up within her, and he knew she needed to air such grievances, so he let her talk as his hand combed through the soft grass and the tiny flowers in front of him.

“That can’t happen. We can’t let that happen.” Her voice was fiercer and more confident. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we cannot let him win, Vax.”

“We won’t. He won’t win. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Keyleth’s head cocked to one side as she examined the flowers in his hair in contemplation. Memories of both of them rushed to her mind. Of them sitting under the large cherry tree in Zephrah, of them braiding each other’s hair, of Keyleth showing Vax how to druidcraft flowers and teaching him how to harness the power of nature in the palm of his hands.

“It will never feel like a win to me.” She whispered. She allowed Vax to turn to face her this time. She allowed him to bring her chin up and meet his eyes.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to know I’m still yours, and I will always be, for as long as you’ll have me.” Vax kissed her softly, lingering as long as he could, committing the soft, warm feel and the sweet taste of her lips to memory. 

“You know I’ll live long enough to see everyone I love die,” She chuckled, leaning her forehead to his, “and no matter how long I live, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Vax.”

[nochiquinn]

legend of vox machina episode 3: the feast of realms OR mercy machine broken

this is my THIRD time watching this, first w/mala right before the stream last night and then on my tv this morning bc I Could and now for this

the moment I realized what this was I just started going "oh. oh no. oh NO."

ptsd dreams really do be like this

also what kind of bloodborne-ass outfits

mask: happen me: I don't LIKE IT

"bad dream?" "is there any other kind?" while INCREDIBLY emo also means this is pretty much the only dream percy ever has, no wonder he never sleeps

the run-down old keep they were given vs grayskull being built for them

idk, something something thematically appropriate

PIGEONS

"seven to two" grog can only count when it's funny

percy in a shirt and vest is v nice

"maybe you should cut loose once in a while" remember you said that vex

I love vex's "oh shit, that's tonight"

see I didn't like scanlan going after pike in the stream so much bc he was so Scanlan about it but with the benefit of hindsight and character development him ONLY knowing how to Be Scanlan About It and that just not working on pike is much more fun to watch

percy: I swear I won't let them nutcheck a diplomat

(edit from the future: oops)

travis had way too much fun with grog's sobbing

so glad we got to work sam's live show costumes in

(grog's getup just makes me think of the wedding oneshot - "this is the most clothes I've ever worn in my life!")

vax probably having had pRoToCol drilled into him when they were living in syngorn and actively refusing to utilize any of it out of spite

(percy teaching them all things he started learning when he was in diapers and unconsciously imitatng his parents, only realizing what he said the moment after he said it and struggling not to visibly react)

all of the Elf Matts are the same character. he has 5 jobs bc the emon economy (emonomy) is in shambles.

his name is still matt but now it's short for matt'hew

kraghammer reference!!

I enjoy scanlan's eyeshadow

"or, y'know, do whatever" I don't know what you expected

"doofus."

I know the side-by-sides of this and taliesin the first time the name was said on-stream already exist but GOD the fisheye lens is the perfect representation of that

....was this on purpose. did they do this as a little "tee-hee giggle foreshadowing no one will ever see" moment or did I just pause in EXACTLY the right place

him instinctively going for his gun

making a safeword makes NO SENSE here bc they don't have the earrings but they couldn't not address "jenga"

like what was vax gonna do, scream it down the stairs (probably)

this is how I pictured allura all the time, with the one big braid and the cape and shit

I started re-watching the briarwoods arc in like october and I STILL forgot percy was disguised as vax. but they also took out vax's immediately-discarded plan with assum and also moved when percy told them everything, so it wouldn't have made sense

also percy just sitting across from them SEETHING for the whole meal, forgetting his manners (ha) even though he's the one who pestered everyone else about them so much

honestly it's probably only due to pRoToCoL that he didn't just jump over the table and start trying to choke delilah out with his bare hands

percy's little eye twitch

pike you have the worst stealth rolls in the game, why did you think that would work

(mala: that never stopped her from trying!)

(also I want whatever they're eating)

"walk over to the briarwoods, say hello to break the ice, and then punch them in the face"

love seeing vax's stealth actually in action

SIMON

he has an EYEPATCH

am I starving or does that steak look fucking AMAZING

I know he's charming uriel but please imagine what this looks like without context

just sensually stroking the king's hand all "haha nooo don't send troops to whitestone ur so sexy"

still absolutely baffled by the decision to include the twins' surname on the posters when they have not once used it in the show. and like yes it's only episode 3 but if vex was ever gonna leverage it I'd imagine it would be here? make it clear she Knows Somebody so delilah can't shrug her off without risking actual consequences?

fully believe the "beads" conversation is based on something that actually happened between sam and marisha

...keyleth would ONLY know what anal beads are because of scanlan, wouldn't she

NO vax you take everything out NEATLY so you can put it back without it being obvious it was moved

I want a pop-up altar >:(

ha, residuum d20 on the side table

...and what I assume have to be eyeballs

percy you were being baited :(

grog and pike holding onto percy :(

YES percy finally got the anime eyeshine he deserved BUT it just looked like they used the fill tool on his glasses

the only thing I would add here would maybe be a couple of flashes of the dream from the beginning of the episode, just to tie what he's saying more firmly to his night terrors. a pause to give the "murdered my entire family" slightly more punch.

stop staring at the firEPLACE VAX

something something parallels between vax and percy instinctively reaching for their weapons

"gosh you guys are good-looking"

I know it was a desperation move but I don't know why even in a panic vax thought he could barrel past sylas. look at him.

"plus he's got the squirts!"

according to the cast live-tweets sam dropped these songs on them completely unprepared. just showed up in the booth with them.

I've said this in like two other places but matt took sylas as his main role so he wouldn't have to give up flirting with liam

I know twinsense is an overplpayed trope but. twinsense.

pike just throwing grog at every problem they have in this episode

"C'MERE FUCKSTICK"

would also have loved vax's "keyleth, beautiful under the trees" death vision but it really would have felt out of place without 100+ hours of buildup lmao

keyleth getting punched out of wildshape was really smoothly animated

percy unjamming his gun in the background while vex shoots at delilah

"NO ONE KILLS VAX BUT ME" we love a pair of besties

"thanks, pickle" lays in the floor and cries

vax and pike are one of my favorite dynamics, so glad there'll be more chances for it

percy: [shoots silas in the shoulder] grog: :D sylas: [heals] grog: D:

BACON EDGE

'cause all craven edge ever has to do is death of a thousand cuts, even a little blood makes it embiggen

oh the mood whiplash

enjoy this way of showing a concentration spell

(I do not know what this would be, though. bless? is bless concentration? it's been 84 years)

keyleth's Panic Vines

desmond didn't deserve that. or anything that's about to happen to him.

"come visit sometime, percy! you're always welcome back home~" GOD she's such a BITCH

this is presumably the first time percy has truly *yelled* at any of them - been short-tempered and cranky and insufferable maybe, but not the way he is here, and definitely not at keyleth, and ESPECIALLY not for saving his life

a little bit orthax, a little bit trauma

also: pike :(

GOD whatever taliesin is doing with his voice here I am INTO

going from that bottomed-out bass when he spots desmond to panicky, cracking and breaking, back to the reverb bass when orthax takes over

also you just HAD THE MASK ON YOU

(would have dug a scene of him like. seeing the mask and hesitating before picking it up as they were leaving)

the orthax shadow!!

YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT

aaaand pusheen-level whiplash going into the credits

are they gonna release a scanlan-only album. they could. whether or not they SHOULD is another question but they totally COULD.

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 3

the winds of change

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader

word count: 7,511

summary: you share with Loki an experience to not be forgotten and forge friendships that will last a lifetime

in this chapter: more time skips, some lore, some light flirting, Thor showing up at The Worst Time™, very brief and mild violence in the form of someone being thrown to the ground after being rude

author notes: this chapter is sponsored by me watching several episodes of vox machina because my brain couldn't handle more music, and my local coffee shop supplying me with many london fogs 

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

“You need to hold still, little starlight,” your uncle, Sveinn, orders. He’s tugging on the bottom strap for the breast collar of the saddle you’re wearing, each adjustment to the straps causing you to lean into him.

You rumble out an apology and do your best to stop leaning forward as he finishes tightening the straps.

You and Loki arrived in your family’s suite of the palace over half an hour ago, racing hand-in-hand to the pavilion on the far side where you knew you would find your mother and your uncle waiting, Frigga trailing several steps behind you both.

The pavilion itself is enormous, completely open on one side with a few drapes in (what you assume to be) your father’s colour and depicting (what you know to be) his symbol dispersed between a few of the columns that line the side open to the realm beyond. With three wildly different seating arrangements spread around the entire space and plenty of space between each, this is where your aerial lessons begin each day.

Once you’d found where they were sitting, you and the princess begged for your mother to let you take Loki flying, but it wasn’t until Frigga said that she was fine with Loki being on dragonback that your mother finally conceded.

Your mother had consulted your uncle on if they had an actual saddle that was properly sized for Loki (rather than the usual unmoulded leather that stood in for a saddle during your drills) before she disappeared for several minutes and returned with one she believed would work.

Before your mother let your uncle strap the saddle on, Kára made sure she went over the basics of the saddle — the girth, the stirrups, the horn, the leg straps — with you both. Even though the saddle is similar to the ones used for horses, there are enough differences that are unique to it. Only once that was covered did she hand the bundle of leather over to Sveinn so he could strap it onto your back.

“This will be the first time she’s carried anyone. Normally we wait until a dragonling is fifteen, as you know, but since the princess is still young, I think this will work out fine,” Kára tells Frigga and Loki, the three of them over on the lounge chairs sitting as they watch.

You stare down at your uncle silently, listening to what Kára is saying and watching her out of one eye. Her hands are in a tight ball in her lap, her face unwilling to give away anything else.

Sveinn’s dark eyes are trained on the saddle strap he’s buckling and adjusting, but you know he’s listening just like you are since he can’t see your mother at that moment. He’s left his long, flat-grey hair loose today instead of binding it up into several braids like he usually does. How your mother always does.

They’ve told you before what it represents among the Drekasál. How it’s the sign of a Himingarpr, a sky-warrior. A Drekasál who goes to war when called, much as an Einheri or a Valkyrja.

His beard is still bound into a braid though, the end of it resting against the collar of his tunic.

“It will be more than fine, Kára. I have faith in your teaching skills, and your daughter’s own abilities,” Frigga reassures her, putting a hand on Kára’s shoulder and giving her a charming smile. “It’s not all that different from riding a warhorse.” A pause, then, “Well, aside from the fact you’re in the air and spinning around.”

There’s another pause. From the corner of your eye, you can see a flash of something on Loki’s face, but when you turn your gaze to her she just appears to be listening to Kára.

“All set over here, my soul,” Sveinn tells your mother as he stands up, dusting his hands across his trousers. The term of endearment for one's soulmate is one you often hear between your mother and uncle. He might not be your uncle by blood, but the bond between them and the relationship they’ve built? He’s family.

You stand and move over to the chairs, conscious of where your paws and tail are as you move between a pair of divans.

Loki perks up when you draw close and hops out of her seat to meet you. There’s a sensation of a hand brushing against your mind, the mind-link quickly snapping in place. You can speak and be understood just fine in this form, but the mind-link will make it easier to communicate with her while flying.

Are you ready for this? You ask as she brushes her hand against the saddle. Even though she’s tall for an Asgardian her age, she’s still shorter than you in your dragon form, her shoulders only coming up to your withers.

She looks up at you with a smirk. I’m ready.

At the sound of your mother saying your name, your head snaps up and your entire body straightens up, waiting for her instructions.

“The All-Mother and I will wait up here while you fly, and Sveinn will be flying with you. Your Highness, if you would please mount up, same as a warhorse.” At Kára’s words, Loki steps into the stirrup on your left and gracefully swings her leg over, planting it lightly in the right one. Once she’s settled, your uncle shows her how to buckle the extra leg straps that will keep her in the saddle should you perform any hard banks or spins mid-flight. Completely secured into the saddle, she then grabs on to the horn at the front.

“Ready,” Loki tells everyone. Sveinn and Kára nod at one another, and then Sveinn shifts into his own dragon form.

He towers over you, a staggering twenty-seven hands high. He’s not the largest of the Drekasál — even amongst those still living — but he’s still much larger than you are. His pale scales gleam a light grey to you, near-white in the shine of the sun. Your mother has called him golden-scaled, saying he resembles the colour of the palace when the sun is high in the sky.

It’s a complete contrast to her own dark scales, something she once called “indigo”. To you, she just appears to have dark, cold-grey scales. Her dark scales and slightly smaller form make it easy for you to tell her apart from your uncle when they’re both teaching you in their dragon forms.

“Approach the edge of the pavilion, but do not jump off yet,” Sveinn orders. You follow along behind him to the edge, tail whipping slowly and your front talons grip the edge of the scarred stone as you look out over the shining city. Sveinn turns to you and you look up at him, waiting. “This will be different from flying with just a saddle. You know what to do. Trust that.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Then fly.” There’s a light tap on your back leg from your uncle’s tail, your signal to jump off. You hesitate for just a moment, long enough that you know both Kára and Sveinn notice, but then you push off the edge and free fall down the side of the palace.

Within seconds there’s a foreign sense of dread creeping along the back of your mind. It takes you a moment to remember that while you've taken this descent hundreds of times, Loki has never done this before. She’d probably assumed you would jump into the air, not free fall down the side of the palace. Even as she quiets her own emotions you can still feel the echoes of them as they’re muffled.

In a snap decision to soothe the fear of your friend, you tell her, Hold on tight. I’m going to level out.

Your wings snap open, pulling you away from the palace as you glide out high over the city. Loki’s own whispered emotions linger in the mind-link for long moments as you glide over and between various buildings, tangled and too faint for you to understand.

In a moment of curiosity, you try to reach a hand along the mind-link to brush against Loki’s mind. A feeling akin to relief washes over you when you realise you can, and you brush your hand against her mental-self’s cheek to soothe her as she had you earlier.

Muted and muffled as her emotions are, you’re not certain of her reaction so you turn your full attention to your flight.

The silence up here is only broken by the sound of wingbeats from you and your uncle who trails behind and above you. Below, you can see the everyday hustle and bustle of Asgard.

Some Asgardians are walking, some are horse riding, and some are in skiffs on the various rivers, but very few are paying any attention to the two dragons that soar above them. There are a dozen Drekasál still in the realm; between the others and the drills your instructors run you through most days, seeing a dragon flying about isn’t too unusual.

Some Asgardians — those who are on street levels high enough — realise you’re carrying someone on your back, stopping and pointing as you fly by. Others — those who are on lower street levels — look up, as if they’re expecting to see you do some of your drills. Yet you just continue to perform soft banks around buildings as you give Loki time to settle into being so high up.

You know everyone looking up knows who you are because of your scales. You’re not just the only blue dragonling in the Realm of Asgard, you’re the only blue Drekasál in the entire realm. Knowing who you are means they know you’re too young to be carrying an adult Æsir.

You spot a skiff rising up — likely to look at who’s on your back — but Sveinn dips down closer and lets his teeth flash. The skiff dives back down into the mass of others along the river. Sveinn stays low for a bit, likely warning off anyone with his presence alone before he rises back up and trails behind once more.

You’ve just banked around the outer towers of the city to head out towards the Rainbow Bridge when Loki finally speaks.

Is it always this quiet up here?

Sometimes some of the skiffs like to race us. Amusement rings with your words, and there’s an echo of laughter from Loki’s side.

Those who challenge a dragon are fools.

The eye-roll she makes is loud enough for you to hear. A laugh rumbles through you as you ask, Oh, are they? So should I be counting you among them?

Not if I turn into one myself, Loki replies smugly.

You’d seen a few examples of her shapeshifting ability over your years spent in lessons, but nothing that had said she would be able to shift into a dragon. To be able to do so she would have to be one of the few natural-born shapeshifters in the Nine. Most shapeshifters use a magical item, but the natural-born ones rarely need such an item.

Can you do that? You ask, looking over your shoulder at her in wonder.

She shrugs, turning her head away to look down at the city below. I haven’t tried, but why couldn’t I? How different could it be from changing to any other form the first time?

You don’t know how to answer that, don’t know just yet how to process that the Princess of Asgard is one of the natural-born shapeshifters, so you look ahead once more.

You’re approaching the Sea of Asgard now, the vast body of water that separates Himinbjǫrg and its all-seeing, all-hearing guardian from the rest of Asgard. You listen to see if your uncle objects to your current route, but when you just hear his wingbeats, you glide down to the underside of the Rainbow Bridge.

Weaving between the gleaming piles, you drift lower and lower until you can relax an arm and let your talons skim the top of the churning waters. Sveinn stays above the bridge itself, visible only when you leave the shade of the bridge.

As you close in on the end, you ask, Are you ready for something faster?

If you only go this fast, I’d rather ride a warhorse.

You let out a low rumble of half-amusement and half-insult, and then dart out and up from beneath the bridge. Rocketing past Sveinn as you ascend, you hear a startled gasp that turns into laughter from Loki. Letting out a roar, you level out and speed for the mountains at the far side of the sea as fast as your wings can carry you.

As you near the mountains, Sveinn’s wingbeats become louder. You know he’s catching up, but for some reason, you feel like you don’t want him to catch up. The desire is impulsive, but unshakeable, so you give in; you know just how to throw him off.

He’s done it to you before, after all.

You bank hard around the curve of the first mountains, the air rushing off your wings making the snow decorating their tops whirl up into a storm with how close you skim to them. You do the same thing around a second and then a third mountaintop, the storm of snow off each one larger than the last.

You bank hard once more, turning completely around the top of a mountain and glide back toward the city. With the fading sound of Sveinn’s wingbeats you know you’ve thrown him off — but only for a few moments. Your eyes scan the streets rapidly, looking for one of the rivers that feed into the sea.

Sveinn’s wingbeats become louder again just as you spot one, a bridge spanning it at the very edge that spills into the sea. No skiffs travel along it as far as you can see, so it’s one of the ones assigned to your drills. Perfect.

Hold on, princess! You fold your wings in, turning into a steep dive not too dissimilar from your drop off the palace at the beginning. Instead of fear this time, you can hear the delighted screaming-laughter from Loki.

If your dragon form could smile, you would be grinning at her reaction.

You shoot beneath the bridge, wingbeats a thunderous cacophony resounding off the walls and mixing with the roar of rushing water.

Down here, there’s not enough room for a dragon of Sveinn’s size to follow.

When you exit the other side you can still hear him, but when you glance up you don’t see him. All you see as you rush along this river are the criss-cross of streets above, the walls of the various buildings, and the Asgardians who are stopping to watch you as you rush by below.

Following the various twists of the river, you head back towards the palace.

You sail under another bridge, emerging out over one of the river pools, a roaring waterfall on the other side. You rocket up the waterfall without slowing down your mad dash, coming above the lower streets of Asgard before levelling out. The path to the palace is clear, and you dart over buildings and across the Rainbow Bridge.

Swinging your head back and forth, you realise you don’t see Sveinn anywhere. You must have lost him at some point while you were racing along the river. A sense of smugness begins to fill you. It’s almost foreign, almost like—

Your head whips around to look at Loki. There’s a self-satisfied smirk on her face that matches the smug feeling that’s echoing down the mind-link. You throw a barb of irritation at her as you realise the desire to outrun your uncle had come from her and hadn’t been born out of your own impulses.

Oh, don’t look so sour, Firefly! We had fun losing him, didn’t we?

That’s not the point, Loki! You used your powers on me. Frigga would —

My mother doesn’t need to know everything I do, Loki snaps, a scowl forming on her face. Your irritation runs higher in turn and her expression changes to an almost-pained look before she looks away. Tentatively, she says, Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted us to have a little fun, but I won’t do it again. You have my word.

You turn your head back around, quiet for a few moments as you try to sort through how you feel about what had just happened.

There’s a sudden absence of Loki’s feelings being echoed to you; she’s cut the mind-link. You can’t help but assume it’s because you didn’t answer her, and despair washes through you. You hadn’t meant to hurt her with your anger, but the last whisper of her emotions had been hurt.

Out loud you call back, “I don’t need your word, Loki. I trust you. I’m sorry I got angry.”

Instead of saying anything back, Loki is silent. Not sure what to make of her silence, or what to say to break it, you remain silent too. You bank around the right side of the palace, ascending and aiming for your family’s pavilion on the upper-left side.

When it comes into view, you see Sveinn and Kára — both in their Æsir form — standing near the edge of the pavilion. For a brief moment, you want to do nothing more than fly away. Avoid whatever conversation is about to happen because of your disappearing act.

You’d run off with the Asgardian princess, after all. Something you’re rather certain you weren’t supposed to do.

You can’t remember if one of them had said that you had to remain with Sveinn the entire flight. It was implied that you should since he came along though. Right?

Kára and Sveinn step aside as you land on the pavilion, your head down as you walk further in so Loki can easily dismount.

“How was it?” Frigga asks, standing up from the couch she was lounging on.

Loki’s words are stuffed with unbridled mirth. “It was amazing, Mamma!”

She launches into her own retelling of the adventure she’d taken with you as she unbuckles herself and steps out of the saddle.

When she climbs down you use your nose to help keep her from stumbling. She smiles, pausing her story and pressing her forehead to yours for a second before returning to regaling her mother with what had happened. Frigga takes her daughter by the hand, smiling down at her as they walk out. Before they leave, you hear Loki ask if she can do this again, and Frigga telling her that it’s a discussion for tomorrow.

Once the doors to the pavilion close, you stiffen. Alone with your family at last, you curl in on yourself.

“I see the princess had a good time,” Kára says lightly as she walks to your side and begins unbuckling the saddle. You make a sound of agreement. “Did you have a good time, my star?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

Kára finishes with that side and stops in front of you, tilting your chin up so you look at her. “Talk to me, little starlight. What’s wrong?”

You look over at Sveinn and then back at her. You see her slowly put together the pieces as you repeat the movement a few times. Your mother laughs.

“We were actually worrying recently that you were a little too passive for a Drekasál. Your uncle had already made a habit of giving his instructors the slip during drill training by your age.” She grins over at your uncle who comes over to help finish taking the saddle off.

“Don’t let her fool you, your mother would shift back to an Æsir mid-flight and scare her instructor when she would suddenly disappear out of the sky!” The weight of the saddle slides off your back and you shake your body, settling the scales that had been trapped beneath it.

“Hey!” your mother laughs out. “It was good practice. For me and for the other dragonlings of my conflagration.”

After listening to their laughter you look at each with one eye, softly asking, “So…I’m not in trouble for running off with the princess?”

“Of course not. You had a little adventure on your own and then you came home. Besides, I would hardly call flying around the city running off.” Your mother smiles up at you, reaching up and scratching the underside of your chin. A low rumble of contentment emits from your chest, your eyes falling half-shut for a few moments.

When the sensation disappears, you return to your Æsir form, staring up at both members of your family who look down at you with gentle love. Your mother scoops you up and settles you on her hip, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“What would you say to us bothering your babba, little starlight?” Your uncle asks.

Your face immediately lights up and you turn to look at your mother with wide eyes. Placing your tiny hands on her cheeks, you pout at your mother as you plead with her, “Please, Mamma. I miss him. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“You know, I think he could use an interruption.” Your mother winks at you, beginning the trek to her heartmate’s office. “I’m sure Babba will be thrilled to see his favourite dragonling in all the realms.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

After that afternoon, Loki often frequents your aerial lessons with your mother and uncle. Sometimes your father shows up too, giving tips to your friend since he’s often dragonback during battles.

It’s only a couple of weeks after that first flight that you’re running drills with Loki, something you hadn’t considered until Týr had suggested it one afternoon as Loki was mounting up. Of course, if the princess was going to learn how to fly dragonback into battle, then so would her older brothers Baldr and Thor.

You smile as you wander the streets of Asgard with your mother, out shopping for birthday presents for your father on this beautiful, chilly winter day. His birthday is soon, and you can’t help remembering how much things have changed in the last two years because of his suggestion.

You had met Thor not long after you’d begun your seiðr lessons. Soon after that, you began seeing more of him when your other lessons with the court children near your own age started. Between your currently shared arithmetic, history, linguistics, and weapons and tactics lessons, you see the younger prince often. The addition of him to your aerial lessons meant that (aside from Loki) you saw him more than any of the others.

Baldr, though, is a different story.

The Crown Prince is older than his siblings by a few years, just old enough that his lessons are with a different group of court children.

Like Thor, his skills in seiðr are minimal, limited to whatever his future godhood might be (something to do with light, perhaps), so he’s not in your seiðr lessons either. The aerial lessons are the only time you see this prince outside of the dining hall.

It’s also the only time you see the Drekasál that joins your lessons as his companion — a small and nearly black-scaled drekakona of Asgard known as Ásta.

You’d learnt quickly that both princes dote on and adore their little sister. Their doting had quickly extended to you as well because she called you her friend at the beginning of their first aerial lesson.

You’d never been doted on by anyone outside of your small family before, but you enjoy how both princes indulge Loki’s tendency for small bits of mischief on them. Small illusions and harmless spells are smiled at and laughed at by the brothers.

You grow fond of both her brothers because of those moments. You might have known Thor before, but you’d never really spent much time with him outside of lessons.

And now you’ve somehow befriended all three of the royal children, so now you often find yourself tagging or being dragged along with them on various adventures through the city and palace. You certainly don’t mind, even if you catch the occasional look between your parents and uncle that say they might care that you spend so much time with the royal children.

But it’s nice. It’s different from when you have to spend time with your cousin. He’s often more interested in learning to fight with his battle-axe or recounting tales of various heroes of Asgard (which always ends up with him proclaiming himself the Lion of Asgard, a soon-to-be warrior and hero of the realm).

And while Loki’s brothers like to tell the tales of the heroes of Asgard too, it’s rarely a topic that’s carried for long.

“What about this store?” Your mother asks, breaking you out of your wayward thoughts as she stops you at a glass-front shop. Despite having wandered through half the city’s shops so far, you’ve yet to pick out a present for him. Nothing you’d seen in any of them had really felt right to gift him.

What can someone gift to Týr Hymisson — General of Asgard’s armies and close friend of All-Father Odin — that he does not already have? What could you, a child who has not yet seen fifteen years, give him?

Looking up at the shop’s signs, your face lights up as you spot one that mentions the shop carries magical items.

“Can we look at those, Mamma?” You look up at your mother, pointing at the sign and bouncing. As soon as she says yes, you drag her as fast as you can into the store.

In here the air is warm compared to the nipping chill outside. You do not pause as you begin to hunt for the magical items. Your mother calls out a greeting to the shopkeeper who waves and greets you both from behind her counter.

You quickly begin to glance over several of the items once you find them. Each item has a little card attached to it, a list of items within and the spell (or spells) on it. As your mother takes them off the shelf you tell her about what each of them can do based on the little descriptions.

You find it amusing to see her reactions to a few of them, especially for the raven quill that writes with one’s own blood. Blood magic can be dangerous, but you can’t help but be at least a little interested in how some of it works.

One of the last items your mother takes off the shelf is a small orb with a raging storm inside. You’re both fascinated by how the storm is trapped within the thick glass as you read the card describing it. “It says someone who could wield atmokinetic abilities made it. And it’s not something that you can use, just looks pretty.”

“I wonder which sky god created it,” your mother muses, setting it back on the shelf. Her gaze shifts to something higher on the shelves, pulling it off and handing you the card as she opens the box.

“It’s a crow quill, spelled to always return to its box at the end of the day. It has uru nibs so they never wear down and can use magical inks without potentially damaging the quill’s spell.” You peer in the box, staring at the assortment of differently sized bright silver uru nibs and the long dark feather that lays below them in the pale-grey setting. There’s an ink bottle in the box as well, but when you lift it out you’re not certain what colour it is since it’s so dark. “Colour?”

Your mother glances at it, turning it so the light from outside strikes against the bottle. “Dark red, like a sweetberry.”

“Does Babba like that?”

“I think he would. It’d be a nice break from all the blacks and browns he uses.” You make a noise, unsure if you want to get another colour. Your mother brushes a soft hand against the shoulder of your dress, a smile on her face when you look up at her. “If you want to get him this, we can also get him some other inks. Would you like that, little star?”

You nod your head, and she guides you to the counter.

A quick inquiry as your mother is paying for the quill box lets you know that a shop just down the street sells a wide selection of high-quality inks, both magical and non-magical alike. You and your mother thank the shopkeeper and step back out into the chill just as a familiar laugh races towards you both.

It’s Thor, and there’s someone chasing after him that you don’t recognise. Thor shouts your name as the two boys run by, waving without stopping. The dark-haired boy sounds annoyed when he yells Thor’s name, but there’s a grin on Thor’s face as they keep running down the street.

You turn to your mother, wide-eyed and pleading. “Mamma?”

“Yes yes, you can go, my star. Make sure you make it back for dinner, okay? I’ll be out here shopping for a few more hours if you need me.” She gives you a swift kiss on your cheek that you return before racing off after the boys, yelling for them to wait up for you.

You catch up to them a few streets later, where the boys have collapsed on and beside some dark barrels resting against a tall, grey-stoned wall. You look at Thor, long teen limbs splayed out on the cobblestone of the deserted street and panting with a grin on his face as he greets you. The boy sitting on one of the barrels, elbows resting on his knees, looks up at you with a tight smile and familiar dark eyes.

“Don’t make me chase you so far next time. Why were you running Thor? What did you do?” You ask, hands on your hips and looking back down at the pale-haired prince.

“Ate Loki’s sweetberry tart,” Thor replies, pointing up at the boy on the barrel. You sigh at Thor, a fondly exasperated smile on your face. Despite all the changing he’s done physically in the last couple of years — a deeper voice, a growth spurt that briefly shot him into gangly limbs, muscles that are filling out said limbs thanks to his training — he’s still the same boy you met all those years ago at heart.

“Was it worth being chased halfway across Asgard?”

“He went north along the Rainbow Bridge first, before we came out this way,” Loki tells you, glaring down at his brother. “I should have made him run into a wall.”

“A wall wouldn’t have stopped me!” Thor protests, rolling over and sitting up. He flexes his arms, his grin wide. “I am Thor, God of Thunder! Walls cannot stop me!”

You and Loki both glance at each other. Look back at the godling between you. And then you both start laughing at his declaration.

His recent godnaming by the Weavers of Fate had declared him the God of Lightning and Thunder. Yet, for whatever reason, Thor had shortened it down to just God of Thunder, instead of God of Lightning.

“Your greatest downfall will come from your sweet tooth, Thor.” You sit down on the barrel beside Loki’s. “At least you didn’t fall into one of the rivers this time.”

Thor’s arms fall, a grimace on his face. “Yes, at least I did not do that this time. Baldr hates it when we leave only one of the sweet buns for him.” Thor looks at you, a crooked smile on his face now. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with brothers, Firefly.”

Firefly.

It’d started as a simple, offhand joke a couple of years ago by Loki. You’d been trying to transmogrify a pile of feathers into a fire flower you were studying, but somehow they’d become a small army of fireflies. And then those fireflies had decided that they would call your shoulders their new resting place until Loki had helped you change them back so you could try again. She’d joked back then that they probably thought you were one of them, and the nickname had stuck.

Even though they don’t know why it started, Thor and Baldr started using it for you almost immediately the first time they saw you responding to Loki calling you Firefly.

“Baldr might as well be,” you tell him with a smirk. “He’d probably say I’m as annoying to have around as a sister.”

“You’re better than another sibling.” Loki knocks his shoulder gently against yours with a smile. You return the gesture with a gentle knock of your own, smiling at his words as warmth fills your chest and radiates into your arms and clasped hands.

“Thanks, you too,” you reply softly, your gaze on your hands since you can’t seem to look up at the face of your best friend. You feel a little too warm, especially where Loki’s shoulder had knocked against yours. Like you’ve sat a little too close to a fire for just a little too long.

Thor chooses that moment to stand up and look down the street, away from both you and Loki. He says over his shoulder, “Look, there’s a bakery just down the way! I will go see what they have. Would either of you like something besides tarts?”

After a brief debate over what Thor should buy, the thunder godling leaves to go see if the bakery has sweet buns (for him and Baldr) and tarts (for you and Loki). Silence looms in the space between you and Loki now that Thor’s gone. Neither of you takes the opportunity to start up a conversation, so you take the chance to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

You take in this form, admiring how much he still looks like him, even with all the minute differences. The sharper jaw and cheekbones countered with the nose you’ve seen a million times. Dark hair that you’re used to seeing in a braid that hangs over Loki’s shoulder is now barely brushing past his jawline. Lips that are thinner than what you’re used to, but still curled into that familiar smile. Dark-coloured eyes that—

That are staring right at you.

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d gone from staring at him out of the corner of your eye to just full-on staring. You freeze, unsure of what to say but then blurt out, “You look nice like this.”

Loki’s lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “I look nice?”

The low rumbling baritone of his words makes you stutter at first. “Y-yeah. I mean, you’ve always looked really nice! And now you look a little different. It’s a good different. You look like you, just… different.”

“What about me is so different, my brave Firefly?”

There’s a strange sensation that breaks out in your chest, almost as if your heart is flipping and beating harder when it shouldn’t. You’re not sure how you’re confident enough to do it (though perhaps being called his brave Firefly has a part in it), but you reach up and brush the fingertips of one hand against his cheek.

With a soft smile, you tell him, “Your jawline and cheeks. They look sharper now, but the shape of your face is the same.” You poke gently against his nose. “This is exactly the same though. So are the shape and I assume colour of your eyes.” Your hand fiddles with some loose strands of his hair. “Your hair is a lot shorter. It’s still soft though, and I would wager also the same colour.”

When your eyes flicker to his mouth you pull away slowly, your gaze moving back up to be arrested by the look on his face.

“You look nice in both your forms too.” You swear that his whispered words cast a holding spell, suspending you both in this moment. You’re not sure at all what the look on your best friend’s face is. It’s mesmerising, captivating in a spell-like way. Yet you’re entirely certain no seiðr has been cast on you, that this moment is something… else.

“Brother! Firefly! I have returned with a bounty of treats for us to share!”

Both of your heads snap away from one another. You hadn’t realised that you’d started to lean back in until Thor practically threw a bucket of ice water over your heads.

Your tongue is tied in knots, unable to form words for several moments. Loki merely smiles at his brother and thanks him as he takes one of the bags his brother is holding, completely unaffected by whatever had just happened unlike you. Regaining your tongue, you thank your friend for the treats as he hands one of the other bags over to you.

You refuse to look at Loki as you dig through the bag, still trying to process what had (almost?) happened before Thor returned as you take out your first tart. More importantly, what had almost happened between you and Loki? What would have happened if Thor hadn’t shown up at that moment?

You bite into your tart, casting aside your questions in favour of enjoying it. The burst of a mildly sweet flavour has your shoulders drop, recognising the taste of the strawberry pear fruit inside.

The three of you move on to talk about nothing and anything as you each enjoy your own treat. You and Loki don’t talk about what might have happened, and Thor doesn’t act as if he’d interrupted anything. In a way, it’s almost like you imagined the moment.

And yet, when you and Loki do look at each other you swear you can see the embers of the look he had earlier still flickering in his eyes. Enchanting, whispering to you to lure you back in and discover what it is that you’re seeing.

You quickly resolve to look at him as little as possible as the three of you continue to talk. Not that that does much for the way your mind replays both the earlier moment and each of the subsequent looks he’s given you.

At some point, you can hear the rowdy sound of other Asgardian youths as they come down the street. It’s not the first group to pass this way, and so none of you does more than glance at them as they approach.

The three of you are laughing over a shared memory when one of the boys first speaks.

“Oi, what do the three of you have there?” The largest boy in the group asks, stepping forward. He’s tall, likely taller than Thor if the prince were to stand up. The most notable feature to you is his warm-grey hair that hangs down to his shoulder, and even that isn’t an uncommon feature here on Asgard.

You all look between each other before Thor addresses the boy. “Just some tarts for us and my brother back home.”

“Who’s tarts?”

“I believe her name was Gertha. She owns the bakery just down the road.” Thor points down the road with his thumb, a wide and friendly smile on his face.

The sudden sneer on the boy’s face is all it takes for your own smile to slip away and coldly tell them, “I suggest you move along and stop bothering us.”

You had hoped that your words would make him leave. Instead, he looks at both brothers with outright disdain on his face and dripping from his voice as he says, “What, are the two of you such weaklings you need the protection of a girl?”

All three of you stand up, each of you insulted by this boy’s words while his friends make various noises and gestures behind him. Hot anger boils in your blood as you step forward with your teeth bared.

No one insults your friends like that. Especially not to your face.

Loki’s hand comes around your front and snakes across your waist, pulling you back behind the brothers. “He’s not worth the effort, Firefly.” Loki’s words are as brittle as thin ice.

The taste of hot iron in your mouth sharpens instead of dulling. His cold tone is one you recognise, and you hate that you do.

“You’re right. He’s not worth the effort of my fist.” You twist your hand, pulling on seiðr threads and making it influence the world around you. The cobblestone beneath the boy’s heels jerks upward, sending him crashing into the pavement.

There’s a sudden murmuring from the other boys, but then your mouth tugs up into a smirk as a familiar wave of magic comes hurtling down the street from your left. You grin with your teeth on display as the boy on the ground stands up, knowing what is about to happen.

His lip is split, and there’s a bit of blood coming from a cut along his eyebrow. The snarl on his face would concern you if you didn’t know, but—

“What is going on here,” your mother snarls, storming up the street. The kiss of her magic — unbound but not a power that can snag on anything as it whips about — has Loki tensed up, shoulder’s tight even though he knows your mother.

After all, a Drekasál’s temper can be unpredictable for most. Especially when it comes to protecting who they claim as theirs.

And your mother’s temper is very well known among Asgardians.

You step around Loki’s arm, staring down at the boys as their faces all change into ones of fear and recognition at the sight of who’s arrived. And you tell her, “He insulted the princes, Mamma. We were doing nothing but sitting here and minding our own.”

The boy you injured blanches at your words, eyes darting from you to your mother as she stares all of them down. You know the shape her eyes have taken, becoming an imitation of the ones in her dragon form.

A warning of the dragon that lurks beneath to those who would dare cross her in this moment. It’s a warning that all Drekasál can give, even if they don’t always do so.

The boy you threw to the cobblestones ducks his head, voice wavering as he says, “I’m sorry, Raven-Feeder. We meant no offence—”

“And yet offence was had if your face is any indication,” Kára interrupts, her tone as sharp as her talons as she gestures to his face. The boy reaches up, cupping his hand to hide the cut on his forehead behind his palm. Your mother is silent for a moment as she glares at each of them. “An apology, from each of you to my daughter and the princes.”

Each of the boys nearly trips over their own feet to apologise before they hurry off.

With them gone, you see the shoulders of each prince relax, a sigh of relief escaping your lungs.

Your mother turns, putting both of her hands on your cheeks as she tilts your face around with a worried frown.

“I’m fine, Mamma.” You put your hands over hers, smiling up at her. “No punches were thrown. I just used seiðr to move cobblestones and make him fall on his face.”

“You would have, if I hadn’t shown up.”

“Of course. Loki and Thor are my friends and those boys insulted them.”

“They insulted you as well, little Firefly,” Thor interjects. It takes you a moment, but you faintly recall how Thor had moved to throw the first punch after the boy had gotten up. Your mother showing up is the only reason that it hadn’t broken out into a fight.

You shrug, pulling out of your mother's hands. “He called me a girl. He wasn’t wrong.”

“You’re training to be a seiðkona. You’re more than just some girl.” Loki’s jaw twitches, a familiar tic of his irritation that you’ve seen several times over the years.

“Aye, my brother is right. You might have even been a valkyrja-in-training for all they knew with that left hook of yours.” You can’t help but laugh at Thor’s words.

“Remind me to show them next time,” you tell him, playfully swinging your left fist at his shoulder. He ducks away, a grin on his face. The matching eye-rolls from both your mother and Loki send you and Thor into a fit of giggles.

“Well I think that has been enough excitement for today. Come along, little starlight. Dinner still awaits us.” Your mother bows her head at both of the princes and then turns away. You pull Thor into a quick hug, telling him you’ll see him tomorrow in class.

Loki’s hug lingers longer, and you plant a quick kiss on his cheek before saying you’ll see him tomorrow. Bright and early as you do most days.

With a smile at both princes, you bound off after your mother, eager to return home to your family.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona​

Find the lore notes for this chapter here!

[cranesofibycus]

a collection of CR headcanons

A week ago I asked for 29 Critical Role headcanons for my 29th birthday. I got 33. Thank you all so much for sending them in, they made that day such a good one. I thought I’d share the joy, so here they are! 

Jester

At some point, for funsies, Artagan tied Sprinkle's life force to Jester's, so the weasel has her hitpoints (@iisuikyouii)

Jester's Spiritual Guardians make tiny rainbow poops. (@kaarchin)

Post-campaign, Jester writes her own wildly successful smutty romance novel. (@the-littlest-goblin)

Sprinkle is just the tiniest bit magical. I don’t know how or what kind of magic, but he is. (@the-littlest-goblin)

Jester is much older than we all think. (anonymous)

Beau

Years in the future, teenage TJ runs away from home to visit Beau at the Zadash Cobalt Soul. He ends up going back eventually but they have a very nice bonding weekend where she teaches him how to throw a proper punch and tells him he doesn’t have to take over the family business if he doesn’t want to. (@the-littlest-goblin)

At some point when she’s much older Beau will need reading glasses but she will refuse to wear them, much to Caleb’s annoyance. She will place books on the other side of the table in the library and squint really hard “SEE, I DON’T NEED GLASSES. THIS IS FINE” (anonymous)

Veth

Veth loves being back in her halfling body but sometimes she misses the freedom of being seen as a feral goblin and getting away with all kinds of “nasty” behavior. (anonymous)

Luc has a level in rogue by the time he’s ten. (@the-littlest-goblin)

Veth taught Caleb how to braid her hair so now it has become their morning ritual. (anonymous)

Caleb

Caleb's mom had a difficult pregnancy and birth, which is why he's an only child in a farming community (@iisuikyouii)

Caleb is like 5'4" and the only people in the group shorter than him is Veth and somehow miraculously Jester by like half an inch (@ishti-ishti)

When the blumendrei were at school, whenever Astrid and Caleb went on dates Eodwulf would end up going with them and it was just a thing, because they didn’t realize they were in a polycule. (anonymous)

There is a librarian at the Soltryce Academy who often wonders what happened to the kind, blue-eyed, red-haired boy who ran about the stacks, piled books high on his table like The Candles of the Shimmerward. A stronghold of a mind sat in their shadows, but awe, wonder, and ambition showed on his face. He'd leave, often in the company of 2 of his classmates. That made the librarian happiest. A mind like that belonged in the light. (@swagsolidarity)

Caduceus

Caduceus cooking for people to bring them closer together is something he picked up from his Aunt, and is one of those "third kid" gifts - something for him to stand after Colton and Calliope. (@iisuikyouii)

Caduceus Clay is aro ace!! (anonymous)

Caduceus has secret therapy sessions with Sprinkle. (anonymous)

Fjord

Sabien is Fjord’s former lover and that’s part of the reason he’s desperate to find him. (anonymous)

If Fjord had made it to the Soltryce Academy he would’ve become Trent’s newest pet-experiment, possibly training with Eodwulf (anonymous)

Fjord is not from Wildemount (but he’s not an alien either lol) (anonymous)

Yasha

Yasha actually has a lovely singing voice and a knack for music and her low performance score is because she sings too quietly for anyone to hear and she makes really weird and off-putting faces when she's focusing on an instrument. (anonymous)

Zuala made the first move with Yasha, because Yasha was as horribly awkward with her as she is now with Beau. (@the-littlest-goblin)

Molly

Lucien/Molly has at least some recollection of his time as Molly, and the Tomb Takers have hired the Bad-Luck Bandits to aid them at this time. (@cattatra)

Vox Machina

After c1, Percy and Keyleth get a set of mirrors enchanted so they can have fantasy facetime chats whenever. His hangs above his desk so she can see him and out to the grounds through the window. She takes hers on walks while they chat and shows him the gardens or her sun tree, or sometimes they just kinda virtually hang out while they work. (@a-case-for-wonder)

I can imagine Keyleth and Caduceus hitting it off and becoming nature-loving buddies that meet up for tea (taking my wholesome headcanon and making it kinda sad: they're both much more long-lived than their parties so they can take solace in each other) (@flowersforvex)

Misc

The big bad end boss is Tharizdun; we are SO not done with that guy yet and since two the shackles are in Rexxentrum and Whitestone it actually makes sense that VM might be occupied elsewhere while we see the MN's point of view. (@flowersforvex)

Yussa is a client of Marion's, but he also has agoraphobia so they're erotic pen pals. That bathtub was his gift to her. (@swordshapedleaves)

The gods walk among Exandria. (@alan713ch) 

If Essek ever gets the option to be consecuted he refuses since he never wants to live without the M9 and he knows already he'll be doing that for at least 1000 years and he doesn’t vibe with it. (@adira-trek)

Essek is ace (@the-littlest-goblin)

Reani and Fen do eventually get married.  (@the-littlest-goblin)

The housekeeper that the m9 hired basically moved into the Xhorhaus and has been living it up there rent-free. One time Essek went by and found her chilling on the rooftop garden. (@the-littlest-goblin)

Everyone in the m9 is either autistic or has ADHD or both. (@rwbypro)

[ofsinnersandsaints]

where do you run

rating: E (this chapter is G) word count: 20351 chapter: 7/?

My favorite part of this chapter is that for the whole 'do we sleep or do we fight' conversation I didn't have to change or add any of the conversation. Change a little bit of context and Grog is suddenly the best boyfriend ever

Takes place during episode 81

AO3

Thordak was dead, but Raishan was still alive, and the thought was enough to drive Keyleth a little mad.

She was trying to stay calm and logical, but it was a hard thing to do when she was hyper aware that Raishan was free to hurt and destroy whomever she wanted. Keyleth wanted to scream, but instead she had to get downstairs because Vox Machina was planning out their next steps.

When she got to the dining room Grog was already at the large table, and deciding she needed the contact she sat on his lap, her legs dangling between his, instead taking a chair of her own. His hand immediately came up to rest on her hip. “How you doing?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, picking up his glass and taking a long drink.

“You need to fight?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

She appreciated the offer, and while there was some appeal to a sparring match, she shook her head. “We’ve done enough fighting today, but thanks.”

“Just let me know.”

Keyleth nodded as Kerrek and Allura came down to join them and they went over everything they’d learned about Raishan’s potential location.

“I don’t think she’s going to reanimate Thordak,” Scanlan argued as they debated what Raishan could possibly want with the red dragon’s body. “I think she’s trying to probe him for knowledge of some sort.”

Behind her, Keyleth felt the vibration of Grog’s laugh before she heard it. “Probe.”

Scanlan grinned as everyone else shook their heads, clearly amused. “She’s trying to probe his dead body.”

The laughter around the table helped ease the tension and Keyleth poured ale into the cup she was now sharing with Grog. “Okay, I’m going to scry on this Island of Viscon and see if it’s the same place as the island I saw Raishan on. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I can try.”

Vex looked excited at the prospect, “You can certainly try.”

Keyleth was about to start the spell but Vex got the great idea of having Kerrek try the Sandkegh wine, the prospect of which excited Grog so much she nearly fell off his lap. Thankfully, he managed to grab her before she hit the ground, but the moment she was steady he reached into the bag of holding and pulled out the bottle.

“It’s really good,” Grog assured the paladin.

“It’s so tasty,” Keyleth agreed because they deserved this little bit of fun.

Gamely, Kerrek took a small sip and they all watched in anticipation to see how he’d react. After a few seconds he tried to talk, but all that came out was gibberish. Everyone laughed as Kerrek attempted to speak but obviously could no longer feel his lips.

Grog wrapped his arm around her middle to keep her place as they nearly cried with laughter at how immediately wasted Kerrek was. “That is good shit.”

Understanding what her friend was going through, and unable to let the irony pass, Keyleth reached out to touch Kerrek’s hand. “Now the fire has passed through you.”

The laughter was so loud Keyleth was certain it could be heard throughout the castle, and she wiped away tears as she tried to keep a straight face. “It’s going to go all the way through you, so be careful when it comes out the other end.”

Vax took the bottle from Kerrek to prevent him from drinking anymore and it was then Keyleth realized Allura had set up the scry spell on the table while Vox Machina joked around. Keyleth straightened and tried to look more mature, “Thanks for setting this us, Allura.”

“Oh, please, keep going.”

“We didn’t mean to be rude,” Grog added as he moved to put the bottle away in the bag.

Allura smiled and shook her head, putting up a hand to stop Grog’s apology. “This is the most fun I’ve had in days.”

Keyleth felt Grog still beneath her and she looked over her shoulder to see the spark of mischief in Grog’s eyes. “Do you want some?”

With a look around the group, Allura’s lips slowly curled into a grin. It was easy to think of her as the austere, powerful wizard, but Keyleth remembered the arcanist had once been part of an adventuring party of her own.

She knew how to stand up to a challenge.

“After!” Percy tried to cut in, but no one heard him over the roar of encouragement as Allura reached out a hand for the bottle.

“No,” Vax added, even as he laughed. “It’s a bad idea, don’t do it.”

“She needs to do the spell,” Scanlan reminded the group even as Grog chanted ‘do it.’

“It’s morning, we’re all alive. What’s the point if we’re not celebrating?” Allura asked no one in particular.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Grog encouraged.

Allura brought the wine to her lips and took slightly more than a sip. She tilted her head and then handed the bottle back. “Not my favorite flavor.”

As Grog reached forward to take it back, Keyleth could see the wonder and amazement etched all over his features. “Will you teach me your sorcerous ways?”

Keyleth had to admit she was amazing. She put her hand on Grog’s which rested against her stomach. “I have to stand up now.”

He moved his fingers, but instead of letting her go he pressed them against her ribs and tickled her. She squealed and wiggled away; she tried to glare at him but he just grinned at her, completely unaffected.

“Rude,” she muttered, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words as she reached for Allura’s hands. “Just like old times.”

“Simpler times,” Allura agreed.

Keyleth saw the image of an endless ocean dance in front of her eyes, small pillars of steam rising out of the center of the expanse, and beyond that an island covered in green. An island she recognized.

“It’s the same place,” Keyleth announced to everyone and immediately they began debating whether to go now or after they’d rested.

“I cannot die, Vax,” Scanlan insisted. “I’ve already died once today, I can’t do it again.”

“We don’t have any healing,” Vex reminded the group.

Pike nodded, her face severe. “If anyone dies, I can’t bring them back.”

A quiet fell over the group because Pike had been forced to bring more than one party member back from death during the fight.

“I’ve got two healing potions,” Grog offered helpfully and Keyleth moved to stand beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Allura, do you know of any way to restore ourselves faster?”

“I donf,” she started, then paused and seemed to consider something. “I don fink…”

“Oh no,” Pike giggled. “Allura’s drunk now.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, then shook her head and started to braid her hair, her lips tightly pressed together.

“What’s the minimum amount we have to sleep?”

“Eight hours,” Scanlan answered. “There’s no way around it unfortunately.”

Keyleth let out a sound frustration but Grog didn’t sound as conflicted.

“Let’s do it, let’s sleep.” They debated some more and eventually Grog and Percy were agreeing, which was strange enough. “Let’s be honest, we’re not quite at our best, and it’s one diseased deceiver in a cave with another dead dragon that might or might not come back to life, and two baby little eggs. We rest, and then we give’em hell.”

After debating lairs and meteors and what Raishan might be able to do in the meantime, Grog tugged Keyleth’s hand and held it. When she looked at him his gaze was practically at her eye line even though he was still sitting. “Keyleth, are you worried if we wait, you’re going to lose your chance to kill Raishan?”

She thought about the question, couldn’t express how much it mattered to her that he’d thought to ask her that. Keyleth hated the idea of waiting, but she didn’t think if they waited they’d loose their chance forever. If they didn’t get her now, it was only a matter of time before they found her again. “I don’t think we’re going to lose the chance to kill Raishan, it’s just a matter of who’s killing who first.”

Percy leaned forward in his seat. “I say that we take eight hours of sleep, and we go there immediately.”

“She thinks she’s got cover, but she doesn’t.” Grog stood up and looked down at her, his hand covering the back of her neck in a way which was becoming familiar. “Don’t you wanna be some fucking wicked badass from the sky? Or do you want to limp in?”

“Right,” Vex agreed. “Plus, she’s got 100 books to go through, that’s going to take more than two hours. She might not get a full night’s rest.”

Grog turned Keyleth so they were facing each other. “I know it feels like an advantage to press, but we were five down at one point.”

She wasn’t sure how he understood how torn she was, but she was. In her head, she knew they needed to wait, to rest, there was no way they went forward without everyone dying. But heart? Her red and beating heart demanded revenge now.

“I can’t die again,” Vex said, echoing Scanlan’s statement earlier.

“You can,” Grog quipped with a smirk. “But it’s not advisable.”

“She has none of her resistances,” Keyleth insisted, looking up at him.

Grog was already shaking his head before she finished talking.

“I’m not worried about those.” His faith was rock solid; Grog didn’t care about what these monsters and gods could do. In his mind, none of it mattered when it came down to it because they were Vox Fucking Machine. “Keyleth, we know what we’re asking of you. We’re asking you to wait, again.”

She laughed slightly at that. They were asking her to wait, but only because they’d just killed Thordak, because they’d just saved a country from a tyrant. It wasn’t as if they were waiting because they needed to do some shopping first. “I think considering recent events, I can wait.”

Grog let out a breath, like he’d been holding it while waiting for her decision. He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment.

“Then at dusk…” Scanlan started.

“We plan,” Grog finished with a grin then turned back to Keyleth. “Make the call, Keyleth.”

“We’d better get sleeping, I guess.” It hurt her hear to say it, but she knew it was the right decision.

“So instead of fighting, we’re going to sleep.”

Keyleth let out an aggravated sound as she turned to look at Scanlan. “Well, what do you want Scanlan? You’ve been devil’s advocate this entire time ‘I don’t want to die, she could kill us.’ What do you want Scanlan?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

“Then we sleep,” Percy and Vex said at the same time.

“I don’t want to die either,” Keyleth agreed. “And I don’t want to watch any of you die again.”

Percy’s logic was cold, “If we go right now, you’re going to die.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to bed then.”

As a group they said their goodnights and went to their bedrooms – mostly. Percy went to Vex’s room, and Keyleth went with Grog’s to his.

“Do you have a dagger and a mirror?” she asked as she began to undress.

“Probably in the bag of holding, let me look.” He reached into the bag and came up with a small dagger and a broken mirror. “This work?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“That for a spell or something?”

“Oh, no. For my hair,” she explained with a wave at the burned and ruined strands. After she’d fallen into the lava a good deal of her hair had been scorched. “I’m going to try and make it look less like I was mauled by an alley cat.”

He laughed and started taking off his boots. Keyleth set up the mirror on the table so she could see herself and began hacking away at the strands. It wasn’t exactly the best look, but at least all her hair was the same length now. “Did I get it all?”

Grog looked up from his axe which he’d been sharpening while she’d been cutting her hair. “Looks like.”

Keyleth turned in the chair to look at him. “Are you the right person to be asking this question?”

He snorted, “Probably not.”

“I’ll ask Vex in the morning,” she decided and ran her hand through her hair now chin length hair. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

When she turned to face him, Grog was sitting on the edge of the bed watching. “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “About the decision we made downstairs.”

Keyleth walked across the room and settled on the bed next to him, tangling her fingers with his. His hand was so much bigger than hers, but he never made her feel small. Somehow this big goliath made her feel like his equal. “I’m okay with it. It’s not just the right decision, it’s the smart one; I couldn’t bare to lose someone because we made a rash decision. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Grog nodded his agreement. “How close were you to going down?”

“Pretty close,” she gestured to her hair. “Fucking lava. How about you?”

He sighed, “I wasn’t that close. But I sure was a hell a lot weaker than I’ve been in a while. Thanks for not dying.”

Keyleth laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. “That would have really sucked, death by lava.”

“If I wasn’t so worried about you dying, I would have died from laughing.”

She couldn’t blame him, that whole thing had been a farce, but she pretended to be mad as she shifted to throw one leg over his lap. Straddling him she glared into his laughing eyes. “Think it’s funny, do you?”

“Red, you belly-flopped into lava. It was fucking hilarious.” Her scold was cut off as he suddenly stood up with her, her legs instinctively wrapped around him as he turned to lay her back on the bed. “Don’t worry, my respect for you only went down a little.”

Keyleth laughed up at the big goliath whose body was now completely covering her own. “Geeze, thanks.”

“How about this, I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself.” Keyleth immediately understood what he meant, the glint in his eyes was hard to mistake for anything else. “Let’s see if you can still hold your own against me.”

“We have to go to sleep,” she reminded him and kicked herself because the last thing she wanted to do was rest.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, all smooth confidence and male pride. “I can be quick, and still leave you more than satisfied.”

Keyleth tried to pretend as if she wasn’t already looking forward to it, and rolled her eyes. “Talk, talk, talk.”

Grog barked out a laugh, and made a playful growling noise in the back of his throat as he palmed her breast and kissed her. There was death waiting for them, there was revenge and danger and a million of things.

But that was all for tomorrow.

Tonight was for the laughter. And love.

[skypalacearchitect]

It might be difficult to remember now, but there was a time around 2014 when Chris Pratt was a popular choice for Best Chris.

He had all that comedy cred from his years on Parks and Rec, but then he transformed himself into a buff action star! He was so goofy and fun as Starlord in Guardians of the Galaxy! He said such nice stuff about his then-wife, Anna Faris! He was so charming in interviews, and he even French-braided that one girl’s hair. What was not to like?

But gradually, the bloom seemed to come off the Chris Pratt rose. He’s been a Hollywood Chris since 2014, but around 2016, he began sliding inexorably from Best Chris to Worst Chris.

Was it the roles he was taking? Starlord is fun, but he’s kind of a douche. And then there was Passengers, the space romance Pratt starred in opposite Jennifer Lawrence that seemed like a sure thing until early reviews started to suggest that his character was coming off as kind of a creep. Was it his personal life, and the mysterious divorce from Faris? Was it the resurfaced story from 2011 about how he tried to rehome his elderly cat on Twitter? Was it the story of the time he flashed Amy Poehler as a joke on Parks and Rec?

It was all of those things, probably, but more than anything else, it was politics.

Pratt’s political affiliation is a mystery. He rarely talks about politics in public, and public records show him donating to both Democrats and Republicans. Certainly he has never gone so far as to endorse Donald Trump. But as he’s grown more famous, he’s used more and more signifiers of conservatism in public.

In 2017, he gave an interview about how Hollywood doesn’t tell enough stories about the working class. In 2019, he was photographed wearing a Gadsden flag, the one with the “don’t tread on me” logo over a snake that’s become beloved of the Tea Party and is used by far-right militias. He posts on social media about how much he loves the cops. Observing fans began to wonder if he was maybe a Trump supporter (he’s never publicly discussed it).

And sometime between 2014, when Pratt told Esquire he didn’t identify with any religious denomination, and 2019, Pratt joined Zoe Church, an evangelical church for the beautiful and cool in LA. Which, as the actor Ellen Page has pointed out on Twitter, is also a church that seems to have issues with the LGBTQ community.

“If you are a famous actor and you belong to an organization that hates a certain group of people, don’t be surprised if someone simply wonders why it’s not addressed,” Page tweeted after Pratt discussed his membership on a talk show in 2019.

Pratt responded defensively, writing on Instagram that Zoe Church “opens their doors to absolutely everyone.” The church does not have an official position on any LGBTQ-related issues. But as CNN reported, Zoe Church’s church’s pastor, Chad Veach, produced a film that refers to “same-sex attraction” as one form of “sexual brokenness,” comparing it to a pornography addiction. And as Laura Turner wrote for Vox of celeb-friendly evangelical churches like Zoe Church, “It isn’t much more forward-thinking than the churches our parents grew up in. It just looks a little cooler.”

(Related: The rise of the star-studded, Instagram-friendly evangelical church)

Zoe Church appears to espouse teachings that make life harder for LGBTQ people, by suggesting that queerness is a choice or a problem that can and should be reversed or fixed. And Pratt, as one of the church’s most high-profile celebrity members, helps it spread those teachings. Regardless of what Pratt’s personal beliefs are, that’s harmful.

So for those who hang out on social media and track things like the fortunes of the Chrises — and who are also interested in progressive issues — the narrative was set: Chris Pratt belonged to an anti-LGBTQ church, he was culturally conservative enough to seem like he maybe could be a Trump supporter too, and he was henceforth the Worst Chris. By 2019, the debate was settled.

This kind of internet discourse traditionally has little effect on the actual careers of actors, and they can generally ignore it safely. But in 2020, the celebrity world has decided to weigh in on what the internet thinks of their good friend Chris Pratt.

[moderndaybard]

CR Inktober, Day 15

SELF-INSERT NPC: ANTONIA MARSHSTEAD

 The town was not unimpressive—indeed, was increasing in populace and prosperity at such a rate, it could probably be deemed a city in the next year or two. Still, there wasn’t any reason for Vox Machina to be there, other than that it was a stop on the way to where they were going, and a convenient place to drink and stay the night.

Still, there were a few hours left before businesses close dup for the day, and despite protests from Grog, Vex was on the hunt for interesting finds and bargain prices.

Asking around after magical items and weapons, the group of adventurers found themselves directed to an unassuming, two-story building that didn’t really stand out too much from the local architecture, bearing a sign that declared it was ‘Marshteads’ Magicks,’ and that it was, in fact, still open for business late that afternoon.

The door opened noiselessly, no bell or chime announcing their arrival, and not a floorboard creaked as they strode in to the well-lit interior.

Sunlight streamed in from the two large, street-facing windows, revealing a neat and orderly main area which smelled faintly of lavender and cedar. The store interior, as well as the counters and display shelves were all made of a light-colored wood that gleamed dimly with their finish and the golden afternoon light. There was an open main area; two window displays flanking the door to the street, where various pieces of (presumably enchanted) jewelry were visible; left of the entrance was a glass-and-wood display case of small weapons: daggers, hand crossbows, blots, arrows, a light weight rapier, and the like, with larger weapons such as great swords and battle axes on shelves and pegs on the wall behind; on the right side of the store was another display case, this one filled with an odd assortment of household sundries, knick-knacks, and generally useful items (there were no shelves or wall displays on this side, but half-hidden in the far corner behind the case was what appeared to be a sort of work table with various sewing tools, some yarn, and a few toys on it); finally, facing the door across the floor was a plain, uncluttered counter with no displays—evidently, where sales were finalized.

Aside from the street door, the main room had two other entrances: one open archway to the right, just beside the worktable, that revealed a set of stairs ascending to the second floor, and a closed, heavy wooden door in the wall behind the sales counter.

The store seemed empty, even of people running it, save for a handsome red fox curled up on the sales counter, half-asleep and ignoring Vox Machina, for the moment. With a gasp of delight and absolutely no hesitation, Keyleth ran up to the creature, all but putting her head on the counter beside him. “Hi!” she chirped, fixated on the furry animal as one eye slitted halfway open to regard her levelly. “I’m Keyleth! What’s your name?”

The fox stretched, sat up, scanned their group, and turned with deliberate nonchalance to the stairs beyond the archway before screeching loudly.

Seconds later (while their ears were still ringing) pounding footsteps on the stairs heralded a new arrival: grumbling half-hearted, half-heard curses under her breath, a female dwarf rounded the corner. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple braid, her grey eyes peered at them from behind a pair of glasses, though she seemed to only be in her young adulthood, and she was dressed simply: tunic, vest, skirt, leggings, boots.

As she approached the counter (stepping up on some sort of boost or stool that was hidden behind it), her scolding became audible: “—too much trouble to just walk up the stairs to let me know someone was here? Just had to screech like a tortured demon and scare customers? And you wonder why Henry doesn’t take you when he goes to negotiate with suppliers.”

The fox merely hopped off the counter on her side, vanishing from view briefly, then darting up the stairs. Tirade over with the disappearance of its target, the young dwarf woman focused on the party before her, scowl melting into an apologetic half-grin. “Sorry about that: familiars can get cranky during extended separations, and Fabian’s always been overly dramatic anyway. Anyhow, welcome to Marshteads’ Magicks—are you in the market for anything in particular, or just looking to browse?”

The final sentence was undoubtedly a rehearsed, often-delivered script, but to her credit, the young woman mustered or at least feigned a genuine enough tone that gave them the feel of natural dialogue.

Before Vex could answer, Keyleth broke in with something that’d been bothering her since first approaching the store: “Did you know that your sign is messed up? The apostrophe is wrong, and it’s misspelled?”

“The sign is correct,” came the immediate reply, in a tone that this was a correction she’d had to make a few too many times for her patience, but didn’t want to completely alienate potentially paying customers, “Marshstead is the family name, and since my brother and I run the store together, both plural and possessive are correct.” She then deflated somewhat, glancing away in a moment of embarrassment, perhaps? “…And the ‘K’ is just for flare.”

“Showmanship is an important facet of salesmanship,” Percy ranted, hoping to placate the woman before she took out any ill-will on the prices. “Though I must say the aesthetic is more reserved than I wouldn’t expected in such an establishment.”

The young woman glanced around, nodding. “Organized, you mean? Neat? That’s on me: I can’t think or work in a cluttered area. Hence avoiding the workshop as much as possible.”

“You don’t perform the enchantments yourself, then?” Vex asked, looking up form the bowstring and arrows she’d been examining out of professional interest.

“Oh, that’s Henry’s field,” came the quick answer. “He’s the craftsman, I handle the storefront for him. Is there anything in particular I can help you with or help you find? Any questions?”

Pike looked up from the display case she’d been staring into. “Uh, Miss—?”

“Sorry: Antonia. And you?”

“Pike Trickfoot. Antonia, why is there a frying pan in the case with the weapons?”

There same a genuine, if half-embarrassed chuckle in response to that question. “That started as… Well, not a joke, really. When we were younger, someone made an insulting comment about Henry’s skill with magic and enchantments, and told them he was could make even a cast-iron skillet into a powerful magical weapon. Turns out he overheard that conversation, and remembered it. So, he made this: it’s a magical bludgeoning weapon not dissimilar to a great club or the like. Additionally, it deals an extra kick of fire damage upon a successful hit. It is a two-handed weapon and requires attunement, but once it is attuned, anyone else who tried to pick it up finds it too warm to the touch to handle—so, generally thief-proof. Unless you use an oven mitt or the like, I suppose.”

“Anything else it can do?” Vax asked, half-joking. Antonia had rattled off the weapon’s attributes with the ease of someone who knew them by heart, but also with genuine pride at her brother’s accomplishment—unusual as it was.

“Well, any food prepared in it does cook twice as quickly—but that can be a good or bad thing, depending on how close an eye you keep on your dinner.”

Vex blinked, then shook her head—the thing was almost too ridiculous not to get, to say nothing of the mental image of a monster’s expression roughly half a second before it got hit by a frying pan. “How much for it?” she offered, haggling mode already engaged.

Antonia didn’t hesitate. “750 gold.”

“For a frying pan!?” The half-elf fired back, ignoring whoever it was behind her that groaned (probably Grog).

“For a cast iron pan with two magical enchantments upon it—enchantments that had to be uniquely crafted in order to adhere to a non-traditional weapon.”

Vex raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. “it’s essentially and enchanted household object,” she pointed out, then watched as the other woman’s expression darkened. Oops.

Nearly all trace of the ‘saleswoman’ persona had vanished. “Degrading my brother’s time, effort, creativity, and craftsmanship will not incentivize me to lower the price.” Arms folded, her glare dared the ranger to make the next move.

“Fair point,” Vex had to grant, quickly changing tactics before she drove the price up. “How much could you come down if we told anyone that asked about this unique item all about this shop and the master craftsman who made it? And your brother could tell people that not only did he make a frying pan a weapon, he also sold it to none other than Vox Machina!”

Silence stretched on for a moment or two.

“725.”

“675 at the most,” vex shot back.

Antonia raised one eyebrow, arms still folded. “You can hardly expect to persuade me to cheat my own brother out of the rightful reward for his work.”

They were a few moments away form meeting at 700, Vex could tell—they simply had to finish out the final few steps of their dance. Despite the growing impatience from the group at her back (at least, from some of them), Vex’ahlia did exactly that. The gold changed hands (700) and the enchanted cooking pan was handed over.

A discussion soon arose over which of them could and should wield it, but Vex ignored that part—she was hardly a candidate for what was very obviously a strength-based melee weapon—and scanned the shop again. This time, a glimpse of something small and brown on the corner worktable caught her eye.

“Is that an owl bear toy?”

Antonia followed her gaze, her entire demeanor shifting towards something that could almost be described as awkward hesitancy. “I-uh- have been teaching myself crochet on days when the store is slow. It’s relaxing, honestly. But, yes, I have been working on some small toys and the like…”

“May I see it?” Vex asked, feeling Vax move up behind her as he overheard the conversation.

Antonia blinked, obviously caught off-guard. “Uh, sure…” she muttered at last, crossing to the table and retrieving the item in question before returning.

It was small—not quite as big as Vex’s fist—and was certainly a stylized, simplified representation that was cuter than it was accurate. The craftsmanship was hardly masterful, either: while Antonia was obviously not clumsy or a rank novice, there were still a few visible imperfections. Still, there was an undeniable charm to the little doll, and with one shared look, the twins were of one mind.

“Do you sell these?” Vax asked. Upon seeing the dwarf hesitate, he continued, “if not, I understand—sometimes you just make things for yourself or have sentimental attachments.”

“I-I don’t mind selling it. I just figured no one would really want it. …I just needed something to keep busy…”

Vex beamed at the suddenly-flustered shop keep. “Well, we know one little girl in particular who would just adore this little fellow—she’s obsessed with owl bears. How much for the little cutie?”

For the first time since the entered the little shop, Vox Machina saw absolute uncertainty cross Antonia’s face as she fumbled for a fair price.

“Uh… three copper?”

This time, it was Vax’s turn to protest. “For a one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted piece?”

“It-it’s not magical, and it’s just yarn and some stuffing,” Antonia pointed out weakly, all her earlier confidence gone.

Vax shook his head. “But the time this would’ve taken to make—one silver at least,” he replied, ignoring the glare Vex was directing at him for this oddly-reversed negotiation.

The ranger turned to the dwarf, wondering if this was an intentional technique to drive up the price, but no—the embarrassment, hesitance and uncertainty were genuine, she could see. Clearly, Antonia was far more comfortable negotiating on her brother’s behalf than her won, and something about knowing that made Vex feel momentarily fond of the other girl—or at least, like she could understand her.

And, in the grand scheme of things, considering their current financial status, what was a silver piece? Velora would be happy with the gift, and perhaps a fledgling craftswoman would get a confidence boost.

“I-I guess…”

…

The town was hardly important, and the Marshstead siblings would likely never gain fame of any import, much less cross Vox Machina’s path again, but at least both parties felt, at their parting, as though a fair bargain had been reached without coming to the point of either hating or permanently angering the other.

And, really, what more can you ask from a retail transaction?

 (AN: Sorry for the length/focus on the dreaded shopping trip. But currently, too much of my time is swallowed by a retail job, and I wanted to redeem it a little—better a family-run enchanted item shop than a generic thrift store. And, no, I have no idea what a fair price is in D&D, I did the best I could with the research I had. But now I kinda want that pan to be a thing somewhere—or is it too ridiculous for a +1 magic (great club, re-skinned as a pan) that deals bonus 1d4 fire damage?)

[vethyourhalflingmother]

Something about Percy maybe? 🤔 I don't know that much about c1 yet so maybe something about your favourite quote of his? ^_^

“I do not want to die who I am. I would like to live long enough to be someone else.” -Percy de Rolo III, Episode 64

The day his first child is born, Percy puts his guns away.

He locks all three of them in a chest and hides it in the back of his workshop. His worst nightmares have a dark-haired toddler with Retort in hand and the ear-splitting crack of a fatal gunshot. He should destroy them, he knows he should, but he can’t. Ripley released others into the world, and now he has to keep them.

Damn that bitch, he thinks, and a chill runs down his spine. It’s been years since they killed her, and still Ripley haunts him. She always will. She won’t win, though. The only winners in this game are Vox Machina, and even then, it’s bittersweet.

But there’s something powerful about being able to put the guns away at all.

~

He and Vex have five children total, two sons and three daughters. They’re all hellions, of course, but they laugh freely and sleep peacefully, unburdened by combat, cruelty, death. Unburdened by pretty much everything, to be perfectly honest. There are a thousand cautionary tales regarding spoiled children, but Percy doesn’t spend a moment feeling bad for giving his kids everything he had taken from him, everything Vex grew up without.

Percy teaches them to tinker, to build little toys (not weapons, never weapons), and his oldest daughter takes to it more than the rest. He tells Vex that she inherited his only good quality, and Vex tells him that he’s an idiot. The youngest, Percival de Rolo IV (called affectionately by myriad of nicknames by his older siblings, including, but not limited to: d4, Junior, Tattletale, ‘Cival), also has a knack for creation, but of a different sort: he bakes. He wants to be a baker. It’s absurd in the most amazing way.

The twins are like every other set of twins in the family: Percy sees Vex and Vax in them, but also Oliver and Whitney. They’re scrapy troublemakers, joined at the hip, and they conform and bend to absolutely no one, not even each other. (It’s not until later, much later, that Percy realizes the twins are more like him than anyone else; one of them gets her hands on Bad News, eventually, and the other is almost General de Rolo.)

The oldest is called by adventure.

~

It takes nearly twenty years, but eventually it occurs to Percy that he is, first and foremost, a father. When he tells Vex, she looks at him blankly - you’ve been a father for a long time, darling - and he shakes his head and repeats himself, no, I’m a father, not an orphan, not cursed, not a bitter shell of a man who wants revenge, I’m a father and a husband, and I build clocks-

Vex laughs.

It’s obvious, in retrospect. He put away the guns. He learned to bake chocolate chip cookies and to braid hair and to have important Talks and to enforce groundings and to draw laughter from bruises that came from climbing the Sun Tree too high. He’s not the man he once was. He’s not the monster Orthax or the Briarwoods or Ripley should have made him.  

He tells Vex locking away the guns was the turning point. She rolls her eyes because she’s always known better. There wasn’t one turning point, darling.

She recites back to him his new List, every act of fatherhood that made him better, but then she goes back further, to the day they were married, to Vox Machina days. She’s acting like she can’t believe she has to tell him this after all this time, but she’s smiling.

[vox-deruste]

Magic Basic: Manifesting

“ All right please sit down and take your seats, everyone.” The class sat down on wooden seats as their instructor started to write on the blackboard. “ My name is Vox Deruste, I will be your mysticism teacher for the semester.” The instructor was clad in a tri-colored robe. Red, blue, and green. And yet the most eye-catching part of their appearance was the green fire and black smoke that made up their body.

A green fire-based body, Black smoke inside their mouth, and eyes that leaked out like cigarettes. A nearly stitch-like, ooze-like mouth. All wrapped around in a two-piece robe. Flowing at the bottom half, a hood on top connected to the draped mantle.

Watched by bored, tired, dull-eyed students. Some were more awake and more attentive but were outweighed by blank stares.

“ I see many of you are tired and probably feel that you don’t need this class-”

“ Sir most of them were at a party.” Called out a female student. The protest of many students followed right after “ There was a lot of drinking...they are probably hungover.” She said sheepishly. The student was dark-skinned with blue clothing, braided hair going down her back.

Vox sighed deeply and looked at the class.

“ Those of you who are hungover, I ask you to leave. You will meet me after class to receive a twenty-page assignment version of today’s class, due next time we meet.” Everyone started to get up from their seats. Vox began to snap his fingers three times, a loud thunder sound accompanying everyone.

Vox’s snapping was meet with mostly groans and the sober silence of the remaining students. As everyone else left.

At the front of the class, in front of Vox was the girl in blue who alerted him to the hungover students. Next to her was a similar girl who was taller, more muscular, and wore muted blues.

At the farthest seats were three students. Left to right, A pale girl with black hair tied in a bun, almond eyes, and bright red clothing. A short boy with white skin, blond hair, and gold eyes, a prosthetic arm. At the end was a willowy, black androgynous figure. A dress shirt over a jean skirt.

“ Alright this is a visually sad state of affairs. I want everyone to come to the first row.”

One of the students from the back raised their hand. The boy with the prosthetic arm.

“ Can we just stay in our assigned-” The sheepish boy was interrupted as three fingers detach from vox’s hand and poked each of the three students on the forehead. In a blink, they were teleported to the front row. The first two students coughed harshly.

“ No.” Vox said sternly. “ We can start the lesson after introductions. Left to right starting with the helper.” Vox pointed to the girl in light blue.

“ *cough* Ahnah, Mister Deruste.”

“ Call me Vox, also full name.”

“ Ahnah Croatoan.” She said quickly.

“ Alasie Croatoan Mr. V.” Said the girl in muted blues.

“It is Vox.”

“ Bao Ah Knum.” The pale girl in red said, taking a bow. “ I look forward to your tutelage, Magnus Vox.”

“ That is my title, which I’m surprised you know, But again just call me Vox.” She bowed. “ Stop bowing.” She shuddered uncomfortably for a second.

“ Herr Vox. I’m Alvar, we actually met in the hall-”

“ I already have two teachers and I barely tolerate the two. Dial it back.” Alvar sunk into his seat. Ahnah and Bao avoided direct eye contact with Vox.

“ I guess I’m the showstopper.” The androgynous student said sarcastically with a mischievous grin.” Marcus Jefferson. “ Non-binary terror of the windy city. I look forward to stepping over all of you for the top spot.” Marcus said with full confidence. Vox nodded.

“ Given your identity, what are your preferred pronouns?” Vox asked.

“ They/ them. Marc works too.” Marcus said with finger guns at Vox.

“ How is that not being a teacher’s pet?” Bao protested.

“ Marcus has enthusiasm for this class, not an ego/ winning streak that he is trying to maintain.” Vox answered.

“ We’ll bump a lesson up to really make it clear that I won’t tolerate such behavior in the future.” Vox thought out loud. “ Let the responsible students be ahead of the class's ahead.” Ahnah and Bao both raised their hands. “ Yes.” Vox said while not looking at either one.

“ What lesson!” Ahnah and Bao said simultaneously. Vox stared at both with his black eyes and red, smokey eyebrows. Both flinched.

“ Manifesting: The ability to magically bring into existence objects that were stored previously. The magic bag as it’s known colloquy. Any care to demonstrate what this looks like before we go on?” Vox purposefully walked past Bao and Ahnah when he explained his proposition.

Alvar raised his hand.

“ Now get up here.” Vox guided Alvar to the front of his desk. His frame is on display for the whole class. “ First we store an object.” Vox telekinetically moved a gifted apple to his hand. He stared at the crab apple, the bright green skin of it. The lingering water from a quick wash-off.

Vox picked it up, the parts where his finger touched the apple, sizzling. He focused on it and pointed to the small gathering of students to watch. Bao and Ahnah took notes while Alvar looked with preemptive wonder. Alasie put her feet up on her wooden desk. Marcus had a smile and held a pencil in their hands.

As Vox grasped the apple it discovered into black smoke, its corporeal form blinked out of existence. Gasping was heard from the students. Vox looked at them with confusion.

“I’m guessing that some, if not all of you come from Earth.” Marcus, Ahnah, Alasie raised their hands. Alvar and Bao sheepishly held out theirs. “ Explain you two?

“ I am from a mystical family. We live in Bavaria in secret, among normal humans.” Vox nodded to Alvar’s answer.

“ Never been there myself honestly. And the authority pleaser?” He pointed to Bao.

“ My family has their own private realm...This is the first time I’ve ever been away from home.” Bao had a sad face. She looked down toward the floor. Vox rolled his vacant eyes.

“ I have telepathy dear, I know you’re trying to get sympathy.” He accused. Bao’s face immediately changed to anger-induced frustration, Scoffing.

“ Wait if you have that, why don’t you just read all our minds to know everything about us.” Alasie asked.

“ One, it’s rude. Second, I shouldn't have to mentally read my students to see if they’re telling the truth. They should just tell the truth. Third, I need to actively try to, it’s not always on. It’s like one of those bright bricks on Earth. I need to activate and limit its use for my health.” Ahnah wrote notes on Vox’s words. “ Now can the last three tell me their familiarity, or lack thereof, of magic so I know what skill level I should be teaching?” He gestured to the trio of students.

“ Me and Ahnah are children of a lesser native spirit up in Canada.” Alasie answered a blushing Ahanh protested.

“ You can’t just blurt out stuff like that!”

“ The sibling connection, the unfamiliarity with magic, or the national origin?”

“ All of the above.” Ahnah claimed as she hid underneath her own arms. I turned to Alasie.

“ She spouted some junk about ‘needing as much mystique’ she could muster to fit.” Vox shrugged at the answer. Many of the newer students feel the need to make up for their earthly origins by making a mysterious identity. Especially the very ordinary one. Though a thought occurred.

“ How many of you are demigods?” Vox asked. Sure enough, Marcus, Alasie, and Ahnah held up their hands. “ Oh joy.” It wasn’t that Vox disliked demigods, just what they did to teach. Given their parentage, they could be either educational boons or cursed monsters that ruin a semester. Depends on the specific domain of the parents. “ Speak your parent’s domain.”

“ Magic.” Marcus chimed.

“ Spirit of water and Ice Mr.V.” Alasie answered for both of them.

“ Vox is fine.”

“ Alright, Marcus comes on up.” He pointed to the bemused student.

“ Need the assistance.” They said confidently.

“ Given your heritage, it’s a formality that they will be asking tips from you.” Vox looked at Marcus’s hand for the pencil he grasped. It was gone. “ And your ability to pick up on things.”

“ Show off.” Bao fumed.

“An understandable reaction Bao, but a reprimandable one.” Bao became quiet from Vox’s warning. “ I assume you have an idea of what to do next? Or is this more of a ‘you need to see me do it first’ situation.” Marcus stared at their hand.

“ I want to try on my own first.” They answered. Vox took a step back to his desk and started to write down an exercise for the rest to follow. Marcus will probably do it right the first time, He thought to himself.

The thought was over when he heard a squishing sound hit the floor. At first, he panicked which was amplified by the panicking of the other students. He was relieved when saw that Marcus had both his hands but was disgusted that instead of a pencil they manifested a greenish-black bread, covered in mold. Maggots consuming it.

The panic quickly ended but was replaced with shared nausea.

“ You wouldn’t have practiced with bread at some point?” Vox asked. Marcus slowly walked away from the abominable food product. Vox tried to remember which of his spells obliterated things.

“ I eat it from the bag. By the handful.” Marcus responded cautiously.

“ As someone who does not eat, is this nor-”

“ No.” everyone except Marcus agreed. Vox placed a hand above Marcus’s shoulder.

“ No need to feel defeated or embarrassed. We still have students here who teleport into walls sometimes. And Demigods like you sometimes use their power unconsciously.” Vox tried to reassure Marcus but they quickly went back to their seats. Vox pointed at the offending loaf and it flashed burned into dust. Just quick enough to not leave a smell.

“ What exercise you’re going to give Ms.-” Vox glared at Ahnah. “ What is the assignment Vox?” She corrected me. Vox groaned slightly and read out loud the quick instructions he wrote.

“ You will pair into groups of two, One of you will have me as a partner. You give each other Items and coach each other to manifest them back into reality. You will draw lots, Ill take the odd man out.” Vox explained as he passed around the mentioned Lots. “ Alvar and Alasie. Bao and Ahnah. Marcus and myself.” Vox rigged the lots with slight probability manipulation but he felt the pairs were a good fit for each other.

Marcus only needs help with the last part of the lesson. Alavar, while quiet, can probably coax Alasie into participating. And Bao and Ahnah trying to bit down their competitive streak will be fun to watch for everyone else. Vox the most.

He was very wrong. While he did managed to teach Marcus some tips on his manifesting, the expected fighting between Bao and Ahnah became less and less funny as their words became more venomous.

“ I’m not letting some savage from a frozen wasteland explain the magic theory to me!” Bao yelled out.

“ Says the privileged ass that turns her nose, everyone, while pretending that her own shit does not stink.” Ahnah shouted back. Rather cowardly Vox decidedly ignored it and kept an eye on the other students. Everyone but the overachievers managed to get some process with their manifesting and general magic. Even the shy Alvar and slacking Alasie. They seemed to actually hit it off, a strangely endearing duo.

“ Seriously? Your region is the whole reason the whole lederhosen and beer thing is the first thing people think of when they think of Germany?” The girl asked.

“ If it wasn’t for us we would be stuck as being viewed as nazis and soviet puppets. Better to be thought of as a carefree drunk than either one.” Alvar said with slight confidence. Vox had a smile. And then he grimaced when he saw that Bao and Ahnah flat out refused to work with one another. Sitting with their backs facing each other.

Marcus at least had, if not mastered, at least managed to retrieve their pencil from the pocket space.

“ There's no need to rush progress. Some move through parts of a spell in different paces. Like how some artists are better at shading than composition before practice. Something I would encourage you to do, despite natural talent.” Marcus stared at their hands.

“ So don’t squander the potential.” They stated plainly. Vox nodded while Marcus looked toward the front of the classroom. Where Bao and Ahnah still sat in silence. “ Like what they are doing.”

“ Yes.” Vox sighed. “ Like what they are doing. Squandering potential, growth, and a fruitful partnership.” Vox said with mild frustration. While they did annoy him, it was undeniable that they both wanted this class. Yet their ego won’t let them learn from each other. And by this point, It was sad, embarrassing, and blood-boiling. If Vox had blood. But the fire that made up his body made up for that. Everyone! Get into groups and get to know each other.” Vox yelled out. He let everyone get up from their seats but Bao and Ahnah. “ You two stay until you work with one another.”

“ Mr.-” Vox cut off Ahnah.

“ No questions.”

“ I implore Sir Deruste-” Vox’s hand separated itself from his arm to silence Bao.

“ I said no questions, do your assignment as a team or I give you an F.” Bao and Ahnah jaw dropped.

“ Wait, this is graded!?” They shouted in unison.

“ I didn’t feel like such a simple exercise would be that hard. Clearly, I didn’t account for you two to choke on your own pride.” Vox spelled out with a demeaning tone, a very intentional one.

“ Huh, I might have a better grade than Ahnah for once? Cool.” Alasie said calmly. “ I can be the smart twin for once. Immediately Marcus and Alvar compared the two.

“ Don’t see it.” They said in unison. Both Ahnah and Alasie scoffed in turn.

“ Enough.” Vox pleaded. “ Simply work with each other by the end of class or be forced to stay in for remedial classes.”

“ Fine.” Bao said sternly. She looked toward Ahnah with disdain. “ I can work with this gold-blooded peasant to get the grade.” Ahnah shot her a glare.

“ And I’ll stop looking at a rich bitch’s nose hair long enough to get the grade and your respect.” She stuck her tongue out.

“ I am not mistaken at the idea that humans are considered adults at seventeen and twenty right?” Vox looked toward the class.

“ Physically.” Alasie chimed. “Ain’t that right sis.” She asked Ahnah with a cheeky smile.

“ I will also remind you both you have ten minutes.” Vox said quickly.

“ What!?”

“ You both wasted so much time hating each other you haven’t noticed time move by?” Vox questions in a sarcastic tone. “ Who would have guessed that such pointless bickering would have consequences.”

“ Laying it on a bit thick there? Aren’t ya Vox?” Marcus asked.

“ Hopefully not as thick as these two egos.” He replied. Vox counted down the time for Bao and Ahnah to finish the spell practice in the allotted time….and fail. Instead of trying to do what Vox asked, work with each other, they argued on what to do first.

“ We should double-check our theories!?” An eclectic Ahnah shouted.

“ There's no time for that! Just Calibrate the exercise and follow my damn lead.” Bao instructed.

Vox held his head in shame as a loud bell rang, signaling the end of the class period. The other students left the classroom as Bao and Ahnah started downward, their faces parallel to the ground.

“ Such a shame that such works would go to waste.” Vox said wistfully. “ And all that effort to get the rest of the class hungover.” Vox said as he floated toward his desk and gathered his things.

“ What do you mean?” Ahnah said with her eyes avoiding direct eye contact with Vox and Bao rubbing her side.

“ The fact you two teed yourself off to try and outdo the rest of the class today by.” Vox pointed at Bao. “ Starting a false rumor of a freshmen kegger.” He then turned to Ahnah. “ And supplying them with tainted alcohol that was stronger than it should be.” Both of the girls looked at each other, a bizarre mixture of impressed faces and shame.

“ How?” Bao asked with her cradling her head.

“ Telepathy. When your brain was too busy making insults or fuming with Ahnah I started to poke around. I found the memory right after you two started being pissy and sat away from each other.” Vox explained in depth. Every sentence makes the pits of shame in Ahnah and Bao deeper. “I’ll see you both later. We will go over basic magic exercises and decency if time allows.” Both Bao and Ahnah stared at him. “ I won’t tell anyone of your deeds if you both promise to work together and think like magicians. The essence of magic is change and directing that. Surely you can apply that to yourself.” Vox asked them. They both nodded. “ Good I’ll see you both after sunrise. Please leave your egos at the door.” Vox explained as he snapped his finger, gathering all his supplies into his bag, and left the room.

V

ox was embittered by the class but he did think that the duo had merit. A part of him wanted the challenge. Maybe at some point, they’ll manifest the will to see that if they worked in tandem, they could do great things.

Vox counted down to when he would meet them again, down to the minute.

[ravenquingvax]

I'm thinking about Vax'ildan...

I mean, I'm always thinking about Vax'ildan to some extent;

I want to be Vax'ildan, want to look like how I imagine he looks - just maybe not as short.

I want to be friends with his friends and siblings with his siblings, want to be a part of something like Vox Machina.

I want to flirt with Shaun Gilmore and lose myself in hours of tea and conversation with that beautiful sorcerer.

I want to sit and listen to Allura as she infodumps for hours, braiding her hair as she talks.

I want to spar with Jarett in the training pit, laughing and joking around with my good friend.

I want to talk transness and religion with Kima, want to break down myself and all it is that I've been through with someone who understands.

I want to learn how to garden under Keyleth's tutelage, getting her to blush and smile as I compliment her a lot.

I want to be best buddies with Pike and Grog, gossiping with them as we drink and getting into chaotic but somehow wholesome mischief together.

I want to pick Percy's brains about his weapons and all of his other inventions, want him to give me a full essay on them.

I want to be there as Scanlan sings and dances, playing his shawm or his lyre or his flute.

I want Vex'ahlia to trust me and confide in me as I trust her and confide in her, us taking turns to do each other's hair and makeup before the day ahead or taking turns to help each other clean up before bed.

I want to play with Trinket, hugging that bear always.

I want to be buddies with Simon, giving him treats and gossiping with him constantly.

I also really want to marry Vax and treat him like royalty, baby boy deserves at least that much after all he's endured.

I want to kiss Vax on the forehead and tell him that everything will be okay.

I want to hug Vax and to hold his hand as we talk about everything we've experienced.

I want him to feel safe with me, as I feel I'd feel safe with him.

I want him to teach me how to use his daggers while I teach him how to play video games.

I want us to have art sessions together as we unwind and recover from a horrid day.

I want to tell him he's loved, have him tell me the same.

I want to protect him, always.

Thinking about Vax'ildan...

Always thinking about him.

[mrandmrsvex]

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia Characters: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Vex'ahlia (Critical Role), Vox Machina Additional Tags: Post-Campaign, Character Study, Percy is content making art and never needing a weapon again, his legacy is more than just his guns and his fights

Summary:

Their father was an adventurer, apparently. A hero, even. A master of daring fights and daunting trials. They knew vague stories, distorted by time and re-telling in taverns and across courtyards. They sometimes heard, at the most important balls and events, the various titles that were added onto the already long list of royal names and decrees. They looked foward to the annual display of the watchtower, their eyes pinned onto the figures, mostly on the dark-haired elven girl with blue feathers behind her ear, and the white-haired man in his fluttering blue coat – such familiar items to them, yet in such an unknown setting, as the figures danced and darted around mechanical dragons and the undead god. Their father had been an adventurer, but it was hard to believe. ~ He was not an adventurer in his children's eyes, and he didn't mind.

Their father was an adventurer, apparently. A hero, even. A master of daring fights and daunting trials.

They knew vague stories, distorted by time and re-telling in taverns and across courtyards. They sometimes heard, at the most important balls and events, the various titles that were added onto the already long list of royal names and decrees. They looked foward to the annual display of the watchtower, their eyes pinned onto the figures, mostly on the dark-haired elven girl with blue feathers behind her ear, and the white-haired man in his fluttering blue coat – such familiar items to them, yet in such an unknown setting, as the figures danced and darted around mechanical dragons and the undead god.

Their father had been an adventurer, but it was hard to believe.

Their mother, of course. She was an adventurer still, during the Grey Hunt, during their trips through the forests, during the training of the guard she oversaw. While a few silver streaks were already making their way through her thick black braid, she was daring and fierce and always eager to pounce. It wasn't difficult to imagine her in her youth, with a grin on her mouth and fire in her eyes. She'd told them stories, mostly to caution them of the world's dangers, partially to teach them to be wiser if it ever came to happen for themselves. Their father had crept up in these stories as well, as the saving hero in some, as the smart planner in others.

But an adventurer?

They tried to see it. They watched him,looking for signs of past feats and abilities. It just didn't fit.

He was too quiet. Too calm. The one they came to when they just needed to sit, in comfort, in silence away from the loud outside, watching him tinker down in his workshop, or reading a book beside his desk as he worked on the many, many papers that always piled up in the royal office of Whitestone.

An occasional, soft stroke through their hair, just as dark as their mother's. A careful grip around their waist as they were lifted onto his lap, to show them whatever small contraption he was working on at the moment and explain to them, in a soft, low voice how it functioned.

His hands weren't those of a fighter. They were strong, sure, they could grab fast and tight when someone tripped, but they just as easily fluttered through hair to make braids – not as well as Mama's, though, even he had to admit. They were tinkering hands, made for tools, not weapons. The silver sword leant mostly forgotten in a corner of the treasury. (He had taken great care to never let any of them see the mysterious, small, rifle-like weapon he kept hidden in his nightstand, nor let anyone open the locked trunk hidden even deeper in the treasury.)

Their father was a thinker, a planner, maybe even a strategist – they'd seen him at work, during meetings they were not supposed to be at, but every one of them knew that little cabinet with the hole in the back that was almost empty and no one ever looked into when preparing the room for a council.

He was quick, and witty, and even cunning at times. Was that what he had brought to the table when he was a member of one of the most famous group of adventurers Tal'Dorei had ever seen? Not his strength, or energy, but his intelligence? Was that enough to make him an adventurer?

A true adventurer, in their eyes, was someone who faced death and laughed at it. Someone who stared down great evil without flinching, who knew how to fight and kill any monster without hesitation. An adventurer had many things to boast about, and skills and strength enough to prove it were they ever questioned. Like their uncles, one who still fought – and won – simply for the joy of it, one who still travelled to face dangers and help the innocent with his brigade, and one who would never tire of telling them about his many adventures with their parents. Like their aunts, who were far more quiet, but showed their fabled abilities every day, healing their cuts and scrapes, shaping entire branches for them to climb, teaching them how to fight with both their hands and their words.

Not like their father, with his books and watches, who barely even raised his voice when faced with their worst misbehaviours.

Elaina, the eldest, maybe understood it a bit better. She'd seen the scars covering his chest, a few times by accident, and once quite thoroughly, when she'd dared to ask him about it. His voice was as soft and calm as it always was when he showed her, and explained that there had been pain in his past, and dangers that he sometimes miscalculated, and that scars were simply a memory of all the obstacles one had bested and overcome in their life. It was one of the few times, she remembered, when she'd seen something akin to fear in her father's eyes and heard a slight stammer in his otherwise steady speech.

He was not an adventurer in his children's eyes, and he didn't mind. He was quite content with them not knowing the true dangers and monsters that lurked in his past. They knew the story of the Briarwoods, if only to understand their own importance and the hope and happiness they'd brought to the quiet castle they called home. They knew nothing beyond that, nothing of the doctors and demons and dreams that had haunted him for so long. What for? There was no use for it as a cautionary tale like their mother's stories, and there was no reason for it to be told other than to carelessly frighten them. And that, he would never even think of doing – and would be more than willing to forcefully stop anyone else trying to do so.

Their father had been an adventurer, but not in their lifetime. For them, he was nothing more than Papa, who made unfunny jokes and gave surprisingly good advice, who built them toys and trinkets, who held them tight when they crawled under his sheets after a nightmare, who embarassed them by stealing kisses from Mama at inappropriate times, who read them stories and fairytales of other adventurers and their dangerous lives.

And that was all he ever wanted to be.

P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }A:link { }

If you think I did a good job writing this, and you have some copper to spare, consider buying me a coffee?

[morganeilish]

An Epilogue

Vex stopped wearing her hair in a braid after her brother left. They all still refused to think of it as him dying. They'd all died before at least once and it was always so much more violent and so much less permanent. But braiding her hair had always been Vax’s job.

It wasn't that she couldn't do it herself, though he was always better at it. It was that doing it herself reminded her how much he wasn't there. So for a while she just left her hair down, let it get tangled and blown about her face in the wind. It snagged on branches and collected leaves and dirt in the forest like Trinket’s fur.

She debated cutting it off. She'd look a little less like Vax if she did. But she liked pretending he was still there when she caught a glimpse of her reflection out of the corner of her eye.

Percy, to his credit, didn't say anything when he found plant matter in their bed. Though to be fair, they had slept in far worse conditions and he could put up with a little dirt. He did offer to braid it for her once early on in the woods after she missed a number of easy shots when it got in her face, but quickly apologized and backed down when she snapped that that was Vax’s job.

After a bit of time passed, he gifted her a hair stick he’d carved out of a dragon claw and sat her down on the floor of their library. She let him gently comb all the tangles out until her hair shone. He knotted it up on the crown of her head and pinned it in place, leaving a kiss on her cheek when he was done.

When she and Percy had children, she braided the hair of those that likes to keep it long, but her hair she kept knotted in a bun with her dragon tooth pin through it for the rest of her days.

---

Keyleth asked Velora on a visit to Whitestone to teach her to braid her hair. It was still short but they managed. They wove tiny plaits into it that she decorated with druid crafted snowdrops to remind her of her fallen lover. The process made her feel closer to Vax.

As time passed, she let her hair grow out longer, more manageable now that she wasn't keeping it loose. She wove it up in complicated patterns that'd hold for days, sometimes weeks. Her red mane was a tapestry of tight tiny plaits and loose fishtails and ropes interwoven with leaves and flowers and feathers gifted to her from the raven that came to visit every day.

When she changed into her animal shapes, the patterns were often reflected in the colouring of her giant eagle feathers or Minxie’s stripes.

The children of her people were entranced by it and often brought her gifts of interesting plants they'd found and their first druid crafted flowers to weave in with it. She, in turn, would agree to braid their hair, sometimes letting a tear come to her eye at the thought that she would've loved to have her own children with Vax.

Over the centuries, her hair turned white, contrasting beautifully with the raven feathers woven into it. Her braids became less elaborate the older she got, although sometimes, for special occasions, she'd agree to let the village children plait it for her.

She chose not to marry but she was never alone. Her raven was always by her side and she helped raise the children of her village, teaching them how to turn into squirrels and kittens, which herbs healed what ailments, and how to conjure fog and lightning. She continued working with the other Ashari tribes to integrate with the ever modernizing outside world so they'd all be safe in the event of another Vecna, though she hoped her preparations would never be necessary.

Over the years she had dalliances; casual lovers and fleeting relationships. She knew Vax would want her to fall in love again but she didn’t feel a need to. No one would replace him. Vex might not have thought they’d made their relationship official but her people would’ve viewed the vows they’d made to each other in the heart of battle as a marriage - especially given that they’d repeated them afterwards in front of both their friends and a god. She knew that his departure freed her from those vows, but she grew to be happy without a partner. Besides, she was surrounded by more than enough love between her people and Vox Machina and its descendants.